Ha Jin - A Free Life

One Saturday morning Alan said to Nan about the house, "I won't buy it unless it's under ten grand."

"Eef you can fix it and sell it to someone, you can make a lawt of money," said Nan.

"But the renovation will cost a fortune. Too many things have to be replaced." Alan slapped his thigh as if an insect had gotten into his pant leg, and his other hand was holding a tiny spade with which he dug dandelions out of his lawn.

Nan went on, "My friend Shubo may be interested in buying it, but he doesn't know how to repair a house."

"Who's your friend?"

"You know zer waitress at my restaurant?"

"Yes, she's a pretty gal." Alan swatted a mosquito that had landed on his sinewy neck.

"Shubo is her hahsband. Zey live outside Lawrenceville and want to move closer."

"I think I met the guy. Well, tell him he's not welcome." Alan's tone was rather casual, but he seemed to speak accidentally on purpose.

Nan was taken aback. "Why?"

"I like you and Pingping, to be frank, and you're good neighbors. But there're too many Chinese in this neighborhood already. We need diversity, don't we?"

"But we are probably zee only Chinese here."

"How about the big family across the lake?"

"Oh, they're Vietnamese." Nan remembered seeing seven or eight cars parked in the yard of that brick raised ranch the other day. He had also noticed two young Asian couples in this area, but he was sure they weren't Chinese.

Alan continued, "Mrs. Lodge, Fred, Terry, and Nate, we all talked about this. We don't want this subdivision to become a Chinatown."

Nan was scandalized but didn't know how to argue with him. He managed to say, "All right, I will tell Shubo what you said. You want to keep Chinese as minority here, but don't you sink our neighborhood should be a melting pot?"

"But some people are not meltable."

"Maybe the pot is not big enough. Make it a cauldron, zen everybody can melt in it, yourself included."

They both laughed. Alan said, "To be honest, the worst-case scenario is that a slumlord will buy this house, fix it up, and rent it out. That'll cause a lot of trouble to our neighborhood."

"See, my friend will be a mahch better choice."

"Sure, compared with a slumlord."

The thought flashed through Nan's mind that some people in the neighborhood had taken his family to be interlopers all along and probably would continue to do so whether they were naturalized or not. When he passed Alan's words on to Shubo, his friend was so outraged that his eyes turned rhomboidal and his face nearly purple. The opposition from the neighborhood made Shubo all the more determined to bid for the house, even though he was uncertain how to renovate it and even though originally he and Niyan had worried that the property might depreciate in value because it was right next to the Wus'. He didn't know anyone in the house-repairing business and would have to use a contractor, who might rip him off. Worse still, it would be impossible for him to keep a close watch on the renovation because he'd have to bartend at Grand Buddha six days a week. All the same, his anger didn't abate, and the more he thought about Alan's words, the more resolved he was-he and his wife must enter into the neighborhood like a thorn stuck in those racists' flesh.

By now Niyan had befriended Janet, so Janet volunteered to accompany her and Shubo to the sale on November 6, which they all expected would be something like a Dutch auction. Shubo had drawn a certified check for $15,000 from the bank, as the flyer had indicated would be needed in order to seal the bargain on the spot. Nan urged the couple to be cool-headed about this matter, advising that they should treat it just as a regular business deal. After exchanging views, everybody agreed that Shubo and Niyan should pay no more than $40,000 for the house. If it went higher than that, they should forget it.

To everybody's amazement, the auction was such a quiet affair that few people in the neighborhood even noticed it. Seven real estate brokers showed up and Shubo was the only nonprofessional bidder among them. There was no chair for anyone to sit on, and the auctioneer, a tall man from Southtrust Bank, didn't shout out any offer from the bidders; neither did anyone hold a paddle with a number printed on it. Besides owing a mortgage of $65,000, Gerald hadn't paid real estate tax and several other bills for years. By any means the bank, the town, the utility companies, and even a used-car dealer had to recover the arrears, so the starting price for the property was $81,000. Shubo, Niyan, and Janet were dumbfounded, just standing there and watching others outbid one another. There were no raised voices, as if they all were at a coffee break from a meeting, making small talk. A man with a marzipan face was sucking a large Havana cigar the whole time and just flashed his fingers at the auctioneer without speaking. Two of the brokers quit at $90,000, but they showed no emotion, as if tired of the whole thing.

The final bid was $93,000, and the house went to a young Hispanic real estate broker. Shubo and Niyan returned to the Gold Wok, still in disbelief. Niyan told the Wus the purchasing price. Everybody was surprised and couldn't imagine that after paying that amount someone could still make a profit from the house. Shubo kept shaking his round chin and said, "Without money you can't fight racism in America."

"Just as you have to be rich enough to love your country," added Nan.

Like their neighbors, the Wus also feared that the buyer of the house might be a slumlord; otherwise, who would pay that kind of price for the property? Maybe the broker meant to convert it into a two-family house and rent it out so that he could make a larger profit. The more people talked about this, the more agitated they became.

To the Wus' bewilderment, for a whole winter the buyer left the house untouched. Though the season was less convenient for construction work, people in Georgia don't stop building or repairing homes in the wintertime. The new owner, who was said to intend to fix up the house and then sell it, seemed to have forgotten the property and didn't even come and look at it again until the next spring.

In mid-March the renovation finally started. A group of Mexican workers washed the walls and the roof, painted the doors and windows, and spread grass seeds into the loosened dirt of the lawn. They dismantled the glass porch and built a new deck. A real mailbox was erected at the end of the front yard. Despite the bright appearance of the renovated house, Nan knew that all the inner damages were covered up. The roof should have been replaced, as well as some of the pipes inside. Within two weeks, a sign was planted in the yard with a sheaf of flyers sheathed in a plastic pocket attached to the board. The asking price was $123,000, which pleased Nan and Pingping in a way, because it indicated that their own home must have appreciated considerably in value. Still, they couldn't help wondering who would pay that kind of money for such a house.

Their anxiety proved unjustified. A month later, Judith Goodman, a middle-aged single woman, bought it. She was an optician at the Gwinnett Mall and liked the quiet neighborhood and the lake. Then her mother, previously living down in St. Petersburg, Florida, moved in with her. Many people in the subdivision were relieved to see the Goodmans here. Again, Mrs. Lodge placed a vase of flowers, tulips this time, on their welcome mat the day after they moved in.

FOR ANOTHER YEAR Nan devoted himself to making money. The quality of his cooking was so good and the prices so affordable that the Gwinnett Gazette wrote about the Gold Wok, praising it as "the best bargain." Sometimes customers arrived groups and Niyan couldn't wait on so many of them, so Shubo, if available, would come in to help. The Wus had thought of hiring another waitress but decided not to, fearing business might flag again.