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The Best Part In "Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square": Baiyun's Dysfunctional Family in a Dysfunctinal Society

                                     An Excerpt from Chapter 4

It was a small, odd-shaped hallway, with the kitchen and a room on the left and an entrance that led into two rooms on the right. The white wall in the hallway was cold and smooth like porcelain under the late afternoon sun.  Dried-up bok choy, muddy turnips and tall spinach lay, looking tired, against the wall.  In the middle of the hallway, to one side, stood a refrigerator and an old bamboo dish cabinet set on top of a wet-looking wooden rack. 

Baiyun walked in her father's bedroom, which was also the dining room. Her father was sunk down into a cushioned wooden chair trimming the end of a twig.  A pot of sand sat next to the twig.  In the dim light of a desk lamp, he examined the twig to make sure the cut was perfect.  After several tries, he buried the end of the twig in the sand and set it next to a row of pots on the windowsill.  With the help of the magnifying glass, he examined them one by one.  "Meow, meow!"  He yowled, and Baiyun took it as a sign of pleasure.        

"Father," said Baiyun, which startled him.

"Oh.  What are you doing here?"  He looked at Baiyun with his old eyes and went right back to his trimming task.

After taking care of the plants, Father returned to his desk.  He began scribbling on scraps of paper.  Once in a while he would crumple the paper and throw it into the wastebasket.  Then he took a new piece and scribbled some more.  Finally he held a sheet of paper in front of his nose and laughed loudly.

"One and a half rats per flower pot, my honored citizens.  That's right.  Ha, ha..."

He spun around on his chair and picked up a white plastic pail from underneath the desk, which was full of dead rats.  He took out the rats one by one and laid them on the dirt in flowerpots.  Returning to his desk, he began cutting the rest of rats in half with a huge pair of rusty scissors, one after another.  Blood spilled on the floor, and sprayed onto his clothes and face.

"Meow, meow!"  He seemed to enjoy the taste of blood in his mouth.

Watching this, Baiyun couldn't stand it anymore.  She ran out of the room and thought about leaving that disgusting place.  Then she remembered her duty to bring food to father.  She opened the refrigerator and found some cold stir-fry.  She heated it up on the gas stove in the small kitchen and walked back to the dining room with one hand on her nose.

Father was writing comments between the lines of a textbook using a magnifying glass.  The book itself revealed why he had to use the magnifying glass.  It was a textbook of advanced mathematics called, "Special Function" that had equations and words.  However, a handwritten version also was superimposed on top of the print.  In fact most of the printed version had been either crossed out or pasted over with handwritten text. 

Baiyun left the food on his desk. Underneath the glass on the table, Baiyun noticed many new pictures of red and purple roses.

Father wolfed down his food and continued his writing on the textbook.  After a few minutes, his head nodded. His hand dropped with the weight of the magnifying glass.  The pen stopped; blue ink soaked through the page and created a large stain on the page.  In a minute, loud snoring sullied the silence. Under the dim lamplight, the flushing of his face made him look like a roasted animal.

Baiyun looked away and only to set her eyes on pots of roses in full bloom.  Their color ranged from yellow to pink and from red to black.  But most were bloody red like a girl's lipstick ready to be kissed.

Baiyun realized her parents were in no mood or shape to talk to her.  Before she decided to leave, she heard a motorcycle approaching. She decided to sit at the desk at the middle of the room.

Lao Zheng rushed into the apartment without knocking. He nodded to Baiyun, winked at her, and then went straight to Meiling's bedroom after letting the curtain down.  The curtain on Meiling's bedroom door was like a woman's summer dress—just long enough to hide the mid-parts of the body.

Meiling asked him "How much do we have now?"

"Oh, about twenty thousand," Lao Zheng answered.

"No, I don't believe you.  You must have put away some for yourself."

"Come on, woman.  You can't be serious.  Have I ever cheated you?"

"Stop!"  It was the sound of Meiling slapping Lao Zheng.  "Don't think you can lay me as soon as you get here.  Get serious for a minute.  If a civil war started, we wouldn't have anything left.  We'd better find a way to save our hard earned money."

"Okay, but let's talk about that later."

