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(I sat under a tree full of peacocks as I wrote this. The birds flew up into the tree, had a snack, and fell asleep. I've never seen a peacock fly before.)
Some of you know "James" (Liu Jiangxie), a Beijing-born friend of mine who lives in Berkeley. James came to the US 10 years ago as a graduate student at UC Berkeley. For reasons not explained to me, he never finished his Ph.D. He, his Chinese wife, and their son still live in UC Berkeley housing and this year he's decided to reapply to Cal. I've been helping him put together his application.
James helped me plan my trip to Beijing. He gave me some names and phone numbers of friends and several packages that he asked me to deliver to his family and friends. Yesterday morning, after a few false steps, wrong phone numbers, and other difficulties, the deliveries were made. And, in return, I was treated to brunch at Mrs. Wong's (James' mom).
I was driven in style to Mrs. Wong's by James' childhood friend, Jiang Da Ke (Mark, thanks for getting me the correct phone number). Jiang Da Ke has access to his company's VW Jetta (for which he paid $20,000--I told him that wasn't much more than in the US. Anyone know what a new VW Jetta goes for these days?). As he negotiated the rule-less Beijing bicycle, commercial tricycle, pedestrian, and motorized traffic, I asked him how long he's been driving. Two months. I almost offered to take the wheel, but I couldn't have negotiated the turns and stops and hazards nearly as well as he did.
Mrs. Wong lives clear across town from me, which is fortunate. It gave Jiang Da Ke and me some time to talk and get to know each other and it gave me a nice driving tour of the city.
Mrs. Wong lives on the 20th floor of building 117 in some nondescript housing complex that is 10 years old but looks 30. One of the two elevators worked. It had room for about 6 people, including the elevator operator whose job it was to push the buttons for us. We took the elevator to the 19th floor and walked to 20. I have no idea why and I probably will never know.
My visit was a command performance for James' sister and her son. This actually worked out very well because the 12-year-old boy has an excellent command of English. The men and I (the guest) chatted while the women chopped and cooked the food.
When the feast was prepared, a table was produced from some nook or cranny of the tiny flat and five various forms of seating were produced. Dish after dish began appearing on the rickety table--vegetables and mushrooms, baby corn with carrots, chicken with black mushrooms, deep-fried fish, preserved egg wrapped in pork, and a cold platter that included preserved egg, mushrooms, and cold meat. This was followed by rice and a yummy tomato-egg-drop soup made by the boy.
Perhaps I would have eaten more had it not been 11 am when we sat down.
Mrs. Wong and her daughter kept my plates full. Conversation was limited, but pleasant. After the meal, we talked some more--this time, about James. "I hope he returns to his studies," Mrs. Wong said for the 7th time. And she began to cry. It was all she could talk about--how he left for the US 10 years ago (he's been back to visit once or twice) and he never finished his Ph.D. I told her that I'd been helping him with his application and that I thought he was a wonderfully smart man. She couldn't stop thanking me for my help--and reminding me to tell him to study. She had a package for me to deliver to him: some books.
The visit came to an end. And, as we left, the boy said, in near perfect English, "Tell my uncle that my mother and my grandmother hope he studies very hard and comes back to China. And I hope you come back to China and to my home again."
Love to you all.
Debra.
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