Smeared Type

Audience at Q & A with Jian and Lisa after watching Mulberry Child

All three screenings of Mulberry Child at the Gene Siskel Film Center were sold out.  I was amazed and touched that the audiences of different ages and backgrounds connected with our life stories!

At our 2^nd screening, I was pleased to see a number of Chinese in the audience. I was most eager to hear what they had to say. The moment I stepped down from the podium after Q & A, a young Chinese woman in her 20s stood up from her front row seat and hugged me.

“Thank you for sharing your story,” she said in a low voice. I realized she was crying.

I put my arms around her as she laid her head over my left shoulder and sobbed. Two of her friends stood by, their eyes welled up with tears.

The young woman lifted her head and gave me an embarrassed smile, wiping away her tears.

“It’s OK,” I said, padding her on her back as she lowered her head over my shoulder again.

Lisa and Jian addressing audience's questions

“Just call your mother tonight and tell her you love her, too,” I said, trying to make it light.

A young Chinese couple, both graduate students from UIC, waited patiently as our conversation kept being interrupted by friends who came to give their congratulations and bid farewell. It turned out that they both came from Changchun, the city where I was born.

“We never learned much about the Cultural Revolution,” the wife said. “I feel I get to know my parents much more by watching your film.”

I was deeply moved by their reaction and comments.

More than two dozens of people lingered behind and talked until the staff at the Gene Siskel Film Center called out to close the theatre at 11 p.m.

The last screening was equally moving. Only one or two people left when we started the Q & A. I felt the connection from the audience and took turns with my daughter Lisa to address their questions on China, our relationship, and the impact of the film on us.

The next day, I found one posting from a Chinese woman named Li. I remembered talking to her the night before. She was Lisa’s age. She wrote: “Every Chinese should watch this film.”

Jian with graduate students from IIT

I received numerous moving comments from my friends via email during the week after the screenings. I was so touched that I selected a few each day to forward to my director Susan and executive producer Ellis, stating these are the “love letters of the day.”

Mulberry Child was so well received by the audience that the Gene Siskel Film Center invited us to come back for a weeklong screening from March 30 to April 5, with 11 shows. The Chicago Public Library also invited us to participate in the spring’s One Book, One Chicago program, stating Mulberry Child would be a “wonderful companion” to the selected book, so we formed a three-way partnership.

I’ve committed to do Q & A with Lisa at the last screening of each day during the screening period. I look forward to connect directly with as many viewers as possible.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China, which has been developed into a feature-length documentary film by Susan Morgan Cooper and narrated by Jacqueline Bisset.

In June, I had the luxury of taking a 3-week trip to China, covering a total of six cities, going from the north to south, east to west, and finally back to the north. Over the last 20 years, I had visited China about twice a year. But my short trips were limited mostly to Beijing, Qingdao and Changchun. I was excited about this trip and would love to share some of my experiences and photos.

I. At Tsinghua University (清华大学), Beijing

The old gate, a symbol of Tsinghua University

I arrived first at Beijing, having scheduled meetings with a couple of publishers in the city. Mr. Zhao, a friend’s friend helped me set up the meetings and arranged for me to stay at a hotel on the campus of Tsinghua University. It would be more convenient for the meetings, he told me.

I had worked in Beijing for four years in the early 1980s, but had never set foot on this first-rate university in China, which the Chinese referred to as the “MIT of China.” Mr. Zhao, also a writer, sent a young man to meet me at the airport. As our taxi entered the gate of the university, I was surprised by the enormous size of campus as the young man kept giving directions to cab driver—it felt like a city inside the walled campus! Wide streets with nice landscape, canals with artistic bridges, buildings, old and new, gardens,

A pond on campus cast in the morning light

and walking trails that disappeared under the trees. Not to mention streams of students walking or on their bicycles … I was amazed by the scenes revealing before me.  

Mr. Zhao and his wife graciously took me out for a northern cuisine dinner. I retired early for the night, trying to get over my jetlag. Despite the Melatonin pill I took, I woke up at 4 a.m. the following morning. As soon as the light became brighter outside, I put on my running gear and went out to explore the campus.

A monument on campus

For the three days I stayed there, I ran for an hour each morning, taking a different route each time. Still I was not able to cover all the ground on campus. The various parks, gardens, ponds covered with lotus, with people fishing by their sides, the outdoor track fields, rows of apartment buildings, cars, and bicycles. I got lost in the maze and had to find my way back to a major pond in order to return to my hotel.

I couldn’t help from admiring the young men and women walking on campus—they are the brightest children of China and will surely have a bright future.

 Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. The book has been developed into a feature-length documentary film by award-winning director Susan Morgan Cooper and will be released in 2011.

By Jian Ping

Enjoy a hearty meal with Tao, Yan and Mom

We arrived at Changchun about 7 P.M. My sister Yan and her son Tao were waiting for us at the train station. Tao had bought a Volkswagen earlier in the year and had been providing generous transport services to our extended families in Changchun. This evening, he was the designated driver again.

A table of food was waiting for us when we opened the door to Mother’s apartment. I was so happy to see Mother as energetic and high spirited as I left her in May. She, however, frowned at me as she saw me limping.

“You should have waited to come back until your knee is healed,” she said.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” I said. “We have a family doctor.”

It turned out Mother was right. The infection on my knee got worse. Still, I didn’t take it seriously. Limping around, I went to the “Blind Men’s Massage Parlor” the next day and bought a 20-visit massage pass. A full body massage cost 40 Yuan, about US$6, and I couldn’t pass up the treat. In fact, when I fell badly off my bike in Chicago, I was on my way to a gym for a massage. I was in a hurry and fell at a high speed two blocks from my destination. Now, as always

Yan is getting ready for a massage

when in Changchun, I urged my sisters to go with me for massage. My sister Ping and her husband Zhicheng also came from Shenyang. We went to the parlor together and chatted away while enjoying the treat.  In a neighborhood massage place like the one we went to that was run by four blind men, each room had three or four beds and the masseurs worked on their fully-clothed clients, using a small towel over the areas they worked on. They were thorough and strong. Despite the simple setting and condition, the deep tissue massage was quite good!

On the 3^rd day I was home, Wen became more concerned about my infected knee and took me to the hospital she worked at. I didn’t argue—I was in pain and would travel again soon. The doctor put me on an antibiotic IV injection right away. For the next six days, I received two IV injections every day. Wen played doctor and nurse at the same time.

“You know you are not young anymore,” Wen said, struggling to put the thin needle into a blood vessel on the back of my left hand. “I don’t think you should ride your bike anymore.”

A sweet moment with Wen, Yan and Mom

“I promise I’ll be more careful,” I said. I meant it. But I didn’t tell her that over the summer, I rode my bike on the trail along Lake Michigan in Chicago for nearly 20 miles four or five times a week. I loved it and would definitely continue to do so.

Because of my knee, I spent most of the time with Mother at home. I had a great time chatting, playing mahjong, or watching television with her and my sisters. Over the last two decades, I had visited them two or three times each year, but seldom stayed for more than 3 days each time. This time, I stayed for 10 days, a record.  

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. Visit www.mulberrychild.com, www.moraquest.com.

Mulberry Child is being developed into a feature-length documentray film by award-winning director Susan Morgan Cooper and will be released in 2011.

By Jian Ping

It was a relief to get back safely to Beijing. The first thing I did after checking into my hotel was to take a long, hot shower. For three days, I only sprinkled cold well water on my face for a wash. The running water felt incredibly good.

Beijing Train Station--Waiting Room

The next day, I met my sister Wen and my brother-in-law Mingfu at the train station. The old Beijing Train Station located in the center of town appeared to be from an earlier era, so different from the sparkling new South Beijing Station. Travel by train is still the main means of transportation in China and the station was packed. After elbowing my way through security checks, I was swept forward in a stream of humanity into the No. 2 Waiting Room. 30 feet into the large hall, I found myself grounded on a spot the middle of nowhere, with no space to move forward or backward. As I was wondering how on earth I could find Wen and Mingfu in this crowd, I saw Wen slowly make her way forward in the main “walkway,” searching left and right with each step. She must be looking for me! I raised my hand and waved frantically to her. Miraculously, she saw me and gave me her usual calm smile. It took her five minutes to cover the 10-feet between us.

“We came early and Mingfu is waiting in front,” Wen said, equally relieved to find me.

It was challenging enough for her to move through the crowd without any luggage. There was no way I could join them. She decided to meet in our train carriage.

Our train moving at a speed of 242 kilometers per hour!

“Watch out for your belongings,” Wen said. She always worried about my carrying the bag on my back. Pocket picking was common in public places.  

The rush to go through the ticketing gate was another drama. I used to warn my American colleagues that if there were three people in front of a ticket office in China, they’d elbow their way to the front instead of forming a line. With at least a thousand people, the scene was chaotic. I grabbed my carry-on and backpack and simply moved with the flow. By the time I found my carriage and eventually reached my seat, I was sweating as if I had just finished a five-mile run.