"Oh!  What do you want?  What do you want?  Ha, ha..."Meiling's hysterical laugh indicated she was no longer ill.  The handsome tiger embroidered on the dark brown knitted curtain suddenly came alive.  His widely open mouth and pointed teeth revealed his great hunger.

"Don't be too rough with me!  I'm sick."

"Come on, I'm the cure for your illness."

Two pairs of feet in slippers appeared in the space beneath the curtain.  One was big and strong with bulging veins under rough dark skin, the other tiny and elegant as marble.  They moved closer, separated and rose up onto the bed.  The door was closed shut.

The tiger on the curtain seemed to roar.  The curtain was thick and impenetrable.  Peering through the tiger's eyes, Baiyun could see Meiling's and her boyfriend's ecstatic faces that made her look away immediately.  Just before she was about to leave, she saw her father go into the kitchen.

Father lit a burner, took a fire poker and laid it on the fire.  When the tip was red hot, he picked it up and marched toward Meiling's bedroom.  Without hesitation, he jabbed the fire poker directly through the eye of the tiger on the curtain.  A hissing sound told her Meiling's bedroom door was closed and Father had also burned a hole through the wood.  Then he burned another and another.  Finally he threw down the poker, jumped at the door and, like a lizard crawling on a wall, spied into Meiling's room through the holes he had made.  He leaned against the door, making it squeak, then he turned toward one side and slid down.  Something was growing in the front of his pants.  He put his hand in, rubbing and squeezing.  His face was scarlet and twisted.

"Aaeh!  Aaeh!"  This time his moaning became harsher and more intense.

I’m Chinese Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

I neither have spiky Mohawk hair nor do I have the dragon tattoo on my back.   I don’t walk around in a heavy motorcycle helmet and a pair of leather army boots.  Yet inside me, I’m every bit like her.  I have leather skin around my heart, spikes poking out of my lungs and tattoos stenciled on my intestines.  Like LisBeth, I was physically abused at a young age and was raped twice in my twenties but my math skills have helped me to find a bona fide job.   My heart was so insolated that when I was raped, I didn’t even know it was rape until 25 years later when I was reading the story in my writing group.  Here is the story that happened twenty five years ago when I came to this country fresh out of China.  I was not affected at the time due to my lack of knowledge or sex education in China.  I will relate more stories of my family in future posts and you will see why I was not hurt by this event.

Raped in Fargo

My Professor Dr. Swirsky, was a tall and slender man with messy salt and pepper hair.  When he wrote on the blackboard, he had to twist his tall frame 90 degrees in order to write with his left hand.   He taught “Quantum Mechanics” and also served as my faculty/adviser.

On my first day, he cleared a bench top for me as my desk and gave me a stack of research papers on the “Structure of Protein Molecules” to read.  Soon I started going to the lab routinely.   Time went fast for me.   Very soon the snow started falling and my short bicycle commute became a long trudge through the snow.  I was wearing the warmest down jacket one could find in China.  I was wearing a pair of long underwear beneath my jeans, kept my mitten-covered hands in the jacket pockets.  I naturally curled up my body to reserve the heat, yet this was not enough.  The cold wind blew onto my naked face like many knives.  My eyelashes got frozen.  My feet cried for help.  I might just as well stop and become a snowman.  Once I got home, it was such a treat to have our homemade egg rolls, fresh out of the hot oil. 

This was how I met Mohammad.  Just like me he was a new graduate student from Lebanon.  He had black hair, bushy mustache and a pair of penetrating eyes.  He loved to ask me questions.  When he was asking, he would stare at me.  I could feel a sense of desire shooting out of his very expressive eyes.  He was rude but macho.  Sometimes he would snatch my pencil away from my hand while I was doing my homework.

“Hey, stop!  Help me!”  He pointed at his chest as though I didn’t understand him.  I didn’t mind teaching him since I was an instructor at Beijing Medical University before I came to the US and also was offered a half-time TA (teaching assistant) during my first quarter at the North Dakota State.  With my limited English, I did remarkably well.  I used my body language and my sense of humor.  My outstanding troubleshooting skills really helped me in teaching the physics lab. 

