River Town Read Free

table full of Chinese appetizers—cashews, dried beef, string beans, lotus root—and often Teacher Han would make an announcement. He was the interim representative of the college waiban , or foreign affairs office, and he was twenty-seven years old. He had the best spoken English in the college, but he was an uneasy young man in a new position of authority. He asked us to call him Albert.
    One evening in the first week, he turned to us before the banquet had begun.
    â€œThe college has decided,” he said, “to buy you telephones that can call outside the college. You will be able to call anywhere in China.”
    We protested—it wasn’t necessary, phones were expensive, volunteers at other colleges didn’t have them. He waved us off. “Not a problem,” he said. “Otherwise it’s not convenient for you.” Adam and I looked at each other and shrugged. We thanked him, and everybody began to eat, and the next day repairmen appeared to install our telephones.
    A few days later there was another banquet, another announcement. “The college has decided,” Albert said, “that it will buy Adam a washing machine.”
    â€œI already have one in my apartment,” I said. “We can share that one—there’s no need to waste money.”
    â€œIt is inconvenient,” Albert said. “The college has decided.” Again our protests were ignored. And so we began to eat, and the next morning a new washing machine appeared at Adam’s door.
    A few days later, Adam was playing cards with some of the English department faculty members, and Party Secretary Zhang Yan mentioned that the college had received our résumés and biographical information from the Peace Corps.
    â€œI see that you play tennis,” said Party Secretary Zhang. “You must play very well.”
    Adam had coached at a tennis camp during college summers, and he was quick to shake his head. “I don’t play that well,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I played seriously.”
    Party Secretary Zhang grinned and picked up his cards. He was a thin, sinewy man with crewcut hair, and it had taken us a week to establish two facts about him: he was the best basketball player on the English department faculty, as well as the best drinker of Chinese baijiu , or grain alcohol. He was also the highest-ranking cadre in the department, and as Communist Party Secretary he had authority over academic, disciplinary, and political issues. He was the sort of man who rarely spoke, but when he did speak, things happened. Now he examined his cards, leaned forward, and looked up at Adam.
    â€œThe college,” he said softly, “has decided to buy you tennis! ”
    He sat back in his chair, waiting for the meaning of the declaration to sink in. But that was the problem—how exactly does one go about buying tennis? For a few moments Adam tried to decide how he should respond.
    â€œThat’s very kind of the college,” he said at last, speaking carefully. “I appreciate that you want to do something for us, but it isn’t necessary. You don’t have to buy me tennis, Mr. Zhang.”
    Party Secretary Zhang smiled as he discarded a card.
    â€œMr. Wei,” he said, “is concerned that you might want to play tennis. He wants to make sure that you and Pete are happy.”
    Mr. Wei was the Party Secretary of the entire college, and as the highest-level Communist Party official on campus he undoubtedly had more important things to do than buy tennis for Peace Corps volunteers. Adam said something to this effect, emphasizing that he was quite happy without tennis. But Party Secretary Zhang was firm.
    â€œIt has been decided,” he said flatly. “The college will buy you tennis. Now it is time to play cards.”
    Â 
    THE NEXT MORNING , tennis did not appear at Adam’s doorstep, but he didn’t take any chances. He told me