Composer and author David Wendell Nelson has created an eBook version of his exciting new musical Haight. With expanded dialog, description, and audio content, the musical comes alive with hyperlinks to all the songs. Simply click on the link to hear the song. And remember, this is 1970s rock and roll, so a suitable decibel level is encouraged.
Chapter 1-The Circle Is Complete Listen to "Anthem Quote"
I always wondered about my little sister and what the real story was. For years I never had a complete picture, only a perplexing mosaic of events and conversations. Until now. As if by some divine guidance, the complete chronicle came to me in the form of old friends, new acquaintances, and random chance. I had been frustrated for decades by my inability to make any progress in solving this riddle. I suppose I had given up hope for the most part. I don’t know how, but I feel that my sister had something to do with it. Somehow. But now that I have had the entire protracted incident revealed to me, I feel that my sister and I are even closer than ever. Sisters possess a special bond, especially in Chinese society due to the fact that males are more highly regarded. We learned at an early age that we valued each other more than our parents valued either of us. Despite my being a few years older, we still were devoted to each other. That’s not to say we didn’t have our differences. I have to admit, I am a little more old fashioned, but I like to blame this on the fact that I was the first born. And by the time the second child arrives, the rules have become more relaxed. My own children are living proof! I suppose you could say I am more Chinese and my sister is more American.
I do, however, have regrets. Our parents are no longer alive to finally hear the truth, although I am not sure they would completely understand and approve. I have always felt that all this happened, at least in part, because of me. My friends and family reassure me that I’m mistaken, but I feel I failed somehow. Of course, this explains, at least in some small way, why I want to relay this amazing story. I do it for myself, my sister, and my family. I have pieced the events together as best I can, based on my own personal experience and conversations with the many other characters in this narrative. In those circumstances where I was not personally present, I have reconstructed the conversations and events based on the information given me by the players in this drama. It is a story of family, the high cost of xenophobia, and the search for the truth. But above all, it is a story of love. My name is Ling-si Po.
Chapter 2-San Francisco Listen to "Guzheng Background Music"
My children often ask me about the tumultuous 1960s and early 1970s in San Francisco. Both of my girls seem to have this romanticized notion of what life was like in San Francisco during those restless days. While much has been glamorized, it truly was a remarkable period. They have repeatedly said that they would have liked to been alive during those days. There is no way to genuinely recount the character of those heady days, but it is crucial that I attempt to set the stage for this narrative in order to put these events in perspective. When my daughters ask me about those days, this is what I tell them.
Everything seemed different then. Perhaps it was due to my youth and naiveté. But I have to admit I was more of an observer than a participant, unlike my sister Jing. It was like the planets unexpectedly aligned, and everything seemed to happen at once. The beat generation of the 1950s somehow transformed into the nontraditional youth subculture of the 1960s. In less than ten years a maelstrom of change took America and other parts of the world by storm. The civil rights movement blossomed, along with anti-poverty programs. The overt and vile discrimination against African-Americans led to the “Black Power” movement and spawned such famous leaders as Malcolm X, Stokely Carmichael, Huey P. Newton, and Bobby Seal. The wisdom of atomic energy came under scrutiny. Young people rejected traditional values and created the “generation gap.” Women’s rights and feminism gained momentum. The advent of birth control fueled “free love.” A renewed interest in living close to the land sparked the establishment of communes and farms, a precursor of today’s environmental green movement. For the first time gay rights became an issue. Newly created FM radio spread the gospel of rock and roll. Television and consumerism became part of the mainstream. Marijuana and psychedelic drugs were everywhere. Timothy Leary encouraged young people to “turn on, tune in, and drop out.” Eastern spiritualism, the Jesus movement, and mysticism appeared. There was a youthful idealism that could change the world. Mario Savio led the free speech movement at UC Berkeley. The festivals in Golden Gate Park would gather more than 30,000 young people.
Then there was the music. It was music that defined a generation, especially in San Francisco. Songs of protest, mind-expansion, love, and anti-war rage. For music, there was no better city than San Francisco in those days. New York had Woodstock, but we had the Cow Palace, the Fillmore, the Avalon Ballroom, and Winterland. Every major band played here. The Beatles and Pink Floyd produced kaleidoscopic music. Elvis returned. Berry Gordy produced countless hits at Motown Records, from Smokey Robinson and Stevie Wonder to Diana Ross and Marvin Gaye.
Of course, there were darker issues that clouded the skies. Into this provocative mix add the Vietnam War, anti-war protest, the assassinations of John Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, and Martin Luther King, segregation, the cold war, the space race with the Soviet Union, the Black Panthers, the Tet offensive, and a host of other social issues. I still remember the anger and rage over the Vietnam War. And the huge protests and rallies, even here in Chinatown. Muhammad Ali refused induction into the military. John Lennon asked to “Give peace a chance.” The government instituted the draft to conscript young men into military service, 58,000 of whom were to die. Bob Dylan, Phil Ochs, and Country Joe wrote anti-war songs like, “I ain’t marchin’ anymore,” “Masters of war,” and “I feel like I’m fixin’ to die rag.”
I remember all the flower children from Haight-Ashbury. Even at its best, it was a ragtag amalgam of idealistic crusaders and lost souls. Haight-Ashbury was named after two men from the Board of Supervisors in the 1860s. After World War II it fell into disrepair, with many buildings vacant and abandoned. Thousands of counterculture young people poured in and it became a bohemian enclave. Sadly, the district deteriorated over the years but was gentrified in the 1980s. It now is among San Francisco’s most affluent and expensive neighborhoods, with many restored Victorian homes. We were largely unaffected in Chinatown, except for the occasional anti-war rally. Young Chinese men burned their draft cards along with all the others. I still remember the ones that never came home. My wardrobe was conservative Chinese then, unlike my sister. As much as I eschewed the fashion trends and counterculture, my sister embraced them. I suppose I experienced much of this whole episode vicariously through her. Still, there was a sense of hope and change in the air. It was tremendously exhilarating just to witness this transformation unfold. I still remember my profound sadness as the years gradually suffocated my generation’s idealism and youthful zeal. I often think it was only some fitful dream of things yet to come. I am frustrated by my inability to give my daughters a true sense of the 1960s. Yet, they seem to be instinctively drawn to the noble principles and freedom of the period. Perhaps it is a reaction to today’s consumer culture that renders us, as Pink Floyd would say, comfortably numb. Or our hateful intolerance of others. Or the paralyzing frustration with our inability to effect any social change in this corporate world. I suppose the 1960s might look very appealing to them. But nothing is simple. There is no black and white. But I consider myself fortunate to have been a part of it.
Chapter 3-Graveside John Clark stands alone in front of a small gravestone with a wistful look on his face. Dressed in a simple black suit and tie, he holds a single rose in his hand. The ever present San Francisco fog casts a pall over the landscape, a fitting touch for such a sad occasion. John and his wife Sabrina are the last of family and friends to remain behind after the memorial service for John’s mother. Motionless, John continues to stand, as if in some silent conversation. Appearing to be unable to shake off his reverie, he tentatively approaches the grave. Tenderly he lays the rose across the headstone and again stands motionless. The Presidio Cemetery in San Francisco is an exclusive place to be buried. Almost all of the cemeteries in San Francisco have been moved to make room for the ever expanding population. Only a few remain. Military personnel and their family members are the lucky few eligible to be interred in such a lovely spot. John’s long deceased father’s military career made it possible. Sabrina, watching from a distance, approaches and puts her hand on his shoulder. She wears a heavy black coat and boots to keep the November fog and cold at bay.
Listen to "Graveside"
I’m so sorry my dear I don’t know what to say Try to remember the love That never goes away I know things must change They can’t stay the same But I still wish it was yesterday I think we better go We don’t want to be late I never got to say goodbye Forever is a long time to wait For all that you’ve done I’m a grateful son But there’s this feeling that I just can’t shake Come on
John turns slowly to walk away. This final goodbye is undeniably bitter. Figuratively speaking, this moment will irrevocably close the final chapter in his mother’s life. Sabrina takes his arm as they walk silently back to the car.
In their 40s, John and Sabrina make a striking couple. John, with his strong Asian features and jet black collar length hair, cuts a dashing figure as a successful Silicone Valley IT consultant. As opposites often do, Sabrina perfectly compliments John. Almost as tall, Sabrina has long red hair and flawless white skin, making her a dramatic match for John. She is, in fact, very beautiful. Her practice as a psychologist does well and her skills as a counselor help to keep the marriage on an even keel. Both are driven to succeed, which they clearly do, but there were times when work became almost an obsession.
Neither John nor Sabrina speak as they drive across town to the family lawyer’s office in the Market Street district. The heavy silence in the car is only broken by the clatter and noise of the city. Blankly staring at the street in front of them, the events of the past few days have left them physically spent and emotionally numb. The drive on Presidio Boulevard winds gracefully through the eucalyptus trees before they turn left on Geary Boulevard. The weekend influx of tourists makes for slow going on this main thoroughfare. However, bay area residents are well acquainted with the perennial traffic in the city and know how to deal with it.
The law office of Anthony Tellson has seen better days. Since the economic downturn of 2008, things had never been the same. It didn’t help that he still wore his hair in a ponytail and had various rock posters on the wall from the 60s and 70s. They were almost all there. San Francisco’s finest, both great and small: the Charlatans, Malo, Mojo Men, Ace of Cups, the Dead, the Aaron Thomas Band, Mother Earth, and others. Despite his questionable standing as a lawyer, Anthony was a longtime friend of the family. And besides, a living trust was not exactly difficult legal work. As John and Sabrina enter the office, Anthony greets them warmly.
John, Sabrina, please sit down I’m so sorry to hear about your mother She was a fine person Thanks, I appreciate that As you mother’s only heir All of her estate goes to you Including this, her safe deposit box I’ll give you a a few minutes to look it over
John opens the box, begins to take things out and lays them on the desk. They consist of a number of family photos and three newspaper clippings. The clippings contain photos and some brief text. John picks up one of the family photos and examines it closely. Sabrina tenderly puts her hand on John’s shoulder and inspects the photo as well. A profound wave of melancholy sweeps over John. With both his mother and father now deceased, these photos only serve as a bitter reminder that the family of his youth is now gone. There is a kind of “psychological safety net” that elderly parents represent. Even though they are no longer directly involved with their children, they serve as moral support and provide a sense of assurance. Typically, aging children are not even cognizant of this fact until the death of both parents. John is now clearly aware of this fact. Despite having Sabrina as his wife, his awareness of being truly without family is unnerving.
Did you know she had something like this? She never mentioned it to me That’s my party when I turned ten Look at you, you’re cute as can be
John smiles weakly. They both delicately sift through the photos. There are graduations, birthdays, and vacations from infancy to college. The memories rush over John as he inspects these remembrances of his youth. Sabrina gingerly picks up one of the aging newspaper clippings. It is yellow with age. She holds it up so they both can scrutinize it closely.
So who is this here? It’s so old and unclear I have no idea who he might be
Sabrina inspects the photo and scans the text of the article.
So who is Aaron Thomas?
Chapter 4-The Aaron Thomas Band The year is 1970 in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco in early July. Aaron Thomas and his four bandmates live in an aging three story Victorian at 1912 Page Street near the panhandle of Golden Gate Park. The neighborhood has certainly seen better days with many of the stately Victorians now unceremoniously carved into separate apartments. The Haight district is filled with young Bohemians and counterculture renegades. The downstairs garage has been converted into a make shift rehearsal studio, the walls of which have been lined with old mattresses. Taking no chances with offending the neighbors, the boys used the two mattress deep acoustical isolation technique. While effective, it did make the room take on the appearance of a large padded cell, not to mention the musty odor. Still, the determined bandmates spent countless hours in rehearsal honing their craft here. The house is filled with 60s paraphernalia, lava lamps, posters, and a piano. There are numerous other musical instruments lying about. With Aaron as their leader, they are a staple at the San Francisco area anti-war rally scene. Perhaps bandmates doesn’t accurately describe the relationship these young men have. Anyone with the experience of performing in a band can attest to the fact that it is more of a family than a band, especially if the members live together for an extended period of time. The Aaron Thomas band is exactly that, a family of devoted artists. For an emerging rock band, San Francisco is the best possible place to learn and be inspired. There are the now legendary venues of the Fillmore West, Winterland, the Cow Palace, and the Avalon Ballroom. The celebrated bands that play these halls are still popular today: the Doors, the Grateful Dead, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Steve Miller, the Jefferson Airplane, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Country Joe and the Fish, the Four Tops, the Yardbirds, the Who, the Byrds, and others. It truly is a miraculous time to be a musician in the city. Aaron and his bandmates take full advantage of the concert scene. It shapes their sound, songwriting, and fuels their desire to change the world for the better.
Aaron is the perfect front man; he is tall, charismatic, and ruggedly handsome. With his shoulder length, slightly curly light brown hair, he looks remarkably like Roger Daltry. He is a dedicated guitarist and songwriter; and intolerant of social injustice, especially the Vietnam War. At UC Berkeley he is involved with SDS (Students for a Democratic Society) and double majors in English literature and political science. Aaron is an activist in every sense of the word as well as a true lover of the arts. His bandmates affectionately call him “Mr. Relevant.”
Aaron is currently teaching the band his latest composition.
“We need an anthem. A big closer for the rallies. Something inspirational.”
Ramon, Aaron’s closest friend, inquires, “So what you come up with?”
Ramon Ochoa likes to jokingly describe himself as coming from a long line of lettuce pickers. Both Aaron and Ramon grew up together in the Sunset District of San Francisco and were fast friends from their early days at Sunset Elementary School. They learned to play guitar together as teens, dreaming one day of having their own band. Of course, part of the attraction to music was the attention they would hopefully receive from the high school girls. Ramon is the first in his family to go to college, but is still keenly aware of the difficulties of being a Mexican immigrant. His songwriting prowess is fueled by his acerbic wit and wry sense of humor. With his dark hair in a ponytail and equally dark skin, he is not your typical Caucasian rocker. A Latino studies major at San Francisco State, he has first hand experience with migrant worker rights, Cesar Chavez, and fieldwork. Aaron and Ramon have a symbiotic musical relationship; Ramon is often the lyricist and Aaron the melody composer. Both guitarists, they would often write intricate double lead solos, no doubt due to the Allman Brothers influence. Their penchant for extended guitar solos certainly comes from their fascination with Pink Floyd. While Aaron and Ramon are both capable of writing songs of a more commercial and lyrical nature, the idea of progressive art rock is far more alluring.
“Here are the chords. No words yet, just a tune,” explains Aaron.
The boys nod.
Aaron continues, “Okay everybody, this is a shuffle in 12/8. Chord changes twice per bar. Key is E major then up to F#. Ramon, here’s the pattern: E G D A then E G A C D E. And that’s it. Scott, same thing for you.”
Scott Morgan met Ramon at San Francisco State University and joined the band as the keyboard player. Short and blonde, he is the comic relief in the band, but no slouch as a player. Scott plays a Vox Continental organ just like his hero Ray Manzarek of the Doors. As the youngest member of the band, he is the lovable little brother and has great respect and affection for Aaron. Still undecided as far as a major is concerned, Scott seems to be more interested in avoiding the draft than pursuing a degree. With blonde hair and a youthful smile, he hardly seems old enough for college.
“Okay, got it,” respond both Ramon and Scott.
“David, everything can be mostly in root, but fill in where you can,” continues Aaron.
David Fiske was another San Francisco State friend of Ramon’s. And a hell of a bass player. Growing up across the bay in Richmond, David’s high gospel tenor made for tight three part harmony with Aaron and Ramon. On stage, Scott and David would always set up next to each other to maximize the visual racial difference; short blonde white Scott and tall black David. A product of progressive African-American parents, he is keenly aware of his African heritage and studies in S.F. State’s newly formed College of Ethnic Studies. Often found wearing a colorful dashiki, David also has a sizable collection of black power T-shirts; his favorite touting the Huey Newton message, “You can jail the revolutionary, but you can’t jail the revolution.” Musically, David was raised in a gospel church and knew his way around funk, soul, and rock. Aaron may be “Mr. Relevant,” but David is a close second.
“Paul, give me running 1/8ths on the hi-hat with the standard shuffle,” Aaron instructs.
Paul Escobar is Ramon’s cousin from Bakersfield and knows Mexican music as well as American music. From Pedro Infante to the Beatles, Paul could do it all. Ramon had talked him into joining the band for a few years before returning to the family business in southern California. Five years older than everyone else, he is the elder statesman of the band. Now that the band is enjoying a modest amount of success, he is more than happy to remain in San Francisco and avoid returning to southern California. Paul’s family owns the Sinaloa Mexican restaurant in Bakersfield. Like all of his family members, he grew up working in the kitchen and can cook anything from nopales to huauzontle. Paul is the “jefe de cocina” in the house. Clearly, he is more interested in making music in Haight-Ashbury than making rellenos in Bakersfield.
“Sure, Aaron,” he replies.
“Let’s just run through the chords first,” suggests Aaron.
Aaron counts it off. After a few repetitions everyone has a tight grasp on the groove.
“Okay. Now the vocals.”
Aaron, Ramon, and David make a small circle with three chairs and sit down facing each other.
Aaron continues to explain, “I’ll sing the melody. Ramon you’re below. David above.”
Aaron slowly picks the harmony lines out on an acoustic guitar for each of them until they have it, “Now slowly. And listen to each other.”
It was tight, flawless harmony. One voice coming from three people. All three have exceptional musicality and spot-on intonation. As ethnically diverse and visually contrasting as these men are, their vocal blend is seamless.
“That was so cool,” Scott exclaims.
Aaron leans back in his chair, sighing with frustration and says, “Now all we need is words! Okay, now let’s try it with the instruments.”
The boys go to their respective instruments and look to Aaron to start them off.
Listen to "Anthem Rehearsal"
As the song finishes, everyone looks at each other in amazement. With a wry look on his face, Ramon says, “Great groove, but it almost doesn’t need words. Or you could make crazy shit up, like Dylan.”
Emulating Dylan’s nasal vocal style, Ramon sings his own words to the new tune Aaron has just taught them.
Lost in the ozone On Christmas Day Gather ’round all you clowns On your knees to pray
Everyone laughs. Emulating Dylan’s voice too, Scott sings his own words to the tune of “Like a Rolling Stone.”
I know how it feels To be a schlemiel
Aaron joins in with his own Dylan version.
You guys are unreal!
Everyone laughs again.
Aaron becomes more serious and says, “This has to be anti-war. Inspirational.”
Ramon reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a joint.
He lights it and passes it to Aaron and says, “Inspire this.”
Aaron waves it away.
Ramon hands the joint to Scott who takes a long drag and says, “Speaking of lost in the ozone.”
Aaron looks at his watch, suddenly jumps out of his chair and exclaims, “Hey, it’s almost time! Paul!”
“I’ll do it,” responds Paul. He goes to the phone. Everyone gathers around Paul in anticipation. He begins to dial.
With a solemn look on his face Aaron says, “Well, here goes. The moment of truth.”
“Not for me. I’m 4F. Asthma,” Paul boasts.
“Well, the rest of us are in school, some more than others,” comments Aaron looking at Scott.
“Hey, college beats Vietnam any day,” quips Scott.
Ramon sinks into an overstuffed chair and begins to sing to himself.
Lost in the ozone On Christmas Day
“Shut up Ramon, I can’t hear,” chides Paul.
“Please God, a high number,” David quietly asks.
“I hear they’re taking only up through 198,” Aaron says anxiously.
Paul begins to speak into the phone, “Hi, I’d like to get the lottery numbers for the draft. I have four dates I’d like to check.”
Paul covers the phone receiver and says, “Hey Ramon, when’s your birthday?”
“September 27th.”
Paul repeats the number into the phone and then responds, “233.”
Ramon is elated and exclaims, “Yeah, FTA!”
The band cheers.
With a blank look on his face, Scott asks, “What is FTA?”
Ramon and David both answer in unison, “Fuck the Army!”
“Scott, what’s yours?”
“August 25th.”
Again, Paul repeats the date into the phone and says, “286.”
“Yes! And BLT,” Scott exclaims.
Ramon and David laugh, “BLT?”
Trying to formulate something quickly, Scott replies, “Bach, Liszt, and Tchaikovsky?”
More laughter.
“David?”
“July 19th.”
Paul again relays the number, “227.”
“Thank heaven,” says a relieved David
Ramon high fives David.
Scott, Ramon, and David are in school and qualify for the deferment for the draft despite having a high number. However, any lapse or class load reduction would result in reclassification and an invitation to vacation in Vietnam.
Paul continues, “Aaron?”
“February 17th.” Under his breath Aaron whispers, “Please God.”
Paul again speaks into the phone, pauses, and then slowly says, “189.”
Everyone is thunderstruck. There is a long silence as everyone looks at Aaron. He collapses into a chair.
Scott mindlessly asks, “Is 189 bad?”
David slaps Scott lightly on the back of the head. Ramon comes over to Aaron and puts his hands on his shoulders reassuringly.
“Hey, you’re a student. You still get the deferment, right?”
“Yeah, but I went below the 15 unit minimum.”
Ramon pauses and solemnly says, “ Man, that makes you 1A. Eligible for service.”
Scott comes over to Aaron and kisses the top of his head.
“It’s okay, you’ll see.”
Aaron pats Scott’s arm in appreciation. He abruptly stands up and begins to pace slowly, looking at the floor. He is overwhelmed by this ironic turn of events and the choices he must now face. The gravity of the situation is slow to sink in. Aaron’s principles are about to be tested. It is far easier to talk of change as opposed to being the vehicle for that change. It is the age-old dilemma of theory versus practice.
“Report for active duty,” he asks himself as he shakes his head.
The boys gather around Aaron in concern. Not only do they have a genuine brotherly love for him, but they all know that Aaron is the musical powerhouse of the band.
“Easy. Let’s not panic yet,” Ramon replies.
“You can appeal,” says David, trying to reassure him.
Aaron doesn’t hear any of his bandmates.
Caught up in his own internal struggle and beginning to panic, he says,“I can’t do this!”
“Remember what happened to David Harris?” David asks.
This doesn’t help. David Harris went to prison.
“Okay, okay. So what are the options, man?” Ramon says thoughtfully.
Aaron begins to calm down and stops pacing.
“Not many. Go underground. Or prison.”
“Tough choice,” Paul says.
Ramon comes over to Aaron and takes him by the shoulders and guides him to a chair.
“Sit fool. This will all work out.”
“Thanks you guys,” Aaron responds gratefully.
“Who is David Harris?” Scott asks cluelessly.
Aaron puts his head in his hands and sighs in frustration.
“Where’s that J?” Scott asks.
Chapter 5-Old Photos John and Sabrina continue to inspect the contents of the safe deposit box.
“These are all family photos,” notices Sabrina, gently sifting through them.
“Except this guy. I wonder why,” replies John, referring to the newspaper clippings.
He inspects all three. Aging and brown, they are more than forty years old. Both John and Sabrina are at a loss to explain why his mother would have saved these.
“The same guy is in all three of these.”
There is a momentary lull in the conversation as John appears to be lost in thought. The identity of his biological parents was always a mystery. At least, that is what he had been told his whole life. As a result, he never really gave it much thought. He would, upon occasion, try to imagine who his biological parents might be. And what they were like. But it was just a fleeting romantic fantasy. However, with this new information, he now realizes that there might be a connection. The fact that he might be grasping at straws does not cross his mind. After a few moments, John takes a more serious tone.
Listen to "It's The Same Person
It’s the same person in this one here Why these photos of some random guy? All the photos here are family and you Except this guy I wonder why Maybe Mom knew or at least had a clue I know she would want me to try Try what? Why do you think these are here? No idea I think this has to do with me How? I don’t know who my real parents are You’re forgetting that neither did she That may be true but she left us a clue So why didn’t she tell you or me? You sound like you don’t want to know! She didn’t know either. She even said so Maybe Mom didn’t know, but I bet she had a clue And she never told you? I don’t think so So what’s the date on that thing April 24, 1971 Right after you were born It would explain a lot. Why she kept it. The date. And in San Francisco, the same city where I was born Aren’t you forgetting something? The records were lost, remember? We don’t need those records now What do you mean? We have a year, we have a name Don’t get your hopes too high This could be nothing but pain I have to try, I have to know why Otherwise I’ll go insane Wait! Wait a minute. Show me those again The same girl is in all three photos Oh my God! She’s Chinese.
Chapter 6-The Po Family Listen to "Flashback Music"
The summers in San Francisco’s Chinatown are a world apart from the nearby Central Valley. A mere fifty miles east, the temperatures rise into the 100s. But in Chinatown it is characteristically cool and overcast. Often the marine layer burns off by the afternoon, while the fog still rolls under the Golden Gate Bridge heading for the Berkeley hills. Ming and Xui Po immigrated to San Francisco after World War II, fleeing the Chinese civil war and the Japanese invasion. Intent on finding a safe place to raise a family, they set up shop at the corner of Grant and Clay in the heart of Chinatown. Their new home was a block or two from historic Portsmouth Square, the gathering place for all Chinatown. The Po family shop sold Chinese art, sculpture, clothing, musical instruments, housewares, and even food. The shop was small with goods crammed everywhere, even from the ceiling. Ming and Xui lived above the shop in a small apartment for less than two years before the first of their two daughters came along. I was born in 1946 and Jing in 1949. Despite being very Chinese in appearance, both of us were very American, especially Jing. Jing attended UC Berkeley while helping out in the shop. I, by virtue of being oldest, ran the day to day operations. First generation children of Chinatown lived dual lives, traditional Chinese culture at home and American culture everywhere else. As tight as immigrant parents would hold on to the traditional ways, their children were inevitably absorbed into the American mainstream. This new adopted culture was often looked down upon by new immigrants, who considered it shallow and lacking tradition. Parents were often mystified by their children’s apparent lack of interest in their ancestry. Of the two Po daughters, clearly I was the more traditional Chinese one. I never went to college, spoke passable Chinese, and was expected to run the shop, a job I did well and took very seriously. Jing, on the other hand, was a typical college student, concerned about social issues and very interested in the incredible San Francisco music scene. Despite some differences, our sisterly devotion to each other was strong. I was not as tall as Jing, a fact that pleased Jing substantially. While I don’t consider myself plain by any means, I have to admit that I stood in stark contrast to my sister. Jing was the quintessential Chinese beauty with a perfectly proportioned face and flawless porcelain skin. Her long black hair fell almost to her waist. She was a truly stunning Chinese beauty. She dressed in the style of the early 1970s, wearing bell-bottoms and halter tops, while adding a Chinese accessory or two for an interesting east meets west look. Her beauty was not lost on the young men of Chinatown, who often came sniffing around the shop. I admit that I was jealous at times. A little. She would always create such a stir with the boys, while no one would even notice me. It was like being the invisible sister. But I never let it show.
The Chinatown district of San Francisco is alive with June tourists this 1970 weekend. Customers comb through the Po shop for undiscovered treasures. My mom is at the cash register. Dad is seated in an overstuffed chair reading a Chinese newspaper while we attend to the customers. The Chinese news is on the TV but no one pays much attention. Living in Chinatown makes it all too easy to never really interact with the rest of America. Customs, traditions, language, and dress could all be maintained within the tiny enclave despite the surrounding American culture. I would often wonder why my parents came to America if they really didn’t want to assimilate into the American mainstream. Dad comes across a distressing article in the newspaper.
“Oh my God! Things are getting really bad back home.”
“We’re lucky we got out in time,” replies Mom.
“Forced labor. Reeducation. Zhou Enlai and Mao’s wife. What a mess! The entire Fong family disappeared!”
“We’re safe here. Our girls are free here,” Mom says.
“I just wish the shop was more of a success.”
Mom leaves the register and goes to a newly delivered rack of dresses and begins to go through them. Jing finishes with her customer and carries the painting over to the register to ring it up. It is a landscape by the famous Yun Shi. The shop’s inventory of these much sought after paintings has been dwindling over the last year. Jing carefully wraps the painting and the grateful customer leaves the shop. I am still busy with a customer combing through the dresses. Jing sits down on the stool next to the register to relax for a moment.
“Jing dear, play something for your father to cheer him up,” suggests Mom.
Jing goes to the glass case where the musical instruments are displayed. She takes out a guzheng and places it on the counter next to the register. The guzheng is an ancient traditional Chinese instrument that resembles a harp, but with the strings running horizontally. It can be traced back over two thousand years and is the ancestor of the Japanese koto and the Korean kayagum. The modern guzhengs are truly works of art with beautiful inlay and decorative patterns. Each of the twenty-one strings has a separate bridge, all of them in different places. Since the bridges are not at the end of the string, the pitch can be bent by pressing on the string on the other side of the bridge. This gives the instrument its characteristic ornamental and expressive sound. About three feet long and two feet wide, it is a challenging instrument to master. Being the more musical of both of us, Jing has played the guzheng since she was quite small. This guzheng is a brilliant blue with detailed scrollwork at both ends. Jing sits down behind the counter on the stool and begins to play.
Listen to "Guzheng Solo"
“Ah ‘Spring on the Mountain’, one of my favorites,” a grateful father exclaims.
My dad and Jing share a love of music, while my mom is more driven and stern, a bit of a “dragon lady.” It is Jing who is Dad’s favorite, although he would never admit being biased. He admires Jing for her passion for life and keen sense of social justice. A smile comes across Dad’s face as she plays. Jing plays flawlessly as her fingers fly over the strings. As she becomes absorbed in the music, her face takes on a distant quality, as if she were transported to an entirely different place. I bring the last customer in the shop over to the register where Jing is playing.
“That’s my little sister,” I proudly announce.
“She plays so beautifully,” the customer replies, “but what is that instrument?”
“The guzheng, an ancient traditional Chinese harp.”
Jing continues to play as my customer pays and heads out the door.
As Jing finishes, Dad says, “Very nice.”
“Thank you Father.”
“In Chinese,” he says, teasing her a bit.
“Xie, xie.”
Certainly Jing is closer to her father than I am. They both have similar temperaments but Dad still does not understand American culture. Jing knows there are certain things she can’t discuss with him: Vietnam, the draft, American music, political activism. Her involvement with SDS (Students for a Democratic Society) at Cal is definitely off the table. Despite their political and artistic differences, Jing is a devoted daughter.
Jing puts down the guzheng on the counter. She retrieves her purse from the bottom shelf and without being observed by Dad, produces a copy of the Berkeley Barb. A counterculture rag like the Barb would not be appreciated in the Po family shop, hence Jing’s secretive behavior.
“Check this,” pointing to the paper, “Big Brother is at Cal next weekend! We should go!”
“If I can get away from here. All I do is work!” I respond.
From across the room Mom calls, “Ling-si, would you run to the dry cleaners later please?”
I shrug and say to Jing, “See what I mean?”
