Free Beijing Comrades by Scott E. Myers

curious about Lan Yu’s family, whom I knew nothing about.
    â€œI was beginning to think you were raised by wolves,” I joked. “You’re like the Monkey King: born by jumping out of a stone!” I was referring to Sun Wukong, the popular character in Journey to the West.
    Lan Yu gave a resigned laugh but quickly became serious. “My mom died a few years ago. I still have my dad but I don’t want to go back to visit. That woman—the one my dad married—doesn’t want me to either.”
    â€œSo your dad’s still alive?” I pressed to find out more.
    â€œYeah, alive and well. I have a three-year-old half sister too.” His eyes burned with the deep distress he had, not always, but often. It was as if he was lost in some memory, but he would never say what it was.
    On New Year’s Eve I insisted that Lan Yu come with me to my parents’ house, where I always spent the holiday. It was risky bringing home a lover, but I couldn’t bear the idea of him being on his own. As I had expected, my family treated “my friend’s little brother” very well. Especially my mother. She had always been the warm and loving one in the family—in this respect I liked to think that I took after her. My two younger sisters, Aidong and Jingdong—“Love Mao Zedong Thought” and “Respect Mao Zedong Thought”—were more like my father: cold, distant, fake. Later Lan Yu would tell me that he never knew a family of high-ranking cadres could be so kind. It was gratifying to hear, but I knew it was only because my aging father had long since lost his iron-fisted control over the family. When I told Lan Yu this, he told me I should be grateful for the family I had.
    It was nearly midnight and the Beijing night sky was saturated with the sound of exploding fireworks. Standing on the sidelines of the action, I watched Lan Yu as he lit fuses with Jingdong, the younger of my two sisters, and Aidong’s husband. I watched my mother as she walked toward me, a big smile on her face, and thought: if they knew the truth about my relationship with Lan Yu, I’d be dead to them.

Six
    Spring had arrived and everything was perfect. I had made an enormous sum of money from a recent deal and had a new associate—a major player in the industry—with whom I’d be collaborating. And I had met a new guy, a drummer in a band.
    Things were in full swing for Lan Yu, too. The new semester had long since begun and his schedule left him only enough time to see me once every two weeks or so. A few days before his classes started, I sat him down on the living room couch and gave him a bankbook, an account with Â¥20,000 in it. He opened it up and timidly peeked inside, then set it down on the rosewood tea table before us. “I still have two hundred left from that five hundred you gave me back in September,” he said, staring at me blankly. There was the faintest tone of protest in his voice.
    â€œQuit worrying so much about saving money,” I insisted. “If you need to spend it, spend it.”
    â€œWell, what I was thinking was . . .” He gave an uncomfortablesmile. “I was thinking I would pay you back when I have the money.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous!” I said. “What kind of person do you think I am? Besides,” I joked, “if you were to pay me back, I’d have to charge you interest. That five hundred you took from me? I’m gonna need a thousand for that!” Lan Yu looked at me with a smile, but stopped short of laughing. I didn’t like to see him worry.
    â€œListen, really,” I said, looking at him gravely. “Don’t worry about it. One day when you graduate and start working, you can pay it back. But,” I continued to jest, “don’t say I didn’t warn you about my high interest rate!”
    Lan Yu remained seated on the couch, the bankbook resting in his lap like