Fox Spirit 54 – National Dreams

国庆

半百殊如梦

昂头发未衰

千春生万象

旭日正东来

            -陈立强

National Day

Half a hundred years pass like a dream;

Stand tall, head high, our strength has not decreased.

A thousand springs gave birth

To all things on this earth.

The sunrise comes directly from the East.

 

               – Chen Li Qiang (1999)

 

 

September 1999

Sara

            The conference room was empty. Sara checked her watch – still a few minutes until the Tuesday meeting would start, but normally everyone would have been there by now, not wanting to risk Jerry Wang’s sharp look and sharper words for late-comers. Just as she thought of going for a cup of tea from the lobby, Scarlet Li hurried into the room with a stack of fresh copies in her hands.

            “Ah, Sara, you can help me put a form in each place. Boss Wang wants each of us to let him know of our plans and whereabouts for the Golden Week.”

            “Golden Week?”

            “You didn’t hear the news broadcast last night?  Or see the morning paper?  We’re getting a new holiday, in honor of our special National Day this year!  It’s our country’s fiftieth anniversary, you know. We all get the week after National Day off of work to travel home and celebrate with our families. I think everyone came in early this morning to make travel arrangements through our company account. I hope Boss Wang will be in a good mood, if he comes in while everyone is still on the phone.”

            Even as she spoke, the other managers began to appear. They were all smiling and bubbling with conversation. Sara overheard snatches of travel schedules, township names, ticket prices. The new holiday had created more excitement and camaraderie than she had seen since she had arrived. The buzz only began to subside when Jerry Wang arrived last of all and took his seat.

            “Ah, I see you are all excited by the news of Golden Week. I’ve asked Manager Li to get information from all of you about how we might get in touch with you over that week if we have a need. But before that, I have another announcement. I and my wife invite you all to a party the night before Golden Week officially begins. I’ve heard there will be fireworks for the National Day; we can watch from the rooftop of our apartment. We can all enjoy this before we leave for visiting our families.”

            The buzz of excitement rose again, but Sara said nothing. She had no family in China to visit. She had made no friends outside of her work. Golden Week without her co-workers would be an empty week for her. She lifted her chin and found a smile. There must be some tourist sites she had not yet visited.

            By the last week of September streets and subway stations along Chang’An Boulevard were closed so that Communist Youth groups and military platoons could practice their synchronization for the National Day parade. The parks and stadiums were full of activity as workers from each urban district of Beijing built the floats that would be the civilian part of the parade. On the first of October the Rainbow Software group, with spouses and friends, assembled at Boss Wang’s rooftop apartment. Since Jade had invited Bright Liu, the gathering of friends from the Jiu Jin Shan Wine Bar was complete.

             Even in the open air, the smells of ginger, spicy oil, onion and anise set Sara’s mouth watering. Two girls in white shirts and black pants carried trays of dumplings, satay sticks, pork buns and sautéed vegetables from guest to guest, offering fresh chopsticks with each delicacy.

            Jerry Wang had set up his large-screen television on the roof, where it displayed a slowly moving file of tanks and other military hardware, interspersed with meticulously outfitted soldiers goose-stepping the entire length of the parade route, each helmet and each rifle placed at the exact same angle. Sara’s companions were ebullient in their enthusiasm for the precision performance, especially Trueheart.

            “So, Sara,” Trueheart called out. “The twentieth century was “the American Century” – are you ready for a change? Here comes the Asian Century, and Asia means China!”

            Sara stiffened at the challenge in his voice. Why did Trueheart always seem to pounce on her?

             “Yibu, yibu! One step at a time!” she replied tartly. She nodded down at Trueheart’s feet. “Does that mean you will give up your jeans and your Nike trainers?”

            Trueheart laughed and lifted his beer mug, acknowledging her hit. He moved closer to Sara. “In America do you have as big a parade as this? So many soldiers, so many tanks, so many planes?”

            “You think soldiers and tanks are for celebrations?” She felt like a grown-up censuring an unruly child. “In America the military isn’t so much a part of government celebrations.”

            From the way he looked at her she knew he had not caught the sourness in her tone.  “But this is National Day. Without the army we would have no nation, would we?

            “In America we save our military and our planes for war, not display.” Sara thought for a moment about the Air Force Thunderbirds air shows she had seen and mentally crossed her fingers.

            “We ordinary people need to know that the government can protect us if we’re attacked.” Trueheart went on almost as if she had not spoken. “For years China was at the mercy of European nations and Japan, because we had no modern army. Now when other countries see our military power, they’ll think twice before attacking us.”

            A squadron of Chinese Air Force jets zoomed by almost directly overhead, ending the conversation with a roar. Trueheart grinned and turned back to the television screen, clearly feeling he had won his point.

            Suddenly Sara felt herself an outsider at the party. She had a small glimpse of how it would feel to be always looking up to America as an unassailable giant, and how exhilarating it would feel to think the giant could be toppled. How had Goliath felt when the stone hit him? Did he think ‘this can’t be happening to me!’?

             Scarlet Li was a few steps away. She moved closer to Sara and patted her arm sympathetically. “These men,” she said softly. “They talk politics as if it’s only a game, spending money on these noisy toys and competing to be biggest, strongest, first, best. Women must take care of the details: keep house, cook food, have children, cope with birth and death –while they have their toys. You mustn’t mind Zhang. He hasn’t grown up yet.”

            Scarlet’s understanding brought unexpected tears to Sara’s eyes. At least Scarlet didn’t treat her as an ousider. She blinked the tears back and turned to find Storm. He was in the group around the television set, deep in discussion with Bright Liu as they pointed out the various armaments now parading past on the screen, now swooping overhead. He was so earnest, so excited by the future and so young!  Then Storm turned back from Bright toward her, tossing the shock of black hair from his eyes as he looked for her. Her sudden need to be part of him made her tremble. She moved to his side and reached out for his arm.

            “Have you quarreled with Zhang?” Storm asked Sara.