Jing just shakes her head in frustration.
I call to my mother, “Shi!”
“You know, you still haven’t been to Haight-Ashbury. I know this great coffee house. I’ll pay!”
“Easy for you to say college girl. But who will watch this place?”
“Girls, help your mother with the dresses,” suggests my father.
We walk over to help Mom.
Jing tries to convince me, “Come on, it will be fun.”
They begin to take the newly arrived dresses off the portable rack and on to the store racks.
“Ni zai ganma?” Jing asks Mom with a poor accent.
Her disappointment and frustration showing, my mother responds, “Listen, this is how it goes.”
Listen to "The Po Shop"
Ni xian zai zuo shen mo Do it one more time, this time slow Ni xian zai zuo shen mo Is this really all you know? And besides, how do you expect to get a man? I’ll just have to do the best I can Learn Chinese, don’t dress this way You scare all the men away
I turn to Jing and speak softly, imitating our mother
This time slow, you Chinese ho Study like Mom said The faults not mine, I’m working all the time I’d rather go and see the Grateful Dead Your Chinese is worse than mine. And you even have a tutor! It’s not like Mom and Dad haven’t tried It’s always Chinese everything. Even men You don’t like Chinese men? That’s not what I meant! America is such a smorgasbord So much to choose from That’s why Cal is so great. You’ve got Apollinaire Edna St. Vincent Millay. Even the Grateful Dead And lots of guys! For Chinese men, I’d recommend Learn just what they like But look at what you wear I’m surprised that Yao cares I know exactly what wants alright! And it’s not to teach me Chinese Ni xian zai zuo shen mo Do it one more time Not so slow Ni xian zai zuo shen mo Listen this is how it goes Ni xian zai zuo shen mo Do it one more time I know, I know! Ni xian zai zuo shen mo You still have a ways to go Ni xian zai zuo shen mo Ni xian zai zuo shen mo Ni xian zai zuo shen mo Ni xian zai zuo shen mo There you go Ni xian zai zuo shen mo Ni xian zai zuo shen mo Ni xian zai zuo shen mo Ni xian zai zuo shen mo That’s better Xie xie ni
Mom heads upstairs to the apartment to make tea, leaving us alone again.
My dad, who has been oblivious to our conversation, continues to contentedly read the paper and occasionally glance at the TV.
“We need to get you out of here more often,” Jing repeats.
“Who’s gonna mind the shop? You?”
“How about our landlord? That guy checks you out big time.”
“Yao checks out everything in a skirt, including you. Why do you think he wants to be your tutor?”
“He’s harmless enough, I guess.” Jing pauses for a moment and then continues in a more serious tone, “I know you work a lot more hours than me. And I really appreciate that. I’ll make it up to you sis.”
All the dresses have been offloaded on to the racks. We go back to the register. Jing picks up the guzheng again.
“Let’s have a little fun with Dad,” says Jing with a mischievous look on her face.
Jing begins to play a 12-bar blues riff. Southern blues on a two thousand year old Chinese instrument is truly an odd sounding cultural collision. They both wait to see what kind of reaction it will elicit.
Listen to "Blues"
With a puzzled look on his face, Dad says, “I don’t think that was a melody I know. Very different.”
“Very different,” says Jing trying not to laugh. I turn away trying to hide my amusement.
Jing puts down the guzheng.
“So, are you practicing Chinese with your sister?” asks Dad.
“Shi, dui de. Ta de mian kong hen xiang yi tiao yu.”
Dad begins to laugh.
“She has the face of a fish? Or something like that. Ni gu ke de mian kong yie hen xiang yi tia yu!”
Both Jing and I begin to laugh.
“I don’t think there’s any hope for me!” laments Jing with a smile on her face.
My dad’s attention is suddenly drawn to the TV. He listens for a moment. The TV shows Vietnam War footage and angry protesters. He sits up in his chair and becomes more agitated.
“Look at this! More protesters. They should show more respect for their country!”
Jing is instantly incensed, “They’re trying to save their country!”
“From what?”
“From war!”
Mom comes down the stairs from the apartment with the freshly brewed green tea.
Dad replies, “I don’t think so.”
Jing stands and is ready to unleash her next salvo at our father about the Vietnam War, but before she can, I calmly take her by the shoulders and whisper, “Don’t start!”
Jing is bristling but says nothing.
Mom places the tea tray on the counter and says, “Tea anyone?”
Chapter 7-The Need To Know Sabrina slowly wakes up. It is about two in the morning. John is nowhere to be seen. She calls to him but gets no response. Quickly she puts on a robe and goes downstairs. John is seated at his desk with his head resting on the computer keyboard. He has fallen asleep at the computer again. His interest in the mystery of the safe deposit box is moving from a passing curiosity to an idée fixe, a fact that has Sabrina concerned. Over the last few weeks since the funeral, John has been increasingly consumed with his quest, and as of yet, with little results.
Their house in the hills above Los Gatos is perfect for a Silicone Valley power couple. With a half-acre lot, pool, spa, sport court, and well appointed home, John and Sabrina appear to have it all, including two young Akitas. The pups have the run of the house and yard and are, no doubt, substitutes for the children John and Sabrina don’t have. Yet John is becoming increasingly frustrated with his inability to make any progress in discovering the connection between himself and the contents of the safe deposit box. Sabrina puts her hand gently on John’s shoulder to wake him. He is slow to come around. He has been asleep for some time now with the two dogs at his side.
Listen to "You Still At It?"
You still at it? Come to bed it’s late You’re gonna need your rest I can’t seem to find very much at all You scare me, you’re so obsessed For almost two years Aaron Thomas played here A coffee house on Haight West The Chinese girl? Anything at all? Nothing I might have guessed! This is not a good sign What if there’s nothing to find? You don’t really know that yet I know you want this Broaden your search Cal has archives nearby What if I find something I don’t want to know? You still have to try So. What else you got? Just this coffee house
Chapter 8-Coffee House Aaron steps up to the microphone. With his affable character and easy charm, he is a charismatic front man. He not only leads the band, but seems to dominate the stage.
Listen while reading the next section.
“Good evening everyone. Thanks for coming out tonight for little music, prose, and coffee. And don’t forget to tip your waitress.”
The waitress turns to Aaron and bows graciously.
“We are the Aaron Thomas Band and I’m Aaron Thomas, your host for the evening.”
The coffee house is typical Haight-Ashbury: old, small, and in a state of decay. There is a small stage at the back of the building. With all their musical gear, the band just barely fits. Despite the limited space, it is filled with devoted poetry and music lovers. A solo spot on Aaron is the only real major source of light in the place. It is dark and smokey with candles on each table. At two sofas on the opposing wall from the band, customers read books or write in journals in the dim light. The one waitress scurries from table to table, obviously having trouble keeping up. She periodically glances at Aaron as she works. The clientele are mostly young people who live in the area. With their long hair and sometimes outrageous dress, it is a collection of unique individuals. Someone would occasionally light up a joint, but no one seems to mind. The coffee house is the focal point for artists in the area and everyone seems to know each other. There is an atmosphere of impending change in the air. The band is dressed casually, appropriate for the venue. Ramon wears a long sleeve T-shirt with the face of Che Guevara and his ubiquitous headband. Aaron has the sleeves on his black turtleneck pushed up slightly while David sports a red T-shirt with the logo “Free Angela.”
“We’d like to start tonight with a song written by our own union activist Ramon Ochoa. It’s about a girl he knew well in high school. Maybe too well!”
Aaron glances at Ramon knowingly and laughs. The band launches into “Mary Jane,” a slow blues number with a comical message.
She got you in trouble in high school You thought she was one of your friends She totaled your car Put you behind bars But that’s not where the story ends Remember that weekend in Vegas She promised you’d have a good time But when you got caught with twelve pounds of pot She said, “Dude it’s a victimless crime” Mary Jane, Mary Jane
At this point in the song, Jing and I enter the coffee house. The waitress glares at us as we find a table near the stage. Aaron doesn’t see us in the dim light. We sit down and settle into our chairs. My sister turns her gaze towards the stage and is instantly struck by the dynamic singer in the solo spotlight.
Referring to Aaron, Jing says, “Oo, who is that?”
She is transfixed as she gazes at him. In the brilliant spotlight, Aaron looks like the quintessential luminous rock star. There is a raw sensuality about him as he deftly leads the band, a fact that is not lost on the leering waitress. I look at my sister with an annoyed face.
“I thought we were here for the coffee.”
Jing doesn’t respond, lost in contemplation.
I wave my hand in front of Jing’s face and say sarcastically, “Remember, only Chinese men!”
Jing smiles and replies, “Too late!”
The song continues.
I know that you can’t help but love her No matter what I might say She makes it so real The way that you feel And without her you’d never get laid She always said there’s strength in numbers How they treat her just isn’t fair There’s no way to cope Without peace, love, and dope It’s got to be 4:20 somewhere Mary Jane, Mary Jane So, is anyone holding?
The appreciative audience applauds enthusiastically. Jing doesn’t move but is content to observe Aaron. I’m worried as I watch my sister.
The waitress abruptly comes to our table and says with a touch of venom, “A little far from Chinatown tonight, aren’t we girls?”
Jing snaps out of her abstraction instantly and is about to return fire but I put my hand on her shoulder and reply to the waitress, “Two green teas please.”
“We don’t have to put up with that crap,” Jing complains.
I am about to speak when Aaron steps back up to the microphone, “Thank you so much. Now for a little something different. Open mic for all of you poets out there! Any poets out there with something to say?”
Jing enthusiastically raises her hand and looks at Aaron.
“What are you doing?” I exclaim, surprised.
It is the classic Ling-si and Jing moment. While I am reluctant to ever call any attention to myself, my sister exuberantly seizes the moment.
Aaron sees Jing and is immediately transfixed. Struck by her beauty, he can’t respond for a moment.
“Wonderful. The mic is yours.”
Aaron comes down off the stage to our table and offers his hand to my sister. Without hesitation she responds as Aaron leads her to the microphone. There is an immediate connection, neither one able to break their gaze. In retrospect, it was all so natural; a simple gesture and an innate trust. It was as if they had met long ago.
Finally, Aaron asks, “What’s your name?”
“Jing Po.”
Aaron goes to the mic and announces, “Tonight’s poet is Jing Po. Jing Po please!”
The coffee house erupts into applause. The band vacates the stage. Everyone except Aaron goes straight to the bar for a drink. Aaron sits on the side of the stage in order to get a better perspective. He appears to be awe struck. Jing glides confidently to the microphone.
Softly she says, “This is called ‘Shimmer.”
The house lights come down with only a solo spot on Jing. She closes her eyes and appears to go into a trance. Her face in the light takes on an angelic quality. The bright spot highlights the contrast between her beautiful alabaster face and long raven hair. She pauses a moment, as if to prepare herself for some heroic effort. The coffee house quiets down as the customers come to realize this is not your average Haight-Ashbury poet. Her tone has a wistful, distant quality.
Listen to "Shimmer"
It is a reflection only time may reveal That singular mirror of our true selves The details of our lives are illuminated With painful clarity No matter the distance, each stands highlighted Absolute and immutable, waiting to be judged by God Yet, it is a reflection only of what can be seen Not of the invisible and unknowable depths But it is in these depths that lives are measured The shallows of concern and care The depths of love and sacrifice The currents that steer our lives There are those who languish in its depths And never see the surface Only you see beyond my reflection Only you have seen my soul
The coffee house slowly begins to applaud, slightly stunned by the beauty of both Jing and her poetry. Aaron is on his feet and applauding enthusiastically. Jing slowly comes out of her poetic dream and bows. Aaron rushes on stage.
“Beautiful. So beautiful,” he says softly to Jing.
“Thank you kind sir,” she replies beaming.
My sister bows graciously to the crowd.
Aaron returns to the microphone and exclaims, “Jing Po please. Wonderful.”
As the applause dies, Aaron walks Jing back to her table, unable to keep his eyes off her. Jing sits down next to me as Aaron continues to stand, awkwardly staring. I closely inspect Aaron. He is a striking man, no doubt, but obviously not Chinese, a fact that does not bother me but would not sit well with our parents.
“Please. Sit down,” says an enthusiastic Jing.
Aaron sits down.
“That was wonderful.”
“Thanks.”
Jing and Aaron are oblivious to everything around them, including me. I am again the invisible sister. They appear to be drawn together by some irresistible force. I observe them both closely with a sense of concern. They converse with an almost urgent intensity.
“It reminds me of Baudelaire,” comments Aaron, trying to contain his enthusiasm.
“French Symbolism. The best.”
“I’m taking a French Symbolism class at Cal.”
“With Aubert?”
Aaron nods.
“I wrote ‘Shimmer’ for his class!”
Aaron smiles broadly.
“I’m sure he loved it.”
Aaron has difficulty tearing himself away from Jing as he turns to me.
“Sorry to be so rude. I’m Aaron Thomas.”
We shake hands. He has the most beautiful, penetrating eyes.
“I’m Ling-si, Jing’s sister.”
“A pleasure.”
Aaron turns back to Jing.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” says Jing.
“We’re the new house band.”
Ramon comes over to the table and says, “Dude, time to go back to work.”
Without breaking eye contact with Jing, Aaron says, “Just a minute.”
Ramon impatiently stands next to the table waiting for Aaron to tear himself away. The waitress returns with the tea, depositing the teapot and cups on the table with unnecessary force. Only Ramon and I notice the rude behavior.
As the waitress leaves the table, she seductively runs her finger across Aaron’s shoulder and says, “Need anything?”
Aaron reluctantly stands and says, “I have to go. Stay for the next song? I think you’ll like it.”
“Sure. Stop by our shop. Grant and Clay.”
“Great,” Aaron says over his shoulder as Ramon leads him by the collar back to the stage.
Aaron and Ramon step on to the stage. Aaron slowly snaps out of his trancelike state. The band gets ready for the next song.
“How do you do shit like that? All in the space of fifteen minutes!” I say in amazement.
Of course I really do know how she does shit like that. She is simply being herself.
“He is such a cutie,” says Jing dreamily.
“No doubt. But I hate to tell you, he’s white! Mom and Dad would freak!”
Aaron straps on his guitar and returns to the mic, looking right at Jing.
“This next song is for my favorite new poet. It’s called ‘For the Love of the Moon.’” Jing smiles from head to toe.
Listen to "For The Love Of The Moon"
When the moon is high I lose myself, become someone else Lose all control, sacrifice my soul For the love of the moon, I would gladly die When I close my eyes, when I close my eyes Your face is in my mind, so delicate and fine Trace all the lines, in infinite design I have to make you mine, I have to make you mine For the love of the moon, I would gladly die I waste away in the light of the day, Those evening sirens call I hope tonight that you come to light It’s you or nothing at all Besides a face of such delicate grace, Your eyes see through my wall You make me see the impossible me, So slay me once and for all
At this point in the song, Aaron stops singing and begins to speak in a low seductive voice, looking directly at my sister. Using the legendary Echoplex, his voice is delayed and repeated in a haze of reverb. It is classic 1970s art rock. Jing is mesmerized. The waitress notices Jing’s fixation with Aaron.
A sleepless dream commands me Singular in purpose, simple in design With unspoken words it whispers The quest for the divine Of lovely apparitions Of delicate figures in my mind You are to my desire, eternally consigned Compelled by ancient Eros His will I can’t deny Before this dream is over I have to make you mine
Aaron begins to sing again.
When the moon is high, when the moon is high In the eastern sky, all my hopes will rise Apparitions in my mind Two sleepless souls combine A glimpse of the divine, if I could make you mine For the love of the moon, I would gladly die
The coffee house applauds enthusiastically. Jing, incapable of clapping, simply stares at Aaron in amazement, the lyrical power and haunting melody rendering her speechless. No doubt, in part, due to the fact that Aaron was singing only to her. It was like there were only two people in the room.
“Thank you so much,” says Aaron.
The waitress comes briskly over to us, drops the bill on the table from about three feet above and curtly says, “Pay up front. On your way out!”
I am becoming increasingly uncomfortable and say, “I think it’s time to go.”
“But we just got here.”
“I think we’ve done enough damage for one night.”
I throw some money down on the table and take Jing by the arm. Captivated by Aaron and his music, I can barely move her. She reluctantly shuffles towards the door with my assistance, her gaze fixed on Aaron. She waves as Aaron watches us leave.
Chapter 9-Landlord The next day Jing and I busy ourselves in the shop. There are no customers and our parents are upstairs in the apartment. The inventory appears to be dwindling, a reflection of the Po family’s difficult financial situation. The shop is simply not bringing in enough money to make ends meet. The tourist traffic is down and the cost of living is up. This, however, has not dampened Jing’s enthusiasm concerning last night’s coffee house encounter with Aaron. I am the only one aware of the true reason for Jing’s apparent good humor. Both of us are sorting through the remaining stack of Chinese pajamas.
“Look at you. And not too hard to figure out why,” I notice.
“Am I that transparent?”
I smile and respond, “Only to me.”
Jing smiles, stops her sorting, and puts her hands on her hips.
“So tell me big sister, you don’t think he is a total Adonis?”
“No doubt,” I respond with a wide smile. I continue, but in a more serious tone.
“But you have to admit, nothing can come of it.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I stop working for a moment and survey the shop inventory.
“Well, I’m glad someone is in a good mood. This has to be the worst summer I can remember.”
Listen to "Yao Enters"
Hell, will you look at this There’s nothing left We can’t go on like this Not for long No tourists, no business I don’t know how we went so wrong Neither do I It’s gonna take a miracle to save this place
The door to the shop swings open. A thirty-five year old man in a well worn, ill-fitting wool suit walks in. He is slightly overweight and has the look of a man who always gets what he wants. With short-cropped dark hair, he stands in utter contrast to the style of the day. Jing and I both look at each other knowingly. As our landlord, Yao was treated with an exaggerated amount of esteem by my parents, a fact that did not sit well with Jing. Being forced by her parents to study Chinese with Yao was not a help either.
Ni hao lovely ladies How are you? Ni hao Master Yao Here for the rent? I hope we have it I don’t think so Just tell him that we gave it up for Lent May I go upstairs? Sure I know you love the Chinese harp I have one or two I’d be glad to give you one If that’s alright with you Think about it Jing Such a beautiful guzheng The one I have is practically brand new
Both of us go back to work as Yao continues up the stairs and knocks on the apartment door. Inside, Dad sits on the sofa with his ubiquitous Chinese newspaper. Mom is in the kitchen making tea. They both stand and go to the door when they hear Yao’s knocking.
Ni hao Master Yao How are you? I’m fine, good to see you Would you like some tea? Yes, thank you How’s business? I’m afraid it’s not as good as it might be I saw your lovely daughters downstairs I offered one of my guzhengs to Jing A very kind offer
My dad produces an envelope from his coat pocket and hands it to Yao.
We will get you the rest next week. You should be careful with so much cash I can take care of myself I carry my own insurance
Yao gently pats his coat pocket where he keeps his handgun.
Jing is a fine musician And a beautiful young woman And headstrong as well I believe that Berkeley school is a bad influence She is so American And her Chinese is terrible! She doesn’t take it seriously Your tutoring once a week is not enough Certainly not. At least twice a week. That would be a great help Perhaps you might honor us by helping Jing twice a week You are a fine son of China You know that traditional ways I would be happy to help I must go. Thank you for the tea
My mom and dad both stand. Everyone bows. Yao heads for the door. Mom accompanies Yao down the stairs while Dad goes back to the newspaper.
Goodbye girls see you soon Remember that guzheng I’ll be back on Tuesday for your Chinese lesson Jing Tuesday night?
I turn to Jing and whisper so only she can hear
Ooo, with Mr. Right! For you I know he’s got a major thing
Jing rolls her eyes while I smile knowingly. Mom goes to the cash register and observes Jing and I out of the corner of her eye.
In a deep voice, imitating Yao, Jing says, “So, my little concubine, I’ve come for the rent.” Jing swaggers a bit with her delivery.
In a high-pitched melodramatic voice I respond, “ Why, I don’t have a thing! What could I possibly give you?”
We can hardly contain ourselves.
“Perhaps a little Szechuan? Word on the street is that yours is hot and spicy!” replies a laughing Jing. She comes closer to me and says, “Give us a kiss!”
At this point we can no longer contain ourselves and break into laughter.
“Behave girls,” says Mom, reprimanding us. She comes over to us and says excitedly, “Your father and I have asked Yao to tutor you twice a week now.”
“Oh?” says a now serious Jing.
“Yes.”
Jing pauses for a moment and then replies, “Oh, I see where this is going. I don’t think this is about tutoring at all.” Again she pauses to think, “This couldn’t have anything to do with our money trouble?”
Mom is becoming annoyed, “You are Chinese, not American. Honor your heritage and family.”
“Well, tell Yao that I’m flattered but once a week is way more than enough.”
“Remember who you are young lady. Yao is an important man. His help could save this shop.”
Jing is becoming slightly alarmed.
“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
The first customers of the day come through the shop door.
“We will speak of this later. There are customers who need help. Off with you.”
Both Jing and I attend to the new customers while Mom goes back to the register. After a few minutes, Aaron walks through the door, unnoticed by both of us.
“May I help you?” asks my mom.
Aaron is dressed in a relatively conservative manner: jeans, boots, and a sweater.
He speaks in a respectful manner, doing his best to charm my mother, “Yes, thank you. Tomorrow is my parents’ anniversary and they are quite the art collectors. Your shop was recommended by a friend.”
While this was not exactly the truth, it was, in a way, recommended by a friend, namely my sister.
“Why thank you. Any specific art form?”
“Mostly painting and sculpture.”
Aaron looks at the paintings on the wall next to the register.
“These are most impressive.”
“You have an eye for quality I see. These are all by Yun Shi.”
“I love his almost unfocused quality. Very impressionistic.”
“Ah, you like French art?”
“I prefer a non-graphic approach. Leaves more to the imagination.”
“There is similarity between the two styles.”
“No doubt.”
“You are a well informed young man. It’s nice to see a young person take such an interest in these things.”
Both Jing and I finish with our customers and begin to talk quietly. Suddenly Jing glances towards the register.
“Holy shit. He’s talking to Mom!”
“Who?” I ask, not having spotted Aaron yet.
“Aaron!”
“Oh dear,” I say slowly.
I start to stare.
“Don’t stare!”
We try to observe the situation unnoticed.
Aaron continues, “My parents would love any of these. But I think I’ll take this one.”
He points to a painting of a lovely mountain landscape.
“You are a most thoughtful son.”
Mom takes the painting from the wall and goes to the register. Jing summons up her courage and walks up to both Aaron and her mother.
“I think we need more tea Mother,” says Jing nervously, trying not to look at Aaron.
Enjoying the situation, Aaron responds, “Oh, so this is your daughter.”
“My daughter Jing will wrap this for you.” She softly says to Jing, “Such a nice young man. For an American.”
“Thanks again for your help,” replies Aaron to Mrs. Po.
Mother heads upstairs to fetch the tea while Jing and I stand looking on in disbelief.
As soon as Mom disappears into the upstairs apartment Jing exclaims, “That was my mother!”
“I really was looking for something for my folks,” teases Aaron.
Jing smiles and says, “You are so bad.”
Aaron turns to me, “Hi Ling-si. How’s business?”
“You’re going to get us in trouble,” I respond nervously.
Mom and Dad come down the stairs with the tea.
“Not real keen on Americans huh?” says Aaron softly, gesturing to our mother and father.
“Are you helping your customer?” says Dad, referring to Aaron.
“Uh, not yet,” replies a flustered Jing.
Mom and Dad sit at the register while I wrap Aaron’s painting. Aaron can’t resist having a little fun with the situation.
“Yes, I could use some more help. Pajamas for my grandmother perhaps.”
They walk over to the shelf where we were previously working.
Jing smiles at Aaron and says softly, “Pajamas? Are you kidding? You’re killing me here, smart ass!”
She pulls a few pajamas off the shelf.
Getting into the spirit of the conversation she says in a somewhat overstated tone, “Isn’t this one nice! So feminine. I’m sure it would look great on you!”
Jing holds the package up to Aaron, pretending to assess a good color match.
While sipping his tea, Dad comments, “Such a well-mannered boy.”
“I suppose,” replies Mom.
Dad glances at his watch and says, “The news is on. Come on.”
Both Mom and Dad head upstairs leaving us alone with Aaron. As soon as they are through the apartment door, Jing and Aaron erupt into laughter. I am not amused.
“You fruitcake! That was supposed to be funny?” asks Jing, laughing.
“Actually, it was kind of funny,” responds Aaron, smiling.
“Yeah, I guess,” admits Jing.
“Not funny,” I add.
Jing and Aaron can’t keep their eyes off each other. I finish with the package.
Jing looks tenderly at Aaron and softly says, “I loved your song last night.”
“Thanks, I was hoping that...”
I interrupt Aaron, come out from behind the register and good-naturedly take him by the arm and move him towards the door.
In an exaggerated, patronizing voice I say, “Time to go now.”
Calling after Aaron, Jing asks, “What are you doing tonight?”
“Something with you I hope!” calls Aaron over his shoulder.
“Meet me at Portsmouth Square at nine tonight. Next to the Goddess of Democracy statue.”
Aaron nods. I usher Aaron out the door with his painting.
“Thank you. Come again,” I say in a slightly mocking tone.
Aaron looks back through the window wistfully as he walks to his car. I am just about to tell Jing in no uncertain terms what a bad idea this is, when two customers come through the door. Jing and I talk quietly but energetically.
“Are you crazy? He’s still white and a musician too!”
“That’s bad? Why is everyone so intolerant around here!”
“Maybe we should introduce him to Mom and Dad right now,” I say in a mocking tone.
“I think Mom likes him already!”
Jing turns to a rack of dresses and lingerie.
“So, what do you think I should wear tonight?”
“How about this?” I suggest sarcastically.
I pull a negligee off the rack and hold it up to Jing. Jing smiles suggestively.
“Oo! Good call!”
We both laugh.
Chapter 10-The Night Fair Listen to "Night Fair Poem
Portsmouth Square is only a block or two from the Po shop. It is truly the “Heart of Chinatown.” First established in the early 19th Century, it is rich in history. Sam Brannan displayed his newly found Sierra gold to an amazed crowd here in 1848. It is the site of California’s first public school. The square is graced by a lovely Goddess of Democracy statue and a monument to Robert Louis Stevenson. Even a few scenes from the movie “Dirty Harry” were filmed here. The looming Hilton hotel stands directly to the east, connected to the square by a distinctive long red overpass and entryway. During the summer months, the Chinatown night fair is held here every Saturday. There is an uncanny resemblance to Hong Kong, with booths of every kind, food, music, art, dancing, games, and everything Chinese.
There is a full moon rising behind the Hilton as Jing waits nervously for Aaron next to the Goddess of Democracy statue. I cover Jing’s shift at the shop, since Saturday night is usually a good night for tourist traffic, especially when the night fair is in progress. Wanting to make an impression, Jing is dressed in a form fitting, beautifully embroidered Chinese black and white silk jacket, bell-bottom denim jeans, and sandals. Her long black hair falls over the jacket in waves, making it difficult to notice her peace symbol earrings. It is a stunning combination of Chinese and American fashion. She stands and paces slightly in front of the statue in anticipation. Aaron arrives shortly thereafter, appearing suddenly as he makes his way through the heavy crowd. He is wearing a short waisted suede leather jacket over a black turtleneck, jeans, and boots. The short waisted jacket accentuates his broad shoulders, and at six feet tall he towers over most of the Chinese. Jing is both surprised and delighted by his abrupt appearance, her face beaming.
“Hi,” Aaron says enthusiastically.
He approaches Jing to give her a hug, but she motions him to stop.
“Not here. Too many neighbors.”
Aaron nods. They sit down on the bench next to the Goddess of Democracy statue. They are oblivious to the bustling crowd around them.
“You look wonderful.”
Jing’s effort to make an impression has clearly succeeded.
“Thank you Aaron,” Jing replies with a smile of satisfaction.
Aaron struggles to break Jing’s hypnotic spell and inform her of his pressing dilemma.
“I have some bad news.”
A concerned Jing replies, “What kind of bad news?”
Aaron pauses and takes a deep breath.
“I’ve been requested to report for active duty in Vietnam.”
Jing is immediately alarmed and stands up abruptly.
“Vietnam? When did this happen?”
“Lottery numbers happened the other day.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried to the other night, but you and Ling-si ran off so fast.”
“She was freaking out. You know, that waitress.”
“And you were so busy at the shop.”
“Not exactly the place to hold a conversation!”
“I got a low number.”
“But you’re in school!” says Jing, becoming quite agitated.
“I had to drop a class. Went below the minimum.”
“Oh no.”
Jing becomes more calm and says in a fearful tone, “What are you going to do?”
“I wish I knew.”
There is a pause in the conversation as they look at each other, contemplating the gravity of the situation.
Jing breaks the silence and tentatively asks, “Would you really go to Vietnam?”
“I don’t know.”
“My God, if you don’t, they put you in prison.”
“I suppose it’s better than Vietnam.”
“Talk about a test of conviction.”
Jing slowly contemplates the options and sits back down. She puts her hands on Aaron’s knees and looks into his eyes.
“What about an appeal?”
“I don’t think so since I’m below the minimum.”
“Could you do conscientious objector?”
Aaron shakes his head.
“I’d have to show a history of that kind of thing.”
“How long do you think you have?”
“A month. Maybe.”
“A month? Oh no.”
“Would you really go to prison?”
“I guess I don’t have much of a choice.”
Jing now speaks in a more matter of fact tone, “This is a matter of conscience. If you cooperate, you’ll have to live with it all your life.”
“That’s what bothers me.”
“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Remember that?”
Aaron nods.
“How do you know all this stuff?”
Jing smiles and responds, “Berkeley student.”
Aaron becomes more reflective and says, “I know what I have to do. I’m just afraid to do it.”
“And for how long?”
“David Harris got two years.”
“That’s a long time.”
Aaron tenderly takes Jing’s hands and slowly says, “I have this feeling about you and me.”
This being exactly what she wanted to hear, Jing responds, “So do I.”
“But two years?”
In a determined voice Jing responds, “I don’t give up that easily!”
“So what do you think I should do?”
Frightened for Aaron, she declares, “My God, it’s war! You could be killed!”
Thoughtfully he replies, “Yeah. Be the change you want to see.”
Jing takes her hands and runs them through her long black hair in concern, “You know that landlord guy I was talking about, Yao?”
Aaron nods, wondering where this is going.
“Well, Mom and Dad don’t think I’m Chinese enough so they’ve asked him to tutor me. But it’s not about that.”
Jing crosses her arms in frustration and says, “Yao wants something else.”
Aaron is instantly aware of Jing’s inference and becomes slightly agitated, “What do you mean?”
