Escape from China…

He was older now, a generation away from the day he’d escaped. He was willing to tell me his story, but only if I agreed not to print it. Tell me, I said.

It began when they were boys. Two youngsters living in Fukien Province, the part of mainland China closest to Taiwan. Every day, after the sun set, they swam in the river near their house, training for the time they would dare attempt the 24-hour endurance test that could bring them freedom. It was 80 miles. Or more.

Every night… winter, spring, summer, fall, rain or shine, cold, hot.

For more than 10 years, they swam. They grew tall and strong. And then they began to swim in the strait. They knew how long it would take, how long to reach the midpoint, the place at which they would just have to keep going.

That night, the waters were calm. They said goodbye to their families and began. They were nearing the point of no return when his boyhood friend called out to him. He’d lost his nerve.

I can’t make it, he said. I’m going back.

He went on alone. After a time, he made it to New York, where he got work in a restaurant. He learned the trade. For years, he worked. And then he had his own restaurant. He’d done enough that he let someone else run it for him.

But every time a new restaurant opened nearby, he went in. He tried the elaborate dishes, the things that were difficult to get right. If anyone surprised him, he’d walk into the kitchen, introduce himself.

And then one day, he sampled something that caught his fancy. It was chicken, a nice sauce, something delicate. He walked into the kitchen, asked if he could meet the chef.

The man had his back to him. And then he turned. They began to shake, to cry. Stunned, they embraced. Decades later. Thousands and thousands of miles later. The boy who had gone back had not given up. He’d tried again, the next year.

They had ended up in the same country, the same state, the same city, the same occupation. The same skills.

But you cannot tell anyone, he said to me. People would never come to my restaurant if they thought I was a communist.

In this country, people will think you are a hero, I told him.

I cannot take the chance.

It was his choice.