            “No, not exactly,” Sara replied. She wanted to lean against him, wrap her arm around his waist. She knew this would be inappropriate, that it would embarrass him greatly in front of his friends. She shook her head impatiently. “It is only that I’m not Chinese. I’m like a rock in the way of a flood.”

            Storm laughed softly. “We don’t have this kind of celebration every holiday, or even every year at National Day. This is special because of the fiftieth anniversary and maybe partly because our government is still angry from Kosovo.”

            “I heard that reparations have been made, that the families have accepted compensation?”

            “That may be so, but still we don’t want America to think that such ‘accidents’ will have no consequence. And we need our people also to be reassured too. So it is like a play, a puppet play with strings going up into the darkness where we can’t see. Let’s relax and enjoy the show. Come, you haven’t filled your plate. As soon as it gets dark we’ll be able to see fireworks from all four parks in the city from Wang’s roof.”

            Sara couldn’t help a small moan of frustration as he turned away. If only he’d been able to put his arm around her, let her be close. Damn Chinese masks!  Maybe when it was dark…  

===

Chen Li Qiang’s poetry by permission of the poet.  

Fox Spirit 53 – Love and Death

Sara turned to face Storm. She stroked one finger down his spine and he could not stop his involuntary arching at her touch.  “Why do you ask about my husband?  Are you afraid you have a rival in my heart? In my memory? You haven’t. I don’t want to talk about this now.” She stroked him again.

            But Storm couldn’t leave it alone. “Ah, you talk of my mask, my hidden selves. You were married, what? Half your life?  Am I to know nothing of these years?”

            Her face was suddenly tired. “Are we going to tell our life stories now? 

            “Isn’t this, as you say, fair?” he insisted. “I’ve introduced you to my parents, I’ve told you of my past in Two Ox Village. And I know nothing of what brought you so far and into my life?” He put his arms around her, murmured into her hair. “I want no mystery, no secret past. Can’t you share with me?”

            Sara sat up, pulled herself away from him, thrust her arms into her robe, and moved to the bedroom door, inviting him with a gesture to follow her to the sofa. “I can’t talk about my dead husband while I’m in your arms. Sit here. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

            Storm grabbed the sheet to cover his nakedness and followed her, sitting upright next to her like a student at attention, not leaning back, not attempting to touch her, not knowing what to expect, half afraid, despite his scoffing to Trueheart. She waited until he was still. Her voice was almost mechanical as she began, as if she were rehearsing an old, tired story.

            “My husband was called John. We met in high school. We married very young –I was just finishing a two year college course in accounting; he was going on to university. I worked; he studied. I had a child very soon. He tended the child and studied, while I went back to work. He graduated as a computer scientist. We were comfortable. Our loving became not so often; we had no second child. We were good friends. We were partners. He was a good father. We enjoyed many things together. I had no complaints about our life for twenty years.

            “Then John had cancer. He became more and more ill. Little by little he became my charge, my patient. More and more I was his nurse, not his wife. Our son was grown, he had moved out of the house and had a wife of his own. I was alone with my husband and his illness.” Sara stopped talking; she was looking at something he couldn’t see, in a space where he was not. Storm reached out to touch her. She flinched under his hand.

            “And finally?”

            “Finally, the cancer took him. He died. I didn’t want to stay there afterward, so I’m here.” She moved restlessly as though to get up; she didn’t want to say any more, it was clear. Still he needed to know more. She had told him only facts. He needed to know what she had felt.

            “And so he faded away?  Or was it sudden, that you were taken by surprise?” Storm tried to lighten the question with a joke. “My friends tease me about the widow who is a husband-killer, who poisons her husband…”

            Sara jerked away from his hand, turning to face him. Her face was twisted with anger.

            “Your friends tease you about this? Make light of death and suffering? And what do they know?” She flamed at him. “What do they know of the man who begs for poison to end his life?  What do you and your friends, singing in your karaoke bars, drinking your Tsing Tao beers – what do you know of the slow death in life, the pain that no drug can ease? What do you know of the wife who must witness the suffering day by day and must decide in the long dark nights how much longer it has to go on?.”

            Storm was stunned. He had thought only of his friends’ casual teasing–he hadn’t thought of Sara’s pain. A darkness had opened, different from his own darkness, equally fearsome. He reached to comfort, to pacify her.

            “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Your husband….” It hurt him to use the word. She was his. The thought of her having been with another man stabbed at him. Yet he couldn’t leave it. “He was ill – how long?”

            Sara turned from him, her head bowed, voice low: “The cancer, at first we didn’t recognize it. Maybe for six months he had pain, but he thought it was because of too much exercise – he had always gone running in the morning, played tennis in the evening;  we thought he had some muscle tear, maybe a tendon gone wrong. But no. It was a cancer, lung cancer, and it had spread. Another year went by. There were many treatments, painful, harsh treatments, but no relief, no cure. At the end  he was in and out of coma, struggling for breath, as if he were drowning. Who would want to prolong this?”

            “And so?” He must hear the end.

            “And so. There was a time when the nurse said that I could force him to take the pills that would extend his life. I could send him to the hospital that would extend his life. Or I could keep him at home, sit by him, stroke his face, talk to him and ease his leaving. He could end in his home, with his wife and his son at his side. Yes, I let him die. I didn’t poison him, but I didn’t give him the medicine that would have kept him alive, in pain, for maybe weeks more.

            “He died at home. There was no doctor. There were questions afterward, yes. There were policemen. The neighbors gossiped, yes. Your friends aren’t the first to accuse me of being a husband-killer. People I thought were my friends, who knew me.” Her face twisted again, this time fighting tears. “But if I let him die, it wasn’t from lack of love.”

            She raised her eyes to Storm’s. They were dark with pain. “Did I do wrong?  Would your friends say I did wrong? Do you say this was wrong?”            

            Storm said nothing, but pulled her to him.

