Calls Across the Pacific by Zoë S. Roy

could help dispel a quarter-century of mutual antagonism between these two countries,” he added, snapping his fingers emphatically. “The mysterious door of China is being opened!” he announced, looking directly at Nina, who squirmed in her seat, agitated and excited by this news.
    Nina envisioned a red double door, with rows of decorative brass bosses girded on, slowly pushed ajar; she could even hear the squeaky noise of the hinges as the door swung open. She peeked past the red painted door with the row-by-row brass bosses and saw a sea of human figures in grey and dark green gradually moving forward beneath a cloudy sky. Is my mother with them? When she blinked, the red Chinese door vanished, and she saw only her teacher standing in front of the blackboard.
    That day, the instructor asked the class to write a two-page essay on what they thought about President Nixon’s visit as homework.
    After school, Nina went straight home and as soon as she arrived, she hurried into the living room and turned on the television. She listened to the news about Nixon’s arrival in Beijing and watched him shaking hands with Mao Zedong, but she was confused. Why is Nixon visiting the dictator? Does Mao no longer hate Americans? All the memories of her mother and the friends she left behind came flooding back. One thought was uppermost in her mind: I’ll soon have a chance to see my mother again. And I can finally find out what’s happened to Dahai and Rei.
    Day after day she watched the news on television to follow Nixon’s visit even though some of the scenes were repeated daily. How could the Americans befriend a dictator? Could communism admire the path of capitalism? These questions bothered her even when she was at work. During her break, she ate the fish chowder Bob had prepared for all of the staff, but she did not taste it as her mind remained fixed on Nixon’s historic visit to China.
    â€œThe chowder is absolutely delicious,” Bogdan said to Bob after he licked up every drop in his bowl. “You’re the best of the best.”
    â€œSure I am.” Bob threw his fork up and caught it in the air. “My training has paid off. I’ll open my own restaurant someday,” he said, grinning at Kent.
    Nina longed only to change the subject. “Anybody hear the news lately?
    There was a moment of silence. Kent placed his empty plate on the counter. “Nixon has shaken hands with Mao,” he said slowly. “Does that concern you? You’re Mongolian, aren’t you?”
    Before Nina answered, Bogdan chuckled. “She’s a fake Russian.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Kent looked puzzled.
    â€œI’m not Mongolian. I came from China.” Nina went on to say, “I was given a Russian name because China and the Soviet Union were once brotherly countries.”
    Bogdan smirked. “I am a real Russian. Perhaps my kid should have a Chinese name.”
    Nina frowned and then grinned. “This is a free country. You can name your kid anything you wish.”
    â€œDon’t be upset,” Kent said as he lifted a metal basket of fries from the fryer to drain it over the rack. “I’m thinking about visiting the Great Wall.”
    â€œYou should think about opening a restaurant there.” Bob scooped shredded onions from a container and placed them into a frying pan on the stove.
    â€œSure, only if Mao’s Red Guards don’t arrest me for being a capitalist,” said Kent, placing a cup of coleslaw on a plate and passing it through the opening to a waitress.
    Every night at home, Nina would write something she had thought about Nixon’s visit and its possible impact on China, and how it might affect her own life. By Sunday evening, Nina had finished her school assignment. In the last paragraph, she wrote, “Nixon’s visit has brought me some anticipation. Someday, I will no longer be treated as a