A Song Everlasting Read online

  Also by Ha Jin

  Between Silences

  Facing Shadows

  Ocean of Words

  Under the Red Flag

  In the Pond

  Waiting

  The Bridegroom

  Wreckage

  The Crazed

  War Trash

  A Free Life

  The Writer as Migrant

  A Good Fall

  Nanjing Requiem

  A Map of Betrayal

  The Boat Rocker

  A Distant Center

  The Banished Immortal

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Ha Jin

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Pantheon Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York, and distributed in Canada by Penguin Random House Canada Limited, Toronto.

  Pantheon Books and colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Name: Jin, Ha, [date] author.

  Title: A song everlasting: a novel / Ha Jin.

  Description: First edition. New York: Pantheon Books, 2021

  Identifiers: LCCN 2020047331 (print). LCCN 2020047332 (ebook).

  ISBN 9781524748791 (hardcover). ISBN 9781524748807 (ebook).

  Classification: LCC PS3560.I6 S66 2021 (print) | LCC PS3560.I6 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54—dc23

  LC record available at lccn.loc.gov/​2020047331

  LC ebook record available at lccn.loc.gov/​2020047332

  Ebook ISBN 9781524748807

  www.pantheonbooks.com

  Cover images: (birds) Hibrida13 / Getty Images; (background) Roc Canals / Getty Images

  Cover design by Jenny Carrow

  ep_prh_5.7.1_c0_r0

  Contents

  Cover

  Also by Ha Jin

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Part Two

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Part Three

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Part Four

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Part Five

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Coda

  Chapter 51

  Acknowledgments

  A Note About the Author

  For Lisha

  PART ONE

  1

  The evening’s performance had been a success. After the finale, Yao Tian and his fellow performers from the People’s Ensemble gathered onstage and bowed to the six hundred people in the auditorium. As he was making his way down the side stairs, he caught sight of a tall man at the end of the front row. The man stood there, smiling at him, while the crowd filed out the back and side doors. Soon he approached Tian. “Teacher Yao,” he said in English, his voice warm. “I’m so delighted to see you in New York. Your voice is as spectacular as it was a decade ago!”

  Now Tian recognized him. “Han Yabin, what a miracle!” Without thinking, he cried out in English, which he could speak well.

  He paused, hesitant to hug his friend, aware of his colleagues observing them in amazement. Some of them might make a mental note of his warm greetings to this local man and report it to their leaders back home. So, instead, Tian held out his hand. Yabin shook it, then leaned in and whispered, “Can we have a drink nearby, Teacher Yao?”

  By rule, Tian could not accept such an invitation without permission from the head of his troupe, so he excused himself and went up to Director Meng. “I just ran into an old friend,” Tian began. “Can I spend a little time with him tonight? I’ll be back to the hotel soon.”

  Meng’s heavy-lidded eyes fixed on him, alarmed. Obviously he felt uneasy to let anyone in the troupe go out of his control here. Still, he said, “That’s fine, but don’t be gone too long.”

  “I’ll be back before midnight for sure.”

  Out in the streets of downtown Flushing, the air smelled of rainwater. It was already nine o’clock. Pedestrians rushed past Tian and Yabin as they walked down Roosevelt Avenue together. Around them, people wove brazenly through traffic to cross the street, heedless of the honking cars. The ground trembled as a semi-trailer rolled past, its side printed with Chinese characters: fresh vegetables and fruits.

  “Heavens, this is like China,” Tian said. “It’s like in the middle of a provincial town.”

  “Flushing is like a big county seat, isn’t it?” Yabin laughed and got hold of Tian’s arm to guide him through the bustling thoroughfare.

  The laugh reminded Tian of when they were both young in Beijing. Yabin had been dashing, energetic; he organized private concerts, poetry readings, literary salons, art exhibitions. Before his cultural activities were banned by the police, he had often invited Tian to sing at his events, paying him promptly and generously. He’d been one of the few young Chinese in Beijing who could mingle easily with foreigners. His handsome looks opened many doors, and his two years’ studying at Oxford (sponsored by the Ministry of Education) taught him to speak English fluently, with a British flair, like a well-educated gentleman from Hong Kong. Americans and Brits had often assumed his accent was an affectation, and some even mocked him, saying, “Your beautiful English puts me to shame.” But Yabin didn’t bother to acknowledge their slights, and never changed his way of speaking. Last Tian had heard, his old friend had quit his English lectureship at his university because he was not allowed to keep a relationship with a foreign woman teacher and he had gone abroad again, but Tian hadn’t known he had come to New York.

