thought about my friends and about I-Fei. If they had been here, they would have lit a good cigarette for me, kicked me in the butt, and tried to make me smile. I yearned for a cigarette, but the thought of having a coughing fit during the performance stopped the terrible urge.
When I heard my number called, my sister patted my back, and I walked slowly into the hall. It was an old, small theater. As I walked, my footsteps echoed. Before me sat six of the most prominent musical figures in our county.
Teacher Dong, a big fish stranded in a small town, was the only college graduate with a music major from Fuzhou Music Conservatory. He wore his glasses on the tip of his nose and looked at me without an ounce of interest in his drooping eyes. Ding, the famous Putien opera singer, was filing her nails. Flutist Min, the first flute of the county, was slumped low in his armchair. Drummer Jia was reading an old newspaper, and Director Liao, a bearded man, smoked a pipe, fighting the numbing boredom without much success.
I felt small and unworthy.
“What will you do?” Flutist Min asked. “Not another flutist again?”
I hoped he was joking.
“ ‘A Trip to Gu Su,' ” I mumbled. My teeth were still chattering.
All I could think of was my sister's worried look as I left her, the fetid public bathroom, and the sagging eyes of the music teacher. I forced the first sound out of my old flute. The flute sounded as if it was crackling and getting dry, so I started again. It was a steep uphill ride. I couldn't breathe at all. My heart pounded like a rat in an iron cage.
From the corner of my eye, I saw an uncomfortable twitching of Flutist Min's nose. He must be so disgusted. I was sure I had ruined it with the first note. Gradually, I forced my eyes to close and tried to think of the peaceful Dong Jing River by which I had practiced every morning, the green fields that stretched beyond it, and the colors of the mountain at sunrise. Soon the desire to win started to churn within me. I remembered every twist and turn Dad had taught me during the last three days. When the final note had faded away, I opened my eyes to see that all the judges were making busy notes.
Flutist Min was the first to look up. He smiled at me and said, “Well done. It didn't start out right, but you handled the piece unusually well. Come here. Let me have a word with you.”
I walked over to Min's chair.
“Here, let me tell you the truth about this audition. We have enough flutists already. Do you play any other instrument?”
“The violin.”
“No good. We are going back to the old things now— you know, the sort of stuff banned by the Gang of Four. If you are serious about our troupe, try out as an actor. Have you acted before?”
“Not really.”
“Go home and make up your mind about your career.This is not just for amusement. You need to think and talk to your parents, put your heart into it. If you are still interested, I'll be happy to talk to you. But no instruments. We only need good actors who have the classic looks to perform all those classic plays. Got that?”
I thanked him and left the hall.
My sister was smiling at me, waiting. She said I did a good job. I told her about the conversation I had had with the flutist.
I was quiet during the ride back. I wasn't going to be an artist, nor a carpenter, nor a shoemaker. Definitely not a farmer. For a while I was lost. Time had changed everything for me, and I was always behind, it seemed, like chasing my own shadow. What had once been right wasn't right anymore. I wished I knew the future, while hoping that the past would not be repeated.
Dad said it would probably be a good time to start being serious about school. He had just heard from my aunt in Shanghai that her son was already preparing for the college entrance examinations that were open to all test-takers, regardless of age, race, or family background. People would be admitted solely on the basis of their scores.
He added
When I heard my number called, my sister patted my back, and I walked slowly into the hall. It was an old, small theater. As I walked, my footsteps echoed. Before me sat six of the most prominent musical figures in our county.
Teacher Dong, a big fish stranded in a small town, was the only college graduate with a music major from Fuzhou Music Conservatory. He wore his glasses on the tip of his nose and looked at me without an ounce of interest in his drooping eyes. Ding, the famous Putien opera singer, was filing her nails. Flutist Min, the first flute of the county, was slumped low in his armchair. Drummer Jia was reading an old newspaper, and Director Liao, a bearded man, smoked a pipe, fighting the numbing boredom without much success.
I felt small and unworthy.
“What will you do?” Flutist Min asked. “Not another flutist again?”
I hoped he was joking.
“ ‘A Trip to Gu Su,' ” I mumbled. My teeth were still chattering.
All I could think of was my sister's worried look as I left her, the fetid public bathroom, and the sagging eyes of the music teacher. I forced the first sound out of my old flute. The flute sounded as if it was crackling and getting dry, so I started again. It was a steep uphill ride. I couldn't breathe at all. My heart pounded like a rat in an iron cage.
From the corner of my eye, I saw an uncomfortable twitching of Flutist Min's nose. He must be so disgusted. I was sure I had ruined it with the first note. Gradually, I forced my eyes to close and tried to think of the peaceful Dong Jing River by which I had practiced every morning, the green fields that stretched beyond it, and the colors of the mountain at sunrise. Soon the desire to win started to churn within me. I remembered every twist and turn Dad had taught me during the last three days. When the final note had faded away, I opened my eyes to see that all the judges were making busy notes.
Flutist Min was the first to look up. He smiled at me and said, “Well done. It didn't start out right, but you handled the piece unusually well. Come here. Let me have a word with you.”
I walked over to Min's chair.
“Here, let me tell you the truth about this audition. We have enough flutists already. Do you play any other instrument?”
“The violin.”
“No good. We are going back to the old things now— you know, the sort of stuff banned by the Gang of Four. If you are serious about our troupe, try out as an actor. Have you acted before?”
“Not really.”
“Go home and make up your mind about your career.This is not just for amusement. You need to think and talk to your parents, put your heart into it. If you are still interested, I'll be happy to talk to you. But no instruments. We only need good actors who have the classic looks to perform all those classic plays. Got that?”
I thanked him and left the hall.
My sister was smiling at me, waiting. She said I did a good job. I told her about the conversation I had had with the flutist.
I was quiet during the ride back. I wasn't going to be an artist, nor a carpenter, nor a shoemaker. Definitely not a farmer. For a while I was lost. Time had changed everything for me, and I was always behind, it seemed, like chasing my own shadow. What had once been right wasn't right anymore. I wished I knew the future, while hoping that the past would not be repeated.
Dad said it would probably be a good time to start being serious about school. He had just heard from my aunt in Shanghai that her son was already preparing for the college entrance examinations that were open to all test-takers, regardless of age, race, or family background. People would be admitted solely on the basis of their scores.
He added
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