Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square (5 page)

Dagong did not react. He felt hundreds of bugs creeping along his back. He was hot. He was tired of Zhang Ping’s usual complaints about money. He wanted to throw them both out of the house. But what could he do? Who let him stay in this house? Who had assigned him his current job? And who had provided him with his wife? He should thank Zhang Ping’s father for these. He did not have many choices. He was lucky enough to have it at all. Of course, he was concerned about his son. Little Turnip should get a good education and become a decent person. Even this was beyond his control. Zhang Ping was too possessive of their son. She was too possessive about everything.

He lifted Little Turnip up and held him to his chest, so he could talk to him face to face. “Little Turnip, did you hear what your mother said. Don’t do that anymore, Okay? Never bring a school toy home without asking your teacher.”

“Yes.” Little Turnip nodded. Tears ran down his face.

Then Dagong turned toward Zhang Ping. “Zhang Ping, I think you and Little Turnip had better go to bed. If you keep yelling, you might wake up the whole neighborhood.”

Zhang Ping suddenly became very docile. She took over Little Turnip. “Okay, Okay. We’ll go to bed. So you can study.”

In a while the fluorescent light was turned off. Zhang Ping and Little Turnip fell asleep on the double bed. He was left in the corner, sitting in front of a wooden desk with a dim table lamp.

He opened the book---
Preparing for the TOEFL Exam
, which was the requirement for getting into any American universities. He glanced through a few lines and marked down the new words he did not know. Then he looked up the new words in the dictionary one by one and scribbled them down on a notebook almost as thick as the dictionary. At thirty-eight, he could feel his age. Recently, he even found it hard to sit still. He was too agitated. A volcano was growing in his chest, getting ready to erupt. This was not like him, not him at all. Twenty-one years ago, when his aunt had died and left him alone in the world, he thought he would never smile again. During the five years of “reeducation” in the countryside, he worked hard. He wanted the sweat to wash away his sorrow, and soil to bury his grief. He did such a good job that a miracle happened. He was assigned to a job in the city and worked as a janitor in a park. That was when Zhang Ping’s father Lao Zhang discovered him and transferred him to the Beijing Radio Parts factory when Lao Zhang was the president. Lao Zhang liked Dagong. They liked each other. Lao Zhang liked him so much that he constantly acted as his protector. Whenever a political movement waged in when the capitalist’s son got bashed, Lao Zhang would stand up to defend him. Then he followed Lao Zhang’s suggestion and married his only daughter, Zhang Ping, who worked at the factory’s food service.

He never liked Zhang Ping. She was not his choice. She was the choice when he had not had any choice. No young woman at the time would want to marry someone like him with a dead capitalist father and several relatives overseas. He married Zhang Ping out of gratitude to Lao Zhang. He married her out of desperation. When Lao Zhang sent him to the university during the Cultural Revolution in 1972, he was excited for a while. As a straight-A student in high school, he had always dreamed of going to the university. But life had turned out differently than he expected. He had been deprived of the opportunity to go to the university because of his dead parents. His parents had been dead for a long time, as long as he was in this world. But they were his parents. The university he attended turned out to be phony. During those years, the communist leaders did not appreciate intellectuals. They like to install social changes. Political movements were their games. They reformed the college, changed the curriculum, and educated professors with Chairman Mao’s writing to make them humble. He had wasted his college years in going to political discussion groups, self-criticizing meetings and writing political-correct poetry and posters. Although he also learned some high school algebra and contemporary Chinese history on the side, he knew that was not enough. During those days he was extremely cautious, knowing if he did anything out of the ordinary, even anything noticeable, he would immediately become a target for people to spit on, to shit on because he was a capitalist’s son. He worked to stay invisible, which was hard because of his big size, and to sail through four years safely.

Their marriage was a peaceful comradeship. But he did not love her. Without him having even a desire to kiss her, they somehow had a son that ended everything. Zhang Ping did not like sex. A son was what she wanted. For a while he was content with his life. He let day go one by one and prayed for peace and stability. He thought he was really lucky. He had a job in a big city like Beijing, and so was envied by the nine hundred and ninety nine million people in the other parts of the country. He had a wife and a son and lived in the center of Beijing, one kilometer from the Tiananmen Square. What else would he want?

The book became blurry in front of him. The dark lines on the white paper turned into many beautiful faces, long straight hair, permed hair, big bright eyes and joyful smiles. He loved those college girls. The sky suddenly turned colorful, not dull grey color anymore. He felt energetic. He wanted to join the students to disperse his energy. Life is going to be interesting, he said to himself. Then he got up and joined Zhang Ping and little Turnip in their bed.

Chapter 3

Several hundred people assembled in front of the men’s dormitory, #41, near one of the campus gates. The red Beijing University flag was billowing in the wind. Some windows of the dorms were open and newly getting up students yelled, “Wait for me. I will be down in a second.” Some came down with a piece of bread in their hands.

When Baiyun, Yumei and Li Yan, another roommate, arrived at 7:00am, each girl had a different feeling about being there. Baiyun, who wore blue pants and a faded jacket, hoped her appearance would attract no attention. Yumei’s bright orange sweater indicated she wanted to be noticed immediately. As a stout girl with two bushy pigtails, Li Yan’s approach to life was more realistic. She loved sports and politics so she was just happy to be a part of it.

Their decision to skip class on Monday was a big one. The liberal arts students organized the march. Since the girls were chemistry majors, Baiyun, Yumei and Li Yan could be the only people there from their class. Besides, most chemistry majors would not have a friend like Longfe, an economics major, to inform them about the march. Math class was important but easy to skip. Physical education wasn’t as important but much harder to skip because as soon as they lined up, the instructor would notice immediately who was missing. The physical education teacher was reasonable. Everyone loved to skip the Political Science class. No one listened during those lectures anyway. Everyone read either their math textbook or a novel right under the instructor’s nose, who swung his arms, and sprayed saliva through spaces between his teeth, trying to politically indoctrinate his students.