               Later, she slept. Storm lay awake, not wanting to leave her yet, putting off the moment of easing out of the warm bed, finding his clothes, knowing she would wake, would murmur something soft, rise to throw on her robe and see him to the door. He lay awake next to her asleep while he thought of what he had not said.

            To a Chinese a long life is the greatest of the four great blessings. Some part of Storm was deeply horrified at Sara’s confession of failure to prolong her husband’s life as long as possible. As long as one was living, the wheel of fate could always turn once more, bringing new prosperity, new esteem, new descendants. Storm had never thought of questioning this basic belief. It was so deeply ingrained in him that he had not even known he believed it, until this night.

            He lay listening to Sara’s even breathing. She had spoken of pain that couldn’t be eased. His grandparents had spoken of colleagues who had killed themselves during the Ten Years Turmoil, to escape the beatings, the humiliation, the torture. A long life had not tempted them. Wasn’t this defiance of fate? His grandparents had survived and now, he thought, were content. What if someone, a loving son or daughter maybe, had been by to help them end their lives? 

            Sara had mentioned to him once that in America everyone was entitled to pursue happiness, as if happiness were some sort of magical beast one had to hunt and capture. In China, if one had health, wealth, esteem, and an established line of descendants, it was assumed that happiness would follow without any special pursuit. As he turned this idea in his mind, Sara stirred. She opened her eyes, saw him sitting up in the bed and reached out to touch his arm.

            “Ni yu kuai ma? Are you happy?” Storm asked, not knowing why. She had let her husband die.

            “Yu kuai. Yes.”  No hesitation.

            “Hao. Good.” He bent to kiss her shoulder, pushing his misgivings away. It was good for now. A long life against joy – maybe for today he didn’t need to bargain.

Fox Spirit 52 – The Poisoned Dart

July 1999

Storm

               Despite the heat outside and the inadequate air conditioning inside, the crowd was no less than usual at the Jiu Jin Shan Wine Bar. Bright Liu and Trueheart Zhang waited, defending the empty seat in the corner booth , but Storm Cheng was late. “Bah!” muttered Trueheart, grinding a cigarette out in the nearly-filled ash tray. “Surely that waiguoren is indeed huli jing. She’s sapped his qi just like the fox spirits of the old stories. The tenth anniversary of 6-4 has come and gone and he didn’t do a thing.”

            “What would you have had him do?” asked Bright. “You also did nothing. I did nothing. In Beijing it was too soon after Kosovo. The students rallied to support the government against the American treachery, so they weren’t ready to protest against the government or to ask for American-style freedoms.”

            Trueheart moved restlessly. “In Hong Kong there was a candle-light protest and there was a march.”

            “But we aren’t in Hong Kong,” Bright interrupted. “And in Beijing the government had already taken steps. While everyone was talking of Kosovo, the leaders of the Democracy party were arrested. Those who spoke of a 6-4 memorial in Beijing and in Shanxi were arrested also and sent away, no one knows where.   Perhaps…”

            Storm Cheng slid into the empty space in the corner booth. Trueheart gave him an angry glance, then used the pause to interrupt Bright.

            “Perhaps what? Perhaps our country will change magically into the perfect socialist state?   The gap between rich and poor will be just enough to promote ambition but not enough to cause bitterness?  Every child will have the same opportunity to learn, to be healthy, to be valued?  Every old person will live in respected comfort?  This won’t happen magically! We must…”

            “Yes, yes, you are right,” interrupted Bright, holding up one hand to stop the flow of angry words. “Only, perhaps nursing these old wounds from the past isn’t the best way to move forward. Perhaps…”

            “Perhaps! Perhaps! Always ‘perhaps’!” Perhaps we should adopt Cheng’s solution,” Trueheart said bitterly, throwing a sidelong glance at his friend. “If we each take one foreigner as a model and guide, we will learn, at least, how to look and sound more American, even if we don’t have American privileges. You, Liu, can eat hamburgers and pizza every day with your tourists, Cheng will perfect his English with his widow friend, and I will spend my time looking for capitalist accounting tricks to keep our company in the black.”  He fumbled for a cigarette, lit it, inhaled deeply and let out a cloud of smoke.

            Bright and Storm waited, letting the smoke from Trueheart’s fresh cigarette drift toward the open window. When Trueheart was truly silent, Bright spoke softly. “We don’t have only two choices. And tryng old solutions over and over is as useless as nursing old wounds. As Deng said “wang qian kan – look to the future”

            “Ha! You and Cheng quoting Deng Xiao Ping.”   Trueheart flourished his cigarette emphatically. “I have heard these words differently. – “Wang qian kan” can also be translated “look to the money”!  We are all distracted by the opportunity to get ‘gloriously rich’ and we forget…”

            Storm leaned forward suddenly and gripped Trueheart’s wrist, forcing the cigarette down to the table, forcing silence. “It isn’t that you forget, Zhang, but that you have never known the pain of hunger. You have never known the exhaustion of hard labor. It is too easy for you to demand change. Change is happening all around and you don’t see it.”

            “What change is this?” Trueheart was rigid in Cheng’s grasp. “People are still being arrested, beaten, sent down. What happened to your parents is still happening.”

            “Our laws are less than twenty years old – younger than you or me,” Storm answered. “Only after the Cultural Revolution did we have any national law – we’re still practicing how to practice it. You must agree that the rule of law is better than the trial by mob during the Turmoil.”

            “This law”, Trueheart scoffed, “this rule of law still allows the government to arrest anyone and send them to a labor camp, with no trial, no evidence. We still have no protection…”

            “But before, this punishment was permanent. Now, after no more than three years there has to be a trial.” Cheng released his grip. “You don’t agree that the law is better?  Or do you want us to adopt a British or American system, like in Hong Kong?  I thought you didn’t want China to become too American.”

            Trueheart rubbed his wrist where Storm had gripped it. “Cheng, I wouldn’t have thought, after our time together, that you would be so… so…”

            “So willing to disagree with you? So unwilling to disrupt my life at your call?”