  Yabin still looked elegant. He was living here in Flushing now, he told Tian. He’d lost his Beijing residential status—it had been canceled by the police.
/>   He took Tian to a bar called Dreamland at 38th Avenue and Prince Street. The place was crowded and noisy even on a Wednesday night, filled with young professional men and women in suits. Yabin knew the manager of the place, a thin man with brushy hair, who quickly led them to a quiet table in the back room, where a karaoke machine was still on. A tallish waitress turned off the Hong Kong music and pulled an iPad out of the pocket of her orange apron. Yabin ordered Jinmen sorghum baijiu and suggested Tian try it too, saying it was Taiwan’s iconic drink, smooth and mellow—it wouldn’t go to your head. Yabin loved Jinmen even more than Maotai. He ordered it the American way, on the rocks. Tian didn’t drink liquor and ordered a Heineken. He had to be careful and avoid hard alcohol that might hurt his vocal cords.

  In no time the waitress returned, holding a tray loaded with their orders, a bottle of beer and four fingers of the sorghum baijiu in a squad glass. She closed the door with her hip and then served their drinks. A thin platinum band flashed on her finger as she placed a bowl of mixed nuts on the table.

  When she’d left, Yabin said, “Now we can relax and enjoy ourselves.”

  Although Tian was eager to hear about his friend’s life in New York, he was also tired, and nervous about spending too much time with him. He feared that his director might suspect he had an ulterior motive in meeting with a local. Quite often, members of cultural delegations—consisting of artists, musicians, actors, writers, scholars—had stolen away while visiting foreign countries, joining relatives or friends there so as to avoid returning to China. Now their troupe, a group of twenty performers from the People’s Ensemble in Beijing, was on the last leg of its five-city tour in the States. Thus far, everything had gone well, so Director Meng seemed anxious, afraid they might fall short of a complete success if someone walked away on their final night. At this very moment Meng was probably fretting about Tian’s absence, restless like an ant on a hot pan.

  Yabin gave Tian his business card, which stated that he had earned his MBA from Fordham University and was an insurance broker now, with an office on Main Street in Flushing. Tian commended him, saying this was extraordinary, a model of success. “Obviously America is a land of opportunities,” he said, though aware how stale those words were.

  Yabin shook his head. “That’s just a myth, Teacher Yao. Opportunities are mainly for the rich and powerful here, the same as in China. I’m no different from other FOJs—fresh off the jet. We all have to struggle hard to get anywhere.”

  “Please, just call me Tian,” he said. He was thirty-seven, only one or two years older than Yabin, and preferred the American way of addressing someone by their first name.

  “All right, Tian. The truth is, I’m just like most people here who have to work their asses off.”

  “Still, you’re free and there’s no one lording it over you.”

  Yabin laughed, as if Tian had said something vacuous. As Tian was wondering what he wanted from him, Yabin revealed his intention, saying, “There’ll be a celebration of the National Day on October 10, organized by the Great China Cultural Association. Will you be able to sing a couple of songs for them?”

  Tian was surprised, uncertain how to respond—that is Taiwan’s National Day, not a holiday in the People’s Republic, whose National Day was October 1. Few people on the mainland even know Taiwan’s National Day, which is called “Double Tens” (October 10). Tian asked, “Who’s sponsoring the celebration? The Taiwanese government?”

  “Not at all. Some Chinese immigrant communities in New York and New Jersey are sponsoring it, though a lot of the people are from Taiwan. If you can sing for them, I can negotiate a fee of four thousand dollars for you.”

  Tian knew that Yabin was good at delivering what he promised. Four grand was almost a quarter of Tian’s annual salary, and his daughter Tingting was about to apply for an international prep school in Beijing, which required him to pay twenty thousand yuan as the first installment of the tuition—nearly three thousand dollars. The money Yabin offered was significant, worth the risk. He agreed to sing for them.

  “Great, they’ll be thrilled to hear this,” Yabin said. “They’ve never had a singer of your caliber before.”

