Ha Jin - A Free Life

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From Publishers Weekly
Ha Jin, who emigrated from China in the aftermath of Tiananmen Square, had only been writing in English for 12 years when he won the National Book Award for Waiting in 1999. His latest novel sheds light on an émigré writer's woodshedding period. It follows the fortunes of Nan Wu, who drops out of a U.S. grad school after the repression of the democracy movement in China, hoping to find his voice as a poet while supporting his wife, Pingping, and son, Taotao. After several years of spartan living, Nan and Pingping save enough to buy a Chinese restaurant in suburban Atlanta, setting up double tensions: between Nan's literary hopes and his career, and between Nan and Pingping, who, at the novel's opening, are staying together for the sake of their young boy. While Pingping grows more independent, Nan -amid the dulling minutiae of running a restaurant and worries about mortgage payments, insurance and schooling-slowly snuffs the torch he carries for his first love. That Nan at one point reads Dr. Zhivago isn't coincidental: while Ha Jin's novel lacks Zhivago's epic grandeur, his biggest feat may be making the reader wonder whether the trivialities of American life are not, in some ways, as strange and barbaric as the upheavals of revolution.
***
From the award-winning author of Waiting, a new novel about a family's struggle for the American Dream.
Meet the Wu family-father Nan, mother Pingping, and son Taotao. They are arranging to fully sever ties with China in the aftermath of the 1989 massacre at Tiananmen Square, and to begin a new, free life in the United States. At first, their future seems well-assured. But after the fallout from Tiananmen, Nan 's disillusionment turns him toward his first love, poetry. Leaving his studies, he takes on a variety of menial jobs as Pingping works for a wealthy widow as a cook and housekeeper. As Pingping and Taotao slowly adjust to American life, Nan still feels a strange attachment to his homeland, though he violently disagrees with Communist policy. But severing all ties-including his love for a woman who rejected him in his youth-proves to be more difficult than he could have ever imagined.

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"No," Nan shouted. "I'm going back to get somesing."

"Tell Pingping I have some geraniums for her."

"Sure, sanks."

He continued homeward, wondering how come mosquitoes didn't bother Mrs. Lodge at all. The old woman was so hale and hearty that, already past ninety, she still took care of her yard and garden. Over the crown of a giant oak in Alan's backyard, the North Star, slightly obscured by the smog, glowed with orange light, while traffic whirred from a distant main road. Fireflies pulsed here and there, drawing short arcs. As Nan entered his own front yard, a young maple suddenly rustled as if startled by his approaching. Then the air conditioner kicked on, humming at the side of the house. Taotao's room was dark, but Nan saw the light of his computer through the half-closed slats of the venetian blind. He unlocked the door stealthily and tiptoed in.

At the creaking of the floorboards in the corridor, Taotao lurched up from his swivel chair. He gulped as if to say something, but no word escaped from him. Nan flicked on the light, which made his son's eyes smart. The boy's mouth dropped open. A spasm of rage seized Nan, who rushed up to Taotao, grabbed his shoulders, and threw him down on the bed. "Why are you playing with the computer again?" he demanded. "Damn you! You promised Mom and me to do your homework and read when we were not home. Why did you break your word?"

"I just turned it on. I did my homework already."

"Liar! The phone line has been busy for two hours. I'm going to smash this damned machine now." Nan picked up a large magnet from a corner shelf, about to throw it at the monitor.

"Please, Daddy, don't! I won't do it again!" Taotao was holding Nan 's arm with both hands and begging him tearfully, but his father wouldn't let go of the magnet. Nan raised it above his head, struggling to pitch. As father and son were tussling, Nan caught sight of some words on the monitor's screen. He dropped the magnet on the chair and leaned forward to read the message, which said:

Hi, Taotao,

I miss you. You're my best boyfriend. I often tell my friends here what a great guy you are. They don't believe we are sweethearts and say I just brag. Write me some sweet, sweet words, so I can show them.

A thousand kisses,

Livia

Again anger overtook Nan, who grabbed his son's chest and began slapping him across the face. "You little beast! No wonder you always turn on the computer. You've been carrying on with Livia."

As Nan went on striking him, Taotao stopped resisting. He wailed, "I didn't write the message. Ow, don't hit me! You're hurting me,

Dad!"

