Shanghai Girl Read Online Free Page B

their fingers while doing dishes and laundry in bone-chilling water, as we do here." She emphasizes her point by wiggling her freezing, carrot-like fingers in front of me.
    I am glad the conversation seems to have shifted its focus from the aerogramme from America to the United States in general. The U.S. is one of my favorite topics, too. I associate America not only with material comfort, but also with individual freedom. I’ve heard that in the United States, teenagers are allowed to date, not to mention university students like me. American gentlemen look like the actor Gregory Peck in the black-and-white film, The Million Pound Note, the only American film I’ve ever had the privilege to see. American men always open doors for women and let them have the first choice of everything. It’s called "Ladies first." I would definitely have a boyfriend who loves me if I lived in America.
    The bulb over the Wu family stove is suddenly lit, indicating that Mrs. Wu will be in the kitchen momentarily. Teacher Gao and Aunt Cheng look at each other and stop talking. I pick up my pail and rush back to my apartment.
     
    Mid-afternoon, the same day, I am alerted by repeated knocks on my apartment door, followed by a throaty voice. "Sha-fei Hong, Sha-fei Hong, are you in?"
    Terrified that Stepfather may be here again, I brace myself, tiptoe to the door, and look out through the keyhole. Two familiar but unwelcome people stand outside -- Mrs. Wu and Master Worker Wu. I open the door. Master Worker Wu’s barrel-like body rolls in, trailed by Mrs. Wu’s hopping gait, her rotund figure bouncing like a wound-up toy.
    "Good news, Sha-fei." she squeals as she holds out both hands to shake my ill-prepared right hand. "It’s wonderful news for our community," she giggles, her eyes becoming two glistening slits of joy.
    Master Worker Wu silences her with a hard look and says, "According to Marxist materialist dialectics, everything has two sides to it. It can be good and it can be bad. That’s why we’re seeking your cooperation to achieve the best result."
    "My cooperation?"
    "We’ll sit down and talk," he says, resting himself on the same spot where Stepfather was a few days ago and lights a cigarette. I hand him a soy sauce dish for an ashtray. Mrs. Wu stands beside him like a maid waiting to be given an order. I sit on the chair by the bed and stare at Master Worker Wu’s crooked front teeth, waiting for him to drop the bomb, my heart racing. Does the Neighborhood Revolutionary Committee want me to “cooperate” when it comes to what happened between Stepfather and me? But "good news" – does that mean the authorities are happy about Gordon Lou’s visit? What sort of cooperation does Master Worker Wu want from me? My thoughts swing like a pendulum as he sucks on his cigarette, puffing circles of smoke into the room.
    "So we’ve all heard the news, Sha-fei," he begins. "As you must know from going to the university, the Party’s policy currently is to encourage cultural and business exchanges with the Americans. American friends and business partners are welcome."
    I am more than relieved. This is not about Stepfather and me. "What am I supposed to do, then, Uncle Wu?"
    "You may go and meet with the Chinese-American on your father’s behalf. Just bear in mind that you should report anything suspicious about our overseas compatriots to the grassroots authorities."
    In other words, to him. After promising with a straight face that I’ll do as he says, I sit passively through his droning lecture. As Master Worker Wu rises to leave, Mrs. Wu slaps me on the shoulder and says, "Do let me know what your American friend looks like after you see him, Sha-fei."
    What does Gordon Lou look like? I wonder myself. When Father mentioned Marlene Koo to me, I had asked if he had a picture of her. "No. The Red Guards burned all my photos in our house on Joffre and confiscated many old belongings.” I have no reference point as to what a