Bromme - Journal

...for what remains of her life.

Wed, 07 Oct 2020 23:58:29 GMT

August 1963:

A sense of accomplishment, invigorated by a lot of alcohol, surged through Song Wei as he slammed the small drinking glass down on the table. He was exhilarated. This was his eighth shot of Moutai that evening. The sorghum-sweet taste lingered on Wei’s tongue as his mind drifted randomly through the day’s events. Picking through his pork and rice with a pair of bamboo chopsticks, Wei lifted the ceramic bowl, shoveled food into his mouth and continued chewing. At that moment his destiny arrived at the tip of a five inch pork knife. The blade was violently thrust into his thorax between the left scapula and the fifth vertebra, about six inches below his shoulder. It first cut through the soft cotton fibers of his shirt, then easily pierced the epidermis and sliced through the rhomboid muscle. The alcohol dulled Wei’s reaction and lessened the pain. Before he could react, he spat a mash of partially chewed food. The strength behind the blade persisted and forced past the sixth rib, ripping into his left lung. With a final shove, the black handle, soft and worn with years of use came flush with his back. The deed was done and Wei’s fate sealed. Horribly aware he had been punctured, Wei became frantic and struggled violently lifting his arms up, grasping wildly at what had penetrated him. But as Wei raised his arms, his scapula forced the knife down further, tearing apart tissue and severing more vessels. Blood emptied onto the lung. His long arms flailed, desperately reaching behind to remove what had impaled him. On his last attempt, Wei’s right hand found the knife’s handle. He pulled up with a desperate intensity that drove the blade tip down, slashing what remained of the lung in two. He released his grip on the handle and collapsed onto the kitchen floor, cracking his head on the wooden chair next to him. Lying on the tile, he convulsed. Pinkish-white foam bubbled from his nose. He could no longer take a breath.

His eyes bulged. As he stared across the floor, images of his life passed before him; first flashed memories of his childhood and the brutal beatings administered by his mother. Then as an adolescent, recollections of being chided mercilessly by bullies on the playgrounds of Jiashan. These torments were met with a final sense of remorse as he thought about his marriage. Darkness closed around him. He choked and shook again. Wei was gone.

His assailant stood motionless, then calmly stepped over his corpse and sat down at the table dispassionate and expressionless. She felt nothing; her only thought was time, all that remained was empty time.

November 1963:
Magistrate Weng Lo opened his court at mid-morning in the usual fashion. First, the typical patriotic verses were repeated followed by abundant praise for the Great Leader. Then, a brief outline of the day’s agenda. Earlier that morning his brother, Weng Shi, Lo’s brother and a local baker, had sent his son to the Magistrate’s home with a dozen fresh pork pies. Lo was particularly fond of this treat as Shi, younger by four years, was a talented baker. The best in Jiashan. His nephew, Weng Shi’s son, had arrived at Lo’s home beaming. He proudly presented the pies to his uncle, the important Magistrate. Weng Lo loved his nephew, he had developed into a well built, tall young man. Lo had no children himself and had promised his brother to help his son advance. He recognized a native intelligence in the boy, he had potential far beyond a simple delivery man. In addition to being the Magistrate, Lo also had influence over the local Army division, but the vision in the boy’s left eye was damaged which likely prevented him from a military career. Lo thought he was still suitable for a court appointment. Before he began with the case load that morning, the Magistrate smiled generously at his colleagues, opened the bamboo tray and offered each the treat of a fresh pie.

On the agenda that morning was a notorious case. It was a murder. After conferring with his surrogate, Magistrate Weng Lo of the Glorious Court of People’s Justice donned his spectacles and spoke gravely.

“The criminal Wang Xiaohong shall stand and address the court. You are granted an opportunity to speak in your defense. Proceed.”

Wang Xiaohong, in leg shackles and handcuffs, rose meekly. She cleared her voice and spoke. “Your Honor, I am guilty of this crime. I have no defense except for the fact that I do not recall the episode.”

The Magistrate shot back at her impudence, “Failure of memory is not a defense under law. The court accepts your guilt in this matter. What hangs in the balance is the severity of your punishment. Be advised your life is at stake.” Magistrate Lo measured his words carefully, “The court suggests you to offer your story in this regard.”

Bowing her head, Xiaohong breathed deeply, “I am grateful your Honor.”
She began calmly.

“April 16, 1951 was a brilliant, fresh spring day and I was the happiest girl in Jiashan. I knew I would be married to a handsome, rich, young man from a well-known family and be the envy of all the girls in the village. My best friend, Zhang Jian was elated for me. I remember of all the gifts she gave me, she was most happy presenting the small red notice which she took from the community board earlier that week. She folded it into my hand. It was the notice of a recent declaration from our Great Leader who had set a new law establishing the equality of man and woman in marriage. Yet, I didn’t care much for wealth or security or woman’s rights. I was unconcerned with possessions and wanted nothing more than to support my husband and nurture a family. My parents often told me, of all my traits, my greatest gift was in seeing past a person’s present troubles and find enduring value in his core. It may also be my greatest weakness. I didn’t believe there was any such thing as a bad person or an irredeemable character flaw. My parents made a big deal over Song Wei’s fortune, but I didn’t care. I was wholly absorbed in the love I felt for Wei and trusted his guidance explicitly.”

Xiaohong continued parsing through her memory.

“From the instant I awoke that morning, I was breathless. For me, he was a quiet, shy person with a penchant to become excited at times. I reasoned this was his youth and ambition, nonetheless I was devoted to him. I loved the quiet man that he was; dutiful to his parents and studious in school. I understood that he was a homebody, having grown up largely in the courtyard of his family’s home with little playtime among other children. He was sheltered but I loved him blindly and accepted him gratefully with all faults: those known and unknown.”

“My parent’s spent months in long negotiation with the Song family doing everything they could to secure my union. They argued in favor of my beauty, provided examples of my industriousness and could readily prove my dedication to communist party principles of deportment. Wei’s family did not object in principle to our marriage though they drove a hard bargain. Wei once confided in me that, in secret negotiation amongst their clan, his family did admit I was a good catch for him. They felt he was quiet and reclusive and had an odd temper at times, trapped between the hot and cold powers of the earth. They calculated that I would be a good influence for their son.

The hold out in the Song family was Wei’s grandmother, the Matriarch Jiang Jie. She was a stoic and unforgiving person protective in every manner imaginable of the legacy she had helped create over the past eighty-five years. She was an old time aristocrat from the Qing Dynasty, her feet were bound. She questioned my commitment to Wei and publicly cast doubt on my fertility. All she wanted was a male heir to her legacy. Jiang Jie remained unconvinced about me despite Wei’s father’s argument that the modern era was upon them and his son would be capable of managing me. Jiang Jie knew full well the personality of grandson. In the end the Matriarch never openly consented to the marriage, she could not lose face in this matter. If nothing else Jiang Jie knew when to take a loss and move on. In this matter she merely argued less vociferously.

In the days prior to the marriage, my parents had cleaned their home completely in anticipation of welcoming Wei’s family for a visit. They bought me a new dark blue Zhongshan with a matching cap. I recollect admiring its stiff, dark blue canvas fabric, so practical in every way. I was sure it would last twenty years. My parents sacrificed everything for me. The day arrived and Wei’s parents hired a carriage to transport us through the village; the first stop was my parent’s home where we knelt at the entrance and bowed reverently. We then stood and toasted my parents who congratulated us. I was elated and Wei smiled at my parents. We had a proud future, full of promise and happiness.

During Moon Festival later that year, Wei and I had our first bad episode. Of all the holidays, I loved this time of year; it meant that my family would gather and a joyous, reflective time would ensue. Yet this year, I was apprehensive. My uneasiness stemmed from the anticipation of questions about children. The ceaseless inquiries, the prying questions, both sets of parents poking at me wondering why I wasn’t pregnant. I reasoned with them that these things take time and biology cannot be rushed. But my heart suspected otherwise and I found myself providing half-truths to everyone. Wei was oblivious to our difficulty and had over the past few months been concerned only with business. He was also drinking heavily.

On this day, I think it was October 3rd, I remember he was light hearted and began his celebration earlier than usual drinking with our neighbors. I was busy in the kitchen, chopping and carving meat for that afternoon’s meal. I could hear Wei’s deep voice toasting with my parents and his friends, laughing heartily. It pleased me that he was happy.

Later that day, Wei had the local bakery deliver fresh meat pies to our house. As I sat at the table with our guests, Wei opened the door to pay the delivery boy and stumbled. He collided with the young boy who held two bamboo platters full of pies. The force of Wei’s weight was too much for the delivery boy and both hit the ground hard. The desserts scattered over the stone entrance.

Wei was furious and shouted, ‘Clumsy Pig!’ He began to fight with the boy swinging wildly, punching the young boy in the head, near his left eye, splitting the brow open. The blow cracked the knuckle of Wei’s index finger. He shouted more curses and continued to thrash the boy with his fists. I ran from the dinner table to the door and found Wei continuing to strike him. It was horrible. The boy was bleeding profusely. I begged my husband to stop, apologizing again and again.

I had never seen a fight and the sight of my husband ruthlessly beating the boy made me vomit. At first I didn’t recognize Wei, I thought it must have been some other man. I was so confused. I grabbed Wei by the arm, then by the shoulder, his shirt, his hair. I was desperate to stop him. The violence was revolting. I did not know how this could be my husband.”

As Xiaohong spoke, Magistrate Lo’s ears shot up. He straightened in his chair and immediately recognized this story. His nephew’s left eye had been damaged in a fight while delivering pies ten years ago. The nephew refused to reveal who was responsible and the matter could not be pursued. Weng Lo checked his calendar to make sure the dates coincided and indeed, Wang Xiaohong referenced the exact date as his nephew was beaten. Lo did not believe in coincidences. Instantly the case of Wang Xiaohong was both interesting and more complex. He knew the prominent Song family well and never suspected Song Wei was responsible for beating his nephew. With this revelation, the Magistrate’s initial favor for the victim and sympathy for the Song family was now mitigated. Everything had changed.

Xiaohong raised her hands, palms up emphasizing her bewilderment, and continued.

“Finally with my mother’s help, I managed to pull Wei off the boy and drag him inside as my father attended to the boy. Father knelt down beside him, gently attending to his lacerations with the cloth from our table.

The boy was hurt badly. My father gave him some money and told him to leave and keep quiet. Wei continued to curse and demand an apology from the boy; he was drunk. Our dinner was over, ruined by Wei’s outburst. I had no explanation to offer my family. I just had to ask them to leave apologizing for my husband.”

The Magistrate watched Xiaohong attentively, attempting to complete a puzzle which confounded him for a decade.

“Ms. Wang, what did the boy look like?” Lo rarely interrupted the accused, but he was eager to resolve his suspicion. This was an unusual question and clearly tangential to the trial’s facts.

“I hardly remember such details but I think he was a tall, thin boy. Very young.”

The Magistrate sat back in his chair with heavy movement convinced it was his nephew.

Xiaohong closed her eyes for a second collecting her thoughts.

“After this incident I attempted to discuss the situation with Wei. I wanted to understand why he exploded but he refused and didn’t want to speak with me. I reassured him I loved him no matter what but he would not hear me. This was a turning point as if something awful in him had awoken and seized control of him. I can say he never was the same afterwards.

