Free Shanghai Girl by Vivian Yang

about it, I think. He hated talking about his experience in prison. He was melancholy until his death."
    "What a shame. I remember a smart and jolly fellow in a beige linen suit and oxfords."
    My mouth opens, unable to see Father in such a bourgeois outfit. “Do you have a picture of him taken in America?” I ask.
    “Yes,” Gordon smiles. “I came prepared. Here, we are together by the Alma Mater statue of Columbia.”
    He shows me a salmon-colored photo from a bygone age. It surprises me that neither of them was wearing glasses. Father was in a checkered jacket with a matching cap and a white shirt and holding several books. Gordon, looking slightly younger than Father, even then, was in a knitted vest with his tie tucked under its V-neck, his hair pomaded and slicked back without a parting. The two men stood solemnly in front of the seated Goddess of Justice statue. “That’s Columbia’s Alma Mater designed by the same gentleman who did the John Harvard statue in Harvard Square,” explains Gordon. Her head adorned by a wreath, the Alma Mater had an open book on her lap, her raised right arm held a scepter and left arm reaching skyward with an open palm, her piercing eyes staring into the vault of heaven. I am in awe at this image.
    “Come to think of it, these two pictures are almost identical except for Mao and the Goddess of Justice,” Gordon says abruptly.
    I am surprised at the analogy. “Yes, but they’re so different, Uncle Gordon! This one was in China, and the other one in America!” The way I say the word “America” sounds the same as when Aunt Cheng called out “America!” when she saw the letter Gordon had sent -- romantic and full of hope.
    “America, the land of justice, right?” Gordon asks sarcastically while looking at me. “Not for people like Tao and me,” Gordon shakes his head and says. “But then again, nor is China.”
    This is the first time I ever heard of anyone so critical of America, except my textbooks that scolded the U.S. imperialists.
    “What do you mean it’s not good for Father and you? Father returned to China not because he disliked America, but because he wanted to help build a New China.”
    Gordon stares blankly at me and says, “’Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.’ He loved China too much. He was too naïve. He could have stayed in America like some of us did, and he certainly had reasons to stay, but he chose his country over his personal concerns.” Gordon pauses for a second and continues intently, “On the other hand, there’s no telling how his life might have turned out had he not returned to China, though, either. He could have become a businessman like myself. Ha, how ironic.” Gordon chuckles as if in self-laugh. Meticulously, he shells a whole shrimp with chopsticks and sets its head aside. As though talking to the shrimp, he continues, "Of course we were naïve, too, those of us who did stay. As it turned out, I couldn't pass the security clearance to work for a Defense Department contractor, and I couldn't change my Chinese features and shed my accent. It’s all a matter of economics, I suppose, Sha-fei. The Asian-American immigrants don’t have economic power, so they have no political power to speak of. I ended up giving up my training and started my own business."
    "What type of business, Uncle Gordon?"
    "Well, I own a factory in New York which manufactures high end formal wear. As a matter of fact, I'm negotiating to buy a supplier’s company here in Shanghai."
    "That will be a solely-owned foreign entity, then," I volunteer.
    "It sure will be. It will become the chief source for clothing and I will only need to keep a small office in New York."
    "Good cost-saving strategy, Uncle Gordon."
    "Pretty good, Sha-fei. I certainly wasn't expecting you to be this knowledgeable and articulate. You're definitely Tao's offspring. What was your major in college?"
    "I won't be graduating until this summer. My major is