Ch.3: Magic, the Gathering
We arrived on the day Hu Yaobang died, April 15, 1989. We didn't know anything
about this character until Kouji arrived and began to explain. He was a bright and
energetic boy, somewhat sarcastic and cynical, but always ready to answer a question we
weren't sure about. It was amazing; we had barely gotten off the plane and there was
already something to take note of. He pointed out everything; his level of observance was
very keen. He pointed out several things I would not have immediately noticed if I had not
been looking carefully: soldiers, tidily dressed in pressed uniforms, carrying live bayonets
and looking as if nothing in the world could touch them; a sign, hastily ripped down by
scrawling curve marks of bayonet tips, but still clearly the sign read "Down with Zhao
Ziyang". I turned to Kouji and wordlessly pointed to the sign.
"Oh", he said after a moment, peering over the heads of the many people in the
airport. "That sign." He paused and thought for a moment, looking around. "I think we
should save this for the apartment", he said quietly. I had barely noticed all the people
around me were rapidly chattering in Mandarin Chinese, a language I had not practiced for
some time, but after a few minutes of earnest listening to the conversations around me, I
fell into their mode of speech. I licked my lips and spoke crackly Chinese, as well as I
could imitate it, to the guard who was holding up my partner and my luggage from the plane.
Many people were there, too many people. Perhaps some of them were thieves, wanting to
steal the luggage before it got back into their owner's hands.
I had brought nothing in that luggage bag other than a scant two changes of clothes
and the necessities. I didn't want to overburden Hikou or myself in coming here; it would
probably be a short stay and we would probably be gone before the action even actually
started. We were just here to report, and for Hikou to see his family. He had to be
careful, though, not to cause any 'unnecessary trouble' and cause the attention of the
guards. "Once you get out of China", he said conspiratorially to me once, "it is best you
stay out. China doesn't go after you once you're out of the country unless you've done
something to destroy the Party's reputation. And don't think they'll blast it over the
wireless either! They'll keep your execution nice and secret."
The flat was small, sparsely furnished, and strangely comforting. There were plain
white (more yellow than white) walls that covered a living room, a bedroom (with a kitchen
beside it) and a bathroom. Everything there smelled fresh and cleaner than the rest of
Beijing. I could only guess that Kouji had taken some time to clean it out before we
settled in. He had already laid out two mattresses on the floor for us to sleep on, with
blankets on top. "But you won't need them", he said. I had to blink a few times before I
realized what was wrong.
"Why are there only two beds, Kouji?", I felt unused to calling a person by his
first name when I had just met him, but Kouji gave me no more choice. "Aren't you living
here too?"
At this, Kouji just shook his head broadly, showing a scar on one cheek. It looked
faded, almost like it was healed but a certain point just refused to close up and stopped
healing halfway. The shake was embarrassed, bashfully prideful about something. I was
puzzled, as was his older brother. "You see", Kouji started with his sun-tanned cheeks
turning darker, "I got into Beijing University a month ago and I'm living in the dorm."
At this, his brother gave a cry of happiness and grinned widely. I found I was
smiling too as the brothers embraced. "Good, good", my partner said over and over. "We
should celebrate somehow, you know? In America, those crazy people celebrate over
everything. They don't care if it's for a birthday or for a presidential election, but they
celebrate all day long. I wonder how they get all their work done to support such a large
country!"
We all laughed, but then I dug into my carry-on bag and brought out a notepad.
Hikou and his brother took the cue and sat down. It was time to get to business.
It would seem that the Chinese had finally begun to find flaws in their government.
The Communist government seemed to want to cover up everything that was ugly and shouldn't
be seen by the rest of the world, and only bring out their best. Unfortunately, their
'best' was not half as good as the students in the universities would like to see it. It
would seem that this was started some time ago, before my time, on May 4th, 1919.
Demonstrations were put up by college students to protest the terms of the Versailles
Treaty, which gave German territories in China to Japan rather than returning them to China
after World War I. The "May 4th Period" followed this development, inaugurating a new phase
of national consciousness in Chinese youth, symbolizing the spirit of patriotism among
youths. It was the start of an intensive era of intellectual debate concerning the roles of
traditional Chinese culture, the development of modern science, and Western style
democracy.
Then came the "Cultural Revolution", as Mao Zedong called it, but instead it was
referred to as the "ten years of turmoil" by all others. There were power struggles among
the Chinese leadership, rise of the "Red Guards" and "revolutionary revels" among the
population, and by persecutions of all sectors of Chinese society. It was here that Deng
Xiaoping and other leaders fell from power. Premier Zhou Enlai died in the last year, and
in April, thousands of people gathered in Tiananmen Square to commemorate him. The police
killed whoever were mourners, and the government branded it as a revolutionary act called
the "Tiananmen Incident". "But that's not true!", Kouji struggled furiously with his words,
trying to win us over when we already believed him. "These people had the right to do
this! If hei ren (blacks) in America have the right to go to church and sing their songs,
why should the Chinese be denied the right to mourn a decent man?"
