Ha Jin - A Free Life

"A novel called Cold Mountain is very popular at the moment," Nan told Mengfei.

"Who wrote it?"

"A new writer named Charles Frazier, but I haven't read the book yet." Nan paused, then added, "I brought back a copy of American Pastoral for Danning."

The spare man with slanting eyebrows seated next to Mengfei spoke in a shrill voice. "Th-that's Philip Roth's ne-new novel!"

" Yes," Nan said.

Fanlong butted in, "I like Roth a lot, especially his Ghost Writer."

" I think Saul Bellow is better," mumbled the bespectacled man sitting next to Danning.

" Ah, Bellow is smart and funny," Mengfei said, and smacked his lips as if tasting his own words.

In addition to parading their knowledge of American literature, they also talked about Calvino, Kundera, and Duras, none of whom was familiar to Nan, though at present they were popular here. So when Mengfei asked his opinion, Nan said, "I don't read fiction very often. I read more poetry."

" Wonderful," the bright-eyed captain put in.

Fanlong added, "We just bought Derek Walcott's new book."

Nan was startled and realized that these men might be bureaucrats in the Chinese literary world. Now he should be more careful about what he was going to say. Probably they did indeed know a lot about American authors through translations.

The dishes came, loaded on a serving cart. Two young waitresses in pea green aprons began placing the courses on the table. "This is 'Trotting on a Country Path,'" declared one of them. Nan batted his eyes to look at the dish closely. Heavens, it was just braised pig trotters garnished with a few sprigs of parsley! Despite his bewilderment, he said nothing. Then together the waitresses lifted a large platter containing a fried flounder. There were also several cold cuts and sauteed vegetables. Finally the taller woman put the last plate on the table with both hands and said, "Here's your 'Whispers.'" Nan tried hard to stifle his laughter on looking at the dish, which was nothing but smoked beef tongues lying in aspic.

The waitresses had scarcely pulled the cart away when Nan burst out laughing, a bubbling sound in his nose. He said to the others, "Let's whisper, let's whisper." They got the joke and all cracked up.

"Lucky we still have our tongues," said Mengfei with a straight face.

They laughed more. As they were eating and chatting, more people appeared in the restaurant and most of the seats were taken. There were several gatherings in the room, but each group of diners paid little attention to the other tables. Nan liked the fish and ate several pieces of it. Everything else, though, tasted mediocre, but he tried to show his appreciation. By now he realized this place must be a kind of club for officials, businesspeople, and the cultural elite.

A moment later Nan mentioned to Fanlong, the senior editor, Dick Harrison's new book, Unexpected Gifts. The man looked blank, blinking his baggy eyes and saying, "I don't know enough about contemporary American poetry. Tell me more about this poet."

Without mentioning his friendship with Dick, Nan described him as a rising star in American poetry. He even recited the final stanza of Dick's poem "A Son's Reason," and they all laughed at the last lines-"Mother, I love you / only from far away."

"Dick Harrison just started teaching at the Iowa Writers' Workshop," Nan told Fanlong.

That soaked in. They all knew that workshop and the Iowa International Writing Program. The latter would admit two or three Chinese writers a year. The competition for such an opportunity was especially fierce among poets, because it was also a way to get a bit of money. After spending a semester at the University of Iowa, one could save $2,000 or $3,000 besides having the honor of attending such a prestigious program.

Danning declared to them, "In fact, Dick Harrison is a close friend of Nan 's."

The faces at the table changed visibly. Fanlong, who was also a published poet, began to listen to Nan more closely and went on asking questions about American poetry. He even said to Nan in an orotund voice, "I hope I can visit you in Georgia one of these days. Atlanta must be a big international city."

"Sure, you're always welcome." Nan felt like a fake, uncertain whether Pingping would like that. But he had to appear friendly.

Some people at the tables near a low platform started singing a song, following the karaoke machine that had just come on. Mengfei stood up and said, "Let's go have some fun." They all went over to watch the crowd.

Several young women who must have been on the waitstaff were among the singers. A moment before, everyone had been quiet and subdued, but all of a sudden the men and women were so clamorous that Nan wondered whether they were all depressed and desperate to vent their frustrations through singing. They belted out song after song-sometimes only one man and one woman sang together, and sometimes a number of people chorused at the top of their lungs. Fanlong went to the front and began to sing an old folk song with a woman with a bleached blond pageboy who wore a red cheongsam. They were singing:

In a distant mountain lives a beautiful girl. Whoever passes her cottage will turn, Hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

Her small pink face shines like the sun.

Her lovely eyes move

Like the moon in a cloudless night.

O I'm willing to give up all I have And just follow her flock of goats,

So every day I can see her small pink face And her pretty dress frilled with gold.

O I'm dying to be her little goat And always stay at her side, So she can flick her tiny whip To stroke my behind.

Having finished the song, Fanlong wagged his big ass and bleated twice, which set off whoops of laughter. He then held the woman's hands and did a little jig under the miniature chandelier, swinging his legs briskly while his cheeks glistened with sweat. The woman followed his steps, swaying her hips while holding her face up and straight. Despite the noisy audience, the two looked quite natural.

Nan was a little tired, but he thought he ought to keep his friend company. Danning was playing cards with Mengfei, the captain, and the journalist at their own table now. They had asked Nan to join them, but he had forgotten how to play One Hundred Points and just stayed around watching them.

Two girls, heavily made up, came over and sat beside the men. One of them said to Mengfei, "Colonel, don't you want some fun and comfort today?"

"Wait until I lose another five pounds." Mengfei rolled his bovine eyes. Except Nan, all the others cackled. Nan was puzzled by the colonel's answer, but said nothing.

The other girl turned to Danning. "Hey, big writer, you've forgotten me already? Where's the perfume you promised me?"

"Next time, Dailian, all right? I'm with my friend here." His chin jutted at Nan.

"Doesn't your friend feel lonely? He's so quiet."

"Ask him then."

The girl was all smiles. She scooted closer to Nan and asked coquettishly, "Don't you want to know me?" "Sure," Nan replied out of politeness. "Would you like to spend some time with me?" "For what?"

Mengfei gave a belly laugh and said, " Nan 's so innocent. Different from us. He's still uncorrupted."

"Just follow her," Danning told Nan. "She'll let you know for what."

"Who will pay for it?" Nan asked.

"You will, of course." Mengfei pointed at him. "Now I see that you're not so innocent as I thought. I pay for food and drinks but not for fellatio or sex."

The girl sitting near him pouted. "He's always so shameless and barbaric. "

Jokingly Nan said to the girl beside him, "I don't have money, unless you're willing to spend time with me for free…" "You don't have to pay now."

Danning intervened, " Nan, don't tease her. She knows you're from abroad. If you're not interested, just say you don't want it. She'll hold me responsible if you get anything free from her."