Ha Jin - A Free Life

The others stopped to look in his direction, laughing and hollering from the center of the reservoir. Nan reached the beach and dropped on his knees, gasping for breath. His right calf had a cramp, so he held his big toe and stretched the leg as straight as possible, which did ease the muscle pain somewhat. He cried at the others, who were still treading and looking at him, "Hey, there's a snake in zer water, zis long." He stretched his hands over four feet apart.

"No big deal," shouted Tim. "Just a water snake. It won't bite." Beyond him, Brian was doing the butterfly, splashing the water rhythmically.

Nan dreaded snakes, both poisonous and harmless ones, so he didn't enter the water again. Finally Bao came ashore. He said to Nan, "Boy, I didn't know you were so scared of snakes. As long as you leave them alone, they won't come close to you."

"It dashed right to my face."

"Come on, it wouldn't attack you. Snakes are afraid of people, who are much more poisonous."

Nan sighed, "This is my problem in the South. I can't blend myself into the landscape. Always at odds with the flora and fauna here."

" I thought you were quite at home in Atlanta, much more adaptable than me."

"I'm weak in my own way."

"I guess we all are."

An hour later, on their way back to Atlanta, Dick couldn't stop talking about Brian and Tim. He hoped to see them again and make fun of each other some more. He was attracted to Brian, Nan knew. The moment they entered Georgia, a fine shower trickled down, washing everything clean. But the rain stopped abruptly fifteen minutes after they had come out of Blue Ridge. The sun had dispersed the clouds and shone softly on the blacktop, which had turned darker. Their wheels were rolling on the wet asphalt with a crisp sound. Ahead of them was a blue Volvo cruising with a small mist in its wake. As they were catching up with it, they saw a sticker on the car's rear, announcing published author aboard! "What a braggart!" said Nan.

"Let's see what the driver looks like." Dick floored the gas pedal. With a jolt his Mustang charged forward, passing the Volvo. He slowed down a little so that they could get a better look at the authorial driver. A stout woman with heavy makeup and a big bouffant hairdo was steering absentmindedly. Her head was bobbing and jerking, perhaps to music.

"Did you recognize her?" asked Nan when they had passed the car.

"No. She looks like a freak."

"Maybe the car is not hers."

"If she's an author, she must write romance novels."

They tipped their heads back and laughed. Dick said he should have a bumper sticker designed for his car, proclaiming published poet aboard! That might attract a lot of women.

Also men, Nan thought, but he didn't let that out.

FINALLY Edward Neary wrote back to Nan, saying he liked his poems, particularly the one entitled "Pomegranates." But the poems were unfinished yet and needed "some tightening." He didn't return the poems and instead said he'd like to discuss them with Nan in person. In September he was going to conduct a workshop at Key West, so he hoped Nan could attend his class there. He had enclosed a brochure that described the Key West seminars taught regularly by distinguished writers.

At first Nan was excited by the personal attention the poet had paid to him. Then, reading the letter again, he found something strange between the lines. At one point Mr. Neary wrote: "I vividly remember the night we spent at the bar outside Emory. Your sweet smile impressed me greatly. In fact, it comes to mind from time to time. Please go to Key West, where we can meet and talk about your work. Clearly you have a good deal of talent, but you need tutoring. You're still a diamond in the rough. So do make the best use of this opportunity. I wish to know you better."

Nan wondered if Edward Neary was making a pass. In the Gold Wok's bathroom he observed himself in the mirror and found his face quite masculine, with a squarish chin, a broad nose, and wide-spaced, shining eyes. He couldn't see how he could be attractive to men. Yet several times in the bank and bookstores he had caught men's furtive glances shot at him. This had never happened in China and was troublesome to him. If only those stealthy eyes had belonged to women. That would have boosted his confidence considerably. Now Mr. Neary's suggestion perplexed Nan, who was uncertain whether he should go to Key West. Probably he shouldn't even think about it, because Pingping would enter the third trimester of her pregnancy in September and he must be around. Also, he couldn't afford to be away from his business for more than two days, let alone an entire week. Still, it was extraordinary to have such an offer from a famous poet, and Nan couldn't stop musing on the invitation.

When Dick came the next time, Nan showed him Neary's letter. After reading it, Dick put it on the table and grinned mischievously. "What?" Nan asked. "What do you make of it?" "I think he's an old lech." "You mean he's gay?"

"No, everybody knows Neary is an inveterate womanizer." "Zen why did you smile like zat?"

"He remembered you wrong and took you for another person." "I don't get it."

"Remember Emily Choi, the Korean girl at the bar? He must've gotten you and her mixed up."

Blushing, Nan muttered, "Zat's ridiculous." He recalled the young woman, who had indeed had a sweet face and also bright, smiling eyes.

"Look, your name Nan must have suggested to him a female, like Nancy and Nanny and Nanette. As a matter of fact, Nan is a diminutive of Anne and Anna."

"Actually, Nan means 'male.' My name means 'martial man.' "

"But Neary doesn't know Chinese."

"I see. He just wants to sleep wiz me, right?" Nan burst out laughing hysterically.

Dick looked startled, staring at his friend, whose face was distorted by the laugh. When Nan had stopped, Dick said, "Forget about this letter, okay? You can always show me your poems, and I'll tell you what I think honestly."

"I will do zat, sanks." Nan felt better, though his cheeks were still twitching. He remembered that when he was at Brandeis, he had once received a small package containing a pair of tampons mailed to him as a target consumer. Over the years he had run into many Chinese who had transformed themselves into Barry, or Harry, or

Mary, or Larry, or Carrie, and he had wondered whether he should have changed his name too, but he had always chosen not to.

Having translated the Blue Stars article on Bao, Nan mailed it to his friend. To his surprise, Cathay Herald, a Chinese-language newspaper circulating in Tennessee, Georgia, and Florida, published the article two weeks later. The translator's name wasn't given; that bothered Nan a little. He was also annoyed by the author's new tone, which had been altered quite a bit from the English, more formal and more authoritative now. Evidently, either Bao or the editor had tampered with his translation. In the space of a month the same piece was reprinted in a magazine called Art World. Obviously Bao had been busy promoting himself. Why did he take his student's article so seriously? The original publication was only in a new, obscure journal. Why should Bao be so obsessed with such an amateur piece of writing? He was too vain. No wonder he couldn't concentrate on real work.

Then Nan realized that in this case his friend had indulged his fraudulence more than his vanity. Bao tried to utilize the gap between the two languages-since few Chinese were familiar with the journal Blue Stars and Tim's writings, they could be misled into believing that it was a magazine as reputable as any major Chinese-language publication and that Tim Dullington must be an established art critic. Art World is a top-quality magazine printed outside China, so the transferring of the original article into such a major publication would present Bao in a different light, as if he were already a celebrity in America. In short, the whole misleading process helped to raise Bao's image to a higher level to the Chinese audience.