Then, in the Spring Festival of 1954 he disappeared for two nights. First, I remember he came home from his parent’s factory drunk. He changed his shirt and left, never saying a word to me. I asked him if he wanted dinner but he ignored me. I had prepared a feast and he just left. He closed the door behind him and walked away. After the first night, Jian paid me a visit and said her friend saw Wei across town with someone. She didn’t know who but it was a woman. I discovered later it was a manager at the factory. I knew her, she was a nice woman and I figured he must be doing some work with her. When he returned home I did not discuss it. We just carried on. I wasn’t sure what to do so I tried to be as normal as possible. He had a temper and was short, lacking patience with me on everything.

After Spring Festival, our lives fell apart rapidly. Our relationship became the complete opposite from what it had been when we were first married. Two months later, in the early summer, I came home and found Wei in our bed with another woman. I was stunned and outraged at the same time…that he had not only broken his faith to me but chose to do it openly and in my bed. I was deeply insulted and hurt. I shouted at him and told him to get out and take his whore with him. He slammed the bedroom door and got dressed. I left the house and went to Jian’s home for the rest of the afternoon. But I did not tell her what happened. I was embarrassed and ashamed.”

After speaking these words, Xiaohong was out of breath. Recalling the wretched details of that moment seven years ago was painful. She scanned the courtroom, from left to right, at the men and women gathered together as she described the shame; it was obvious to all she was a woman spurned in as harsh a manner as one could imagine. But more than the shame of the violation, more hurtful than the dishonor, more than anything was the ignominy of the humiliation she endured in the days and weeks afterwards. Xiaohong didn’t need to tell her friend what was wrong. Jian knew. And as the secrets of life go, in a small country town south of Shanghai, it wasn’t long before the whispers of Xiaohong’s tribulations grew into popular village folklore.

Xiaohong pressed on.

“In the late summer of 1954, I pledged to myself to move on with my husband and forget this ugliness. I had faith I could rehabilitate our marriage, I just needed to commit myself more completely and show Wei I was dedicated to him. To demonstrate my allegiance to Wei, I made delicious dinners for him, I kept the house clean every day. Yet the more I tried to earn his approval, the more he escaped into his affair. The more I attempted to build a comfortable, forgiving space about us as husband and wife, the more he grew angry with me.

A year later, Wei began a new phase of vile behavior. I had decorated the house for Moon Festival. Wei was drunk when he came home. I asked him to join me for dinner but he wouldn’t come out of the bedroom. He was in a dark non-communicative mood; his work had not been going well and he was borrowing money from everyone to pay bills. I begged him to come to the table and eat. When he didn’t respond I went into the bedroom and confronted him. Then, Wei slapped me. I fell back against the chair and collapsed onto the floor. My arm throbbed in pain and I could not raise myself. Wei stood above me. His fists clenched and simply warned me to leave him alone.

Wei walked out of the house. After he left, I laid on the floor for hours. I began crying, in part because my arm hurt, in part because my husband had hit me. I had never been hit before. At the moment, I recognized I was failing as a wife.

Wei never again brought the woman back to our house, but his affair with her became widely known. People would speak about him and his sordid behavior behind his back, but never openly as his family controlled so much of the city’s affairs. During this time he beat me regularly. Wei would disappear for a few days, return to the house and hit me, that is, if I had healed from the last beating. If my arm was still in a splint, or my leg bandaged, he would just berate me. But I could rest assured that the next time would be equally as savage and unrestrained. He enjoyed administering pain. And nothing would stop him while he hit me. I would implore him to calm down, promise him anything if only he would cease. No entreaty mollified him, he had so much anger. While he hit me he would always blame me for his misfortunes, whether it was his business or other things.”

The Magistrate searched his memory and recalled having heard something of Song Wei’s anti-social behavior. But as a matter of course, Weng Lo did not trade in gossip. He was a judge and was tasked with measuring crimes against the law, then administering justice.

Xiaohong stared at the Magistrate as she began the end of her statement.

“Then a few years ago, I heard that the woman he was carrying on with left him. I am not sure why, I did not inquire. But it was at this point that Wei’s depravity assumed a dimension which I never thought any person was capable. One evening, in the summer of 1960, Wei was drunk as usual when he came home. I was not expecting him as he rarely came home so early and dinner was not yet prepared. This infuriated Wei and he hit me twice. I ran into the bedroom to escape him but he followed me and hit me a few more times as I laid on the bed. Between blows he shouted how useless I was. He then suddenly stopped and looked at me. His eyes burned with a mad resentment. He placed his hand on the neckline of my shirt and in one motion ripped it so that the buttons flew off. He then stripped my pants off and I knew he was going to rape me. Beating me was no longer sufficient. He needed to find another outlet for his violence. Wei forced himself on me and did what he wanted. I tried to repel him but he wrapped his large hands around my throat and threatened to kill me if I resisted. But he wasn’t done. After he was finished, he dragged me by the arm into our small courtyard, threw me onto the brick walkway where he beat that poor young boy years before. He then proceeded to urinate on me. I collapsed, closed my eyes and as he sprayed me with sour pee. I wished I were dead. Wei had become vicious, degenerate and immoral. He was now thoroughly irrational.”

On hearing this, the Magistrate looked about the courtroom and took note of the disgust on people’s faces. He then glanced at his surrogate who appeared equally revolted.

Xiaohong kept on.

“This conduct was the new normal for Wei. My husband would come home after work and two or three times a week, he would beat me, rape me and then urinate all over me. When I was sufficiently humiliated, he would return to the kitchen and this dinner.”

Xiaohong paused.

“That, Magistrate Lo, is my story,” Xiaohong ended simply. Her demeanor throughout her statement was without fidget. If nothing else, her voice rose above the court with clarity and truth. She spoke with the ring of authenticity.
The Magistrate paused for a moment, stunned by the whole of what he had heard. He wasn’t certain what to ask Xiaohong next. Lo removed his spectacles, and in rhetorical fashion queried, “Is this why you killed Song Wei?”

Xiaohong answered.

“I do not remember the actual moment I killed him. But I did. I murdered him because I could no longer live like an animal. I loved Wei with all my heart and I did everything I could to support him and be the perfect wife. I allowed him to brutalize me. I did anything I could for him and to find a way through our hell together. In the end, I could no longer endure my own subordination. My subservience was an attempt to rectify our marriage and it was the wrong approach, it made him worse. I failed Wei and allowed him to grow into a monster. And then, when I could no longer tolerate the monster, I killed it. He was a victim of my shortcomings as a spouse.”

Xiaohong’s statement resonated in the ears of the Magistrate. He reflected that she was in full possession of her act, however wrong and corrupt. After she spoke, Xiaohong, in only the second display of emotion that day, buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

The court fell silent. Magistrate Lo shuffled papers, turned and conferred with the surrogate. Xiaohong’s penalty was his domain exclusively but he was expected to seek advice from his assistant. In their discussion, the Magistrate told him the criminal’s confession was sufficient evidence to convict with a death sentence. But Lo, in the same breath noted that he, as a judge, was offended by the victim’s repulsive behavior and felt Song Wei was somewhat responsible for his death. The surrogate praised the Magistrate’s wisdom and concurred as usual. Weng Lo did not mention his earlier revelation; the realization that he had a connection with Song Wei though the attack on his nephew. He measured Xiaohong’s experience, the impact of her statement and the irreparable injuries suffered by his brother’s son. He could not dismiss the weight carried by the sum of these facts. They all pointed to a very bad person: Song Wei.

Magistrate Lo came to a conclusion.

“The criminal Wang Xiaohong will prepare to receive her sentence.”

Before Xiaohong could wipe away her tears Magistrate Lo began.

“Wang Xiaohong, the Glorious Court of the People’s Justice has found that you have committed the heinous crime of murder with reckless abandon, brought scandal upon your family, maligned the village’s reputation and deprived your in-laws of their legacy. You are morally corrupt and dissolute. Confess your crime to the People, now!”

On cue, Wang Xiaohong raised her swollen face and lowered her hands. Obediently, she stared ahead, “I am guilty of this crime.”

The Magistrate folded his hands on top of his desk, leaned forward then began again. “Wang Xiaohong, you are wicked and your debased crime deserves the punishment of execution. The Song Family accepted you as their daughter and you repaid them with the cold murder of their son.”

The Magistrate took a breath and continued.

“The People are offended by your degenerate morality and find you have violated the most basic laws of civilized society. However, this court also finds sufficient evidence that your crime was not wholly of your intention. It is acknowledged there were external factors to your debauchery. Therefore, the punishment of execution is suspended and the People sentence you to prison for what remains of your life. You are hereby remanded to the custody of Jeng Do Prison for Female Criminals.”

Magistrate Lo sounded the gavel with rare satisfaction. Full of self-approbation, he congratulated himself on having administered justice exceptionally well that morning: two wrongs righted and mercy shown.

April 1964:

Three months after her trial when Xiaohong was thirty-nine years old, she was admitted to Jeng Do. The Warden issued her a uniform, recorded important personal information and received those items, a gold wedding band and a jade bracelet, which she would no longer require. The process of stripping her of her former life was underway. These items would be sold to defray the costs of her incarceration. To avoid the spread of lice, her head was shaved and doused with kerosine. She removed her clothes and was given an antiseptic shower with a hose. Later that morning, after the administrative work and prisoner cleansing had been completed, Xiaohong was taken to her cell. Her home from that moment forward would be a small, three square meter cement room with a window set high in one corner whose opaque glass allowed light only. There was no view or ventilation.

Xiaohong entered the cell and sat down on the small jute rug that would serve as her mattress. In her lap was a bowl and wooden spoon, issued to her by the Warden and a small cardboard box. It contained a faded notice given to her before her wedding by Jian and a note written to her at the end of her trial by her mother and father. The iron gate shut and was locked by the guard. At once Xiaohong was alone, the stillness of the cool prison air and the silence of her cell had a finality that was reassuring. She thought: My nightmare is over. I will now go to sleep and wake up when I am ninety-five years old, just before I die. These years will pass in an instant and my crime will be settled by forfeit of my life.

Xiaohong never read the note from her parents as she knew it contained bitter words of disassociation. She couldn’t brook their disappointment; her own disillusionment for the way she failed Wei yielded enough regret for a lifetime. She brought them dishonor not to mention economic ruin at the hands of the vengeful Song. She did read the faded notice that Jian had given her on the wedding day. Jian told her, Mao had ensured all women a new, safe future. Xiaohong unfolded the note and read it for the second time in her life. It set forth a new legal decree by the Chairman which Xiaohong found ironic. The notice read:

Article 1: The feudal marriage system based on the arbitrary and compulsory arrangements and supreme act of man over woman, and in the disregard of the interests of children, is abolished.
Article 2: Bigamy, concubinage, interference in re-marriage of widows, and the extraction of money or gifts in connection with marriages, are prohibited.

She mused: Equality under the law is wholly different from equality under the roof. Xiaohong folded the notice and placed it back into the box thinking she would miss Jian greatly. She regretted the embarrassment she may have caused her and hoped Jian would live a happy life.

May 2015:

Wang Xiaohong lives to this day, securely ensconced in a small cell in the recently rebuilt New Jeng Do Prison for Female Criminals. A room with a larger window. This hunched, wizened old lady of ninety-three years has been a model prisoner exemplifying corrected behavior. No one at the prison today was there when Xiaohong arrived in 1963, she has outlasted them all. Her record has been pristine: she stands as a reminder to the younger inmates that the system works and one’s crimes can be atoned with proper focus and dedication. The prison officials often boast that she has proved their model of rehabilitation is superior to other prisons in China. A re-educated women they would say. After half a century of incarceration, she is thoroughly institutionalized having had little interaction with the outside world during this time. But then, none of what occurs beyond Jeng Do’s impenetrable walls matter. All that is relevant is attention to daily routine and steadfast commitment to reform. There is no chance for a second hearing and no parole exists for convicted murders.

