Inheritance

by Lan Samantha Chang

  At this question, Li Bing stopped chewing as if he had bitten a bad nut. “Of course, I wasn’t working with anyone you’d be interested in meeting. No bullies, rich Americans, bureaucrats, or smugglers.”

  “Hmm,” Li Ang said. “So,” he tried again, trying to keep his voice light, “how are the family? How is Junan?”

  “How should I know? I haven’t seen her in almost a year.”

  “I’ve been away for longer.”

  “She was doing very well, I thought. Managing brilliantly, considering the circumstances. I feel bad for leaving them. I had to go, or get them into trouble.”

  Li Ang felt uncomfortable at this allusion to politics. Moreover, his recent exchange of telegrams with Junan had wounded him. “Well, I wouldn’t say brilliant.”

  “The little you know,” Li Bing said, scrabbling through the dish of peanut shells.

  “She is very competent.”

  Li Bing set down the dish of peanuts. “And she’s very brave. I’m sure she wants to come out here to Chongqing.”

  “She’s better off where she is. Soon we’ll beat the Japanese, and then—”

  “How you will beat them? By holing up in this dump and turning on the Communists? By turning the common people against you, acting like a bully? You have no idea how your clique of generals is viewed by the people. And your Generalissimo—”

  “I suppose you think that you can go out and beat the Japanese yourself—”

  “Your Generalissimo’s a common warlord.”

  “No,” Li Ang heard himself say with surprising firmness. “We have no right to judge a man until after we see the manner of his death and how he is remembered.”

  They sat still for a moment.

  “Listen,” Li Bing seized the silence. “Listen to me, Gege. You don’t understand why I am so suspicious of power. It is because once you’ve seen cruelty and known it, you can never be the same.”

  “Ah, don’t be melodramatic. We had the same upbringing.”

  “No. You were always stronger. You got involved; you never had to watch. These men running the government. That General Hsiao of yours, he’s another Sun Chuan-fang. And do you remember, back in Hangzhou, right after we had moved there, that neighborhood boy, Chang? He used to bully me after school . . .”

  A shadow passed over Li Ang’s mind. He saw, briefly, a heavyset boy whose doughy face and small eyes held a disturbing coldness, no refuge there.

  “Lots of boys bullied you after school,” he said. “You were such a scrawny bookworm. Do you expect me to remember every scrape I had to get you out of?”

  Li Bing didn’t answer. At that moment the server passed by and Li Ang gestured him over for the tea. It was time to bring the conversation back on subject. He wryly regarded the enormous tea spout and, when the boy had left, he said, “This city is crowded, all right. You can tell there are too many workers and not enough work when even the job of pouring tea is a special skill that requires training.”

  A moment of silence followed this. Li Ang tried again. “I heard that the liaison office is looking for a supplies clerk who can speak decent Mandarin.” No sooner did the words leave his mouth than he knew he’d put his foot in it.

  “Thank you,” Li Bing said. “For all of my life, I have longed to be a supplies clerk.”

  “Shut up,” Li Ang said. “What’s wrong with a decent government job?”

  Li Bing spat. “I’d rather starve.”

  “Sometimes I think you would!” Li Ang heard the heat in his own voice, but he pressed ahead. “Well, let me see what I can do. I’ll make some inquiries with the Bureau of Moral Superiority.”

  Now he knew he’d gone too far. There was no color in Li Bing’s face. It was as humorless as it had ever been, more gaunt and wooden than ever, planes and angles. For a moment Li Ang felt uneasy, almost frightened. “Ah, come on,” he burst out. “After all, even you aren’t made of ideals. You need to eat and sleep like any other man.”

  “If you’re referring to the fact that I’m not staying at your flat, don’t try to change my mind. I won’t presume to move in and disturb your social life.”

  “You know you’re welcome to move in.” Li Ang’s large apartment was a point of pride.

  “I won’t take your support.”

  “You know our sides are technically at peace.”

  “I need to get out of here,” said Li Bing. He reached into his pocket.

  “Forget it.”

  “I said I want to leave. Am I not allowed?”

  “You’re free to go wherever you like. I mean forget it if you think I’m going to let you pay the bill. Between the two of us, I’m employed.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that I don’t need what is essentially T. V. Soong’s private army, however fat its purses, paying for my tea.”

  Li Ang forgot to answer. He could not take his eyes from his brother’s face. There it was—a dart, a gleam, of physical aggression. Suddenly Li Bing leaned across the table and thrust his hand over Li Ang’s shoulder. Li Ang turned to see what he was gesturing at. Right in front of his nose, Li Bing was holding out a handful of coins to the server.

  Li Ang couldn’t resist. He butted into his brother’s arm. Coins went flying in all directions. Li Ang nodded once and turned back to the table just in time to see Li Bing, his glasses askew, lunge over the empty dishes straight in his direction. Li Ang felt the world tip. His chair crashed backward to the floor. Li Bing leaped off the table and landed on top of him.