            “Ah, yes, your life is now with the American widow.”  Trueheart picked up his cigarette, blew a smoke ring and flicked a finger to disperse the shape. He looked sideways at Storm, a sarcastic smile twisting his thin lips. “A widow – a husband-killer – you don’t fear? Her late husband, he doesn’t haunt you?  What are the circumstances of his death? This doesn’t concern you?  They say of widows they carry bad luck. This doesn’t bother you?”

            Storm glared at Trueheart. “These superstitions have nothing to do with today. Why parrot these old beliefs!”

            “Oh, not to worry – I’m only remembering what the old tales tell – of course this has nothing to do with us modern Chinese.”  He stubbed out his cigarette and rose from the table. Storm rose also, glaring. Trueheart turned on his heel and elbowed his way out of the bar.

            Storm looked down at Bright, who was staring speechless at the empty space where Trueheart had been. Storm sat down again heavily, reached for Trueheart’s abandoned beer and drained it dry.

             A few nights later, as Storm and Sara lay tangled together in a warm post-coital haze, the words spurted out. “Your husband – your late husband – what happened?”

Fox Spirit 51 – Different masks

Storm’s face was unsmiling as he looked at her. “I think it will make a difference for a long time. We thought that the American government was better than others, that it set a shining example we could strive for. When the students protested on 6/4, they built a copy of the American Statue of Liberty as their symbol. Now we see this murder, with no real apology, no one paying a price, and we know that we were too idealistic. The American government, for all its talk of human rights and international law, is no better than others. Maybe no worse, but still, no better. It is a very hard lesson for us.”

            Sara’s heart sank within her. She felt as though a shield of protection had been removed, one that she had not known she had. She moved to touch Storm again. “And me, also.”

            “And you also.  You Americans talk of your government speaking for you, working for you, as if you believe your government mirrors your people. I think once you understand what happened you will be as hurt as I am, because we both expected more from America.”

            “Yes.”  Sara could think of nothing more to say. She suspected that if she were reading of this bombing in her home in Santa Flora, in an American newspaper, she would probably have accepted without question the story of its being an accident. She would have dismissed as paranoia or propaganda the anger of the Chinese. But from this side of the ocean, and with Storm, the view was different. The NATO story seemed too thin, the American response too fast, too perfunctory. But the “technical difficulties” which had blacked out the international news for 24 hours after the event, that too seemed an unlikely coincidence. In this duel of governments, which was the side of truth?

            A few days later, the trouble was as if it had never been. The protests ended abruptly. Traffic moved freely around the US embassy. Banners and placards disappeared from the walls around Tiananmen Square.

July 1999

Sara

            In full summer the hot winds blew into Beijing across the western desert, unchecked by the mountains to the north. They brought dust – endless red dust, unrelenting dust, penetrating every crack in every window, coating the sills, covering the counters, clogging the scarf which Sara used to cover her face in a vain attempt to protect her eyes and nostrils from the grit.

            The office was a little better, as it had been built with air conditioning and computer operations in mind. The caulking was a little better; the air conditioning more powerful than the window unit in her apartment, but Sara now regretted her windowed cubicle with the endless rattle of wind-driven grit sand-blasting the panes. She had arrived two years ago just at the end of the summer;  last year she had been so absorbed in her new passion for Storm that she had not noticed the weather. Now it seemed as though the hot dust would blow on forever.

            “Perhaps we could have a vacation, hao bu hao?” Sara asked Storm as they shared a rare lunch break together. “We could go somewhere out of Beijing, maybe to the ocean?  I’ve been reading about Qing Dao – where the beer comes from. It sounds nice, and not dusty!”

            Storm gave her a quick glance and returned to his rice bowl. “Vacation?  You’d like a vacation?  You should speak with Liu – as a tour guide of course he can arrange something for you.”

            Had he misunderstood her idea? She tried again.  “But I meant ‘us’, you and me going somewhere together. Wouldn’t it be good to escape this dust and heat of Beijing?  For you it’s maybe not so bad, you can go to Shanghai or Suzhou on business, but I haven’t been out of the city further than the Great Wall since I arrived,  almost two years!  I should see more of China – for better understanding, dui ma?”

            “Certainly the more you see of China the more you will understand,” Storm replied in an unemotional tone, not meeting her eyes. “It will be good for you to go to Qing Dao, or to Shanghai – and you are right, it will be less dusty there.”

            “Still you say “ni” – you, instead of “women” – us. What is the problem?  Are you so busy that you can’t leave even for a long weekend?  I haven’t seen so much activity, but maybe a big opportunity is coming?” Sara smiled, trying to lighten her words.

            “No, not so busy. But traveling together would be difficult. I don’t think we can take a vacation together. Maybe in America it could be done, but not in China.”

            “You mean, because we aren’t married?”

            He nodded without speaking.

            “I don’t understand. We’re both grown up; we have no-one who will be checking.”  She thought of Auntie Chen. “Are you saying that we would have to prove we’re married in order to travel together?”

            “Maybe not travel, but certainly a problem with staying together overnight. I think this would be very difficult in a Chinese hotel, without some document.”

            “Well, we could check into separate rooms and then meet. This is done often in the US – maybe too often.”  Again she tried to lighten the conversation, but he didn’t smile.

            “I don’t think we could do this. It would be difficult even to check into the same hotel. You know some hotels are only for foreigners, where Chinese can come only if they have business with a guest. And the hotels for Chinese – I’m not sure you would like these. They aren’t what you’re used to.”

            Sara recognized Chinese evasion by now. “Difficult” meant “impossible”, “not sure” meant “surely not.” She tried to curb her irritation. “Storm, I’ve lived in Beijing now for almost two years. How can you think I wouldn’t be able to enjoy a Chinese hotel in Qing Dao?”

            “Dui bu qi – excuse me, I expressed myself badly.”