Wen took over my luggage and placed it on the overhead rack, a space that she had taken for me with her handbag. 

“Sorry,” she apologized as if it were her fault. “I know you would have flown to Changchun if it were not because of us.”

Wen and me on the train

That was true. After a six-hour bumpy ride on a bus the day before, I was not looking forward to another six-hour train ride.

“I’d rather be with you,” I said.

Wen gave me the window seat and took out all kinds of snacks for me to munch on. I leaned against her shoulder and gave her hug. I already felt close to home.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. Visit www.mulberrychild.com, www.moraquest.com.

Mulberry Child is being developed into a feature-length documentary film by director Susan Morgan Cooper and will be released in 2011.

By Jian Ping

Wen and I at dinner in Beijing

As I feared, the wound on my left knee got infected. The pain made me grimace with each step. Therefore, instead of running around to visit a few friends I wanted to see in Beijing, I had them come to me. Gu stopped by for an hour, with a large suitcase trailing behind his heels—he headed directly to the airport going out of town that evening. Youming came for a chat before I joined Edward and Johanna for dinner at BianYiFang Duck Restaurant next to my hotel. My niece Jia and her husband Zheng, along with my sister Wen and her husband Minfu, also came.

Wen had come from Changchun to meet and join me to go visit our grandmother’s grave in Shandong Province. None of my siblings had been to the home village where Nainai, our grandma, and Father grew up. When Nainai passed away in 1974, Father discreetly arranged to have her ashes taken back to the village by a distant relative and buried in Grandpa’s grave. Since ground burial of any kind was forbidden at the time, none of us immediate family members attended the burial. Finally, 36 years after her passing, Wen and I made our way to pay tribute to Nainai at her village. Wen had contacted a niece and made all the arrangements. Two of my cousins, Shiqing and Fenqin, a son and a daughter of Father’s older brother, also traveled from Liaoyuan, Jilin Province in the northeast of China to join us. We had arranged to meet at Dezhou, the nearest town to the village.  Now, Wen, a gynecologist by training, had to play personal doctor to me, tending the wound on my left knee.

Getting on the fast train from Beijing to Dezhou

“I know I’m in good hands,” I said as I watched Wen apply medicine on the fast train from Beijing to Dezhou.

She gave me a look that said “It’s time you grow up!” She had gone to the shopping center by my hotel the day before and bought a bottle of over the counter antibiotics, medical cotton tips and bandage.

“This area is very difficult to heal,” she said. “You should have visited a doctor right after the accident!” She scolded me as if I were still a child.

I grinned and sat back, indulging myself in Wen’s care.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. Visit www.moraquest.com, www.mulberrychild.com

By Jian Ping

The time we spent in Baicheng, the small town where I grew up, was the most difficult.

The week before our arrival, my sister Yan had made a special trip to Baicheng, checking out the sites we needed to film and selecting a hotel (after visiting most of the reputable hotels in town) for us. Minutes after we checked into the hotel, Susan and Quyen started coughing, and my eyes began tearing up—I had been coughing all along because of a cold. There was no non-smoking room in the hotel and the chemicals used in the construction (it was a newer hotel) lingered in the rooms and hallways. Susan, who had athma, took out her inhaler immediately.

Mushroom for Hot Pot

We started working early the next day. The moment we were outdoor, the sand and dust swirled up by the strong wind whipped at us. Quyen had to replace her contact lens with her regular glasses. Memories of fighting against the wind as a child flashed back—I used to use a thin scarf to wrap around my head to prevent sand from getting into my eyes. I looked around and saw one girl wearing a silk scarf in the same manner.  

“We have two winds here each year,” Yan said to Susan. “Each lasts for six months.”

Susan laughed despite herself.   

We filmed late into the night that day, and treated ourselves to a good hot pot dinner, with a variety of green vegetables, mushroom and two large plates of thinly sliced beef.

We filmed two more days in Baicheng and Changchun and received warm reception and help from many locals. A number of incidents worked out so well that we couldn’t have planned better! Both Susan and Quyen were touched by the openness and friendliness of the people we met and filmed.

“This trip has changed my view on China,” Susan said. “I was dumb to believe in the biased opinions about China before.”

I was very happy about the result of our trip!

Yan, Wen and me play mahjong with Mother

I stayed with my mother for one more day after the departure of the crew. My mother loved playing mahjong and usually, there were not enough people to set up the game. That evening, my sisters and I played with her. She was as quick and sharp as ever before. I made her laugh throughout the evening by making faces and desperate gestures—I lost nearly all my chips to her.

