Zero and Other Fictions (6 page)

“I would like to say one thing more on behalf of all of our compatriots,” said Mr. Yang. “I sincerely welcome your return.”

“Lastly, Mr. Han, we hope you can say a few words to all those in the world who have been deceived by the Communist Party.”

“Okay.”

It appeared that the program was about to end. The director gestured, and one of the workmen squatted and touched the electrical cable on the floor. Lai Suo, who was standing at the control booth, planned to step forward to push his way in front of Mr. Han when the program ended.

“So this is where you are,” said a young man in a white shirt, blocking his way.

“What are you doing?” asked Lai Suo, annoyed.

“I'm a guard,” he said. “You didn't register as a visitor and you're alone. What are you doing here?”

The program had ended a short time before, and Lai Suo was still standing by the steps at the door. Whatever happened, he was waiting for someone.

The automatic doors suddenly opened. A group of people who didn't look at Lai Suo hurried down the steps.

“Mr. Han Zhiyuan,” said Lai Suo, blocking the way.

“Yes, what is it?”

“I'm Lai Suo.”

“Lai Suo?”

“From
Pan-Asia Magazine
.”

“What?”

“The one who sold fruit …”

“I don't know you!”

A young man in a pressed suit patted Lai Suo on the shoulder, to help Mr. Han out of his predicament. Then everyone stepped into two black sedans and sped off down the street lit with silver lights.

The immense shadow of the TV station, like some endless nightmare, stretched to the other end of the street. Suddenly there was nothing left in the world save he himself.

“I'm Lai Suo, I'm Lai Suo,” he stuttered. “All I wanted to say was that it's been a long time.”

11

It was close to midnight when he returned home. He gently opened the door, turned on the light, and placed a few things he had picked up in Taipei on the sofa—sleepwear for his wife, coloring books for the kids, and a box of chocolates.

At that moment, the Holland clock on the wall chimed several times, the hour and minute hands standing straight up. It was an end and a beginning, a starting point and a finale.

Without moving, Lai Suo slowly raised his head.

 

Several days after the Republic of China and the United States broke off relations, Yang T'ai-sheng began to consider carefully his own future and that of Taiwan. Never in his entire life had he made such a big decision, not even the day he decided to marry Chu Yu-hsiang—it had only taken a few minutes to weigh the sacred duties of marriage and the high cost of living and other such things.

But reality is not like three buses arriving simultaneously; one could board any one of them without consideration, and even if a mistake were made, one could always return to the point of departure. Reality is not a bus, but the road leading to a goal. Therefore, Yang T'ai-sheng seriously inquired among his many friends, all of whom, in turn, responded earnestly: “In times like these, if at all possible, go to America, because in America you can find many unexpected opportunities.”

He then quickly sold off all assets at hand, which included some stocks, a house, and a used Ford (the funny thing was that the buyer was one of those friends who had advised him to go to America). All the money was sent to America through a relative in the import-export business. It was exciting to change NTD into dollars. However, when the airplane was high above the Pacific Ocean, Yang T'ai-sheng suddenly felt sad. Then, just like MacArthur on the day he left the Philippines, he said to himself, “I shall return.”

At first, Yang T'ai-sheng took his wife and daughter to stay at his sister's home in New York. His brother-in-law owned a Cantonese dim sum tea house there. In America, if the basement of a house is well ventilated, it can be turned into nice living quarters with just a little imagination and some enthusiasm, because America is a place full of possibilities.

To work as a waiter in a dim sum tea house takes a minimum of training and a little psychological readjustment. The most difficult part is learning to speak English. But in just three months, Yang T'ai-sheng, a college graduate in history, learned to speak English much better than the elderly Chinese who had lived there for thirty years.

As the situation in Taiwan cleared up, Yang T'ai-sheng slowly came to realize that it made no sense for him to have come all the way from Taiwan to America to work as a waiter. So, on Double Ten, when the streets of Chinatown were filled with the lively sounds of gongs and drums, Yang T'ai-sheng discussed the matter with his brother-in-law, who told him that indeed the grass is greener in America, but one has to watch for the opportunities. His sister and brother-in-law wished him good luck.

