Beijing Coma Read Free

hadn’t set your alarm clock to the wrong time, you’d be living in America now,’ my father retorted. Glancing at me, he explained: ‘Your mother’s father bought her a ticket to New York, but she missed the boat by half an hour. If she’d managed to catch it, she’d be an Overseas Chinese now.’
    ‘You made it to America, but you still came back in the end, didn’t you?’ A piece of peanut had stuck to my mother’s lower lip. With her chopsticks she divided the two pig trotters into four unequal parts. She gave the largest chunk to my father, and pulled off the nail from my chunk to chew on herself.
    ‘It was 1949. The Communists had just liberated China. Everyone was coming back then. Besides, in America I was only a rank-and-file member of an orchestra, but back here I could be principal violinist of the National Opera Company . . .’
    ‘It’s your arrogance that’s been your downfall. After twenty years in the labour camps, you’re still reminiscing about your past. You should have transformed yourself into a simple labourer by now – learned to make do with your lot, and live up to your responsibilities as a father.’
    While my parents were busy talking, Dai Ru and I finished all the peanuts left on the plate.
    My father spat out some bits of bone and gave them to me and my brother to chew on. I discovered one of his teeth among the shards. He’d lost most of the others already.
    He grabbed the tooth from my hand and looked at it, rubbed his gums, then placed it on the table. ‘I’ve waited all these years to return home, and by the time I get here, I’ve got no teeth left.’ He turned his eyes to my brother and asked, ‘What year are you in at school now?’
    ‘Year Three. My teacher said that you’re a bourgeois rightist. I said that you’re a labour-camp prisoner. What is your job exactly, Dad?’
    My father raised his eyebrows and said, ‘The Party put that rightist label on me. I had no choice but to accept it. But don’t worry, I will make sure you get into Harvard, my son. In winter, the campus is covered in a metre of snow. Squirrels scurry back and forth across it. The chairs in the classrooms have spring upholstery. Once you sit down on one, you never want to stand up again . . . Is it true that people are allowed to have sofas in their homes again?’
    ‘Huh! I hate the snow,’ I said. ‘My feet get so cold.’
    ‘Don’t huff like that, Dai Wei, or you’ll be miserable for the rest of your life.’ My mother would always say that to me and my brother whenever we let out long sighs. Turning back to my father, she said, ‘If you have back-door connections with factory bosses you can get hold of some springs and steel rods, then you can buy some man-made leather in the market and knock up two armchairs for under fifty yuan. Most of the soloists in the opera company have got sofas and armchairs now . . . Fetch the soy sauce from the corridor, Dai Wei.’ My mother picked up a fan from the table and flicked it open.
    ‘Sofa! I want an American sofa!’ my brother shouted.
    ‘We need a sitting room first,’ I said. ‘My classmates have sitting rooms, with televisions, washing machines and fridges.’
    ‘All we inherited was this iron bed,’ my mother said. ‘I didn’t even get a copper bracelet. When the compensation money comes through, we’ll buy a television. If your dad gets in touch with his uncle in America, we’ll be able to convert the cash into foreign-exchange certificates and buy a Japanese TV at the Friendship Store. Sit up straight when you’re eating, Dai Wei!’
    ‘See, the world has changed now,’ my father said, smiling. ‘Even you are prepared to admit that foreign goods are better.’
    I too had realised that having a relation abroad was no longer something to be ashamed of. In fact, by now it had become almost a badge of honour.
    ‘I support Deng Xiaoping’s reform policy,’ said my mother. ‘I’m not one of those stubborn people