China's Son by Da Chen Page B

president of the women's federation at a government dry goods manufacturing factory. Both were seasoned Communistcadres. His parents had become too caught up with their lives and had deposited him at his aunt's, thus making him a big fish in a small pond. He lived on a fabulous monthly stipend and rode a brand-new bicycle to school once in a while, just to show it off to the girls. The teachers tolerated him because his mother controlled the supply of sugar and cooking oil in the county. She was all sugar and oil. Poorly paid, some teachers often could be seen begging I-Fei for oil and sugar coupons, which would allow them to buy those rare commodities, unobtainable on their pathetic rations.
    I-Fei searched out interesting fellows in school and made alliances with them. Even the cool guys in senior high greeted him like an old pal. He dragged me around wherever he went and introduced me as his buddy. We were the same height and build; soon we were wearing the same hairstyle. I even asked Mom for socks to wear, a giant step for someone who had only operated in bare feet before.
    By midterm, I was on the school Ping-Pong team and also in the school band. Three days a week I practiced Ping-Pong after school, and the rest of the week I played the flute and stumbled along on my violin, preparing for the rehearsal of a grand seven-act play directed by Mr. Ma, the high school drama teacher.
    Schoolmates were amazed by my violin. They called it “the shoulder thing.” There were always eager faces pasted at the windowpanes of the rehearsal hall. Now they had one more thing to look at besides the alluring faces of the school's stars.
    Soon I was a recognizable face in a school of two thousand students.
    “Did you hear that?” I-Fei asked me angrily one day as we walked into the rehearsal room.
    “What?” I asked.
    “There was a guy out there, bad-mouthing you, calling you a landlord's son, and this and that.” I-Fei's face was burning.
    “Who was it?”
    “A skinny little rat from group one called Han or something. Aren't you going to do anything about it?” He put his hands on his waist.
    “Listen, he was my old enemy from elementary school.”
    “And you let him run through you like that?”
    “I'll take care of him later.”
    “Not later.” He stared at me. “Now.”
    “I don't want to make a scene here.”
    “I'll make a scene. Let's go.”
    “Not now. You don't understand.”
    “I do understand. They used to pick on you, but not in here.”
    He marched me out of the room and we went toward a small crowd.
    “You stay cool, okay,” I-Fei said in a hushed voice, “and do as I say.”
    “What are you going to do?” The fear of getting kicked out of school washed over me again.
    He didn't answer. I saw him walk straight to Han, who stopped laughing and turned to face I-Fei.
    “You've been cursing me behind my back, you son of a whore,” I-Fei shouted, spitting at Han and waving his fists.
    “I wasn't talking about you,” Han said. “I was talking about him.”
    He pointed at me.
    “That's not true, I heard you do it.” I-Fei moved in closer; his eyes were popping. He started to push Han. Han pushed back.
    “Come on, Da,” I-Fei yelled. “Now the rat confessed he has been cursing both of us. How dare you!” My blood rushed to my head. The old pain began to come back. I was shaking and trembling.
    “Come on, Da!” Suddenly I turned fearless and hit Han right in the temple with my fist. Han stumbled back a few steps. I-Fei ducked down and swung his right foot against Han's unsteady legs. Han fell onto the dirt ground. A cheer went up among the crowd.
    My legs flew and I started kicking him in his chest and groin. He screamed. I-Fei pinned his head down. Then I jumped on him and hit him till my arms were exhausted. We let go of him.
    Han crawled to his feet like a dog hit by a truck and limped away, mud, sweat, and tears covering his face. I was in tears too.
    “Why are you crying?” I-Fei asked,