It was an evening of fun and joy with family that I knew I would relish for a long time.

To prevent Mother from feeling sad about my departure, I promised her that I would visit her again before the end of the year.

I will.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. Visit www.moraquest.com, www.mulberrychild.com

by Jian Ping

My mother at interview with Susan

I knew I was home the moment I stepped out of the luggage area at the Changchun Airport to the welcoming arms of my brother-in-law Ming Fu and my nephew Xiao Tao. If it was not due to limited seats in the two vehicles, my sisters would have come to the airport as well.  

Witnessing our association with my family members, Susan decided to postpone dinner and go with Lisa and me straight home to catch our family greetings on film. I tried to dissuade her—it would be 9:30 P.M. by the time we got to my mother’s apartment and everyone was hungry. Susan wouldn’t hear any of that. I admired Susan’s dedication to work and called home, informing them we’d stop by to say hi first.

To avoid distraction, Susan and her daughter Alex, the two blonds, stayed in the car while Quyen, a Vietnamese American born and raised in the U.S., accompanied Lisa and me to my mother’s apartment. A household of people–my mother, my sisters Yan, Ping and Wen, and my brother-in-law Zhicheng, were all waiting for us. An uproar of cheers erupted with the opening of the door. When I eventually stood in front of my mother, I was overwhelmed with emotion. Mother, 83 this year, had diabetes and was suffering from dangerously high blood pressure, 200/110 mmHG that day. I was worried about her. But she looked strong and radiant. We gazed at each other, hugged, and looked at each other again. Despite my effort at control, I couldn’t stop the surging tears when Mother pulled me tightly into her arms again.  

From left to right: Lisa, me, my mother, Yan and Ping, looking at family photo album

After an emotional greeting of 20 minutes or so, we rushed to a nearby restaurant and barely had enough time to put in our order before the kitchen closed for the day. My nephew and two brothers-in-law waited for us in the front while we had our dinner, then drove the group to their hotel and took me home–we left Lisa there to be the group’s interpretor. In the following two days, they made themselves available to drive us around for filming.

“I like Chinese men,” Susan said. “They bend over to serve women.”

I smiled. I wanted to say that everyone in my family was bending over to help us—to ensure we finish our mission of filming in China without any problem! I knew they had their concerns about the content of the film, but despite themselves, they gave me and the entire crew their utmost support. I felt overwhelmingly lucky and blessed.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. www.moraquest.com, www.mulberrychild.com

Mother and Wen in Changchun, China

I can always tell my mother’s mood from her voice each time she picks up the phone. Mother is eighty-one and has been suffering from high blood pressure, diabetes, and irregular heart beat. After Father passed away last September, my sister Ping invited Mother to live with her for seven months. Mother returned home with the arrival of spring. “I always feel your father is waiting for me at home,” she said before returning to Changchun where she had lived for the last 25 years.

The transition home has not been easy. Luckily, my sister Yan and her husband moved home to care for her. And my sister Wen, a doctor, lives two flights up in the same building. Wen comes downstairs to spend a couple of hours with Mother every evening. Mother loves to have her adult children around her.

Mother was tough and strong when my siblings and I were children, but she changed substantially when she became a grandmother. Now she could easily be emotional, to the point of almost sentimental.

“What’s matter, Mother?” I asked when I heard her lower than usual tone.

“My blood pressure went up to 190 today,” she said. “I felt dizzy and didn’t go out for a walk.”

At my request, Mother revealed that Ms. Wang, her walking companion and friend who lived in the same neighborhood, suddenly passed away. Mother was saddened by the news.

“We took a walk together the day before,” she said. “Then she was gone. Just like that,” Mother’s voice chocked.

Wen took over the phone and told me in a lower voice that Mrs. Wang returned home after her routine walk and collapsed when she was about to open her front door. She was eighty-four. By the time someone found her lying on the floor, she was long gone.

“Yan and I took Mother to a flower show today,” she said. “We wanted to distract her and lighten up her mood a little bit.”

I’m grateful that my sisters are extremely caring and giving when it comes to take care of our parents. For three years during Father’s fight with lung cancer, they took turns to be with him day and night—he never spent a single day by himself, either at home or in the hospital. Now they are giving the same love and care to Mother.

There is hardly any word one can say when faced with a sudden death.

“Take good care of yourself, Mother,” I said, feeling my words weak and useless. “The best way of dealing with such a loss is to cherish and appreciate each day,” I continued, making the point to her and to myself.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. www.mulberrychild.com.

