ItÍs a few days before Chip and my mother are due to arrive for a visit
in Yangzhou and IÍm taking an evening walk down Huaihai Road, just
outside of the schoolÍs front gate. I see Ball standing in front of a
small storefront that deals in sodas, toothpaste, instant noodles,
cigarettes and other 7-11-type items found in every storefront from here
to the next block. ItÍs just past 9pm and most Yangzhou Middle School
students have just ridden out the back gate bound for home after evening
study sessions. She nods at me and I say ñHelloî. SheÍs clearly happy to
see me but is pulling her usual ñone eye glancing back over her
shoulderî routine.
ñWhatÍs up, Ball?î I ask. ñOh nothing much, Mr. Frayî, she says and
tries to edge me away from the man at the ancient cash register. When we
get a safe distance from him, she says, ñMr. Fray can you keep a
secret?î When I assure her that IÍve done it before, she tells me that
she lives near this storefront and is working here on certain nights to
make some extra money. Having any job besides schoolwork at Yangzhou
Middle School falls under the same list of proscriptions as dating; itÍs
just not done. I promise Ball to keep her secret to myself, still
perplexed as to why sheÍd want to work and how she even has time in the
first place. I finish up our small talk with my usual invitation to drop
by my apartment when sheÍs in the neighborhood.
 Ball is a tomboy. ThereÍs no other way to accurately describe her. She
loves basketball and is happy to show you where she got a bad cut from
trying a ñMichael Jordan slam-dunkî. SheÍs off-task in the classroom
more often than other students are because sheÍs goofing around with the
boys who sit nearest to her. SheÍs taller than most girls are her age
and heavier too. She unselfconsciously will tell you that she named
herself ñBallî in English because she loves basketball, but then in the
same breath will tell you that the other kids call her, ñMeatballƒ.
Because IÍm fat.î And she doesnÍt look for you to contradict her. She
doesnÍt seem to worry or really care about her weight or how her
classmates perceive her. She may be heavier than most girls her age, who
are generally rail-thin, but sheÍs not what I would call obese. And she
has the most exquisitely soft, beautiful features under her short
haircut. When she smiles, I canÍt help but smile along with her.
 ItÍs ten to nine in the morning and IÍm still in my bathrobe and
sweatpants when thereÍs a knock at the door. ItÍs Ball, stopping by to
make sure that I hadnÍt told anyone that I spotted her at her
after-school job. I laugh at her paranoia and invite her in while I put
away breakfast dishes. With any other female student, IÍd be
self-conscious to be seen in my bathrobe, but with Ball, neither of us
seems to mind. ñMr. Fray, did you know at the beginning of the semester,
many of the students think you are a spy?î. Ball loves to be provocative
and sheÍs honest to a fault, not someone with whom youÍd want to entrust
your darkest secrets. ñBut now they think different,î she adds. ñAnd the
boy who sits behind me in class,î she adds ñhe says he wants you to be
Head Teacher so that you can get the ñBackstreet Boysî and ñ911î to come
play concerts for us. And he wants you to get Madonna to come teach us
Englishî and she bursts into her giggle which makes me smile, despite
myself.
 I finish wiping the kitchen table and ask her if sheÍs still in love
with Tom Cruise or has she fallen for Leo yet. ñOh, oh, oh,î she says,
bouncing up and down a little, ñI saw ïInterview With The VampireÍ on my
VCD two nights ago and I love Tom Cruise in blond hair.î She then tells
me that she thinks Westerners are better looking than Chinese„taller,
stronger and more interesting looking due to their coloring„which never
ceases to shock me no matter how many times IÍm told this by a Chinese
person. ñDo you think you are good-looking, Mr. Fray?î This question
takes me off guard and I donÍt answer her directly, instead looking
nervously out my open door to the hallway. ñOh, I suppose if you like
shriveled old men who are about to turn 34. Hey, itÍs getting late. You
better get to class and IÍve got to get to the airport to get my mother
and friend. DonÍt forget about Thursday.î I say, practically shoving her
out the door.
 I meet my mother and Chip at Nanjing Airport, where theyÍve just landed
after having finished up their tour of China with three days in Hong
Kong. My Aunt Theresa has already gone back to the States, unfortunately
not having been able to make it to Kunming, where her father was in
charge of setting up Communications for The Flying Tigers back in W. W.
