“New Year for China” Feedback and Blowback

When my previous post “New Year for China” was published in the LATC, I hoped to get a letter or two of appreciation for my positive write-up of the the local celebration of the Chinese Lunar New Year and for my regrets about the deterioration of relations between China and the US over the past 20 years.

Here are the letters that came in.

And here was my published response :

Was my original writing really that muddled? Perhaps some readers had earlier bad experiences of Sinophobia, which made them sensitive to possible slights, implications, and innuendoes.

My granddaughter, as a toddler, was knocked over by an unleashed dog, and has been afraid of dogs ever since. Not unreasonable. But, I hope, overcomeable. No one should have to live on the alert for danger.

A Piece of My Mind: New Year for China (Los Altos Town Crier, March 6, 2024

Last weekend I happened by the local community center and saw a queue of parents and children waiting outside, many wearing bright red shirts, ribbons, or hats.  Other families were walking away, many with children waving brightly colored pinwheels or carrying red and gold balloon creations and bright red swag bags.  Of course, it was the community celebration of the Chinese Lunar New Year, the Year of the Dragon.

I was reminded of my trip to Hong Kong at the turn of the 21^st century. Hong Kong celebrated the Year of the Golden Dragon with fireworks, lanterns, and no apparent fear of the impending handover of the colony from British to Chinese jurisdiction.  

In those years I visited China several times for business and for pleasure. Deng Xiao Ping had opened the Bamboo Curtain in 1979, and twenty years later the Chinese tourist industry was booming, with Americans and other foreigners eager to walk on the Great Wall, stand face to face with the Terra Cotta Warriors in Xian, and shop on Shanghai’s Bund.  

Foreign investors  also lined up to enter the untapped market of Chinese consumers.  Jiang Zemin, General Secretary of the Communist Party as well as President of China during these years, promised that “the Chinese people will firmly and unswervingly follow the path of reform and opening up.” Lia Mingkang, a prominent financier of the time, foretold that “as economic freedoms expand, we are inevitably securing more social freedom and the ability to exchange the information and ideas we need to grow.”

Twenty years later, I have to wonder what went wrong. 

Tourism in China was completely shut down during the Covid-19 pandemic. Only in January of 2023, after nearly three years of closed borders, did China cancel all COVID-19 quarantine requirements and reopen the country for international travel. But visitors complain of the high degree of surveillance which prevails not only for tourists, but for ordinary citizens. 

The U.S. Department of State currently warns travelers to “reconsider travel” to mainland China “due to the arbitrary enforcement of local laws, including in relation to exit bans, and the risk of wrongful detentions.” The State Department classifies Hong Kong under a lesser warning, telling Americans to “avoid demonstrations”, “exercise caution in the vicinity of large gatherings or protests”, and “keep a low profile.”

Foreign direct investment into China shrank for the first time in over a decade in 2023, as Western governments discouraged reliance on Chinese-based supply chains. President Xi Jinping’s increasing focus on national security has also left many foreign companies uncertain about where they might step over the line of the law. Chinese entrepreneurs who have become too successful, particularly in social media, have had their businesses shuttered, their property confiscated, and even been jailed on suspicion of subversion. Foreign companies complain that their trade secrets have been copied by Chinese competitors.

Add to this reports of Chinese industrial pollution, oppression of cultural minorities, economic deflation, collapse of the housing market, population implosion, and the on-going threat to Taiwan. and  that golden time at the turn of the century seems like a fantasy.  Then I think of the bright colors and smiling faces at the LACC last weekend and I wonder – when our Chinese-born immigrants brought all this joy to us, did they leave enough behind?

Thanks to all who followed “Fox Spirit”

The story of Sara and Storm has come to a close. If “Fox Spirit” had gone viral, I had a sort-of-sequel in mind, but as its group of loyal fans was small I will leave that box closed, and your imaginations can have free play.

Some acknowledgements are appropriate:

Thanks to Chen Li Qiang, whose poetry partly inspired and partly guided me as the story evolved in real time.

Thanks to my friend and teacher Tang Tao whose instruction and encouragement enriched my understanding of Chinese culture and the barriers which would separate my two protagonists.

Thanks to my writing group – Radhika, Claire, Rosemary, Monica, and Richard, whose suggestions and questions helped make this first novel a lot better than it might have been.

And thanks to those whose comments as I put out segments of “Fox Spirit” fortified my resolve to put the whole story out there. 

(If you came to the story late and want to begin at the beginning – check my February 2023 archive and move forward in time from there.)

Best to all in 2024!

Fox Spirit 85 – The Last Piece

A week later Sara had had two interviews with a private high school looking for native-English-speakers as teacher, and a third with a university-associated elementary school, all through Dr. Bai’s guanxi. Both positions included housing, though not as spacious as her two-room plus bath at Beihai. But she was still waiting to see or hear from Storm again. She had had no message from him; she had spent hours imagining their next meeting. And then, sitting at her computer, she saw Storm’s distorted reflection in her computer screen. He stood behind her, silent. She could hear him breathing. There was no sound from Scarlet’s cubicle next door. Was she still getting coffee? 

            “I’m wondering,” he said quietly, “if you are hating me.”

            “No.” Hatred was not the feeling. But what to name it? Maybe, distrust. Maybe caution. She had never felt those with him before. He stretched out his hand. If he touched her she might flinch. She might melt. Part of her ached for him to touch her. And part not. If she turned around to look at him, he would touch her. She didn’t turn.

            “Sara, I want to talk with you. I’ve had time to think. Could we, maybe, today, find someplace quiet? Maybe have lunch together? Do you have plans?”

            So formal. Two weeks ago he would have known any plan she had.

            “No plans. We could have lunch. Maybe….” Did she want to offer?  Two weeks ago she would have offered in a heartbeat. Her heart was beating. He was waiting for her to finish her sentence.

            “We could get sandwiches from Tully’s and picnic. Or…” She took a breath. All or nothing. “… we could go to my place. It’s quiet there.”

