by Jinkang Wang
Stebushkin started to interrupt, but Mei Yin stopped him. “Before I left, the Godfather said something I didn’t fully understand at the time. ‘Don’t make him do anything he’s not willing to do.’ And so I’m not going to force you, nor will I urge the Godfather to punish you in any way. You’ll have to decide for yourself. Although”—she smiled—“just now you said you hadn’t made up your mind, so at least I have a glimmer of hope. I’d like to stay a few days, until you’ve made a final choice. You don’t mind, do you? Don’t worry, I promise not to pester you while I’m here. I’ll be as quiet as a trout in the Volga.”
Stebushkin smiled and nodded. He found this Chinese woman—American woman, he should say—quite enchanting. It would be a pleasure to have her around. “Do you have a place to stay?” he asked. “If you don’t mind, you’d be very welcome to stay here.”
Mei Yin was delighted. Looking round the spacious room, she said, “I was hoping you’d offer. I have nothing good to say about Russian hotels, and they charge something ridiculous, like two hundred American dollars per night. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m a pretty good cook—both Western and Chinese cuisine. Perhaps I could pay my rent in dinners. Sound good to you?”
“It’s a deal. But there’s one thing I have to warn you about: the American spy novels got it right, Russian men really are sex maniacs.” He laughed. “Of course, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You know Chinese kung fu.”
Mei Yin laughed too. “Don’t worry. I don’t mind telling you: I’ve never done anything like that before. In China, we have a saying that even a rabbit will bite when it’s cornered. Have you heard of Kochubey?”
“Kochubey? No. The name sounds familiar.”
“Kochubey was a folk hero during the Russian civil war, and he was once captured by the White Guard and brought to trial. In the courtroom, he put his arms around two bailiffs and suddenly smashed their heads together, then escaped through a window. They made a movie about him that was once very popular in China. I watched it as a child, at an open-air screening in our village. I remember the wind was so strong that night it made the screen billow out, so Kochubey looked like he was pregnant. That’s why it stuck in my mind. I remembered that scene just now and decided to try the maneuver!”
Stebushkin knew this couldn’t be the whole truth. Whether or not she knew Chinese kung fu, she’d dared to strike while surrounded by five knife-wielding thugs. He chuckled. “All right, so now I know your secret. I’ll be a bit bolder, then, if I try anything.”
He straightened up his daughter’s former bedroom for Mei Yin. They said good-night, and went to their separate rooms. Stebushkin lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. The woman on the other side of the wall certainly knew what she was doing, and the more she remained “as quiet as a trout in the Volga,” the harder he’d find it to turn her down. What ought he to do? Harden his heart and keep his promise to the Godfather, or harden his heart and break it?
The next day, Stebushkin came home from work to be greeted by a smiling Mei Yin. “Back already? The ingredients are all prepared, I’ll get dinner started now.”
The apartment was completely transformed, everything put away and in order, the furniture dusted, the windows sparkling, and the empty bottles cleared away. He was particularly surprised to see that she’d dug out the family portraits from a drawer, and placed them back on the wall. There was Natasha, their two kids, and a younger version of him, all smiling in their frames. Stebushkin stared at the photographs in silence, then walked into the kitchen, which had undergone a similar metamorphosis. He’d suddenly acquired a wok and various Chinese condiments—soy sauce, vinegar, MSG, and so on. Mei Yin was shaking the wok with a practiced hand, sending delicious aromas into the air. “I had to walk for miles today before I found a Chinese grocery that had everything I needed, equipment and spices. Now you’ll get a chance to admire my cooking.”
But Stebushkin was admiring her: her movements burst with such energy he could barely restrain the urge to embrace her.
Soon, four platters appeared on the table. Mei Yin introduced them as kung pao chicken, steamed trout, tomatoes fried with eggs, and onion rings (this last dish was American). To go with them was a soup of lily buds and lotus seeds, and bottles of Tsingtao beer.
“How’s the food?”
“Delicious! Looks, smells, and tastes great.”