            Sara stiffened at the formal expression of apology. Surely there was something here she didn’t understand. She waited until her silence forced Storm to raise his head and look at her directly. “It isn’t that the hotel wouldn’t be all right. But the attention you’d receive there – this I think you wouldn’t like. For a foreign woman to stay in a hotel meant for Chinese – this would be very unusual. And there would be no chance at all for us to meet secretly. All eyes would be on you, and maybe also on me as your companion. I think this would be very uncomfortable for you.”

            Sara felt tears prickling behind her eyelids – she had not realized how much she had hoped to escape from Beijing’s dust with Storm at her side. She turned away to blink the tears back and then turned back to him, forcing a smile. “I hadn’t thought of how unusual it would be. You are right; we couldn’t avoid attention. Maybe if I changed my hair color to black?”

            He smiled at her, recognizing her effort to hide her disappointment. “You wouldn’t dare to do that, huli jing. Where would your magic go?”  He paused. “Maybe we could go to the movie tonight?  There it‘s cool, and not much dust, because no windows at all, hao bu hao?”

            “Yes, that would be good.”  She knew he was trying to ease her disappointment and tried to match his effort. I’m  becoming Chinese, hiding my feelings with polite words. Where will this end? Can this be good? But these thoughts didn’t reach her eyes, much less her lips.

Fox Spirit 50 – Who is to Blame? Who is to Pay?

Sara and Storm stared at each other like two fencers pausing with swords up before the next engagement.

            “Is it possible,” she suggested in a quieter tone, “that some people in the Chinese foreign service could be spies?”

            “Whether these people were spies or not spies, there were procedures to be addressed. There are rules for embassies. Your government…” he forestalled her interruption. “Your military didn’t follow the rules. Even a war, even a ‘police action’, has rules, yes?”

            “So, is it according to the rules then that the Chinese surround the US Embassy and throw rocks?” she flared back.

            “Oh, that.” He dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “That was exactly by the rules.” 

            His expression softened as he looked at her. “Won’t you try to explain to me?  I promise to listen, Sara. It isn’t you I want to fight.”

            Sara tried to gather her thoughts, make sense of what seemed senseless. “You don’t believe in human stupidity?  I find it easy to believe. Stupidity and the wrong tools. The army isn’t set up to hit only selective targets – they’re used to machine guns, total destruction,  not rifle shots. To drop a bomb from an airplane and expect it to hit this building, not that one? Can technology do that?  Even with a good map?  Has your government, your army, never made a stupid mistake?”

             Storm’s lips twitched with humor. “Ah, there you have me. But we’re accustomed to our own government. In our idealism, we expect better things from America.”  He sighed, his eyes distant, his thoughts elsewhere. Sara saw with relief that the heat of his anger had passed when he spoke again:

            “As a good Buddhist I should say it is all in the mind of God:  their deaths, the crafted response, even my flare of feeling. Only shadows on a wall.”

            She moved to him with regained confidence and stroked the line of his cheekbone gently. “Shadows don’t make love. They merge,” Sara said softly.

            Storm caught her hand and held it against his cheek. “That is so.”

            They stood together in silence, until a wave of shouting from the street outside the courtyard broke the spell. Storm pulled back to look anxiously at Sara.

            “But what will you do?  You can’t go out on the streets. With your hair you won/t be safe.”

            “Not safe?  How not safe?  I’ve never been afraid in Beijing.”

            “Ah, normally you needn’t be. Your foreignness is your shield and protection normally. But now isn’t normal.  I’m not the only person made angry by this “accident.”  The students are surrounding the US Embassy and our government doesn’t prevent them. Now your foreignness is a curse. There are crowds in the streets looking for Westerners to attack; you mustn’t go out.”

            “But how can I eat?  How can I work?”

            “Even Boss Wang wouldn’t ask you to risk your life. I can bring food if you don’t have enough today. The demonstrations will last only as long as the government allows them. It shouldn’t be too long.”

            “Do you mean the government is behind these demonstrations?”

            “How do you mean ‘behind’?  Did the government create the anger?  No, it’s real. Could the government prevent the demonstrations?  Yes, always. The government allows protest only when it serves the government’s purpose. It’s good to allow the anger of the people to show itself, and for the US embassy people to feel some of the fear and uncertainty that was felt by our people in Kosovo. But life must continue and business must be conducted in this human world. After their first anger is spent, the people, even the students, won’t want to offend our best customer, the United States. When those who dropped the bombs have been executed, the anger will be satisfied.”

            “’Executed’?” Sara thought she must have misheard him. “For a mistake not their fault?  They followed orders with bad information. I don’t think they’ll be executed.”

            “Not?  Then the ones who supplied the false maps must be executed. You are right; that is more just. The soldier shouldn’t suffer for the commander’s error.”

            “But if the maps were the newest they had?” Sara protested. ”Is the supplier to blame if they were old?”

            “You have a good point: those who should have supplied up to date information should be executed;   they failed in their job. That is the best outcome.”

             “Must someone be executed?” Sara objected.  “Can’t they be demoted, or fired?  Execution isn’t so common in the American army.”

            Storm looked at her sternly. “Three Chinese died because of this error. This isn’t a trivial fault. If no one bears the blame, then your country loses face in the world and my country loses face because yours trifled with the lives of our people.  If there’s no consequence for this failure, how can we feel your government is sincere in its apology?  Wrong was done, fault was committed. To keep balance, blame must be assigned and atonement must follow. Don’t you agree?

            Sara felt helpless against this ruthless insistence on parity of suffering. In defense she changed the subject:

            “I can wear a hat.”

            “What?” He recoiled in surprise.

            “I can wear a hat when I go out. And dark glasses to hide my Western eyes.”

            Disarmed, Storm smiled at her. “You are becoming too Chinese. You don’t want to disagree, so you change the subject. This is a very good strategy. But I don’t understand why you want to protect the doers of evil.”

            “And I cannot understand how you, a Buddhist, can be so insistent on taking a life.”

