My father raised his glass to my mother and said, ‘May you stay young and beautiful for ever!’
‘Haven’t you learned your lesson yet, you rightist?’ my mother snapped. ‘What are you thinking of, coming out with bourgeois clap-trap like that?’
He was sitting on a pillow at the edge of the bed. When he took off his glasses his eyes looked much larger. His face, which resembled a crumpled paper bag, glimmered with happiness.
His imprisonment in the reform-through-labour camps had caused us much hardship. He’d cast a shadow over our family, connecting us with the dark, negative aspects of life: the countryside, fleas and counter-revolutionary criminals. But on that summer night, it seemed as though all our misery was about to come to an end. I no longer felt shamed by his rough and dishevelled appearance. I knew that, very soon, I would once more have a father with a full head of hair.
He took a sip of rice wine, gazed up at me with a look of curiosity that I’d never seen in his eyes before, and said, ‘How come you’ve grown up all of a sudden?’
He seemed to have forgotten that, when he’d visited us in 1976 just after the earthquake, I’d already reached his shoulders.
He asked me what I wanted to do with my life. In his letters he’d told me I should join the People’s Liberation Army, so that’s what I told him I wanted to do.
He shook his head and said, ‘No. I only wrote that so that my letter would get approved by the camp leaders. You must learn English and do a science degree at university. Keep yourself to yourself. Then, if you get a chance, go abroad and become a citizen of the world. Did you know that British people can fly to America whenever they want, and that Germans can walk freely through the streets of Paris? Once you’re an international citizen, you’ll be able to travel the world.’
‘Don’t corrupt your sons with your liberal thoughts, Dai Changjie,’ my mother said. ‘All the activists involved in that Democracy Wall Movement last year are in jail now.’ Then she glanced at my brother and said: ‘You don’t hold chopsticks like that, Dai Ru! Look: wrap your fingers over the top, like this.’ She picked up a peanut with her chopsticks and placed it in her mouth.
‘If you hadn’t set your alarm clock to the wrong time, you’d be living in America now,’ my father retorted. Glancing at me, he explained: ‘Your mother’s father bought her a ticket to New York, but she missed the boat by half an hour. If she’d managed to catch it, she’d be an Overseas Chinese now.’
‘You made it to America, but you still came back in the end, didn’t you?’ A piece of peanut had stuck to my mother’s lower lip. With her chopsticks she divided the two pig trotters into four unequal parts. She gave the largest chunk to my father, and pulled off the nail from my chunk to chew on herself.
‘It was 1949. The Communists had just liberated China. Everyone was coming back then. Besides, in America I was only a rank-and-file member of an orchestra, but back here I could be principal violinist of the National Opera Company…’
‘It’s your arrogance that’s been your downfall. After twenty years in the labour camps, you’re still reminiscing about your past. You should have transformed yourself into a simple labourer by now — learned to make do with your lot, and live up to your responsibilities as a father.’
While my parents were busy talking, Dai Ru and I finished all the peanuts left on the plate.
My father spat out some bits of bone and gave them to me and my brother to chew on. I discovered one of his teeth among the shards. He’d lost most of the others already.
He grabbed the tooth from my hand and looked at it, rubbed his gums, then placed it on the table. ‘I’ve waited all these years to return home, and by the time I get here, I’ve got no teeth left.’ He turned his eyes to my brother and asked, ‘What year are you in at school now?’
‘Year Three. My teacher said that you’re a bourgeois rightist. I said that you’re a labour-camp prisoner. What is your job exactly, Dad?’
My father raised his eyebrows and said, ‘The Party put that rightist label on me. I had no choice but to accept it. But don’t worry, I will make sure you get into Harvard, my son. In winter, the campus is covered in a metre of snow. Squirrels scurry back and forth across it. The chairs in the classrooms have spring upholstery. Once you sit down on one, you never want to stand up again… Is it true that people are allowed to have sofas in their homes again?’
‘Huh! I hate the snow,’ I said. ‘My feet get so cold.’
‘Don’t huff like that, Dai Wei, or you’ll be miserable for the rest of your life.’ My mother would always say that to me and my brother whenever we let out long sighs. Turning back to my father, she said, ‘If you have back-door connections with factory bosses you can get hold of some springs and steel rods, then you can buy some man-made leather in the market and knock up two armchairs for under fifty yuan. Most of the soloists in the opera company have got sofas and armchairs now… Fetch the soy sauce from the corridor, Dai Wei.’ My mother picked up a fan from the table and flicked it open.
‘Sofa! I want an American sofa!’ my brother shouted.
‘We need a sitting room first,’ I said. ‘My classmates have sitting rooms, with televisions, washing machines and fridges.’
‘All we inherited was this iron bed,’ my mother said. ‘I didn’t even get a copper bracelet. When the compensation money comes through, we’ll buy a television. If your dad gets in touch with his uncle in America, we’ll be able to convert the cash into foreign-exchange certificates and buy a Japanese TV at the Friendship Store. Sit up straight when you’re eating, Dai Wei!’
‘See, the world has changed now,’ my father said, smiling. ‘Even you are prepared to admit that foreign goods are better.’
I too had realised that having a relation abroad was no longer something to be ashamed of. In fact, by now it had become almost a badge of honour.
‘I support Deng Xiaoping’s reform policy,’ said my mother. ‘I’m not one of those stubborn people who cling to the past. The Party has pledged to raise the country’s living standards to a moderately prosperous level by 2000. It is giving us all the chance to live better lives.’ My mother was speaking to my father in a warmer tone than she’d used the night before.
‘I saw two foreigners in the street today, Dad,’ my brother said. ‘Their eyes were yellow.’
‘I hope you weren’t following them,’ my mother said sternly. ‘The neighbourhood committee called us in the other day and told us that if we see foreigners in the street, we shouldn’t crowd around them and stare.’
‘They were walking along the pavement as I was coming out from school. Their footprints were huge.’
‘If there are foreigners walking down the streets of Beijing, it won’t be long before Chinese people are allowed to travel abroad again. I’ll write to my uncle in America tomorrow. He has two apple trees in his garden. In autumn, so many apples fall onto the grass, he has to leave most of them to rot.’ My father picked up a slice of cucumber that my brother had dropped onto the table and popped it into his mouth.
‘Dad, I still haven’t seen a squirrel yet.’ My brother always dropped food onto the table when he ate. My mother would smack him whenever it happened, but it never had any effect.
‘Don’t eat with your mouths open,’ my mother said. ‘You sound like dogs.’ My brother and I quickly shut our mouths and continued chewing.
‘Mum, Dai Ru threw stones at the pigeons again today,’ I said, suddenly recalling the incident. ‘The old lady downstairs got very angry. She had to come out and drag him away in the end.’ I was always having to apologise to others for my brother’s bad behaviour.