Thus a new family was born in Monterey Park.

Like other Chinese who had come to America from Taiwan to find “a turning point in life,” he felt the first step was to buy a house. So Yang T'ai-sheng, through a friend of his brother-in-law's, boldly put down 70 percent of his working capital and bought a house, which, 10 years later, he told everyone he had obtained at a real bargain. The house was situated on a big lot. Six years later he built another house on it, which he rented out to a guy who owned a travel agency.

 

 

He had a house and he was very ambitious, but what kind of business should he get into?

Since Peter Wang had officially announced his candidacy for congressman, everyone, especially the people flowing in from Taiwan, speculated that Monterey Park would develop fast in the near future.

Yang T'ai-sheng, with foresight, looked around and discovered that many people didn't know how to decorate their American-style homes. Some people even had sealed up the fireplaces in their living rooms, because they thought that a fireplace was used only for cooking. He decided to open a furniture store so that the poor immigrants from Taiwan could live a really American life.

Five years later, an old woman told him that she couldn't stand the overstuffed American sofas and that she missed the old-style rocking chairs from home. Out of sympathy—and with a keen eye for business—Yang T'ai-sheng imported five of the rocking chairs. Unexpectedly, the chairs sold out within a week. T'ai-yuan Furniture Shop saw the advent of a new age as Yang T'ai-sheng began importing furniture from Taiwan. Soon, there were no longer any pieces of furniture made in the U.S.A. to be found in the shop. His sister's whole family came from far away to congratulate him. He proudly told them, “I just can't forget my origins.”

After this he regularly went back to Taiwan twice each year.

In 1981, NBC ran a six-day television program,
A Trip to Taiwan
, that made all the Chinese who were from Taiwan and now living in Monterey Park homesick. Many people told him that they missed their lives in the countryside of Taiwan.

Two times a year, he went back to Taiwan to purchase the kind of furniture that would cure their nostalgia. The second time he went to Taiwan in 1981, he was out in the countryside when he was struck by an inspiration. Due to this inspiration, combined with the Taiwan policy of “Steady Growth,” he boldly made the second important decision of his lifetime. T'ai-yuan entered a stage of multinational enterprise: next to the Fu-ho Bridge in Yung-ho, Yang T'ai-sheng opened the Antique Furniture Assembly Factory.

The workers at the shop had the ability to put together old wooden furniture purchased in the countryside and, like plastic surgeons, give it a second life.

All together he had five people working for him and an accountant, a young lady. To give them more incentive in their work, he told them, “As soon as the business gets off the ground, you will have the opportunity to go to America, where …” It sounded reasonable.

The young accountant, Yeh Mei-chu, was pretty and competent. One night in November, after sending out an order of merchandise worth US $100,000, the two of them drank some wine. Stimulated in part by the excitement of their work and in part by the desire he had already conceived for Yeh Mei-chu, Yang T'ai-sheng later told his wife that he had done this for a serious reason—he wanted a son. His wife, though disagreeing with his idea, did compromise, on the condition that “she was not to be allowed to set foot in America.”

Thus the problem was solved. Each time Yang T'ai-sheng returned to Taiwan, he made a strenuous effort to produce a son. He also picked out a name for the baby in advance: Nien-t'ai. But Nien-t'ai never came. Yang T'ai-sheng, aside from making more concerted efforts, attempted to persuade Yeh Mei-chu to go to the hospital for a checkup. Yeh Mei-chu refused to go. “Your sperm count must be too low. They say that people who fly too often will have this sort of trouble. I got some Chinese herbal medicine for you. They say …”

 

 

In the spring of 1985, the Taiwan Strait was calm and tranquil. However, the furniture market in Monterey Park was in a state of turbulence. A man named Qin, who had immigrated from mainland China, had imported Ming dynasty furniture, causing a small but economically profitable “search for roots.”

