Before leaving Beijing I wanted to host a party at my hotel restaurant for all of my old teachers and classmates. It was a wonderful reunion, but bittersweet as well. There were many happy tears that night. One of the academy officials delivered a speech, welcoming me back to China, and I was urged to respond. I introduced Mary as an exceptional dancer in her own right and went on to say that this was one of the most exciting days of my life. "To be able to see you all is a millet dream come true. How many times I wished to be able to see you all! Sixteen years ago, thanks to Madame Mao, I was selected to join the Beijing Dance Academy. I was just a peasant boy. I knew nothing of ballet. I was homesick, a lost cause. But over those seven years you taught me and cared for me and befriended me. You have given me things I can never repay. I don't know where I would be today without you."
"You would be back in Li Commune!" the Bandit shouted, and there was much laughter.
Yes, I thought, I would be back home in Li Commune, eating dried yams and drinking north-west wind.
29 Back In My Village
The next day Mary and I were on an old prop-driven plane flying to Qingdao.
I was finally going home. I would see all my brothers, their wives and children, after all these years. But I wasn't sure what to expect. What would my village and commune look like now? Would there be as much change there as I had seen in Beijing? How were my uncles, aunts, cousins and all my childhood friends? What would they think of Mary? All my friends in Beijing had adored her, and I wanted my family to feel the same. I wished the plane would fly on just a little bit faster.
Mary understood exactly how I felt. She held my hand the whole way.
As the plane was descending towards Qingdao, Mary said, "Li, take a deep breath and enjoy your family." But still I wondered what she would think of the harsh conditions she was about to encounter.
The landing was rough. Our plane slid towards a simple two- storey building. I looked out the window at my first glimpse of home.
But… where is this? The surroundings seemed familiar, but unfamiliar too. Then suddenly I saw a line of large trees in the distance and I realised with a thud in my heart exactly where we were. This was the old airport, the very same airport where I had dug the half-burnt coal from under the runway when I was a small boy. I remembered being there with my brothers, of being shot at by the army guards, of dropping my basket and spade and running, terrified, for my life. Now the two-storey building stood where the old guardhouse used to be and smooth runways spread out in different directions. The vision from my childhood days vanished in an instant.
All of my brothers, except my fourth brother, were at the airport waiting for us, with their wives and children, over twenty family members in total. I shook hands with all of them. I wanted to hug each one just as I had done with the Bandit and Fengtian but I was afraid that this would embarrass them too much. This was not Beijing. This was just a small country town.
All of my brothers looked older than I remembered. We met all the sisters-in-law, and all the children immediately called Mary and me Sixth Mother and Sixth Father, but Mary attracted the greatest attention. Even strangers at the airport asked my brothers who this Western girl was. "Our sister-in-law!" my brothers proudly replied and they all fought to carry our suitcases.
My family had borrowed two trucks to take us home. Mary was pushed into the front seat of one, next to the driver, and I was pushed into the other, and the rest of the family members piled into the back of each truck.
Along the dusty road on the way to my old village I once again smelled the familiar country air-full of the scent of human waste still used as fertiliser in the fields. Childhood memories returned once more. I loved this distinctive manure smell. It was the smell of my own town, and at long last I knew I was really home.
As our trucks slowly rolled down the old streets, people lit up firecrackers to celebrate my return. All the villagers had come out to greet us, standing on both sides of the streets, waving at us as we passed. Some I recognised, many I couldn't. After nine years, the countless older uncles and aunts, younger uncles and aunts, great-grand-uncles and grand-aunts, grand-nephews and their wives, had all muddled up in my mind, with the exception of a very few. I couldn't even remember what their proper titles were. All I could do was nod my head, smile and repeat "Ni hao," "Ni hao," "Ni hao…"
As soon as my family saw our truck turn into our street, my fourth brother, who had stayed home to help Niang prepare food, lit a long string of firecrackers. More firecrackers! It was just like it was when I was a small boy-the noise, the light, the smoke, the smell of gunpowder and the flying fragments of red paper.
Our trucks stopped and a sea of people gathered around us.
And then, through the crowd, I glimpsed my parents. They were standing by our gate with my fourth uncle and aunt, happy and proud. I rushed to them. I hugged Niang. I shook hands with Dia and Fourth Uncle. Just as I was going to shake my fourth auntie's hand, Niang threw herself at me and hugged me tight. "Oh, my sixth son! I missed you!" she sobbed.
Mary had got down from the other truck by now and immediately people's attention turned to her. As she walked towards me, the villagers parted the way for her, whispering about the colour of her hair, the size of her nose, the pattern of her shirt, the height of her heels. Mary was the first Westerner to come to the village since 1949. She was a sensation.
In the shady courtyard of my old home, a small square wooden table, knee-high, had been placed. Many little wooden folding stools were carefully positioned around it. A big floral teapot and teacups sat in the centre of the table and one of my sisters- in-law began to fill everyone's cups. Plates full of roasted sunflower seeds, peanuts and sorghum sweets were passed around. We popped open the sunflower seeds with our teeth and cracked the peanut shells with our hands. I remembered the sorghum sweets I used to take to Beijing with me. Every object was drenched with memories.
It was late in the afternoon by now. The sun was setting and had painted the sky a beautiful orange colour. I watched Mary-she was surrounded by my sisters-in-law and nieces. They seemed to understand each other without me having to translate for them at all. It was almost as though Mary had always been a part of this family.
Mary and I had brought some American cigarettes and candies and these were passed around and shared. The children feasted on the chewing-gums and sweets, and loved the American skipping ropes that we'd also brought for them. But the thing that excited and astounded everyone was our Polaroid camera. They were beside themselves with amazement. How could their own images, pictures of themselves, come out so quickly! It was thrilling. I was sad to discover, however, that the children in my village no longer seemed to play the simple games from my childhood, such as marbles or one-legged fights. Instead, they were crazy about small Japanese electronic gadgets, just like children in America. I was amazed that these sorts of sophisticated games were available in my village at all. How times had changed.
The children in my family welcomed Mary and me by putting on a singing and dancing show. We cheered and laughed as they each did their little numbers. The younger ones, from two to five years old, did their best trying to keep up. My two-year-old niece was knocked over a few times by the older children, but after a piece of sweet and some encouragement she was participating once more. Then, just before dinner time, many of the villagers returned from their work in the fields and popped their heads through the windows to get a glimpse of Mary and me. I could see they were too embarrassed to come in, so I took Mary outside instead. Within minutes a large crowd had gathered and an old man, whom I accidentally called Great Uncle instead of Great-Grand-Nephew, asked us to dance.