"Who, then, is Ziao Ziyang?", I asked when Kouji had not mentioned him. "You have
not talked about him at all. Was he one of the leaders that fell from power?"
Kouji stopped and looked at me. I did not think he was expecting such a question so
soon. He gave a slow, sad smile and said, "Not yet. I haven't gotten there yet." He
stood up and opened the window. The flat didn't have any air conditioning, so it was
burning hot and we were already sweating horribly. But then a breeze blew in, warm but
refreshing, and Kouji stared outside. The view from the window just skimmed the top of the
buildings in Beijing, punctuated only by scant trees and parks and cars, occasionally. Most
people rode bicycles instead. He didn't look at me or Hikou as he spoke.
"Do you see this?", he said in choppy English. I jolted in surprise. I didn't
think he could speak the language, so I had asked everything in Chinese so far. "This is my
home. This is China for many foreigners. They never see the fields or the rice paddies
stretching out, nor do they meet the people who tend them. They only see the dirtiness, the
scrunginess, and the people who are too unfortunate."
I bowed my head. I didn't think it was necessary to say anything.
* * *
Later that day we found that people, college students from universities in Beijing,
mostly, were gathering in Tiananmen Square to mourn Hu Yaobang. I got the distinct feeling
that there was a connection between this former Party General Secretary and the current one,
Ziao Ziyang. But Hu Yaobang was never far from the students' minds because of his
apparent love for the students.
The telephone rang from somewhere. Kouji smiled apologically, and ran into the
living room. There were only three items of furniture in the living room: a tattered, dog-
eared sofa that had only three feet, a small coffee table roughed on the edges and chipped
on one side, and a lamp that served so little light it could have been dark. The phone was
on the coffee table, and it looked like it was 20 years old.
A few hurried words and Kouji was back from the phone call. He looked excited,
scared, but pleased that an opportunity had come so soon. "Kou (note: not "Kou" from
Bouncer, thank you) just called. He said that everyone willing to participate should meet
at Tiananmen Square as soon as possible."
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
I hope you know that the Tiananmen Square Massacre really did happen. It happened
on June 3rd, 1989. Those who didn't know this should be ashamed of themselves; many, many
people died. The Chinese government still haven't released just how many people they
killed...it's a sad story. But if you don't get all the political stuff right now, don't
worry about it. It's not going to be all that important.
Andrea Weiling
We arrived on the day Hu Yaobang died, April 15, 1989. We didn't know anything
about this character until Kouji arrived and began to explain. He was a bright and
energetic boy, somewhat sarcastic and cynical, but always ready to answer a question we
weren't sure about. It was amazing; we had barely gotten off the plane and there was
already something to take note of. He pointed out everything; his level of observance was
very keen. He pointed out several things I would not have immediately noticed if I had not
been looking carefully: soldiers, tidily dressed in pressed uniforms, carrying live bayonets
and looking as if nothing in the world could touch them; a sign, hastily ripped down by
scrawling curve marks of bayonet tips, but still clearly the sign read "Down with Zhao
Ziyang". I turned to Kouji and wordlessly pointed to the sign.
"Oh", he said after a moment, peering over the heads of the many people in the
airport. "That sign." He paused and thought for a moment, looking around. "I think we
should save this for the apartment", he said quietly. I had barely noticed all the people
around me were rapidly chattering in Mandarin Chinese, a language I had not practiced for
some time, but after a few minutes of earnest listening to the conversations around me, I
fell into their mode of speech. I licked my lips and spoke crackly Chinese, as well as I
could imitate it, to the guard who was holding up my partner and my luggage from the plane.
Many people were there, too many people. Perhaps some of them were thieves, wanting to
steal the luggage before it got back into their owner's hands.
I had brought nothing in that luggage bag other than a scant two changes of clothes
and the necessities. I didn't want to overburden Hikou or myself in coming here; it would
probably be a short stay and we would probably be gone before the action even actually
started. We were just here to report, and for Hikou to see his family. He had to be
careful, though, not to cause any 'unnecessary trouble' and cause the attention of the
guards. "Once you get out of China", he said conspiratorially to me once, "it is best you
stay out. China doesn't go after you once you're out of the country unless you've done
something to destroy the Party's reputation. And don't think they'll blast it over the
wireless either! They'll keep your execution nice and secret."
The flat was small, sparsely furnished, and strangely comforting. There were plain
white (more yellow than white) walls that covered a living room, a bedroom (with a kitchen
beside it) and a bathroom. Everything there smelled fresh and cleaner than the rest of
Beijing. I could only guess that Kouji had taken some time to clean it out before we
settled in. He had already laid out two mattresses on the floor for us to sleep on, with
blankets on top. "But you won't need them", he said. I had to blink a few times before I
realized what was wrong.
