Part 13 (1/2)

”A sweeper?”

”Yes. She sweeps the streets.”

He said it without any self-consciousness, the same way that all of them described their backgrounds. I told Noreen that she should be proud to be the daughter of an Irish peasant-of all the Fuling waiguoren waiguoren, she had the most revolutionary cla.s.s origins.

Noreen and I went to church on Sundays, which was one of my favorite routines in Fuling, because I liked watching the priest and the old women who went there every week. They were survivors-there was a quiet strength to the congregation, and they had none of the well-dressed smugness of American churchgoers. All of them had paid for their faith, in ways that money could not measure, and Father Li had paid the most of all.

Watching the priest also made me remember my mother's father, who had been a Benedictine monk. He had grown up in Arkansas, where his parish sometimes awarded promising students with scholars.h.i.+ps to Italy, and in 1929 my grandfather was sent to San Anselmo Abbey in Rome. He was eighteen years old, and his plan was to become a priest and perhaps a missionary.

I had read his diary from those years and it was full of homesickness, but it was also full of the beauty and wonder of Rome, the stunning churches and the history that caught the young man's eyes everywhere he turned in the city. He was in the middle of that history, too; often his diary mentioned nationalistic rallies in the streets, and a few times he caught sight of Mussolini at parades.

In the spring of 1931, a group of priests returned to the abbey from Catholic University in Beijing. On March 1 of 1931, my grandfather's diary reads, in neat black script: A bunch of us Americans visit Fr. Sylvester Healy in his room this morning, and have a long talk about China in general and the Catholic University of Peking in particular. Fr. Healy made his Solemn Profession this morning in the College Church. He seems very optimistic about the future of the Catholic University and to have given himself wholeheartedly to the work.

After that day, the diary changes. There is less of Rome and more of China; the fascination grows quickly, until ”China” is capitalized and underlined, a sacred word: March, 18, 1931: Fr. Francis Clougherty, Chancellor of the Catholic University of Peking, arrives here to-day on his way back to China. A big strapping Irishman.March 22, 1931: Fr. Clougherty holds an informal ”at home” this morning and about 15 of us troop up to his room. Of course there are smokes and a general spirit of congeniality. Fr. Clougherty is very interesting to listen to. According to him the University is now on a perfectly solid foundation and he has received promises to come out to China from a considerable [number] of very capable teachers, both Benedictine and otherwise.March 23, 1931: All small talk among Americans is about China now.March 25, 1931: Talk to Raph and Donald about China upon my return. Fr. Clougherty had a big day to-day but comes down to Donald's room and gives Donald, Hugh, Edward and me an inspiring talk. We are so wrought up that when Clougherty leaves at 12 o'clock Donald, H., and I stay up and talk it over till almost 3 A.M. I believe that this is the turning point in my life and I am going to sign up for China. G.o.d be with us!March 26, 1931: CHINA! Get up rather late this morning after last night. Spend most of the morning in Donald's room discussing China. Fr. Clougherty comes down and brings pictures of the statues about which he spoke last night. It seems there will be quite a little colony of Americans emigrating from San Anselmo, Rome, to Catholic University, Peking. Deo Volente Deo Volente, I am one of them.March 27, 1931: Everything is China at present. I breathe, eat and sleep China and I think that is about the case with all of our ”China group.”

As my grandfather came closer to taking his vows of priesthood, his superior informed him that he would be sent back to Arkansas. My grandfather responded with a long letter explaining that deep in his soul he had a call from G.o.d to serve in China. But his superior countered by saying that sometimes this is how G.o.d works-occasionally He gives a young man a false call, simply to test his loyalty to his earthly superior, and sometimes you feel truly that you are meant to go to China when in fact you are intended to go to Arkansas.

And so pa.s.sed the turning point of my grandfather's life. He did not want to be a priest in Arkansas, and the Benedictines did not want him to be a priest in China; and thus he left the order and returned to America. He sold insurance. He married. He had children, grandchildren. He retired, played golf, traveled. On Sundays he always went to Ma.s.s. He never did go to China. He didn't talk much about his time as a monk, and I never knew about his interest in China until I came across his diaries as a graduate student. But by then it had been seven years since he had died in 1987, when I was seventeen years old-nearly the same age as the young monk in Rome and, like him, too young to have any sense of time, of what the future might hold and how the past might reappear.

I CONTINUED WITH MY CHINESE TUTORIALS in Fuling, alternating between Teacher Kong and Teacher Liao. We always started cla.s.ses with small talk, and often Teacher Liao told me about what she had watched on television the night before. Like most of my friends in Fuling, she watched an enormous amount of television, and one day she came to cla.s.s particularly interested in what she had seen. in Fuling, alternating between Teacher Kong and Teacher Liao. We always started cla.s.ses with small talk, and often Teacher Liao told me about what she had watched on television the night before. Like most of my friends in Fuling, she watched an enormous amount of television, and one day she came to cla.s.s particularly interested in what she had seen.