II. The three of us get back to Yangzhou already a half-hour late for
the birthday party thatÍs being thrown for me by my colleagues in the
TeacherÍs Club. They all give me gifts and I blow out the candles to a
large cake while they sing happy birthday. Then we all sing karaoke and
ñdance discoî while little Christina, a colleagueÍs daughter, corners me
on the dance floor no matter where I go and hands me the world almanac
her mother has given me as a gift shouting, ñDitu, ditu!î (ñMap, map!î)
Finally Chip and Mrs. Ding, the department head, join hands with her
grandson and Christina and do a circle dance while I take lots of
pictures. My mother sits and chats with my female colleagues until I
invite her for a dance and we show the crowd how itÍs done.
 Ball told me the week before that as soon as she and Lucy both figured
out that they have the same exact birthday as me, they became best
friends from that moment on. The day after my mother and Chip arrive in
Yangzhou, we invite Ball and Lucy to join us for a birthday luncheon. We
go to a local restaurant and Lucy tells us that she and Ball can join us
for our boat ride in Slender West Lake Park after lunch. ñMr. Fray,î
Ball says, ñThis day is given us by God, because it is the Work Day for
our class and there is no work in the afternoon so we can come with
you.î
 The weather is perfect, the boat ride is lovely, and Ball and Lucy
appropriately charm my Mom and Chip. Mom finds a special place in her
heart for Ball and later tells me two things Ball said to her that she
wouldnÍt forget. The first comment is,  ñMrs. Fray, my father wants me
to be a lawyer, but I want to be an artist and Mr. Fray says I should
follow my heart.î The second comment is, ñMrs. Fray, I read in a book
that people in the United States make fun of the Chinese people who live
in your country. Is that true?î My mother doesnÍt really know how to
answer the second question.
 After our walk, as weÍre saying goodbye at the entrance gate, Lucy and
Ball swear the three of us to secrecy. Later in the afternoon, IÍll be
holding a reception in my apartment so that my students can meet my
family. WeÍre told that Mom and Chip are to pretend theyÍre meeting Ball
and Lucy for the very first time when they come to the reception. We
promise.
Chip and my Mom then come to an afternoon class IÍm teaching on American
currency and its value. I hold up a picture of a Chinese yuan and ask
the students to name the four Communist leaders whose portraits are on
the bill. Then I ask them which of the four leaders is their favorite.
ñZhou Enlai,î they all yell out. This response surprises the three of us
since Chairman Mao was one of the four choices. The days of Mao worship
are clearly over.
  After class, students all over campus hang out of their classrooms to
watch the three of us make our way to the reception in my apartment.
There, my Mother is dazzled as Linda explains to her how she speaks only
English to her classmates so that they can get practice speaking English
too. LindaÍs best friend Judy stands next to Linda, nodding vigorously
and saying nothing. Poor Chip gets stuck in my study with a bunch of
Chinese boys asking him if heÍs married and which are his favorite
sports teams and players. Finally, the three of us leave to meet the
school principal, Ji Chunhong, Lao Zhu and their families at the
Yangzhou State Guest House. Chip and my Mom are taking us all out for a
birthday dinner at the Guest House, which is a gorgeous 5-star
accommodation that was built expressly for Bill ClintonÍs visit to China
this year. Jiang Zemin had visited Bill ClintonÍs hometown of Little
Rock and so a reciprocal visit was arranged to Yangzhou, Jiang ZeminÍs
hometown. The itinerary was changed at the last minute, however, and now
the Guest House stands virtually empty.
 The next morning, we find ourselves in the sleeping compartment of a
train in Nanjing bound for Huang Shan, or Yellow Mountain. As my
students have mid-term exams the following week, I am excused from
teaching duties to enjoy a week traveling with my mother and Chip. The
eight hour, daytime journey is mostly uneventful except for the two
times my mother spots a mouse running along the headboards of our
compartmentÍs bunks. We sleep, read, eat, talk and my mother fills me in
at length on the details of my cousin BruceÍs funeral and the impact on
his immediate family. When we arrive at our destination, we are met by
our local guide who is to spend the next two days with us. ñPleased to
meet you,î he says, helping us with our luggage as we walk down the
platform, ñmy name is Bruce and I will be your guide at Yellow
Mountain.î My mother and I give each other a brief, stricken glance and
then button up our jackets and tighten our scarves against the evening
chill.
