Last Kiss in Tiananmen Square (6 page)

Baiyun jumped off the slowly moving motorcycle and ran to the other side of the street where the students were, trying to hold back her tears.

“Baiyun! Baiyun!” shouted Lao Zheng, dumbfounded.

“Baiyun, why are you so late?” Baiyun could hear someone in the crowd yelled at her.

As Baiyun was crossing the street, she saw that Yumei, Longfe, Li Yan and the other students were staring at her. She blushed. How shameful! She said to herself. But to the others, she was speechless. There was a lump in her throat.

“How do you know someone who owns a motorcycle? How exciting!” said Yumei. Then she took Baiyun’s hands and smiled charmingly, which cheered up Baiyun a little.

“According to the BBC, motorcycles are the practical modern transportation for the future in China. I’m proud of you, Baiyun. You’ll be a pioneer motorcycle rider on campus,” said Li Yan.

“I didn’t know there is another side of you, Baiyun. Your hidden side is really exciting,” said Longfe, looking impressed.

Yumei hit Longfe on the shoulder. “Stop!” Then she took Baiyun to the side.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I feel awful.” Tears streamed down Baiyun’s face.

“So, that’s your mother’s boyfriend? What does he want?”

“He wants me to spend the day with him.” Baiyun stared down on the ground as though this was the most embarrassing moment in her life.

“Oh, my God. He’s really interested in you,” said Yumei, half teasingly.

“Yes, is that awful?”

“I don’t know. If you don’t like him, yes.”

“I’m not going to go back home anymore.”

“Ok, stick with us.”

“Sure,” said Baiyun. She couldn’t think of a better way to spend the day.

The wheat field around the Qinhua University, a top engineering school in Beijing, and about 3 kilometers from Beijing University, soon appeared. Behind the field was a huge broad gray concrete building -- the main building of the University. In front of it, there was a statue of Chairman Mao, his body erecting, his right hand waving as though he was inspecting the sea of worshippers.
Now a voice from a loudspeaker reached them.

“Students of Beida (Beijing University), the Qinhua students are not participating in your march. Go back to your school and to class. Do not create chaos on our campus.”

The gate of Qinhua University was locked and a truck equipped with a loudspeaker followed them from gate to gate, repeating the message.

The heavens gave them an additional warning. Thunder clapped. Lightning almost broke the sky in half and waves of dark clouds rolled toward them like a flock of sheep running madly. The gusty winds blew dust into the air darkening the sky even more. Baiyun covered her face with her hands to prevent dust from getting into her eyes. Yumei ran toward Longfe to seek refuge behind his thin and tall body. Then the rain started pouring down from the sky.

There was a voice in the crowd. “If the Qinhua University student can’t go, we’ll go ourselves!” Baiyun saw a figure wearing a green Mao jacket and a green hat tightly to his skull. He was a prominent person on campus, a graduate student in political science and a veteran activist. Tears began to swell up in Baiyun’s eyes. She suddenly felt as if she was becoming a part of a powerful force.

By the time they reached the University of Political Science and Law, the rain stopped and the sun peeked out again. The students there applauded, cheered through their dorm windows, and banged on their tin plates and washbasins. They invited students from Beida to their auditorium for bread and hot water.

“We are really a group of crazy people,” said Yumei as she sat down on the concrete floor in the crowded auditorium with Baiyun, Longfe and Li Yan. “Look at my shoes, my pants. They are all soaking wet.” She moved her feet inside her wet athletic shoes, which were half full of water, generating a squeaky sound. Everyone laughed.

“Yumei, you should dance in these shoes,” suggested Li Yan.

So Yumei stood up and started dancing. She bounced around, snapping her fingers. Her freckled face was radiant; her long wet stringy hair swayed back and forth.

“Longfe, join me!”

“No, I don’t dare dance without music.” He held his knees against his chest, watching her.

“We can create our own music,” said Yumei.

“Okay. How about we sing, you dance?”