“He knows Mom and Dad are in deep financial shit. So he’s taking advantage to get what he wants.”
“Not while I’m alive,” declares Aaron heroically.
“I respectfully declined.”
“Glad to hear it. But that’s outrageous!”
“And Mom’s not giving up. Makes me feel like a piece of meat.”
Aaron shakes his head in disbelief, “That’s not fair to you!”
“Mom is pissed. She’s trying to get the guilt thing to work. I feel terrible about it.”
Aaron takes Jing’s hands again and forcefully responds, “Don’t do that! You have a life too!”
He pauses and speaks in a low, delicate tone, “A life with me. Maybe. I hope.”
Jing’s face lights up as she replies, “I was hoping you might say that.”
Aaron and Jing are transfixed as they realize what they’ve just declared.
Slowly Aaron stands, pulling Jing up softly by her hands.
“Tell you what. Let’s forget about all that for now. And just enjoy ourselves tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
“I just want to be with you.”
Aaron suddenly reaches into his pocket.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I got you a little something.”
He produces a small blue box with the image of a full moon on it. He hands it to Jing. She smiles and gingerly unties the ribbon and opens the hinged box.
“It’s beautiful!”
“Blue moonstone from Sri Lanka. May I put it on you?”
A radiant Jing nods enthusiastically. Aaron steps behind Jing and gently kisses her neck while putting on the pendant.
“I love it. Thank you so much!”
Jing models the pendant by turning around playfully with her hands on her hips.
Aaron softly sings the refrain from “For the Love of the Moon.”
For the love of the moon
Jing smiles knowingly. Aaron takes a deep breath, turns around slowly and surveys the spectacle that is the night fair.
“So this is the night fair.”
“Happens every Saturday night.”
With a mischievous look on her face, she declares, “Follow me. I want to show you something.”
Jing attempts to take Aaron’s hand, but he resists.
He playfully responds, “All those neighbors!”
Jing forcefully takes his hand and says, “What the hell!”
They weave through the labyrinth of booths, some so tightly packed together they can only accommodate one or two people. The smell of food is heavy in the air and there is almost no English to be heard. Jing seems to know where she is going while Aaron gapes at the incredible amalgam of east and west culture. Jing slows down for a moment and enters a comparatively large booth. There are musical instruments everywhere: plucked strings, bowed strings, aerophones, drums of all shapes and sizes, and strange looking percussion instruments. It is an exotic collection of traditional Chinese instruments except for a few lonely acoustic guitars. Aaron stands in wonder.
“I’m a musician and I don’t recognize any of these. Except for those!”
He points to the guitars.
“Most of these are traditional Chinese instruments.”
Jing walks to the rack of guzhengs and says to the attendant, “May I?”
The elderly attendant smiles and nods, probably not understanding English. She sits down on a stool and places the guzheng on a small table, about waist high.
Jing turns to Aaron with a playful smile and says, “Check this out.”
She begins to play, her hands moving over the strings with swift precision. Aaron is amazed. Jing seems to disappear into her music. The booth attendant becomes quite animated and begins to wave his hands as if he were conducting. She finishes with a flurry of notes. The attendant claps in appreciation.
“That was amazing! I thought you played piano!”
“I do.”
Aaron stammers, “Both?”
“Chinese. All part of the gig.”
Aaron smiles and says suggestively, “A woman of many talents.”
He gives Jing a knowing look.
She bows and says playfully, “Why thank you!”
Aaron comes closer to inspect the guzheng.
“That looks hard to play. How is it tuned?”
“Four octave pentatonic scale. Twenty-one strings. Moveable bridge. I use finger picks on the right hand and push the strings with the left to bend the notes. It’s called a guzheng.”
“Very cool. How long have you been playing?”
“Since I was a little girl.”
With a newfound respect for Jing’s musical talent, he says, “Well done.”
Jing stands and retrieves a guitar and hands it to Aaron.
She smiles and says, “Okay Señor rocker, let’s see what kind of Chinese chops you got!”
Jing sits down to play. Aaron finds a chair and begins to tune the guitar.
Jing offers a little instruction, “C pentatonic. No F. No B.”
Teasing Aaron, she says, “Try to keep up! It’s called ‘Spring on the Mountain.”
Jing starts to play. The attendant immediately recognizes the tune and adds his own percussion effects of tapping feet, gong, and drums. By the second repetition Aaron has got it down and plays along. Jing begins to sing. Her soprano is without vibrato and as clear as an east wind, a fitting match for such a Chinese beauty.
Listen to "Spring On The Mountain"
Springtime, new bamboo All of the earth becomes brand new Snow now feeds the stream Sun and the light beam
Jing helps Aaron along by announcing, “New part here.”
Mountains still asleep Under the snow that lays so deep When they know it’s spring All of the earth sings Springtime, new bamboo All of the earth becomes brand new Snow now feeds the stream Sun and the light beam
As the song ends they both break into laughter.
“That was fun!” admits Aaron.
“Not bad for a rocker!”
They both put their respective instruments back.
Jing turns to the booth attendant and says, “Xie xie.”
He smiles a toothless smile and bows. Aaron takes Jing’s hand and they begin to wander aimlessly.
Read the next section while listening to "Walking Music"
As they pass the Chinese Progressive Association booth, a voice calls to Jing, “Hello, Jing.”
“Ni hao Mrs. Wong.”
“You must know everyone around here!” comments Aaron.
“Some.”
Aaron spots the anti-war booth nearby.
“Come on, I have something to show you too!”
Aaron leads Jing by the hand to the “National Coordinating Committee to End the War in Vietnam” booth. He picks up a flyer for the next anti-war rally.
“Look who’s playing at the August 15th rally. The Aaron Thomas Band! These guys rock!”
“You’re playing? How cool!”
“Can you come?”
“Of course.”
“Should be a big crowd. And it will be right here in Chinatown.”
As they leave the anti-war booth, they pass by the Planned Parenthood booth. Aaron stops and picks up a brochure and begins to smile. With a mischievous look, he waves the brochure in the air.
“Hmm, what is this? What does IUD stand for?”
Jing laughs. Responding instantly, she searches the table and picks up a brochure on vasectomies.
She responds in kind, “Gee, what’s a vasectomy? And what are these big scissors for?”
Aaron feigns outrage and says, “Not funny.”
Jing counters playfully, “Ah, the male ego. Such a fragile thing.”
“It’s not easy being male,” he responds melodramatically.
They both laugh and begin to walk again among the booths.
“Try being Chinese and female.”
“Nothing is simple,” Aaron says in a more serious tone.
“You know, my parents would totally freak if they knew about you. And Americans are just as bad. Like that waitress at the coffee house.”
“No joke.”
Aaron begins to smile as he says, “But I think your mom already likes me!”
“Yeah. If you buy something.”
They both laugh.
Jing stops walking and turns to Aaron, “Are you hungry? How about some Chinese?”
“Definitely. I could even go for something to eat!”
Jing shoots him a look and then smiles, “I know a good place. Follow me.”
Jing leads Aaron by the hand to the Empress of China Restaurant booth, not far away.
“Hi Mrs. Lee.”
“Hello Jing,” Mrs. Lee responds, looking disapprovingly at Aaron.
Jing turns to Aaron and says, “Try the dim sum. The vegetarian is best.”
“Sounds good.”
Aaron begins to softly sing something from “For the Love of the Moon” again, but with a twist.
For the love of some food I would gladly fry
Jing smiles at his lame attempt at humor, then turns to Mrs. Lee and says, “Two vegetarian dim sum please.”
Mrs. Lee dishes up two plates while glaring at Aaron. Aaron pays Mrs. Lee and begins to walk away.
But before Jing leaves the counter, Mrs. Lee says in a low voice so Aaron won’t hear, “Who’s your friend? Do your parents know?”
“Thank you Mrs. Lee,” Jing responds in an exaggerated, patronizing voice.
Mrs. Lee continues, “He’s a white boy, isn’t he?”
Jing’s hackles are starting to rise.
She responds in a slow, forceful tone, “Yes he is. Is that a problem?”
Aaron hears Jing and comes back over to the counter, “Is everything alright?”
Jing answers Aaron, but makes sure that Mrs. Lee can hear as well, “Some people don’t think I should be with an American boy.”
“That’s alright. Let’s go.”
Jing’s temper is starting to flare, “It’s not alright! It’s like you’re not good enough!” She turns back to the counter and looks directly at Mrs. Lee, “Maybe this food isn’t good enough!”
Jing slams her plate down on the counter and glares at Mrs. Lee.
Aaron picks up Jing’s plate and says to her, “It’s okay. Let’s go.”
He looks at Mrs. Lee and says, “Sorry.”
They begin to walk away from the counter to a nearby secluded table.
“Are you okay?” asks Aaron.
Jing doesn’t respond as she continues fuming. They sit down shoulder to shoulder. Jing begins to relax a bit.
“You’re special to me. And it makes me crazy when people say stuff like that.”
“Do you know her?”
“A neighbor. It’s like they’re still in China.”
Aaron tries to lighten the conversation by saying, “So. How special am I?”
“Special enough to piss me off!”
They both laugh.
“What higher praise.”
They begin to eat.
A few moments pass before Aaron thoughtfully asks, “I was thinking about your poem the other night. Why such a personal piece?”
“The usual. Am I Chinese or American? A family that doesn’t really know me, except Ling-si.”
“And the last lines? Who has seen beyond your reflection?”
Jing looks long and hard at Aaron and says, “I think you know.”
Aaron leans over to kiss Jing. They seem to melt together, any concern about being discovered now gone. In the rapture of their first kiss, they are unable to hear a calling voice.
“Jing. Jing! Your parents would not be pleased.”
It is Yao, standing firmly in front of them with his hands on his hips. Jing and Aaron separate slowly. Jing is slightly startled upon seeing Yao.
Aaron stands up in a protective manner and says, “Who’s this?”
Yao repeats himself, “Jing!”
Jing looks torn and stands up slowly.
“I should go.”
“Why? Who is this guy?”
“Remember the landlord I told you about?”
Aaron’s temper is beginning to show, “So this is Yao.” He turns to face Yao directly and says, “This is none of your...”
Jing interrupts him, “It’s okay. You don’t understand.”
Aaron turns to Jing, “Please?”
Jing just shakes her head and says, “It’s a family thing. I have to go.”
“You on campus Monday?” asks Aaron.
Jing nods quickly as she turns to leave.
“Sproul Plaza! Noon!” Aaron calls.
Jing nods again. Yao turns to follow her and smirks slightly at Aaron as he goes.
Chapter 11- Cal Sproul Plaza on the University of California Berkeley campus has seen its share of unrest. Listen to "Intro Music"
From Mario Savio and the free speech movement to the recent protests against the continually skyrocketing cost of higher education, it has historically been the focal point for political protest. The upper plaza is framed by the iconic Sproul Hall, the student union, Sather Gate, and the student center. In 1997 the steps leading to Sproul Hall were renamed “Mario Savio Steps” in honor of the free speech movement’s leader.
It is here that Aaron and his bandmates set up for a short concert on this warm August day in 1970. Aaron is the president of the on campus SDS (Students for a Democratic Society) club. Instead of simply setting up a table in the plaza in hopes of recruiting new members for the club, a rock band is a far more effective tool. But there is something else that Aaron has planned. Something special. Paul and Scott drive the van stuffed with equipment while Aaron, Ramon, and David follow in Ramon’s aging Ford. With Aaron’s help, Paul backs the van through the lovely London Plane trees that line the plaza, being careful not to collide with any students or bicyclists. A five-piece band is no small assemblage to transport, and it takes two vehicles to get the job done. There are microphones, mic stands, cables, PA amps, mixers, speakers, monitors, headphones, guitars, keyboards, drum paraphernalia, music stands, and even a small portable stage. It takes a full hour for five men to simply put everything together. And then there is the de rigueur sound check. By noon the band is ready to perform. At the front of the low stage there is a small table with SDS club information and pamphlets. A banner draped from the stage proclaims, “Make a difference. Join Students for a Democratic Society.” From Bancroft Way my sister walks at a brisk pace, not wishing to be late. She breaks into a slow trot through the trees. As she emerges into the plaza, Aaron catches sight of her and moves quickly to greet her. They passionately embrace. Jing wears low-rise jeans and a Cal crop-top with sandals. Besides being an exquisite Chinese beauty, her raw sexuality is impossible to conceal in such an outfit. Sporting a J.S. Bach T-shirt and a Giants baseball cap with sunglasses, Aaron cuts a dashing figure himself.
“You are so beautiful,” Aaron exclaims, captivated by her charm. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“I have a lit class at 2, so no problem.”
“I was a little worried after the other night.”
“It’s kind of hard to explain,” my sister responds.
It is slightly after noon and Ramon is ready to start, as he calls to Aaron, “Hey, Señor Bach, let’s go.”
“Could you do me a favor?” Aaron asks Jing quickly.
“Sure.”
“Could you man the table here and pass out the SDS stuff while we play? It’s the best seat in the house. And then, I have a little surprise for you!” he smiles.
Jing smiles warily and asks, “A surprise? What kind of surprise?”
“I can’t say, it’s a secret!” Aaron says melodramatically. “But I think you’ll like it.”
Jing laughs and then moves towards the SDS table.
“Hi boys!” she calls to the band.
Jing’s provocative attire triggers an amusing series of responses.
“Looking good Jing!” says Scott.
“Hi Jing,” says David as he raises his sunglasses to get a better look.
“Híjole, que curvas, y yo sin frenos!” quips Paul.
“Es una lástima que no sabes manejar!” laughs Ramon.
Jing waves at them playfully.
“Let’s start with ‘Cross To Bear.’ Count it off Paul,” directs Aaron.
The band explodes with two huge E major staccato chords. There is more than enough wattage in the PA system to fill the entire upper Sproul Plaza. Everyone within earshot turns to see what the commotion is. People start to gather around. This beats a simple table and pamphlets. Aaron sings lead, Ramon does harmony.
Listen to "Cross To Bear"
I can’t believe what happened to me I feel it from head to toe I’m well aware I don’t have a prayer I should give up and let go Your expertise makes me weak in the knees I’m so at your command I can’t resist the thrill of your kiss I think my time is at hand
As the band sings the chorus, the crowd starts to dance, led, of course, by my sister, who has given up her post at the table.
I don’t care, it’s my cross to bear What’s left of my heart is on fire I can’t stop, when you are on top The object of all my desire
The song abruptly slips into a quiet, contemplative groove. The crowd stops dancing and looks questioningly at the band. Aaron looks right at Jing with a smile and recites some suggestive prose. It is cosmic 1970s art rock.
When we’re all alone In the combat zone With your eyes of fire And your siren choir When I hear them sing Such delight they bring But they want control Of my very soul
Two more crashing E major chords and the band is back in high gear, as well as the crowd.
Doctor please, about my disease That makes me feel this way Could it be the devil in me Then there’s going to be hell to pay I don’t care, it’s my cross to bear What’s left of my heart is on fire I can’t stop, when you are on top The object of all my desire
The small but enthusiastic crowd applauds. Jing screams in support and then puts her fingers in her mouth and whistles loudly. I didn’t even know she could do that!
“Thanks everyone. Don’t forget to check the table here for club information. We’ll take a few minutes before our next song,” Aaron announces to the crowd. Aaron comes down off the stage and over to Jing and says, “If you would wait right here, I have something for you.”
The entire band springs into action. At breakneck speed a few more items come forth from the back of the van. Aaron carries a folding card table, which he sets up quickly in front of the stage. Scott places a checkered tablecloth on top, along with plates and a large candle. David is quick to place a large umbrella over the table for some much needed shade. Paul and Ramon bring two small glasses, a picnic basket, and napkins. Aaron quickly unpacks the basket and sets a small package on Jing’s place setting. Any students with questions about the club are on their own. Besides, they are more interested in the unusual display taking place in front of them. With all the essential features in place, Aaron walks back to Jing and offers his hand to her.
“Why thank you kind sir!” she responds playfully.
He escorts her to the table and pulls out her chair. She sits. My sister is absolutely delighted.
I wish I could have witnessed this romantic event. An Italian lunch in the middle of Sproul Plaza! Jing certainly mentioned it enough!
The band, minus Aaron, is immediately back on stage. They slip into a soft, languid e minor guitar and keyboard jam by way of Pink Floyd. It is dreamy lunch music to be sure.
Listen to "Sproul Plaza Music"
Aaron sits down and pours the wine from a plastic bottle into the glasses. They may not look like wine glasses but everyone knows what’s in them.
“No alcohol on campus, so just to keep up appearances,” explains Aaron. “And now for your dining pleasure, we have eggplant parmigiana from Giovanni’s just down the street.”
“Molto bene, cameriere!” my sister teases.
“Italian too? You are amazing Jing Po.” Aaron points to the small package on her plate and says, “Go ahead and open it.”
“Oh, how sweet.”
Jing is smiling from head to toe. She removes the silver ribbon and gingerly opens the hinged box. It is a ring.
“Moonstone!”
“With a couple of diamonds for luck,” adds Aaron.
It is an elegant setting with a beautiful moonstone in the center, surrounded by two shining diamonds.
My sister immediately puts it on.
“It fits perfectly,” she says.
“Well, I did have a little help from Ling-si with the size.”
He certainly did. Jing throws her arms around his neck and gives him a long, passionate kiss.
“Thank you so much. Two gifts in just a few days. You know how to spoil a girl!”
Aaron is having trouble refocusing after such stimulating affection.
“Oh. I actually can say something in Chinese. Okay, here goes. Bú yòng xiè.”
“Not bad. You are so sweet.”
Aaron serves up the eggplant while the band supplies the mood music. The music has attracted a growing crowd, not to mention the unusual dining event. Despite the mass of people surrounding them, Jing and Aaron are completely spellbound with each other. They eat slowly while conversing.
“You did all this for me?” my sister asks in wonder.
“Of course. But I did have a little help from the boys.”
“They love you, don’t they? It’s wonderful to see.”
“They’re my family. My comrades.”
Aaron’s tone becomes more serious. He is hesitant to broach the subject.
“After what happened the other night, I wasn’t sure you’d come today. What was that all about with Yao?” asks Aaron.
“I’m getting the full-court press from Mom and Dad. Be more Chinese. Kiss up to Yao.”
My sister stops momentarily, looks intently at Aaron and says, “I can’t even begin to tell them about you.”
“What about what you want?”
“It’s my family. It’s like this crazy balancing act. And Yao knows that I’ll catch hell for seeing you.”
“Just as long as he stays away from you,” Aaron declares protectively.
“Remember what you said at the night fair?” Jing tenderly asks with a smile.
“Of course.”
“And how you have this feeling about us? Well, I do too. So don’t worry.”
Jing abruptly changes gears and says with concern, “But what about the draft? Have you decided what to do?”
The distress on Aaron’s face says it all. His indecision weighs like an anchor. In theory, the answer is simple: refuse to be part of an immoral war. When the consequences of such a decision are so severe, only those with sufficient ethical backbone will follow through. It is on this moral cusp that Aaron now stands.
“I can’t seem to bring myself to make a decision. I don’t know if I can do it. I’ve even thought about Canada.”
My sister takes Aaron’s hand in concern.
“Does that mean I’m weak?” he asks meekly.
Their private conversation is unceremoniously shattered by a young woman with a camera.
“Hi you guys, I’m from the Daily Californian. I’d like to do a piece on your unique membership drive approach,” she explains.
Jing and Aaron have difficulty leaving their conversation.
“Sure,” answers Aaron.
“Do you mind if I take some photos?” she asks.
“Of course not.”
The photographer surveys the band and the Italian lunch.
“I wish my boyfriend would do this for me!” she remarks.
“Mind if I start with you two?”
“Go ahead,” they answer in unison.
“Lean together a little. Good,” she says as she snaps a few photos.
“Thanks,” she says.
The photographer moves to the stage and snaps photos of the band at a swift rate. My sister and Aaron are anxious to get back to their conversation.
Jing asks, “Any idea how long we have?”
“Still no word.”
“I’ve been thinking. Let’s make the most of the time we have.”
Aaron nods, lifts up his glass and says, “To us.”
“To us,” my sister responds, as they toast to the future. With a demure smile she says, “And to that end, I have a little plan for Saturday.”
The band’s twenty-minute jam winds down. They begin to pack up all the musical gear and load the van.
“So what do you have in mind?” Aaron asks playfully.
“Ask me again on Saturday,” my sister teases.
Jing takes Aaron’s hand and says, “I can’t tell you how much all this means to me. The ring and our Italian lunch. Xie xie.”
“Oh! I know that one. That’s thank you, right?” Aaron looks at Jing intently, “How do you say ‘anything for you.’ in Chinese?”
Paul and Scott appear to be in pain as they haul their gear to the van. With hunched backs, they groan in feigned anguish as they labor under their loads. Jing and Aaron both notice and smile.
“Gee, not very subtle are they?” Aaron jokes. “I should help out.”
“Sorry, I’ve been keeping you all to myself.”
Aaron pitches in and the van is quickly loaded.
***
For the next few weeks before the August 15th rally my sister and Aaron were together almost constantly. She seemed to burn brighter with each passing day. Between her classes at Cal and my covering for her at the shop, she was rarely at home. There were the obligatory Chinese lessons with Yao, but her classes at Cal gave her carte blanche to come and go as she pleased, despite the parental pressure to help out at the shop. Every evening she would tiptoe to my room and faithfully report on her day with Aaron. His devotion to my sister was absolute. I have always marveled at how immediate and complete their connection was. The initial phase of getting to know each other was almost nonexistent. Despite their youth, they were truly old souls.
Chapter 12-Obsession It is an all too familiar scene. One that has been repeated in the recent weeks. John sits at the computer in an aging robe, looking completely disheveled. It is about 7AM. Hair a mess, bags below his eyes, the sleepless nights are starting to take their toll. Despite his growing preoccupation, results have been slow in coming. The faithful Akitas sit at his side, as if to offer moral support. He works feverishly as Sabrina approaches, his spirits bolstered by a recent discovery. She is dressed for work in a professional pantsuit and looks worried as she realizes that John has been up all night again. There is a fine line between obsession and a healthy curiosity, as any psychologist can tell you. But how do you know that line has been crossed? Sabrina weighs this in her mind, trying to determine a course of action.
Listen to "Aren't You Going To Work"
Aren’t you going to work? You were right about the Cal archives I found all kinds of stuff! Photos. Articles. So what about going to work? I have lots of sick days, don’t worry Of course I’m worried, it’s not right You’re missing work and up all night You’re obsessed with this need to know But you’re gonna have to let it go I don’t think so, check this There was an anti-war rally in Chinatown And guess who supplied the music! Let’s see. It says he was a Cal student That’s the connection Check the Cal student newspaper Good idea And there’s more It says he spent some time in jail He’s a criminal?
Chapter 13-Chinatown Rally
Listen to "Overdrive" as you read the next section.
Good afternoon everyone! I’m Chai Ling, Chair of the Chinese-American Coalition Against the War. Thanks for coming out. Only together can we make a difference in this world!”
The enthusiastic crowd cheers wildly. Portsmouth Square has been completely transformed to accommodate the August 15th anti-war rally. The night fair booths are gone and in their place is a sea of over 3,000 people with signs and banners. There is a palpable energy in the air. A large stage stands at the west end of the square where Aaron and the band are setting up. The gray sky and cool air doesn’t dampen the crowd’s spirits. The surrounding streets of Clay, Kearny, Washington, and Lum have all been closed off for the event. With far more people attending than anticipated, the rally attendees spill onto Washington and Clay streets. The majority of the crowd is young people, both Chinese and American. There is a strange mix of both hope and frustration in the air; hope for bringing an end to the war and frustration with a government so out of touch with the will of the people. There are signs carried by mothers and fathers decrying the needless sacrifice of their young sons. A large number of young men carry banners and placards saying “Hell no, we won’t go.” It is a heady fusion of powerful emotions.
Chai Ling continues, “Today we have the distinguished professor from MIT George Hoffman. But first, let’s start with some music. Performing their latest hit, ‘I Don’t Want to Know’, please welcome the Aaron Thomas Band! Aaron!”
I cover for Jing at the shop again, as she slips out without any parental notice. She works her way through the crowd towards the front of the stage as the boys get ready to perform. On stage they line up with Ramon front left, Aaron front center, and David front right, making a visually dynamic front line trio. With the microphones at the very edge of the stage, the crowd is literally at their feet. Paul and Scott are slightly behind David. Aaron wears a short waisted leather jacket, Ramon a long sleeve western style plaid shirt and usual headband, and David a black, tight, Nehru jacket. With a moderate sized Afro, he is the avatar of the “Black is Beautiful” movement. David and Ramon both wear sunglasses. This is a band with striking men and a serious sense of style. With over 3,000 people watching their every move, the band knows how to create their on stage persona. This high energy rocker starts with an infectious drum groove, followed by a powerful Ramon and Aaron double lead guitar riff. The band explodes into the first verse.
Listen to "I Don't Want To Know"
You got that look, that little smile And you pretend you don’t know And what it does, is drive me wild One look I’m ready to go You hit and run, you’re such a tease But I can’t let you go So if it’s true, that you don’t care Then I don’t want to know I don’t want to know
At this point in the song, Jing has reached the front of the stage. She is not in her usual Po shop attire, but in bell-bottoms, sandals, and despite the cool weather, a halter top. A Chinese flower child. She proudly displays Aaron’s lovely blue pendant. She, too, is conscious of how to create a striking image. Jing stands directly in front of Aaron, looking up in admiration. Aaron is instantly aware of her presence, her radiant beauty impossible to ignore. He sings with increased passion, as the band marvels at his wondrous transformation. Again, he appears to be singing to only one person. Jing moves gracefully to the powerful beat, her hands over her head.
That angel face that calls my name And you know that it’s true You let me think, I stand a chance But I know I’m a fool So go ahead, ’cause I don’t mind I’ll do what I have to do ’Cause it’s your love that makes me live So don’t say that we’re through I don’t want to know
The crowd erupts into frenzied applause. Jing screams in support. The band members come to the front of the stage and bow together. Jing waves. Aaron smiles back and walks to the microphone as the rest of the band leaves the stage.
“Thank you so much!”
Aaron raises both of his hands over his head in acknowledgement of the thunderous applause and quickly leaves the stage. Chai Ling rushes back to the microphone.
“Thank you Aaron! I have to have these guys play at my next Lantern Festival party! And now. The distinguished professor from MIT, George Hoffman! Professor Hoffman please!”
Chai Ling quickly leaves the stage as Hoffman slowly ascends the stairs. There is tremendous applause for the famous anti-war orator. He is the quintessential university professor, tweed coat, baggy pants, and glasses. Short, slightly overweight, and middle aged, he hardly appears to be a fiery orator. He steps up to the microphone and seems to be instantly transformed. He launches into his speech full force, his deep baritone delivering the message without a single misstep. A hush descends on the crowd in anticipation.
“Thank you very much. Today the United States is being polarized by the anguish of war. The staggering loss of life. Senseless destruction. A government defying the will of its people. What can a man do in the face of such reckless genocide? Who will speak for the suffering and homeless? Who will speak for the dead who were no more than innocent pawns in a desperate game? There can only be one answer. There will always be only one answer. You, my friends, are the answer. Only you can reclaim the soul of America. If you don’t change, then nothing will change! It is not enough to talk of justice. It is not enough to believe in freedom. You must be the vehicle for that change. Make no mistake, it is a dangerous path. Refusing to do the bidding of the warmongers means persecution and perhaps even worse. Yet, our path is clearly set before us. I speak as a citizen of the world as well as America when I say transform this world of misery and despair into a place of peace by first transforming yourself. Do not be corrupted by the dangerous arrogance of our imperialistic foreign policy. Do not fall victim to the dogs of war when you as peacemakers are denounced for lack of patriotism. The salvation of America from the wages of war is the culmination of true patriotism. America possesses the potential to effect staggering change for the better in this world. The abolition of hunger, disease, war, and hatred are clearly within our grasp. Yet we fall far short of that potential, content to follow the paths of greed and hate, removing anything in our course that might impede our insatiable lust for power. It is this failing that disturbs me most greatly. For the price we pay for this failure is not in dollars, but in human lives.”
At this point, the professor speaks more rapidly and with greater power in each subsequent sentence.
“For all our greatness, we are mired in mediocrity. For all our greatness, we squander our heritage of freedom and prosperity on the pursuit of self-gratification. So what can a man do in the face of such reckless power? What can he do in the face of persecution and hate? At every opportunity he must defy the will of the oppressor. Rise above this malaise. He must first transform himself and then transform the world!”
The applause is deafening and the mood electric, Hoffman’s inspiring words touching the hearts of everyone.
“Thank you so much!” he says as he leaves the stage, flashing the peace sign. The applause goes on for a full two or three minutes. Chai Ling returns to the microphone.
“Thank you so much Professor Hoffman for those inspirational words! Truly words to live by. Alright, time for some more music from the Aaron Thomas Band. Aaron, one more time!”
The band quickly takes the stage to more applause.
As the applause dies, Aaron steps to the mic and speaks thoughtfully, “I was recently requested to report for active duty in the military. And like Professor Hoffman said, ‘Defy the will of the oppressor’. I am here today to publicly announce my refusal to serve.”
Again, more applause. Jing is stunned and puts her hands to her face in concern and admiration. She knows what this means.
Aaron continues, “This was a hard decision for me. But as Frederick Douglass said, ‘If there is no struggle, there is no progress.’”
After a dramatic pause, he looks directly at Jing and continues in a more somber tone, “I’d like to dedicate this next song to the one who helped me be the change I want to see. Only she can see beyond my reflection. Only she can see my soul.”
Jing is speechless and near tears.
“It’s called, ‘Do What’s Right.’”
Aaron quickly counts off the intro to this message heavy rocker.
Listen to "Do What's Right"
If you want to save the planet Go right ahead Just remember Chevron and Wall Street Would rather see you dead Everybody knows, you reap what you sow So do what’s right instead I used to think that I was a fool to try to Stop the machine All it takes is you and me ‘Cause war is truly obscene If I don’t stand up and do what’s right If I go down without a fight There’s nobody left for me to blame If you want to stop war and madness Go right ahead Just remember Nixon and Wall Street would Rather see you dead Everybody knows, killing people blows So do what’s right instead I used to think that I really lived in the Land of the free But money buys whatever you want Including what you can’t see I finally noticed that I was the fool If you have money then you make the rules But there’s one thing they can’t buy And that’s you and me If you want to save the planet And put an end to war Just remember Arco and Wall Street Are big money’s whore Everybody knows, you reap what you sow
The inflammatory lyrics have the crowd screaming in angry appreciation. Jing is motionless at the front of the stage, still reeling from Aaron’s proclamation and the toll she knows it will exact. All five of the boys come to the front of the stage and bow, then quickly leave. Again, Chai Ling comes to the microphone.