            Storm nodded, straightening. “Yes. That would be perfect. We can talk there. I’ll pick up the sandwiches.”  She could see his smile in the reflection. It was distorted. His eyes were in shadow. She couldn’t read his expression. She heard warmth in his answer, and was it relief, too?  Not triumph. She was afraid it would be triumph, that he would think an invitation meant everything was all right. It wasn’t yet, but she realized how much she wanted it to be. At least, for as long as it could be.

            Storm moved away to his cubicle with all his usual grace. Sara drew a long breath and tried to remember what she had been doing.

            They left the office separately, met at the corner. He was holding the bag from Tully’s.

            “How have you been?”  His voice was carefully level. Was he also feeling more than he could show?  How could she answer him? She focused on her words, on not letting her voice shake.

            “Bu cuo. OK. Still a little bruised.”

            “Bruised?  I am sorry.”

            “Are you?”  She looked at him directly for the first time. His eyes fell.

            “Here comes our bus.” 

            Storm’s hand brushed her shoulder as he stretched out his arm to steady himself on the crowded bus. His touch was electric; the shock went straight to her center. She knew she still wanted him. Still felt him part of her. Something had changed, but the wanting had not.

            Neither of them said a word once they arrived at Sara’s door. The door opened, shut behind them, Storm put down the lunch bag and turned to her, touched her cheek, and they came together like two magnets. They staggered, still embracing, into the bedroom and fell together on the bed.

            Sara pulled back, began to speak, but Storm laid a finger across her mouth and  began to undress her, gently, examining each limb, each part as she was exposed to his gaze. She didn’t resist, allowed him to turn her, lift her, as he wished. She saw his brows furrow as he saw the remnants of bruises on her arms where he had gripped her, on her shoulder where he had pressed her to him, prevented her struggling. He stroked the marks gently, saying nothing.

            Sara couldn’t wait any longer, put her hand under his chin, turned his face to look at her, ran her finger along his jawline, down his neck to his breast bone and then down further. She drew him down to the bed, then pulled away, leaving him lying on his back, while her fingers explored. He trembled under her touch, rose to meet her  as she swung her hips over his, let her guide him into her.

            Storm rose first. He dressed slowly, almost ceremonially. He stood by the bed and took a long look around, then turned to Sara, propped up on one arm among the rumpled sheets.

            “I talked with my mother this morning.”

            Sara waited, not moving.

            “It was time. If I’m not to be a child to you, I must also be a man in my parents’ eyes. I asked for the story she had told you. It was hard for her. I think she told me all, or almost all. She told me enough. I understand her leaving and her returning. I understand my father. I think I even understand you more, what you must do for your son and for Richie. When your family calls you…” 

            Sara found herself smiling. She forgot her resentment of Ruth Cheng for interfering between her and Storm. Storm had done what she asked. Sara had given him his parents.Then the implication of his words struck her. Did he know that she had been fired?  Why didn’t he offer help?

             “Then you have heard?  That I’m leaving Rainbow Software.”

            Storm’s face changed, as if he were clenching his teeth. He nodded, then spoke again in an undertone. “I saw Zhang on Friday night at the Wine Shop. He told me you are leaving, though it hasn’t been announced. He said it’s because of the terrorist attacks; you need to take Riqi back to his father.”

            So Trueheart Zhang knew also, along with Silver Wing. The news had been spread. Sara waited for Storm’s next words, almost holding her breath.

            “I understand now why you’ve been so restless. You’ve been ready to leave. It’s always been your plan. You’ve hinted at this before. Each time you’ve spoken of leaving it felt as if a fox were gnawing at my heart. Each time I‘ve steeled myself against the pain. Now that it’s real, it’s like a death – but after pain, sometimes a death can be welcomed. “

            “No, Storm”, Sara said softly. “Not my plan.” But Storm went on as if he hadn’t heard her.

            “At least I’ll have my old friend to console me in my loss. You’ve heard the good news about Jade and Liu?” he asked. Sara nodded. Storm shook his head as if he did not quite believe what he was saying. “Zhang asked him directly while I was gone and my grandfather changed his mind. Just as Zhang said, he lifted his finger and it was done.”

            Sara stared at him, stunned as though a bright light had blinded her. “Just like that,” she murmured. Ruth  Cheng had spoken of “other ways”. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. Old Cheng had arranged for Bright Liu‘s release, in return for Jerry Wang’s getting rid of the troublesome foreigner. Ruth Cheng and Trueheart Zhang had triumphed. Sara felt a surge of anger driving the blood through her veins. Her hands clenched.

            Storm had bent down to find his shoes. He couldn’t see her tightened lips, her telltale flush.

Fox Spirit 84 – More 9-11 Fallout

©Porter Gifford http://www.portergifford.com

The apartment was quiet. The sound of traffic was barely audible beyond the walls of the Beihai compound. Richie snored softly from behind his screen. Sara moved to hang up her discarded jacket and scarf, straightened a pillow of the couch, and the flashing light of her phone’s answering machine caught her eye. She picked up the receiver, hit playback, and jumped as Mark’s voice filled the apartment.

            “Mom, where are you?  I’ve been trying to connect with you for 24 hours! Nothing by phone, nothing by email…For God’s sake, call me back so I know you’re ok!”

            Richie half-woke at the sudden noise and began to whimper. Sara stroked his back and crooned a few words of a lullaby until he had subsided. She went to her computer and sent a quick email:  Sorry I was out of touch – not near my phone at office and then not at home. All well here despite uproar over Twin Towers. Love MOM

            Within minutes her phone rang. “Mom, it’s Mark. What’s been happening with you?  Are you sure you and Richie are all right? I’ve been imagining all sorts of things.”

            “Of course we’re all right.”  The surprise in her voice was no pretense. “What could be happening to us here in China?  Beijing is probably the safest place in the world – the government doesn’t allow terrorists.”