The sky looked gray on this spring morning, for the sun hid behind thick layers of clouds and seemed far, far away. Occasional gusts of wind blew the dust into the air, a familiar scene in Beijing. Yumei, a girl from Shaanxi, an ancient capital and a province southeast of Beijing, began to sing loudly, even though they hardly knew anyone around.

“Beijing, our great capital,

Beijing, a beautiful city.

But in the spring,

Ladies cover their faces with gray scarves.”

Li Yan was a news addict, and kept informed on everything through her radio. She was carrying a Walkman right now. “It might rain today. I heard from the broadcast.” Li Yan informed them.

“Come on, I never believe the weather forecast. They are rarely correct,” said Yumei, absent-mindedly.

“But it rained yesterday,” said Baiyun, pushing her glasses up a bit on her straight nose.

“Maybe God is weeping for Hu Yaobang’s death,” said Yumei, looking around to see if anyone had noticed her.

“Have you heard anything interesting on the BBC?” asked Baiyun. She knew Li Yan listened to the BBC short wave broadcasts every day.

“Yes, all kinds of strange predictions about China’s future. Some say Hu Yaobang’s death is a sign that the conservatives will come back. Some say his death could stir up a full-scale student movement, which would begin to turn China into a more democratic society.”

Longfe approached the girls. “Hi, Yumei! It’s nice that you are here already.” He wore a tan blazer and a pair of blue jeans. His big eyes were beaming behind his square-rimmed glasses.

Baiyun felt ignored after Li Yan left to join students from other departments. She found Longfe very attractive. She liked his big tall body, the deep set of his eyes and his smooth round face. But every time he was around, she was too nervous to open her mouth. She felt embarrassed just standing there, and an idea dawned on her.

“Yumei, I’.. .m going back to pick up our raincoats or an umbrella for us.” Baiyun interrupted Yumei and Longfe’s conversation. Longfe stared at her and frowned. Baiyun turned and ran away.

On her way out, she saw Li Yan along with Xia Nan, a communist party member and the head of the student association in the economic department, talking to a group of students with a megaphone.

Baiyun quickly got back to the dorm, and after looking through the suitcases, drawers, and under the beds, could not find any raincoats or umbrellas. Then suddenly she realized that she had left hers at home and Yumei had probably had lost hers as usual. She decided to go to the campus grocery store to buy an umbrella. If she was late, she could always ride her bicycle to catch up with everyone. In any case, she wanted to be truly part of the march this time instead of being just a bystander as she had been on previous occasions. She was famous for always missing exciting events by staying in the library and studying. As she walked toward the store, she heard a voice accompanied by the noise of a motorcycle behind her.

“Baiyun, what’s the rush? Let me give you a ride.”

Lao Zheng, fully equipped with a helmet, leather jacket and goggles, had stopped his motorcycle behind Baiyun. He had a big grin on his face. Yuck, what is he doing here? Baiyun asked herself. She quickly composed herself and faked a smile. “You’ve come to the wrong place to find Mother.”

“Well,” he set his left foot on the ground. “Are you going to Tiananmen Square? I can give you a ride. . It’s such a long way to walk.”

“How did you know about the march?”

“I saw a group of students marching out of the gate when I came in. I asked them where they were going.”

“Have they already gone?” Baiyun felt bad. What would her friends think of her if she wasn’t there? They would think she had missed another important event again. Baiyun could just imagine how the others would talk about her: “How clever, that Baiyun. Going back to get an umbrella is just her excuse. Do you remember how she got out of the march last time? She stayed in the library overnight and came out once everyone was gone.”

“Ha... You really need a ride now?” Lao Zheng smiled like a victor.

“Would you?”

“Let’s go”

Baiyun jumped onto the back seat of the motorcycle. Although she hated the cigarette smell on his jacket, she had to hold on to it tightly and bury her head in it, because she did not want others on campus to see her riding on a motorcycle with such a man.

The streets were full of busy people going to work on bicycles, buses or occasionally on motorcycles. The ringing of bicycle bells and honking of bus horns awakened the city like a rooster’s crowing at dawn. At every street corner, there was a little yellow cylindrical station painted with red stripes. Policemen wearing white summer uniforms and sunglasses, either sat in the station looking out, or stood in the center of the intersection of two streets, directing the busy traffic with a little blue and white stick. Sometimes a policeman would stop an unfortunate bicyclist because he was carrying his son or both his son and his wife on the bike fender seat. They usually got a warning from the policeman and were told to walk to the bus station to let the wife and son take the bus. But as soon as they were out of the policeman’s sight, they would get back on the bike and fly. Violating traffic laws was not considered a crime in China.

Lao Zheng and Baiyun found the marchers stopped in front of a big farmer’s market, two kilometers from the campus.

“Hey, Baiyun, we caught up with them in no time at all. Let’s ride along with them. What do you think?”

“Would you let me get off? Would you let me get off?” She pointed toward the market. “So I can buy an umbrella and find my roommate.”

“Don’t you want to march with me? We have a motorcycle, the modern transportation.” Lao Zheng stood by his motorcycle proudly. With his sunglasses and shining new leather jacket, he almost looked like a movie star.

Baiyun, however, was not impressed. “Please let me off!” She screamed.

“Actually your mother asked me to come here and pick you up. She worries about you,” Lao Zheng’s tone changed.

“I don’t believe you. Mother never bothers me at school. She trusts me.”

“Ok, I came here to find you myself. I think you’d enjoy going out with me. We’ll spend some money and have a good time. This demonstration is boring. What do you think?” Lao Zheng put on his charming mask again.