 We spend a night in a local hotel and drive the two hours to the foot
of Yellow Mountain early the next morning. We meet four teachers from my
program, Mark, Dennis, Susan and Tom, who have arranged to be here this
weekend also. As Bruce settles us into our cable car for the twenty
minute ride up to our summit hotel, my mother keeps looking down and
saying, ñYou mean, Susan is going to climb all that way?î ñSheÍs from
Queens, Mom,î I assure her, ñDonÍt worry. SheÍs tough.î
 Yellow Mountain is a pilgrimage of sorts for many Chinese, especially
artists. If youÍve ever seen any Chinese landscape paintings that
recreate breathtaking sunsets or feature mountainous terrain with sharp
crags out of which lone pine trees jut out at a horizontal stretch, then
chances are it was a portrait of Yellow Mountain. But one can see more
than just artists with their drawing pads on Yellow Mountain. Tourists
from all over Asia come to marvel at the natural beauty. My mom, Chip
and I join them, climbing from peak to peak, gawking at the awesome
vistas, taking rolls of pictures and finally taking part in a local
custom. Chip and I attach our souvenir padlock alongside all of the
others that blow in the wind on a chain link fence at a scenic pass. We
then each throw the padlock keys into the ravine below, making a wish
for a lifetime spent side by side.
 ñNow THATÍS how I was hoping to arrive at my 50th birthday party this
past summer!,î Chip declares, pointing at the sedan chair carrying a
tourist that passes us as we huff and puff our way up the mountain. My
mother manages a chuckle even though the altitude and steps upon steps
are beginning to take their toll on her. Our guide Bruce then gives
voice to some of the anti-Japanese sentiments that run up and down
Yellow Mountain, even though its geographical position prevented the
Japanese from ever reaching here during the years of occupation. ñWhen
the Taiwanese want to hire a sedan chair, the runners charge them only
80 yuan,î Bruce explains to us, ñBut  though the Japanese weigh less,
the runners charge them sometimes twice as much. They donÍt like the
Japanese.î
 Although it is early November and snow isnÍt unheard of at this time of
year, the weather is unseasonably warm and refreshing. Bruce tells us
that there are only about 120 mornings per year which are clear enough
to see the famous sunrise over Yellow Mountain. The predictions for
tomorrow morning, he tells us, are very favorable. We enjoy dinner and
drinks with our four intrepid mountain climbers, who are exhausted but
no worse for the wear, and then head to bed early. The only interruption
before our 5am wake-up call comes from the hotelÍs masseuses who call
each of our rooms twice to offer us, ñMassagee?, Massagee?î
 As we set out in the dark of the morning, I begin to have doubts about
my motherÍs ability to climb to see the sunrise. YesterdayÍs climb has
taken a toll on her and I prop her up and talk her through ñjust one
more set of stairs.î She is in remarkable shape for her sixty-four
years, doing yoga and leading a very active life at home, but these
stairs are steep and go on forever. When we finally make it, Chip and I
climb down to our own perch and wait. Were we at a National Park in the
States, there would be a respectful morning silence among the
early-risers. But Asians approach this ritual differently. The Chinese
around us talked loudly to each other in the morning darkness and then,
as Dennis, my teacher friend from Suzhou puts it, ñThe sun rose, the
Chinese all shouted and clapped, and then went back to their hotels for
breakfast.î Nevertheless, the vision of the sun awakening shadows across
this holy sanctuary makes every step worth the climb for me. My mother,
however, says she would have preferred to have slept in.
 Dennis, Mark, Tom and Susan head off on their own after breakfast,
while Bruce plans a leisurely descent in the cable car for the three of
us. Next, during our van ride back to our original hotel, we stop at the
obligatory souvenir store at BruceÍs suggestion. As we mull about,
picking up trinkets, a female voice says to me, ñYou must have them
lined up for a date with you.î My head jerks back, startled, to find a
young twenty-ish saleswoman chatting me up. She flatters me some more
and later tells my mother that she has a ñcute son.î ItÍs very unusual
for a Chinese woman to be so forward, in my limited experience, and as
she accompanies us to the van and smiles and waves as we drive off, I
look back at the slowly receding figure, still waving, and question her
motives. Over the years, Russian women have generally been quite up
front with me about their motives and strategies for getting to the
West. I wonder if this is the Chinese version of that woman who thinks
the West holds the solutions to lifeÍs problems.