            “I thought there were no terrorists in the US either,” her son answered. “We’re hearing that Muslims in Iraq danced in the streets at the news of the attack in New York, and that the Chinese chat lines were gleeful about it until the government squelched the discussions. How was I to know you weren’t trapped in your apartment like you told me happened after Kosovo?  I was really worried about you and Richie, Mom. You should have called, let me know you were both safe.”

            “I’m sorry, Mark-o,” “The pet name from Mark’s childhood came as a natural reaction to the hurt in Mark’s voice. “Mothers worry about kids, but I guess it goes both ways.”

            “You bet it does. And it’s damn-it-all uncomfortable when I’ve got to worry about my mother AND my kid. So now are you coming home?”

            “’Home’?” Sara’s voice faltered. “Mark-o, my home has been here for the past four years. I can’t just up and leave at the first upset.”

            “It’s not the first upset, Mom, it’s the latest upset. If it were just you, maybe I’d shut up, but it’s you and Richie. Every time there’s a dustup between the US and China I’ll be worrying. And you hinted yourself last week that things weren’t going so well. It made me think a lot about what I’ve done and not done. I want you to bring Richie home, and I really want you to come and stay.”

            The line was silent. Sara realized that Mark had been practicing this speech in his mind, that he was waiting for her answer. But with so much un-decided – her desire for Storm, and her hope to find another job in Beijing both still strong – she flailed for a way to fend off a clear response.

            “Mark-o, dear,  I can’t leave right now, so abruptly. I’m… I’m working on some projects, they need me…” From childish habit she unconsciously crossed her fingers behind her back at the lie.

            Mark sighed. “Ok, Mom. But I need you, too.  And I want Richie.  When you change your mind, all you have to do is make one phone call. I’ll be there at the airport to meet you. And don’t make it too long.”

            Work at Rainbow Software the next day seemed meaningless. Scarlet Li and the programmers at Rainbow Software put on grave faces when they saw her. Perhaps they were sympathizing about the attacks, but Sara wondered if it was because they had heard of her dismissal. Jerry Wang was not in the office. Trueheart Zhang was solicitous; she wondered if he was hiding glee behind his mask of concern. No one commented when she left early to keep her appointment with Doctor Bai, Head of Faculty at the Children’s Palace.

.           Doctor Bai waved Sara to a seat in his small office, crowded with overflowing bookshelves and papers piled on the floor. His smile was cordial, but his first words were formal. “Mrs. Miller, thank you for coming to see me. I have received word from Mr. Wang that you will be leaving at the end of the month. We are very sorry to hear this.”

            Sara responded quickly. “Leaving Rainbow Software, yes. But I was hoping to be able to expand my hours working here. Teacher Wang will recommend me..”

            “Please excuse me, Mrs. Miller, for interrupting. But you must realize that your position with us has been entirely unofficial, generously funded by Mr. Wang of Rainbow Software as a donation to the community. Of course, it was a great benefit to the school that Rainbow Software gave us your time for these months. Our students have learned much, our parents have enjoyed your presentations. All has been good, but you understand, outside of official budget and education plan.”

            Sara was struck silent for a moment. Of course her position had been made possible by Rainbow Software – why had she not seen this before?  The company had simply transferred the money they would have paid her for her idle time to the account of the Children’s Palace, and got credit for generosity to boot. She tried again. “Perhaps it could be made official in some way?”

            Dr. Bai’s smile was gone now. “It would not be possible for us to officially hire a foreigner to teach the youngest children. Such an impressionable age.”

                        Wash she imagining his implication of an alternative? “What about an enrichment class for the older children, at the high school?  Perhaps you could recommend me?”

            The Head pursed his lips. “I’m afraid that would be difficult.”  Sara recognized that in Chinese usage this was the equivalent of “No”, but she pushed on.

            “What is the difficulty?  I have heard that in private schools there is a demand for native English speakers.”

            Dr. Bai leaned back in his chair and looked out the window, tapping his pencil against the desk. When he turned back to Sara his manner had changed. “It is true. Private schools have different requirements. Perhaps… I have several colleagues who are involved with such schools. You might be helpful to them – and they have no connection to Mr. Wang. If you wish I will inquire on your behalf.”

            Sara smiled with relief. “Yes, please. As soon as possible, if you would. I am sorry to trouble you with this, but I must leave my apartment when I leave Rainbow Software so…” She trailed off.

            “I understand, It is hard when so many things are connected together. I will do my best for you, Mrs. Miller. I hope you can manage to stay in Beijing.”

            Sara gave him her phone number and bowed her good-bye. He had not said “There would be a difficulty.” He had not said “It would be against our policy.”  She had hope.

Fox Spirit 83 – 9-11 through Other Eyes

“Maybe the Americans had it coming.”

            Sara stared at Trueheart in disbelief. “Those office workers, killed by madmen because they were in the wrong place, an iconic building. How can you say they had it coming?”

            “No, I didn’t mean them particularly,” Trueheart persisted. “They were’nt lucky. But don’t you see? These mad attacks, it’s the only path small countries have against America. Not that the attackers were right, but that I understand their wrong thinking.”

            Sara’s eyes narrowed with anger. “I do not understand you, Trueheart. Innocent people, doing their daily business, killed randomly. It was evil!  It was cowardly!”

            Trueheart shrugged. “Maybe, but it got America’s attention, yes?”

            “What are you saying?”

            “Only that it’s hard to get the American government, maybe the American people, to pay attention to what other countries think and feel. America bombs our Kosovo embassy, China protests, America just waves the protest aside. ‘It was a mistake, so sorry, won’t happen again. You other countries have to trust our good intentions because America is on the side of Right.’  America wants to sell American movies in Arabia, Arabs don’t like so much sex, nudity, and try to block them, and America waves the protest aside. ‘You have to respect Freedom of Speech!  You have to respect Women’s Rights!’  America is always convinced ‘We are right!’  Maybe other people have a different idea, but it’s hard to get America’s attention, you see?

