"You don't seem to have done so well, since you're under surveillance."
"Well. That is another issue. I thought we had settled that."
Sheng shook his head, a stubborn little boy. "You're endangering all of us. Me, the company, yourself. Everything."
"Has someone told you that?"
"No! Why would I talk to anyone about this? It is shameful and dangerous. I keep such things to myself."
How well my son lies, Li thought. His face bland, his words honey-smooth. Parents take pride in their children's accomplishments; shall I take pride in this, that Sheng lies well?
A wave of boredom washed over him. Why am I wasting my time on this pipsqueak? Pipsqueak. Not even a pip of a squeak. And yet a few minutes ago he gave me a good report and I admired it. But now all I want is to be alone, to think about Miranda. To prepare for the meeting this afternoon. To think about Miranda. To do my work quickly and well so that I may tonight be with Miranda.
He stood. "I will see you at the meeting this afternoon. Please telephone the four presidents and remind them of the time; I am sure the workers need no reminders. And I have a list of companies in Shanghai and Guangzhou; please call their presidents, too, and ask them if they can participate in a conference call tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock, if that is convenient."
Sheng nodded. "And I will be leaving today right after the meeting."
"Yes, we settled that."
Sheng hesitated. He felt he was being pushed out by his father, and that was not right: they should be equals. He glanced at the list of names. A secretary could do this. He looked up. "Couldn't—?"
"No, absolutely not, a secretary could not do this." Li's voice was impatient. "We are trying to establish a common front for dealing with worker demands that will change the entire construction industry and certainly increase our costs. Do you think those presidents will talk about these matters with a secretary? I am asking you to call them because you are an executive of this company, someone with whom they will feel comfortable sharing ideas."
Well. That put a better light on it. Except, Sheng admitted to himself, I should have understood that right away. "I'll do my best," he said, and left the office trying to concentrate on his father's confidence in him, and forget his shame at missing such an obvious point.
Knowledge of people, in which you still are deficient.
He made the telephone calls to Shanghai and Guangzhou, and because those words rankled— deficient, sadly deficient —he was careful with each sentence, careful with the sound of his voice (warm but businesslike, cooperative but firm), careful to make no promises that he or his father could not keep. And every president he called said he would participate in a conference call and work with Li and Sheng to solve the problem, which was becoming nationwide, of troublemakers demanding decent housing.
It was a proud moment: a job well done. His father would be pleased. When the telephone rang, he reached for it still in the glow of achievement.
"Two of our people," said Pan Chao, "at least two that we know about, will follow their leaders and walk out, if it comes to that. I have replaced them. But we need the names of all the leaders."
"I gave you names after yesterday's meeting." Sheng's glow had vanished.
"You gave us three names. There must be more. This is moving around the country; I heard of trouble in Shanghai and Wuhan today."
"And Guangzhou," said Sheng. "We can't stop it; it's too big."
"Of course it can be stopped; this is not the first time laborers in China have threatened strikes. The government will deal with it; the question is, how quickly. With the American president coming in two weeks, there is no way they will allow strikes or other disruptions. It will end very quickly, I am sure of that."
/ sympathize with them; their housing is wretched.
Sheng heard the echo of his father's words the day before. Which side was his father on?
"But meanwhile we must replace anyone who is an agitator or a sympathizer. For now we have a full crew to handle our next shipment, but for our shipments to other companies we must know who will be on the job, not out on the street yelling slogans, or arrested for subversive activities. When can you get us more names?"
"There is a meeting this afternoon. I'll get as many as I can."
"Bring them when we get together later. We rely on you, Sheng. If we act promptly, this will not harm us; we will find people willing to work for us and the government will stamp out the others."
/ sympathize with them; their housing is wretched.
Sheng shook his head. His father could not be foolish enough to defend them. They were ignorant laborers who came from the countryside, a whole village at a time, to work on construction projects; they slept in cardboard hovels or wooden lean-tos, and ate scraps, because whatever they earned here was more than they would ever earn at home. If his father gave them any sympathy, then he and Sheng were on different sides. Sheng had a business to protect. So did his father, if he would only see it that way.
"Now, something else," said Chao. "I need to make some telephone calls from a place that can't be traced to me. I'd like to use your office tonight, after everyone leaves. You do have a key to the building, and the offices?"