            Storm paused, his eyes focused on some distant thought.  Then he sighed. “I have been a Chinese man longer than I have been a Buddhist. Our tradition demands atonement for wrongdoing. The best would be for the wrong-doer to kill himself out of shame. This preserves the face of his community. If he doesn’t kill himself, then the community has to deal with the shame in some other way.  I think your religion is more inclined toward punishment from the outside. You say ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’   I think this is more cruel than our way.”

            “In later writing our religion teaches us ‘If a man strikes you on one cheek, turn the other cheek to him. Return good for evil.”

            “Ah, this is asking every man to be a Buddha. We strive for this, yet only the saints can reach this level. At least in China. Maybe in the US it’s easier?

            Sara relaxed at the irony in his tone. The worst was over. Her own voice was calmer as she returned to the practical problems facing her, “Well, no. We act according to the older rule as often as the later one…. So you think it’s not safe for an American on the street. How long will I be a prisoner in my house?”

            “I think only a few days. The government is supporting the protests in Beijing now. The people in other cities are also protesting, especially the students. We Chinese don’t understand why the country we admired so much has done this thing.”

            “One foolish mistake, whether from the military or from the government who directed the military – will it stop your admiration for America, your friendship with Americans?” She found that she was holding her breath for his answer.

Fox Spirit 49- Another Point of View

 

昨夜 井 惊 闻 聚 雨狂， 辜 民 何 事 竟 成 殃

身 随 碧 血 宵 声 远, 魂 祭 幽 乡 梦 影 长。

箭 作 流 星 犹 可御， 心如 暗 害 更 难 防。

休 凭 片 谱 瞒 四海， 吾是中州识 字郎。

                              -陈立强 (1999)

 

 Last night’s news struck me like a storm of rain;

            In time, won’t the guilty know this pain?

Life ebbs in waves of blood; far voices cry;

            In shadowy distant lands our patriots die.

An arrow in its flight can be deflected;

            But how against a treacherous heart protected?

A sea of words can’t hide this villainy,

            I am a Chinese man with eyes to see.

                               -Chen Li Qiang (1999)

US bombs Chinese Embassy in Kosovo

May 7, 1999 – On May 7, 1999 during the Kosovo War five US JDAM bombs hit the People’s Republic of China Embassy in the Belgrade, Yugoslavia district of New Belgrade, killing three PRC citizens and outraging the Chinese public. President Bill Clinton later apologized for the bombing, stating it was accidental. In sworn testimony before a congressional committee, CIA director George Tenet later admitted the strike on the Chinese embassy was the only one in the Kosovo campaign organized and directed by his agency, though he still claimed it was not deliberate.

                                                “U.S. bombing of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade,” summary from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

A scene at the Combined Air Operations Center (COAC) at Vicenza on the morning of May 8 was described: “British, Canadian and French air targeteers rounded on an American colonel on the morning of 8 May. Angrily they denounced the ‘cock-up’. The US colonel was relaxed. ‘Bullshit,’ he replied to the complaints. ‘That was great targeting … we put two JDAMs down into the attaché’s office and took out the exact room we wanted … they (the Chinese) won’t be using that place for rebro (re-broadcasting radio transmissions) any more, and it will have given that bastard Arkan a headache’.”

The true story – though it is being denied by everyone from [Secretary of State Madeline] Albright, Foreign Secretary Robin Cook and CIA director George Tenet down – is that the Americans knew exactly what they are doing. The Chinese Embassy in Belgrade was deliberately targeted by the most precise weapons in the US arsenal because it was being used by Zeljko Raznatovic, the indicted war criminal better known as Arkan, to transmit messages to his `Tigers’ – Serb death squads – in Kosovo.

                     “The Observer,” Manchester Guardian, November 27, 1999

=====

May 1999

Sara

            On Friday evening, the first weekend in May, Sara waited for Storm’s knock on her door. They were to meet with Trueheart Zhang, Bright Liu and Jade Wang, then find a meal for the group together. Sara had grown confident of her place in the group; she was used to sparring with Zhang, being soothed by Bright, sharing meaningful glances and occasionally rolled eyes with Jade when the men’s talk became too involved with sports or politics. She hummed to herself as she brushed her hair – maybe they would do karaoke again. Her telephone rang.

            Storm spoke urgently as soon as Sara picked up the phone: “Sara, I can’t come tonight; there is too much anger in the streets.  I’ll come tomorrow. Don’t go out. Promise me you won’t go out.”

            “What is it?  Why shouldn’t I go out?  What’s wrong?

            “I’m trying to find out the truth. It’s hard to get news – they say “technical problem.”  I’ll know more when I come. But don’t go out, promise me! You have food, you have water – don’t go out!”

            “I promise. I will wait. But…” The phone disconnected.

            Sara became aware of distant shouting, chanting, from beyond the university buildings. She couldn’t make out what was being said, but the sound grew louder, moving down the main street outside. As she looked from her window she saw people walking quickly across the entrance to the courtyard, some running, some carrying placards. They were too far away for Sara to make out what the placards said. What could it be?  Why should she not go out to see?  She had promised Storm. Maybe only as far as Auntie Chen’s corner. She paced back and forth, torn between her curiosity and her promise. She tried for internet news on her computer, but the CNN news was not available – Chinese news made no mention of troubles. She ate cold food, tried to read, listening always to the distant shouts of the mob outside the university walls.  She slept uneasily.

            In the morning CNN was again available, but with a Chinese commentary over-riding the audio. There was something about bombing an embassy, people killed, and an apology from the US. There was film of a smoking building and a street map, but she couldn’t understand from the rapid Chinese what city was shown. Then there was film of Chinese people rioting, surrounding a building – was this here in Beijing? She was struggling with the unfamiliar names when a knock came at her door and Storm shouldered his way into the room, eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, lips tight.

            Sara seized his arm. “What’s happened?  What did you mean by ‘anger in the streets’?  Why can’t I go out?”

            He shrugged her hand aside roughly. “It’s simple. Your people have attacked mine. Your US army, hiding behind the flag of NATO, has bombed our embassy and killed our people. What do you say about ‘fairness’ now?”

