a red heart,” he said, and pressed the button.
* * *
W ithout warning, Mr. Han came to supervise the class. Everyone knew that Mr. Han was Jasmine’s father, but he pretended that he was nobody’s father. He entered the classroom cold-faced. He nodded at Katherine and came into the room with marching steps.
Jasmine sat in the corner where she could keep Lion Head in sight. When Mr. Han passed his daughter, no greeting or change of expression passed between the two. Mr. Han sat in the last seat in the far corner.
The classroom became so quiet that we could hear the sound of Katherine’s chalk scratching on the blackboard.
Mr. Han was a big northern man with a potato face and a pair of fearful eyes. He had a wolflike stare and a face full of cysts. Jasmine once told us that the doctor of traditional medicine had said that her father had too much “fire” in his body, that he ate too much ginseng in an effort to prolong his life. When Mr. Han was happy with something, he would laugh loudly and pick his nose. He always picked his nose in public and it embarrassed Jasmine. She said that since her beautiful mother died her father reverted to his old peasant habits—picking his nose, blowing it with his hand, and wiping the snot on whatever he could reach—wall, tree trunk, or door—and squatting on a bench like an owl when he ate. He said Chairman Mao used to squat when he ate during wartime.
When Mr. Han was unhappy, he would try to control his temper by using his tongue to remove a gold tooth and sucking on it loudly. Once in a while when he was really upset, he would distractedly take the tooth out with his fingers, wipe it on his shirt, and put it back in. Everyone tried to keep their distance from him.
He sat with us and we became other people. We became the tight screws that ran the Communist Party machine, rotating theway we were supposed to. We sat with our backs straight. The class looked like a still photograph.
Katherine was affected by our fear. She grew nervous. She sensed that Mr. Han was a sign of danger. She began to teach “The Communists are the hope of the world’s tomorrow.” Everybody read after Katherine clearly.
I felt like there was a secret code between Katherine and us. Because Katherine did not like the textbook, she printed her own material for us. Stories of America, mostly about the way she grew up, her family, her friends, her neighbors, and her experiences. We almost forgot our official textbook.
But in front of Mr. Han we pretended that we had no interest in Katherine. We acted one hundred percent Communist.
Jasmine didn’t seem to like that her father came to class. She put her face in her palm and napped throughout the session.
* * *
O ur school used to be a rich man’s summer palace before the Liberation. Behind the brick building, a hundred yards away, there was a pond where the concubines used to drown themselves. It was covered with green, wild plants, and thick ivy. It was cool in the summer. In the morning, fog would drape over the pond, bringing smells of dead animals. Beyond the pond there was a small area of forest. It was called the Forest of the Concubines. The trees had no bark. They looked like naked bodies at night.
As students, we were allowed to come to the pond to study our vocabulary. But secretly we came to digest what Katherine fed us. Here we fantasized about Katherine’s life, and here we dreamed of being Americans.
* * *
I n late autumn Katherine got permission to take the class to “do revolutionary research” on a southwest mountain area—an old RedArmy battleground, a revolutionary landmark. When Katherine announced the news, no one cheered, because we could not believe it. The idea of travel was so closely related to bourgeois luxury. We dared not dream about such a trip. But Katherine made it a reality.
When the news sank in, we sat around discussing our plans. We had nothing else on our minds but
* * *
W ithout warning, Mr. Han came to supervise the class. Everyone knew that Mr. Han was Jasmine’s father, but he pretended that he was nobody’s father. He entered the classroom cold-faced. He nodded at Katherine and came into the room with marching steps.
Jasmine sat in the corner where she could keep Lion Head in sight. When Mr. Han passed his daughter, no greeting or change of expression passed between the two. Mr. Han sat in the last seat in the far corner.
The classroom became so quiet that we could hear the sound of Katherine’s chalk scratching on the blackboard.
Mr. Han was a big northern man with a potato face and a pair of fearful eyes. He had a wolflike stare and a face full of cysts. Jasmine once told us that the doctor of traditional medicine had said that her father had too much “fire” in his body, that he ate too much ginseng in an effort to prolong his life. When Mr. Han was happy with something, he would laugh loudly and pick his nose. He always picked his nose in public and it embarrassed Jasmine. She said that since her beautiful mother died her father reverted to his old peasant habits—picking his nose, blowing it with his hand, and wiping the snot on whatever he could reach—wall, tree trunk, or door—and squatting on a bench like an owl when he ate. He said Chairman Mao used to squat when he ate during wartime.
When Mr. Han was unhappy, he would try to control his temper by using his tongue to remove a gold tooth and sucking on it loudly. Once in a while when he was really upset, he would distractedly take the tooth out with his fingers, wipe it on his shirt, and put it back in. Everyone tried to keep their distance from him.
He sat with us and we became other people. We became the tight screws that ran the Communist Party machine, rotating theway we were supposed to. We sat with our backs straight. The class looked like a still photograph.
Katherine was affected by our fear. She grew nervous. She sensed that Mr. Han was a sign of danger. She began to teach “The Communists are the hope of the world’s tomorrow.” Everybody read after Katherine clearly.
I felt like there was a secret code between Katherine and us. Because Katherine did not like the textbook, she printed her own material for us. Stories of America, mostly about the way she grew up, her family, her friends, her neighbors, and her experiences. We almost forgot our official textbook.
But in front of Mr. Han we pretended that we had no interest in Katherine. We acted one hundred percent Communist.
Jasmine didn’t seem to like that her father came to class. She put her face in her palm and napped throughout the session.
* * *
O ur school used to be a rich man’s summer palace before the Liberation. Behind the brick building, a hundred yards away, there was a pond where the concubines used to drown themselves. It was covered with green, wild plants, and thick ivy. It was cool in the summer. In the morning, fog would drape over the pond, bringing smells of dead animals. Beyond the pond there was a small area of forest. It was called the Forest of the Concubines. The trees had no bark. They looked like naked bodies at night.
As students, we were allowed to come to the pond to study our vocabulary. But secretly we came to digest what Katherine fed us. Here we fantasized about Katherine’s life, and here we dreamed of being Americans.
* * *
I n late autumn Katherine got permission to take the class to “do revolutionary research” on a southwest mountain area—an old RedArmy battleground, a revolutionary landmark. When Katherine announced the news, no one cheered, because we could not believe it. The idea of travel was so closely related to bourgeois luxury. We dared not dream about such a trip. But Katherine made it a reality.
When the news sank in, we sat around discussing our plans. We had nothing else on our minds but
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