 Dennis and Mark join Chip, my Mom and I for the overnight train to
Shanghai. As we pull into the station at 8am, each of the uniformed
train car attendants stands at full salute as we lazily drift into the
station, steam from the train lifting and mixing with the cool morning
condensation. We spend my MomÍs last day in China shopping and eating
and taking in the feel of busy street life. Chip and I walk through the
busy Shanghai streets arm in arm or with our arms around each otherÍs
shoulders because for the first time in our lives, we can do so without
fear of violence. We eat a quiet dinner at a Mexican restaurantÍs
outdoor patio. As Chip and I bring my Mom to the airport the next
morning, she tells me sheÍs enjoyed China so much that she really
doesnÍt want to leave.
 Dennis and Mark head off for Xian and Chip and I stay another two
nights in Shanghai before heading to Nanjing. On our last night in our
budget hotel in Shanghai, we call for repairmen who come to fix a leaky
ceiling in our bathroom. While Chip is upstairs checking his luggage,
the workmen develop a rouse and send me to get the room key from Chip.
When I return, they claim theyÍve fixed the leak and leave quickly. By
the time we arrive in Nanjing the next afternoon, Chip discovers that
his electronic organizer has been stolen.
We call my contact in Nanjing, Madame Zua, whom IÍd met when I was at
the Sister City Exhibition a few weeks before. Madame Zua has worked for
the Nanjing Foreign Affairs Office for over twenty years and has
traveled to England, the United States and Australia several times.
SheÍs arranged for our hotel in Nanjing at a discount; now she finds
herself in our Nanjing hotel room calling the General Manager of the
hotel in Shanghai to help us report the theft. SheÍs very gracious and
we repay her for her kindness and guanxi, or connections, by giving her
American dollars for Chinese renminbi at the current exchange rate.
Madame Zua claims she wants to make some purchases from abroad, but Chip
and I suspect that sheÍs wisely bracing herself for the devaluation of
the Chinese yuan thatÍs expected within the next year.
As we sit around drinking tea in our hotel room, we tell Madame Zua that
weÍre planning to visit the Sun Yatsen Mausoleum, the Kingdom of
Heavenly Peace and the Rape of Nanjing Memorial. ñAlthough I have lived
in Nanjing nearly thirty years, I am originally from Suzhou and I must
say that the Japanese committed atrocities in Suzhou as well,î she tells
us in the tone of a wise college professor. Her hair is tied back in a
bun and her expensive glasses frame a round face and eyes that canÍt
quite meet our expectant gaze. Her normally confident speech pattern now
takes on pauses between sentences and she proceeds with deliberate
dignity. ñMy father and his parents left Suzhou when the Japanese came.
But my fatherÍs younger sister was too sick to leaveî She pauses. ñShe
was only 14 years oldƒ The Japanese soldiers didƒ bad things to her. And
then she fell over and blood fell out of her mouthƒ and she died.î She
sips her tea and declares sheÍs late for an appointment and takes leave.

My daily desk calendar has informed me that today, November 12, is Sun
YatsenÍs birthday. IÍm sure to inform the ticket taker at the Mausoleum
in my burgeoning Chinese. SheÍs momentarily lulled from her boredom and
manages to laugh at my attempts to convey this information. The layout
of the Mausoleum itself is impressive and gives me insight into the
significance of this manÍs role in Chinese history. We next visit the
building where Sun Yatsen set up his Provisional Government after the
overthrow of the Qing Dynasty. Before Sun Yatsen set up office here,
however, this compound of one-story buildings, the Kingdom of Heavenly
Peace, had its own history.
In 1851, Hong Xiuquan took advantage of the weakening Qing Dynasty and
led a peasant revolt. Claiming to by Jesus ChristÍs younger brother,
Hong took Nanjing in 1853 and fought the EmperorÍs Manchu forces for
another eleven years before being defeated.
The next day, Chip and I take a train to Suzhou where we spend some time
with Dennis and Mark. We then head to Shanghai for ChipÍs last evening
before he returns to the States and I go back to my teaching. We meet
with the General Manager of our hotel who is surrounded by six or seven
other managers, all smiling. He informs us that theyÍve questioned the
workmen and these men claim that they didnÍt take ChipÍs organizer.
ThereÍs nothing to be done. Chip has lost all of his vital personal and
professional information with no backup. We have a melancholy last
supper in town and go to bed early. The next morning, I bring Chip to
the Shanghai airport and then take a train back to Yangzhou to resume
life as usual.