In 1972 the Warden passed to her a notice that her father died. In the fall of 1976, all inmates were instructed to gather in the courtyard daily and sang songs mourning the death of the Great Leader. Then, in 1980 Jian wrote her a simple message about her mother’s passing. She has placed these notes into her cardboard box, the depository for a history she has all but forgotten; evidence of a time she isn’t sure existed. In the occasional private moments of her daily life, when something triggers a distant memory she has come to regard it as pre-history, a preface to her real life in Jeng Do; a safe, predictable life where she has found purpose and meaning.

Luckily, Xiaohong has been in fair health most of her time in Jeng Do, at least no health issue has terminated her life to date and that has been an accomplishment in itself. The budget at Jeng Do for surgical procedures or other special medicines often necessary for the elderly is non-existent. There is no dentist, no ophthalmologist, no cardiologist and certainly no geriatrician. The costs for such specialists are the responsibility of inmates’ families. But Xiaohong has no more family.

In 2008, she became aware of a lump in her abdomen which has since grown to the size of a grapefruit. It has impeded her stride and slowed her routine. With no more blood family, she must rely on the benevolence of volunteer organizations who donate items to prisoners; unfortunately surgery isn’t one of them. Those with whom she has been closest are her imprisoned friends and jailers; the latter have been as kind to her as one might expect them to act towards a non-threat. They have come to call her grandma. None of this alleviated the bloated tumor in her gut or calmed the burning acid in her stomach. These ailments go unresolved.

Xiaohong was born an altruistic woman who longed to devote herself to a husband, build a family and live as happily as possible. And despite all her tribulations she remained a selfless, noble human who naturally placed others, their feelings and needs before her own. Long ago Xiaohong accepted her fate with ineffable Taoist conviction; she is a consequence of her own design and solely responsible for her situation. The question of ‘what if’ serves no purpose and simply doesn’t occur to her.

During her time at Jeng Do, she has inspired her fellow inmates to something greater than themselves. Consequently, they have come to define one another in terms of accomplishments rather than verdicts. For three decades after she was sentenced, Xiaohong taught the other convicts important skills such as sewing and calligraphy. These days she is semi-retired though many Jeng Do women seek her advice and consul. By sheer dint of example, Xiaohong has created a culture of kindness for these women and instilled in each of them hope for the future. She is a living legend and the heroine of Jeng Do.

Xiaohong has always eschewed accolades, simply carrying on each day with her chores, quietly and obediently. Even in retirement, Xiaohong has insisted on working as Jeng Do’s wash woman cleaning her fellow inmate’s clothes dutifully. Every day, as the weeks have turned into months, the months passed to years and all these years have become a lifetime; scrubbing the spots that stain and rinsing away the accumulated odors of Jeng Do. When finished, Xiaohong wrings the foul water from her friend’s garments, hangs the clothes to dry in the cleansing sun as if she were purifying their crimes as well as rectifying her own.

So far, a fifty-two year penance and still counting, for what little remains of her life.

Farewell my migrant health care worker

Sat, 15 Jun 2019 11:39:09 GMT

“A smile ushers in the Spring and a tear does darken all the world”,
Master Yuan in Farewell my Concubine

What follows below is a slightly edited transcript of an interview with a young woman named “Jiang” (alias) which occurred in Beijing, Chaoyang District at a Starbucks coffee shop on December 1, 2011. All edits are primarily due to issues of translation, my imperfect “on the run” typing effort and a very uncomfortable seat at Starbucks. Otherwise, her responses are reported below in as true a form as possible. The purpose of the interview is to shed light on the single most critical issue within the burgeoning geriatric care industry in China: namely, the absolute dearth of properly trained human resources and consequently the use of inadequately trained personnel to administer care to the elderly Chinese. A read through the interview illuminates other social concerns, and while I am sympathetic to these, my focus here is senior care.

Jiang is a young lady of 36 years who is a migrant health care worker in Beijing. She is perfectly average for her social cohort in nearly every respect: neither pretty nor ugly, simply dressed, with serious tooth decay and a limited world view. She is a contract employee at a state run nursing facility and has no professional education in nursing other than what she has learned recently. Jiang, and many of the people with whom she works are known as “Bao Mu” or migrant workers. Being Bao Mu carries a stigma and it is not a pleasant one; they are viewed as wholly inferior, as a lower caste, dirty and unworthy. Usually, Bao Mu are ethnic minorities and they have largely been disenfranchised from the Chinese economic miracle. However, I found in Jiang bucolic charm and a meek honesty which set her in sharp contradiction to her current urban existence; indeed, to her, life in Beijing could not be more uncomfortably foreign.

As we moved through the discussion, Jiang became more relaxed and began to open up. I did not intend to enter the realm of her private life but as the interview progressed, it became obvious that her past has had profound influence on her current situation. Some of her answers are startling and painful; they paint a vivid picture of not only her job but of her life as well. Lastly, you will notice that the conversation is occasionally peppered with anecdotal comments, either before or after a question, in << >> brackets. I added these notes after a final proof-read as I found a simple rote reproduction of the interview resulted in a hollowness which failed to sufficiently convey the emotional environment.

Jiang arrived at Starbucks prior to the translator and me. She was sitting at a small table in the back of the room waiting patiently with her coat and gloves on, giving a guarded impression that she considered us a potential no-show. As we approached the table she stood, smiled and said hello. After a brief introduction by the translator and some explanation, I began the interview:

Bromme 柯博明: Hello, Jiang.

Jiang: Hello, Sir.

Bromme 柯博明: My name is 柯博明 and I have a business here in China. I help Chinese businesses build private nursing homes and senior living facilities. I have explained to you that I want to ask you a number of questions about the work you do, how you came to do it, what you think about it and generally about what you want to do in the future. Is this ok? You understand?

Jiang: Yes Sir.

Bromme 柯博明: Also, I am asking you these questions because I intend to publish your answers on a website I own and eventually include them in a book. You will remain anonymous, but your responses will be reproduced, after translation and small edits, in their entirety. Do you agree?

Jiang: Yes Sir.
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Bromme 柯博明: Ok, let’s get started. Where were you born and where did you grow up?

Jiang: I was born in Bishan…I grew up there too; my entire life.
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Bromme 柯博明: How old are you?

Jiang: 36
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Bromme 柯博明: How many years of education do you have? And what have you studied?

Jiang: I studied the basic curriculum.
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Bromme 柯博明: Jiang, I understand that you work in a nursing home, how
long have you worked there?

Jiang: About three years…

Bromme 柯博明: What do you like most about it?

Jiang: The money, but I do not get paid much.

Bromme 柯博明: How much are you paid?
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Jiang: They pay me 1,500 RmB per month. I also get a bed and some food.
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Bromme 柯博明: What do you like least about it?

Jiang: I do not like taking care of old people; I am a young person. The old people yell at me and sometimes try and hit me when I have to touch them.

Bromme 柯博明: Do you get hit a lot? Why do you have to touch them? What do you mean?

Jiang: Sometimes I get hit but often they miss me because they are slow.
The nurses tell me I have to clean them when they shit in the bed. Or sometimes I have to help them go to the bathroom by inserting my finger into their anus. Also, sometimes the families blame us when the old people die.
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Bromme 柯博明: Does anyone else hit you? Have the nurses every hit you? The boss?

Jiang: No. My father used to hit me but not the nurses.
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Bromme 柯博明: How did you find your job here at the nursing home?

Jiang: My friends told me.

Bromme 柯博明: How did they find this job?

Jiang: I don’t know.

Bromme 柯博明: What did you do before you worked at the nursing home?

Jiang: I was a food worker. I prepared food in a factory.
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Bromme 柯博明: Jiang, when you left the factory (Where was the factory?) and came here to Beijing to work at the nursing home, what training did they give you?

Jiang: I worked in Wenzhou. When I was contracted, the nurses told me what to do and after a few weeks I was able to do most of the work alone.
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Bromme 柯博明: And today, do you work unsupervised?
Jiang: Yes, most of the day.

Bromme 柯博明: Other than clean the patients, what else are your duties?

Jiang: I feed them, give them medicine, help wash them, help them exercise if they want.

Bromme 柯博明: Jiang, how long do you think you will work at the nursing home? Do you have other plans? What would you like to do with your life after the nursing home?
<>

Jiang: I have to work here because I need the money. Someday I might find another job but I don’t know. I would like not to work here, but I don’t know where else to go. I would like to have a shop and sell things.

Bromme 柯博明: What type of things would you like to sell?

Jiang: All sorts of things, cute little knickknacks, dolls, sweets!
<>

Bromme 柯博明: So, Jiang, if I understand you correctly, you work at the nursing home for no other reason than you need the money? Right? You essentially hate the job, nothing about it interests you. In fact, caring for the old people disgusts you…they even hit you sometimes, right?

Jiang: Yes, Sir.

Bromme 柯博明: Do you think you are good at your job? Are you proud to be a health care worker?

Jiang: Today I know my job and I do it, but I do not like it. I am not proud of being a health care worker...it is a low job.
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Bromme 柯博明: Do you think being a health care worker is an important job?

Jiang: It is not an important job, if it were I would be paid more money.
<>

Bromme 柯博明: I want to ask you some questions not related to your job at the nursing home, ok?

Jiang: Yes.

Bromme 柯博明: Did you have a happy childhood and are your parents still alive?
<>

Jiang: My parents are alive. We are a very poor family. And when I was little my parents had to split up and work in different cities. I had to go and live
with my relatives for a long time. One day my father came to get me and take me home. But he would beat me all day and tell me to call my mother and beg her to come home. I had a very bad relationship with my father.
<<Jiang opened up here in a way that I doubt she ever had. She was almost eager to say these things. Her answer above is an abridged version of her entire response.>>

Bromme 柯博明: If you could buy anything what would it be?

Jiang: A nice house for my mother and a shop for me!
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Bromme 柯博明: Jiang, I have only a few more questions. When your mother is old and frail will you take care of her? Or would you consider a nursing home for her?

Jiang: Yes, I will care for her.
<>

Bromme 柯博明: But you will have to work, right? How will you take care of her and work at the same time?

Jiang: I don’t know.
<>

Bromme 柯博明: Jiang, do you have any questions for me?

Jiang: Sir, why do you want to work in nursing homes?
<>

Bromme 柯博明: I don’t really work in them. I help people build them and operate them.
<>

Bromme 柯博明: Thank you, Jiang. I have enjoyed speaking with you.

Jiang: Yes Sir. Did I do a good job?

Bromme 柯博明: Yes, Jiang. You did a great job.
<>

Bromme 柯博明: Oh,…Jiang?

Jiang: Yes Sir?
<>

Bromme 柯博明: Have you ever seen the Chinese movie Farewell My Concubine?

Jiang: Oh, no Sir, I don’t know what that is. Anyway movies are too expensive. Goodbye!