”Last night there was a waiguoren waiguoren on television,” she said, ”He was speaking Chinese.” on television,” she said, ”He was speaking Chinese.”

”Was it Da Shan?”

”No, it wasn't Da Shan; his Chinese wasn't nearly as good as Da Shan's. His Chinese wasn't as good as yours yours.”

”That can't be true.”

”Actually, his grammar was better than yours, but his p.r.o.nunciation was worse. His tones were bad.”

”I don't believe it.”

”I'm not kidding,” she said. ”I think your Chinese is better than that of the waiguoren waiguoren who was on television. And if you improved your grammar, it would be much better.” who was on television. And if you improved your grammar, it would be much better.”

”Where was he from?”

”Australia. He was very ugly-he had bad skin and very long hair. He was extremely hard to look at.”

For a moment we sat there, silent in our shared distaste for the longhaired waiguoren waiguoren with bad tones on television. Then we started cla.s.s, and Teacher Liao paid particularly close attention to my grammar. with bad tones on television. Then we started cla.s.s, and Teacher Liao paid particularly close attention to my grammar.

After that she kept me updated on the waiguoren waiguoren who appeared on television. For the most part it was a small and select group, with Da Shan as the mainstay, and all of the regulars were very good at Chinese-it was clear that I still had years to go before I could enter that league. But Teacher Liao apparently felt that there was hope, and occasionally a who appeared on television. For the most part it was a small and select group, with Da Shan as the mainstay, and all of the regulars were very good at Chinese-it was clear that I still had years to go before I could enter that league. But Teacher Liao apparently felt that there was hope, and occasionally a waiguoren waiguoren with tone problems would appear and she would criticize him mercilessly. Always she was careful to point out any physical defects or shortcomings, especially if the with tone problems would appear and she would criticize him mercilessly. Always she was careful to point out any physical defects or shortcomings, especially if the waiguoren waiguoren was fat. Teacher Liao was an extremely slender woman and she did not like fat was fat. Teacher Liao was an extremely slender woman and she did not like fat waiguoren waiguoren.

There was still a certain formality to our relations.h.i.+p, but it had become a comfortable formality-the Chinese relations.h.i.+p between a teacher and a student. She took pride in my progress, and now that I was starting to read newspapers she carefully reviewed the Chongqing Evening Times Chongqing Evening Times and clipped articles that we could use in cla.s.s. She liked clipping stories about the j.a.panese atrocities of World War II, and she also liked stories about Hong Kong's improvements since its return to the Motherland (great things had happened in those three months). Occasionally she could not help but select articles that criticized America's imperialist tendencies. In late September, when France complained about American sanctions of Iran, our tutorials consisted of a slew of stories condemning America's role as ”the policeman of the world.” But even in those cla.s.ses there was no tension; our Opium Wars were long finished, and we had learned how to deal with each other. Both of us had changed, but probably I had changed the most: I was no longer strictly a and clipped articles that we could use in cla.s.s. She liked clipping stories about the j.a.panese atrocities of World War II, and she also liked stories about Hong Kong's improvements since its return to the Motherland (great things had happened in those three months). Occasionally she could not help but select articles that criticized America's imperialist tendencies. In late September, when France complained about American sanctions of Iran, our tutorials consisted of a slew of stories condemning America's role as ”the policeman of the world.” But even in those cla.s.ses there was no tension; our Opium Wars were long finished, and we had learned how to deal with each other. Both of us had changed, but probably I had changed the most: I was no longer strictly a waiguoren waiguoren, neither in her eyes nor in my own.

I liked Teacher Liao because now I could see that she was a very traditional Chinese woman-in my mind, she was the most Chinese person I ever came to know in Fuling. She refused to allow a waiguoren waiguoren to condescend to her, because she was a fiercely proud woman, but at the same time she was capable of extending this pride to me after months of work. Along with her pride, she had a strong sense of propriety and tradition. She didn't dress in revealing clothes like many other young women did, and she didn't Westernize her hair by dyeing. Unlike Teacher Kong, she refused to have our cla.s.ses in my apartment. Teacher Liao was a married woman and I was a single man, and people might talk if she spent six hours a week in my home. We always met in my office. to condescend to her, because she was a fiercely proud woman, but at the same time she was capable of extending this pride to me after months of work. Along with her pride, she had a strong sense of propriety and tradition. She didn't dress in revealing clothes like many other young women did, and she didn't Westernize her hair by dyeing. Unlike Teacher Kong, she refused to have our cla.s.ses in my apartment. Teacher Liao was a married woman and I was a single man, and people might talk if she spent six hours a week in my home. We always met in my office.