“Thank you Aaron Thomas Band! Inspiring words and music. And thanks again to our illustrious speaker George Hoffman! That’s right, be that change! Peace!”
The crowd applauds again and then begins to disperse. The energy of “Do What’s Right” lingers in the air as the attendees sing the infectious hook as they leave, “Everybody knows, you reap what you sow.” That is the true measure of a great tune. The band hurriedly gathers around Aaron in admiration and concern. Jing waits a few minutes for the crowd to thin and then walks over to the stairs leading up to the stage.
“Dude, I am really proud of you,” says Ramon.
Aaron smiles weakly, a little stunned by what he has just declared.
“Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will,” quotes David, drawing on his ethnic studies.
“More Frederick Douglass?” asks Aaron with a smile.
David nods and says, “You’re doing the right thing.”
Scott says nothing but simply hugs Aaron in affection.
Paul says, “You know, me and Ramon know what it’s like to get your ass kicked around. Don’t you let them.”
Aaron nods. As the shock of what he’s declared wears off, he feebly says, “Thanks guys. I’m a little freaked out. I’m not sure I can do this. Lord have mercy.”
Ramon puts his arm on Aaron’s shoulder and says, “We’ll talk about this later. There’s someone you need to talk to right now.”
He points to Jing, waiting at the bottom of the stairs. The band begins to pack up their gear. Aaron motions for Jing to come on stage. She hurries up the stairs and immediately hugs Aaron.
“I can’t believe what I just heard!”
Jing kisses Aaron passionately as the band watches while they pack.
Ramon turns to Paul with a sly smile and asks, “Amor a primera vista, de veras?” Paul laughs and replies, “Clarísimo, güey!”
With her arms around Aaron’s waist, Jing continues, “You were amazing! Did you mean what you said?”
“I think so. You know, I didn’t even plan to say anything. But after Hoffman spoke, it just kind of came out.”
“I’m so proud of you.” Jing’s face becomes more clouded as she says, “You know it’s not going to be easy.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. I hope I’m doing the right thing. I’m seriously panicked about all this.”
“Remember what we said? About matters of conscience? You just said it yourself. Do what’s right.”
Aaron nods slowly. It is one thing to sing about it, but it is an entirely different matter to actually follow through. Aaron’s face reveals his inner struggle.
“I have faith in you,” my sister reassures Aaron.
For a moment they are silent as they consider the consequences of Aaron’s decision. Jing is the first to interrupt their reflective moment.
She takes Aaron’s hands, steps back and tenderly asks, “So what happens now?”
“Well, I’ll probably have a hearing and spend a couple of years in prison.”
“That’s not what I meant. What happens to you and me?”
Aaron thoughtfully responds, “It would be selfish of me to ask you to wait. So I would understand if you...”
Jing interrupts with a smile, “Don’t be stupid!”
“Who would do poetry for me?” Aaron asks with a smile.
“I always will.”
Aaron embraces Jing passionately. The band members smile to each other.
As they slowly separate, Jing asks, “Are you hungry?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s stop by the house for some Chinese.”
Aaron smiles and says, “Dying man’s last request.”
“And don’t worry. My parents are gone tonight.”
“Ling-si won’t be happy.”
“Leave Ling-si to me.”
“Let me get my stuff.”
“Sure, Mr. Rock Star!”
Chapter 14-The Rooftop Jing and Aaron arrive at the back entrance to the Po shop to avoid being seen by any neighbors with prying eyes. Aaron carries his guitar in a hard shell case. Quietly they enter the rear of the building, circumventing the shop and our cousin who is minding the store this late afternoon. Jing leads the way up the stairs to the family apartment.
“Hi Sis,” Jing says to me.
I am drying the dishes as I come from the kitchen to the living room.
Commenting on Jing’s fashionable outfit, I reply, “Oo, look at you girl! You look like your ready for...”
I stop abruptly, surprised as Aaron follows Jing through the door.
“Hi Ling-si,” says Aaron cheerfully.
“Hi Aaron,” I respond nervously.
Speaking softly so Aaron cannot hear, I take Jing gently by the arm and softly remind her, “What are you doing? Mom and Dad would freak if they knew he was here! Did anyone see you?”
Jing is not concerned and responds so even Aaron can hear, “We came in the back door.”
I continue in a hushed tone, “If anyone saw you, we know who they’d call. Your favorite obsessed tutor!”
“You worry too much.”
Jing turns to Aaron and says, “Have a seat, I’ll get something together.”
Aaron sits down on the sofa, unpacks his steel string acoustic guitar, and begins to tune up. Jing and I head back to the kitchen, me to the dishes and Jing to the refrigerator.
While rummaging through the refrigerator, she says to me, “Ask Mr. Rock Star here what happened at the rally today.”
“How did it go?”
“I decided not to serve.”
Jing chimes in with obvious pride, “In front of 3,000 people!”
“Really?” I ask in a concerned tone.
“I had to choose. Do what’s right.”
I now look at Aaron with a newfound respect, “You’re a brave man, Aaron Thomas.”
“Not really.”
A beaming Jing quietly tells me, “He is wonderful, isn’t he?”
“Jing, do you mind if I show you this new song?” Aaron asks.
“Of course not.”
“It kind of came to me after we talked the other night. No title yet.”
Listen to "Aaron's Mirror"
Who’s that in the mirror Is that really me No one knows the person That I’ve come to be Sometimes it just happens Life will make you choose Now I know, to let it go The life I just outgrew They can’t make me someone I refuse to be Glad to say, I’m just not that way
Aaron looks tenderly at Jing as he delivers the next few lines.
Only love will make you Be the change you want to see Now I see the answer right in front of me Just around the corner Through that open door There’s the key, calling me To what I’m looking for
Jing and I stand and listen, amazed at the power and imagery of Aaron’s song.
“Very nice. Maybe you should call it ‘Aaron’s Mirror,’” I suggest.
Jing is almost speechless, “Wonderful.”
With a smile I turn to Jing and say softly, “Are you guys in love or what?”
Jing can only nod, having forgotten entirely why she was in the kitchen.
I gently nudge Jing and say, “Food. Remember?”
Jing comes to her senses and picks up her two plates of chow mein and kung pao chicken.
“Follow me. I have to show you where I wrote ‘Shimmer.’”
Aaron quickly puts the guitar back in the case and follows her up the stairs to the roof. I watch them as they go, still drying my dishes. I was, perhaps, a bit jealous at the time. Maybe just a little. Their affection for each other was so all-consuming. Until that point in my life, I had never seen two people so intoxicated with each other. Of course I longed for such an amorous opportunity myself. There is an extensive view of the San Francisco skyline from the rooftop. The sun is almost down and the fogless sky is ablaze with color. The city lights are beginning to sparkle. There are a few old chairs scattered around, as well as an aging sofa and small table. Jing places the dishes on the table. They both sit on the sofa, admiring the view.
“What a great view. Summertime in San Francisco. I love this city.”
“This is my escape,” Jing confides.
“I only wish we could escape up here. And make everything else go away.”
“If only.”
Aaron puts his arm around Jing. It is truly a bittersweet moment. Their unrepressed joy is keenly juxtaposed with the pain they know must come from Aaron’s courageous decision. Still, their effusive spirits cannot be suppressed.
“You know, I didn’t tell you, but I wrote a song for you.”
“For me?”
Jing is touched.
“Right after I met you at the coffee house. Would you like to hear it?”
“I’d love to.”
Aaron quickly unpacks his guitar again.
“It’s called ‘All My Life’,” says Aaron.
It is a short, plaintive ballad in A major; simple and direct with a graceful meter of six.
Listen to "All My Life"
I’ve been waiting all my life Waiting for something to happen Someone to make it right I’m overdue for someone like you But love doesn’t know my name I’ve been waiting all my life Something has finally happened It might just be tonight It has to be tonight
Again, Jing is speechless. Aaron leans over to kiss Jing but her long hair tangles on the tuning pegs. They laugh as they try to extricate her. Once free, Jing takes the guitar from Aaron and puts it aside. She takes her hand and firmly presses on Aaron’s chest, forcing him down on his back against the arm of the sofa.
“Maybe it is tonight,” she says tenderly.
It is Aaron, this time, who is speechless. Jing quickly straddles Aaron and removes her halter top with a swift pull. She smiles seductively and bends over to kiss him, her long black hair spilling all around Aaron’s face. As passion overtakes them and more articles of clothing fall to the ground, the world around them disappears like the afternoon San Francisco fog.
Jing reassures an astonished Aaron, “It’s okay.”
Meanwhile downstairs, I’m finishing up the dishes. There is an unexpected and insistent knocking at the door. I go to the door but do not open it.
“Yes, who is it?”
“It’s Yao! Open the door please,” he demands in a forceful voice.
I am in an instant panic. My mind racing.
“Uh, just a moment please. Let me get something on. Wait a minute,” I say, trying to keep my composure.
I immediately sprint up the stairs to the roof, fling open the door, rush to the sofa and stop short. Jing and Aaron are locked together in their own world of rapture and don’t even notice.
I stammer for a moment and then turn away slightly, trying to avert my eyes, “You guys.”
No response.
“You guys!” I shout.
Finally some reaction.
I deliver my message at full volume and at top speed, “Yao’s at the door! I’m not joking! I’ll try to stall him. I suggest you get dressed!”
Jing and Aaron are instantly on their feet, searching for lost pieces of clothing.
“Not good. This guy is relentless!” says Jing in a panic.
Yao’s pounding can be heard all the way on the roof. I run back down the stairs.
“Open the door!” Yao demands, his temper flaring.
“Just a minute!” I reply, desperately trying to remain calm.
I stand at the door waiting for Jing to come down. Time slows to a crawl. Still no Jing.
“Open it now!” orders Yao.
Jing and Aaron search for their clothing frantically in the darkness of the early evening. Aaron is first to finish dressing.
“You better go. Over there,” Jing points to the fire escape.
Aaron rushes to her side for a desperate last kiss, grabs his guitar, and says, “They’ll be another time.”
He disappears down the fire escape. Jing finishes quickly and rushes downstairs.
Upon reaching me she says softly, “Don’t open it.”
“He sounds seriously miffed,” I say, becoming alarmed.
The pounding abruptly stops and is replaced by a metallic scrabbling sound. The latch turns and Yao charges through the door.
“Where is he?” roars Yao.
“Master Yao. Please, you should not be here,” I say, cringing.
In a fury, Jing screams, “Get the hell out of my house! You can’t come barging in...”
But before Jing can finish, Yao charges up the stairs like a bull, ignoring all that we’ve said. We follow. He bursts through the rooftop door only to find the scene empty. He stops abruptly and walks calmly to the table, noticing the two plates of untouched food.
“Entertaining someone tonight Jing? Looks like he left in a hurry,” Yao says with disdain.
“You can’t just let yourself in here. This is bullshit! I’m calling the cops!” Jing says, her words dripping with venom.
Jing turns to head downstairs but Yao intercepts her, takes her by the arm forcefully and says, “Then perhaps I should inform your parents of your little get together tonight.”
Jing freezes. Yao now realizes the leverage he has over Jing with this new information. He releases Jing and confidently walks to the sofa and sits down. Jing and I look at each other, wondering where Yao is going with this.
Yao smugly continues, “And your American friend. Yes, I know about your anti-war musician friend. Aaron is his name? But before you do anything rash, let me make a suggestion. I would do what your parents say, if you want to keep the shop. Understand? Ji zhu ni zi ji shi shei. And remember, you are Chinese, not American. Ni ming bai le ma?”
Jing and I are unable to respond. I can see that my sister is seething and can hardly restrain herself.
“Good. I think I know the way out. Good night ladies.”
Yao stands up abruptly and confidently walks to the stairs.
“Wan shang hao.”
Chapter 15-A More Permanent Arrangement The next day the shop opens at 9AM, with Jing still in her room and me downstairs opening the folding security gate, prepping the cash register, and sweeping the floor. Mom and Dad are in the upstairs apartment living room, Dad with his ever-present newspaper and Mom dabbling in the kitchen. Without my parents there to object, I have the radio set to KFRC, the local San Francisco rock station. I sweep to the rhythm of “Road House Blues” by the Doors. Shortly after 9, Yao walks through the door in unusually good humor, no doubt from the events of the previous evening.
“Ni hao Ling-si, how’s business?” says an ebullient Yao.
I, on the other hand, am now rightfully wary of him after last night’s display of anger and his threats toward Jing.
I respond curtly, not looking up, “Ni hao.”
“Are your parents upstairs?” he asks.
I simply wave my hand at the staircase and go about my business. Yao is unfazed by the lack of usual feigned respect as he continues up the stairs. Yao knocks and Mom answers. She is obviously not expecting Yao.
“Ni hao Master Yao. What a pleasant surprise. Please come in.”
Dad stands quickly and puts down his paper when he realizes that it is Yao.
My mother continues, “Tea?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Mom heads to the kitchen for the tea.
Dad greets Yao with a bow, “Ni hao.”
“Fine. How’s business?”
“Still about the same, sad to say. Please, sit down.”
He motions towards the sofa. They both sit. Mom listens intently from the kitchen. My parents are nervous, a visit from Yao almost always has to do with money.
“Jing is coming along nicely with her studies,” says Yao.
“Yes, twice a week is much better,” my mother calls from the kitchen.
Dad nods. Yao takes a moment to thoughtfully pause before delivering his proposition.
“I have a suggestion, tell me what you think. As you know, I’m fond of Jing and I was hoping that my roll as a tutor might be something more.”
It takes a moment or two for both Mom and Dad to truly realize what Yao is suggesting. Mom deposits the tea tray on the coffee table and sits in a chair opposite the men. She pours the tea.
Not entirely sure what he is proposing, my mother asks, “A marriage?”
Yao nods. My mom’s face lights up as she realizes the benefits of such an arrangement. Dad does not seem convinced.
“Arrange a marriage!” she exclaims.
Yao laughs slightly as he adds further incentive, “My bank account could really help your shop!”
A concerned Dad says, “You think Jing would do this? I’m not sure.” He turns to Yao and says, “She’s just like her mother, stubborn and proud.”
Mom looks indignant.
My Dad continues, making sure that Mom can hear, “They don’t do this. Not in the U.S.”
“I think that Jing is far more willing now,” adds Yao.
Yao is playing his cards skillfully. He now adds the final, masterful touch.
“Let me offer something else, so you don’t have to struggle like all those years before. If Jing will consent to this and see it through, I will give the Po family the store and apartment.
Mom and Dad are stunned. They look at each other in disbelief.
Mom is the first to speak, “How very generous Master Yao.”
Yao now smoothly adds his denouement, “As a token of my gratitude, as well as an opportunity to solve your financial problems.”
“We are truly honored by your kind offer,” adds Dad, obviously perplexed.
“We will speak to Jing,” says Mom.
Yao stands up abruptly and says, “Very good. Thank you for the tea.”
His task complete, he moves towards the door.
Dad and Mom follow quickly, bow, and say “Zai jian.”
They close the door and look at each other in amazement. Yao continues down the stairs to the shop. I am busy at the counter.
“Say hello to Jing,” Yao calls to me.
I look up but say nothing.
“And tell her not to forget.”
Yao pauses to make sure I comprehend his veiled threat.
He continues, “About the guzheng.”
Yao briskly walks out the door. Mom and Dad continue to debate the issue in the living room. Dad is reluctant to accept Yao’s proposal, but after decades of acquiescing to Mom, he is unsure.
“Are you sure? That this is right for Jing?” he asks.
“What’s right for Jing?” she retorts with a touch of sarcasm. She has seized on the idea and won’t be swayed.
“Really? Would you rather lose everything?”
“Things aren’t all that bleak. It’s not the worst we’ve had.”
Mom continues the assault, “We can’t go on much longer, our stock is almost gone!”
She walks over to Dad and dramatically throws her hands up in the air, “Without Yao, we lose it all!”
“So we’re hard pressed,” he says, still not convinced.
“Trust me, I know what’s best for this family,” my mother counters.
“Things will improve with time.”
“Are you willing to take that chance?”
My dad speaks more forcefully now, “Yes! For Jing’s sake!”
“It’s a fool’s gamble.”
Dad becomes more reflective and sits back down on the sofa. He knows that Yao’s offer is almost blackmail.
Oblivious to Dad’s concern, she responds, “She’ll be fine with Yao.”
“She will not be happy about this.”
“I wasn’t happy with you either. At first.”
“What would you do? If it were you in her place?”
Mom dismisses the question with a wave of her hand and says, “This will all work out.”
“I hope,” my father says in a distressed voice.
Mom calls to Jing, “Jing! Jing come down here please!”
Puzzled by Yao’s unusual visit and behavior, I head up the stairs. Jing emerges from her room at the same time I arrive.
“What was that all about?” I ask.
No one responds. Instead, Mom talks animatedly to Jing.
“Yao was just here. You won’t believe what he just said!”
Jing and I stand next to each other, apprehensive about what is to come.
“Yao will give us the building! Can you believe it?”
Jing and I look at each other, nonplussed.
Jing is immediately suspect and says, “If what?”
“He wants to marry you. That’s all there is to it!”
“What?” exclaims Jing, in shock.
“I think you two will make a real fine match.”
“Are you joking?” I say, defending my sister.
Jing immediately grasps the situation and is instantly incensed.
“So sell me off and keep the shop. Is that it? You don’t give a shit about me, you only care about yourselves!”
Mom raises her hand to calm Jing.
She is about to speak but I interrupt, “Yao’s not for her!”
“Who would you prefer?” snaps Mom.
“Anything is better than Yao!” I protest.
“Without him we don’t stand a chance,” she continues, doing damage control.
I put my arms on Jing’s shoulders protectively and say, “You can’t be serious.”
“This is the only way. I still know what’s best for this family.”
Mom knows Jing’s weak points: family and honor.
“Please don’t make me do this,” Jing says softly, clearly torn.
“Don’t sacrifice your daughter to someone like Yao,” I advise.
Mom looks squarely at Jing, “As long as you’re my daughter, I’ll say what you do.”
“No, I can’t believe that,” Jing says, her resistance fading.
“You’re only doing what is best for you, not for Jing,” I protest.
Jing bursts into tears and runs down the hall to her room, as I follow closely. She throws herself on the bed, face down. I shut the door, sit down on the bed, and softly stroke Jing’s long hair.
“I’m so sorry.”
Softly crying, she can barely respond, “I can’t believe they would do this to me.”
“I’ll talk to Dad, maybe he can figure something out.”
“Maybe. But what about the shop?”
“Is it your fault the shop is in trouble? You’re just an easy way out.”
Jing can’t respond.
“You have a life too. And what about Aaron?”
She can only cry. It all makes perfect sense to my mother. This kind of thing was commonplace in China in the early 20th century. But here in the U.S., it is rare. Like a dog with a bone, my mother has seized upon the idea and is determined to run with it. She and Jing share that same stubborn streak, more than my sister would like to admit. As her tears subside, Jing slowly stands up and goes to the window, staring pensively at the San Francisco skyline.
Listen to "Jing's Mirror"
Who’s that in the mirror Is that really me? No one knows the person That I’ve come to be Always disappointed They’re never satisfied On my own, all alone I’m late for the sky They can’t make me someone I don’t wanna be Not that guy I would rather die Always what they wanted Never what I need Love is still the answer If we were only free Just around the corner Through that open door There’s the key Calling me To what I’m looking for
Jing falls down on her bed in despair. Down the hall in the living room Mr. and Mrs. Po are having their own discussion.
Listen to "Are You Sure?
Are you sure that this is right for her? What’s right for Jing? Really? Would you rather lose everything? It’s not that bad It’s not the worst we’ve had We can’t go for long Our stock is almost gone Without Yao, we lose it all! So we’re hard-pressed Trust me I know what’s best How we’ll survive And keep this shop alive We may be past our prime Things will improve with time Will you take that chance? Yes, for Jing’s sake It’s a fool’s gamble Did you see all the pain in her face? She’ll be fine with Yao I can feel all the pain in her face I wasn’t happy with you either. At first. What would you do If it were you in her place? This will all work out I hope
Chapter 16-Farewell Two days later at Portsmouth Square a visibly distressed Aaron Thomas waits impatiently by the Goddess of Democracy statue. Jing is late. Aaron catches a glimpse of her at the north end of the square, rushing through the tai chi groups and old men playing mahjong. She is out of breath and clearly troubled. They embrace without even saying a word. Aaron tenderly holds her close, trying to calm her. Jing buries her head on Aaron’s chest, hoping to make everything else simply vanish. Aaron closes his eyes and kisses the top of her head. The attraction that consumes them is truly irresistible, as if they were at the mercy of some divine influence.
In retrospect, I suppose I didn’t really understand their relationship. Again, I have to admit being slightly jealous, wanting to have a romance of my own that was so all-consuming and perfect. Only now can I see how well-suited for each other they were. Despite their cultural differences, they shared a passion for art and music, a keen sense of social justice, and perhaps most of all, a wonderful capacity for love. I now truly believe that their kind of culturally blind love can heal this divided world. I can see now that cultural diversity is a strength, not a weakness; and dividing this world into isolated factions of race and ideology only leads to hate and intolerance. I only wish I might have realized all this at the time. Things might have been different. Aaron is the first to break the silence and speak.
“I got your message. I came as fast as I could.”
Aaron starts to slowly separate from Jing. She resists and clutches him tightly.
“Hold me. Just a little longer.”
They are transfixed, aware of nothing but themselves. Jing finally speaks, regaining her composure as they slowly separate.
“You won’t believe what happened.”
“I’ve got news too.”
“I’m supposed to marry Yao!”
“Yao? I hope you refused!”
“I won’t throw my life away just for them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yao will give Mom and Dad the building if I marry him.”
“No way! That’s extortion! And your mom and dad are buying this?”
“Totally. Well, maybe not Dad, but Mom thinks it’s the only way to save the shop.”
“I can’t believe it. They’re using you!”
After the initial shock, Aaron settles down and speaks more calmly.
“It’s your life. You have to be free.”
Aaron hesitates momentarily, afraid of being too bold, “And besides, you and I belong together.”
Jing smiles up at Aaron, “Yes, we do.”
Aaron smiles in relief.
“Still, I feel terrible. Mom is such a guilt master.”
“What if you just refuse?” Aaron says softly.
“Chinese families are different. There’s this family honor thing that’s hard to explain,” my sister says.
“But the guilt thing is just a scam to get what she wants!”
“I know.”
Jing shakes off her dark concern and says, “You’ve got news?”
Aaron summons up his courage, his face now clouded with worry.
“I have to turn myself in tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Jing exclaims.
“At noon.”
“No. Not so soon. Not after all that’s happened,” Jing laments.
To be separated so soon after falling in love is indeed a cruel fate. My sister knows what Aaron must do, but hates the prospect of a life without him. Even for a few years. The emotions and circumstances at play here complicate the issue. Clearly, prison is preferable to possible death in combat. And surely the ethical thing to do. Either way, Aaron would be away for an extended period of time. There was one alternative, neither had spoken of, but both had considered. Go underground. Go to Canada. They could be together now. No waiting. It was a seductive notion, but one they both dismissed. It was simply too great a price to pay. And against their moral fiber. Although, with Jing in his arms, Aaron was capable of almost anything.
“We still have today,” Jing says, trying in vain to smile.
“I don’t know where they will put me. But if it’s close, can you visit?”
“Of course.”
Aaron and Jing sit down on the bench next to the statue. Aaron takes Jing’s hands. His apprehension is now turning to dread at the prospect of losing his freedom so soon. He finds it difficult to speak.
“Did I do the right thing? I have to admit, I’m pretty scared.”
Jing puts her hands on his shoulders and looks directly at him and says with authority, “Yes, you did. It’s war, remember? And an immoral one at that. You could be killed. Or spend a lifetime trying to forget what you did there.”
“Some people say I’m a traitor. And a coward. That hurts.”
“Don’t you remember what Hoffman said? Peacemakers have always been denounced. You are far more a patriot than any of those rednecks.”
My sister leans forward and puts her forehead on Aaron’s. They close their eyes and are silent.
“Don’t forget me while I’m away,” he says tenderly.
Jing can sense his apprehension. She knows he needs some reassurance.
“Don’t worry. It will be okay.”
“But two years?”
The prospect of losing Jing haunts him, as well as the fear of the unknown.
“We can do it, you’ll see.”
“Just tell me not to worry.”
“What can happen?”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
Aaron softly sings a line from “All My Life.”
I’ve waited all of my life For someone to make it right
They embrace as the world around them disappears again. It is almost enough to make Aaron forget tomorrow’s deadline.
Jing softly whispers, “I love you so.”
Chapter 17-Breakthrough The new San Francisco Public Library opened in 1996, complete with over 300 computers, laptop stations, and a fabulous collection of historical documents. It is here that John and Sabrina are both working feverishly at two separate computers. For all of Sabrina’s initial doubt about John’s quest, she has now become a willing participant in his search. In fact, it was Sabrina who suggested researching the library’s vast historical holdings. The library is a beautifully designed space as well as having state of the art technology. Both of them are scouring the countless historical documents, including newspapers, magazines, and audio recordings, that might shed any light on John’s quest. With the modern computer search engines, it doesn’t take long to unearth some salient information. They are surrounded by studying students and engrossed readers. John and Sabrina have been working less than an hour when the quiet of the library is abruptly shattered.
“Sabrina! I found it!” John exclaims.
The nearby readers glare.
“Shhh!” one reader chides.
“Sorry,” he sheepishly responds.
John can hardly contain himself. It is the clue he has been so desperately searching to find. He enthusiastically motions for Sabrina to come over to his computer station.
“What is it?” she whispers.
“Check this out!” he softly says, pointing to the computer screen.
As the conversation progresses, John’s voice again rises in an eager crescendo.
“Aaron Thomas spent time in jail alright.”
He pauses dramatically before delivering the coup de grace.
“For refusing to go to Vietnam! He’s not a criminal, he’s a hero! I knew it!”
John has now gotten the attention of almost everyone around him.
A nearby student is quick to chastise him, “Hey!”
Someone else joins in, “Please. Keep it down.”
Sabrina pats John on the shoulder and says, “Easy big fella.”
She knows exactly where to go with this new information. She speaks in a low, but animated voice.
“That’s the connection! Vietnam and Berkeley! And I know exactly where to look!”
They both rush back to Sabrina’s computer. John anxiously watches over her shoulder. She quickly brings up the Cal student newspaper archives.
“What anti-war groups did they have back then?” Sabrina asks.
“Try SDS.”
“What’s that?”
“Students for a Democratic Society.”
Sabrina swiftly scrolls through the archive pages, the images and articles flying by.
“There!” Sabrina cries.
After months of fruitless foraging through countless dead ends, the exhilaration of triumph overwhelms John. He puts his hands to his head and nearly springs from his chair. In an aging 1970 archive photo, Jing and Aaron sit next to each other at a table in the middle of Sproul Plaza, their youthful images preserved from the ravages of time. John and Sabrina stare at the image in amazement.
“Holy shit!” he cries out in full voice.
Sabrina immediately sits him back down in the chair and gently puts her fingers over his mouth.
“Dude, this is a library!” someone says.
Sabrina turns to the offended party and says, “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”
Looking at John, she reminds him, “Will it?”
John smiles and shakes his head.
“I can’t believe it. There they are,” he whispers with a touch of awe.
“And we finally have a name. Jing Po.”
John is already contemplating the next move.
“Let’s check Chinatown for Po families.”
Sabrina agrees, “Right.”
A deft keystroke or two and the white pages for Chinatown appear. Sabrina quickly scrolls down to the name of Po. She abruptly stops.
“Oh dear. There must be nearly 100.”
They are both slightly crestfallen.
Undeterred, John says, “Someone in Chinatown must know about this.”
Chapter 18-Change of Plans I remember something called the “cascade effect” from my chemistry class years ago, where something unforeseen triggers an unexpected chain of events. That is exactly what happened on October 12, 1970. Even though it was years ago, I remember it with painful clarity. At the time, I had absolutely no idea what was about to transpire. I don’t think anyone did. I wish I had been more aware, but in my defense, I was young and naive. It was on that pivotal October day at the Chinatown Public Health Center on Mason Street where my life and Jing’s changed forever.
The center is an easy seven block walk from the shop. We start out just before 9AM on a cold, blustery day, having told our parents of our intention to go to the Chinatown branch library on Powell. We walk west on Clay past Gordon Lau Elementary where we both went to school. Jing is remarkably restrained this morning.
“Remember this place?” she asks pensively.
I just nod. Jing never told me the true reason for her clinic visit, only that she was feeling poorly and didn’t want to tell Mom or Dad. After what I witnessed on the roof, I did speculate on a possible alternative reason for her visit, but I never seriously entertained the idea. We stop and peer through the chain link fence at the children playing. Her face has a distant, wistful quality.
“It seems like the other day,” she reflects.
“Remember those miserable song flutes in fourth grade?” I say, trying to bolster her spirits.
Neither of us laugh. Jing slowly tears herself away and we head north on Powell. My sister sets a leisurely pace as we window shop and stop for a quick green tea. Carrying our newly acquired tea, we cross to the west side of Powell. We pass the library and cross Jackson Street. Jing suddenly stops and looks at me.
“Let’s sit here for a while. And thanks for coming with me. I love my big sister,” she says.
We enter the delightful Woh Hei Yuen park. In retrospect, I can see Jing was avoiding what she already knew to be true. This was a short-lived moment of tranquility before the storm. Still, I’m glad I was there to help. The park was filled with mothers with their toddlers and elderly men with their newspapers, the beautifully trellised wisteria blooming in profusion. In Chinese, Woh Hei Yuen means “Garden of Peace and Joy.” I am struck by the irony of the situation, my melancholic sister sipping tea in this lovely place. Hardly peace and joy. With our green tea gone, we walk north to Pacific and turn left, then right on Mason. As we approach the building, Jing seems to be walking more slowly. We stop just short of the entry, Jing nervously surveying the clinic. Summoning her courage, she walks briskly through the doors and stands in line to sign in. I put my arm through hers as we wait. With the sign in complete, we sit quietly in the waiting room. No one is speaking English. I squeeze her hand as the nurse calls her name and she disappears through the door. After about an hour, Jing returns to the waiting room, bolts past me without a word and charges out of the Health Center doors in an utter panic. I am a few yards behind her. Her long hair flying, she runs a few steps, abruptly stops, and sits down on the concrete sidewalk, her back against the center’s planter wall. The long-leaved clivias spill over her shoulders. Jing draws up her legs, puts her arms around her knees tightly, and begins to rock slightly. When I arrive, she is curled up securely in a fetal position and crying. I quickly sit down and hold her tightly in my arms. She is trembling. We don’t even speak as she rests her head on my shoulder. A full five minutes goes by before she can converse.