            Sara stared at him, aghast. “Is this how you see America? Do you speak for yourself only” Her fists clenched unconsciously. She felt Storm move closer as her voice rose above the buzz of conversation at the bar. He put a hand on her arm, but she was not calmed.

            Trueheart went on slowly, as if choosing his words with care. “No, I’m not alone in this, Sai Le.  There are many who say that America’s foreign policy has caused this action. If you read the Internet comments from young people, you’d see this feeling. And there are even two Chinese Army officers who claim that the use by Al-Qaida of the airplanes as guided bombs was inspired by their book published two years ago. Some Chinese say these officers are heroes. I’m telling you the truth, though it is not good to hear.”

            Sara turned to Storm and said quietly,  “Let’s go. I want to go now.”  Trueheart rose from his chair as Sara and Storm left, as if about to speak more in farewell, but neither Sara nor Storm looked back.

            They picked up Richie from the Wang’s apartment and returned to Sara’s. Richie had been fed, and was already half asleep as they arranged him in the crib behind the screen.

            “I’m so cold,” Sara complained. It was far too early in the season for the wall heater in Sara’s apartment to be supplied with gas. Storm turned to the small gas burner with its kettle.

            “Shall we have tea?”

            “No, that will not help.”  Sara kicked off her shoes. “I am cold from the inside. Zhang has chilled my heart.” Storm took two quick strides and wrapped her in his arms. It was true – she was shaking. Her eyes were like dark pools in her white face.

            “I thought I was behind the mask,” Sara’s voice was wistful. “I thought I was getting to be part of your life, even part of Zhang’s life – someone he could argue with, tease, who would understand his anger and reply to his irony. But tonight… he talks about ‘America this…’ and ‘America that…’ and I feel I am outside again, behind a glass wall. And there are monsters. I’m so cold.” Her voice dwindled off.

            Storm held her, stroked her hair and shoulders. She quivered at his touch but did not turn her face to meet his.

            “Zhang did not say ‘you Americans’ as he used to,” Storm said softly. “He said ‘America’ and ‘they.’ He understands that you are not America.”

            Sara was still shivering. “Maybe… but there’s so much I don’t understand.”  She twisted in his arms, still not looking up at him. “I listen to Zhang;  I understand each word he says, but still I do not understand the meaning. He’s trying to explain evil, and there is no explanation, no justification possible. How could we be so far apart?”

                        Storm loosened his hold on her, drew back so that he could see at least a part of Sara’s face. “Maybe you are not hearing Zhang well. He is not excusing, not justifying. He agrees that the acts were evil. He only tried to explain why those young men acted so.”

             He let Sara go entirely, walked across the room, looked behind the screen where Richie was now sleeping quietly. Then he turned back to Sara, his face serious, eyes shadowed in the half-lit room. “You must know, Sara – these young Arabs are not so different from Zhang and myself, from the ones who built barricades against the tanks on 6-4 twelve years ago. Some of us thought we would die then; some of us did die. The history written by the government speaks of those who died as traitors, bad elements, counter-revolutionaries. The truth of what we believed will be buried with us. The truth of the young men who crashed those planes is also buried. This is what Zhang is remembering when he tries to explain to you.”

            Sara stared at him, sank onto a chair, and leaned against the table. “But it is not the same! Not the same at all! The students of Tiananmen didn’t kill innocent people! 6-4 has nothing to do with this!,”

            “Hush, huli jing. Richie sleeps.” 

            Sara stopped speaking, but drummed her fingers lightly on the table, gazing at nothing. He took a step toward her, but she raised her head and stopped him with a look. Her eyes were still dark pools, but her voice was shaking with emotion.

            “When you and Trueheart joined the students on 6-4, they carried a statue modeled on our Liberty. Now things have changed; Trueheart would quarrel with me just because I am an American face. When NATO bombed the Chinese embassy, you protected me. Now you make excuses for Trueheart as he explains why these evil people killed thousands of my countrymen. Why so changed, Storm?”

            “Why are you so slow to understand?” His impatient tone matched hers. “Perhaps if America had come to the aid of the students during their protests, our thoughts about America wouldn’t have changed. Perhaps if America hadn’t sided so many times against democracy, in Iran, in Chile, in Viet Nam, our thoughts about America wouldn’t have changed. We were naïve as students. After Tiananmen we learned that we have to find a different way for China.”

            “But, Storm, you’re speaking as if this destruction in New York were a game, played at a distance, a political exercise happening on the other side of the world. But can you not feel ? I do feel it. I feel for those people, going about their lives, drinking their morning coffee, hurrying not to be late to work. And then… nothing.”  Sara’s face was pale, her hands stretching out, fingers grasping. But Storm stood in the shadow, not moving toward her. His voice was cold as he answered.

             “At Kosovo, there were only three Chinese killed. At the World Trade Center, three thousand. Yet it is the same, what we felt, what you now feel. Those three Chinese also, going about their lives. Now will we understand each other better, or worse?  Are you listening, Sai Le?”

            Sara’s face twisted. “Those people were in a war zone; they were in the middle of fighting. It isn’t the same!” She turned from him angrily.

            Behind her Storm stood silent. When he spoke his voice sounded tired and far away, as if he were speaking to himself. “What is a life worth?  Those three Chinese. Those three thousand in New York. The others in the plane that crashed. Your husband. On some things, maybe we can never agree. Still you are my heart’s core. I cannot be here with your anger.” By the time Sara turned she could hear his footsteps on the gravel path.

Fox Spirit 79 – Clash of Future Visions

 

“Indeed Storm has benefited from his time with you in many ways.” Ruth Cheng said quickly. “ But now he must move on. His father and I are no longer young. Our aging parents ask us how is the family name is to be continued, when will there be another generation to secure their name?   Storm is over thirty. This is the approved age for marriage. He must think of this seriously.”

            Sara’s mouth felt dry. She asked, “What do you want me to do?”

            “I know Storm has been happy with you,” Mrs. Cheng replied. “Now it’s time for him to find happiness in a different way. I believe you aren’t selfish; you also want what is best for Storm. And now, it would be best if you and this child weren’t part of his life. He needs a real wife, a real son.”