Baiyun hummed along with others. A feeling swelled up in her chest, almost suffocating her. She wanted to join Yumei in the dance. But no matter how hard the desire filled in her chest, she could not move her legs. Her face was red, and she could feel hot steam coming up from her wet clothes.

A tall handsome young man from the Philosophy Department joined Yumei. They danced a waltz. Students surrounded them, some dancing, some humming the song.

“What a wonderful way to dry out,” someone commented.

The sun had come out of the thick layer of clouds as they left the auditorium and started marching again. The air was fresh and damp. It was noon. The streets were busy again. People came out for lunch, to go home for a nap or to start a second work-shift.

The march was going at a normal pace. People on the street started cheering them.

“Hey, Beida!”

“Hey, that’s great!”

“Keep going, we support you.”

Baiyun was surprised to see so many people were brave enough to support them openly, especially when they approached the downtown area, where policemen were posted at every street corner. Since 1978 when the Cultural Revolution had come to the end, no one believed another political movement would come along because people had lost faith in the Communist party. They felt cheated by Chairman Mao. They turned from fully supporting the Communist party to simply disbelieving. Most people nowadays were interested in getting higher pay, larger bonuses and sending their children to the best universities. Even Baiyun’s romantic mother had started her own business. It was so strange that people could still be excited by a political demonstration.

“No more corruption!”

“Patriotism is no crime!”

“Long live the people!”

Baiyun chanted slogans along with others, lifting her right arm up and down. It reminded her of her primary and high school days when chanting slogans were a part of daily life. They had to do it every morning before class. “Long live Chairman Mao!” They chanted, “Down with the rich landlords!” and “Down with the capitalist’s running dog!” She even had to say, “Down with Yang Kaiming!” when her intellectual father, Yang Kaiming, was demonized on a stage along with other intellectuals. The demonized victims on the stage wore black pointy hats with their arms tied behind their backs and backs bending forward, which were called “Riding the airplane”. It all sounded so familiar, yet so foreign. A feeling of uneasiness bothered her. She wanted to stop.

“Don’t you think it’s awful that we have to chant slogans again?” Baiyun asked the self-absorbed Yumei.

“Why ?” Yumei seemed not to be bothered at all. She used all her strength, jumping and shouting in beautiful gestures as if she was dancing. She always did well in front of others.

“Yumei, don’t you think that we should distribute the pamphlets from Longfe?” Baiyun thought of an alternate way to contribute to the movement.

“Yes. How do you think we should do it?” asked Yumei.

“How about you climb a tree, pretending to observe the demonstration? Then you quickly tie the pamphlets to a branch.” Baiyun paused for Yumei’s reaction.

“And then……” said Yumei.

“And then you quickly come down the tree so I can shake it. The pamphlets will fly all over the square like the peace doves,” said Baiyun proudly.

“You really think this will work with me going up to the tree?” Yumei was a little skeptical.

“You are lighter. You know me. Since I’m so clumsy, I may fall off the tree and cause a big stir.”

“I think this sounds good in theory but I don’t think it will work in reality.”

“Ok. I got another idea. How about I pretend to be sick? So we can stay behind the demonstrators. The police only watch the students. They will not notice us if we stay behind. Then we can mingle with the civilians and spread the pamphlets. Don’t you think this will work?”

“Yes. I think this might work,” said Yumei.

Baiyun ran to the side of the road and began vomiting. She squatted and pressed against her belly, vestiges of the bread she ate earlier at University of Political Science and Law running out of her mouth.

“Baiyun, what’s wrong with you?” Yumei and Longfe came over.

Baiyun shook her head.

“Longfe, how about you keep going? Baiyun and I will find you later,” said Yumei. Then she pulled Longfe aside and whispered into his ears. Longfe nodded happily while walking away.

They stopped at the corner of Xidan market, about a half mile away from the center of the Tiananmen Square. The streets were crowded with demonstrators and shoppers.