At first, I thought that the students talked rather fast.  But they were good-natured and did not mind occasionally repeating for me.  Sometimes they would repeat questions in my funny accent.  There was chemistry evolving between me --- a young student from P.R. China and these pink-faced American students.  At the end, I gave everyone a B or better except for two students whose lab reports were messy and illegible.  They came to me sad faced.

“Why did you give us  ‘C’s’?”

Looking at these two innocent students, my heart fell for them.  I changed their lab grades to “B”.  I loved to see happy faces.  I was not much a believer in grades anyway, even though I was mostly an “A” student all throughout my grade school and high school.  I knew how misleading it could be.

Mohammad loved to drive me around in his old Chevy.  I didn’t always have time to go with him.  I only remembered going with him once.  The car radio played Rock’n Roll music while we were driving on the quiet highway.  I didn’t know much about Rock ‘n Roll music, not even the Classic Rock.   Before I left China, I listened to Beethoven’s Third, Fifth and Ninth Symphonies --- quite a change from the Communist Revolution music I used to sing and listen to.  I actually enjoyed it.  Besides I used to listen to the classic music my father played with his violin when I was young.  I had never heard of Jazz music, let alone Rock n’ Roll.  I just grew up in much more ancient time than the rest of the world.  Since I was so behind, I had never had time or tried to catch up.  It didn’t really matter. Rock n’ Roll music was not supposed to have deep meaning.  It reflected the easy and happy mood in American culture or the culture of the western world that was so different than my upbringing.  I was told as I was growing up that life was hard and happiness was to be earned.  I thought that I would never understand Rock n’ Roll. 

Mohammad spoke of his family.  His parents got married when they were both teenagers, his father 15 and his mother 12.  He had several sisters.  He also had a nice girlfriend.

“But she deedn’t wanta to cum here.”

I didn’t want to go out with him even though he often stared at me hungrily like a wild animal.  I found that attractive but I did not love him.

Sometimes we studied together at night mostly because he wanted me to help him with his homework in “Quantum Mechanics” or “Classic Mechanics”.  One day he asked me to go to his apartment after studying.

“Come on.”  He stared at me, his eyes burning with desire in a dark night with a few stars in the sky. 

            “No.”  I shook my head.  My quiet voice implied that I wanted to.  Yet I couldn’t.  Even though sleeping with someone who desired my body sounded attractive in a cold winter night, what would my roommate think if I came home late or not at all?  She would worry about me.  She might think something bad had happened to me like being seduced into a classmate’s apartment or simply being murdered.  She would for sure gossip about me if she found out that I had slept with a Lebanese man.  Deep inside me, I wanted to.  I imagined what it was like being kissed and caressed by a wild man.  But I never budged.  Mohammad, however, didn’t give up.  He invited me again to have lunch with him a few days later.  He made it sound like just lunch, nothing else.  I actually believed it. 

            “Come on.  Come to my apartment and I will cook for you.  I can also show you some Arabic art and my family photos.”

            “What are you going to cook?”  I asked.

            “You will find out.”

            After he drove me to his one bedroom basement apartment, I found out that there was neither art on the walls or any windows.  He mixed a couple of eggs and fried them in a small frying pan.  During lunch, he told me about his experiences during the war.

            I was impressed by his courage.  I admired people who had participated in a war, whether he or she was forced into it or volunteered.  Being able to confront death could open up an entire new world in one’s psyche.  I was listening to him with admiration.

            “I was wounded once.  Do you wanta to thee my scar?”  He said earnestly.  In his eyes, I did not see any of the usual animal desire.  I was going to say yes.  I wanted to.  Before I could utter a word, he took off his pants.  Apparently he had to take off his underwear to show me the scar.  Then he quietly pulled me into the bedroom.  I tried to refuse but it was too late.  He pulled down my pants and underwear and leaped on top of me.  I screamed and said “No.  No” repeatedly.  I was not sure what he had done to me.  All I could see was that there was blood on his white bed sheet.  It took me another year or two before I found out that I really lost virginity that day with Mohammad because I was not convinced at the time.  It went so fast.  I didn’t think he entered me at all.  I quickly gathered up things and left.  He had to drive me back to my apartment.

            “You never had sex before?”