            “You want me to break with him.”

            Mrs. Cheng nodded. Her eyes were fixed on Sara, her face without expression, as if waiting to know from Sara’s reaction whether a smile or a frown would be called for.

            “But how can I do this?” Sara now found words spilling out of her. “We’re colleagues; we sit opposite each other in the same office. We can’t avoid each other. How can I pretend he’s nothing to me, when we see each other daily?”

            “Storm told me once that you both were very discreet in the office,” Mrs. Cheng answered. “And one time before, you quarreled, yes? I remember Storm was very moody, very silent, in those days. I asked about you and he said he never saw you; you had different schedules. You could manage this again. If that is too hard….”

            Sara heard the threat under Mrs. Cheng’s polite tone. “You’ve been frank with me, Mrs. Cheng. I’ll be frank with you also. You’re right that I want what’s best for Storm, but you mustn’t try now to separate Storm from Riqi and me. It’s not the right time. He’s happy with me and with Riqi.”

            “And when will this ‘right time’ be?”  Ruth Cheng was almost motionless, except for one hand stirring her tea. She waited for Sara’s response, then went on. “You would like to wait until you think it is the right time for you, maybe, not for Storm. But I’m thinking about what is best for yourself and your grandson also. You are older every day; your grandson every day is still an American, no matter how fluent his Chinese. China isn’t a home for you. When Storm speaks of you as his family, this is a fantasy. You will return to America and Storm must stay in China where his future lies. You know this is true, Mrs. Miller.”

            “China is not a home for you.” The words echoed in Sara’s mind, like a commentary on the stranger’s recoil at sight of her in the celebrating crowd the week before. Sara’s protest was sharper than she intended. “I believe I know best what’s right for me and my grandson. And Storm has his right to choose.” 

            Ruth Cheng stood up, rattling the cups, Her lips were tight, eyes narrowed. The polite mask was abandoned. “You do not agree now to separate yourself from my son?  But this is indeed the time. If you won’t do this for me and for him, Mrs. Miller, there are other ways.”  She picked up her bag from the table. “If we do not meet again, Meile Sai Le, please know that I have wished you well.” She turned on her heel and walked quickly out of the coffee shop.

            A mixture of anger and anxiety churned in Sara’s stomach. She looked around in panic and found the western-style restroom, rushed into one of the cubicles, and lost what she had eaten of her lunch.

###

            Waking or sleeping, Mrs. Cheng’s demands haunted Sara. When Storm returned a week later she wondered how much his mother had told him, or would tell him, about their meeting. Her small apartment, previously a haven of privacy and intimacy, felt as if it were closing in.

               Storm reached out to stop her as Sara moved restlessly from the sofa to the kitchen counter and back.

             “Sai Le, be still. You pace back and forth, you answer every question with a snarl; I’m in a cage with a tiger.” 

            “You say I am edgy!  Hard to be with! What do you want me to be?  What is your plan for me?  Is there a plan?  Do we have a future?  Your mother, she has a plan. Do you?”

            He stiffened with surprise. “What do you know of my mother’s plan for me? What has she to do with us?”

            Sara stepped backward, felt for a chair and sat down, forcing her voice to calmness. She would not widen the gulf between Storm and his parents if she could help it. She did her best to cover her slip.

            “Your mother’s plan for you, I’m sure it’s like every mother’s plan. She wants you to have a family, give her grandchildren, something in return for her pain. Your father, your grandparents, they want this too, and you must feel you owe them…”

            “Owe them what?  My birth?  My twisted childhood?” Storm shook his head as if shaking off a bad memory. “You’re right, this is the traditional view of the son’s role. A son, a grandson of their own body and blood will satisfy them. But there is nothing in that plan that will satisfy me –I may as well emasculate myself.” He looked away, bitterness in his voice.

            “No”, Sara answered. Her anger gone, she came to him and pressed herself against him. “How then could you comfort me?”

            Storm smiled, but still could not stop touching the sore spot she had opened. “Huli jing, what is your plan? Riqi is more than four, at six he’ll be recognized in our tradition as a living soul, not just a visitor. But will he visit here and live in America?  And you?  And us?  You know what my parents are, how they left me and then picked me up at their convenience. I owe them nothing. Why can’t we be you, me, and Riqi, three people together? This would be my true family.”

            For a moment Sara let herself sink into this vision. To wake up with Storm beside her, she and Storm and their child starting out together each morning without having to make up a cover story for Auntie Chen, arriving together at the office after dropping the child off…. Then unbidden came the memories of the man who had trodden on her foot during the Olympic celebration, Jerry Wang’s coldness when she had shown interest in Storm, Ruth Cheng’s voice  “He needs a Chinese wife.” Richie had just turned four. The future she had been ignoring loomed very close. More memories: Larry Cavallo: “I’ve never seen a sign of kindness from you.” And her son’s sarcastic voice:  “I’d thought you’d forgotten Richie was ever coming back for good.”  

            Sara laid her finger across Storm’s mouth. “Hush. You wrong your mother, wrong your father. You haven’t heard their story. You must ask them, ask your mother to tell you the story she told me.”

            Storm jerked back as if she had pressed a wound. “You talked with my mother?  When was this? What did she tell you?”

Fox Spirit 78 –

July 2001

Sara

           

Sara pushed back her chair from the keyboard and ran her fingers through her hair. Storm was out of town and the end of quarter numbers had absorbed all her attention. Then she heard a step behind her and Scarlet Li’s voice. “It’s Friday – you shouldn’t be working late tonight.”

            Sara turned to face Scarlet with a smile and a shake of her head. “I’ve got no plans for the evening, so I wanted to finish this letter to the investors. And it’s cooler in the office. But you’re right – I mustn’t be too late picking up Riqi.”

            “No plans?  Then you must come eat with us. Snow Plum would be delighted to have Riqi as guest; Hu can talk politics with you. We can stop at the market, buy fish, pick up Snow Plum and Riqi together.