But his father's merciless slaps kept landing on his face and head. In a flash his cheeks turned puffy, streaked with handprints. When Nan 's temper had subsided some, he saw his son's face, which horrified him. He released Taotao, who was still gasping for air. For a moment Nan stood there motionless as if dazed. Suddenly he remembered his promise to Pingping long ago that he'd never resort to violence in his life. How shocked he was by his own use of brute force on the boy, who couldn't defend himself. He averted his head, too ashamed to face his son.

Then he rushed off into the kitchen, picked up the cordless phone, and came back. "All right, stop crying," he said, panting, and gave Taotao the phone. "Call the police and tell them I beat you up."

"No, I won't call." The boy put both hands behind him, his mouth twisting.

"Call them!" Nan thrust the phone to him. "Let them come arrest me. Tell them I'm a violent man and should be sentenced to life." "No, I won't."

"Damn it, call them! Help me-I have had enough of this miserable life. Let them come and take me away. That will spare me all the worries and hopelessness. Let the police slam me into jail so that you can play with your computer day and night and have as many girlfriends as you want. Here, dial the number." He pointed at one of the emergency numbers on the sticker stuck to the handset.

"I won't call."

"Why? I just beat you up. Why not have me arrested? I'm an abusive parent and should be sentenced to prison. Now call!" "No, I won't."

Nan began punching the police's number madly. Taotao lunged forward and snatched the phone from his father's hands. Nan wrapped one arm around the boy as his other hand tried to loosen Taotao's grip on the phone. Father and son scuffled, and then both fell on the bed, but the boy still held the phone with both hands. Hard as Nan tried, he couldn't pry it free.

"Let go!" Nan huffed.

"No!"

Gradually Nan eased off some, then stopped to sit up. He peered at his son, who got up and moved away. The boy, still snuffling and panting, thrust both hands behind him so that his father couldn't see the phone. He stood in the corner with his back firmly against the walls. Seeing Taotao's tears and terror-stricken face, Nan froze, at a loss. In a flash he realized that his son desperately wanted to keep him home. Look at his face, so scared. Wouldn't surrender the phone even if you smashed his hands. Awash in contrition, Nan stood up and went out of the house without another word. He headed back to the Gold Wok, continually wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, weeping all the way.

5

WHEN Nan told Pingping of what he had discovered at home and what he'd done, her first response was a punch on his shoulder. Then she warned him, "Don't ever whale Taotao again, or I'll give you endless trouble."

Nan promised he would never hit the boy again.

Though Pingping smacked their son once or twice a year, she wouldn't allow anyone else to touch him. Yet in her heart of hearts she believed Taotao deserved his beating, so she couldn't help but grumble about him and even said she too would whack him. Niyan overheard her and protested, "Please go easy on him. He should have some fun."

"Fun?" Pingping retorted. "He was flirting with a girl while we work ourselves half to death here."

"He's almost eleven and should be interested in girls."

"I don't want him to have a girlfriend until he graduates from college. It's a waste of time."

"Heavens, you're such a fuddy-duddy. We're not living in China anymore. Here kids reach puberty earlier. By any standard Taotao is a fine boy. You should feel lucky to have a son like him. I have a friend whose teenage boy often visited porn sites on the Internet. He even called some women. At the end of a month his father received a phone bill for more than nine hundred dollars."

" My goodness, when did this happen?"

"Two years ago when that boy had just turned thirteen."

"What did his parents do about him?"

" His father strapped him, but the boy kept visiting porn sites, addicted to cybersex. He even threatened to sue his parents for child abuse. "

"There's no way to straighten him out?"

"His parents sent him back to Beijing the summer before last, but last year they took him back because he couldn't survive middle school there. He didn't know enough Chinese to understand his lessons. If you had a son like that, how would you feel?"

Pingping said no more, though deep down she was still fuming at Taotao for carrying on with Livia. The greatest regret in her life was that before she met Nan she'd had a boyfriend who had wasted five years of her life. She had gone to the young man's home on weekends, hand-laundering and cooking for his family. Because of serving them, she couldn't concentrate on her schoolwork, though she always got good grades. Without the boyfriend she could have gone to graduate school and achieved much more in her life. Those years spent with the man who later jilted her were the most miserable and empty period of her life. At any cost she wouldn't let her son repeat the same mistake.

After returning home from work that night, she said to Taotao, "You must stop writing to Livia."

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