Listen to "Clinic"
I can’t believe this Tell me what just happened there You don’t want to know I’m glad you’re with me You’re the only one who cares After all were both Po’s Two more years Now this and while Aaron’s not here Now it’s not just me But this is not how it’s supposed to be I know this wasn’t exactly the plan But things will work out Somehow Work out? Everything will hit the fan when they find out Family dishonor. Yao and the shop I can just hear it now And Aaron! My God Listen to your big sister We will get through this together You and me. Understand? No need to panic Remember that you still have me I love you so This won’t be easy You’ll start to show eventually They’ll freak when they know You’re gonna be okay No one needs to know right away I hope I know what to do What’s best for the baby and you At least I have Aaron and you I’ll be here to see this through I hope I know what to do What’s best for the baby and you Aaron needs to be here too
Jing resumes her fetal position and begins to cry softly again.
“I can’t do this without Aaron. I need him here.”
Chapter 19-Two Kinds Of Prison Just north of scenic Santa Barbara on the central California coast lies the town of Lompoc. Before being converted to a higher security facility recently, the Federal Prison Camp there used to be referred to as “Club Fed.” It previously housed the likes of Ivan Boesky, the infamous inside trader, as well as H.R. Haldeman of the Watergate debacle. The Eucalyptus-lined compound had no walls, only signs politely asking the inmates to not venture any farther. Guards were unarmed and wore no uniforms. Inmates could wear shorts and T-shirts. Or play tennis and jog. It is more like a community college campus than a federal prison. Aaron is lucky enough to be incarcerated there. Still, it is a serious distance from San Francisco and makes it difficult for Jing to visit, especially with classes at Cal and her obligations at the shop. And regardless of the amenities, you still are locked in a cell every night and visitation is limited.
Although Lompoc is a minimum security facility, it still has all the components of any prison. The single inmate cells are cramped with a small cot, sink, and toilet. Privacy is nonexistent. Group showers. Cafeteria meals in the commissary. Even these white-collar offenders organized themselves into social groups, often based on their respective crimes. The Wall Street thieves, embezzlers, and money laundering criminals all seemed to gravitate towards each other. Aaron is cordial enough, but he keeps to himself whenever possible. There are the longstanding card games. And always for money. The television is continually blaring. Some are more inclined to athletic endeavors. Lawn bowling, tennis, and jogging. There is even a communal garden. The obligatory work details are infrequent and consisted of simple facility and grounds maintenance. Meals in the commissary forces Aaron to deal more directly with his fellow inmates. While most inmates have a core group, Aaron moves from faction to faction. I suppose with only a two year sentence, Aaron feels no need to engage his fellow inmates socially. I suspect that he considers himself of different extraction. While he is incarcerated for taking a moral stand, the others are jailed for breaking the law for personal gain, hardly the people Aaron would want to fraternize with.
In the two months since his incarceration began, Aaron has only received letters from Jing, no phone calls. The limited phone access at the prison and our meddling mother makes any phone conversation almost impossible. The letters arrive every three to four days. The subject matter changes little over the first few months: her classes at Cal, the pain of being separated, her resolve to refuse Yao’s marriage offer, and some occasional poetry. And, of course, her undying love for Aaron. Over the weeks, however, the tone changes slightly. No doubt Jing is feeling the pressure of our mother’s constant badgering. Family and sacrifice are her favorite guilt-laden themes. Even before our eventful trip to the clinic, I am certain Jing was aware of her condition, which only added to her anxiety. Already distressed about the possibility of being forgotten, the inconstant tone of the letters puts Aaron on edge to an even greater degree. At the prison, the days creep by at a lugubrious pace. With plenty of time on his hands, Aaron keeps busy; new song lyrics and poetry. They are, as you might expect, mostly about Jing. He is allowed pencil and paper but hungers for a guitar. Even a little one would do, just for pitch reference. It would make the time go by so much faster. The tree lined perimeter of the compound is Aaron’s favorite setting for writing. While it is impossible to be entirely alone, this is about as close as it gets. A tall African-American guard casually walks up to Aaron as he works.
“Hey Nick,” says Aaron.
Nick and Aaron have developed a friendship over the last few months. In such an unrestricted situation, there is little a guard really has to do. Most inmates are white-collar criminals and not violent or dangerous. Nick could be categorized as more of a therapist than a guard.
“What are you working on today maestro?” Nick asks politely.
There is a fatherly concern in his voice.
“Remember that anthem I’ve been working on?”
“Sure do.”
“Well, I think I finally have it. You know, they say less is more sometimes, so I’m trying to keep it simple and direct.”
Nick leans over to inspect the pad of paper. He reads the lyrics.
War’s not the answer Love is the key Hell no, we won’t go Fuck authority
“Well, you’re right about it being direct.”
Aaron lets his imagination go and says, “Imagine getting 50,000 people at a rally to sing this at the top of their lungs!”
Nick is impressed with Aaron’s anti-war fervor.
“You’re really serious about this stuff, aren’t you?”
“This war is completely wrong. I’ve lost a couple of friends to this madness.”
Aaron turns to Nick with an earnest look on his face, “How do you feel about the war?” “I’m just a simple guard son, I don’t really know much about it.”
“You know what they say, be the change you want to see.”
Nick smiles knowingly and says, “And that’s how you got your lame ass put in the big house!”
They both laugh. Nick abruptly stops laughing.
“Oh, I almost forgot.”
He motions for Aaron to follow and takes off at a brisk clip. Aaron quickly gathers his papers and follows. Nick heads across the lawn to the commissary and goes to a small locker.
“Here’s a little something I got for you.”
He quickly pulls out a ¾ size acoustic nylon string guitar and hands it to Aaron.
“It was my son’s, but he hasn’t touched it in years. I think it’s a student model.”
Aaron is ecstatic. He sits down and immediately starts to tune it up.
“I can’t thank you enough. This really means a lot to me.”
“Sure kid.”
Nick starts to laugh a little, “Well, just don’t keep everybody up!”
Nick is amused at Aaron’s enthusiasm for such a cheap guitar. Now tuned up, Aaron starts to play a blues tune, hoping to get a response from Nick. He launches into Robert Johnson’s “Crossroads” by way of Eric Clapton. Among guitarists, the Clapton live solo at the Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco is legendary. And Aaron does a pretty good job of it.
Listen to "Crossroads"
“Not bad for a white boy!” Nick laughs.
As the song ends, Aaron puts the guitar down as a shadow of concern comes across his face.
“You alright son?”
Aaron is reluctant to say anything. Talking about it only makes it worse. Jing’s letters are nice, but he needs to hear her voice. His fear of being forgotten is always with him. Even at a facility as benign as this, the overwhelming sense of isolation and loneliness takes its toll.
“Let me guess, there’s a girl.”
“I need to see her.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned here, it’s that life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it.”
Aaron sighs in frustration, “I just need to be out of here.”
Nick is quick to counter, “You chose to be here son.”
“I know. When I’m out of here, things will be fine.”
Nick pats him on the back and says, “There you go.”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all that you’ve done for me,” says a grateful Aaron. “You’ve made this place bearable.”
“Just doing my job,” replies a smiling Nick.
He picks up the guitar and hands it back to Aaron.
“Now get busy.”
***
Back in Chinatown, Jing and I are returning from the health center. Mom is at the register and a few customers are in the shop. Jing unsuccessfully tries to pull herself together as we walk through the door. I run interference for Jing so Mom doesn’t see her face and start asking questions. Mom says hello without looking up from the register. I hurry Jing up the stairs and past Dad with his newspaper in his face. No problem getting by Dad. I steer Jing to her room and deposit her on the bed. She curls up and clutches her pillow like a fullback afraid of fumbling the ball. I can see she is on the verge of tears again. I can almost feel her pain. I again desperately try to find something to say, something to ease her misery. What does Jing do when she is feeling poorly, I ask myself. Not too tough to figure that one out, as an idea strikes me. Better not to say anything, just do it. I go to Jing’s desk and get pencil and paper.
“I know what you need,” I softly say.
“Write Aaron a poem. Like ‘Shimmer’. Something from your heart. To get your mind off of things.”
She is reluctant to even move. I take her crumpled pillow and prop her up. She seems to come alive a bit.
“Here you go,” I say as I hand her the pad and pencil.
“I’ll be right back.”
I quickly walk to the kitchen and make tea. Green is Jing’s favorite. No response from Dad and just as well. With the tea freshly brewed, I stop by my own room and pick up a book. As a young girl I remember the funeral for Walter Lum. He was a very important man in Chinatown and his wake went on for over a week. I was impressed how his family was never left alone, even for days at a time. Friends and the extended family constantly brought food and took care of everything. Most of the time it seemed there was no need for any conversation, their simple presence being a tremendous solace. With this in mind, I don’t want to leave Jing alone. No need for conversation, just some sisterly support. With my new copy of Michener’s “The Drifters” and the tea, I return to Jing’s room. Judging by the fervor with which she is writing, I know my notion is a good one. I pour the tea and settle into a chair. Jing writes poetry and prose the same way she plays music. For her, these are transcendental creative acts. She is indeed in a world of her own. After about an hour or two, she emerges from her literary trance in much better spirits.
“Would you like to see?” she asks.
I nod as she hands me the sheet of paper. I am, again, amazed by the creative power of my little sister. There must be some deep creative well that lies within her soul somewhere. I have kept that same piece of paper to this very day.
Listen to "Without You"
Sing me a love song I’ll pretend that you’re here To make this all just go away But it’s never that easy When there’s so much to lose And I’m the price they have to pay I can hardly believe it That this could happen to me I can hardly believe it I just want us both to be free What am I supposed to do? Sing the same old song Pretend that nothing’s wrong Or maybe face the fact That we can’t go back What am I supposed to do? Without you Any fool can tell you Nothing’s as sweet, oh no Until it slips right through your hands It’s always what they wanted And never what I really need And only now I understand One day at a time now But it’s not the same I just wish I could see your face There’s no more love songs With the moon in the sky It’s like you disappeared without a trace I can’t believe it That this can keep us apart I won’t believe it But what about this hole in my heart? What am I supposed to do? Sing the same old song Pretend that nothing’s wrong Or maybe face the fact That we can’t go back What am I supposed to do? Without you
All I can say is, “You are amazing.”
Jing hugs me and says, “Thanks for taking such good care of me.”
“What are sisters for?”
Jing sits up on the bed and crosses her legs. She looks at me with a grim face. I know what the grim face means, I’ve seen it before. She is about to launch into something unpleasant at full force. I know what she is going to say.
But before she has a chance to say anything, I advise her, “You don’t have to do this just yet. And besides, the test could be wrong.”
With a shrewd smile she replies, “You’ve obviously never been pregnant.”
“Do you feel alright?”
“It’s hard to say. It’s kind of a mix of panic and joy.”
“Please, let’s wait.”
“I can’t do it. It would be like walking around with this weight on my shoulders.”
“What if you miscarry?”
“I don’t know how or why, but I know I won’t.”
I am reluctant to say the next inevitable sentence, but we both know what it is going to be.
I try to be as delicate as possible, “We both know that Mom and Dad will tell Yao. And goodbye shop.”
“I know.”
Jing bravely attempts some humor, “Well, I didn’t want to marry that POS anyway.”
I can only manage a pathetic little laugh.
“What about Aaron?” I remind her.
“I have to tell him myself. This weekend. Can you cover for me?”
“Of course.”
Jing smiles serenely and says, “You know, this may sound a little crazy, but it is kind of wonderful.”
“Mom and Dad won’t see it that way,” I remind her.
Jing slowly stands up like a condemned man walking to the gallows.
As I take her hand, she says, “Come on.”
The two of us slowly march down the hall to the living room and stop. Mom is now in the kitchen and Dad is still immersed in the newspaper. As we survey the room, time seems to slow down. We both know this will change everything.
No one notices us until Jing says, “Mom. Dad.”
Mom looks up from the kitchen counter. Dad peers over the top of his paper.
“I have something to say.”
Chapter 20-The Visit It was an all too accurate assessment when I predicted that my sister’s pregnancy would change everything. It is a conversation I shall never forget. Perhaps conversation isn’t the most precise description for what happened. It was a vile thirty-minute rant by my mother. Looking back at it now, the scenario played out as I would have expected. Perhaps Jing knew this too, and used it to her advantage. Of course my mother had no concern for the health and welfare of her daughter; she was consumed with worry about how Yao would react to the news. Not to mention the effect on business and what the neighbors would say. My father, on the other hand, had only Jing’s welfare in mind. He patiently asked about the father, the due date, and what kind of plans she had made for raising a child. You could see the disappointment in his face but he never said an unkind word or raised his voice. At the time, I thought Jing was terribly mistaken for revealing her pregnancy so soon. I clearly misjudged her. She knew what she was doing. By informing my parents immediately, three things would happen. First, Yao would rescind his offer straightaway, eliminating any possibility of marriage. Secondly, my parents would not have time to get used to the idea of Yao’s money saving the shop from financial ruin. Mom and Dad would have to look elsewhere for help. Thirdly, Jing and Aaron would be together. Throughout my mother’s tirade, Jing sat patiently in her chair, her eyes down. She spoke just once, only to say she was sorry. While Jing was truly sorry for the dishonor she brought the family, she was savvy enough to make the best of the situation. The strength of her love for Aaron and her newfound motherhood gave her focus and tremendous will power. She even had the presence of mind that Tuesday to send Aaron a quick missive informing him of her Saturday visit.
Unfortunately, things did not go exactly as expected. Instead of informing Yao immediately of Jing’s pregnancy, my mother deliberately delayed. “Let him get used to the idea of marrying her,” I believe she said. I suppose he might be less likely to revoke his offer. Of course, he would probably be infinitely more angry when he eventually did discover the truth. And the fact that my mother had purposely hidden it from him. It didn’t sit well with Jing, the threat of marriage with Yao would hang over her like a dark cloud. Still, Jing was convinced that it would never happen. Either Yao would refuse to marry her after he was apprised of the truth, or Jing would simply refuse. In retrospect, I can see that my sister was torn between family loyalty and her love for Aaron. My mother used to say that guilt was the gift that keeps on giving. And she used it ruthlessly to control both Jing and me.
So on that Saturday, under the pretense of studying for midterms at Cal with friends, Jing has successfully misled our parents. After her pregnancy disclosure, she was lucky to be allowed to leave the house at all. But I’m sure nothing would have stopped her, not even my parents. Nothing would stand in the way of Jing’s strong-willed nature. I suppose she got this from our mother. The five-hour drive went smoothly in the family’s aging 1966 Toyota Corolla, the anticipation growing with every mile.
The visiting hours at Lompoc start at noon on Saturdays. Aaron is impatiently waiting in the visitors’ area a full fifteen minutes before noon. With his shorts, T-shirt, and sandals, he appears to be ready for some kind of beach party. The visiting area consists of a series of chairs on either side of a long 30-foot table. Through the middle of the table runs a chain link fence from the ceiling all the way to the floor. Each station has small wooden side panels for at least a modicum of privacy. The room can accommodate about ten inmates at a time. Each visit lasts only 15 minutes. Three guards watch over the area, including Nick.
Nick comes over to a visibly anxious Aaron and says, “A little nervous, are we?”
“Yeah. I mean, I can’t wait to see her, but what if she’s not willing to wait anymore?”
With so much time on his hands, Aaron broods over this issue daily, adding to his already overwrought state.
As the first wave of visitors set foot in the room, Nick replies, “Well, only one way to find out. Good luck son.”
Aaron rapidly scans the visitors for a familiar face. No Jing yet. A few more enter. Jing is the last to come in. They immediately catch sight of each other. The rush of emotion is overpowering. They both run to the last station available, push the chairs aside, and put their hands on the chain link, their fingers penetrating through. Just the slightest touch is enough to allay Aaron’s fears. Jing is instantly in tears and cannot speak as they look fixedly at each other. Nick smiles as he notices Jing’s tears of joy and the rapture that encompasses these two.
Listen to "Prison"
I finally get to see you I’ve missed you so It seems like forever The days pass so slow I’d dream of your sweet face each day And all this would just go away Nothing is the same without you My life’s a prison just like yours too Somehow you look different You look so alive You’re more beautiful than ever With a light from inside It’s all because of you If you only knew I need you more now than before Now there’s something we can’t ignore What do you mean? Are you okay? I’m fine, more than just fine It’s all because of me? Oh yes If I only knew what? Help me here Everything has happened so fast I don’t know where to start Tell me that you’ll always be mine Promise me with all of your heart Of course Remember that night on the roof? The moonlit sky, just you and me That image is fixed in my mind It’s the only thing that keeps me free I know this will be hard to hear Especially since you’re not free But there’s something special we have to do We’re now a family, one, two, three Oh my god! I can’t even help you Do you feel alright? I’m fine, no need to worry But we’re in for a fight Your parents will want me dead We’re still a family like I just said This is not how it’s supposed to be Just remember you’ll always have me What will you do? Do the best I can just like you When you’re out, things will be fine We’ll be together just like old times Nothing will stop us Promise? Not even my parents The Yao thing? I swear that will never happen. I would rather die But I can’t be there for you. I just need to be out of here You will. Then you belong to me I mean us
Jing grasps Aaron’s fingers through the fence again. Their faces almost touch as they lean their foreheads against the chain link, their eyes closed. Again, in a world unto themselves. A gentle hand falls on Aaron’s shoulder.
“It’s time,” says Nick sympathetically.
As they gradually separate, their gaze never falters. Nick lightly takes Aaron by the arm. Jing stands alone, again close to tears. Looking over his shoulder as he walks away, Aaron loses sight of Jing as the steel door slams shut.
Chapter 21-Send You My Love A few months later Aaron sits in silence intently reading Jing’s latest letter again. The compound’s recreation room is filled with noise from the TV, card games, and inmate chatter. Aaron is unfazed by the clamor. The gray winter weather makes it impossible to work outside, so he is relegated to a compact, out of the way corner. Still, it is hardly private. The white walls give the room a sterile, institutional look. A hint of Pine-Sol pervades the air along with the lingering aroma of another uninspired commissary dinner. He is largely left alone by his fellow inmates. There is no prison power hierarchy or intimidation. Aaron is more than happy to fix his mind on other things. His ever-present guitar leans against the wall next to him as he reads. Aaron’s unease concerning Jing’s possible waning interest in him has been superseded by something else. Something far more consequential. Jing’s pregnancy has raised a host of issues. Despite Jing’s pledge to never marry Yao, Aaron is aware of her inner struggle. He knows too that Jing won’t be able to visit. Letters will have to suffice. With an excess of idle time, the inability to affect any change, and a fertile imagination, Aaron is in a constant state of perturbation. Music and writing are his only solace. Music has long been known as a mystical escape from reality. It is a world of beauty and passion where the outside world cannot trespass. How else can we explain the supreme musical beauty of Beethoven and Mozart, whose lives were replete with suffering and pain? No other place has such addictive power. Small wonder Aaron is never without a guitar or pencil and paper. As he finishes the letter, his hands fall to his lap, his euphoria supplanted by unease. It is a recurring ritual with every letter Jing sends, a fact that is not lost on Nick.
He walks over to Aaron and asks, “You alright son?”
Aaron hands Nick the letter and replies, “She’s due in a couple of months.”
Nick quickly scans the letter. He is slightly uncomfortable reading such personal correspondence.
He hands back the letter to Aaron and replies, “Don’t tear yourself up kid. Not much you can do from here.”
“I know. When I’m out, things will be fine,” the exasperation showing in his voice.
“That they will, that they will,” consoles Nick.
He continues, “And have a little faith young man! I’ve been around a while, I’ve learned a thing or two about people. Especially working here. I saw the way Jing looked at you. That, my friend, says it all. Give her a little credit.”
Aaron nods and says, “I just can’t help but think about it.”
“Well, even I know that music will take your mind off of things. So why do I always have to tell you to get to it?” Nick says with a laugh.
Nick picks up the guitar and hands it to Aaron.
“Good thing I have you around, that’s all I can say!” Aaron replies.
Aaron gets to work, pad of paper by his side while occasionally strumming the guitar for pitch reference. It is a much-needed escape from the reality of the Lompoc facility. He works with a creative fury that is all-consuming. I often marvel at the musical mind and the speed that Jing and Aaron would simply produce works of art from thin air. Since I am not a musician, I cannot begin to fathom that mystical inventive process. I stand in reverent awe when I read of Handel writing his Messiah in twenty-four days. Or Sting writing “Every Breath You Take” in thirty minutes. It’s not long before the complete song emerges.
Listen to "Send You My Love"
It’s been so long, so long I can’t remember It’s been so long since I’ve seen your shining face Your tender heart that shattered into pieces That day they came and put me in this place Remember how we said we’d wait forever Remember how we had to say goodbye I need you now if only you could be here Take me away, we’re both late for the sky I still send you my love I still send all my love We couldn’t know that this would happen God, I wish I were free I need you to tell me not to worry You’re all alone and it’s all because of me It’s been so long, so long I can’t remember It’s been so long since I’ve seen your shining face Now all I have is just a faded memory Until that day you take me from this place I still send you my love I still send all my love
I have always loved the line from that song, “Take me away, we’re both late for the sky.” To me, it so delicately portrays the measure of their affection and their devotion to each other. Even in my youth, I don’t think I would have been capable of what either of them endured: to suffer in prison while your child is born without a father, to be separated from the woman you love, to be forced into a loveless marriage and face childbirth alone. It must be true, love does make you stronger.
Aaron surfaces from his musical trance with a satisfied visage. He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, lost in the vision of his new ballad. It isn’t long before Nick and the other guards begin their nightly lock down. The TV is shut off, the card players settle their bets, the conversations end as the inmates make their way back to the cellblock. Aaron gathers up his guitar and papers. No one needs to be told what to do, the routine is all too familiar. Aaron walks down the dark green corridor and stops at his cell. A single cot, toilet, and sink. He stares at his cage. Just another day at Club Fed.
Chapter 22-The Rescinded Offer A few months later, Yao has returned from his annual monthlong January business trip to Hong Kong. His lucrative furniture import business has allowed him to buy a sizable number of buildings in Chinatown. At the beginning of each new year, Yao scrutinizes the manufacturing process of each of his suppliers, as well as hunting for new sources. Shrewd and astute, his business interests grow substantially each year. Even in China, Yao is infamous for his temper and compulsion for only the best. Up until Yao’s departure, it was relatively easy to disguise Jing’s expanding waistline, but oversize blouses and long dresses will only work for so long. Yao marches through the door with a guzheng under his arm. I am at the register and my parents are sorting through the dwindling piles of clothing. Thankfully, there are no customers in the shop.
“Ni hao ma, Ling-si,” says Yao.
“Hen hao, xie xie ni. How was your trip?” I ask, not really interested.
It was a wonderful reprieve not having to deal with him for a month. I am immediately filled with trepidation, as I realize this is about to be the moment of truth.
“Hong Kong was just fine, but I’ve been away too long. I found a fine guzheng just for Jing.”
He places the instrument on the counter next to the register. It is indeed a work of art, with dark mahogany sides, spruce top, and exquisite filigree. This is not an inexpensive gift.
Yao continues, “Is she here?”
I purposely do not respond. My parents swiftly come over to the register to greet Yao.
“Welcome home, welcome home, Master Yao!” my mother grovels.
Everyone bows except me.
“I found the most lovely guzheng for Jing. And I spared no expense,” he brags.
My mother tries to stall by saying, “Jing is asleep upstairs, I’m afraid.”
“Could you wake her? I think she’d like to see this.”
Yao proudly pats the guzheng.
“She’s not feeling well,” Mom says, quickly inventing a deceit.
Yao continues to press, “Please, this won’t take long.”
“We can’t hide this forever,” my father says under his breath to Mom.
Yao is becoming slightly exasperated, “Please, go get Jing.”
Yao is a man accustomed to getting what he wants. Abruptly the apartment door opens and a visibly pregnant Jing descends the stairs. All eyes follow her down. No long dresses or ineffectual camouflage can conceal her condition now. Yao is speechless, unable to tear his eyes away from Jing. We all now observe Yao, expecting the worst. This will not be pleasant. Jing sits down in a chair next to the register. I stand behind her with my hands on her shoulders, waiting for Yao to react. Jing looks at the floor and doesn’t speak.
“What the hell is this?” Yao roars.
“I can explain,” my mothers says, attempting to do damage control.
“Explain? I don’t need you to explain anything,” Yao bellows.
Yao’s temper is flaring and begins to rant, “This is outrageous! Who knows about this?”
“Just the family,” my mother answers meekly.
Yao now realizes he has been purposely kept in the dark until now. This only adds fuel to the fire.
“And you’re telling me this only now! Just some minor detail you forgot to mention! Incredible!”
Yao walks over to my mother and stands directly in front of her as he unloads the next salvo.
“Not too hard to figure this one out! Get Yao used to the idea. Then he couldn’t possibly say no!”
“We didn’t want to burden you until we were sure,” my mother says, quickly inventing something.
“Well, I think we’re pretty sure now! Look at her! If word gets out, I will look like a fool! And I’m sure we all know who the father is, that hippie!”
My mother now tries a different approach, “We know you have always been fond of Jing. She is young and headstrong, but has a good heart.”
My sister has been silent until now, but manages to feebly protest, “Mother, please.”
Yao has been furtively glancing at Jing since she came down the stairs. Regardless of his diatribe, his mannerisms betray his inner conflict. My mother clearly notices this and continues to press the issue.
“She is a wonderful musician and cook. A man of your importance should have a wife of great beauty and intelligence.”
Yao is quick to respond, “Don’t look at me! And I know what you are trying to do, but you had your chance. Why did you let this happen with so much at stake?”
Yao now turns to Jing, “You have disgraced your family and cost them everything!”
In a fury, he marches to the counter, snatches up the guzheng, and heads for the door.
As his parting shot, he barks, “And say goodbye to your shop!”
Everyone stands in stunned silence. My mother cannot resist her own parting shot, as she looks at Jing.
“You were our last hope.”
I swiftly gather Jing up and take her back to her room. She is trembling, either from rage or distress, I’m not sure which. It must have taken all her strength not to let her temper get the better of her. I suppose it was best just to let things take their course, something I am sure Jing surmised. My father was silent during this entire conversation. It obviously troubled him greatly to treat Jing this way. But he never interceded, still unable to contradict my mother.
Chapter 23-Tell Jing The Lompoc weather has changed. Winter has finally yielded to spring. At least the weather has improved enough for Aaron to work outside. Fellow inmates play tennis, jog, and lawn bowl this fine mid-April day. Aaron again is in his usual spot with his guitar, pencil, and paper. He is in a particularly jovial mood, certainly due to his recent good news. Nick knows exactly where to find him. He approaches Aaron from across the compound’s vast lawn at a faster than normal clip. Nick clearly has something to say.
“Follow me young man. There’s something you need to see.”
“What’s that?” Aaron asks as he gathers up his papers and guitar.
Nick does not respond, but only smiles. He takes the lead as Aaron struggles to catch up, heading across the lawn and towards the commissary. Approaching the commissary, Nick unexpectedly turns right towards the visiting area. It is Saturday and shortly after noon. Visiting hours. Aaron’s mind begins to race with the prospect of an unexpected visit from Jing.
“What’s going on?” Aaron asks, his anticipation growing.
“Right this way,” says Nick coyly.
He opens the steel door to the visitation area. Aaron walks through tentatively, not knowing what to expect.
“Please let it be Jing, let it be Jing so I can tell her,” he repeats to himself.
“Prison dude!” yells Scott at the top of his lungs.
Scott, Ramon, David, and Paul are all there, crammed into a single visitation cubicle. Nick follows Aaron in, smiling at the boys’ camaraderie.
A slightly crestfallen Aaron replies, “Guys!”
While disappointed that it isn’t Jing, he is nonetheless touched by the affection shown by his bandmates.
“Great to see you man!” exclaims Ramon.
“Thanks for coming guys, I can’t even tell you how much this means to me!” a grateful Aaron replies.
“Our pleasure,” says David.
“This place doesn’t look like any kind of jail I’ve ever seen,” marvels Paul.
“How are they treating you?” asks Ramon.
“Okay, it’s not bad,” Aaron responds quickly.
He is anxious to tell the boys his news, but Scott interrupts.
“Hey, we just got booked for the Golden Gate Park rally. Should be huge!”
“Alright!” exclaims Aaron.
“April 24th. We’re the headliners. But it’s not the same without you,” adds David.
At this point, Aaron cannot contain himself any longer. He holds his hands up to stop the conversation and says, “Hey, hey.” A sly smile gradually creeps across his face as he dramatically pauses before continuing, “Could you use another guitarist?” he cryptically asks.
“I don’t think so,” responds Scott blankly, not comprehending Aaron’s inference.
Ramon is quick to answer, “What do you mean?”
Aaron motions for the boys to come closer. He waits a moment before he divulges his news. The band is puzzled. Nick laughs quietly at Aaron’s melodramatic delivery.
“In five days from now,” he says in almost a whisper.
“I’m released!” he exclaims loudly.
“Holy shit!” cries Scott.
The band is ecstatic. High fives and hands in the air all around.
“Yeah!” yells Paul.
“How?” asks Ramon.
“It seems I am a model prisoner. Out in less than a year!”
“The band is back!” exclaims Scott.
“When can I pick you up?” asks Ramon, becoming more serious.
“The 22nd. But there’s something I need you to do,” Aaron earnestly asks.
“Anything man.”
“Get word to Jing as soon as you can. No time for a letter. And a phone call is out.” “Sure.”
“And make sure her parents don’t get wind of this.”
Ramon nods.
Listen to "Jail's Not The Answer"
Scott suddenly bursts out with, “Hey, hey! I got it! Words for the anthem!”
Everyone looks at Scott in disbelief for such nonlinear thinking.
“What?” asks Ramon
“Okay, okay. Check it,” he says as he starts to sing to the tune of Aaron’s anthem.
Jail’s not the answer Set Aaron free Hell no, he didn’t go Fuck captivity!
The band explodes into laughter, including Aaron and Nick.
“That’s funny!” comments Paul.
Scott gestures for all to join in.
Jail’s not the answer Set Aaron free Hell no, he didn’t go Fuck captivity!
The boys join in together to serenade a very amused Aaron.
Jail’s not the answer Set Aaron free Hell no, he didn’t go Fuck captivity!
They are beginning to disrupt the entire visiting room. Any conversation is now impossible.
“So when can I pick you up man?” asks Ramon.
“The 22nd. But there’s something I need you to do,” asks Aaron.
“Anything man,” replies Ramon.
“Get word to Jing. And make sure her parents don’t get wind of this.”
“Sure.”
As the band repeats the anthem, Nick gently starts to move the boys to the exit.
“Okay, okay. I think that’s enough for one day,” Nick says, trying to contain his laughter.