“Damn,” Yang T'ai-sheng complained to his wife. “What kind of nonsense is all this to-do about the Ming dynasty things?” It didn't matter what he said. After Qin imported a chamber pot once used by a eunuch and caused a surge in sales, Yang T'ai-sheng declared he had given up two of his principles: no trading relations with or visiting relatives in mainland China. (Relatives in mainland China were always writing to ask for money, and his wife had already visited China twice.)

“I guess I'd better make a trip to the other side.” With a Taiwan passport, the best way to enter mainland China was through Hong Kong. Before his departure, his wife contacted the relatives over there. As soon as they heard of his coming, they planned a big welcome party for him.

Thus Yang T'ai-sheng was easily able to open a factory in the Xiamen Special Economic Zone. All together he had eleven people working for him. “As soon as business gets off the ground, you will have the opportunity to go to Taiwan, where …”

During his second inspection trip, his relatives recommended a young lady from Shanghai to be his administrative assistant. The young lady, a graduate of the English department of Fudan University, was pretty and competent. The moment he laid eyes on her, he felt he could transfer his “Taiwan experience” to her. From her desire to look pretty, Yang T'ai-sheng understood that she possessed a high degree of “bourgeois liberality.” So, one night in the autumn of 1986 when the streets were filled with the lively sounds of drums and gongs celebrating the anniversary of the success of the revolution, and after he had loaned her family a sum of money to repair their house, he “united” with her.

Pan Jia, his mainland mistress, was a shy but brave little woman. Ever since she was a little girl, she' knew how to fight for her rights. She also realized that giving Yang T'ai-sheng a son was the basis of all duty and power. From October to December, the two of them struggled unceasingly for a “new generation.”

On Christmas Eve, Yang T'ai-sheng returned to Taiwan. Mei-chu treated him coldly, because she had just talked on the phone with his wife in America. “You can't wrap fire in paper. Knowledge of your affairs has spread all over the States. Your first wife just called and told me that a relative in mainland China told her that you've got a Shanghai woman.”

“That's not so.” Inwardly he cursed this age of global communication networks.

“Pan Jia,” she said, starting to cry, “that communist bitch.”

“She's not a communist,” said Yang T'ai-sheng as he dodged a vase thrown in his direction. “Don't throw that one, it's crystal and is worth $400.”

“Then you're going to stick up for her! She plans to come and share our property.”

“I must have a son to carry on the Yang family name.”

“Communist bitch!”

“She is very capable, and can take care of our interests on the mainland,” pleaded Yang T'ai-sheng. “Besides, she's definitely no communist.”

A Christmas song came on the TV. It was sung in English and was filled with a sense of peace and tranquility. Yang T'ai-sheng recognized the singer as Bing Crosby, whose old records continued to sell by the hundreds of thousands every year.

Mei-chu thought of his first wife in America, who had just called her. It almost seemed that the two of them stood on the same side; this made her feel a little better. “No matter what you say, or under whatever circumstances, that Shanghai woman should not be allowed to set foot in Taiwan.”

Thus resolved, the “cold war” began. Yang T'ai-sheng spent the entire month he was in Taiwan thinking about how to solve this sticky problem. Finally, with a heavy heart, he carried these problems with him as he uneasily returned to Monterey Park. During the two weeks before New Year's Day, his wife didn't give him a single day of peace. In various ways, she reminded him that he was a big fool. “The one in Taiwan is understandable,” she said, sneering at him. “But that one in mainland China could be your daughter.” His daughter, who was then studying at Harvard University, had called to inform him that she couldn't make it home to celebrate Chinese New Year. That was it! For the first time in his life, Yang T'ai-sheng felt deeply distressed. “You know, my old lady-killer, the hair on the back of your head is beginning to turn white. Here, let me pull some out for you to look at.”

“I remember the lively New Year's festivities of the past.” The couple sat facing each other across a long table.