"Yes, of course. Anytime you want." This was a little odd, Sheng thought. Of course everyone knew that telephones were routinely tapped in China, mail and packages opened, messenger deliveries intercepted, so it was necessary now and then, especially with a business as complex and risky as theirs, to look for privacy. But there were many places Chao could go to make a private telephone call. He had never asked Sheng before. Does he want to spy on me? Sheng wondered. No, it's nothing; just an ordinary request. I'll think about it, though. I don't like things I don't understand.
"Bring me your key, then," Chao said, "or an extra one, if you have it. What time can you get away from your father?"
"I can get away from the office as soon as the meeting is over. I should be at Dung Chan by four-thirty."
He looked in his desk drawer for another set of keys, and found them pushed to the back. He stuffed them in his pocket, then turned his thoughts to more important things: his meeting that afternoon with his father and construction company presidents and labor representatives, and a later one at Dung Chan, the company he and his partners had formed as an umbrella for their various businesses. And tonight, Wu Yi. She had told him, on his third call, that she would cancel an engagement for him. And so, tonight, Wu Yi.
She'II fizzle, like fireworks.
I know, Sheng thought. But until then ...
"Are you ready?" His father was standing in the doorway. "I thought we might go down to the conference room together."
"Oh. Yes." He gathered up his notes. "All five presidents will be ready for the conference call tomorrow. I had to make it eight-thirty to get all of them."
"Fine. Excellent." Once again, Li put his arm around Sheng's shoulders as they walked down the corridor. "You will of course be part of it; I want your ideas as we go along, and then it will be good to discuss it later."
He was trying to make up for his earlier boredom with his son, which, of course, Sheng knew nothing about. How irrational we are with our children, Li thought. It is perhaps the only constant in our relationships with them. Except for love. We cannot forget that.
At the meeting, he was mostly silent, listening. The others were here at his invitation; therefore it was incumbent on him to hear them fully, and not to contradict or cut them off. But he was troubled. The laborers' representatives were adamant, the construction presidents rigid, and with so much stiffness in the room the idea of bending to compromise seemed an impossibility. They would have to talk in smaller groups, where there would be less posturing. And waiting for the government to act.
Li knew it was past the time for the government to act by itself. China was moving too quickly, and the people would grab power if it were not granted to them.
The people would grab power? Others would call
him mad for suggesting such a thing. But he knew it could happen, and even if it took years, in the meantime the country would simmer, ready to boil, undermining the structure they had to create in order to prosper and make the Chinese people happy.
The only question was, when change did come, would Li's company be in the forefront, or helplessly swept away by it?
One or the other, he thought. I hope I can help us be in front. I owe it to everyone who depends on me.
As soon as the meeting ended, with promises that there would be another next week, and no strike until then, Sheng left, but not without making proper farewells, which pleased Li. And when he went to his office, he realized, with a shock, that for the entire meeting, he had not thought of Miranda at all.
But now he let himself think of her, and of meeting her in the lobby of the Palace Hotel at six o'clock, and saying what he had been unable to say on the telephone.
"I love you," he said as soon as he slid shut the partition behind the driver. But Miranda had seen his quick look behind them, and she was drawing back.
She looked through the rear window of the car. "I never see anyone. I believe you that someone is there, but I never see him. Or her. Is it ever a her?"
"Sometimes." We will always have to deal with this, Li thought, and he was angry, furiously angry that his government would not allow him to love simply and quietly, without distractions.
"Him or her or them," said Miranda, facing the front again. "Don't they ever quit? They must suspect something very real, they must be ready to do something, or they wouldn't still be following us."
Li took her hand. "Listen to me. Sometimes people are followed for years, and nothing is done. It is one of the ways a government controls its people."
"Through fear."
"Yes, it is an old story in most of the world. And we get used to it—"
"Lulled. You forget how awful it is that someone would violate your privacy all the time, and when you've convinced yourself it's nothing, no different fi*om a rainstorm, they pounce.''''
He smiled faintly. "Not always. And not, I am sure, on us. You still do not believe me in this?"
"I want to."