"Why are there only two beds, Kouji?", I felt unused to calling a person by his
first name when I had just met him, but Kouji gave me no more choice. "Aren't you living
here too?"
At this, Kouji just shook his head broadly, showing a scar on one cheek. It looked
faded, almost like it was healed but a certain point just refused to close up and stopped
healing halfway. The shake was embarrassed, bashfully prideful about something. I was
puzzled, as was his older brother. "You see", Kouji started with his sun-tanned cheeks
turning darker, "I got into Beijing University a month ago and I'm living in the dorm."
At this, his brother gave a cry of happiness and grinned widely. I found I was
smiling too as the brothers embraced. "Good, good", my partner said over and over. "We
should celebrate somehow, you know? In America, those crazy people celebrate over
everything. They don't care if it's for a birthday or for a presidential election, but they
celebrate all day long. I wonder how they get all their work done to support such a large
country!"
We all laughed, but then I dug into my carry-on bag and brought out a notepad.
Hikou and his brother took the cue and sat down. It was time to get to business.
It would seem that the Chinese had finally begun to find flaws in their government.
The Communist government seemed to want to cover up everything that was ugly and shouldn't
be seen by the rest of the world, and only bring out their best. Unfortunately, their
'best' was not half as good as the students in the universities would like to see it. It
would seem that this was started some time ago, before my time, on May 4th, 1919.
Demonstrations were put up by college students to protest the terms of the Versailles
Treaty, which gave German territories in China to Japan rather than returning them to China
after World War I. The "May 4th Period" followed this development, inaugurating a new phase
of national consciousness in Chinese youth, symbolizing the spirit of patriotism among
youths. It was the start of an intensive era of intellectual debate concerning the roles of
traditional Chinese culture, the development of modern science, and Western style
democracy.
Then came the "Cultural Revolution", as Mao Zedong called it, but instead it was
referred to as the "ten years of turmoil" by all others. There were power struggles among
the Chinese leadership, rise of the "Red Guards" and "revolutionary revels" among the
population, and by persecutions of all sectors of Chinese society. It was here that Deng
Xiaoping and other leaders fell from power. Premier Zhou Enlai died in the last year, and
in April, thousands of people gathered in Tiananmen Square to commemorate him. The police
killed whoever were mourners, and the government branded it as a revolutionary act called
the "Tiananmen Incident". "But that's not true!", Kouji struggled furiously with his words,
trying to win us over when we already believed him. "These people had the right to do
this! If hei ren (blacks) in America have the right to go to church and sing their songs,
why should the Chinese be denied the right to mourn a decent man?"
"Who, then, is Ziao Ziyang?", I asked when Kouji had not mentioned him. "You have
not talked about him at all. Was he one of the leaders that fell from power?"
Kouji stopped and looked at me. I did not think he was expecting such a question so
soon. He gave a slow, sad smile and said, "Not yet. I haven't gotten there yet." He
stood up and opened the window. The flat didn't have any air conditioning, so it was
burning hot and we were already sweating horribly. But then a breeze blew in, warm but
refreshing, and Kouji stared outside. The view from the window just skimmed the top of the
buildings in Beijing, punctuated only by scant trees and parks and cars, occasionally. Most
people rode bicycles instead. He didn't look at me or Hikou as he spoke.
"Do you see this?", he said in choppy English. I jolted in surprise. I didn't
think he could speak the language, so I had asked everything in Chinese so far. "This is my
home. This is China for many foreigners. They never see the fields or the rice paddies
stretching out, nor do they meet the people who tend them. They only see the dirtiness, the
scrunginess, and the people who are too unfortunate."
I bowed my head. I didn't think it was necessary to say anything.
* * *
Later that day we found that people, college students from universities in Beijing,
mostly, were gathering in Tiananmen Square to mourn Hu Yaobang. I got the distinct feeling
that there was a connection between this former Party General Secretary and the current one,
Ziao Ziyang. But Hu Yaobang was never far from the students' minds because of his
apparent love for the students.
The telephone rang from somewhere. Kouji smiled apologically, and ran into the
living room. There were only three items of furniture in the living room: a tattered, dog-
eared sofa that had only three feet, a small coffee table roughed on the edges and chipped
on one side, and a lamp that served so little light it could have been dark. The phone was
on the coffee table, and it looked like it was 20 years old.
A few hurried words and Kouji was back from the phone call. He looked excited,
scared, but pleased that an opportunity had come so soon. "Kou (note: not "Kou" from
Bouncer, thank you) just called. He said that everyone willing to participate should meet
at Tiananmen Square as soon as possible."
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
I hope you know that the Tiananmen Square Massacre really did happen. It happened
on June 3rd, 1989. Those who didn't know this should be ashamed of themselves; many, many
people died. The Chinese government still haven't released just how many people they
killed...it's a sad story. But if you don't get all the political stuff right now, don't
worry about it. It's not going to be all that important.
Andrea Weiling