I also liked studying with Teacher Liao because I could get some sense of the prevailing Chinese att.i.tude to nearly any issue by simply asking her, because she was so Chinese, and often I used our cla.s.ses to untangle things that I had seen or heard in my encounters with other people. For a while I was intrigued by the Chinese fascination with Hitler-if you ever talked with Old Hundred Names about the Fuhrer, they generally gave good reviews. The summer before in Xi'an, I had known a German student who was disturbed by the way many Chinese became excited when they discovered her nationality.

”Oh, you're from Germany!” they would say. ”Xitele-Hitler! Very good!”

Out of curiosity I often asked the Chinese about him, and many people said the same thing-that he had made some mistakes, but he had been a great leader who did some fine things for his country. It seemed natural enough that Chairman Mao had left the Chinese with a certain appet.i.te for dictators, but I was still curious, and I asked Teacher Liao why the Chinese were so positive about Hitler. As usual, she was extremely helpful. She said that for years Charlie Chaplin's The Great Dictator The Great Dictator had been seen in theaters and on television; everybody in China had watched it. had been seen in theaters and on television; everybody in China had watched it.

”Have you seen it?” I asked.

”Certainly!”

”How many times?”

She paused and counted in her head. ”Four, I think,” she said. ”Maybe more.”

”What's it like?”

”It's very wonderful! I always liked the way Hitler talks in the movie, like a crazy man. He's like this”-and she imitated Charlie Chaplin imitating Hitler; she raised her shoulders and shook her fist, chin in the air.

”Wah wah wah wah wah!” she shouted, as if giving a speech in a foreign language, and then she collapsed into giggles.

”But doesn't that movie make fun of Hitler?” I asked.

”Of course!”

”So why is it that so many Chinese people tell me that there are some good things about him?”

”Most of us have two contrary ideas-that Hitler was a great leader, and that he was a crazy man who did terrible things. We have both of these ideas at once, you see. And I think people believe that he is an interesting character, and that also makes them like him. He's very interesting to watch.”

Perhaps the strangest part of the Chinese fascination with Hitler was that simultaneously they had a deep respect for the Jewish people. Jews were the next best thing to the Chinese-they were an extremely intelligent race, as one could tell from the examples of Einstein and Marx. In Xi'an, I had studied with an Israeli student, and the teachers and workers had made an enormous fuss over him. Everybody was very impressed by his intelligence, despite the fact that he was not particularly bright and a horrible student of Chinese. But he was Jewish, and all Jews were intelligent; everybody knew that and so they overlooked the reality of his particular case. It was the same as my blue eyes.

Ideas of this sort were standard and completely predictable, and the longer I lived in China the more I realized that in this sense the country wasn't as complicated as outsiders often said. Foreigners always talked about how difficult it was to understand China, and often this was true, but there were also many ways in which the people's ideas were remarkably uniform and predictable. There were b.u.t.tons that you could push-Hitler, Jews, the j.a.panese, the Opium Wars, Tibetans, Taiwan-and 90 percent of the time you could predict the precise reaction, including specific phrases that people would use. It was natural enough, given China's conditions: virtually everybody was the same race, the country had been isolated for centuries, and the current education system was strictly standardized and politically controlled.

And it was also natural that these conditions resulted in some particularly bizarre notions, like the admiration of Hitler or the fascination with Thai transvest.i.tes. This was something else I had realized over the summer: if you asked random Chinese people about Thailand, virtually all of them would say the exact same thing, that the Thais are famous for their renyao renyao, or transvest.i.tes.

It was interesting to figure out these common beliefs, and occasionally you could work them to your advantage. During the summer, my sister Angela and Todd, her Stanford colleague, had been bored by eating meals with their Chinese interpreter, so I gave them a list of subjects that would surely make things more entertaining. Todd was Jewish, and I told him that this was a trump card that should not be wasted. After I left, he broke the monotony of a meal by announcing his ethnic background.

”You are Jewish?” the interpreter said, eyes wide.

”Yes.”

”You must be very clever!”

After that, he treated Todd with new respect. It had been the same way with a teacher in the second Peace Corps group; everything changed once the people discovered that she was Jewish. One of her Chinese friends apologized to her, because before the revelation the friend had not treated her with the appropriate respect that should be accorded a Jew.

Once during the summer I had studied my Chinese textbook while riding a train, which impressed the other pa.s.sengers. As a waiguoren waiguoren it was never hard to impress-even the most pathetic command of the Chinese language made the people respect you. But on that train there was one woman who studied me with particular interest. it was never hard to impress-even the most pathetic command of the Chinese language made the people respect you. But on that train there was one woman who studied me with particular interest.

”You are a Zhongguotong Zhongguotong,” she said. ”A China hand. I can see that you study very diligently.”