“Okay, let’s sing it again!” Scott exclaims.
Jail’s not the answer Set Aaron free Hell no, he didn’t go Fuck captivity!
As the band repeats the anthem, Nick gently starts to move the boys to the exit.
Approaching the steel door, Ramon calls over his shoulder, “One week man! Just like old times!”
“Jing! Tell Jing!” Aaron responds, a touch of desperation in his voice.
The singing abruptly ceases as the steel door slams shut.
Chapter 24-You Have No Choice As the boys make their way back to San Francisco that April evening, Jing and my mother are having a conversation of their own. Again, it can hardly be called a conversation. And again, the “cascade effect” comes to mind with this chain of unexpected events. I can see why some people believe in fate or destiny. It’s as if these events had a will of their own, and were immune to any attempt to alter their course. We had all become accustomed to the fact that Yao’s offer was off the table and the shop would succeed or fail on its own. Yao’s visits were less frequent, but I could see he still harbored feelings for my sister. Even though he tried to disguise it, you could see it in his eyes at times and the way he would try to avoid looking at Jing. As my mother and Jing come down the stairs to the shop, they are already screaming at each other. Thankfully, the shop is closed for the evening. Jing leads the way. She is due any day.
Listen to "Give It Up"
I don’t even believe this! Not so fast young lady!
As Jing reaches the shop floor, she stops, turns, and squares off against my mother. Jing’s normally volatile temper has been enhanced by nine months of pregnancy.
You can’t blame this on me! We have no choice! How can you ask me that? It’s always you and what you want to do I do what’s best for this family You think you know? I don’t really think so
The tone of their heated exchange rises in pitch.
Don’t talk like that to me! What I say goes in this family! Did you ever ask me about any of this? And what I want ? It’s too late for that now Don’t you even care about what happens to your family? Should we give up the shop because of you? Don’t you blame me for your catastrophe Don’t you forget what Yao’s done for us The man’s a slime What luck he’s changed his mind What kind of man would ask me something that I can’t do The man’s gone totally wild We have a chance now. Yao will give us the shop If I give up my child! So keep the baby. What chance do you really have? Aaron’s out in a year He’s just a hippie and left my daughter all alone with a child to rear I won’t argue with you. You know nothing about him! Aaron is an honorable man! Honorable enough to leave you with his child! At least Yao will marry you! That’s enough! I won’t be blackmailed by Yao! Or you! It’s my life and my child. I will never give him up! This is bullshit! If you can’t do this for your family You can’t live here, I mean it, is that clear
Jing turns away from our mother and slowly shakes her head. She can hardly believe my mother’s response.
Then you’re no daughter of mine What? You would do that? What chance do you have? If you’re on your own. Don’t ask me for any help You’ll do this all alone No husband Nowhere to live You have no choice
Chapter 25-Ramon At The Shop Early the next day Ramon is standing outside the Po shop. With his ubiquitous headband, pony tail, and flannel shirt, he is not your typical tourist customer. He is peering in, hoping to see me or Jing. My sister is upstairs in her room and ready to give birth any day now. Unfortunately for Ramon, my mother is arranging clothing in the back of the shop, while I stand in my usual spot near the register. At least the shop is devoid of customers. Hoping to avoid my mother and deliver his news speedily, he silently opens the shop door and pokes his nose inside.
“Ling-si! Ling-si!” he whispers, trying to get my attention.
I motion for him to come in. He cautiously approaches the register.
“What are you doing here?” I ask incredulously.
“You won’t believe what’s happened. I have some serious news!” he whispers breathlessly.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
My mother has now noticed Ramon and comes over to the register. Ramon is about to speak but she quickly interrupts.
“Can I help you?” she asks politely.
Ramon is now at a loss as how to proceed. It was only much later that I realized he was attempting to inform me metaphorically. At the time, I was completely mystified as to his meaning. He struggles to formulate a means to proceed. In retrospect, it was quite amusing.
“Uh. There is something. Uh. I wanted to get early. For my best friend,” he says, exaggerating the key words.
Ramon looks at me for some kind of sign that I understand.
“I’m sorry,” I reply, completely baffled.
Poor Ramon attempts another approach.
“So. There’s this thing,” he stammers.
Spying the paintings on the wall, he searches for an excuse to remain in the shop.
“Oh look! Paintings! Paintings are good,” he says, fumbling for words.
At this point, I am entirely at a loss. My mother is losing patience and intercedes.
“So you’re looking for paintings?”
“Not exactly. It would be like a gift. Uh. To get one early. That you might not know about.”
Baffled, my mother asks, “Excuse me?”
Ramon is becoming increasingly nervous.
“A painting that you know. Really well. That would arrive for you early.”
Still uncomprehending, I ask, “So you’re looking for a gift?”
Mom goes towards the paintings and takes one off the wall.
“Like this, perhaps?” she suggests.
“If you got it before you thought you might. Like next week”
Ramon grimaces in frustration as he realizes how poorly his approach is going.
He suddenly adds, “And for $22!” hoping I might associate the price with the upcoming date. I clearly do not.
“All of these are far more expensive than $22. Perhaps something smaller?” my mother asks.
Ramon is now completely out of ideas and starts to move towards the door.
“No, actually. Someone I know needs this gift. And I’m just a little lost. I’ll be back with more money, then. Uh. Is there a Taco Bell here?”
My mother and I watch in incredulity as Ramon backs away from the register towards the door.
“And this seemed. Uh. Like a nice place to ask. Uh. About that.” Ramon reaches the door and then mumbles, “Okay then”.
He shakes his head at me and then shrugs his shoulders as he leaves the shop.
“Idiot Americans,” my mother carps.
Chapter 26-Adoption In 1971 the adoption process in California was very different. There was a hateful social stigma associated with adoption that led to a complex and often incomprehensible series of laws starting in the 1920s and 1930s. These laws were designed to guarantee lifelong anonymity to the birth parents. Adoption laws varied wildly from state to state. Birth records were sealed even to adult adoptees, except in the rare case of a state court order. I remember the shame and humiliation that unwed mothers went through in those days. They would clandestinely disappear for a period of time, give birth, put the child up for adoption, and try to return to a normal life. This was their only option. But everyone knew. The high school girls would gossip and torment them mercilessly. In those days, it indeed made sense to protect the birth parents from the social ridicule they would otherwise have to face. Rarely would an unwed mother even entertain the idea of keeping her child. In Chinatown, the prevailing moral stance is even more conservative. Thankfully things have changed. By today’s standards, this approach seems foolish and ill-conceived. Today is the age of over-the-counter DNA paternity tests, same sex parents, transparent adoption, adoption business agencies, international adoption, surrogate mothers, a variety of birth control, and in vitro fertilization. And unwed high school mothers are hardly front page news any longer.
My sister was caught in the vortex of this storm: pregnant and unable to marry the incarcerated father, blackmailed by her own family into a marriage of convenience, forced to give up her child, shamed by her family, and purposely kept apart from the man she loved. As a mother, I cannot conceive of my precious daughters being wrested from my arms. I can hardly imagine my sister’s pain. I intentionally include myself when I say “blackmailed by her own family.” Aaron once told me how Martin Luther King said that “silence is betrayal.” It is true for the Vietnam War and it is true for me.
My mother forced Jing to sign the adoption papers, again, threatening to put her out on the street. My sister descended into a despair the likes I have never seen. I spent many hours consoling her with green tea and Lu Da Gun, her favorite rice snack. I suppose I was overly attentive, trying to make up for my inaction and acquiescence.
***
Late in the evening of the same day as Ramon’s visit, I am reading in bed when there comes a light tapping on my door. I quickly open the door to an anxious Jing.
“Water broke. Let’s go,” is all she says.
I am immediately in a panic. I grab Jing’s arm and drag her into my room while I change clothes.
“What about Mom and Dad?” I ask, struggling to dress quickly.
“Remember, you said we would get through this together?” she reminds me.
I nod quickly.
“Why would they care anyway,” my sister says with disdain.
Suddenly, she falls on my bed.
“Oh, damn that hurts. They’re coming pretty fast now.”
She is in pain for almost a full minute. Finally dressed, I rush to the bed and gingerly assist her to her feet. She stands and looks intently into my eyes.
“Not a word to Mom and Dad. I mean it.”
Arm in arm, we silently tiptoe down the hall, intent on not waking our parents. We pass their door with no problem, then down the stairs to the shop and out the back door to the Corolla. My sister moves slowly but deliberately, obviously in pain. Getting her into the car is problematic. At this hour there is no traffic and the Chinese Hospital is just four blocks away. The famous Bruce Lee was born here. Jing has two more painful contractions on the way.
“Oh hell. Here comes another one. My back is killing me!”
Even I know that it won’t be long. We park behind the old hospital and enter through the emergency doors. I immediately sit her down in a wheel chair and go straight to the desk. The room is empty. I frantically ring the desk bell. Two fatigued looking nurses appear.
“My sister is about to deliver her baby! Her water broke thirty minutes ago and the contractions are about five minutes apart and last a good minute!” I bark at the nurses.
They instantly come alive. One makes a quick call to arrange for a delivery room and inform the on duty doctor, while the other quickly takes charge of the wheelchair and starts toward the elevator. Jing cries out in pain with another powerful contraction.
“What’s your sister’s name? Is she pre-registered?” the nurse asks.
“Jing Po. And yes, she is,” I respond.
The nurse calls to her co-worker, “Get the file on Jing Po. Maternity. Now!”
Into the elevator and up to the third floor as I hold my sister’s hand. As the elevator door opens we are met by a faction of maternity nurses who wheel Jing into the delivery room and get her out of her clothes and into a gown in no time.
As we enter the delivery room, one of the nurses asks me, “Does your sister want you present?”
Jing overhears the nurse and responds in short order, “Yes! She certainly does!”
“Well, you’ll need to put these on,” the nurse says as she hands me a cap and mask.
The staff gets Jing up on the table while I don my surgical garb. Another powerful contraction. Jing is in serious pain. I am convinced to never have children. Another staff member enters the room quickly and talks animatedly but quietly to the head nurse. They both promptly leave the room. Through the glass window in the delivery room door I can see the staff member holding what must be Jing’s file in her hand. The on duty doctor joins them in the hall. There can be only one thing they are discussing. It makes my stomach turn. It is a simple thing to sign a piece of paper, it is quite another to actually follow through. As Jing is coached by her team, I am handed a tennis ball.
“Rub this around on her lower back,” I am instructed. “Hard!”
I comply in disbelief. To my amazement, it gives Jing a degree of relief. The doctor and two nurses re-enter the delivery room.
As they enter, the head nurse announces, “She’s almost at ten. It won’t be long.”
The doctor approaches me and asks, “This baby is scheduled for adoption, is that right?”
Despite being in the middle of a contraction, Jing again overhears and screams in torment, “No!”
The doctor takes me aside and informs me, “This is not a negotiable matter. Legally this baby already belongs to another party. Do your best to help your sister through this.”
I can only nod, revolted by the idea. I go back to my sister as the team encourages her to push, then breathe, push, then breathe. Her focus is amazing, crying out in pain only periodically. In less than five more minutes, Jing’s baby boy comes into this world.
He is quickly prepped, wrapped, and about to be taken away forever, when my sister screams out with utter pathos, “No! Please, he belongs to me!”
I can somehow feel my sister’s agony. I silently watch in tears.
“Please, I need to see him!” Jing wails.
The nurse holding the baby stops and looks at the doctor. He nods. She brings the baby to Jing.
My sister lovingly touches his face and whispers, “Goodbye my love.”
The nurse turns to go.
Jing bursts into tears and screams in profound dolor, “No!”
It was like a knife through my heart, almost like the cry of a wounded animal. To this day I have never witnessed such abject anguish. And just like that, Jing and Aaron’s baby boy was gone.
Chapter 27-Good News, Bad News A few days later Nick carries a package to the visiting area. Aaron is waiting.
Nick hands the package to Aaron and says, “Here’s your stuff kid. And say goodbye to the slammer!”
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” responds an appreciative Aaron.
“You can keep the guitar. As a souvenir,” Nick says with a slight laugh.
They shake hands as Nick says, “Someone’s here to pick you up.”
Nick unlocks the steel gate to the visitors’ side of the room. As they walk through, Ramon appears.
“Hey, free man,” yells Ramon.
“So good to see you.”
Ramon gives Aaron a huge hug. Aaron begins to change into his civilian clothes as the conversation continues.
Nick turns to go and says, “Get out of here kid. And remember, attitude is everything.”
Aaron quickly says, “Nick, wait a minute!”
Aaron motions for Ramon to follow. They walk over to Nick.
“Ramon, this is Nick. The man who kept me sane through all this.”
“It was my pleasure. You’re a good kid Aaron,” Nick replies as he shakes hands with Ramon.
“Thanks for looking after this bum,” Ramon says with a smile.
“No problem.”
Nick turns to Aaron and says in a fatherly tone, “Don’t forget what I told you. About Jing.”
“Yes sir,” Aaron responds.
In a burst of appreciation, Aaron seizes Nick and hugs him tightly. Nick is slightly uncomfortable with such an overt display of emotion.
“Ah, you hippies. Always big huggers,” Nick laughs.
Nick turns to go and flashes the peace sign as he disappears behind the steel door.
“Out after less than twelve months. That beats two years,” Ramon exclaims.
Aaron is anxious to hear about Jing.
“Did you see Jing?”
Ramon shakes his head.
“I stopped by twice. No luck. I couldn’t get past her parents.”
“Let’s stop by on the way home. I have to see her.”
“Whatever you say. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”
Aaron is now dressed in his civvies. He drops his prison garb on the floor, takes a final long look, and leaves Lompoc behind.
***
After an uneventful drive north, Aaron and Ramon arrive in Chinatown. With parking such a problem, they’re forced to park a few blocks away. Ramon waits in the car. In the shop, I am, as usual, at the register closing the accounts out for the day. Mom and Dad are getting ready to leave the apartment, putting on their coats as they come down the stairs. Jing is in her room, recovering from delivering her son two days earlier. As my parents descend the stairs, Aaron charges through the door, filled with anticipation.
“Oh my God! Aaron!” I say in amazement.
He meets me at the register. I give him a big hug.
“What are you doing here? How?”
Aaron interrupts excitedly, “Early release. Can you believe it?”
I shake my head in disbelief.
“Where’s Jing?” he asks.
I am about to answer when my mother cuts in, “That American boy!”
“Jing had to...” I try to say, but am again impeded. This time by my father.
“Are you Jing’s, uh, friend?” my father asks.
Mom is becoming agitated. Aaron obviously is a threat to her plans.
She barks at Aaron, “Jing is going to marry a Chinese man, she is not here!”
Mom tries to shoo Aaron away. She seizes his arm and attempts to steer him to the door. Aaron doesn’t move.
“Please, Mrs. Po, I need to see Jing,”
My mother does not respond.
Aaron then turns to me and asks, “Is she here?”
Again, I am too late to respond.
“Please. You must leave!” my mother commands.
Mom grasps Aaron with greater authority. He stands his ground and does not budge. He now addresses my father.
“Please Mr. Po, Jing would want to see me. I’m sure of it,” he pleads.
Mom is growing annoyed with Aaron’s refusal to leave. Dad comes over to diffuse the situation.
“Please, Jing is not here. It is best you leave,” he says haltingly.
My father is such a poor liar. I look at Aaron and shake my head. He knows now that my parents are lying. Mom goes to the phone.
“I’m calling the police!” my mother says confidently.
Aaron is frustrated at his lack of progress and begins to speak more animatedly.
“Ling-si, where is Jing?” he asks in dismay.
“She’s right...” I attempt to answer.
Mom turns to me and screams, “Don’t!”
“Please. We don’t want any trouble,” my dad says, trying to calm Aaron.
“What about the baby? I have to know. Please.”
Mom begins to speak into the phone, “We have some trouble at our shop.”
“I just want to talk to her,” he pleads.
Mom continues, “Yes. At Grant and Clay.”
She hangs up the phone.
“What happened?” Aaron asks me in a panic.
I try to answer but Mom quickly raises her hand to silence me. A distant police siren can be heard. Aaron moves toward the door in disappointment.
He stands in the doorway for a moment and pleads one last time, “Please, I have to know.”
Aaron sprints back to the car and a waiting Ramon. Out of breath and shaking with frustration, he climbs into the car.
“You alright?” Ramon asks.
“A little trouble. Let’s go.”
Ramon starts the car and navigates back to the apartment near Golden Gate Park.
“Trouble?” Ramon asks again in concern.
“I didn’t see her. Her parents called the cops.”
“Sorry man.”
Aaron puts his head in his hands in exasperation.
“I’m taking you home. I got a little something special for you,” Ramon says.
I have always regretted my behavior that day. Not following my heart and what I knew to be right always seemed to be eclipsed by my heavy-handed mother. I am ashamed it took so long to come to my senses.
As Aaron leaves the shop, I reproach my mother, “Was that really necessary? Aaron should know the truth.”
Mom is quick to reply, “After the wedding.”
“This is honorable behavior?” I ask with a touch of disdain.
Mom dismisses me with a wave of her hand.
“We’re meeting Yao at the title office. We should be back in about an hour and a half,” my father announces.
“And you are not to tell Jing about that boy!” my mother instructs me.
As soon as they are out the door, I sprint up the stairs to my sister’s room. She is curled up on her bed in postpartum depression. Without knocking, I burst in. She doesn’t budge.
“Aaron was just here!” I exclaim breathlessly.
“What?”
Jing is instantly on her feet. Her transformation is miraculous.
“Early release! Mom and Dad tossed him out!” I explain animatedly.
She is in an instant panic. Still in her pajamas, Jing runs to the closet to find something to wear.
“I have to see him. And explain,” she cries.
“Well, you better hurry. They went to the title office with Yao. You have about an hour and a half.”
We both run down the stairs as fast as possible. I give her a cursory hug as she bolts out the door.
“Good luck,” I call after her.
Ramon and Aaron enter the Haight-Ashbury apartment. The dimly lit room explodes into bright light and laughter.
The boys and a multitude of friends all scream, “Welcome home Aaron!”
There is a large banner across the wall behind Aaron’s favorite arm chair saying, “Welcome back Aaron!”
Beer and marijuana are everywhere. The party goers gather around Aaron with congratulatory hugs and high-fives. Aaron puts on a brave face despite his pain. David jumps up on a chair with Aaron directly in front of him. He puts his hands on Aaron’s shoulders.
“Okay, okay!” he says, getting everyone’s attention. He continues, “And now, fresh from his acclaimed whirlwind tour of the Big House, your favorite felon and mine, the man who gave ‘the joint’ a whole new meaning.”
Those smoking pot hold up their joints and cheer. Before David can finish, Paul comes over, raises Aaron’s hand high in the air, as if he just won a boxing match.
In a loud, melodramatic voice he declares, “The sultan of the slammer, the prince of penal.”
With a questioning look on his face Paul abruptly stops.
“Oh dear, should I say that?” He unabashedly continues, “I give you Aaron, ‘fuck authority’, Thomas!”
He has obviously had a little too much beer. All cheer the returning hero. Aaron bows graciously as if on stage. As the hoopla dies down, Aaron and Ramon settle into two adjacent arm chairs. Aaron’s forced smile begins to fade slightly. Scott comes up from behind Aaron’s chair and kisses the top of his head.
Scott affectionately declares, “It’s good to have you back. There’s no band without you.”
Aaron pats Scott’s arm in appreciation. After more than twenty years of close friendship, Ramon knows exactly what’s on Aaron’s mind.
“So you didn’t even see her?” he asks tenderly.
“No. I barely talked to Ling-si and then her parents tossed me out.”
Ramon just shakes his head.
“I’m sorry man. What a welcome home present.”
“I have to see her.”
David comes over to Ramon and Aaron and puts his hands on Aaron’s shoulders.
“We play the big rally tomorrow at Golden Gate Park. You game?” David asks.
“Sure,” is all Aaron can muster.
“Yeah! Just like old times!” exclaims Scott.
Paul announces loudly to the crowd, “I say we head to the Buena Vista to celebrate!”
Everyone cheers in agreement.
Aaron turns to Ramon and says, “Go ahead. I appreciate the party and all, but I just want to be alone. Really.”
Ramon responds quietly, “Sure, I understand.”
He touches Aaron’s shoulder as he stands up and turns to the party goers, “Come on people. Let’s give the man a little space.”
The group begins to move out the door. They quietly wish Aaron well and pat him on the shoulder as they go. Aaron is left alone in his overstuffed chair, the welcome home banner just above his head. He slowly stands, shuts off the music, and lowers the lights. He sits down in despair at the piano. He eventually starts to play. A d minor improvisation in 6/8, the key of requiems. After thirty-minutes of heartfelt improv, Aaron abruptly stops and slams his hands down on the keyboard in frustrations. He sits in silence. A soft knocking comes from the door. He ignores it. Jing knocks again. No response. She opens the unlocked door and steps through.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
Aaron hears her voice and is instantly on his feet.
“Jing?” he cries in disbelief.
Jing is unable to speak as they rush together. My sister is instantly in tears. As before, they seem to melt together, the months of anxiety and anticipation at last at an end. Jing is sobbing with joy; and perhaps with fear at the prospect of what she has to tell Aaron. I can only imagine their bliss. After an extended euphoric kiss, Aaron is the first to speak.
Listen to "I Promise"
I dreamed about this day I waited for so long So I could touch your face So I could hear your song Oh my! My god, look at you After all that you’ve been through Still so delicate and fine I would keep you in my mind When I was in despair You two were my prayer Can I see my son? There’s something you should know You won’t want to hear But how was I to know? That suddenly you’d just appear Before that I do Tell me it’s true I need to hear you say You’ll never leave Make me believe You’ll never go away Of course I did this all on my own I had to live at home They said I couldn’t stay Unless I gave our child away What do you mean? You gave our boy away? He was adopted last week Adopted? How could you do that? Why? I didn’t have a choice! You weren’t here And I had to do the best I could What do you mean? Yao said he’d give Mom and Dad the building if I would marry him And give up the baby. They totally bought it Unbelievable! That’s blackmail! Mom said she’d throw me out of the house if I didn’t. I didn’t know you’d be out early Neither did I until last week. I asked Ramon to stop by but he never got past your parents If I would have known, this didn’t have to happen I can’t believe this. Where is our son? I don’t know. legally they can’t tell you. So we’ll never know. And I never even got to see him! Are you married? No. next week I put you in this position. And I wasn’t there for you No. We both made this happen. I allowed myself to be blackmailed I let them take our son I thought you’d be gone for two years. I didn’t know what to do You did what you had to do. we both did Tell me about our son I wish you could have seen him He’s a wonderful blend of us both A brown eyed, black haired angel I’ll understand now that you know If you hate me for what I’ve done If you feel that you have to go I promised you I’d never change I promised you I’d never go You’re the mother of my child You’re the one I still love so I promise you I’ll never change I promise you with all my heart A family is what we are Nothing now can keep us apart I still promise you I promise too I promise you Our boy should be here too
My sister embraces Aaron and says in anguish, “I’m so sorry. I need him back.”
Aaron strokes Jing’s long black hair gently and says, “We both do.”
A moment passes before Aaron continues, “What are we going to do?”
Jing sits up and runs her hands through her hair in frustration.
“I lost our child. I won’t lose you.”
Aaron pauses for a moment and then speaks thoughtfully, “Marry me? Instead of that Yao?”
She looks at Aaron intently.
“Really?”
Aaron nods.
“Sure,” she responds, managing her first genuine smile. Jing continues thoughtfully, “This won’t be easy.”
Aaron responds forcefully, “I don’t care! You can’t marry this guy!” “What about my family and...”
Aaron interrupts, “After what they’ve done to you? We don’t have any choice now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Stay here. After the rally tomorrow we can just leave.”
“Rally?”
“We play the rally tomorrow in Golden Gate Park.”
“Do you really think this will work,” my sister says with worry in her voice.
“Your parents don’t know where I live. We can be out of the apartment by evening.”
Jing is not convinced and says, “I don’t know. This will be hard on them. And what about the band?”
Aaron becomes more insistent, his voice rising.
“What’s really important here? If we stay, it’s all over. And your parents are using you!”
“I know, I know,” says Jing.
My sister’s face begins to cloud over with unease.
She pauses thoughtfully and says, “And everything is riding on this. I guess we’re paying the price for being different. Maybe that’s the reason we’re together.”
Aaron takes Jing’s hands again and tries to cheer her, “I have a new song or two. One for you. I’ll do it at the rally.”
“I’d love that,” she says with another genuine smile.
Chapter 28-Backbone Later that evening Yao and my parents return from the title office. They enter the now closed shop and ascend the stairs to the family apartment, where I am working in the kitchen. Yao can’t help but announce his news.
“Well, Ling-si, your parents will be the proud owners of this building on Monday!”
I ignore him.
“Where is your sister?” my mother asks.
I am painfully aware that this is not going to be pleasant. I avoid the truth as long as I can.
“In her room,” I reply with my eyes down.
Yao and my father sit down on the sofa and chat in Chinese. Mom puts the tea kettle on the stove, then heads down the hall to Jing’s room. She knocks gently on her door.
“Jing dear, would you like some tea?” she calls.
There is no response.
“Jing? Jing?”
Mom enters and finds the room empty.
She calls to my father, “Jing isn’t in her room. Is she downstairs?”
“I don’t know, ask your daughter,” my father replies.
She now calls to me. I know I am just putting off the inevitable.
“In her room,” I reply, unable to think of anything else to say.
Mom comes back to the living room and tersely tells me, “She is not in her room!”
I don’t respond. The tea kettle begins to whistle slightly.
“Come here please, Ling-si,” Mom commands.
I leave the kitchen and slowly walk to the living room, dreading what I know must follow. Mom’s frustration is growing. She looks at me sternly.
“Where is your sister?”
“I thought she was in her room,” I repeat.
Yao and my father briskly walk to Jing’s room. They peer inside and return immediately. My father is concerned.
“Is Jing alright,” he asks.
I, again, do not respond. Yao’s temper is beginning to surface.
“Where is Jing?” he asks.
He now walks over and stands directly in front of me in a very intimidating manner.
“Where is Jing?” he demands menacingly.
I don’t respond but only back away. Yao follows me and grasps me by the shoulders.
“I’m sure you know! Where? Tell me now!”
The tea kettle is screaming now. Something inside me finally snaps. Somehow I unknowingly reach my threshold. I am no longer willing to comply with any of this madness. I only wish that it would have been earlier. I slap Yao’s arms away with all my might as I am instantly in a rage.
Listen to "Ling-Si Blows Up"
As if I would tell you! After what you’ve done! What do you expect? She gave up her only son This place is a mad house Now she can leave it all behind I’m sorry that it took so long To speak my mind You only want this building And you know it’s true We’re nothing more than pawns Just the hired help to you You all make me sick The way you sold off Jing Or how you tried to get your way By giving her some cheap guzheng! I’ve got nothing to tell All of you can go straight to hell! I’m glad that she’s finally free But I’ll miss how we used to be I didn’t really help When she needed me The blame’s partly mine For this travesty I should have listened to my heart Instead of what you say She would have her son But you took that all away! She’s gonna be okay It’s your own fault you drove her away You’ll probably never see her again And now I’ve lost my best friend
With my anger almost spent, the reality of the situation sets in.
“I can’t believe this. I let this happen to my own sister. And now I’ve lost my best friend.”
I pause briefly and stare at them in exasperation. They are clearly taken aback by my tirade. Mom puts her hands on my shoulders to calm me down, but I instantly brush them away.
“Shut that stupid tea kettle off!” I shout at Mom. “Ben dan!” I add in vexation.
Mom returns to the kitchen and shuts off the tea kettle. Yao, however, is not impressed with my diatribe and is determined to uncover the truth. Again, he takes me by the shoulders, his temper out of control.
“Where?” he screams.
In a rage, he slaps me violently across my face. I recoil in fear. Dad intercedes in an instant. He shields me from Yao and pushes him away with authority. Dad has finally had enough of the madness as well.
“Enough!” he shouts at Yao.
I have never seen my father this angry or raise his voice in such indignation. We must share the same threshold.
“Stay away from...” he continues, but my mother interrupts. She is groveling again.
“I’m so sorry Master Yao, you are...”
Dad takes my mother firmly by the arms and forces her into a chair.
“Sit down! Now! You’ve done enough!” he shouts, pointing his finger directly at her. “And not another word!”
My mother is instantly silent at this display of authority.
“There will be no wedding! Keep your precious building! And stay away from my family!”
I look on in amazement at this side of my father I have never seen. Yao continues to do a slow boil.
“Dad, what about?” I ask as Dad interrupts.
“I will not sacrifice my family!”
I am dumbfounded as I watch Dad take Yao by the arm and escort him to the door.
“You will regret this,” Yao says, his words dripping with malice.
As Yao leaves, I call after him, still seething, “You’ll never find her. And get the hell out, bái chī!”
Chapter 29-What Day? It is late afternoon in Chinatown. Both John and Sabrina are fatigued from a full day of tracking down the various Po names on their list. Their lack of success does not deter John. I remember a thing called the “goal-gradient effect” from my psychology class. Simply stated, humans will accelerate their behavior as they progress closer to their goal. As an example of goal-gradient theory, John is “exhibit A.” Despite a full day of laborious searching, his stamina seems to only increase. Sabrina, however, is a different story. They take a moment to rest on a bench at Grant and Clay streets.
“My feet! I should have worn better shoes,” Sabrina complains.
Her spirits and energy are flagging.
“I think Po families must be like Smiths. They’re everywhere!” John exclaims.
John points to the shop directly behind them.
“Let’s do one more and then I’ll buy you an early dinner.”
“Empress of China? I know it’s your favorite.”
“If you insist,” John responds with a sly smile.
John stands up and holds out his hand to his wife.
“You game for one more?”
Sabrina nods wearily. John leads the way as they enter the shop. A young woman stands at the register and greets them.
“Hi. Can I help you find anything?” she asks cordially.
“Hi. We’re looking for information about a Jing Po who used to live here in Chinatown in the 70s,” John asks.
The young woman is immediately intrigued.
“Jing Po? I was named after my aunt Jing Po!” she replies.
John looks at Sabrina with a sudden rush of anticipation.
“Can you tell us anything about her?” asks John with a growing sense of urgency.
The young woman hesitates slightly, not knowing what to say to total strangers.
“Not really, but my mother can.”
I am already coming down the stairs when my daughter calls to me. Needless to say, I am in my 60s now, but the shop has changed little over the decades.
“Mom, these people have some questions.”
After descending the stairs, I approach John and Sabrina. My heart almost stops as I stare at John’s face.
Regaining my composure, I ask, “Can I help you?”
“We’re trying to find out about a Jing Po. We think she lived in this area in the 70s,” John explains.
