“That’s my daughter, Abigail. She’s twenty-three now.”
Mei-ling looked up from the photograph, comprehension dawning in her eyes. Gradually her expression became pensive and Jakob felt a sense of relief that he had succeeded in distracting her thoughts from her present discomfort.
“Although she’s never met you, she’s very grateful for what you did for her,” he added quietly, sitting down again. “She’s come to Peking with me. So she’s seeing China through grown-up eyes for
the first time.” -
Mei-ling picked up the photograph and looked at it once more. “She’s become a beautiful young woman,” she murmured.
“Thanks to you.”
Mei-ling raised her head from the photograph and for a long moment they looked directly into one another’s eyes. Despite the bleakness of their surroundings, Jakob was profoundly moved, as he had always been, by something indefinable in the depths of her gaze. He remembered again the moment of their first meeting on the deck of the Tomeko Maru, the sight of her riding the mule down the luminous hillside in Kwangsi, and the intense pain of their final parting on that brilliant morning among the loess hills of Kansu. On all those occasions he had felt himself strongly drawn to her and he again experienced the same sensation with astonishing force.
“Have you ever remarried, Jakob?” asked Mei-ling softly, still looking at him.
“No, I haven’t . . .“ Jakob hesitated, taken aback by the directness of her question. “When we parted in Kansu, I wanted to marry you, Mei-ling, you know that. Since then I’ve never felt the same way about anybody else
Mei-ling dropped her eyes and toyed again with the cap on the table.
“I suppose you’ve married, haven’t you?” asked Jakob. “And had children.”
“I married in Yenan in 1938. My husband was killed in the fighting against Japan. We had a daughter but she didn’t live very long.”
“And you haven’t married again?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Jakob absorbed the news in silence, mentally comparing what she had just said with the enigmatic closing paragraph of the article in the dog-eared Long March booklet. There seemed to be no obvious link but he saw that his questions had created a sudden new tension in Mei-ling.
“I recently came across something you wrote some years ago,” he said slowly. “I was puzzled by your meaning. . . and that was one of the reasons I wanted so much to see you again.”
Mei-ling lifted her head and looked at him again; there was a new wariness in her expression and Jakob felt himself become tense.
“You said that after much suffering and privation during the arduous final months of the Long March, your own body ‘sustained
and produced new life’ — I think those were the words you used — and I couldn’t help wondering what you meant. . .
Mei-ling was staring fixedly over Jakob’s shoulder but when he turned to follow her gaze, he saw nothing unusual. Outside the work of loading the coal was going on at the same frantic pace and the automatic conveyor was still replenishing the giant coal stack without letup. When Jakob turned around again, Mei-ling was twisting the filthy cap in her hands and her face had lost its look of composure. She seemed suddenly saddened but she remained tight-lipped, saying nothing.
“I’m probably being very foolish,” continued Jakob gently, “but I’ve never forgotten those hours we shared in the Great Snow Mountains. They were the most precious moments of my life. . . . I felt sure at the time they were very important to you too. . .
“Yes, they were!” Mei-ling spoke with great vehemence as though an emotional dam had suddenly broken inside her. She was staring at him with a kind of defiant expression, but to his dismay tears started in her eyes. “I swore to myself that you would never know! But now that you’re sitting here asking me . . . it’s impossible . .
Jakob waited in an agony of suspense as she struggled to regain her self-control. He felt an overwhelming desire to take her in his arms and comfort her but the long trestle planks stretched forbiddingly between them.
“Your suspicions are correct, Jakob,” she said at last in a fierce whisper. “I had another baby, a son. . . your son.”
Confirmation of what he had hardly dared admit to himself as a possibility reduced Jakob to a stunned silence. At the other end of the table Mei-ling closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. It was some time before Jakob found his voice and when he did, he had difficulty controlling it. “What’s happened to him, Mei-ling? He must be quite grown up now.”
“He’s a graduate student at Pei-Ta University,. in Peking,” said Mei-ling without opening her eyes. “He’s been a brilliant student. He’s already a member of the Party and he has a bright future.”
“Hasn’t he suffered in any way?” asked Jakob in a surprised voice.
“He’s been fortunate. He’s completely Chinese in appearance — and Kao has always assumed that my dead husband was his father.”
“His name is Kao?”
Mei-ling nodded. “Yes, Chen Kao.”
“My delegation is to visit Pei-Ta before we leave,” said Jakob distractedly. “It’s possible I might run into him —“
“You must reveal nothing!” Mei-ling’s eyes opened wide with alarm. “Nobody knows the truth but you and I. You must not speak of what you know — the truth could destroy him.”
“I’d never wish to do anything to hurt him,” said Jakob quickly. “But does nobody else know the truth?”
“Premier Chou must know he wasn’t my husband’s son. Because of my work for him in the past, the premier has always taken a sympathetic interest in Kao. He helped him get a good education. I think he imagines that his father was the German Comintern adviser — I don’t know. I’ve never confided in him.”
“And your brother, Chiao, does he know?”
She shrugged and shook her head uncertainly. “Chiao perhaps has the same suspicion . .