            “Buhaoyisi. So embarrassing.” The ritual disclaimer at any invitation came naturally to Sara now.

            “Bu keqi. Don’t stand on politeness. Put away your papers and come.”

            There was no excuse to be had, nor did Sara really want one. Richie would be grumpy on this hot July evening and Sara hadn’t really looked forward to fighting the dusty wind, picking up Richie alone, and contriving a dinner for the two of them.

            Scarlet wheeled her bicycle out of the back hallway ahead of Sara, opened the door and then stopped in amazement. The normally quiet street bordering the Bei Hai campus was thronged with students, shouting, cheering, and waving banners. Cars inched their way through the throngs, more students hanging from the windows, riding on the bumpers, cheering, and singing.

            “What is it? Some special holiday?” Sara asked quickly. No, tomorrow was Bastille Day, but surely that wouldn’t trigger such a celebration in Beijing? 

            “I don’t know. Wait a minute.” Scarlet Li set her bicycle against the wall and walked briskly out to the road. She took a young man by the arm, Sara could see her lips asking a question, see the young man grin as he answered. Scarlet Li came back to Sara, smiling broadly. “We may have trouble buying at the market. Everyone will be celebrating!  China has been awarded the Olympics!” She gave a little skip and crow of delight.

            “For what year?”

            “2008 – We’ll have a lot to do in seven years!  We’ll give the world such a show!”

            Sara was amazed at the outpouring of national pride and celebration. Banners were suddenly everywhere, waved by grandmothers from upper windows and by young men perched on lampposts. Sara and Scarlet Li struggled through the happy, singing crowd to the Children’s Palace to retrieve Snow Plum and Riqi, then walked their bicycles with the children perched astride – there was no hope of riding with so many people in the street. The children rode each with wide eyes and fingers in mouth, staring at the people, the flags, and the flashing lights.

            “Maybe we won’t stop for fish,” Scarlet Li said. “I have other food at home and by the time we get there at this slow rate the children will be ready to eat anything. I’m glad we’re together – it would be harder still for just one person to make a way. I think my husband will be slow to get home also. He’ll be coming against the tide, from Tiananmen Square. All Beijing will be going the other way!”

            “Long live the motherland!” The shouts echoed from the buildings. “China 2008!” ”Beijing! Beijing!” Sara kept her bicycle at Scarlet Li’s side, but could not help smiling.   “Beijing!” she cried out.“Beijing!”

            Her voice merged with the general shouting. Then a stranger was pushed against her, stepped on her foot, turned to apologize and stopped in mid “Dui bu qi…” as he registered her foreign face. He quickly moved back to make way for her, muttering a nervous “Par-mee, ma’am”.

            Suddenly Sara was down to earth again. No matter how she felt, she would never be anything but a foreigner. She felt tears, fought them back. Scarlet looked over at Sara and her joyous expression changed to concern.

             “Mei guanxi. It is nothing –just the moment…” Sara said quickly, forcing her face into a smile. Scarlet nodded and turned back to the task of finding a path for the bicycles through the crowd. Sara took a deep breath and followed her. At least she had learned about masks.

            Ruth Cheng called a week later, just before lunchtime on Monday. It was the first time Sara had heard from her since their meeting after Richie’s arrival almost eighteen months earlier, except for a red and gold greeting card at the New Year. Her voice was cool and formal. “I am at Bei Hai, Meile Taitai. I’m hoping that we could again meet for coffee. Could you possibly make time this afternoon?”

             “This afternoon would be difficult, Mrs. Cheng,” was Sara’s first reaction, looking at her cluttered desk. But then she wondered – What is this about? Ruth Cheng wants something. Might as well get it over, whatever it is.Sara quickly rephrased her knee-jerk refusal “I was just getting ready to go to lunch. Can we meet at the Tully’s coffee shop again at 12:30?  Would that be possible?”

            “Yes, you’re very kind to agree to my last-minute request. 12:30 will be fine.”

            Twenty minutes into lunch and Sara knew no more than she had before about why she was there. Ruth Cheng had greeted her warmly, shaken her hand, insisted on paying for Sara’s sandwich and coffee, led the way to a table in an isolated corner. They chatted about the hot July weather, the excitement of the Beijing Olympics choice, and the excellent air conditioning in the Tully’s Coffee Shop compared to Sara’s office or the Chengs’ apartment. Mrs. Cheng mentioned how little they saw of Storm with his increased business travel; Sara agreed and took pains to mention how Storm’s hard work had helped Rainbow Software’s success.

             “But it’s not just his travel that takes so much of his time,” Mrs. Cheng said softly. “When he is in Beijing he is with you and with the small child. He returns home only to sleep. We see him for breakfast only. The rest of his life is with you.”

            Mrs. Cheng paused, as if waiting for a comment from Sara. Sara recognized that the real subject of the meeting was approaching and waited.

            “I haven’t seen your grandson, but Storm has shown me a picture. He is a beautiful child.”

            Sara still said nothing. The proper Chinese response would be to deny the compliment, but she could not make herself say disparaging things about Richie to Storm’s mother.

            Mrs. Cheng took a sip of coffee, set the cup down carefully, and folded her hands in her lap. “Storm is very fond of this child, I think. And of you. He has spoken of you both as jia ren, his family.”

            With relief Sara found she could speak. “Storm is very good with Riqi. Very patient. They’ve become very good friends.”

             Yes,” agreed Ruth Cheng quickly. “I think this is good preparation for when Storm becomes a father. He will understand children better if he has some experience.”

            The abrupt image of Storm being a father to another woman’s child made Sara’s stomach twist. She heard the murmur of conversation around them, the clink of pottery, the sputtering of the espresso machine, as if from a great distance. She knew with the sudden sourness in her belly why Ruth Cheng had asked for this meeting.