I am astonished. I take my time to respond. I know who this has to be.
“Jing Po was my sister. My daughter here was named after her.”
I motion to my daughter, who is observing all this very intently. John and Sabrina look at each other again with astonishment as they realize that his could be the key to the puzzle.
Sabrina now helps out, “We found this clipping in his mother’s things after she died.”
As I inspect the clipping, a wave of melancholy sweeps over me.
“I remember Aaron well,” I reply.
“I was born just days before this and adopted by the Clark family. This is my wife Sabrina and I’m John Clark,” John says.
My excitement grows as I say, “Nice to meet you. I’m Ling-si. Please sit down.”
All four of us sit at the table adjacent to the counter. As I ask the next question, I realize there is no other possible explanation.
“You were born just before this?” I ask, referring to the clipping.
“April 20, 1971, here in San Francisco.”
“Oh my God,” is all I can muster in a whisper.
After all the years, the answer simply walks through my door.
“Can you help us?” asks John trying to control is excitement.
“Oh yes. I knew it when I saw you.”
“What do you mean?” John asks incredulously.
The prospect of finally solving the riddle has John in a state of high anxiety.
I am filled with a marvelous sense of satisfaction as I say, “You look just like your mother.”
“John is your sister’s son?” Sabrina asks swiftly.
I nod and smile.
“Do you think we will ever really know?” John asks, wanting to be absolutely sure.
“I already know,” I confidently say.
Sabrina and John are momentarily speechless.
I pause thoughtfully for a moment and then continue, “I need to show you something.”
I go to the cabinet under the register and remove a large padded mailer. I deposit the contents gently on the table in an almost reverent manner, my mind filled with memories. There are rings, sheets of paper, and a variety of personal effects, including a beautiful blue moonstone pendant. John picks up the pendant and looks at it intently. It comes alive in the late afternoon light.
“These are her things from that day,” I say delicately, as the past washes over me. A few tears gently run down my face.
“What day?” John asks.
Chapter 30-Rally April 24, 1971 in Golden Gate Park’s Kezar Stadium. Over 150,000 are in attendance, one of the largest assemblages of any kind in San Francisco’s history. The atmosphere is charged with energy. As the war in Vietnam drags on, the American people are reaching a flashpoint. On this same Sunday in Washington D.C., over 500,000 anti-war protesters also gather. The rally is largely peaceful, with only occasional outbursts of violent frustration. The Golden Gate Park mounted police swiftly contain any disturbance. The second oldest mounted police unit in the U.S., they are a gentle reminder to those who seek to protest in a more demonstrative manner. The streets feeding into the park are jammed with attendees. It is a curious mix of young and old, Caucasian and Chinese, Latino and African-American, parents and students. Some play instruments as they walk. Other groups are singing John Lennon’s “Give Peace A Chance” anthem. Signs and banners abound with the usual messages: “Hell no we won’t go,” “U.S. out now,” “Parents against the war,” “SDS against the war,” “Peace now,” “Bring the troops home,” and “Resist the draft.” My favorite of the time was a poster with a large daisy saying, “War is not healthy for children and other living things.” The stadium fills quickly, holding only about 59,000. The rest of the crowd is relegated to the surrounding area, where they can listen to the proceedings via loudspeaker. A huge stage has been erected at the west end of the arena, with a fifteen foot tall shell to protect the performers from the ever-present westerly wind. A gargantuan array of speakers surround the stage, insuring that no one will miss a word. Thankfully, the weather is cooperating, with just the usual fog and cool air. KPFA, Berkeley’s free speech radio, is broadcasting the event. Security is tight with a human chain of intimidating individuals separating the crowd from the performers. The staff and technicians scurry around in preparation.
The band, including Jing, has arrived early to set up and run through the required sound check. I remember Aaron telling of the exhilarating rush and sense of power that playing to a huge audience brings. He described it as though it was an almost spiritual experience; the focus of all that collective energy on one thing: to change the world for the better.
Scott and Paul drive the equipment van and pull up behind the stage. Everyone pitches in to unload. Jing, at Aaron’s insistence, relaxes on stage and watches the spectacle unfold. After the events of the last few days, Jing certainly has earned her rightful respite. Still, there is a bittersweet quality to Aaron and Jing’s reunion. The privation of their son hangs in the air like the Bay Area fog. As Aaron makes repeated trips to the van, Jing is overwhelmed by another wave of remorse and sorrow. They come unexpectedly, often on the heals of something very joyful, as if she wasn’t worthy of such happiness with Aaron. She stands and moves to the back of the stage behind the shell for a moment of solace as she is consumed by guilt and anguish concerning her lost son. There are tears in her eyes.
Listen to "Something You Should Know"
Now I’ve lost you, I let you go I can’t tell you something you should know I close my eyes, your sweet face I see I let them take you now I’m dying by degree You should be here with me You need to know I love you so Someday I promise I’ll tell you why How this happened Until that day I will pray That somehow you will know How the sun and moon were lost so soon I just can’t let go I’ll go on, it seems so wrong There’s something you should know Something you should know Now you’ll never know
Aaron ascends the stairs up to the stage with a guitar case in each hand. Unobserved by Jing, he stops at the top of the stairs and notices Jing’s distant, pensive expression. He stands for a moment as he silently observes her. It is a countenance of both joy and pain. Aaron knows exactly what troubles her. The same issue darkens his mind as well. Aaron deposits the guitars near the amplifiers and then quietly approaches Jing.
“I wonder where he is right now?” she says to Aaron softly, knowing the same thing is on his mind too.
Aaron takes Jing’s hand and leads her back to the folding chairs. They sit down and as he puts his arm around my sister’s shoulders.
“I suppose we will never know,” Aaron tenderly says.
My sister continues in a despondent tone, “He will never know about us. And how all this happened. He’ll grow up without us.”
“I wonder what he looks like. If he is anything like his mother, he will be amazing,” Aaron says with a forced smile.
“I’m sure he will like music. That much is in the genes,” Jing says.
“Maybe something will happen someday. Something that will bring us all back together,” says Aaron in a wishful tone.
“Funny you should say that. I was thinking the same thing,” Jing responds with a poignant smile. My sister abruptly sits up in her chair and attempts to shake off her reverie.
“Better get back to work Mr. Rock Star,” Jing says loudly with a smile.
“Aye, aye, mon capitaine!” replies Aaron with a smile as he stands and returns to setting up.
Still, there is no denying their joy, their affection displayed at every turn. The band is thrilled to have their front man back, as well as playing to the largest crowd in San Francisco history. Jing and the band chat as they wheel cartloads of gear up the ramp to the east facing stage. The sound reinforcement crew scurries about setting up mic stands and placing microphones in front of the amps. Paul is particularly critical of his multi-microphone drum placement.
“Just like old times, huh?” Scott asks Aaron.
Scott pats Aaron on the shoulder.
“It’s good to be back. You have no idea,” Aaron says to Scott while looking directly at Jing. She smiles as she relaxes in the folding chair. Aaron can’t resist. He is again drawn to her by an inescapable force.
He walks toward Jing, falls to his knees and holds her around the waist and says, “Remember this? ‘Compelled by ancient Eros, his will I can’t deny?’”
“You were looking right at me! How could I forget?”
As if to make up for all the lost time, Jing and Aaron are unable to stay away from each other for more than five minutes at a time. They seem to need constant physical contact to reassure themselves of the reality of the situation, a fact not lost on the boys as they smile at each other knowingly.
Paul marvels at the reunited lovers and sings, “Amorcito corazón, yo tengo tentación de un beso.”
Ramon laughs, the only one who understands the Pedro Infante reference. He motions for Paul, David, and Scott to gather around him.
“I have this idea,” he smiles coyly, making sure Aaron and Jing can’t hear.
Ramon takes a moment to explain to the boys. They all nod enthusiastically. All grinning like the Cheshire cat, they form a circle around Jing and Aaron. The two lovers look on in bewilderment. To the tune of Aaron’s anthem, the boys sing some newly created lyrics a cappella.
Leave the past behind you Love is the key Now you have each other Now you both are free
Jing and Aaron laugh in appreciation.
“You guys are the best,” Aaron gratefully says.
“Thank you boys. That’s sweet,” Jing adds.
David explains, “This gig is for you two. You both did your time.”
Aaron and Jing both stand. Jing kisses David gratefully on the cheek.
“Here’s to the future,” she says.
“Thanks guys,” Aaron says with a lump in his throat.
Aaron looks around at the dazzling array of sound reinforcement gear. There are towers of speakers surrounding the stadium. Monitors line the edge of the stage.
“So are we ready to crank this thing up?”
“Oh yeah!” exclaims Ramon.
“There must be thousands of watts running through this thing,” notices Paul.
“They say over 100,000 people today,” David adds.
Aaron motions to the sound reinforcement personnel that they are ready to go.
“Let’s do ‘I Don’t Want To Know,’’’ says Aaron to the rest of the band.
Everyone nods. The volume level is easily over 120 dB towards the west end of the stadium, but on stage the monitor level is ideal. Everyone is awe struck at the sheer power of the massive wall of sound. The last chord lingers, as it rolls around the stadium for four or five seconds. The band is speechless. It is no wonder so many bands profess their addiction to live performance. It is an addiction based on raw power. Aaron rushes to Jing after the sound check.
“How did it sound?” he asks.
“Let’s just say that the Phil Spector wall of sound has just been eclipsed by the Aaron Thomas wall of sound,” Jing exclaims.
Aaron smiles and sings a line from “Be My Baby” by the Ronettes.
Be my little baby!
She throws her arms around Aaron’s neck and says, “Anything you say!”
People start filtering into the stadium at about 11AM. Ramon does a final equipment check.
“Everyone. Time to change,” Ramon announces.
Back at the van, everyone changes into their performance dress. Ramon sports a new headband for the occasion, while still wearing the usual plaid flannel shirt and sun glasses. His pony tail falls below his shoulders. David wears his silver Nehru jacket, sunglasses, and new red kufi hat. Aaron cuts a very trim figure in a short waisted tan suede jacket with a stand collar. With the jacket open, the black T-shirt with Eric Clapton’s image can be seen. Boot cut black jeans with no flare, and well-maintained black engineer boots complete the ensemble. Scott slips on his T-shirt with Jim Morrison’s image on the front. The back of the shirt has lyrics: “When the music’s over, turn out the lights.” Paul is in overalls with no shirt.
“You look nice, Mr. Rock Star,” Jing teases.
“That’s the jacket you wore to the night fair. Our first date,” Aaron says tenderly.
“Doesn’t exactly fit anymore,” Jing complains.
“You are absolutely beautiful,” he whispers.
“Remember this?” Jing asks, as she displays the blue moonstone pendant. Aaron nods and holds her tightly.
When noon arrives, the mood is exuberant, with banners flying, signs waving, and the crowd chanting. The stage is laid out with the band in the center and about 15 chairs on stage right. The rally host, speakers, and other personnel will be seated there, including Jing. Directly in front of the chairs stands a podium and microphone for the rally’s speakers. Precisely at noon the Aaron Thomas Band takes the stage as Jing watches intently from her seat. She is seated next to an aging black man with short white hair. With no introduction, they immediately launch into an Aaron original called “Dead Jam,” a blues based, double lead guitar instrumental.
Listen to "Dead Jam" as you read the next section.
The crowd erupts into applause. The rally host runs on stage and takes the microphone, with “Dead Jam” serving as background music.
“Good afternoon everyone! Welcome! We are over 150,000 strong today!” the host announces with satisfaction.
The crowd applauds.
He continues, “Because united we stand. Divided they fall!”
More cheering.
“We have a great lineup today. We have live music. The Reverend Marshall Logan will speak. But first, let’s start with some music from a man of true conviction, a man who was just released from prison for refusing to serve in the military, our own native son, a San Francisco boy himself, Aaron Thomas and his band!”
Jing applauds enthusiastically in obvious pride. The crowd applauds eagerly, anxious to get started. The band quickly finishes “Dead Jam” as Aaron steps up to the microphone.
“Thank you so much. It’s great to see so many of you here. The Aaron Thomas Band is proud to have been part of the anti-war movement here in San Francisco over the years. And we wrote a couple of tunes just for this occasion. We’ll start with an anti-war hymn and then crank it up with a serious rocker.”
David and Ramon gather around Aaron’s single mic stand; Aaron in the middle, Ramon on the left, David on the right. They launch into an a cappella, three-part harmony, chorale style censure of the war. It is tight harmony with David’s high tenor on top, Aaron singing the melody in the middle, and Ramon on the bottom. The crowd is not expecting something like this. They quiet down and listen as if they were in church.
Listen to "Anti-War Hymn"
I don’t care if it’s wrong or right We all know this is not our fight In our hearts we know damn well Men of war will burn in hell They still think God is on their side Even when they kill and lie Do they help all the poor in need All they want is to see them bleed Kyrie eleison
As the last syllable fades away, Ramon and David go back to their respective microphones. Paul kicks it into high gear with a drum flourish that introduces the next song, “You Ever Wonder.” The stadium explodes into applause. Everyone is on their feet. This is what they are waiting for, a high-energy rocker filled with Ramon’s acerbic wit. This is Ramon and Aaron at their best; an irresistible groove and infectious lead guitar riffs that scream. After giving birth only a few days ago, Jing is understandably restrained, content to remain in her chair and sing along with her hands in the air. Aaron once told me how much of an entertainer’s performance is directly proportional to the enthusiasm of the crowd. With an immense, passionate aggregation like this, they rise to the occasion. The band is on fire.
Listen to "You Ever Wonder?"
You ever wonder why life ain’t fair You ever wonder why no one cares You ever wonder why things don’t change You ever wonder why your life is so lame You ever notice you got no say You ever notice all this malaise You ever notice the coming storm If you’re not outraged then you’re uninformed Cause people lie and people kill We’re just too dangerous to have free will When there’s a chance to do some good That’s right, we’d rather burn Down the neighborhood You ever wonder where money goes You ever wonder why no one knows You ever wonder who pays for war It’s always you and me and millions more They think that God is on their side Even when they kill and lie But in our hearts we know damn well That Jesus sends those assholes all to hell! Instead of whining and talking trash You better get up off your dead ass If you do nothing, then don’t complain It’s really you that makes your life so lame
Ramon goes into a serious blues solo while Aaron recites a bit of metaphorical anti-war prose.
When the hammer no longer obeys the master It is the hand that is shaped by the hammer Now beyond our grasp, the iron blows shape Both body and soul Not only is the enemy crushed into oblivion By the heavy steel blows But we ourselves are beaten down Into numb submission It is a hammer without a master With a senseless iron will But the long slumber must end Grasp the hammer with the power only The righteous possess Strike a blow in the battle for peace And regain the upper hand
The song comes to a crashing end as the crowd screams in appreciation.
“Ramon Ochoa, please,” Aaron cries out to the crowd, motioning to Ramon.
The crowd responds with thunderous applause.
“Thank you so much!” exclaims Ramon.
The band swiftly vacates the stage. As they walk past the seated dignitaries, Jing joins them. Behind the stage, they wait patiently. The rally host sprints back to the microphone and speaks in animated fashion.
“Thank you Aaron Thomas Band! Oh yeah, they got it right, ‘the long slumber must end!’ Right on guys! More from them later.” The host tones the rhetoric down a notch and proceeds more calmly, “Now it is my honor to introduce the distinguished orator from Savannah Georgia, the ‘Captain of Souls’, the Reverend Marshall Logan!”
The crowd is on their feet for the Reverend Logan. An aging, but vital African-American man deliberately strides to a waiting podium. He is tall with short white hair and does not have the appearance of a fiery orator. He grasps the podium with both hands and surveys the stadium by degree. He seems to be transformed. The crowd falls silent, as the Reverend’s commanding presence demands their attention. In a robust southern Baptist preacher’s voice, he addresses the crowd.
“Good day my brothers and sisters. In 1917 President Woodrow Wilson described the United States as the ‘most peace-loving of nations.’ How our collective memory has failed us! Since the inception of the United States, there have been hundreds of military operations, both here and abroad, resulting in the deaths of millions of people, the bulk of them so-called ‘noncombatants.’”
The Reverend’s voice becomes louder and more agitated.
“The military has been used to force profitable trade arrangements upon uncooperative countries! The military has been used to destroy labor union organizations both here and abroad! The military has been used to remove the Native Americans from their rightful land! The military has been used to overthrow those in power who resist our international meddling! The military is, in short, the imperialistic hammer that beats the drums of war. One has to only look at the record. The most peace loving of all nations? We are, without any doubt, the most belligerent of all nations! To further our own self interest we have engaged in all manner of depravity: the genocidal campaigns to remove all Native Americans in our expansionist path, sanctions against countries that resist our imperialistic arm twisting that result in the deaths of thousands of women and children, forcible regime change, suppression of democratic movements abroad that would not be favorable to U.S. interests. And perhaps most amazing of all, we still collectively see ourselves as the purveyors of freedom and justice in this world. The first step to reversing this heritage of imperialism is simple: realize the true nature of our past and learn from it. Somehow this must stop, for our silence makes us complicit in this madness. We must resolve to change or face the warning of John F. Kennedy: ‘Those who make peaceful revolution impossible, make violent revolution inevitable.’ I would like to close with the famous words of Dr. King. ‘If we will but make the right choice, we will be able to speed up the day, all over America and all over the world, when justice will roll down like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream!’ Thank you!”
The Reverend Logan flashes the peace sign as he returns to his chair. The crowd is again on their feet in appreciation. The rally host dashes to the front of the stage and seizes the podium microphone.
“Thank you Reverend Logan! Inspirational words to live by! Right on!”
The band hurriedly takes the stage. Jing takes her seat next to Reverend Logan.
“That was wonderful! Thank you so much!” Jing whispers to the famous orator.
“My pleasure, young lady,” he smiles.
“And now some more music from the Aaron Thomas Band,” the host announces.
More applause.
Aaron steps up to his microphone, “Thank you so much. This next song needs some explanation. I spent almost a year in prison for having a conscience. It was there I wrote this song. I would like to dedicate it to the woman who changed my life; the woman who made me be the change I wanted to see.”
Aaron looks at Jing. She is beaming.
“It’s called ‘Anthem’,” he says.
The crowd cheers, not knowing what they are in for. Aaron’s anthem is a Chicago blues shuffle in 6/8 with a huge hook and heavy groove. David, Aaron, and Ramon sing in tight, three part harmony. It is simple enough that the crowd joins in only after a few repetitions. To keep it fresh, the band puts the one simple verse through a few key changes, an a cappella treatment, and a guitar solo or two.
Listen to "Anthem At Golden Gate Park"
War’s not the answer Love is the key Hell no, we won’t go Fuck authority
After a few repetitions the band is whipping the crowd into a frenzy. Ramon puts his hands over his head and claps in rhythm to inspire the crowd.
“Come on!” he yells.
The crowd is screaming Aaron’s anthem. People are on their feet and moving to the heavy beat. Jing moves gingerly in her chair to the infectious groove, her hands above her head. Even Reverend Logan is clapping along. The rush is overwhelming. The band members look at each other in utter amazement. After countless rallies over the years, they have never witnessed anything like this. Such raw power can surely change the world. The crowd screams out in fury with the words “fuck authority.” The roar of the crowd is deafening. Repetition after repetition, the crowd can’t get enough. The anthem finally winds down and they hold the final chord for what seems like forever; Paul drumming madly, Scott arpeggiating at breakneck speed, Aaron, David, and Ramon strumming fiercely. Aaron looks at his band mates, he raises his guitar to cut them off. It all ends with a tremendous crashing F# major chord. The stadium explodes into deafening applause. The din is so great, the band can’t even hear themselves talk. They move to the front of the stage for a final bow. Aaron motions for Jing to join them but she is reluctant to do so. All the boys turn to Jing and motion to her. She apprehensively comes on stage. Aaron and Jing embrace in front of 59,000 people. The band cheers. They are both giddy with joy. Jing and the boys all join hands and bow in unison. Before they can take a second bow, there appears to be some kind of disturbance at the front of the stage. Someone is charging through the crowd.
“Aaron! It’s Yao!” Jing screams.
She points to Yao and backs away in fear, holding tight to Aaron. Yao now stands at the base of the stage. Everything happens very swiftly.
“She belongs to me hippie! Me!” Yao screams in fury.
A solitary security guard stands directly in front of Yao. The guard goes down with a swift thrust to the chest. Yao whips out a handgun.
“He’s got a gun!” Jing screams in sheer panic.
Yao gets off three shots before the nearby security guards bring him to the ground and mercilessly pound him into unconsciousness. All hell breaks loose. There are people everywhere running in terror and screaming in fear. It is pandemonium. Everyone on stage has fallen prostrate in terror, including the seated dignitaries. Aaron has been wounded in the arm, just below the shoulder. He grasps his arm in pain. He is bleeding heavily. Despite any continuing danger to themselves, Ramon and David are back on their feet and attending to Aaron. Ramon tears his plaid shirt into strips for a makeshift bandage.
“Hold him up,” Ramon commands David.
David hoists Aaron up off his back while Ramon ties his plaid compress tightly around his arm. Aaron is weak but conscious.
“Jing. Where is Jing?” he asks feebly.
Ramon turns around to find Jing on the stage floor a few yards behind Aaron. Ramon is the first to her side.
“Holy shit,” he says under his breath as he realizes that Jing is truly injured.
There is renewed chaos with this realization. Scott screams frantically for medical help. People race around the stage in hysteria.
“I’ll get the med kit from the van,” screams Paul, as he sprints away.
In desperation, Aaron calls to Jing, “Jing! Jing!”
He struggles to get up but cannot. David gets him to his feet, puts Aaron’s arm over his shoulder, and helps him over to Jing. Aaron sinks to his knees and holds Jing in his arms.
“Jing!” he cries in desperation.
“Dear God! Dear God!” he cries, seeing the extent of her injury. “Give me the shirt! Now!”
Ramon hands Aaron the remainder of his plaid shirt. He places it on her wound. Her beautiful black and white silk jacket is stained with blood.
Jing opens her eyes slowly and struggles to speak, “I’m so sorry. For everything.”
In anguish Aaron responds, “It’s okay. Be still. I have you now.”
My sister reaches up to touch Aaron’s face and says, “Nothing can keep us apart?”
He vainly tries to smile, shakes his head and says, “No, never.”
Jing’s arms fall to her side as she becomes unconscious.
Aaron whispers in agony, “Please. Jing. Please.”
He pulls Jing tightly to his chest and cries out in fury, “No!”
Ramon and David hold their best friend by the shoulders in loving support. The moment is surreal. Just seconds before, Jing and Aaron were in a state of absolute elation. And now, with his dearest friends pressed closely in around him, Aaron watches in horror and disbelief. Despite the utter chaos and pandemonium around them, Aaron is aware of only Jing. They are again in a world of their own. With Jing cradled in his arms, Aaron gently rocks back and forth, as if she were only sleeping. Aaron softly begins to cry.
Chapter 31-Aftermath With flashing lights and blaring siren the paramedics arrive. David rushes to the west end of the stage and screams at the paramedics.
“Up here! We need you up here!”
Scott is in shock and cannot move. The stadium is almost empty with only a few stragglers remaining behind. Paul arrives with the med kit from the van shortly before the paramedics. Three young men charge onto the stage carrying bags of medical gear.
“Please, we’ll take it from here,” the leader announces.
Paul and Ramon have difficulty getting Aaron to release Jing.
“It’s okay. Let them help her,” Paul suggests.
They get Aaron to his feet. The paramedics quickly examine Jing. Their tone and demeanor instantly change. They speak in a hushed and alarmed manner. Jing is swiftly moved to the gurney and into the ambulance.
“Please, I need to go,” Aaron calls to the lead paramedic.
He nods and then notices Aaron’s makeshift arm bandage and bloodstained shirt.
“Are you injured?” he asks.
“I’m okay,” he says.
Aaron staggers slightly as he follows the gurney.
David turns to Ramon and says, “Better go with him. He’s coming apart.”
Ramon sprints towards the ambulance and jumps through the back door just before it closes. It is less than a mile to the UC San Francisco emergency room just south of Kezar Stadium. David and Paul watch as it disappears in the afternoon light. Scott sits down in Jing’s folding chair, staring at the bloodstained stage. He begins to cry.
A few minutes later, five uniformed San Francisco police officers approach the boys.
“Can you tell me what happened here?” the officer asks.
David is the first to respond. Poor Scott continues to be completely unnerved and doesn’t even look up. Paul and David give an all-too-accurate account over the next fifteen minutes.
“Where did they take her?” asks David.
“To UCSF emergency,” the police officer responds.
“Thank you,” replies Paul.
David takes command and announces to Paul and Scott, “Come on, let’s load this shit and get to the hospital!”
Scott is unresponsive.
“Scott,” says David with no response. “Scott!” David yells again.
Scott finally becomes functional.
“Let’s load this stuff and get going!”
The ambulance speeds up the driveway to the emergency door at UCSF. Jing has an IV, an oxygen mask, and a compression bandage on her stomach. Aaron holds her hand and speaks to her softly. She is unconscious but appears to be breathing. The back door flies open and she is quickly moved inside the building. Ramon shepherds Aaron along as they closely follow the gurney.
“That’s as far as you can go. Sorry,” a nurse says.
Jing disappears through the surgery wing doors. Aaron and Ramon stand in a daze in the emergency waiting room. Ramon is completely shirtless and Aaron’s clothes are horribly bloodstained. The other waiting room occupants stare in disbelief and dismay.
The nurse continues, “I will need some information.”
“Can we get his arm looked at first? Gunshot wound. He’s still bleeding pretty good.”
“Put him in that wheelchair and I’ll take him back,” the nurse responds.
“Let me know if you hear anything,” Aaron calls to Ramon.
The nurse inspects Ramon and says, “Can I get you a shirt?”
He just nods. Aaron is whisked away. After a few minutes the nurse returns with a UCSF sweatshirt.
“Now about that information.”
Ramon dutifully provides the needed data and puts his sweatshirt on. Thirty minutes later Aaron is wheeled out of surgery wearing an identical UCSF sweatshirt, his arm in a sling after a dozen stitches. His jacket, however, is still very bloody.
“Any word?” Aaron asks.
Ramon shakes his head. Aaron is showing some signs of shock. He is trembling and slightly cold. The nurse picks up the desk phone, looks at the boys, and then hangs up.
“Boys, follow me please,” she says.
Aaron is instantly alert as they follow the nurse through the surgery wing doors. They proceed another fifty feet down the hall when the nurse says, “Wait here.”
Farther down the hall a doctor exits a surgery room and walks straight towards the boys. His face says it all. It is a face with no expression and hollow, lifeless eyes. Aaron’s stomach turns. The doctor approaches Aaron and Ramon and slowly comes to a halt.
He simply shakes his head. Aaron can’t breathe.
“She lost too much blood with such a massive wound. I’m so sorry.”
Aaron falls to the floor in anguish. He struggles for breath.
In a pitiful voice, he can barely whisper, “No. Oh no.”
Ramon and the doctor attempt to get Aaron to his feet but his legs collapse under him.
“Come on buddy, on your feet. Help us out here,” Ramon says tenderly.
Once on his feet, Aaron can barely declare, “I need to see her. Please.”
“In about an hour.”
The doctor turns to Ramon and says, “Take care of your friend here, he’s going to need you. And again, my deepest condolences.”
The doctor turns to go as Aaron sinks to the floor again. He screams out in fury and torment. Ramon falls to his knees and presses Aaron’s head against his chest. Aaron sobs uncontrollably. The nurse has been watching from the end of the hall and kindly brings down a wheelchair. They lift Aaron gingerly into the chair. He is slowly regaining some composure.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. He’s lucky to have a friend like you,” she says to Ramon.
Aaron stares at the floor as Ramon wheels him back to the waiting room. He abruptly looks up at Ramon.
“We need to tell Ling-si. And not over the phone. Let’s go.”
“My car is back at the stadium.”
“Let’s take a cab then.”
Aaron summons up his strength, stands, and walks to the nurses desk.
“Have the next of kin been notified yet?” he asks.
“No. We’re working on that now,” she replies.
“Thank you,” Aaron says.
They abruptly head for the door. Ramon holds Aaron by his uninjured arm. Ramon hails a cab and they quickly get in.
“Grant and Clay. As fast as you can,” commands Ramon.
Once inside the cab Ramon says, “I’m so sorry man. I can’t believe it.”
The five mile drive takes about ten minutes. Neither Aaron or Ramon can bring themselves to speak.
As they pull up to the Po shop Ramon says to the driver, “Wait here.”
Aaron leads the way as they enter the shop. I am at my usual spot near the register dealing with the busy weekend tourist traffic. I look up to see Aaron as I have never seen him before: hair a wild mess, arm in a sling, and in a bloodstained jacket. His face is deadly serious. I am instantly afraid.
“Oh my God! What’s happened?”
I will never forget Aaron’s words. They cut like a knife. He slowly walks up close to me and looks at me with his beautiful, doleful eyes.
“It’s Jing,” he softly replies. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?” I ask, my stomach turning.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. She died at UCSF just a few minutes ago.”
I become instantly hysterical. My mind reeling from the words. I begin to scream uncontrollably. Aaron holds me tight with his one arm. Time seems to be suspended.
“No! Please God no!” I wail.
My tears fall like rain from the sky. I am inconsolable. The customers look on in concern at such a display. I attempt to speak but cannot. There is a terrible pain in my chest.
Aaron surmises my question and says, “I have a cab out front, do you want?”
Aaron cannot even finish the question before I nod vigorously and charge towards the door. My mother and father are descending the stairs, worried about the commotion. I don’t even notice them as we race to the cab. Aaron sits me in the middle and holds my hand. Ramon puts his arm on my shoulders. I can’t seem to catch my breath. I sob in grief.
“Please God. No,” is all I can say over and over.
I am delirious. The cab ride seems to take forever. Each red light infuriates me. They are keeping me from my sister. Finally at UCSF we bolt from the car at a full run. At the emergency room doors there are about fifteen reporters with cameras and microphones. They pepper us with questions as they recognize Aaron.
“Are you Aaron Thomas?”
“We have reports of a shooting at Kezar Stadium.”
“We’re you hurt today?”
“Is it true there were multiple victims?”
Ramon takes charge and violently pushes through the throng. I follow Ramon with Aaron right behind.
Inside the emergency waiting room, I scream, “Where is my sister?”
The nurse recognizes Aaron and Ramon immediately while Aaron explains, “This is Ling-si Po, Jing’s sister.”
“Follow me.”
The nurse leads us around the corner to the staff elevator.
“Take this down to the basement. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”
I now have a greater control of my faculties, but continue to cry softly. I am clutching Aaron’s hand tightly while Ramon puts his arm in mine. We disembark and move down the hall to the morgue. I now dread what I am about to witness. It has to be some terrible mistake. My little sister couldn’t be down here. She still must be alive. But my denial fades as we approach the morgue doors. It is a gruesome reality now.