“You don’t have to be polite, tell the truth.”
“Honestly, I wasn’t being polite. This really is superb.”
Mei Yin beamed. “Then I’ll cook for you every day—at least until you kick me out. And I promise you’ll never taste the same dish twice.”
“Of course I won’t kick you out! But you’re spoiling me. How will I cope once you’ve gone?”
“So come with me. Come live and work in Wuhan. You won’t believe how good the food is there—you’ll be amazed. Only thing is, the weather’s hot. We call it the ‘oven of China.’ A polar bear like you might find it hard to get used to.”
After dinner, he said, “It’s the weekend tomorrow, so I’m going to my dacha to do a bit of farming. Everyone here does that, these days, planting a few vegetables to supplement their diet. Want to come? It’s unspoiled nature out there, the scenery will be gorgeous.”
“Of course I’ll come.” Mei Yin grinned. “I’d love to see unspoiled Russian nature.”
The next day, they headed to the dacha in Stebushkin’s broken-down old Lada. The dacha was about twenty-five miles from the city, and the road there seemed to be submerged in an ocean of trees. After an hour’s slow progress along the rough road, they reached Stebushkin’s dilapidated little cottage on the edge of the forest. All its windows were smashed, with wooden boards nailed over the frames. The interior was a jumble as well, with only one room in relative order, simply furnished and clean. Next to the building was a vegetable patch, fairly large but neglected, with a few carrots and potatoes surrounded by an abundant growth of weeds.
“What a lovely wild garden you have, Kolya,” teased Mei Yin. “Pity some vegetables snuck in there to spoil it.”
Stebushkin laughed too, embarrassed. He had limited leisure time, and very little skill or interest in gardening. Mei Yin pulled off her windbreaker and rolled up her sleeves, and they set to work. First to come up were the potatoes, which went into the trunk of the Lada. Next, they watered and weeded the ground around the carrots. It had been twenty years since Mei Yin had left the Chinese farming village where she was born, but her childhood skills returned to her quickly. At the end of the day, the garden was looking far more presentable.
Lunch and dinner were improvised meals of bread and beer. That evening Stebushkin said, “Come on, after a day’s hard work, let’s have a dip in the creek.” He drove the Lada another six or so miles, into a boundless grassland with a stream running through it. The water here was calm and so clear you could see the emerald-green weeds undulating at the bottom. The banks were carpeted in grass, decorated with purple, blue, and bright yellow wildflowers.
Stebushkin stripped to his shorts, then turned to Mei Yin. “I brought Natasha’s bathing suit, it’s in the backseat of the car. Go change. Though the water’s pretty cold this time of year, it might be too chilly for you.”
He got a running start and plunged into the creek, shrieking from the icy cold, moving his arms frantically to warm up. He got to the other shore and turned back, then froze in shock. Mei Yin was in the water, but not wearing Natasha’s swimsuit. She was completely nude. Her arms moved smoothly, her body fully displayed in the limpid water. She swam toward Stebushkin, and nonchalantly explained, “I got used to swimming naked in the States, but had to give that up when I got back to China—there isn’t a single nude beach in the whole country. Seeing this Garden of Eden, I couldn’t resist.”
Stebushkin simply couldn’t look away from her body. “Mei,” he said lightly, “you know from last night that I’m a man with a great deal of self-control, but the temptation you’re putting
in front of me is simply too much.”
“Then give in to it,” she said lightly. “Pleasure between men and women is a gift from God, you shouldn’t refuse it.”
They thrashed about in the water for some time, until their bodies were warm, then Stebushkin held her as they made their way to shore. Setting her down on the soft grass, with her hands around his neck, he pulled her toward himself. Through the storm that followed, Stebushkin found himself wondering at how this liberal American woman seemed entirely unfamiliar with sexual matters. Her brow was furrowed, as if she were enduring great pain. She clutched Stebushkin hard, fingernails digging into the skin on his back. He soon understood the reason for this and rolled off.