From the corridor outside the sound of approaching footsteps became audible, and glancing at his wristwatch, Jakob saw that fifteen minutes had flown by. A new feeling of desperation seized him and he half rose from his seat. “Can we try to keep in touch after I return to Hong Kong, Mei-ling?” he asked hastily in an undertone. “I could find some safe way of writing . .
Mei-ling looked distressed but she shook her head emphatically as she stood up. “There’s nothing to be gained after all this time.” She thrust the photograph of Abigail toward him along the table and turned to face the door as it opened.
The deputy warden looked suspiciously from one to the other, then motioned silently with his head for Mei-ling to leave. The soldier who had accompanied the warden fell into step behind her and Jakob stood listening to the soft scuff of their retreating footsteps with a sinking heart. When he left the administrative building a few minutes later he found he could no longer bear to look at the activity in the yard. The coal dust blowing in the wind stung his eyes, and turning sadly out of the gate, he hurried to the railway station without a backward glance.
9
Applauding groups of students waving big red silk flags greeted the peace delegation as it walked down a willow-fringed path toward the assembly hail of Pei-Ta University two days later. Over loudspeakers, the stirring strains of “The Internationale” were ringing out loudly across the campus and from their place at the rear of the moving group, Jakob and Abigail could see that a red and gold banner bearing the image of a white dove of peace had been hung above the entrance. In front of the steps, smiling Chinese girls dressed in blue denim hurried forward from among the welcoming committee of lecturers, workers, and students to thrust bouquets of red and white carnations into the arms of the delegation leaders. Inside the hall, where a big audience of several hundred students was already gathered, the whole delegation was led, amid loud applause, to a raised platform on which a lectern had been set up.
The delegates applauded the audience in response, and Jakob and Abigail joined in as the
y took their seats at one end of the back row. Scanning the sea of young Chinese faces that filled the hall before him, Jakob felt the tension that had been growing in him all morning increase. The delegation had toured laboratories and lecture rooms, meeting students at every turn, and had inspected the dormitory blocks of both male and female undergraduates. In the principal’s office they had been given tea and shown models and plans for extensions of the university buildings while the delegation’s host, the chairman of the Chinese Committee for World Peace, had explained the government’s future educational aims. But all the time Jakob had found himself surreptitiously scrutinizing the face of every young male student they encountered, searching for something his mind had not defined but which he was sure he would recognize on sight. In one of the spartan dormitories a quiet-spoken student with a pale complexion had unaccountably caught his attention and he had lingered after Abigail and the other delegates had moved on in order to ask the youth his name. The young man was at first mystified, then suspicious that a foreign stranger should want to identify him. But on being pressed he had reluctantly given his name - which had proved to be of no significance — and Jakob had been forced to retreat, apologizing in embarrassment.
The incident had left him feeling more agitated than ever and by the time the delegation was ensconced on the assembly hail platform, he was making a conscious effort to conceal his unease from Abigail. It seemed certain that one of the students in the crowded body before his eyes must be the total stranger who, in the light of Mei-ling’s startling revelation, was also his son. But he found it almost unbearably tantalizing to realize that, despite this near-certainty, he would probably be unable to distinguish him from the hundreds of other young men.
Because of this, he scarcely heard the peace committee chairman introduce China’s minister of education. While the minister outlined the long-term objectives for China’s new socialist educational system, Jakob began trying to inspect each male face in the audience in turn, moving his gaze slowly and carefully along one row after another.
But the effort of concentration required and the mounting inner tension he felt began to make his head ache, and when distant faces in the back half of the hall became little more than a blur, he reluctantly gave up and closed his eyes to concentrate more closely on the minister’s address. Frequent applause interrupted the speech and for a minute or two Jakob listened intently. But then he felt the light touch of a hand on his arm and he opened his eyes to find that a uniformed People’s Liberation Army soldier had come quietly up the platform steps behind him.
“Would you be kind enough to come with me for just a few minutes, Mr. Kellner,” said the young soldier, whispering discreetly in Jakob’s ear during a renewed burst of clapping. “Somebody wishes to speak to you urgently about an important personal matter.”
Waiting only for the next round of applause, Jakob explained to Abigail that he would return soon, then moved unobtrusively off the platform. He followed the quick-striding soldier through nearby double doors into a long corridor and along a succession of other corridors to a rear fire exit. After looking back the way they had come to ensure he was not observed, the soldier unlocked the exit and pulled it open to reveal a dun-colored military Warszawa parked outside in an enclosed yard. The rear door of the Polish-built saloon stood open and the soldier motioned Jakob quickly into the shadowy, green-curtained interior, where an older Chinese wearing the uniform of a marshal of the People’s Liberation Army was already seated.
“Thank you for coming so promptly, Mr. Kellner,” said Lu Chiao quietly in Chinese, extending his hand. “You must be back on the platform before the speeches end, so we can’t afford to waste any time on pleasantries.”