Baiyun and Yumei went into the crowd and threw bundles of pamphlets as far as they could. With the help of the wind, the pink and yellow pamphlets flew up to the sky like the kites, landing on the demonstrators and the civilian crowd.

Baiyun and Yumei stood on the sidewalk, looking into the sky. They felt enormously proud and relieved. They hugged each other.

“I can’t believe that your plan worked,” said Yumei.

“You see I don’t just make up theories,” said Baiyun, feeling really smart.

By the time Baiyun and Yumei finally reached Tiananmen Square in front of the Monument of the People’s Hero, the sky had turned dark again. Lightening broke out on the top of the Monument, from which hung a huge portrait of Hu Yaobang. Illuminated by the lightening, his solemn face seemed to come alive.

Baiyun stared at the ten-story high Monument of the People’s Hero and realized something important. She was twenty-one years old and did not remember how many times she had been in front of the Monument. Every time she was here, no matter the circumstances, she felt the Monument was a symbol of people who had sacrificed their lives for something they had believed in. As depicted along the two-meter high marble reliefs, in the last hundred years several important uprisings had changed the course of Chinese history. The Wuchang Uprising, a key event leading up to the Revolution of 1911, inflicted a deadly blow to the feudal dynasty in Chinese history. She wished this democratic movement would eventually lay a corner stone to establish a democratic China. Along with the decline of the legacy of Chairman Mao and the Communist Party, Tiananmen Square and the Monument of the People’s Hero also became a less meaningful symbol in the mind of the people. Baiyun could not believe she was having her same old reaction to the Monument. Her blood rushed through her body and a sense of duty hit her. Yes, that was why she was here, to help her country to solve its problems.

Baiyun could hear her mother’s voice, “Don’t get involved too much. Think about yourself. It is very hard for China to get over its problems. Go to America, that’s the way to go. Don’t you understand me?” She knew what her mother was talking about. Nowadays all the smart people who had the connections had gone abroad, and very few had come back. She wanted to leave, because increasingly her mother’s lifestyle bothered her. She was afraid that one day the volcano in her house would erupt and it would be very hard for her to get out unscathed. But at this moment, all that had disappeared. She felt lucky to be here, to be involved in such an exciting event for a change.

“Baiyun, where is my raincoat?” said Yumei, taking her out of her reminiscence.

Both girls were soaked. They pulled at each other’s drenched clothes and laughed.

“Look, I can see your bra.” Baiyun pointed at Yumei.

“Woo, there are your tits. How embarrassing!”

“What are you laughing about?” Longfe suddenly appeared.

“Girl problems. It’s not your business!” said Yumei. Longfe laughed as he put his arm around Yumei and squeezed her, which caused water to drip down from her like a sponge.

“You’re soaked. How about wearing my raincoat?” He draped his long thick raincoat around Yumei’s shoulders and asked. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” said Yumei. She seemed comfortable under Longfe’s arms.

”You look wonderful. Your face is radiant and lips are red as though you have put on makeup,” said Longfe, looking at Yumei even more intensely.

“Ha... you know I don’t use makeup,” said Yumei proudly.

“Of course, you don’t need it.”

Baiyun decided to leave them alone. As she turned toward the crowd, several student leaders had gathered on the top steps of the Monument.

“Attention, please! Attention, please! Sit down, everyone,” said a young man, who wore army green uniform. He had long hair, a wide square face and a protruding jaw.

“That’s Wuer Kaixi. He is one of the student leaders.” Baiyun heard a student say.

Thunder rolled and dark clouds re-invaded the sky dumping another ocean of cold rain down onto the Square. But everyone sat on the cold and wet concrete without complaining. No one was holding an umbrella. Yumei was leaning against Longfe. Baiyun felt cold and lonely. The first speaker, Professor Chen Mingyuan, was about to speak. He was a noted professor and poet who had edited and published a famous collection of poetry from the 1976 Tiananmen Square movement.