            Sara was astonished. “Bombed the embassy?  Here?  In Beijing?”

            “In Kosovo,” Storm replied impatiently. “We Chinese are working with the NATO forces in Serbia trying to save lives, and our supposed allies bombed the Chinese embassy.  Cowards!  To strike from the air with no warning, to kill innocent people only because they were serving their country in a place where your country claimed interest – and then to apologize as if one had done no more than step on someone’s foot on the subway!  Do they take us for fools?  The greatest military power in the world – this what you tell us all the time – the greatest military power in the world is using obsolete maps? How do you expect us to believe this?”

            Sara still didn’t understand. She had only a hazy notion of what was happening on the other side of the world, of the UN intervention in Serbia, of US and Chinese involvement. She tried to put the pieces together in her mind as Storm strode up and down the room gesturing with his long fingers, pounding one fisted hand into his palm, tossing his black hair back from his eyes. Through her confusion she thought how beautiful he was in his anger, how catlike in his movement, like a panther.

            He stopped in front of her. “But you say nothing. How could this have been an accident?” 

            “I don’t know”, she answered, flustered by how her mind had wandered. “I don’t know any details; I can’t make sense of the news report. I suppose I would rather believe our country is run by fools than by villains.”

            “Maybe not either. Maybe soldiers following orders that had a purpose.”

            “What purpose could there be?” Sara protested. “It was an embassy, not a military target!”

            Storm dismissed her objection with a wave of his hand. “I have heard rumors. They say   some embassies are also centers for communication, some public, some secret. ”

            “What could be communicated from a Chinese embassy in Yugoslavia of any value?” Sara was embarrassed as soon as she had spoken. “I’m sorry,” she said humbly. “I’m not very good at geography. Or politics.”

             “Yugoslavia is next to Albania.” Storm explained as if speaking to a student. “Albania is a long-time ally of China. Certainly the collapse of the government of Yugoslavia would create opportunities for this ally just as perhaps for some Western countries. Power flows into a vacuum, who knows what power?”

             “Now you are arguing on the side of the bomber,” Sara objected. But her comment only renewed Storm’s indignation.

            “Am I?  Would you now approve this murder only because it’s no longer senseless?

            Sara shook her head and hesitated before replying. “No, I wouldn’t, but I would be angry for a different reason, perhaps.”

            “Wouldn’t they still be villains?  Or would you say ‘The end justifies the means’?”  To keep Yugoslavia from Albanian control – a few lives – no more than die each day in a car accident in a small city – not so important.”

            “Stop!  You know I don’t think like that!”

            “Do I?  Sometimes I don’t know what you Westerners think.”

            Sara seized his arm and pulled Storm around to face her. “I’m not “you Westerners’!  I’m Sara!  Me!  One person!  Why are you suddenly tying me to my whole country?”

Fox Spirit 48 – Turn of the Wheel

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Fox Spirit 47 – Gone and Returned

December 1998

Storm

            The insult to his manhood.  The loss of face to a woman. If any of his friends knew she had challenged him, thrown him out into the cold. The memory stung. 

             It had been a month since Storm had changed his schedule to avoid Sara at the office. The strategy had worked; he hadn’t seen her. Then it struck him that her cubicle had been unchanged for a week. The chair hadn’t been moved. There was dust. Finally he asked Scarlet Li, “Where is Mei Le Taitai?  I’ve seen no sign of her being here.”

            Scarlet Li looked at Storm with feigned surprise. “I thought you weren’t interested any more in Manager Miller’s comings and goings!”

            “I was just asking.”  He turned away, embarrassed.

            “But she’s gone. I thought you knew.”

            “Gone!”  He could not hide his stricken look from Scarlet Li.

            “Relax,” she said, laughing. “Only for the Christmas holiday. She left early this year, to visit her brother as well as her son. She’ll return at the New Year, I think.”

            He gave up all pretense of indifference. “You think?  You’re not sure?  Maybe she won’t return. Maybe her family will keep her.”

            Scarlet Li shrugged. “There’s always a chance that she won’t return. Many Americans come to Beijing to work and leave after a year when the newness wears off. But she said to Boss Wang that she’ll be come back. I think once Manager Miller has said she’ll do something, the thing will be done. Don’t you agree?”

            Storm thought of their quarrel and nodded, not looking at Scarlet. “I must agree to that.”

            “So, you’ve quarreled. Maybe each of you has said there’s something you will do, or not do. So one of you must bend. Which will it be?  The pine tree breaks in the storm; the reed survives.”

            Storm scowled, more at himself than at his interlocutor. “Enough, Scarlet Li, I already have a mother.”  He turned back to his cubicle. Scarlet Li called after him, “You won’t talk about this with your mother, Storm.”  He didn’t answer.

 

            He couldn’t forget the feeling of her, the electricity of her tangled hair, the light fuzz on her outer arm, her pale face tinted pink by the sun, the silky smoothness of the skin of her inner thigh, where no eyes had seen, no sun had struck – the secret places where he dared not look even as his fingers explored, the small sounds she made in response to his explorations. He couldn’t stop remembering. Would he be a pine tree, or a reed?

January 1999

Sara

            Arriving again at the Beijing Capitol Airport, Sara felt like a veteran traveler. She got through the baggage claim and customs smoothly, juggling bags full of New Year’s gifts for her office mates, and emerged into the semi-darkness of the meeting area, clogged as usual with buses and tour groups, even in the un-welcoming winter. She’d told Jerry Wang and Scarlet Li when to expect her, but had no word of whether they would meet her – perhaps they felt that by now she was indeed a veteran and could handle getting herself to Bei Hua. She sighed and gave one last look about before heading to the taxi queue. Then she saw Storm, coming toward her from the shadows. She stood still as he approached, his eyes never leaving her face. Somehow their hands met.

            Sara spoke first. “It’s still winter – still very cold. Yet you have come.”

            “Without you, spring will never come. When I see you, it’s already spring.”