Fox Spirit 73 – Christmas Culture Clash

December 2000

Storm

            The Jiu Jin Shan Wine Shop was even more crowded than usual, as though every bachelor in Beijing had decided to take refuge there against the biting winter wind. Storm pushed through the crowd and spotted Trueheart Zhang sitting alone in the corner booth. He felt a rush of warmth at the sight of his friend. Since Sara had left for California he had been alone too many nights.

            “You’ve managed to save an entire booth for the two of us! Good work, Zhang!”           Trueheart smiled and brushed aside the praise. “I arrived soaking wet from a passing limo’s splash. Nothing like a wet raincoat spread out to dry to ward off invaders. Get yourself a beer and relax – I’ve no plans to go back into that wind until I’m thoroughly warm.”

            On his return, supplied with a Tsing Tao beer, Storm stretched  out his legs and arms to take up as much room as possible. “This is good,” he sighed. “If life could be as simple as a warm room, a cold beer, and a friend to talk to…”

            “Ganbei,” replied Trueheart, lifting his mug. “I only wish Liu were here to share this. I’m afraid he’s got none of those things, unless Jade has managed to link up with him.”

            “You had to mention Liu, just as I was feeling mellow.”

            “Yes, I had to. I’ve been pulling every string I can lay hands on to find a way to get him out of the Reform Through Labor Camp and I’m coming up with nothing. Are you sure your grandfather can’t be persuaded to help?  Isn’t there something he wants that we could get for him? Some secret wish? Something we could trade?”

            “You must be joking. My grandfather is ninety years old – anything he could ever have wanted he either has already enjoyed or is too old to enjoy. The only thing he has left to want is a great-grandson and we can’t pull one of those out of a hat in time to help Liu.”

            “A great-grandson? The ‘four generations under one roof’ thing?” Trueheart lifted a finger as if to say something, then let it drop. He picked up his half-smoked cigarette from the table’s ashtray, then stubbed it out, staring at the ashes. Then he shrugged. “Well then, if he won’t help, he won’t. I’ll keep checking, and if you hear anything from Jade through Scarlet Li, maybe we’ll get some ideas.”

            “Like what?  Usually you would keep nagging at me like a dog with a bone, Zhang. What are you thinking?”

            “Nothing, nothing. Say, what do you hear from Sara?”

            Storm smiled. “If you want to change the subject, say so, Zhang. I know you’re more interested in Liu’s fate than in Sara’s adventures. But since you ask, she says in her emails that everything is fine in California. She doesn’t give any details, so I suspect maybe a few glitches here and there. Introducing a little kid like Richie back into a California lifestyle could be tricky.” He drained his mug. He didn’t want to think about Sara, or Richie, or Liu. Too many empty spaces in his life. “Hey, let’s go to the arcade next door. Bet I can skunk you at ‘Strike Fighter.”

Sara

            Storm’s suspicion was right. Richie’s re-entry to the California world wasn’t going well. Sara had prepared him to meet his Daddy, the real person behind the static-y voice on the weekly phone call, the person in the photograph Sara always put before him during the calls. But the person called “Daddy” who met him and Sara at the airport was nothing like the one Richie had seen in the picture that Nai Nai showed him. Mark hadn’t mentioned that he had grown a beard. No person that Richie had ever dealt with in China had a hairy face!  And it scratched!

            He had been put into his old crib asleep when they arrived, but the sunlight soon woke him. Richie climbed out of the crib, calling “Mama! Mama!  I’m back!”   He ran from room to room, calling “Mama, where are you? Why are you hiding?”

            Sara and Mark looked at each other in panic. Somehow they both had assumed he would have forgotten about Rennie in the months since her death. Mark caught Richie but the little boy screamed and fought. When Sara took him he collapsed in sobs. He could not be persuaded that his mother wasn’t hiding somewhere in the house.

            Sara had forgotten to pack Richie’s summer clothes for the Southern California winter. After only a few minutes playing outside, he was red-faced and sweaty, whining to come in. Sara made an emergency trip to the nearest Target to outfit him properly, but he complained that the new clothes were stiff and uncomfortable.

            He was introduced to his cousins at Uncle Jasper’s and Aunt Carol’s, but that didn’t go well either. No one except Nai Nai understood Chinese; they all talked English all the time. He had always spoken the best English of any child at the Children’s Palace, but it was like a different language here. His cousins spoke so fast, and used words Richie didn’t know, and laughed when he didn’t know them. He was two sentences behind all the time. No one knew how to play Forcing the City Gates. He didn’t know how to play Freeze Tag and he hadn’t seen Star Wars or Toy Story.

            Riche wanted his usual rice for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He wasn’t used to cereal and milk – he had never had to drink so much milk!  He had been proud of his ability to eat with chopsticks like a grown-up at Auntie Silver Wing’s house. At Daddy’s house he had to eat with a fork. He stabbed his mouth with a fork and it bled.

            “He’ll get used to you,” Sara reassured Mark after Richie had pushed him away for the third time. “Of course, you could shave off the beard and mustache. He says you don’t look like the Daddy in the picture.”

            “Maybe I’ll get you a new picture,” Mark retorted impatiently. “And why won’t he talk to me in English?  You told me you always speak English to him.”

            “I do. He speaks English at the Children’s Palace too. But now he’s being stubborn – he only wants to speak Chinese. I guess it’s his way of being homesick.” As soon as she said it, Sara wished she could snatch back the words. Mark’s eyebrows had come together in an ominous line and his response was clipped.

            “Well, tell him that in America he needs to speak English. Tell him this is his home, even if his mother’s not in it. And I’m keeping the beard and mustache.” 

            Sara sighed.

            “And don’t sigh at me!” 

            At the mall, Richie revolted against having his picture taken with Santa. “That’s okay,” said the elf reassuringly, as Richie struggled to stay in Sara’s arms. “Lots of kids freak out when it comes to actually sitting on Santa’s lap. Can he have a lollipop?”