“Mei Yin, I hadn’t imagined you’d be a virgin.”
“Yes.” She laughed. “A thirty-year-old virgin. In today’s world, that must be the rarest of species.”
Stebushkin looked solemn. “Mei Yin, I swear I had no idea.”
Annoyed, she said a little sharply, “What’s with the long face? Afraid this virgin is entrapping you? Don’t worry so much, I’m not a puritan. I’ve just been busy with my career all these years, and I never met a man I was attracted to.”
Stebushkin sighed. “This poor specimen in front of you is surely not good enough either.”
“No, you’re exactly what I’m looking for, a real man—a bit shabby on the outside, sure, but full of masculine energy. Your eyes hold a little sadness, but they have depth. And the first time I saw you, you were taking the field like a knight, risking your life to rescue a fragile woman from danger.” Her lightly mocking tone turned serious. “You’re not just a knight, you’re Prometheus, stealing fire from the gods.”
When both of them were spent, they clutched each other tightly, and she slipped into a shallow sleep. Stebushkin remained wakeful, and troubled. He raised himself on one arm and silently studied Mei Yin. She was sleeping soundly. Out of his arms and probably feeling chilly, she was all curled up, moving a little and then huddling up again. Her naked, curved body was as smooth and shiny as an insect’s carapace. For some reason, this put Stebushkin abruptly in mind of praying mantises, the female of the species turning around and eating the male’s head after mating. For the male, then, sex must be closely linked to death—was this to be his fate too? But he felt no animosity toward the female praying mantis. As a biologist, he understood why the mantis’s behavior was advantageous in perpetuating the species. It might seem cruel, and inhumane, but it was in keeping with natural law.
Likewise, he had been willing to prostrate himself before the Godfather, whose doctrines might be extreme, even cruel—certainly not humane—but were indeed in line with natural law.
He had startled her awake. She looked around blearily before coming to full consciousness. Laughing, she reached out to him, pulling herself upright, leaning back into his chest. Her spine and bottom were cool, her breasts as round and plump as apples, gleaming in the light. Surveying the landscape again, she murmured, “God, this place really is stunning. It’s beautiful, in that solemn, tranquil way—not a glimpse of smoke, no sign of the ax. This is Eden, like in the Bible. You’re Adam and I’m Eve, only we haven’t had the chance to steal the forbidden fruit yet.”
Stebushkin bent to kiss her breasts. “We haven’t eaten the fruit, so we don’t know it’s shameful to be naked.”
“No knowledge means no spiritual suffering.”
“Please be careful of the tempting serpent, and avoid original sin!”
They burst out laughing. “I’ll never forget this day,” said Mei Yin. “When I retire, I’ll live in seclusion here. Will you welcome me?”
“Of course, though I daren’t get my hopes up.”
Mei Yin turned to look at him. “That’s after I’ve retired, let’s not talk about that now. As for the present, I’m urging you to come with me. I’m serious. China’s developing very fast, and our virology institutes need your abilities. Besides—you’re the first man I’ve been with. I’ve told you, I’m basically an old-fashioned girl, and my ‘first time’ means a lot to me. Of course, if you and Natasha decide to give your marriage another chance, I’d have nothing to say except to wish you well. But if not, why not let me have my way?” She laughed. “Do I seem too desperate? It ought to be the man who proposes.”
Stebushkin took her in his arms and kissed her. He was moved despite himself, but he was no innocent, and could see the situation all too clearly. A level-headed woman like Mei Yin wouldn’t fall in love with a defeated man in just a couple of days. All this was in the service of a utilitarian motive. Such a marriage would be a castle built on sand.
Suddenly standing, he reached out a hand and pulled Mei Yin to her feet. “Come on, let’s go home, right away! I’ll give you what you came for—quick, before I change my mind.”