            The airport was festive with red and gold decorations for the New Year. Families clumped together, people were saying goodbye and reuniting, amid a constant babble of excited talk. Sara and Storm saw nothing, heard nothing, as they moved through the bustle to the taxi stand – each conscious only of the other’s shoulder just touching. All that might have been said was contained in the simplicity of their being together again.

Fox Spirit 46 – Rabbits Return

            Sara’s worries about Mark and Rennie were only confirmed seeing their life at first hand.  Rennie took Richie to day care, brought him home, bathed and fed him, leaving little for Mark to do as a father but read a story and kiss Richie goodnight. At the same time she complained that Mark didn’t give her enough help.

            Sara’s offers to bathe, feed, or take Richie for a walk were met with polite or not-so-polite evasions: “He likes his bath just the same every night.”  “If you get him worked up he won’t sleep.” “He’s such a picky eater already,  I’m afraid he won’t eat for you.” “It’s time for his nap now; he would just melt down on you if you tried to take him for a walk.”  Christmas dinner at Jasper’s house was stilted, with almost no mention of what Christmas morning had been like at the Cavallo’s.

            On Boxing Day Sara insisted on taking Mark, Rennie and Richie out to eat at a Chinese restaurant. Rennie was dubious. “He’ll fuss while we wait for the food, he won’t eat anything; then he’ll wake up hungry in the night. Why don’t just you and Mark go?  I’ll stay with Richie.”

            Sara over-ruled her. “At Chinese restaurants the food comes quickly.   Richie will get white rice before he has a chance to get bored, and he can eat dumplings and chicken bits and fortune cookies from our plates. Let’s give him a chance – and yourself too!  I want you to come. This is my treat, please.” At the restaurant Sara took care to have Richie next to her in his high chair with his parents out of arm’s reach across the table.  Richie began to squirm a bit as they waited for their orders to be taken. Rennie half-rose from her seat but Sara forestalled her. “Let me be a grandma.”

            The restaurant had big white linen napkins. Sara remembered another fussy child and quickly folded the napkin into a friendly bunny and brought it hopping along the table toward Richie. He giggled and stretched out his hands toward the new friend.

            “How did you do that?” asked Rennie.

            “A Chinese friend showed me, at a picnic. Shall I show you how to make a rabbit in case of emergencies?”

            Rennie laughed, seeming to relax almost for the first time since Sara’s arrival. “I need all the tricks I can find,” 

            The relaxed atmosphere held until the end of the meal. But when Sara rose to follow Rennie and Richie from the table, she found her coat was caught underneath the leg of a neighboring chair. She turned to ask the adjacent diner to move her chair and found herself eye to eye with her former neighbor, Helen Ryan. “Excuse me,” said Sara in her most formal voice. “Mrs. Ryan, you are encroaching on my coat.”

            “I beg your pardon,” her former neighbor responded in icy tones. “I certainly had no wish to detain you anywhere near me, Mrs. Miller, especially when I am eating.” She looked at Sara as she might have viewed a cockroach crawling across the table.

            Sara was pale with anger. She glanced quickly at the Ryan’s table and turned to Mark, waiting behind her. Her voice was low, but carried easily to the Ryan’s table. “Mark, in China I was told that if a customer in a Chinese restaurant is particularly rude or annoying, the waiter will spit in the soup. Of course, egg flower soup is particularly tempting.” She donned her coat with a flourish and left the Ryans staring at their soup bowls.

            When they reached the restaurant lobby Mark burst out laughing and gave Sara a hug. “That was brilliant, Mom. That harridan! If it had been her husband I would have called him out, but you just smiled sweetly while you slipped the knife in her ribs.”

            Yes, Sara thought. I’ve learned something about masks in China.

            Mark kept his arm around Sara. “This was a good evening, Mom. I’ve missed you a lot, and Rennie, she needs to get to know you like you were tonight. How long are you going to stick with this Beijing thing?”

            Sara frowned and pulled away. ”Didn’t you see what just happened?  When your Dad died, there was the inquest; the neighbors barely would talk to me; Rennie would barely let me in the house. And even now – it’s been almost two years and you heard Helen Ryan.”

            Mark dismissed her words with a wave of his hand. “Rennie’s coming around. And Helen Ryan, well, she won’t be any better friend after tonight, but she’s just that way. I hadn’t expected you to be an absentee grandma.” Sara felt stricken. It had never occurred to her that Mark might feel abandoned, might need her support. An uneasy memory of her anger at Grace Cheng stirred. She pushed it firmly away.

            “So, tell me,” Mark went on. “Is your life in Beijing so great?”

               A chill entered Sara’s mind as she thought of her return to Beijing. At least she was needed for now at Rainbow Software, but once they were better established would Jerry Wang decided he didn’t need an American Face any more? And being there without having Storm. Tears prickled in her eyes. Maybe she should arrange for more time at the Children’s Palace, where she wouldn’t be reminded of him. At least, the children would be happy to see her. She would take some new books and tapes to share with them. She wanted to teach them some more songs. When Mark was in kindergarten she had taught his class “The fox went out on a chilly night….” Storm had called her huli jing, fox spirit. Storm….

            “Mom?” Mark’s anxious voice brought her back to where she was. “Earth to Mom!  Where did you go? I didn’t mean to…”

            “It’s all right, sweet.” Sara hurried to reassure him. “I just was thinking how it’s good to know you want me to come back. I was so lost here, and then I thought I could be at home in Beijing. Now I’m not sure.” She thought of her empty apartment at Bei Hai and Storm’s angry face as he had left her, “I’ll have to see how the winter goes. And my house is leased through next September, so there would be a lot to arrange.”  

            Mark grinned as he scooped his mother into another bear hug. “You can be persuaded. Betcha you don’t get hugs like this in Beijing!”

            “I certainly don’t,” Sara laughed. But her eyes went distant again as she remembered the embraces she had enjoyed in Beijing, and wondered whether she would ever enjoy them again.