As we enter, a courteous attendant asks, “Who is the family member here?”
“I am,” I respond.
An anger wells up inside me. Why is this person so jovial? He should be weeping with all of us. Doesn’t he care about anything?
The attendant continues, “Here are her personal effects.”
He hands me a large envelope with my sister’s name on it.
“Thank you,” I curtly respond, snatching it away.
I hold it close as he leads us to a room with large drawers. I have never even seen a morgue before. There are people in all these drawers. The attendant opens drawer eight. We all approach with trepidation.
“Please God. Please,” I pray, hoping it is all some mistake.
And there she was. My little sister. As beautiful in death as she was in life. I feel a cold tremor run through my body. I begin to whimper quietly. I clutch both Aaron and Ramon.
“Dear God,” whispers Aaron. “She’s so cold,” as he touches her cheek.
Aaron seems to drift off into another world as he continues talking. There are tears rolling down his face.
“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. And I wasn’t there for you. I thought it would be okay. And we could get through anything together. I’m supposed to take care of you. But I didn’t. I’m so sorry. For everything.”
Even in death, Aaron and Jing created their own personal world. But now a world of unfulfilled love.
“I think it’s time,” the uncaring attendant softly says.
I want him to leave us alone and stop annoying us. Aaron lovingly touches my sister’s black hair and kisses her for the last time.
“Goodbye my love. In my heart, always.”
I release Ramon and Aaron momentarily and touch my sister’s face.
“Goodbye my little sister. You will always be my best friend.”
We all back away as the drawer glides shut. It slams closed with a dreadful finality. We all stand in silence for a moment.
“This way please,” the attendant says, as he motions towards the door.
Ramon and I turn towards the door and slowly walk, looking over our shoulders. Aaron is paralyzed and cannot move. Ramon goes back to retrieve Aaron.
“Come on dude,” Ramon says gently.
Aaron is almost completely incomprehensible now.
“I promised. I can’t leave now. She’s all alone. And I promised.”
“She’s gone. Everything about her that you loved, it’s gone. That’s only her body there,” Ramon gently reminds him.
He takes Aaron by his uninjured arm and moves him to the door. The fifty yards to the elevator take forever. Aaron repeatedly looks back over his shoulder. I suddenly realize I have never asked how this tragedy happened. We enter the elevator.
“Who did this to my sister?” I ask as my grief turns to anger.
Aaron is unable to respond.
“Yao tried to kill Aaron, but hit Jing instead,” Ramon replies.
The irony is not lost on Aaron.
“It should have been me,” he softly says.
The elevator doors open and we trudge down the hall to the waiting room where David, Paul, and Scott are waiting anxiously. They rush to our side as we enter the room.
“How is Jing?” asks David quickly.
He surveys our faces and instantly knows the answer. Their hopes are dashed as Aaron shakes his head. No one can speak.
“Aaron’s a little weak. Let’s all sit,” suggests Ramon.
Scott seems to feel all this most keenly. He sinks into a chair and holds his head in his hands. David quickly goes to Ramon and whispers animatedly. Ramon nods approvingly.
Despite the strangers in the room, David stands up and proclaims, “In Ghana there is a saying, ‘Death, for all its power, cannot carry water from the river in a sieve.’ It means that death can take the body, but not the soul. Jing is in all of us now. Remember and never forget, for now she lives in all of us.”
We all look up at David in amazement. What a wonderful consolation at such a sorrowful time. Aaron slowly stands and hugs David tightly with his one functional arm.
“You are the best,” he whispers.
The tender moment is shattered by a boisterous commotion coming from the entry doorway. My parents charge through the doors in a panic. Obviously, the next of kin have been notified. My reaction to their presence surprises even me. I am overwhelmed with anger. They are the culprits. They set this series of events in motion. They sacrificed my sister. My parents head straight to the nurse’s desk. I can see that my mother is distraught. I feel no empathy for her. She speaks animatedly to the nurse, but neither of them catch a glimpse of us. I am not inclined to acknowledge her. They both are escorted away by the nurse and disappear behind the surgery wing doors. Aaron and David sit down again as we all slip into a profound melancholy. The sun is beginning to set, yet no one is interested in leaving. After a very long period of silence, I am the first to speak.
“I know where they will take her.”
Aaron looks at me questioningly.
“Most of Chinatown uses the Green Street Mortuary. It won’t be long before they come for her.”
Aaron is again seized by his compulsion to protect Jing.
“Where is that, exactly?” he asks.
“Just down from Columbus and Green.”
Aaron has recovered his faculties by now and begins to contemplate the next step.
“It’s alright. You guys can head home. Ling-si and I will stay a little longer.”
“You sure?” asks a concerned Ramon.
Aaron nods.
David again stands and says, “Before we go, there’s one more thing.”
He motions for everyone to stand and join hands.
“Africans mourn for the dead, but they also celebrate life. And so should we.”
With David’s words, Aaron comes alive and says, “That’s right. I will always remember her beauty and grace. Her love of life.”
Everyone now joins in.
I add, “She was my best friend. And shared my life.”
Scott, who has been silent until now, finally says, “She was really brave.”
Ramon adds, “Jing was my best friend’s soul mate.”
“She liked my cooking,” Paul says with a pathetic little smile.
There is a long silent pause as we all look at each other.
“Go ahead. I’ll be along later,” says Aaron.
Ramon now realizes, “My car is back at the stadium.”
David responds, “Not anymore. You left your keys in the ignition.”
David hands the keys to Ramon’s car to Aaron and says, “ We can all fit in the van. Take your time.”
“Thanks.”
Aaron looks at me and says, “Should I take you home?”
“Not yet.”
As our hands fall to our sides, the boys tenderly embrace me and Aaron before they go. As Aaron and I sit back down, the quiet and emptiness sweep over me. My tears commence once again. I lay my head on Aaron’s shoulder. He holds my hand tightly.
After about an hour, Aaron says, “Let’s get some air.”
The reporters are still gathered around the entrance. They recognize Aaron. Again, they batter us with questions.
“Are you Aaron Thomas? Can you tell us what happened?”
“Are you Jing Po?” they ask me.
Aaron comes to an abrupt halt. He looks at me questioningly. I nod. He holds up a single hand to quiet everyone down.
“I’m Aaron Thomas. At about 1 o’clock this afternoon at Kezar Stadium Jing Po was murdered by Yao Wong. He was attempting to assassinate me, but missed his mark.”
Aaron is overcome with emotion and has trouble speaking, “She died here a few hours ago from a gunshot wound.”
He can barely speak as his tears return, I can’t help but cry softly too.
“She was the only woman I ever truly loved,” he whispers.
My parents reemerge from the bowels of the building. My grief-stricken mother is bolstered up by my father. As they exit through the doors, my mother catches sight of us. She flies into a fury at the sight of Aaron and marches right up to him and begins to scream.
“You! You are the one who did this! You killed her!”
“I’m so sorry. I blame myself,” Aaron says softly.
He clearly feels responsible. He did bring Jing on stage. He was the father of her child. He did thwart my mother’s plans for a marriage with Yao.
“And look what you’ve done! I’ve lost my daughter and our shop because of you,” my mother rants.
The press is having a field day with this exchange. Cameras flash, pocket recorders are taping the conversation.
“Please, that’s enough. This is not helping,” my father pleads.
My mother is undeterred and continues to fire away, “You made Yao do this! He was going...”
Just like before, I have taken as much as I am willing to take. The sight of poor Aaron with his head down being viciously excoriated by my crazed mother is more than I can bear, especially when my mother is the true villain.
“Shut up! I said shut up! Yao killed Jing, not Aaron! You made Yao do this! You sacrificed Jing for your damn building!”
Mom is hysterical, “This boy took her away from us! Yao was going to save all of us!”
“Save us? You are totally delusional! He killed your daughter and tried to kill Aaron. A real upstanding citizen alright! You just wanted your damn building!”
My father steps in finally, “Please, we are all to blame. Some more than others. This boy loved our daughter and made her happy. I am grateful for that.”
“I promised I would never leave her. I told her I would take care of her,” Aaron says softly.
I can’t let my mother go that easily, “Like that makes it okay? We all know who set this shit in motion. The Chinese lessons. The bowing and scraping. Don’t tell Yao about the baby! Are you kidding me? If you would have had any kind of compassion for Jing, she would still be alive! That’s right, she would still be alive! But no, you had to force this crap down her throat. All because you wanted the easy way out!”
“That’s not true. I did what was best for the family,” my mother responds.
The truth is beginning to hit home.
Aaron turns to my father, “I’m truly sorry sir, I loved her very much.”
I am surprised to see my father put his hand on Aaron’s shoulder and say with a tear in his eye, “She was a delightful daughter.”
I am still boiling, “What’s best for the family? Making Jing marry a maniac? Making her give up her baby? Keeping her apart from the man she loves? How is this helping? Admit it, you don’t give a shit about anyone except yourself!”
“You must see it. It was not for the best,” my father joins in.
Mom can’t respond. Still fuming, I take Aaron by the arm and move him through the army of media personnel. Dad maneuvers Mom towards the back of the hospital where their car is parked. The press call after us with more questions. We navigate past the entry to a raised bed garden in front of the building with trees and shade-loving ferns and camellias. We sit on the planter wall and watch the world parade by on Parnassus Avenue. My sister is dead and no one has noticed. The world goes blindly on, unknowing and uncaring. It is so heartless.
“Thanks. For what you said back there. It means a lot to me,” Aaron says gratefully.
Aaron stands for a moment, looking up and down the street. I know what he is thinking. His devotion to Jing is touching. And sure enough, the black Green Street Mortuary hearse appears and drives behind the hospital.
“Let’s go,” Aaron says.
We walk quickly to Ramon’s car.
“Do you mind driving?” Aaron asks me, motioning to his injured arm.
We wait until the hearse reappears and follow it across town. As it pulls into the mortuary driveway, I stop the car a discreet distance down the street.
“Now we know where she is,” Aaron says.
Aaron looks at me anxiously. He now realizes that Jing is beyond his sphere of influence, both physically and spiritually. It unnerves him. I gently touch Aaron’s arm in consolation.
“I know you promised her. But she’s gone from this world now. It’s just an empty shell you’re trying to protect now. You have to let her go.”
Aaron doesn’t respond, looking down at the car floor. This is undoubtedly very difficult for him. He was unable to be present at the birth of his son. He was not available to help Jing through her pregnancy. He failed to protect her at the rally. He obviously needs some reassurance and sympathy.
“And my sister would agree. I know this is hard for you, but there’s nothing you could have done. And there’s nothing you can do now. She would never want to be a burden to you.”
“I know,” he whispers. “But now what happens?”
“I will keep you apprised. She’ll be here for a few days. The body of a young person never is brought to the house. That’s only for elders.”
Aaron nods gratefully and says, “I’m sure your parents won’t want me coming around here.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.” I take a hard look at Aaron and say, “I think it’s time to head home.”
He reluctantly nods. I ease the car back onto the road. We both take a long look at the mortuary as the car creeps slowly along. The tears start again.
As we reach the shop I ask, “Are you okay to drive?”
I double park in front of the shop for a moment as we switch drivers.
Before we say goodbye, I hug Aaron and say, “My sister loved you so much. And I know why. You have a big heart Aaron Thomas. I have never seen her that happy.”
“She made me a better person. But now...” Aaron says, his words trailing away.
“I’ll call when I know anything.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says as I disappear inside the shop.
Aaron manages to get home safely but there are more reporters outside the Page Street apartment. As he parks in the driveway, the media circus begins as the reporters, some with cameras, surround the Ford. Alerted by the commotion, Ramon and David charge out the front door to Aaron’s rescue. Parting the reporters like the Red Sea, they extricate Aaron and chaperone him inside, all the while being bombarded by questions.
After David and Aaron are through the door, Ramon turns to the reporters and says, “No nos molesten! It’s been a bad fucking day!”
Once inside Aaron finally begins to relax as he sits in the overstuffed chair. The events of the day hang like a specter in the room.
“You guys are the best. Thanks for taking such good care of me,” a grateful Aaron remarks.
“How’s the arm?” asks Scott.
“Okay.”
Even though it is getting late in the evening, the boys have been waiting up.
Paul calls from the kitchen, “I’ve got plenty of food here. Who’s hungry?”
No one seems to be eager to eat.
“No thanks,” Aaron says.
“Yeah, I don’t think anybody has much of an appetite,” David says.
Paul puts a pot of coffee on the dinner table. Aaron can sense the boys’ interest concerning Jing.
“They took her to the Green Street Mortuary. There should be a service in a few days. Ling-si said she’d let me know.”
Aaron surveys the room and his bandmates. His countenance changes to one of warmth and gratitude.
“You guys are my family. And I’m grateful for that. We’ve been through a lot and we’ve always been there for each other. Especially today, especially for me. I can never thank you enough for your friendship. I love you all.”
“We all know you’d do the same for any of us,” Scott replies.
“I’m sorry you had to go through all this today,” Aaron says sadly.
Everyone is silent as they recall the events of the day.
At about 3AM Aaron wakes up in the overstuffed chair. His arm is throbbing and his limbs ache from sleeping in an unnatural position. The horror of the previous day sweeps over him. He goes to the kitchen to heat up some of Paul’s cold coffee and then sits down at the piano. He stares blankly at the keys for a minute or two, formulating an idea. With a single hand, he plays simple chords and hums along. This time the words don’t come easily as he struggles to verbalize all that he is feeling. It is a cathartic process that takes over two hours. It is a simple tune with heartfelt words.
Listen to "All The Answers"
All the answers were hidden from my view To all those questions, the ones I thought I knew But after all this time, I thought that I would find A reason why As a young man I lived from day to day Blind to the horizon, my life in disarray I never thought I’d be, the things you saw in me That I couldn’t see Now it’s such a battle to get me through the day My solitude and anger, in a sad and graceless age I guess I never noticed, I guess I never knew That I would never be me without you Was it worth the anguish and all the things I lost I never thought a conscience would come at such a cost How different things would be, the son, the moon, and me If I’d have been free All I seem to think of is how I’d change the past Haunted by a vision of a life I couldn’t have I guess that’s all behind me, I guess it’s sad but true That I don’t want to be me without you
There are tears in Aaron’s eyes as he finishes.
Chapter 32-Funeral It is Wednesday noon, four days after that fateful day at Golden Gate Park. Jing will lie in state at the Green Street Mortuary all day today and tomorrow and then be buried at Hoy Sun Memorial Cemetery in Colma. Just south of San Francisco, Colma has been called the “city of the silent,” due to the many cemeteries that comprise most of the town. For every living person, there are over one thousand deceased. It was here the cemeteries of San Francisco were moved as the city expanded. It is here that my sister will be buried. Traditional Chinese funeral rites dictate that invitations be sent out beforehand. And phone calls too, if necessary. Since Jing was so young and her death so sudden, some of the funeral traditions are different. I have spoken very little to my parents since I returned late Saturday night. The anger I feel towards my parents has been reduced to a general irascibility. However, there are moments when it flares up. No one talks about how they feel or why these things happened. And it is probably just as well, I would fly into a rage anyway. After the scene at UCSF, everyone knows how I feel about the matter. My mother has been noticeably restrained since Saturday night. Her remorse is well-earned. It is a rich irony that the very tool she used to control Jing is now coming home to roost. Guilt, the gift that keeps on giving.
We are the first to arrive at the mortuary. We are all dressed in the traditional funeral black. One of the attendants greets us as we enter.
“Welcome Po family. My most sincere condolences on your loss,” he says graciously.
We all nod.
“I would like to make sure everything is to your liking. Please follow me.”
He leads us to a small room. Jing’s simple white casket is in the center of the room surrounded by about thirty-five chairs. At the foot of her casket is a small table with a stack of red envelopes, white irises, candles, joss paper, and incense. There are small plates of food and photos as well.
“As you instructed, there is red thread and candy in each envelope.”
The red thread is for the guests to put on their home doorknobs to keep away evil spirits. The sweet rock candy is to counteract the bitterness of loss.
“The monks will be here at 9 o’clock tonight.”
“Fine. Everything is fine, thank you so much,” my father replies.
I approach my sister’s open coffin. Just like in the morgue, I am overcome with sorrow. Dressed in a beautiful white robe, her face is absolutely angelic. She looks like she is in a peaceful sleep. I can’t help but cry.
“I miss you little sis,” I whisper.
I light a stick of incense and sit down. The vigil begins.
***
Throughout the afternoon and early evening, family friends and neighbors come by to join the vigil for at least three or four hours. In traditional Chinese culture, there is to be at least one all night vigil. All the mourners are in black or dark clothing, black being the color of sadness. No one wears jewelry of any kind. The custom is the same with each family: light a stick of incense, place the white irises on the table or around the casket, burn joss paper (paper with printed images of currency and items of value to ensure a safe journey to the afterlife), and say a prayer. Occasionally, mourners would bring money donations or little banners with thoughtful sayings or poems. My favorite is “When sleeping women wake, mountains move.” Those unfamiliar with Chinese tradition might not understand many of the peculiar rites. Westerners are often confused by the almost boisterous nature of these vigils. People talk loudly and carry on normal conversations. I find it all very comforting. It is a tradition I grew up with and have always loved. Just with their presence, our friends and neighbors are a wondrous source of consolation. I make sure everyone has a red envelope.
At 9 o’clock the Buddhist monks arrive and the chanting begins. Punctuated by a ringing bell, the words are hypnotic and flow effortlessly. The conversations continue while the monks chant. I am afraid I don’t know what they are chanting, but it is still most soothing. There is tea to drink and food to keep our strength up. My mother and father solemnly chat with friends but after 11 o’clock they are beginning to fade. The monks leave shortly after 11 o’clock. As the night wears on, many of the guests return home until there are only about fifteen or twenty mourners left. We all do our best to stay awake but no one can resist a brief cat nap now and then. Precisely at 3 AM, I slip out the door to the lobby and walk down the hall to the now closed administration offices. The hall dead-ends at the back door that exits to Card Alley behind the mortuary. I gingerly open the door.
“Is this going to work?” Aaron asks, as he steps into the hallway.
“You will have to be fast. Wait just outside of the doorway. As soon as my parents nod off, I’ll let you know. Nobody else knows you here,” I say.
“I brought this,” he says.
“I thought you might,” I say with a plaintive smile. “Just don’t forget to do what I said.”
“Sure.”
Aaron is in a crisp black suit and tie, his hair nicely groomed. His arm is still in a sling. He carries a beautiful bouquet of white irises. I lead the way back to my sister’s viewing room and stop just outside the open door.
“Wait here. Don’t let my parents see you. I’ll let you know,” I say.
Aaron nods. I take a seat in front of my parents so I can see the doorway behind them. Dad is napping but Mom is still awake.
“I think I’ve had too much tea,” she tells me and gets up to go to the restroom.
Aaron ducks out of sight as my mother heads for the door. As soon as she disappears down the hall, I rush to the door and take Aaron quickly by the hand and lead him to the foot of the coffin. He deposits the irises on the table and attempts to light the incense with one hand. I step up and assist him. Out of his pocket he removes an envelope and puts it next to the candles. It is labeled “Shimmer.” Aaron again struggles to light the joss paper. A hand falls gently on his shoulder.
“Let me help you with that,” my father says to Aaron.
Aaron and I both turn around in surprise. He is obviously awake. I am even more surprised with his reaction to Aaron’s presence.
“I thought you might come. Don’t worry son, you’re welcome here.”
Together, they both light the joss paper.
“What about Mom?” I ask.
“I’m not sure she would like this. Where is she now?” my father asks.
“Restroom,” I respond.
“I have an idea. I’ll take her outside for some air. That should give you some time.”
“Thank you sir,” Aaron says graciously.
My father turns to go.
Aaron picks up the “Shimmer” envelope and says, “I’d like you to read this.”
The memories of that evening at the coffee house wash over me as I read my sister’s poem.
It is a reflection only time may reveal That singular mirror of our true selves The details of our lives are illuminated With painful clarity No matter the distance, each stands highlighted Absolute and immutable, waiting to be judged by God Yet, it is a reflection only of what can be seen Not of the invisible and unknowable depths But it is in these depths that lives are measured The shallows of concern and care The depths of love and sacrifice The currents that steer our lives There are those who languish in its depths And never see the surface Only you see beyond my reflection Only you have seen my soul
I notice that Aaron has made an addition after the last line. It is in red ink, the color of happiness in Chinese culture.
Only you have my heart
I am swept away with emotion as the tears begin. I put the poem back in the envelope and embrace Aaron.
“Very sweet,” is all I can manage, trying to regain my composure.
We both approach the open casket. Aaron’s face takes on a vacant look, his mind flooded with memories.
“She looks like she is sleeping. So peaceful,” he whispers. “Go ahead.”
I nod and place the envelope in the pocket of Jing’s beautiful white robe. It will be with her forever now.
“We should probably go,” I say, looking towards the door.
Aaron takes a wistful last look at Jing and says, “Always in our hearts. Forever.”
I take Aaron’s arm and move him towards the door. His face retains the same distant, disconsolate look. We pass through the lobby without incident and walk down the hallway to the alley exit.
“Remember what to do with this?” I say, as I hand him a red envelope.
“Yes, I do.”
“You know where Colma is, right?”
“Sure. And thank you. It means so much to me to be part of this.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. I better go.”
Aaron steps out into the cool late night air as the door shuts silently.
***
At 10AM the hearse leaves Green Street mortuary bound for Colma, followed by about ten or twelve cars filled with friends and neighbors. The sky is filled with the perennial fog and cool air. I drive the family Corolla, my father next to me and mother in back. We are emotionally and physically spent, the night vigil being the culmination of four days of grief and little sleep. There is no conversation in the car for almost the entire trip. There is the typical midweek traffic on Highway 101, but it is only about thirteen miles and doesn’t take more than thirty minutes. As we turn off of Hillside Boulevard into the Hoy Sun driveway, the sun makes a feeble attempt to pierce the fog. I have never been to this cemetery before and notice that it is mostly open with few trees. The grounds are set on a rising slope with the spring green, treeless San Bruno hills directly behind them. The gravestones are all remarkably similar. All are about two to three feet high, maroon in color, and are set closely to each other. Jing’s grave is a good distance up the hill and slightly east of a row of cypress trees. I am disappointed that my sister will be lost in a sea of indistinguishable headstones. She was anything but commonplace and a characterless grave is an indignity to all that she was. The hearse stops near the top of the cemetery and our cavalcade comes to a halt. My father gathers the pallbearers and prepares to move the coffin to the gravesite. To be a pallbearer is an honor in Chinese culture and our family has no shortage of volunteers. Everyone is dressed in black and must wear a black armband to symbolize our sorrow. Due to Jing’s youth and the circumstances of her death, it is customary that the burial is done in silence, a Chinese funeral ritual that I find disagreeable. Again, I am disappointed that there is not even the smallest tribute or eulogy. But I know I will have my chance later.
My father produces a small bag from the trunk of the Corolla and says, “Please. Armbands everyone.”
We dutifully put on our armbands and form a queue behind the pallbearers. Our neighbors carry two large bouquets of beautiful white irises wrapped in paper. I am slightly uncomfortable as my mother takes my arm. With desolate faces, we walk silently to my sister’s final resting spot. The coffin is placed parallel to the gravesite and then positioned so it can be lowered mechanically into the ground. The pallbearers bow three times. There are tears and sobbing as my sister is lowered into the earth. Beginning with my father, we all take a single Iris and place it on the coffin along with our armbands. I quietly sob as we wait for the mourners to complete the ritual. My mother holds my arm tightly as she cries, while my father stoically gazes at his daughter’s coffin. We are all overcome with grief at this final goodbye.
As the last mourner places their armband and flower on the casket, my father breaks the unbearable silence, “Thank you all for coming. You honor the Po family with your presence.”
Everyone cheerlessly turns to go, except me. I am fixed like a rock.
“Do you want to stay a little longer?” my father asks.
“You two go ahead, I want to stay for a while,” I softly say.
My father glances towards the trees behind him. There is a solitary figure just barely visible. He knows. My mother has missed this inference entirely.
“I think I understand,” he says with a weary smile.
“Take care of mom, she’s exhausted,” I respond as they turn to go.
My mother finally notices, “Aren’t you coming?”
“She’ll be along later. Come on,” my father replies as they return to the car.
For a few minutes I stand at the foot of my sister’s casket as the funeral entourage slowly drives away. The figure behind the cypress trees tentatively approaches the grave. Dressed in a simple black suit and tie, he holds a single rose in his hand, his other arm in a sling.
Now alone, I am finally free to speak, “I’m sorry little sister. I should have taken better care of you. You will always be my best friend. I’m so sorry.”
I am in tears as Aaron puts his hand on my shoulder.
“This is not your fault,” Aaron gently whispers.
Finally, with everyone gone and no need for further emotional constraint, I take Aaron’s arm and begin to weep without inhibition. We both stand motionless, the silence broken only by my tears and the occasional jet leaving San Francisco International Airport.
Aaron is the first to speak after a lengthy silence, “Could you hold this for a moment?”
I nod as he hands me the red rose and then produces a sheet of paper from his coat pocket.
“Is it okay that I read something?”
Through my tear-stained face I valiantly try to smile and say, “Of course. I thought you might.”
Aaron moves closer to the grave as I gently hold the rose. He seems to be having a personal conversation with Jing.
Death has dominion over us all So it has and will be for all time But those who go too soon Those who’s light failed to reach the zenith Those lovely hearts, full of life Those seized and wrested from our arms It should not be so And I cannot and shall never be reconciled For what you were is lost The delicate grace, the artistry, the keen sense - forever lost The fire, the brilliance, the luminous glow - forever extinguished Only a fragment remains in our hearts It should not be so And I cannot and shall never be reconciled It is twofold: the sorrow for a life unfinished And the grief of personal loss The loss of your light darkens all our lives The loss of your voice diminishes our own song But yours is the greatest offense: The deprivation of your life Ours is the lesser: only remorse It is that deprivation that I cannot and shall never reconcile Still, I am grateful and in your debt Transitory and ephemeral as it was Your life was part of mine The love and esprit, the concern and sacrifice I am different now because of you I am changed now because of you I cannot and shall never be without you
Aaron gently folds the paper and returns it to his coat pocket. I am deeply moved by Aaron’s heartfelt and compelling words.
“Would you like to say anything else?” Aaron asks.
I can only shake my head, unable to speak. Aaron takes the rose from my hand. A few rays of sunlight finally penetrate the diminishing fog.
“One last thing,” he sighs.
He tenderly places the rose at the head of the casket.
“Goodbye my love,” he whispers. There are tears in his eyes.
Chapter 33-Epilogue My sister died so needlessly that April day. She was the victim of my parents’ intolerance and greed. And to a small degree, my indecision. I will never forgive myself, even though my family considers me blameless. It is a shame that I always will live with. But I will not perpetrate that kind of behavior on my children. Love is truly the answer. I am resolved to share my sister’s story and show how xenophobia, cultural intolerance, and hate can only cause misery. I suppose I am doing this to somehow absolve myself of my guilt. Perhaps not absolve, but to at least come to terms with my shortcomings. My sister’s death is with me always. It sits on my shoulder and goes with me everywhere. I have learned to live with its presence. It makes itself known to me now and then. Every time I tell my sister’s story. Every time I go to the night fair. Every time I read her poetry or hear one of Aaron’s love songs. Every time I hear my daughter play the guzheng. But John has made the circle complete. It gives my heart such joy to see my sister live on through him. A curious thing has happened during this tragic saga. I feel my sister and I are even closer now. I have relived our lives together as I remember our past. If it is true that our loved ones live on through our memories, then my sister is alive and well. Her life was all too brief, but for a short while she shared life’s greatest gift. The joy of selfless love.
***
John silently starts up their Tesla Model X. It will take about 45 minutes to make the trip from Los Gatos to Daly City, just south of San Francisco.
“You ready for this?” Sabrina asks.
“Yeah, I guess,” John responds.
The traffic on Interstate 280 is light. After learning the truth about his mother, John has been remarkably restrained, almost withdrawn. As he drives, he reflects on his quest and its unforeseen results. There remains one last task to complete the circle. And with a little of my help, John can now conclude his pilgrimage.
No doubt John’s mind is filled with questions and doubts. After discovering the heartrending fate of his mother, he is understandably anxious about today’s encounter. When they first entered the shop, they were both so elated to have discovered John’s family roots. It is a cruel fate indeed to have the joy of that discovery negated so quickly. I shall never forget their crestfallen faces as I explained what happened on that horrific day. Perhaps John expected his mother to still be living. As I gently related the story, I watched the growing dismay on their faces. This was not the culmination of their search they had expected.
Sabrina turns on the radio to provide some relief from the awkward silence. They pull up to a modest house in Daly City. It is a well tended but aging single story home. It is no coincidence that Colma is only a few miles away. Neither John nor Sabrina move as they inspect the house nervously.
“I think this is it,” Sabrina says quietly.
“Yeah, I guess so,” John responds.
They both exit the car and walk up the driveway.
Sabrina stops halfway and says, “You go ahead. I’ll be right here.”
Music can be heard as John approaches the door. He stands motionless, gently touching his mother’s blue moonstone pendant in his coat pocket. As Sabrina watches, he slowly raises his hand to knock. John tentatively taps on the door three times. The music abruptly stops. The door opens and an aging Aaron Thomas appears.
“Excuse me. Sorry to bother you, but are you Aaron Thomas?”
At long last John finally stands face to face with his father, Aaron Thomas.
About the Author Dr. Nelson was on the music faculty at Cerritos College for over 25 years. Now retired, he devotes his time to composition, writing, and performance. After completing a Ph.D. in music theory/composition at the University of California Santa Barbara in 1980, David worked in a variety of institutions, ranging from the secondary level to college and university.
Over the last 35 years, Dr. Nelson has composed numerous works, including symphonies, tone poems, choral pieces, chamber music, music for film, popular music, incidental music for plays, and computer generated music. Many of these have been performed. Recently he completed a two-hour Requiem for full orchestra and chorus, as well as three musicals, Haight, L.A. Vida, and The Fitzsimmons Diary. All three of these musicals have been fashioned into the eBook format and are available online. Over the years David has received commissions from University of California at Riverside, University of Alaska at Juneau, Cerritos College, Truckee Tahoe Community Chorus, Reno Pops Orchestra, and the Sonoma Valley Chorale.
Outside of the classical music realm, David has substantial experience in commercial music. As a member of many bands, he has played guitar, pedal steel guitar, and violin in “The Changing Times”(with Stevie Nicks), “Wanted”, and “Dave Phelan and Maverick”. Dr. Nelson currently lives in California where he pursues his musical as well as environmental interests.