The Crazed by Ha Jin Page B

on a tree farm for over thirty years. Meimei was smart and coolheaded and would never entangle herself in politics. She planned to specialize in pediatrics after getting her bachelor’s degree, and had applied to a medical program in Beijing. She would not consider going elsewhere because she loved the capital. In fact, only by becoming a graduate student, who didn’t need a job assignment that might take her anywhere, could she be allowed to remain in Beijing legally.
    I got up from my bed, dropped my cigarette butt on the concrete floor, and stamped it out. I had quit smoking for two months, but after Mr. Yang collapsed, I had started again. These days I’d smoke almost half a pack a day.
    Feeling grimy all over, I picked up my basin and went out to the washroom. The long corridor was dark, reeking of mildew and urine thanks to the toilet at its east end. Mosquitoes and gnats were flickering like crazy. I had nothing on but my green boxers. These dormitory houses were inhabited only by male students except for three or four graduate students’ wives, so most of us would walk naked-backed to the washrooms and even to the bicycle shed outside.
    After scrubbing myself with a towel and cold water, I felt refreshed. I sat down at the only desk in our bedroom and began a letter to Meimei. My roommates hadn’t returned yet, so I had some privacy. I wrote:
    April 25, 1989
    Dear Meimei,
    I wasn’t happy today, but your letter came like a breath of fresh air and made this evening different. You are very wise not to join the political activities at your college. Politics is a ground too treacherous for small people like us to tread. It’s as poisonous as acid rain.
    These days I have been cramming for the exams. Japanese is debilitating me; however hard I try, my mind cannot get into it. There are so many other things going on here that I can hardly concentrate. But I shall apply myself harder, to conquer Japanese. I understand that this may be the only opportunity for me to join you in Beijing, and that I must cherish it.
    I assume that by now you have received my previous letter. Your father is doing poorly, though his condition has stabilized. Don’t worry. There is no need for you to rush back; I am here with him. Good luck with your preparation. I miss you, a lot.
    Your hubby-to-be,
    Jian
    Having sealed the letter, I turned on my Panda transistor radio and listened to the Voice of America. To my astonishment, there came the sound of people singing songs and shouting slogans. The woman reporter announced in slow, simple English that a throng of students from the People’s University were on their way to Tiananmen Square, to join those already there. Through the sputtering static I could hear hundreds of voices shouting in unison, “We shall not return without a full victory!” “Down with corruption!” “It’s everyone’s duty to save the country!” “Give us freedom and democracy!”

7
    To my surprise, Meimei came back the next afternoon, but she could stay only a day because she wouldn’t disrupt her study. For a whole evening she was in the hospital with her father. Her presence pacified him and he stopped talking nonsense. All the sulkiness and the idiot grin had vanished from his face. When she fed him dinner, he didn’t make any noise, but instead opened his mouth compliantly and chewed the steamed apple with relish. The thought occurred to me that if she had been with him all along, his condition might have improved much more.
    Although animated, Meimei was tired, her eyes clouded and her hair a bit straggly. The previous night she hadn’t slept, taking the eleven-hour train ride back to Shanning. After dinner, I urged her to go home and have a good sleep, but she wouldn’t leave.
    Soon Mr. Yang began to have the fidgets, apparently bothered by something on his back. Meimei inserted her hand underneath his shirt and scratched him a little; still he wouldn’t stop squirming. She unbuttoned his shirt