            “No.  I want to be a virgin until I get married.  I want to save my virginity for my husband.”

            “I thought you had a boyfriend in China.”

            “Yes.”

            “What did you do together?”

            “Talk.”

            “I don’t understand.  How do you express love?”

            “We kissed each other.”

            This was last time he invited me to his apartment.  He stopped staring at me with the animal desire.  Every now and then, he still asked me to help him with his homework.  I sometimes saw him waiting outside of the student union for someone to show up, a new girlfriend I guessed.

            After this episode, I didn’t want to have a boyfriend for a long time.   It was as though this experience with Mohammad had stunned me and left a bitter taste in my mouth.  I wanted to have a relationship that was caring and mutual.  “Some day”, I told myself.

            Twenty-five years later, after I read this story to my friends in my writing group, one of them said, “This is rape.  You were raped!”  All of sudden, a light bulb lit up in my head.  I WAS RAPED twenty-five years ago and didn’t even know.  I was speechless.  I didn’t which was more painful, being raped or not knowing it.  All I knew was that I didn’t have much trouble with men in my life thereafter.  I married not only once but also twice.  I had relationships with a handful of people in my life.  I had experienced passionate love.  So this rape did not scar me.  It didn’t even bother me.  What bothered me more was I did not know it.  But why?

Coming soon from Fantasy Island Book Publishing for the whole story:

Paperback for "Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square" is available in Amazon

                   
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                                           An Excerpt From Chapter 3

Several hundred people assembled in front of the men's dormitory, #41, near one of the campus gates.   The red Beijing University flag was billowing in the wind.  Some windows of the dorms were open and the students who'd overslept yelled, "Wait for me.  I will be down in a second." Some came down with a piece of bread in their hands. 

When Baiyun, Yumei and their roommate Li Yan arrived at 7:00am, each girl had a different feeling about being there.  Baiyun wore blue pants and a faded jacket, hoping her appearance would attract no attention. Yumei's bright orange sweater indicated that she wanted to be noticed immediately. Li Yan wore a neutral white top and black pants, as though she was still in mourning for the death of Hu Yaobang, which was absolutely adequate. Her approach to life was more realistic.  She was a stout girl with two bushy pigtails and she loved sports and politics, so she was just happy to be a part of it.

Their decision to skip class on Monday was a big one.  The liberal arts students organized the march.  Since the girls were chemistry majors, Baiyun, Yumei and Li Yan would probably be the only people there from their class.  Besides, most chemistry majors would not have a friend like Longfe, an economics major, to inform them about the march.  Math class was important but easy to skip.  Physical education wasn't as important, however it was much harder to skip because as soon as they lined up, the instructor would notice who was missing immediately.  The physical education teacher was reasonable. Everyone loved to skip the Political Science class.  No one listened during those lectures anyway.  Everyone read either their math textbook or a novel right under the instructor's nose as he tried to politically indoctrinate his students by swinging his arms and spraying saliva through spaces between his teeth.

The sky looked gray on that spring morning, for the sun hid behind thick layers of clouds and seemed far, far away.  Occasional gusts of wind blew the dust into the air, a familiar scene in Beijing.  Yumei was a girl from Shaanxi, an ancient province southeast of Beijing.  She began to sing loudly, even though they hardly knew anyone around them.

"Beijing, our great capital,

  Beijing, a beautiful city.

  But in the spring,

  Ladies cover their faces with gray scarves."

Li Yan was a news addict, and she kept informed on everything through her radio.  She was carrying a Walkman. "On the broadcast they said it might rain today." Li Yan informed them.

"Come on, I never believe the weather forecast.  They are rarely correct," said Yumei, absent-mindedly.

"But it rained yesterday," said Baiyun, pushing her glasses up a bit on her straight nose.

"Maybe God is weeping for Hu Yaobang's death," said Yumei, looking around to see if anyone had noticed her.

"Have you heard anything interesting on the BBC?" asked Baiyun.  She knew Li Yan listened to the BBC short wave broadcasts every day.

"Yes, they're making all kinds of strange predictions about China's future.  Some say Hu Yaobang's death is a sign that the conservatives will come back.  Some say his death could stir up a full-scale student movement, which would begin to turn China into a more democratic society."