  Li Ang looked straight into his brother’s eyes and found them fixed, stubborn. He grinned. Li Bing was as light as a fly and Li Ang knew that as soon as he got his wind back he would easily throw him off. Servers came at them from all directions. The brothers pushed them away. Li Bing fought back with surprising force and focus. But their childhood pattern had not changed. Soon enough, Li Ang overpowered his brother. Sitting on Li Bing’s back, he paid the bill. Li Bing picked himself up, gaunt and angry.

  “Use half your brains!” he shouted. “Your generals aren’t truly trying to fight the Japanese! They’re just waiting for help from abroad. And your government is a parasite on the Chinese people!”

  The room went suddenly silent. “Now be polite,” Li Ang said. “That parasite is paying for these broken dishes.”

  Li Bing stalked away. As he watched his brother leave the room, Li Ang became aware of someone watching him from a round table in the corner. It was General Hsiao, seated with several officers. He expected some sort of reprimand, but when he approached them to apologize, the general only remarked that his wife was having a few people to dinner that evening, and Li Ang was welcome to come.

  AS HE PREPARED for dinner, Li Ang was filled with energy and high expectations. He paced his apartment. He checked his scars in the mirror. They were fading, flat and colorless in the evening light. He spent too long brushing his uniform; it was time he had a maid. He had the room for one; and he liked the idea of a young woman, one of these wasp-wasted, slang-tongued Sichuanese girls.

  His anticipation mounted when he learned that he’d been seated next to Hsiao Taitai. Surely everyone in the room had noticed this sign of favor. As he took his seat he found it difficult to suppress his excitement. He went to work on his dinner. Shortly after arriving in Chongqing, he had discovered that in order to fit in, he must learn to eat the fiery cuisine. This evening’s meal contained even more huajiao than usual. This was a sign of the Hsiaos’ influence, since the best peppers, like everything else, were scarce and expensive.

  He praised Hsiao Taitai for the meal. “My wife never cooked like that.”

  “So you’re married,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “In the church?”

  “Pardon?”

 
“Was it a Christian marriage?”

  “No,” he said. “It was a traditional marriage.” He felt somewhat apologetic that he knew so little about Christianity. Many high-ranking men, including Sun Li-jen himself, had had some education in the United States or at American missionary schools.

  “It must be hard on your wife to be behind the front.”

  “She is a self-sufficient woman,” he said.

  “Oh, well, that is fortunate.”

  He did not know how to reply to this. He was again reminded of his exchange of telegrams with Junan.

  After he had been visiting the Hsiaos for several weeks, Li Ang noticed that the youngest daughter was always nearby. When he came for dinner, she was seated next to him. When he spoke to her, she kept her lively eyes upon his face. This was so different from Junan, who often greeted his words with indecipherable calm.

  “You don’t talk very much about your wife,” she said one day, after dinner.

  “Well, my wife—” Li Ang made a gesture halfway between affirmation and dismissal.

  “Was the marriage arranged?”

  “Well, yes—”

  She nodded, and swiftly turned the topic of conversation. “How do you like Sichuan?”

  “It’s a fine place,” Li Ang said.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, please, the summers are a steam cauldron; winter is drippy and rainy.”

  “Perhaps I haven’t been here long enough to know,” Li Ang said gallantly.

  “Tell me, do you ever consider living here for good?”

  “I haven’t thought about it.”

  One day, he described the conversation to Pu Sijian.

  Pu was a man of marked guilelessness, a Christian convert who carried the Bible in his pocket and said the Lord’s Prayer before every meal. But when Li Ang finished, Pu shook his head slowly. “There’s something strange about this,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They know you’re married, so why would they push their daughter at you? And if she’s pure, then she shouldn’t be with men at all.”

  “They’re certainly not ‘pushing’ Baoyu. She and I enjoy each other’s company. Is there anything wrong with my having pleasant conversations over dinner with a young woman?”

  “She should be with her sisters.”

  “Well, it so happens that I’m married, and they want a man who can keep their daughter safe,” he faltered, “but—”

  “But there’s something strange about it.”

  Li Ang frowned. Why shouldn’t Baoyu talk to him? But when he thought it over he knew Pu Sijian was right. He remembered Li Bing’s skepticism. His fingers itched for a cigarette, but Pu didn’t smoke. “Do you think I’m getting into some kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t know. As long as the two of you keep your interactions on the public conversational level, then you’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Sounds right,” Li Ang said. He rose and clapped Pu’s shoulder. “I’m heading off. Hsiao asked me to go drinking with him tonight. Thanks for the advice.”

  Pu nodded. He remained seated, looking at his stubby hands. “Listen, Li Ang,” he said. “I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve always had the feeling I would die away from home. Now that I’ve been reassigned to Changsha, I wonder if I might be chosen to die there.”

  “Nonsense,” said Li Ang. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “Maybe. It’s difficult to know what God has in store. I’ve been given so much. I hope that when my time comes, I’ll accept my end with grace. But I wanted to ask of you: if anything happens to me, will you look after Neibu and my son? Neibu’s not as clever as your Junan. She’ll need help.”

  In the light Pu’s eyes seemed drained of color. Li Ang clapped his shoulder again; it was wooden, hunched. “Of course,” he said. “Of course I will.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t worry, Pu Sijian. We will meet again soon, and we’ll complain about the weather.”