Bromme 柯博明: Goodbye, Jiang.
<>

In my two hours with her, I found Jiang to be much like Chen Dieyi in the film Farewell my Concubine. Not on a superficial level, but in terms of how tortured she must be; caught in the middle of a miserable triangle with the angles of her life defined by a father who beat her as a child, the necessity of holding down a job she despises and a mother to whom she is fully devoted and loves dearly but cannot live with for financial reasons. Making this mosaic more complex, Jiang knows that she, like millions of other poor and middle income Chinese, face a dreadful dilemma of ultimately having to care for their parents and lose a job or keep the job and turn their parents over to a nursing home. This dynamic is one reason for the decline of traditional filial piety in China and its evolution into something more modern that will make facility living an acceptable option.

Update: Last week I found myself in the vicinity of the nursing home where Jiang works. I stopped by to say hello and thank her again for her time. The manager of the facility seemed frustrated when I inquired about her, he told me she had quit her job three days ago and did not know where she went.
She just left he explained, raising his hands in exasperation, “Like all the Bao Mu, appear from nowhere and disappear into nowhere”.

I turned and walked out of the nursing home, leaving behind the caustic tang of bleach and sour reek of dirty clothes. The cold air bit into my nose and cleared my lungs as I stepped outside. I walked down the street and thought about what the manager said regarding Bao Mu disappearing into nowhere. As I hailed a cab I looked back at the nursing home and imagined Jiang, an apparition with suitcase in hand, furtively leaving her job, escaping under the cover of a foggy dawn.

Full of ephemeral sympathy for Jiang, I thought to myself as I got into the cab and closed the door, “Indeed…’disappearing into nowhere’ has there ever been a more poignant, unknown destination?”

Love, lao ren style

Mon, 10 Jun 2019 12:34:42 GMT

When we are young falling in love is easy. We are emotionally fearless and full of affections. But what happens when we are old and lonely? No longer bold and unafraid, but full of fears, prejudices, insecurities and hesitations which we accumulate over a lifetime? What happens then? This is an improbable story about two senior adults who decide to take a chance with vulnerability and consequently discover the transformative power of love.

From the moment she was able to count, Lu Jiabei was fascinated by symmetry; she yearned to apply her sense of organization to any situation she encountered. To her mind, categorization was harmony, disorder was unpleasant and she was exceedingly good at the process of it all. As class leader throughout primary school, she insisted that her peers’ form two distinct lines as they queued up for lunch break: one line for girls and the other for boys, shortest to tallest. If there were two classmates of equal height, then the younger of the two would precede the other in line. She had even provided for the rare instance when two classmates had the same birthdate: the one with the higher score on the most recent exam would prevail. She was prepared for any eventuality. But Jiabei’s sense of order was not regimented or harsh. She was never sharp about the imposition of her methods, instead those appearing cynical with her sense of uniformity, she won over through friendly, practical discussion leaving her critic appearing to be a proponent of chaos. In the end, she was simply clever and all her instincts led her to a prosperous business organizing tours and local events.

Jiabei is petite. But size is irrelevant as she is a cerebral powerhouse; a manager at heart, always advancing towards the objective. Today she is 81, a widow and living in Peace and Serenity, a senior living development in Wuxi, China. She has lived there since her husband died seven years ago of an aneurysm. One night as they sat in their living room, he suddenly moaned, called out her name and reached across the sofa for her. As his hand reached her arm, touching her gently, a final caress and he collapsed; his head fell into her lap and he was dead. It all happened in five-seconds, a lifetime was extinguished in a moment for which she was totally unprepared. Jiabei was left feeling betrayed by life as there had been no opportunity to prepare much less say goodbye. Though unfair as she recognized it, dwelling upon this would produce nothing but bitterness, and this was useless to her innate, pragmatic self. Six months later she saw no more merit living alone and decided to leave their large house and relocate to Peace and Serenity. The decision was easy; Jiabei had no children, no sisters, no brothers and no extended family to consult. Her friends, of which there are many, did indeed support her decision to move. In fact, they were curious about Peace and Serenity and promised to visit and inspect for their own purposes as well.

At Peace and Serenity, Jiabei was one of the first people to move into the new development. That didn’t dissuade her from doing what she had always done. Soon after arranging her belongings, she contacted the management and presented a list of items she felt were lacking or could be enhanced. This list was extensive ranging from better organization of the kitchen, improved sales process, additional activities, and so on. From Jiabei’s perspective, Peace and Serenity was the right place for her…it needed what she had in abundance. The development had potential; it just needed some organizational discipline. It needed her and she knew that. Without a business any longer and with no husband, she desperately needed to belong again.

As the years at Peace and Serenity passed, Jiabei became indispensable to the management team. Her instinct for expedited administration was essential and in large part responsible for the facility’s curb appeal and rapid occupancy. She was known affectionately as the “boss” by many of those who worked at the company.

Yang Haoming is a large man, tall and barrel-chested. He is a warm and friendly person, naturally trustworthy and reliable and there is a permanent smile on his face that makes him eminently approachable. For most of his adult life, Haoming was a professor of history at a major university in Shanghai. He is also a good cook, specializing in the delicious dishes from Hunan where his mother was from. From his earliest social encounters as a child, Haoming was known for naturally projecting a gravity which drew people to him, although he never purposely sought the spotlight.

Today, Haoming is 80 and moved into Peace and Serenity, two years ago largely at the prompting, or insistence, of his only child and son, Haishan. Haishan lives in Malaysia and is a busy manager for a major Chinese technology company. Three years ago, Haoming lost his wife after 50 years of marriage. Her death was difficult; she had heart surgery and her recovery was complicated by an infection which she never was able to overcome. For a long time since the heartbreaking moments immediately after her death, Haoming was at a loss. His life was in disarray and their apartment transitioned from a nicely kept two bedroom flat to an unrecognizable mess. He also ate poorly since his wife’s passing and has gained a considerable amount of weight. Prior to his move to Peace and Serenity, Haoming moped around, aimlessly walking the neighborhood and loitering on corners. At a point nearly eight months after his wife’s death, Haoming became so disconsolate, that two of his friends contacted Haishan and alerted him to his father’s odd behavior. Haishan excused himself from his professional obligations and flew to Shanghai the next day.

When Haishan arrived at his father’s apartment he was astonished at its condition and immediately knew his father could not continue there. The apartment wasn’t just messy; it was disastrous and looked like a burglary had occurred. What surprised Haishan most of all, was that his father had gathered up all of his mother’s belongings; there were three suitcases, some full and closed, some partially packed, containing all her clothes and personal effects. Haishan was speechless and tried to discuss the situation with his father, but he refused. It was obvious to him that Haoming was deeply troubled by remaining in the apartment. After three days with him in Shanghai, Haishan concluded his father needed a change and another living arrangement was necessary. For Haoming to remain in the apartment might be dangerous, Haishan concluded his father was wasting away and his obvious depression could deepen irreparably.

On the morning of the fourth day of his visit, Haishan’s mind was made up. He asked his father to take a small trip with him. They got into a taxi and Haishan gave the driver directions to Peace and Serenity. Haoming did not recognize the destination but as the taxi drove on, Haishan began to explain where they were going and why. Once he understood, Haoming simply said “no”…he would not consider such a move. But Haishan insisted and told his father that under no circumstances would he permit him to remain in the apartment. The big man was at a disadvantage in this debate: he could not focus on the argument the way his son could as much of his mind still mourned his wife’s passing. Haoming realized as they got closer to Peace and Serenity that he would likely lose this quarrel, his son’s insistence was berating. He simply wanted to be left alone, be it in his apartment or wherever.

Four months later, Haishan returned to Shanghai and would entertain no further objection to his father’s relocation. He had made all the arrangements with Peace and Serenity prior to his arrival; after all, the sooner the better in his view: that was the best decision. Haishan further rationalized that Haoming could not come to Malaysia; such a move was out of the question. There were simply too many variables in his life and his father’s health was not suitable for the exceedingly hot Malay climate. The morning after Haishan’s arrival, he moved his father into an apartment in Peace and Serenity. In the afternoon, he signed the paperwork, executed all deposits and paid the final fees. There was no cost to his father, Haishan took care of the entire expense, as a dutiful son should, which exceeded the rent Haoming would receive on his apartment.

The welcoming team helped move Haoming into the one bedroom apartment on the second floor of building D. At four o’clock, Haishan and his father had tea together in the new apartment. Both were silent and didn’t speak. An hour later, Haishan needed to take a car back to Pudong airport to catch his return flight to Kuala Lumpur. They said goodbye with his son promising to return in the fall for national holiday. In the car ride to Pudong, he fought back his guilt by telling himself his father was safer and better off at Peace and Serenity. He was aware that his career was taking an inordinate amount time out of his life, so much that he was forced to place his father into a senior living facility. Nevertheless, Haishan reasoned, it was for his father’s benefit, even if he lived in Shanghai he would be poorly equipped to care for Haoming. The deed was done; he needed to move on and his father needed to reestablish himself.

By the end of the week of Haoming’s arrival at Peace and Serenity, Jiabei was busy preparing welcome messages to the six new residents. She had researched each newcomer and deemed three of them excellent candidates to join a new singing group and she wanted to recruit them quickly. Printing out the invitations, she shut off her computer and headed out to visit them before dinner. On her second delivery, apartment D202, she knocked on the door a few times but there was no answer. Jiabei found this odd as there were no activities going on at that hour and most residents were in their apartments preparing for dinner. She waited for a minute then decided to slip the notice under the door.

As Jiabei turned and began to walk away, the door to D202 opened. She was surprised to see such a large man, and like hers, his hair was fiery white.

“Good Afternoon, Sir! I am Lu Jiabei head of the Organizing Committee and I want to welcome you to our new singing club!” Jiabei was polite and energetic.

Haoming for his part was equally surprised to see such a small woman asking him to join a singing group, in fact, it was the first invitation he had received in nearly two years.

“I don’t sing, I just want to be alone.” Haoming replied muttering lowly. He began to shut the door when Jiabei chirped again, “Everyone can sing! Just open your heart and let the music out!”

Haoming shut the door and returned to his TV. ‘Everyone can sing….open your heart’ he mocked Jiabei’s words to himself. Then as he sat down on his couch he asked himself out loud, ‘May I just watch my TV please…?’

Jiabei dismissed Haoming’s refusal to join as simply what most newcomers do. In her experience, and according to her records, 75% of new residents usually take 6 months to get used to the environment of Peace and Serenity. After which 65% often join in some activity…so she knew there was a good chance to win over Haoming eventually, especially since she had access to his file and knew he was a widower. He would soon seek out new friends.

Haoming took his time settling into Peace and Serenity, he was in no rush. Over the next year, Haoming gradually grew into the environment and became more at ease with all the residents. His interactions with Jiabei also became more frequent as she often asked him to join one of the many groups she had organized.

Two months after his one year anniversary, Haoming was walking from the administrator’s office, where he had filed a complaint about poor TV reception, towards the cafeteria for lunch. As he left the office, he decided that instead of the direct path, he would detour and walk through the garden slightly out of the way. As he entered under the moon gate, to his left there were a series of stone benches. Haoming’s quick eye noticed a lady’s pocketbook lying on the second bench. He looked up, scanned the immediate area but saw no one else in the garden, he was alone and reasoned it must have been forgotten by another resident. Instinctively, he picked up the purse and hurried back to the administrator’s office and opened the door. A bit out of breath, Haoming held up the purse so everyone could see it and announced to the three ladies sitting there that he had just found an item in the garden.

Haoming puffed, “Ladies, I found this on my way to the cafeteria, it was on a bench in the garden. There was no one around so I decided to bring it directly to you.” The ladies on duty, Jiabei and her two friends were a bit startled.