Mei Yin gave him a long look, but said nothing. They hurriedly got dressed, returned to the dacha and locked it up, then got in the Lada. All the way home, Stebushkin was silent, his brow furrowed, his eyes burning into the distance. Mei Yin didn’t say anything either, but kept one hand on his knee, gently stroking it. It was dark by the time they got home. Stebushkin parked next to his block, but instead of heading upstairs, he led her to a different building about a hundred yards away. They went into the basement, opened the door, and turned on the light, revealing a room full of fishing equipment, a broken-down motorcycle, several fishing rods, a folding tent—all covered in dust. Only a minifridge in one corner looked new, gleaming in the light, a stark contrast to the shabbiness of the clutter. A Japanese brand. Stebushkin pulled open the door. It was almost empty; he pulled out a small box that emanated frosty white mist. There were four red exclamation marks on its lid, the Vector Institute symbol for a Level-Four virus.
In the murky light, his eyes gleamed like a cat’s. “Here, this is it. Actually, I got it ready as soon as the Godfather called, and for safety stored it near the apartment. But I wasn’t sure if I should actually hand it over. And now . . . open it.”
Mei Yin took the box and carefully pulled off the lid. The white mist grew thicker as the dry ice inside sublimated. Through the thick fog, she could see three tiny sealed glass vials.
“This is what the Godfather wanted, Satan’s gift. During the Cold War, all scientists, including me, were forced to research these things, not in order to harm others, but to prevent them from harming us. And now I’m handing them to you, to pass to him. Of course, you know what they can do.”
“I know,” said Mei Yin softly. “Thank you, Kolya. I’m thanking you on behalf of the Godfather, and of—the future.”
Stebushkin’s expression grew forlorn. “The future? If only the people of the future will want to thank me, and not curse me. If only what I’ve done today is good and not evil. If only.”
At last, Mei Yin had her hands on the three tightly sealed glass vials, and what slumbered within. They were extremely simple lives, perhaps only half lives, yet they were also extraordinarily resilient, God’s most successful creation. Mei Yin tried to appear calm, but couldn’t hide the exhilaration in her eyes. Stebushkin looked at her, conflicted. He envied her, but there was fear within the envy. Mei Yin’s faith was much stronger than his. She seemed to lack the internal torments that had driven him close to madness.
That night, they lay again in each other’s arms, but for a long time were unable to sleep, their attention fixed on the humming of the fridge. Mei Yin had retrieved the box from the basement. Since she’d learned of its existence, she hadn’t let it out of her sight. The virus now rested in the apartment fridge, an old-style Soviet machine whose compressor sounded as loud as a tractor. Its insulation wasn’t great either, which meant the racket started up frequently. Yet this rumbling sounded to Mei Yin as sweet as celestial music, leaving her secure and happy.
Having resigned himself to handing “Satan’s gift” over to Mei Yin, Stebushkin no longer wanted to think about it. He didn’t ask her which country she planned to bring the virus to. In any cas
e, he thought, she (and the Godfather) wouldn’t necessarily be willing to tell him. He only asked, out of concern, “How will you get through customs? The best thing would be to get the Godfather to come up with a clearance certificate from the WHO or CDC. Of course, you could just forge one.”
“No, I don’t want to leave a paper trail. Anyway, there’s no need to bother with all that, I’ve already got in touch with a black market runner who’s helping me find a way across the Russian, Kazakh, and Chinese borders. You know how slapdash customs officers are these days—it should be foolproof.”
Her mention of the Chinese border was a hint that the virus would end up in China, perhaps even in her workplace, the Wuhan Institute of Virology, part of the Chinese Science Academy. This was the country’s most influential virus research center, initially investigating agricultural viruses, but later moving into medical viruses and new diseases. Hearing Mei Yin mention “slapdash customs officers,” Stebushkin was overcome by a flash of rage. “That black market contact you’re talking about presumably doesn’t know what he’s trafficking, a little box that could kill a million people. As long as there’s a tiny speck of profit to be made, he’ll carry it for you with a clear conscience. It’s just like you said, when a country’s corrupt and confused, it’s easy for us to reap the advantage. The Godfather was right to choose you for this job.”