While an astonished Jakob was shaking Chiao’s hand, the young soldier relocked the fire exit, climbed behind the steering wheel, and started the Warszawa’s engine. Driving slowly, he pulled out onto the deserted campus, and in the submarine gloom of the curtained rear seat, which gave them complete privacy, Chiao smiled apologetically. ‘Please forgive the secrecy, Mr. Kellner. I assure you it’s necessary. Although those people who sent your invitation aren’t aware of it, I was responsible for bringing you back to China.”
“Why?” asked Jakob in a puzzled voice. “Was it just to give me the privilege of some exclusive economic sight-seeing?”
“No,” replied Chiao slowly. “But that’s a very important part of it. When you hear the whole story, you’ll almost certainly be offended. I apologize in advance for that. But I hope you’ll understand when I explain the reason for my actions.”
Chiao removed his marshal’s cap and placed it on the seat between them. In the half-light Jakob could see that his hair was now turning gray at the temples but his eyes were bright and his tunic was tailored to a body that still looked lean and hard in early middle age. From the alertness of his speech and manner, it was clear that the shrewd, forceful intelligence of his youth remained undiminished.
“Is your motive connected with the Hundred Flowers movement?” asked Jakob, studying Chiao’s face closely.
“Everything in China at present is connected with the Hundred Flowers movement,” said Chiao grimly. “I haven’t the time nor the wish to explain fully. I’ve no desire to betray state secrets because this is a personal matter. . . . But there’s no harm in telling you that the Party leadership is far from united on these things. Divisions are growing — hundreds of thousands of intellectuals are being sent to reform through labor. But not everybody agrees with the ferocity of the anti-rightist campaign.”
Jakob stared hard at Chiao. “What do you mean, a personal matter? Does this involve your sister, Mei-ling, in some way?”
“Yes. Once she helped you. She saved the daughter you’ve just brought to Peking. Now she needs help.”
“I’ll do anything I can, of course — but can’t you help her yourself?”
Chiao’s eyes glittered with suppressed anger. “Personal loyalties are highly complex in the Chinese Communist Party, Mr. Kellner. Too complex to explain. But when passions for a new campaign are running high, it’s possible even for high-ranking leaders to destroy themselves by speaking out critically at the wrong moment.”
Through the windshield of the Warszawa, Jakob noticed that they were repeatedly cruising the same tree-lined streets near the university campus without attracting any attention. In the curtained rear compartment of the car, which was separated from the driver by a thick glass partition, they were perfectly cocooned from all prying eyes and ears, and Jakob realized Chiao had planned the meeting with the same thoroughness he had applied to all aspects of his visit to China.
“I don’t understand what it is you want me to do,” said Jakob slowly. “Please be more specific.”
“You’ve seen my sister. Her health will break if she has to endure such conditions for very long. More important, when she returns to normal life her record must be expunged, she must be officially rehabilitated.”
“But how can I influence such things?” queried Jakob.
“You have power you’re not aware of,” said Chiao in an undertone. “What you write and publish about your visit is more important than you think. What you haven’t realized is that your experience in China and your background make your voice unique. Your publications are read with great interest by our Communist allies and others abroad with whom we need to finalize important trade and aid agreements. They see you as a valuable independent guide to what’s happening in China. Also, for internal Party reasons, certain sections of the leadership need to show that they can project at least one favorable international impression at a time when almost all the world’s press is unfavorably disposed toward us.”
“You’re suggesting I’m in a position to make demands about Mei-ling in return for writing a positive account of my visit,” said Jakob incredulously.
Chiao nodded quickly. “At this delicate moment, yes.”
“And you’ve contrived all this from beginning to end,” said Jako
b, shaking his head in disbelief. “You suggested in somebody’s ear that I be invited back to write something to counteract the bad international press you’ve been getting — then you arranged for Liang to tell me that your sister had gone to a labor camp to set the ball rolling.”
“I’ve already apologized, Mr. Kellner,” said Chiao. “But my sister is very dear to me — and I’m not suggesting you write something dishonest, something that you don’t believe in. You need only make a request at the highest level — to the premier himself for Mei-ling to be assisted in the way I’ve suggested. Make the writing of your usual fair analysis conditional on her release. The premier knows Mei-ling helped save your daughter — it will be natural for you to make a plea on her behalf. If necessary you could hint that you would write instead about the labor camps with firsthand knowledge if the request is not met Jakob felt a momentary anger well up in him as the full extent of Chiao’s chicanery became clear. “So it was you who obtained the authorization for my visit to Tangshan? I never expected to be allowed to go.”
Chiao nodded. “I anticipated that once you knew of my sister’s plight, you might ask to see her for reasons of past gratitude. But your request to Premier Chou to visit her would never have been granted in the normal course of events. I saw to it that contradictory instructions were issued at a lower level. In the confusion the coal yard labor warden himself sent the authorization direct to you, imagining that was his duty. I expect you found he was absent when you arrived — that was what I advised.” Chiao paused, subjecting Jakob to a searching scrutiny. “I think it’s true to say, Mr. Kellner, that most things you write reflect in some way the attachment to China you developed as a young missionary — and this never seems to have left you. I always kept this in mind when making my plans and didn’t feel I was going against your true interests.”
Anthony Grey Page 54