Quickly understanding the moment for what it was, Jiabei stood up, “Well, what a good deed you have done, Sir! You are the resident of the week I should say!” Jiabei exclaimed. Her two friends looked up at Haoming and nodded in agreement. She approached Haoming and offered to place the bag in the wall safe until it was claimed. The ladies all complimented Haoming and praised him as a hero.

Haoming realized that with this talk about heroes, his action might draw unwanted attention to himself. All he had wanted to do was return the purse to its owner; he had no interest in being called the resident of the week.

“No…that is not necessary…please just return the bag to the owner…that is all I wish.” Haoming turned quickly and left the administrator’s office then headed to the cafeteria. He recognized the woman in the office as that same person who starts all the groups…singing, sewing and Mahjong…he wondered how she had all that energy.

Not more than an hour later, as Haoming was nearly done with his lunch a commotion began at one end of the cafeteria. The squawk of a microphone, some static, then a woman’s voice began to speak:

“Ladies and Gentlemen…I have a request. A woman’s pocketbook has been discovered by one of our good, honest residents who has returned it to the administration office. If you are missing such an item, please come see me soon!” Jiabei continued, “Our resident does not wish to be identified as he is so humble, but I want everyone to give a round of applause to our secret, honorable policeman!”

Haoming nearly choked on his soup as Jiabei spoke these final words ‘honorable policeman’. He gathered himself, said good afternoon to his friends he was sitting with, stood and began to leave the cafeteria as everyone clapped hoping no one would connect him with this Jiabei’s words.

As his basic nature was to be outgoing, it was inevitable that Haoming would become more and more immersed in Peace and Serenity but he did not want to be singled out. About six months after the episode involving the pocketbook, Jiabei was walking to the Activities Building to attend singing class with some friends when he turned the corner and nearly bumped into a group of ladies.

Haoming apologized for his haste, “Forgive me,Ladies, I am careless. I nearly ran into you!”

Jiabei and her friends exclaimed, “Quite all right, Sir, We were not looking where we were going.”

“Please allow me…” Haoming reached to open the door to the Activities Building. The ladies lined up, stepped up the single stair and entered the building. It had been raining earlier that morning and as Jiabei took her turn, she miscalculated the height of the stair, suddenly slipped and lost her balance. Haoming was attentive and quickly caught her with his free hand which he swiftly placed behind her back. Jiabei’s friends shrieked as they saw her tumble backward onto the stairs. But Haoming’s strength saved her and stopped her fall a split second before her head hit the hard marble step. He had prevented a serious injury.

Jiabei was light; Haoming estimated no more than 35 kilos. But even though she was lean, the dynamic of her fall caught him off balance and he had no choice but to shift his weight, release the door and nimbly move his other hand under her legs to pick her up, thereby regaining his footing. In doing so, Haoming put too much pressure on his left leg and he felt the sudden tear of his thigh muscle. It ripped and the pain shot deep into his back. But he could not release Jiabei or the two of them would have suffered greater injuries; no doubt he would have fallen on her. He summoned all his strength and suppressed the pain. Holding Jiabei in his arms, he asked the ladies to open the door so he could place her on the couch just inside the building. He was concerned that she might faint or possibly have twisted her ankle in the fall. Haoming laid her down gently on the sofa and instructed one of the ladies to get the nurse immediately. Jiabei was dazed, not so much from the slip, but how fast it all had happened. Just how rapidly Haoming had reacted left her breathless.

Jiabei lay there on the sofa and spoke up, “Thank you Haoming. I was very clumsy.”

“Are you all right?” Haoming asked, “The nurse will be here any moment. Please stay calm.”

“I am fine…luckily no damage,” Jiabei replied.

“Let’s make sure and have the nurse look at your ankle. That was a nasty twist…you might have hurt yourself badly,” Haoming rationalized. He didn’t know it but his words were pure caring to Jiabei’s ears. This was the first time in years that a man had asked about her well being much less saved her from an injury. It was at this point that Jiabei realized she was smitten with this gentleman.

Haoming was kneeling at the sofa’s edge speaking to Jiabei when the nurse arrived. As she approached Jiabei, Haoming tried to stand but the pain in his leg and back was so great that he winced horribly and struggled to get upright.

“Haoming!” Jiabei cried…”You are hurt!”

“No…I am fine just an old injury…some stiffness in my back”. Haoming regained his balance and excused himself. “You are in good hands now, Jiabei. I am going to leave you to the nurse.” Haoming said goodbye and limped back to his apartment; the pain was excruciating.

Jiabei’s girlfriends watched the whole encounter in awe. They were not sure what to make of this event but they both knew something of material importance had just transpired between their friend and Haoming. Jiabei clearly felt the moment acutely. That evening as she lay in bed with the window open, a soft breeze from the freshwater canals of Wuxi cooled her apartment as her thoughts drifted to Haoming. This large, handsome man, on two occasions no less, had demonstrated superior character. She tucked her pillow under her head for further support as she fell into reflection. With a deep sigh, she recognized within herself the rise of an emotion that she long ago lost, it was more than a feeling of comfort, more than the sensation of reassurance. For a woman such as Jiabei, whose daily life was founded on order, predictability and equilibrium, Haoming had introduced an element of spontaneity that inspired her to the point of elation. For the first time in years, she felt the promise of youth and the sense that the future held excitement. She acknowledged to herself as she pulled her silk sheet closer, that her feeling for Haoming was a bit scary, but not so much that she felt out of control. She sensed Haoming was trustworthy and that made all the difference. Jiabei closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep as the crisp air refreshed her thoughts and brought her a dream of Haoming and exciting journeys ahead.

For the next two days, Haoming could not get out of bed. His leg and back were simply too painful to move for any extended distance. Jiabei was growing increasingly concerned not having seen him at all, not in the cafeteria, not in any activity; he was nowhere to be found.

On the afternoon of the third day, Jiabei organized the nurse for a trip to visit Haoming. She felt guilty not having done this earlier but she had held off not wanting to publicly appear overly interested. With the nurse in tow, they marched up to Haoming’s apartment and knocked on the door. Jiabei announced herself and the nurse’s presence in a loud voice so he might hear them even if he were in his bedroom. But Haoming was not in bed, he was in his pajamas watching TV on his couch. When he heard Jiabei’s voice he told her and the nurse to enter and was sorry he could not greet them at the door but he was too sore to walk.

Jiabei and the nurse entered immediately and found Haoming drinking tea…looking pained but resting. The nurse immediately began to examine Haoming asking many questions on how and where he had discomfort. After a few minutes, she was satisfied that it was merely a strained muscle and suggested that additional bed rest along with liniment of menthol would speed his recovery. Before she left Haoming’s apartment, the nurse insisted he begin to move about in two days’ time using a special walker that she would have delivered later in the evening. With her job completed, the nurse said goodnight to both and left.

After the nurse left, Haoming spoke up, “Jiabei, thank you for your concern but I am quickly on the mend. You needn’t be too concerned. The nurse herself says I should be ok in a few days.”

Jiabei responded flatly, “Haoming, you saved me from a near disaster and hurt yourself in the process. I am indebted to you and must see that you recover…besides, your apartment needs a bit of order.” Jiabei was firm as she glanced about the messy apartment.

Haoming grumbled and Jiabei went about her job setting the apartment in good order. But before she began, she gave Haoming a fresh cup of tea and some fruit from his kitchen. He was now more comfortable and she could get to work tidying up.

For the next week, Jiabei would appear at Haoming’s apartment sometimes bringing him breakfast at other times just to visit. Afterward she would help him stand and learn to maneuver the walker. It was a clumsy device and too much for what Haoming really needed. After some thought, she knew what he required was something smaller and easier to use, which gave Jiabei an idea. The next day, she left Peace and Serenity and went to the local market to purchase a stout wooden cane just the right size for Haoming’s height and weight. She was very excited about giving it to him and hoped he would like it. Jiabei concocted a plan to gift it to him at tea that afternoon.

Jiabei knocked on Haoming’s door and announced herself as she usually did. Haoming responded by asking her to come in, he was in the kitchen cooking and couldn’t make to the door so fast with his walker.

Once Haoming opened the door Jiabei inquired, “Are you ready for our walk and some tea in the garden, Haoming?”

Haoming was in a good mood that day as he was beginning to feel stronger, “Yes, I am…and I think I am ready to move away from this darn walker…it is so much trouble.”

Jiabei’s excitement grew at the prospect of giving Haoming the cane, “Haoming…let’s get you downstairs first and see how you are going before we make that move.”

Haoming agreed with her and they began the short trek to the garden where Jiabei had a thermos of tea and her gift of a beautiful wooden cane. She carefully hid the cane nearby and planned to present it after a few minutes of friendly discussion.

It was 4pm in early September and unusually dry and cool for that time of year in Wuxi. Jiabei and Haoming both remarked that the garden was very pleasant and next week was an exciting time: Harvest Festival and an auspicious occasion.

After a minute of silence, Jiabei spoke, “Haoming…I know I have thanked you for your saving me when I slipped and I don’t want to repeat myself but I am grateful…I could have seriously hurt myself and you…you suffered an injury on my behalf.”

“Jiabei…please, I am fine now. I was there, I held the door for you and I could not have let you fall. My reflex was automatic. Look at me now…I am nearly fully recovered!” Haoming exclaimed.

Jiabei continued, “Yes...you have recovered nicely. And Haoming…I just want to say that…” Jiabei searched for the words that would precede her giving the gift to Haoming. It was excruciating for her…she needed the right formula of words…her feelings for Haoming hung in the balance.

“Yes…?” Haoming said.

Jiabei summoned all her courage and then just blurted out, looking directly at Haoming, “Well…I enjoy your company, Haoming…I do. And I want to let you know that.” Jiabei stood up quickly and pulled the gift from a stand of bushes next to the bench and presented it to Haoming saying, “Here…this is a gift for you.”

Looking up at Jiabei and receiving the cane in both hands, Haoming was bewildered, “What…have you done Jiabei….? I…I am not sure what…” Haoming was speechless.

Jiabei clapped her hands together giggling like a school girl, “This is for you Haoming…I bought it for you as I knew you didn’t need a walker anymore but a cane might help you from time to time!” Jiabei smiled broadly…she was happy. Haoming passed the cane from one hand to another…it was well polished and had a neatly carved handle. It was obvious to him a great deal of care went into its making.

“Jiabei…thank you…It is a precious and thoughtful gift.” At that moment Haoming felt something he had not experienced in years. He was overcome with the feeling of gratitude and compassion for Jiabei. She had been so attentive to him over the past few weeks and now she had gone even further and gifted him a useful cane. As he reviewed his feelings his thoughts took yet another step and he wondered what his life would be like at Peace and Serenity without Jiabei. It was a bit confusing to him but abruptly, one thing was clear to him, she was important in his life. Haoming continued to stare at the cane while processing his feelings, trying to understand this new door that was opening in his life.

“Do you like it, Haoming?” Jiabei was concerned with his silence.

Haoming looked back up at Jiabei, “Yes…without a single doubt Jiabei…I was just thinking to myself.”

“About what, Haoming…is something wrong?” Jiabei was concerned…she sat down beside him and sympathetically placed her hand on his forearm.

