Ha Jin - A Free Life

As the two friends were talking, Nan felt an itch in his throat. Unconsciously he massaged the area below his Adam's apple with his thumb and forefinger. He didn't give more thought to this discomfort and just kept drinking the jasmine tea Danning poured him.

When Weiwei got the water ready, Nan went out to wash. On a stone bench under a crab apple tree sat a brass basin, beside which were a folded towel and a plastic case containing a bar of green soap. Nan soaked the towel in the water and rubbed his face and neck with it.

Quickly he went back into the house, eager to resume conversing with his friend. Although he felt refreshed after the washing, his throat still itched. His breathing went rough, but he tried to ignore it.

Over tea the two of them caught up with each other. Danning now worked at the Beijing Writers' Association and had been writing a script for a TV series. He disliked the show because the story was set in the Ming dynasty, six hundred years ago, but it paid well, much more than fiction. "Why write an ancient story?" Nan asked.

"It's safe to do that. Many, many writers are working on ancient stuff nowadays."

"Isn't it hard to make such work literary?" Nan said in earnest.

Danning slapped the top of his thigh and laughed. "If you lived here, Nan, you'd have to forget about literature. The higher-ups want us to write about dead people and ancient events because this is a way to make us less subversive and more inconsequential. It's their means of containing China 's creative energy and talents. The saddest part is that in this way we can produce only transient work."

"Isee, it's a trap."

Danning sighed and said he had been misusing his time for too long and must return to the real work soon. Nan didn't ask him what kind of writing he had in mind as "the real work" and instead expressed his admiration for the number of books (half a dozen) his friend had written. "None of them is any good," Danning insisted. "I've just been frittering away my life. Unlike in America, here I have no real struggle for livelihood. You see, I live comfortably. I just take up a project, finish it, and get paid." He looked languid, as if already an old man in spite of his relatively young looks. Nan noticed that his hairline had retreated quite a bit, giving him a larger forehead than before. Also, Danning had a double chin, but that was almost covered by his chin-strap beard. Despite his easy life, despite his spacious home, despite his success, Danning was definitely unhappy.

Nan drank more tea to soothe his throat; still he couldn't breathe easily, his windpipe tight. Danning called his wife at work to see if she'd like to join them for lunch at a cafe. She was delighted and said she would. Before they set out, Nan finally told his friend, "My throat feels dry and funny. Something is wrong."

"So you have trouble breathing, don't you?" Danning smiled quizzically.

"Yes, like having asthma."

"You know what? You must have an allergy."

"Really? An allergy to what?"

" To the air, the smog. When my wife came back from America she had the same problem. It took her a month to get used to the air here, to become a Chinese again." He tossed his head back and laughed. "Let me see if we still have some Benadryl." He went into a bedroom and came out with a brown bottle. "Here, take this." He shook out two caplets into Nan 's cupped palm.

Knowing the pills might make him drowsy, Nan swallowed them anyway. Then together they headed out. Weiwei, watching a movie on TV didn't come with them. She asked her father to bring back a meat pie for her.

FOREVER LOVE CAFE was a very small place. Its side windows looked onto a man-made lake, which, ringed with white sand, was more like a pond, without any trace of fish or waterfowl in it. Two teenage boys were swimming near the opposite shore, their red and white caps bobbing on the green water. Danning knew the owner of the restaurant, a handsome, lean-faced man, and introduced Nan to him as his friend from overseas. "Welcome back," the man said warmly, waving the cigarette held between his fingers.

They sat at a table beside a window. The room had a faintly vinegary smell, emanating from the cold dishes contained in the enamel basins in the glass display case. A waitress with squarish shoulders came and put a porcelain teapot and two cups between them. "Their specialities are braised pork tripe and beef tendons," Danning told Nan. "They also serve panfried noodles and rice for lunch. But their offerings may be far below the standard of your restaurant, so please bear with them."

"Come on, you think I'm rich and finicky about food?"

"You're a businessman now."

"I'm still struggling to survive there."

"Yet you're rich."

" Only by Chinese standards. "

"That's what I mean."

Sirong, Danning's wife, appeared, a petite woman smiling with a broad mouth and bulging eyes. She reminded Nan of a giant goldfish, though she looked good-natured and carefree. She held out her hand to him and said, "It's so nice to meet you finally. Danning often mentioned you. When did you arrive?"

"Three hours ago." He shook her hand, which was small and soft.

" Well, what do you think of Beijing now?"

"There are more cars, more buildings, and more people."

The couple cracked up. "That's a very accurate observation," Danning said, turning to his wife. "I told you he's a sharp fellow. He's having the same kind of allergic reaction as you did."

"You are?" she asked Nan. "No wonder you look so pale. But don't worry. You'll be all right soon. It's just the process of getting readjusted. You'll feel normal within a month."

Nan thought of telling her that he'd be going back to the States the next week, but he refrained. He didn't feel like talking much and just enjoyed listening to them. The waitress came again and put a teacup before Sirong. Sirong ordered a wonton soup.

When the panfried noodles, the wontons, and the shredded beef tendons arrived, Sirong said to Nan, "I must confess I miss America, a lot."

"What do you miss most?"

" Things like big apples, big salmon, and big lobster," she said in all sincerity. "Also, I'm a chocoholic and miss all kinds of chocolates they have there."

Nan laughed and told her, "We serve salmon in our restaurant every day. You should come and visit us."

"I'd love to. Mmmm, I still remember the lobster and shrimp we had at a crab shack in Plymouth, near the Mayflower. You see, here fish are skimpy and fruit puny. We Chinese eat too much and have used up our land."

Danning added, turning to Nan, "Overeating is a big problem among children now."

Nan nodded. "I saw some big fat kids this morning, like in the States."

"Not just children who overeat, grown-ups too," said Sirong. " Danning goes to dinner parties at least four times a week. Look how fat he is now. Besides, he has high cholesterol and hypertension."

Indeed, Danning had gained at least thirty pounds. Nan said to him, "You've got to be careful about your health. You're no longer a young man."

"In fact," said Danning, "I'm doing better than most of my colleagues. Many of them have to battle diabetes and high blood fat levels, having eaten too much meat and sugar. My boss's triglyc-erides are over seven hundred. He often says he might have a stroke or drop dead anytime. Speaking of dinner parties, I'm supposed to attend one with a group of writers tonight. Nan, would you like to come with me? It'll be fun. You'll meet some important people."

"All right, I'll come."

Sirong had to return to work before one-thirty and left the moment she was done with her wontons. The two friends strolled back, Danning holding a thick pie stuffed with pork and chives for his daughter. At a clothing stand Nan bought a tartan skirt as a present for the girl despite her father's protesting, "She already has too much stuff."