Longfe approached the girls.  "Hi, Yumei!  It's nice that you are here already."  He wore a tan blazer and a pair of blue jeans.  His big eyes were beaming behind his square-rimmed glasses.

Baiyun felt ignored after Li Yan left to join students from other departments.  She found Longfe very attractive.  She liked his big tall body, the deep set of his eyes and his smooth round face.  But every time he was around, she was too nervous to open her mouth.  She felt embarrassed just standing there, and an idea dawned on her.

"Yumei… I'm going back to pick up our raincoats or an umbrella for us." Baiyun interrupted Yumei and Longfe's conversation.  Longfe stared at her and frowned.  Baiyun turned and ran away.

On her way out, she saw Li Yan along with Xia Nan, a communist party member and the head of the student association in the economic department, talking to a group of students with a megaphone.

Baiyun quickly got back to the dorm, and after looking through the suitcases, drawers, and under the beds, could not find any raincoats or umbrellas.  Then suddenly she realized that she had left hers at home and Yumei had probably had lost hers as usual.  She decided to go to the campus grocery store to buy an umbrella.  If she was late, she could always ride her bicycle to catch up with everyone.  In any case, she wanted to be truly part of the march this time instead of being just a bystander as she had been on previous occasions.  She was famous for always missing exciting events by staying in the library and studying.  As she walked toward the store, she heard a voice accompanied by the noise of a motorcycle behind her.

"Baiyun, what's the rush?  Let me give you a ride."

Lao Zheng, fully equipped with a helmet, leather jacket and goggles, had stopped his motorcycle behind Baiyun.  He had a big grin on his face. Yuck, what is he doing here?  Baiyun asked herself.  She quickly composed herself and faked a smile. "You've come to the wrong place to find Mother."

"Well," he set his left foot on the ground.  "Are you going to Tiananmen Square? I can give you a ride.  It's such a long way to walk."

"How did you know about the march?"

"I saw a group of students marching out of the gate when I came in.  I asked them where they were going."

"Have they already gone?"  Baiyun felt bad.  What would her friends think of her if she wasn't there?  They would think she had missed another important event again. Baiyun could just imagine how the others would talk about her: "How clever, that Baiyun.  Going back to get an umbrella is just her excuse.  Do you remember how she got out of the march last time?  She stayed in the library overnight and came out once everyone was gone."

"Ha... You really need a ride now."  Lao Zheng smiled like a victor.

"Would you?"

"Let's go"

Baiyun jumped onto the back seat of the motorcycle.  Although she hated the cigarette smell on his jacket, she had to hold on to it tightly and bury her head in it, because she did not want others on campus to see her riding on a motorcycle with such a man.

The streets were full of busy people going to work on bicycles, buses or occasionally on motorcycles.  The ringing of bicycle bells and honking of bus horns awakened the city like a rooster's crowing at dawn.  At every street corner, there was a little yellow cylindrical station painted with red stripes.  Policemen wearing white summer uniforms and sunglasses either sat in the station looking out, or stood in the center of the intersection of two streets, directing the busy traffic with a little blue and white stick.  Sometimes a policeman would stop an unfortunate bicyclist because he was carrying his son or both his son and his wife on the bike fender seat.  They usually got a warning from the policeman and were told to walk to the bus station to let the wife and son take the bus.  But as soon as they were out of the policeman's sight, they would get back on the bike and fly.  Violating traffic laws was not considered a crime in China.

Lao Zheng and Baiyun found the marchers stopped in front of a big farmer's market, two kilometers from the campus.

"Hey, Baiyun, we caught up with them in no time at all.  Let's ride along with them.  What do you think?"

"Would you let me get off?"  She pointed toward the market. "So I can buy an umbrella and find my roommate."

"Don't you want to march with me?  We have a motorcycle, the modern transportation."  Lao Zheng stood by his motorcycle proudly.  With his sunglasses and shining new leather jacket, he almost looked like a movie star.

Baiyun was not impressed.  "Please let me off!"  She screamed.

"Actually your mother asked me to come here and pick you up.  She worries about you," Lao Zheng's tone changed.