“Jiabei…I am not sure how to say this…I am confused and disoriented…but I would like to make dinner for you tonight…would you accept?” Haoming asked humbly. Seldom had Jiabei heard words more heartfelt and sincere. She could feel his struggle and the courage it took to ask her this question. It was a step on Haoming’s part that was prompted by a feeling rather than his rationale; he sensed he was moving through that new open door he recognized a second earlier. Immediately after he asked Jiabei, he realized what he had done and a fear of a possible rejection overcame him.

But Jiabei accepted gratefully, “Oh Haoming…I would love that! Let’s go now to the market and buy provisions for our dinner…shall we?” Jiabei was over the moon at this suggestion, she felt young and courted. All her earlier contemplations were now confirmed, she realized that Haoming’s presence was exciting for her. For Jiabei, her feelings for Haoming were settled.

Haoming exhaled a lifetime’s worth of anxieties hearing Jiabei’s words of acceptance. And although Jiabei didn’t notice, Haoming’s eyes grew red and teary. Instantly, he was full of life and in a way he had not felt since before his wife died. The enchantment of the moment swelled his large heart even larger; invigorating every molecule of his being…he had never felt so alive than at that moment, right then and right there with Jiabei. It was an instant he wished he could keep forever.

For the next year, Jiabei and Haoming spent more and more time together. They vacationed frequently and often prepared dinners in each other’s apartments, away from the distracting noise of the cafeteria and of course the gossip of their neighbors. They took the rumors in stride, as both were aware of their growing affection. By the time I met them, the early days of their courtship were over and it is fair to say that they were a stable couple.

I am now in Peace and Serenity’s garden with Jiabei and Haoming sitting across from me. They are seated on the same bench where Haoming found the pocket-book. To see them one might think they have been partners for 60 years; holding hands, they smile at each other often and when I ask a question they turn and gaze into each other’s eyes like teenagers, then one of them answers. It is a remarkable sight and hard to fathom just how fortunate they are.

“Haoming and Jiabei…I want to know a lot of things about the two of you,” I say. “But most of all I want to know what was the biggest challenge you faced during your courtship?”

Jiabei turns serious for a minute and responds as if she has prepared an outline and beginning to set forth the obstacles. “Well, I will answer for myself and Haoming can tell you his story. For me, I was lonely and although my work here at Peace and Serenity is rewarding, I missed male companionship. After I met Haoming, I wanted to learn more about him but I understood he had a hard time before he came here. He needed time to adjust…it wanted to help him but he needed to do it himself. Waiting like that was difficult for me.”

“Jiabei, weren’t you concerned about entering into a relationship at your age might entail? There is a lot of risk…a lot of things you need to overcome…personal issues?” I pose this direct question to her but I think I know how she will answer.

“No. I was fond of Haoming from the start. He is a very handsome man…tall, smart and kind. I observed his deeds here and there and I was convinced he was a good man.” Jiabei responds just as I imagined she might. She tightens her grip on Haoming’s large hand and rests her head against his shoulder. Jiabei says one more thing before she is done, “Haoming is a big-hearted man…strong and protective. But he is also the tenderest person I know…so gentle.” Jiabei lets these words drift off and ends her description there.

I think to myself ’tenderness’, that is an often overlooked word in a relationship these days. In fact, I seldom hear it. And now Jiabei uses it in a way that expresses both how Haoming treats her and something which she needs. I suppose at their age the software of love: warmth, compassion, sensitivity, tenderness, and of course, understanding, become supreme in a relationship. Then again I think, of course, these qualities are vital to all relationships; but Jiabei and Haoming, at their age prioritize differently and pay closer attention to these essentials.

“And Haoming.” I begin, “Understandably, your experience may have been different. Can you tell me how you came to be so fond of Jiabei?”

Haoming chuckles, “Probably because she is so persistent!” Jiabei smiles at his remark and playfully taps his leg with her hand in an affectionate motion. I recognize that small gesture on Jiabei’s part, it underscores how comfortable they have become with one another.

“Yes, she is…I can see that,” I say, “But, Haoming…tell me about the difficult times...can you?”

Haoming begins immediately, “My son, Haishan was firmly against any communication with Jiabei. I tried to ask him why he felt so strongly about this but his argument was mostly in support of his own feelings and not mine. He accused her of all sorts of terrible things, even conspiring to take my old apartment from me. Haishan even spoke to the manager of Peace and Serenity. He felt she was a menace and would lead to trouble for me. But, there was another problem also. And I know this only now because I took a risk and was lucky. But, I was afraid, afraid of a lot of things. Mostly, I was fearful about liking Jiabei and what that might mean for me. I never thought I could be so comfortable again in my life. But Jiabei made it safe for me to express how I felt.” Haoming, at 80 years old, shows extraordinary self-awareness. His words are simple but they provide a complete picture of his journey.

“What does Haishan say now?” I wonder out loud to Haoming.

Haoming shrugs his shoulders, “Regrettably, he hasn’t spoken to me in five months since I told him that Jiabei was now my girlfriend. I tried to explain to him that this is my life and I need to be happy.”

“Wow…” I am amazed at the turn of events I am hearing. It appears to be a reversal of roles between parent and child. I hope that Haishan comes around and can appreciate what, in a very real way, he enabled for his father.

Haoming continues, “Haishan was angry and said I did not show him any gratitude for saving me from my squalid existence at my old apartment. But I told him, the contrary was true: I was indeed very grateful because if it was not for him, I would not have met Jiabei. He was very angry at that remark.”

“So, here we are…Haoming and Jiabei in love…and happy at Peace and Serenity. What happens next?” I ask them both.

Jiabei, who had been silent for much of the last few minutes resting her head on Haoming’s large frame, perks up at my question.

“First, we are going to consolidate our apartments! That is the most economical decision now. We can save quite a lot of money. Second, we are planning a small vacation to Hainan. This will give us a nice break from Peace and Serenity” Jiabei is giddy at these prospects.

“Congratulations!” I said. I am a bit surprised by this last piece of information. I continue, “I am curious, what do all your friends say to you here at Peace and Serenity?”

Jiabei jumps at this answer, “Oh they tease us and call us kids…but I think it is all in good fun. Perhaps they envy us.”

I nod in agreement. Of this I am certain…envy…possibly jealousy and maybe even some condescension. I then ask, “And the management…have they commented at all?”

Jiabei responds again, “I spoke with them early on when they inquired after rumors that had been swirling at Peace and Serenity…I reminded them of our independence. They are no longer concerned.” I can imagine this conversation…Jiabei was no doubt her practical self…crafting a forceful argument and trapping management in a position where they found themselves in a predicament: arguing against the happiness of their residents. It seems as if Jiabei, as only she could, effectively silenced this matter.

Haoming and Jiabei announce that they are late for their calligraphy class and must get going. We stand and say goodbye, they turn and walk on; Haoming using his cane with one hand, his other arm warmly around Jiabei’s shoulders. In turn, she wraps her arm around his waist. They disappear around the corner and back into their private lives, supporting each other and together, leaning into life.

For my part, I sit back down and begin to put all the pieces of this inspiring story together. I am not sure if it is complicated or simple; maybe I am just trying to make it complicated. But I am left with two irrefutable facts: first, Jiabei and Haoming are clearly in love, however unlikely that might be, second, in order to get to where they are now, they needed to defeat a life-time’s worth of protective experience in order to prevail over their fears and reveal to each other their vulnerabilities, which no doubt was difficult. Each of them, in their quiet moments, struggled to understand their attraction to one another and its implications. I am certain from time to time they independently reasoned that either the safety of their apartment or being cloistered away with friends might be more wise, avoiding the risk of hurt.

Exactly how Haoming and Jiabei’s relationship happened remains a mystery. But perhaps early on they recognized that each one offered the other something that is at the heart of what the other needed. Indeed there is proportionality, a fit to them that is rare. Maybe it just felt so good to be together that there was no denying it…or maybe they never really spoke outwardly about it and it just happened. There are a lot of maybe’s here…it is difficult to analyze the chemistry of Jiabei and Haoming. What is important is that their lives have undergone rejuvenation.

Before we parted I asked them one last question which I hoped might reveal more about what they think of themselves. I asked them whether had they had met 60 years ago, would they have fallen in love? Is their attraction to each other intrinsic?.. Is it destiny? Or is it more related to their environment and their needs today? Their answer is surprising, and almost in unison, they respond that their love for each other is all about today, where they are presently and what each needs now. In fact, I believe they feel that their histories are irrelevant. There is no fantasy here, no pretense of long lost soulmates, they are mature adults and both firmly rooted in reality, which is refreshing. For them being together is spontaneous and to be so unconstrained at their age is a miraculous and wonderful thing.

I now sit in the garden watching other seniors walk around, some alone, some in groups, a few couples; none of whom seem as alive as do Haoming and Jiabei. The thought occurs to me that what I have listened to, is a transcendental chronicle on the enduring and regenerative nature of love that proves how an affectionate human bond, fortified with compassion, is a force for positive transformation. Indeed, finding a devoted relationship at their age has no equivalent, and nothing…no spa treatment, no tai chi class, no yoga session, no enzyme or stem cell therapy could be more curative than love, lao ren style.

Authors note: Lao ren is chinese pin-yin, and means ‘old people’.

The Lavender Dynasty

Thu, 06 Jun 2019 19:31:28 GMT

It was the beginning of the end of a long hot Shanghai summer which hadn’t seen much rain. And no rain made matters worse. The filth from the roads in Putuo district billowed up behind growling traffic and combined with exhaust, it was thick enough to asphyxiate. When I arrived at the apartment of Jun and Shishang, the sun hung low in the sky but was still hot. Their story promised a compelling line and one that I had never encountered before. Jinsong, a friend of mine in Shanghai, put me in touch with Jun and scheduled a series of chats that I hoped would result in a heartfelt story.

I arrived at their apartment building at 430pm on a Tuesday afternoon in late July 2014. My destination was on the seventeenth floor of a building, the type of which there are thousands in Shanghai. It was oblong and slab-like, oriented east-west to optimize Feng Shui; long vertical black water marks from leaking air conditioners stained the blue pastel panels that stretched from the ground to the top floor. All the building’s visual details combined with the heat conspired to render the scene into a tropical urban ghetto.

I stepped into the building’s lobby. The walls were scarred by peeling paint, the ash trays next to the elevator overflowed with smoldering cigarettes and there were a dozen or so loose newspapers scattered about. Inside as well as out, the building looked and felt tired; built with post-Soviet era construction technology to last about 20 years, it was well past its prime.

I pushed the button on the brass elevator plate, the clear plastic cover was cracked. What was left resembled a half-moon in the way it was cleaved, its long straight edge now worn soft with time, the other piece gone missing years ago, swept up, tossed out and now forgotten. All typical for local apartment buildings in China; small matters and outliers get overlooked in favor of big issues and the majority.

The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside the cab, turned and pressed 17. Thirty-five quiet seconds later the doors separated and I stepped out into a narrow hall whose were yellow with age. There was no graffiti; just dirt and dust everywhere. I walked to the end of the hallway and found apartment 04. Raising my right hand, I curled my fore finger and knocked, waited ten seconds, looked at my watch and reminded myself I was on time. After another knock, I could hear a shuffle inside and the clatter of some apparatus. Then more shuffles and more clatter. The person behind the door began the process of turning locks, the metallic clink of gears resonated from the bottom lock, then the middle lock. The security seemed excessive. Then the door opened and a wizened, old bald man peered out from the narrow opening. He wore a tube around his head that delivered oxygen into his nostrils.

“Are you Ke ?...the young man come to speak to me?” The old man quizzed. He appeared to be worried about the veracity of my identity.