            “Yes.” “No.” Sara and Mark contradicted each other simultaneously. They broke into self-conscious laughter, while Richie sucked on the lollipop. Suddenly Mark’s expression changed; he moved to encircle Richie with his arms and half-lifted him. Sara turned to see Ynez Cavallo just outside the railing of Santa’s Workshop.

            Ynez had let her hair go. Wisps of gray escaped the untidy bun at the nape of her neck. She was thinner than Sara remembered; her coat hung a size too large, with the hem of her dress sagging below it. Her eyes were fixed on Richie as if he were the only other person in the crowded mall. Her lip curled into what might have been an attempt to smile, but to Sara it looked like a snarl, like a starving dog that had spotted a meaty bone just out of reach. Sara moved instinctively to block Richie from Ynez’s view.

            “Take Richie back to the car,” Sara murmured to Mark. “I’ll keep Ynez here.”

            “No,” Mark murmured back to her. “It’s safer here, with people.”

            “Safer?”  She looked up at him, startled, and only then realized that there was a second person with Ynez. Larry Cavallo had stepped up next to his mother, his face also set in an unnatural smile.

Fox Spirit 72 – November Clouds

November seemed endless. The elderly heating systems of the Bei Hai campus seemed powerless against the cold of an early winter. The wind drove the students, vendors, and even the neighborhood watchmen into the shelter of their homes and dormitories, leaving lifeless streets. In the dim light of the staggered street lights even the snow seemed gray.

            After the American election, it seemed everyone wanted to offer an opinion to Sara about the Bush-Gore election standoff. They would invariably nod and wink and say something like “Ah, it’s the son of a President and the son of a Senator. Of course when two princelings battle there will be a difficulty!”  Sara grew tired of explaining the Electoral College and the role of the Supreme Court. “We understand, Sara.” When the President’s son won out over the Senator’s son, they  nodded sagely.  “Just like in China – guanxi is everything.” 

            “I’m looking forward being to back to California for Christmas this year,” Sara told Storm as they left the office together to pick up Richie. “I’m so tired of winter and politics. And it will be fun to remind Richie about Christmas and Santa Claus.”

            “Do you want him to be so American?” Storm asked with a smile. “All this fuss I have heard about over Christmas … is it so important to believe in Santa Claus?  

            Sara was not amused. “Richie is an American!  I’ll have to take him back for school when he’s five; when he gets there he won’t know what anyone is talking about during holidays!  She darted ahead of him across the street toward the bus stop.

            Storm stopped dead, shocked at her revelation. Of course he always knew she would have to take Richie back to his father sometime, but now she had revealed a plan, a timeline. He pushed his dismay aside as he hurried to catch up with her.

            Later, after they had eaten and Richie was in bed, he opened the subject again. “Your trip to California for Christmas – you’ve made your arrangements? You will surely go?”

            “Yes, of course I’ll go, with Richie.” Sara looked at him with surprise. “I’ve always gone back to America at this time of year – why not this time?”

            “No reason.” He kept his eyes on the table where he was carefully stacking the soup bowls from dinner. “I thought perhaps there was still some danger from the other grand-parents, that you might need to stay here in safety as you did last year.”

            Sara shook her head “I believe it will be all right. The Cavallos wouldn’t risk taking him since the court has ruled.” Then her face clouded. “I am sorry. I just thought again of Liu. He had no trial. It’s a different system.”

            Storm felt a flash of irritation at the change of subject and couldn’t stop himself from arguing. “If Liu had had a trial, the outcome would have been the same. It would have been hard to prove his innocence, with video evidence that he was there at the demonstration. At least he has now a chance to show his good intentions by behaving well at the labor camp. If he hasn’t been stubborn, if he hasn’t insisted on adhering to Falun Gong, then…”

            “You are excusing the government!” Sara said in disbelief. “I don’t understand you, Storm!  No one could have been angrier than you when Liu was arrested and now you blame Liu? “

            “Always my anger was partly at Liu, for having put himself in the way of trouble. Now we can only hope he’s shown good sense since his arrest.”

            He stood up. “As you said, it’s a different system. I have read that in America the prisons are overflowing and still many criminals return to prison over and over. This doesn’t happen so much with us. We hope always for reform, to erase the person’s bad habits.”

            Sara rose to the challenge. “And yet China has a very high number of executions. How does the death penalty encourage reform?”

            Storm smiled and gestured with his hands palm down. “Ah, Sara, I’m not Zhang. I don’t love debate as you and he do. If a criminal is guilty of a serious crime, beyond the hope of reform, he’s executed quickly, not kept in prison year after year waiting for a second trial. I think this is better than what I have read about your Death Rows. But for tonight I don’t wish to leave you with an argument.”

            He put on his thick quilted jacket and turned to leave. At the door of the apartment he stopped. “Deng yi dianr. Wait a moment. I have something for you.”  A small red silk box appeared in his hand.

            Sara took the box in both hands, all impulse to argue gone. She stroked the silk box, eager to open it, but observing Chinese custom – a gift should never be opened in the presence of the giver, lest disappointment show on one’s face.

            “Thank you, my heart. I am embarrassed – I have never given you anything.”

            “Don’t be too polite.Open it. We use American manners.”

            Inside was a bi, a flat round circle of jade, the color of a new leaf, looped with a fine gold chain.

             “You told me, if I gave you something …”

            “I remember.”

            Sara took the bi from its box and said formally, “If you put it on, I will indeed wear it always.”   He took the jade pendant from her hands, carefully unfastened the clasp, then refastened it around her neck. His hands moved to her shoulders and he pulled her close. When he released her, he saw tears glistening in her eyes. Doubt seized him – were those parting tears?

            “You go to California. You will come back?

            “Of course I will!  Wait for me then.”

            The poem from Storm’s old screen saver floated up to the surface of his mind. He recited part of it as he held her at arm’s length for a moment. “You travel a ten thousand mile road to end my long waiting…’ but my life will be more like the dark of the moon after I have seen it radiant at the full. I will wait, but it will be very tedious indeed.”  He pulled her close again, then released her and left without another word.

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Photo courtesy of New York Intelligencer