"I don't believe you.  Mother never bothers me at school.  She trusts me."

"Ok, I came here to find you myself.  I think you'd enjoy going out with me. We'll spend some money and have a good time.  This demonstration is boring.  What do you think?"  Lao Zheng put on his charming mask again.

Baiyun jumped off the slowly moving motorcycle and ran to the other side of the street where the students were, trying to hold back her tears.

"Baiyun!  Baiyun!" shouted Lao Zheng, dumbfounded.

"Baiyun, why are you so late?"  Baiyun could hear someone in the crowd yelled at her.

As Baiyun was crossing the street, she saw that Yumei, Longfe, Li Yan and the other students were staring at her.  She blushed.  How shameful!  She said to herself.  But to the others, she was speechless.  There was a lump in her throat.

"How do you know someone who owns a motorcycle?  How exciting!" said Yumei.  Then she took Baiyun's hands and smiled charmingly, which cheered Baiyun.

"According to the BBC, motorcycles are the practical modern transportation for the future in China.  I'm proud of you, Baiyun.  You'll be a pioneer motorcycle rider on campus," said Li Yan.

"I didn't know there is another side of you, Baiyun. Your hidden side is really exciting," said Longfe, looking impressed.

Yumei hit Longfe on the shoulder. "Stop!"  Then she took Baiyun to the side.

"What's the matter with you?"

"I feel awful."  Tears streamed down Baiyun's face.

"So, that's your mother's boyfriend? What does he want?"

"He wants me to spend the day with him."  Baiyun stared down on the ground as though this was the most embarrassing moment in her life.

"Oh, my God.  He's really interested in you," said Yumei, half teasingly.

"Yes, is that awful?"

"I don't know.  If you don't like him, yes."

"I'm not going to go back home anymore."

"Ok, stick with us."

"Sure," said Baiyun.  She couldn't think of a better way to spend the day.

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"Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square" is FREE Today

"Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square" will be FREE again on January 14th, 2012 (Saturday).


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Scariest Moments In My LIfe: Why did I decide to become a novelist?

I have experienced a few scary moments in my life as I was growing up in China.  The scariest moment was when my mother was threatened at knifepoint by one of her co-work/boyfriend at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution when I was 10 years old.  It was indescribable fear.  It was like someone had pushed me against the wall and pressed the knife-edge on my neck.  The time was frozen.  I thought of going off to find some neighbors for help.  Yet most of them were still at work and I was running out of time.  I could imagine mother lying in a pool of blood, struggling to get up and putting cigarette back to her mouth. 

The second scariest moment was when my father raised a cleaver threatening to cut off my mother's head when I was 15 years.  Now in age fifty, I just begin to fell its impact on me after having a successful family and a relatively successful engineering career.  This is why I have written two books and one of them "Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square" is in Kindle now.  It has taken me 20 years to get it published.  However, I have felt immensely lucky.  Here is a short excerpt from my novel "Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square":

“I don’t know.  Because of my harsh childhood, I felt like an old woman by the time I was fifteen.  Now I feel so happy, I’m actually getting younger.  Maybe I’m too young to die.  I want to experience true love.”  Baiyun stared at Dagong and her eyes were brimming with tears. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather share my last meal with."

“So, you picked me.”  Dagong beamed at Baiyun. 

“I think you have picked me.  Remember, it was your idea to come here?” Baiyun sounded a little happier.  She was smiling. 

“I think we have chosen each other.”  Dagong reached across the table and took Baiyun’s hands in his. 

 “Are you ready to order?” The waitress showed up all of sudden.

“Sure,” Baiyun was skilled at switching her moods as needed.  She had plenty of training in hiding her emotions during her complicated childhood.  “I would like to order a plate of sliced beef tongue and a plate of pig ears.”

“I would like to have some crispy shrimp. That’s it,” said Dagong.  He handed the menu back to the waitress, who walked away, wiggling her hips as she went.

“I hate that she interrupted our nice conversation about the life, death and love, especially the last one,” said Dagong.  “I’m still curious about why the Qigong knife feat disturbed you so much.  Do you care to tell me?” 

“Why not, even though it will give me nightmares tonight,” said Baiyun in a matter-of-fact way, as though she was commenting on the furniture.