“Yes, I am Bromme…Jinsong sent me to speak with you.” I gave my first name hoping to reassure him that I was indeed the person he was supposed to meet today.
“Come in.”

The old man retreated from the door. As he moved I heard the shuffle and clatter again. I gave the door a small push and it swung wide. I entered the corridor and could see him, his back turned to me, hunched and hobbling down the hallway on a walker. He would push it a foot or two, then shuffle a step to catch up. As he progressed, the walker banged up against the narrow walls and a green oxygen canister swung from a nylon bag strapped to the handlebars.

The old man is Yang Jun. Jun is 76 years old and owns the apartment. He has emphysema and doesn’t see well due to the cataracts that fog his vision. Jun is gay and has lived in apartment 1704 since he and his wife were divorced 20 years ago. He has lived with a man named Shishang for the last 15 years. Though they don’t use the word partners, that is effectively what they are. Instead, they call themselves friends.

Jun maneuvered his walker to his right and limped into the living room, he then turned 180 degrees in front of a large recliner seat. With measured precision, he twisted, leaned back slowly and collapsed into his recliner. He had done this before, I was certain.

“Please sit down” Jun said, swinging his legs onto an ottoman and adjusting himself in his chair. He directed me to a wooden seat across from where he sat.

“Good afternoon,” I tried to smile sensing some annoyance on Jun’s part with my presence.

“What do you want to know?” Jun was direct, almost surgical.

It was an obvious question but one that caught me slightly off-guard. I had made it clear with Jinsong why I wanted to speak and specifically asked that my purpose be conveyed to Yang Jun in advance.

I began to explain hoping that the answer would come to me, “Well, a few years ago I wrote a book on the senior care industry in China. In that book, I focused on the development of the industry. Today, I am working on another book and I want to explore the challenges of individuals and their stories as they age”.

As I uttered these words I became aware of another individual moving about the apartment. In the corner of my left eye, I could see a shadow glide down the hallway. The person was silent; it must be Shishang.

Jun pressed, “And what can I tell you that will help in this new endeavor?” Again, he had me off balance. He lay there, sinking into his overstuffed recliner…safe, recumbent, probing.

“Yang Jun…,” I began politely, “I know from friends that gay men in China have had a difficult time and although it has improved it remains perilous at times. I want go a step further and understand what the issues are for ageing gay men and their partners.” I laid it out for him hoping that it would encourage a meaningful discussion and of course, learn something that might advance my understanding of ageing in China.

Jun remained silent. He stared at me, measuring and thinking. He glanced around the room as if searching for support from the relics of his life that were littered about the table and floor. Old magazines with torn covers, empty pill boxes, ragged stuffed animals, video cassettes piled up and on a nearby desk along with a series of sun-bleached photos. In my mind, I compared it to other gay men’s apartments I have seen, all fastidiously styled, impeccably clean, bright and carried a savoire faire that was immediately identifiable. In frightening contrast, Jun’s grim apartment felt like utter defeat.

Then he spoke, “You came to the right place…but I don’t think being gay in Shanghai is perilous at all. Being gay, old and sick is…but certainly not just gay.”

At first his answer seemed wry and I half expected Jun to smile. But he was deadpan…serious and probably correct. His breathing was labored as he lay there on the recliner. Jun had a curious habit: between breaths he would purse his lips together, wet them with his tongue, squint his eyes and then inhale. When he drew a breath, his small chest heaved mightily, he wheezed and fought for every pint of oxygen in the green tank which hung from his walker.

“Interesting.” I was beginning to find my ground, “Well, Jun…we have a good deal to speak about…or at least I have a lot to understand. May I begin?”

“Proceed.”

I had a second thought at that moment. As I sat there absorbing the environment, I sensed the situation required I should not be leading this discussion. Rather, as I looked at Jun, a man who seemed to be shrunken in so many ways, I felt he needed to speak with his own voice and tell his side of life’s difficult facts instead of responding to questions that may prejudge the situation. I decided to change direction.

“Jun…,” I wondered aloud, “I have an alternative thought. Would you mind if I just sat here and gave you an opportunity to tell me a story about yourself? We are here alone and we don’t know one another so, I am hoping, maybe you can find space, here and now, to speak as you have never spoken before?”

He thought for a while. I hoped the silence between us would crystalize into a comfortable place for him.

“Well, not so alone. Shishang is listening to us from the next room so I have to be honest or he won’t make dinner for me.” He smiled for the first time, coughed and narrowed his eyes preparing for another breath. It was a relaxed grin that paved the way for him to open.

I interjected, “Do you think Shishang would like to join us?”

“Oh no…Shishang can’t do that…he is very shy…pathologically introverted, you know”? Jun revealed casually as he struggled to push air out of his lungs.

That would explain the furtiveness I picked up as Shishang crept about the apartment. I was now more curious than before about Shishang and wanted to understand the dynamic between them…but I packed that thought away. I now had a rhythm with Jun that I didn’t want to interrupt.

Jun took another deep breath like a swimmer ready to dive into a pool and swim its terrible long length entirely under water, steeling himself for a tremendous test, not knowing how far he might be able to go before needing to surface. I think he was taking an account that what remained of his life, in terms of time, which was likely not long, and now might be the moment to record his story. Jun found his resolve and dove in with a splash that no doubt surprised him. He was eloquent:

“My life is a story about belated self-discovery, a life postponed until it was really too late to enjoy it. During much of my time, I never understood who or what I was…much less the meaning of my feelings…I felt abandoned by life. I know that sounds like I am a victim, but consider my experience and I think you might agree I am one of many who share a similar story. Now that I have discovered myself it is as if I have found the grave of an identical twin brother I never knew. It is the essence of bitter-sweet and gives rise to very conflicted feelings: on one hand I have some welcome resolution, yet on the other hand, that resolution holds a harsh answer to a life full of questions.” Jun avoided my eyes as he spoke, he looked to his left at the old photos, his chest heaved again as he drew a heavy breath of oxygen. I glanced at the photos as he inhaled…some young, some old…all likely long lost family members or other loved ones. One photo in particular stood out: a balding middle aged man and a younger friend. I suspected it was Jun and Shishang in younger days.

As Jun continued, he spoke first iteratively, sequencing the milestones of his life. Afterward, he began to dive deeper and reveal the nature of the important relationships in his life. It seemed at times an atonement, as if guilty, confessing and seeking some absolution or self-forgiveness.

“I was born in 1939 in the middle of the war with the Japanese. I haven’t any memories of this time at least nothing concrete. What I remember most clearly comes later and are of Mao and the founding of the State. It was a proud time; the war was over and the future, or at least the future we were told to believe in, was bright. In school, I was a diligent student and performed all my lessons well. I sang all the songs they taught us and I memorized Mao’s quotes. My parents were proud of me but I remember having an empty satisfaction with what I was doing. I loved the praise my mother lavished on me, but I found no real substance in much of anything. I was restless. My father, a professor, was distant and always absorbed in intellectual discussions with his colleagues over the implementation of Mao’s ideology. Later, when I was 22, my parents suggested…or really arranged…a marriage to a beautiful young Shanghainese woman named Danxing. I recall being so fond of her beauty, her skills in home management and her cooking. I was delighted to marry her and took great pride in our union, but in hindsight, I hadn’t a clue what I was doing. Often I would sit in the chair of our kitchen simply admiring her as she worked. After five years of marriage to Danxing, my parents began to ask probing questions about our lack of children; they were exceedingly curious and I of course was bewildered. They thought I…or we were not normal.”

“Why was that?” I inquired.

“Simply because we hadn’t met expectations. I did not know how to make children...my generation was sexually repressed. This had never been discussed, either in my family or in schools. And, I did not have many male friends who might have recounted gossip or stories about this or that. Kissing and holding hands on school grounds or in public was prohibited. One night, after some uncomfortable intimacy, Danxing asked me why I did not love her. I was profoundly sad and cried when she said this. But she continued and insisted that if I loved her, I would swell and put a baby inside of her. Understand Ke, that this was the first moment that I began to think that indeed, I am abnormal. Danxing, to whom I was completely devoted, now also thought I was not a normal man. Out of frustration she would frequently taunt, ‘All men want to make babies with women…except you.’ This left me at a precipice of sorts. My wife wasn’t sure of me, I wasn’t sure of me and my parents were not sure of me...I had very few alternatives and the best one at the time seemed to simply recede and disengage.” Jun completed a breath and continued.

“Shortly afterward, I began to see a number of doctors in an effort to resolve my problem.” Jun released another breath which sounded like sandpaper on wood. I noted that Jun consistently framed the discussion as “not normal” and “my problem”. I didn’t know if he was using these terms in a historical context or might still see the situation as his fault.

“One doctor explained to me the process men and women perform in order to have babies and instantly…I knew this was something I would never be able to do. The idea was utterly unappealing. The doctors reassured me it was the natural way. They prescribed herbal remedies and special diets to enhance my libido. Of course this was all a waste of money.” Jun waved his hands back and forth, crossing them and uncrossing them in front of him a way that emphasized the impossibility of the act in question. He was amused and irritated as he reported this.

Jun continued, but first he inhaled, “Then the last doctor I saw was different. He seemed to understand my problem in a way the others, with their sterile approach and fancy medical terms, did not. He was very kindhearted and compassionate in his questions. In retrospect, he may have suspected I was gay or he may have even be gay himself and was sympathetic or just reacting like some kindred spirit...I don’t know.”

“I see. But you have a child. How did this come about?” I was puzzled.

Jun answered me flatly, “I would like to be able to say to you that I overcame my reluctance to engage with Danxing and was cured…but this isn’t true.” In our discussion, these short, honest responses were becoming his imprimatur.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I loved Danxing and I wanted to please her, repay her kindness to me…and put an end to the incessant, shameful questions. I wanted children also, but understand that this was exasperating for me as well as for her not to mention the rest of the family. I felt on trial. The only moment of peace I had was when I thought about the doctor with his tenderness and empathy for me. One night, while I was lying in bed with Danxing as she fiddled about, I imagined I was speaking with him…my beautiful, understanding doctor. And to my surprise, it happened…I transformed Danxing into the doctor in my mind and the dreadful task was completed! Danxing, luckily, became pregnant!” Jun exhaled a mighty breath discharging a secret he had harbored for half his life.

“Interesting…” I was astonished. I looked over my left shoulder to see if Shishang was at the doorway but saw no one. He no doubt knew this story or at least I suspected he did.

“At this point,” Jun refilled his lungs with canned oxygen, “Life took on a very normal and routine course. Danxing raised our daughter, whom we named Liu, and I taught art in school. She didn’t seem to mind that there was no more intimacy between us, after all I gave her what she really wanted. She was probably relieved not to fuss about with a man who wasn’t attracted to her.” Jun concluded, “Danxing had her life and I lead mine. We intersected with Liu.”

“When did you get divorced?” This was one of the last areas I wanted to cover…other than Shishang…before I got to the health care issue if I got there at all. Frankly, given the chat to this point I could almost predict the difficulties they had.

“It was a quiet matter. The date isn’t so important but I think it was 1995, when Liu was twenty-five. Danxing was on her second affair. I really didn’t care, but for her self-respect and for Liu, it was best.” Jun pronounced this bit of information very casually and he meant it that way. It was a relief for him to be out of such a fiction.

“So, that really brings us to now.”

“Indeed.” He nodded in agreement then inhaled with a painful looking rasp.