The time to return to Chicago has come and I’m reluctant to leave. I have established a routine of writing, jogging, taking a walk with my mother and a swim with my sister and brother-in-law when they return from work, plus the indulgence of a daily massage. Between family gatherings and delicious meals prepared by my sister Yan, I also squeeze in some time to meet with a couple of old friends. Mother starts calling me a “buzzing bee.” “Don’t you feel tired?” she asks, laughing.

On the contrary, I’m full of energy. I don’t get enough sleep because of my jetlag, but the daily massage rejuvenates me. A neighborhood massage parlor becomes my favorite place. For 320 RMB, about US$50, one can get a pass for 10 sessions of 80-minute full body massage or 20 times of 40-minute partial massage, with focus on shoulders, back or feet. Three blind men work at the parlor as masseurs. Every time I visit Changchun, I’d get one or two passes and invite my sisters to join mer. The masseurs were trained at different schools for the disabled and had been doing massages for more than ten years. They live at the parlor: sleep on the massage tables at night and have meals cooked and served to them at the parlor. They have come from different smaller towns in the province and only visit their homes several times a year.

My sister Wen and I were there last September and both of us are amazed that one of the masseurs calls my sister by name on our first return visit. The condition at the parlor is quite primitive: three narrow massage tables jammed in one room, and the edges of the table worn, and the windows are coated with so much dirt and dust that there is no need for a curtain. The masseurs work on their fully clothed clients over a layer sheet. But the bedding is clean and a freshly washed sheet is placed for each client, and more importantly, the deep tissue massage is first rate.

Through the introduction of a friend, I also meet with Mr. Zhao, the editor-in-chief of the City Evening Post, one of the four similar newspapers in the city. I’m told the newspaper has a circulation of more than 300,000 and is circulated throughout the province. “Only 80 people out of a thousand read newspapers,” Mr. Zhao tells me. “We still have plenty of room for further development.”    

We discusses about my contributing to the “Supplement Section” of the paper on a regular basis. “You are free to write on anything of your interest,” Mr. Zhao says. “The only limitation is the length of each article.”  

Mr. Zhao looks very young for his position. The newspaper is changing to a new layout the day we meet and our conversation is interrupted several times by incoming phone calls or knockings on his door, all sounding urgent to my ears. But Mr. Zhao resumes our talk in the same calm and friendly manner. I like him right away. I am looking forward to our cooperation. 

Mother’s eyes are filled with tears as I bid her goodbye. “Don’t be sad, Mother,” I murmur into her ear as I give her a farewell hug. “I’ll be back again in October.” My voice is as cheerful as it could be. Mother nods. She tries to smile without success. In the end, she raises one arm and waves for me to leave.

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. www.mulberrychild.com

Changchun, the capital of Jilin Province in the northeast, is the place where I call home in China. I was born in the city and my mother and two of my sisters live there today. I took an overnight soft sleeper train from Beijing to Changchun and arrived at 6:30 A.M. Despite my insistence on not meeting me at the station during a weekday, I heard the familiar voice of my sister Wen the moment I stepped out of the train station. My regret for taking the train and negotiating the push and pull of the Labor Day holiday crowd in Beijing dissipated when I saw the smiling faces of Wen and her husband Mingfu. I knew I was home.

As always, everywhere I turn to look, there seems to be changes. In addition to the new buildings and streets that emerge like mushrooms in the city, the most striking sight that catch my attention this time are the gated communities, with civilian guards lifting automated bars for passing vehicles and residents using magnetic cards to go through the side metal doors. The Aviation Garden where my sister and mother live follows suit as well. The muddy construction site three years before is now neatly lined up with nine 11 or 12-floor condo buildings, complete with paved roads, blooming trees, small parks, and of course, a guarded gate. The ground level of the three buildings facing a busy street is designed for commercial use and most of the space has been occupied by restaurants. From the 5^th floor of my mother’s apartment I could see their flashing neon lights. I’m relieved that the smell of the stir-fry dishes permeating the air below doesn’t reach this high.

Thanks to my jetlag, I’m up at 4 A.M. every day. I write for a couple of hours before taking off for a nice jog in the South Lake Park nearby. I start each day with anticipation: the sudden rise in temperature bring the blossoms of cherry and lilac trees; the dirt on the side streets being dug up one day and filled with bushes the next; the green produce spread out on the ground at a nearby farmer’s market, and the fresh tofu I pick up each morning on my return from the jog. I observe everything with the curiosity and excitement of a visitor. Part of me feel right at home, but the other part is keenly aware of the land that I’m no longer so accustomed to.    

Jian Ping, author of Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. www.mulberrychild.com.