“You don’t have to if you don't want to.  I don’t want to wreck your mood.”

“No.  Everyone knows that I’m different and strange sometimes… it is because of this… it's about time for me to tell everyone, so let me begin with you.”  She looked boldly at Dagong.  “It is time for me to come out as a young woman instead of staying an old one.” It felt good for Baiyun to say it out loud.

“Great.  I’m glad that I helped you to come out,” said Dagong.

“One day, I arrived at my apartment after school.  After walking through the dark hallway, I opened the door. I saw my mother sitting, smoking a cigarette and on her right standing by the bed was a slender young man with mustache…” 

The north-facing one-room apartment was dark in the late afternoon.  A double bed and a single-bed filled up the far side of the room.  On the left stood a dresser with a big vacuum radio on top and a big wooden desk; in the center, a square wooden table.  Initially it was so quiet that Baiyun could make out the clock ticking.  Then she saw the young man with the knife in his hand and the world no longer stood still. 

Baiyun heard thunder in her head; her mind was racing.  She remembered the young man coming to her apartment once before and she thought he was friendly.  She quickly realized that she was mistaken and the young man was obviously mad.  He was mumbling chants and waving a knife as he slowly approached Meiling.  Then with swing of his long arm, he grabbed Meiling’s head and held the knife to her throat.  Baiyun was ready to leap forward to punch him, or bite and kick him. 

Baiyun heard Meiling’s steady voice.  “Take the knife away.  Have you heard me?  Take the knife away,” said Meiling.  Her voice was so firm that it made 

Baiyun think it might be a joke that the young man was playing against Meiling.   All those years later, as Baiyun told Dagong about the incident, her voice was not nearly as steady as Meiling's was that afternoon.   Baiyun stopped speaking to take a breath as Dagong listened.

“What happened next?”

 “Nothing.  Mother is still alive.  He didn’t even break the skin.  He packed his things and left, as she finished her cigarette.”  Nothing happened.  And yet it was the most intense moment in Baiyun's young life.

Dagong was engrossed in Baiyun's story.  He didn’t even notice that the food they ordered had been set on the table before them.  Baiyun began eating.  "Does it give you nightmares?" he asked her.  She did not answer, but not because she did not have nightmares.  She did not answer because her mouth was full.  Dagong did not yet understand; he assumed the best and joined in the feast.  “As long as you are eating, you are doing fine.  Otherwise you wouldn’t have grown to be a college student.  You would have perished a long time ago.”

“You are right.  I’m doing fine.  Don’t worry about me… it only showed me that my mother is invincible.”  As Baiyun said it, she realized that she could be invincible as well.    

Baiyun looked at Dagong carefully, trying to gauge whether his attitude toward her had changed.  She nearly regretted telling him so much.  But whom else could she speak to? 

Dagong touched Baiyun’s hand. “If you ever need to talk about it, talk to me. ” 

Baiyun smiled at Dagong through a mouthful of beef tongue.  She swallowed before she spoke.  “Am I full of surprises?” 

“I love the fact that you are full of surprises.” 

Dagong held Baiyun's hand, and she knew he understood her.   “How about you, Dagong?  Do you have any secrets?”

“Of course.  But I think we have revealed enough secrets for now.  Maybe if you're lucky I'll tell you one of mine over the cream puffs.”  Together they laughed over their past tragedies.

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Next post: I was raped but didn't know about it until now.

My website: www.lisazhangwharton.com

A New 5-Star Review for "Last Kiss In Tiananmen Square"

               Love the Chinese Voice of Lisa Zhang Wharton
                                     By Connie J. Jasperson

I love the Chinese voice that Lisa Zhang Wharton writes with. Her experience as a Chinese woman comes across in her story, and it feels almost autobiographical. You feel the grimness of the conditions that the people of China lived under during the time of the Tiananmen Square Massacre. Hope thrives under the conditions of hopelessness. Baiyun struggles with her mother's morality, her own wishes and dreams, and with the burdens that were inherent to being a modern woman in China. I highly recommend this to anyone who loves modern literature, and especially those who love anything about China, as I do. 

                                    Amazon Link: Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square