“Maybe you could give me a bit of an insight into becoming self-aware of your sexual orientation?” I thought it was time to get into the thick of things.

“Sure. But there was never really one particular ‘A-hah moment’. It was a very gradual discovery. Ever since the beginning with Danxing and those excruciating moments in bed, I knew I was different but the magnitude of exactly how different was something I did not appreciate. I often thought about the time I was able to conceive with Danxing and the infatuation I had with the handsome Doctor. I initially found that conflict puzzling, but years later as more and more Western literature became available, I began to learn more about homosexuality. At first it was something that I could never admit to myself, of course, but isn’t that how we humans work after all? Sooner or later the truth demands a release; we can only keep things suppressed for so long. And I certainly kept it suppressed for quite some time. But after decades of clues, not just my relationship with Danxing and the Doctor’s kindness, the fact that I found male company enchanting and females merely filial, was too much to ignore.” Jun went on like a defense attorney, detailing the facts or arguing the law, insisting his client was not just innocent but normal.

“By the time I discovered Danxing’s second affair, I could only hope that she would file a divorce and allow me to live in peace.”

“But why didn’t you simply divorce her?” It seemed a logical question.

“Two reasons.” Jun explained, “First, I loved her and couldn’t bring myself to ask her this…I didn’t have the courage. Second, I wasn’t entirely sure I was gay. In those solitary moments when I thought I might be gay, if I reconciled and admitted this to myself, what would I do next? I didn’t know what to do about being gay even if I were single. Where would I go? I certainly wasn’t going to announce it to my family, back in those days the local Magistrate might have found it his duty to subject me to a ‘healing process’. There was really no definition for gay lifestyle at that time here in China. It wasn’t as if in 1990 there was a huge community that offered support for ageing gay men. So I was stuck…a divorce was a dead-end for me.”

“So…is there a community for you today?” I shrugged my shoulders a bit prompting more from Jun.

“Hold on…so, I postponed…1985 became 1990 and her second affair came and went and her third arrived in 1995. By then things had changed a great deal in Shanghai and I was more confident…although older. I had also ventured out and made friends who were similar to me and I met Shishang. But to answer your question, at the time, there was no community for aged gay men. There still isn’t one now.”

Now was the time I was going to learn about his enigmatic partner. I asked, “How did you meet him?”

“It was a though group of men who I found indirectly through the art community. There was a lot of self-awareness happening…a lot of openly gay men. It was a new, wonderful world for me but again I was on the fringe. Most of them were in their twenties and I was nearly sixty. Shishang was an informal art student who had come to Shanghai with his sister. He had an unpleasant life in rural Henan province and was essentially escaping.”

“Unpleasant how?” I wanted particulars.

“The details are sketchy, but when he was 18, Shishang had been arrested for the theft of a small amount of food or something. His penalty was very harsh and he was sentenced to a prison for a year. While incarcerated, he was beaten, raped and castrated by a gang.” Jun spoke of Shishang’s travails without much detail…trying to get passed this topic quickly in a way that seemed more out of respect for his friend than from a lack of knowledge.

“Hmmm…,” I twisted my head in an attempt to show Jun I was listening attentively but said nothing. In fact, I was speechless.

“Ghastly, I know, but true. Consequently he is very afraid of strangers, especially strange men. But he is warming up to you, I can tell.” He tried to reassure me after the ‘strange men’ comment.

He continued. “After Danxing and I were divorced, I adopted the emerging gay community wholeheartedly and became close to Shishang. We moved in together in 2001, ten years later was I diagnosed in 2011 with emphysema.”

“I see. Ok…so this is where the story finds its connection with my book. Can you tell me how you cope with your illness?” I needed to get to the core as I had been with Jun now for three hours this day.

“I rely on Shishang for everything. He cooks, cleans and cares for me. I saw a doctor two years ago and Shishang took me. But leaving the apartment even for small errands with him is a long, painful drama so we usually have everything delivered. I will remain here in this apartment until I die. I don’t want…I can’t leave Shishang alone.”

“Have you explored a nursing home?”

“A few years ago…yes. But for a few reasons that is not a realistic alternative. First, some nursing homes don’t want or outright prohibit gay couples. Second, even if we pretended we were just friends, we would likely be denied a private room as most homes have six or more beds in each apartment. That wouldn’t work at all for Shishang given his condition. He would be transferred to the psychiatric ward. And that, I think we can both agree would be a terrible thing for Shishang. There are some new fancy places that offer private rooms but we can’t afford that. Moreover, I am done with pretending. Living as I do now, here in this apartment and dying in this chair is what I will do. I am happy…sick, but happy.”

I hesitated a moment before asking, “But Shishang will be alone when you die, no?”

“Maybe…maybe not…I cannot dwell on this. Shishang and I must live each day as it comes…How this story ends is anyone’s guess…we must enjoy what we have here and now,” he declared.

“I understand. So, from your experience Chinese nursing homes don’t allow gay couples?”

Slightly exasperated, he explained, “Oh, I really can’t tell you the official policy at all. What I do know is that we wouldn’t be accepted in the two that are nearby. We have lived together for 15 years…I don’t want that to change and neither does Shishang…not for anything and certainly not because a care home won’t accommodate us. And even if they did, imagine how we would be ostracized by others of our generation when they discovered us? Things have changed here in China…but mostly for the younger generation. We are comfortable here, together.”

Immediately as Jun said those final words, Shishang, a tall thin, pale man of about sixty-five years, appeared at the room’s entrance. His presence was solemn, like a monk; he looked up only to glance at Jun. His sudden emergence was a bit startling, but I noticed Jun’s nod and Shishang quietly approached the recliner. He was dressed in a long, faint purple silk gown tied with a yellow ribbon around the midriff which made me think of the elegant dresses worn by concubines in the Tang Dynasty. Around his neck he had a small piece of chartreuse jade attached to a thin silver chain. He quickly passed across the room seeking refuge behind Jun’s large chair. The pleats of Shishang’s dress opened with his movement giving the impression he was floating over the floor. He stood now, safely behind the chair and in what was more an affectionate gesture than a necessary one, Shishang leaned over to adjust Jun’s oxygen tube. Jun lifted his hand affectionately and Shishang gently placed it on his cheek. Again, Shishang bent over Jun and whispered in his ear so silently I couldn’t make out a single word. A second later, he straightened, and skewed his sight to the yellowed pictures on the table, avoiding eye contact with me. It wasn’t an uncomfortable glance at all, rather the feeling was total submission.

Jun took a breath, “Shishang would like to know if you want tea?”

“Hmmm…no thanks…but that is very kind of him to ask” At once I wondered that maybe it would be better if I should just accept. I was struck by Shishang’s courage to enter the room with a stranger present, clearly he was a bit frightened.

“Shishang also wants to thank you.”

“For what…?”

Jun breathed deeply again, he was tired. “Shishang says you have helped by allowing us…me…the space to speak about our story. He is very appreciative of your efforts.”

“Well…you’re welcome…I don’t know quite what to say…” I was surprised by Shishang’s indirect yet very frank communication towards me.

Jun raised his hand interrupting me, “Please, simply allow Shishang his gratitude…this is who he is.”

At that moment, Shishang summoned up every molecule of fortitude in his slim frame, lifted his gaze and looked at me with eyes darker than a moonless night; eyes that dammed a universe of fear and pain. Then in an instant his face brightened with a forlorn smile; I felt like I was being pardoned. My understanding of Shishang expanded exponentially in that moment. Here was a man, who suffered unspeakable horrors and in return for understanding, a safe haven and I imagine, love, devoted his life to caring for Jun. His unbound kindness was unlike anything I have ever witnessed. There was a profound tenderness on Shishang’s part that I did not expect; in fact, I thought he might be hostile. Instead Shishang provided an environment which accommodated as normal a life for Jun as he could have any legitimate right to expect. Nevertheless, Shishang remained a paradox and truly understood only by Jun…the walls that guarded Shishang’s heart were high and well-fortified.

Shishang diverted his eyes once again. He had communicated all he was prepared to with his glance. His presence, however unusual in the robe, had gravity unto itself and made an unambiguous statement: “There. I am who I am…no apologies…nothing less and nothing more…with all flaws and managing as best I can with what I have…please inquire no further.” It was an ultimatum with a fragile warning.

A moment of quiet passed again as I attempted to resolve the mystery that was Shishang. I felt it was time to go, so I spoke up, “Gentlemen…All good things must come to an end and this is where I must leave.” I wanted to make a very polite exit so I added, “I am afraid I have overstayed my welcome.” I stood up and Jun immediately struggled in his chair. Shishang, with all his attentiveness, supported Jun as he adjusted himself in the walker. I had exhausted both.

I approached Jun to shake his hand. Shishang, startled by my movement, immediately darted away to the side and without ceremony he disappeared around the corner and down the hallway, his gown gracefully fluttering from side to side. Clearly, my proximity to him had become uncomfortably close. There was no further contact, no more smile, Shishang was gone as quickly and as silently as he appeared.

“I want to thank you for this opportunity. I wish you good luck and please thank Shishang as well. He was brave and…,” I searched for an appropriate compliment, “…and, very elegant in his purple gown.”

Jun looked up at me with frosty eyes and simply responded, “Yes, at times he can be courageous and,” he stopped for a moment then shuffled pass me, “…well, lavender is indeed his favorite color. I hope you have found what you came here for.”

At the door, Jun pivoted with the walker, stopped and turned to me one final time, “In my dreams, I am a kind and forgiving Emperor who is tolerant of everyone and every life, a ruler who lives for a century and is loved by his people, full of benevolence and reigning in a land where no one is made to feel abnormal or unwelcome.” Jun raised his hands in front of him, palms turned upwards indicating a true and sincere meaning with this statement.

I smiled, not at all surprised at his musing, “That’s a nice dream, perhaps you will be that Emperor in the next life?”

“Yes, and it can’t come soon enough,” He murmured in a wistful conclusion.

“Goodbye Jun.”

“So long, Ke.”

Jun closed the door as I walked down the hallway. I could hear the familiar twist of metal locks while I waited in front of the lift. The elevator came and delivered me to the lobby. I returned to the outside world greeted by oppressive heat, noise and pollution once again. I thought of Jun and his devoted Shishang as I walked down the street to the subway: A couple whose lives, full of heartache and pain, I sincerely hoped might end with a modicum of calm and satisfaction, but I had doubt.

On a chilly winter’s day six months to the day of my final interview, the Emperor Yang Jun passed from this life into the next. As he shut his eyes for the last time, safe and protected in the concubine Shishang’s embrace as they lay together on the chair, Jun drew his final, labored breath and receded forever into his familiar dream. Shishang, dressed in his flowing robe, lowered his head so his cheek rested on his partner’s brow and whispered into Jun’s ear, “My beloved Master…welcome to the Lavender Dynasty.”

Three weeks after the death of Jun, I received a message from Jinsong. Sadly, tragedies sometimes beget tragedies and in Shishang case this was certainly true. Bereft and with no living commitment, Shishang saw little meaning in life without his partner. A few days after Jun’s death, Shishang woke up and could find no possible way to continue; his only alternative was exit. Slowly and deliberately, he dressed in his purple silk gown and tied the yellow ribbon firmly around his breast. To his collar he pinned an old photo of Jun, applied a delicate cerise lipstick and donned his favorite jade necklace. He passed through the apartment, gently touching Jun’s chair…bidding farewell to all the memories of the only purposeful life he knew. Resolved and at peace, he threw himself out the window of apartment 1704, ending everything.