  Tian knew they’d surely use his name to promote the event, but there was something else that needed arranging. He said, “Look, Yabin, I can sing for them, but my return flight to Beijing is already booked for tomorrow. I’m not sure I can change it. And also, I’d need a place to stay until the event on Saturday.”

  “I’ll ask my secretary to rebook a flight for you. Rest assured, it will work out. You can stay with me after you check out of your hotel.”

  “Thank you so much, Yabin. I’m not sure I can get permission from my director, but I’ll do my best.”

  Tian had his flight information on his phone, which he took out and sent to Yabin’s phone. They agreed that Yabin would hear from him early the next morning for the final answer. His friend was elated, saying he hoped they could collaborate more often in the future. He told Tian, “Chinese immigrants here are too materialistic and should have more cultural life. Your appearance will make a difference.”

  What Yabin said pleased Tian. He promised to consider Yabin’s future offers.

  Stepping out of the bar, they said good night. Tian walked back toward the Sheraton, where he and his colleagues were staying. The neon sign glowed atop the hotel building and made it appear more imposing than it did in daylight. Beyond its domed roof a single star was flashing and glittering against a vast constellation.

  * * *

  —

  Director Meng was taken aback when Tian told him that he’d agreed to sing for the local cultural organization. “You can’t do this to me, Yao Tian!” he said. “We’re flying back tomorrow. If you stay behind, I’ll be the one who gets in trouble. And you might be viewed as a transgressor of our travel rules.”

  “But I’ll stay behind just two or three days,” Tian said, his temper flaring.

  “You can’t control people’s tongues, can you?” Meng said.

  “Give me a break! The Chinese communities here need me and I’m obligated to sing for them, to promote the cultural life of the immigrants. Please let our ensemble’s leaders know I’m going back, just by another flight. I’ll show up at work next Monday, like everyone else. Besides, there’re more than two hundred employees in our ensemble and nobody will notice my absence. Why make such a big fuss? It’s not like I’m going to defect or something.”

  “Comrade Yao Tian, you don’t understand politics.” Meng pointed his stubby forefinger at Tian’s lean face. “You’ve been behaving willfully and breaking the rules. How can our leaders trust you in the future? Besides, who can help you if you get mugged or kidnapped here?”

  “I’ll be responsible for myself. I’m an adult.”

  “No, I am responsible for you.”

  “Please let me be in charge of myself for a couple of days.”

  They went on arguing for a few more minutes. When Meng realized Tian wasn’t giving in, he relented some. “All right, you’ve already started to change your flight, and I might not be able to stop you. But you must promise me you’ll show up at work next week as usual, or I might have to let our leaders know.”

  “You have my word.”

  “To be honest, Tian, if I were you, I wouldn’t run such a risk. People might think less of you if they knew you stayed behind to make money. Nobody is supposed to take a side gig like what you’re doing.”

  “Then please don’t let them know.”

  “I can cover for you only for two days.”

  They shook on that, though the director’s face was still sour. He must have felt he had no choice but to grant Tian permission, because Tian was their premier soloist. Yet seeing Meng so frustrated, Tian added, “Director Meng, don’t take this too hard. My wife and daughter are in Beijing, where I have a nice home and a ris
ing career. How could I possibly go elsewhere? I just bumped into an old friend who offered me an opportunity to sing. Doesn’t our country encourage more cultural exchanges with Taiwanese people as preparatory work for the national unification?” He offered this as a possible explanation to their leaders if Meng had to answer their inquiry, though Tian knew people could see through him—he was staying behind to make money.

  “Fine, I can see your point,” Meng said tiredly. “Just don’t overstay, and make sure to get back early next week. Keep in mind that I don’t approve of what you’re doing, but I simply cannot dissuade you.”

  Tian nodded, realizing that this was the excuse Meng would expect him to make if any trouble cropped up.

  To be fair, Meng had never acted like a boss. He respected the members of their troupe and said he felt lucky to work with them—many of the singers and instrumentalists and dancers had national reputations. Tian knew that from Meng’s point of view, his change of flights was unlikely to signal a defection. If Tian had truly meant to flee, he wouldn’t have bothered to speak to him about staying behind. Meng was already sixty-two; in three or four years he would retire, and there was no reason for him to be strict and rob Tian of this opportunity. He didn’t ask Tian how much he was making for the October 10 performance, but Tian understood that he owed Meng a generous gift when he got back.