  Pu nodded absently. Li Ang left him and went out to drink with Hsiao.

  OVER BAIJIU, General Hsiao joked that Baoyu was more trouble than she was worth. He had his hands full with his work; his back injury was making him feel old; Baoyu was too much for him. He would like to marry her off to a willing man. Li Ang didn’t know what to make of it. Recently she had spent most of her dinners at his side. Undoubtedly the general might be considering him as possible material for his daughter.

  Now that the idea had been put into his mind, it was difficult to shake. The officers knew that he had a wife back home, but they knew it was an arranged marriage. Was it so very terrible for a man, far away from home for many months, in a time of war, to find support and solace in a second marriage to a worthy woman? The Generalissimo had done it, and so had many of the others. As everybody said, it was better than being alone. And certainly it couldn’t matter, couldn’t change much for Junan. She had been always self-sufficient. He and Junan had shared a life of peace, a life that he might never return to. Now luck had presented him with another option that would more than satisfy his needs during the present as well as the coming years of war. It was fortunate that the family would even consider him, given his married status. This was an advantageous pairing and it would take him far.

  He pushed against a sudden memory of Junan’s calm, lovely face, her graceful figure welcoming him at the door. There was no point in sentimentality a thousand miles away. Junan was a beautiful woman, an honorable woman, and, he would admit, an admirable woman, but he had never truly chosen her. Marrying her had seemed a fine and convenient thing to do; it had been an opportunity of sorts, but it had not been his decision. He had been so young, really a boy. He hadn’t known whom he would become or the kind of life he would lead. Would he ever have guessed that he would have flourished working for the Tax Police? That he would be twice promoted, and later, if he was lucky, might be promoted again? Would he have known, at that point, that the Japanese would press so far into the country, that the capital would be moved? Who knew what the future would bring?

  He had yet another problem, as useless and baffling as sentimental love. There were times—he couldn’t explain them to himself any more than he could tell Junan—when he had the idea that he and Junan were heading into a trap. During their most pleasurable moments, while he was out walking with her for the world to admire, he had sometimes felt that at any moment the earth might give way beneath their feet. They would fall and find themselves lost in an unknown world. Now, as he turned to Hsiao Baoyu, he pushed away this foreboding. It was as illogical as the worrying of Pu Sijian. It was cowardly; it was unnecessary; it had no more to do with Baoyu than it had to do with his wife.

  ONE DAY, AS HE left the office for his noon meal, he was surprised to find Li Bing outside waiting for him.

  “Hey, Gege. I need to talk to you.”

  “What?” Li Ang was startled.

  “Shh—let’s go somewhere more private.”

  They went to Li Ang’s rooms. He was suddenly embarrassed at the size of his apartment.

  “Some lunch?” he offered.

  Li Bing shook his head. He was clearly preoccupied. “Something hot to drink,” he said. “This rain is depressing me.”

  Li Ang picked up a package of the general’s Lucky Strikes. “Cigarette?”

  Li Bing shook his head.

  Li Ang spoke to Mary, the young maid, whom Hsiao Taitai had recently arranged to keep his house. Mary didn’t live in the house, but came by each day to see if he needed anything. She was an orphan who had been named and raised by the missionaries at Hsiao Taitai’s church. She was a small, plump girl with a mole near her full lips and another in the middle of her forehead that made her seem exotic and yet also perversely religious.

&n
bsp; “I’ll get my own tea, thank you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Mary returned with two cups of tea. Li Bing frowned, then thanked her and guzzled his gratefully, but Li Ang could only sip at his, waiting. His brother had surprised him once, and since then he had regarded him with wariness. Now there was something in Li Bing’s face—a certain colorlessness about the mouth—that warned him.

  Finally, Li Bing spoke. “Your young woman was the center of quite a scandal.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve been asking around. They say that this third daughter of Hsiao’s was in trouble with men before she learned to braid her hair. But that’s nothing. The real story, which not everybody knows, is that a few years ago, this girl had a child by a common foot soldier. The affair took place while her own grandmother was on her deathbed. It’s the reason why the family was in mourning for so long, so that they could hide the pregnancy from everyone. The child is being raised in the country.”

  “I’ve never heard that story.”

  “Why would anyone have the slightest interest in telling you, an outsider? With that mother busy hushing things up. Now, she’s a capable one. If the generals were half as capable as she, they’d have that Burma Road paved and defended day and night.”

  Li Ang opened his mouth and shut it. “That’s ridiculous,” he said finally. “Why would she bother?”

  “The Tax Police is a fat and underworked division. You’re a protégé of General Sun—everybody knows it. And this war could go on forever before America finally comes in on our side.”

  “I’m a married man.” He was aware, even as he spoke, of sounding pompous.

  “To these people, a non-Christian wedding does not count. Look at Chiang Kai-shek.”

  Li Ang didn’t answer.

  Li Bing picked up the package of Lucky Strikes. He caught the lighter from his brother and struck the flame, which glowed orange behind his long fingers. “I have other news,” he said. “I’ve been assigned by Zhou En-lai to a northern village. I’ll be helping to develop the revolutionary potential of the countryside.”