Charles sank to his knees, then put his hands on the earth, not caring if the insolent driver saw him. He wanted to kiss the ground, to eat it.
Wiggling his fingers deeper into the dirt, he remembered a discussion he’d had with Nash once, soon after his friend had taken on a senior seminar populated mostly by second-generation Chinese immigrants. Nash had explained his students’ complicated relationship to the country their parents had left behind, finally convincing Charles that not everyone saw the world as simply and clearly as he did. For Nash’s students, there were many Chinas. There was the China that was against the world, the China that was the Communist government. The China that existed briefly in Taiwan. There was the China that covered things up and the China that was gradually making things free. And as many Chinas as there were, there were that many Charleses as well. Every immigrant is the person he might have been and the person he is, and his homeland is at once the place it would have been to him from the inside and the place it must be to him from the outside.
All of that was academic bullshit.
This, this was the only China.
This incandescent land that glowed all around him.
The mud caked on his soles and the flies that buzzed against his bare toes.
The mountains that rose like they did in ink-brush paintings by the old masters, rows of smoky gray ranges getting darker as they retreated. Charles plunged his fingers into the soil and wiggled them back and forth until he’d made a hole. He took out his father’s bone, porous and gray, and dropped it in, covering it back up with the displaced earth. This, this must be what he’d meant to do with it all along.
Charles plucked a piece of grass and put it in his mouth, chewing cautiously. It was peppery and green-tasting, and that was China, too. He licked a little mud off the edge of his thumb. It didn’t have much of a taste, just a rich, dirty essence. He could have made a meal of those things, could have lived on nothing else for the rest of his life.
This was the New World. He’d gotten it wrong. His father had gotten it wrong. Never mind the Communists, the Japanese, the murderous urchins of the Little Red Guard. This was China, and the Wangs, the great and glorious Wangs, never should have left.
Still half dreaming, Charles made his way to the far end of the stand of trees and unzipped his pants. He pulled out his penis and aimed a stream of urine against one of the tree trunks, then tilted towards another, reveling in the feeling of release. He would piss over every inch of this land, feeling more awake with every second that he continued to splatter the silvery bark. As he turned left, ready to water another tree, he saw a sign at the far edge of the clearing. Who dared lay claim to his land? Cutting the urine abruptly and shaking the end of his penis, Charles tucked himself back in and zipped up his pants.
The sign, when he reached it, was taller than it looked. He craned upwards, but still had to step back a few feet to read it.
APARTMENT CITY
NEXT SPRING: 3,000 LIVING UNITS
四十三
New Orleans, LA
ANDREW SAT in the meager shade outside of the Greyhound station, eating a slice of pepperoni pizza. In the end, he’d let Saina buy him a ticket from New Orleans to Helios, but he’d insisted on taking a bus instead of an easy plane ride. The route wound through Alabama and Georgia before heading up through the Carolinas and stopping at the Port Authority in New York City, where he’d transfer. Maybe I should just stay there, thought Andrew. Maybe if I stay, I’ll end up on Saturday Night Live. He took another bite of pizza and chewed, happy.
四十四
Helios, NY
HELIOS CENTRAL HIGH was a long, two-story structure built of brick-colored blocks at the end of a country road that crested around a hill before it slid straight into the student parking lot.
“I don’t like this,” said Grace.
“You haven’t even been inside yet!”
“Look at the sign. I mean, seriously?”
The sign was hard to miss. It was the tallest thing around for miles, a thick blue pole topped with a glowing billboard that wouldn’t have been out of place on Broadway. Framed by lightbulbs that shone even though the sun was at its highest point in the sky, a giant, grinning cartoon lion—his name, apparently, was Growler—leaned up against the first H of the school.
Under the mascot, in perfectly placed letters:
HELIOS VS. M’GTVILLE @ 6 P.M.
NEW DRESS CODE TODAY
“You’ll be fine,” said Saina. “You’re not exposing any unnecessary skin.”
“I’m aesthetically offended by the whole thing. Football and rah-rah and, like, monster trucks.”
Saina laughed. “It won’t be that bad. You’ll get to be the mysterious new girl. I bet the captain of the football team will think you’re cu-ute!”
“Ugh. Muscles. Beefy necks. Gross.” Grace slumped down in her seat. “Come on, let’s just put it off for a day, okay? Just one day. Tomorrow I’ll be a happy camper, but not today.”