"That should be enough. Miranda, I am not asking you to forget that someone is there; I am not asking you to shrug it off as normal. For you it can never be normal, I understand that. But what is far more important is that no one knows what we say to each other and what we do in private. So if you cannot forget it, I ask you to ignore it. It will not hurt you or me or us, and so it is annoying, pos-
sibly unpleasant, but not important enough to distract us from each other."
He held her hand more tightly. "I love you. I want to kiss you and hold you and make love to you, and all I can do is hold your hand here on the seat between us, very discreetly, so that my driver and the crowds around us see only two respectable people traveling to the great unknown."
He could see Miranda sink into it and knew that once again she would go along with him. "I thought we were going to your daughter's house," she said with a smile.
"An unknown place to you. But I promise that you will find it pleasant." He surveyed the tortuous crawl of traffic. "This is going to be a slow ride. So ..." He took a small flat package from his jacket pocket and gave it to Miranda. "For your birthday."
"My birthday is in February."
"An early birthday present. Or late, fi*om your last one. Will you open it?"
She took it from him, wonderingly. "I bought you a present. How strange this is. I was going to give it to you tonight."
"Then I will look forward to that. And it is not so strange, you know. We each want to give, because we are grateful."
"Grateful," she murmured. "Oh, yes." She untied the gold ribbon and opened the box. Nestled between two layers of cotton padding was a jade bracelet, a seamless circle of pale green, the palest green, almost silver in its translucence. Miranda picked it up and it was lustrous in her hand. "How wonderful. I've never seen anything like it." She slipped it over her hand and it hung on her slender wrist. "It's like moonlight, cool and shimmering and so clear..." She held out her wrist, turning it. "Thank you, Li. It's the most beautiful bracelet in the world, more beautiful than anything I own."
"Then it is right for you, because of the beauty you have brought into my life." They smiled briefly at each other, afraid of what their faces might show if they looked too long and too longingly. "This was a mistake," Li said. "We should have gone to my house first. Only to my house. Shall I cancel our dinner?"
"No." She smiled mischievously. "You made your bed; now you'll lie in it."
He chuckled. "The wrong bed." Their hands met again and held tightly while the driver wove through clogged traffic, eventually coming to a quieter part of town and stopping at a modem brick townhouse identical to those up and down both sides of the street.
Li felt Miranda tense beside him. "It will be all right; she is really quite civilized."
"Oh, everyone here is. But I want—"
"Warmth. I know. And she is capable of that, but it takes time."
"But you once told me you don't like the lives your children lead."
"That was not really fair to Shuiying. Sheng would say she and her husband are small-time; I would say they are corrupt but not as skillfully corrupt as Sheng. Corrupt enough to get along today, I suppose. I think you will like Shuiying. And her daughter is perfect."
"Spoken like a grandfather."
"Ah, but in this case it is the truth."
She laughed. Her tension had eased and she looked at the house before them with calm interest. Like all the others on the street, it was tall and narrow and resembled a child's drawing: windows upstairs and down on each side of a bright-red front door, two bushes flanking the front step, a peaked roof, a single chimney. But the house had something none of its neighbors had: along one side of the cherry-red door were Chinese characters, painted in gold.
"What do they say?" Miranda asked.
" 'The heart in full blossom.' It is a wish for happiness. It says that when hearts unfold, like flowers opening to sunlight, beauty and joy will come to all the world."
"What a lovely wish. How does it sound in Chinese?" Li read it aloud, and Miranda echoed it, trying to sound like him. "I can't make it slither around the way you do; I'd have to practice it. But it's lovely in any language."
"My daughter is a poet, at least part-time." Li lifted the door knocker and let it fall. "Mostly she is a computer programmer. And her daughter, five years old— Ah, Shuiying." He embraced the woman who opened the door. "As I promised, I have brought a friend. Miranda Graham, Yuan Shuiying."
He watched them appraise each other as they shook hands, and as they sat in two armchairs in the reception room, he wondered what they thought of each other: his daughter, small, slender, dark, very beautiful, and Miranda, the same height and slendemess, but fair, not nearly as beautiful as Shuiying, yet so dear to him that he saw in her a rare loveliness all her own.
"Tea, father," said Shuiying formally, in crisp English, and with that he recognized what he should have seen from the first moment: his daughter was stiff and wary, as correct and cold as the Western furnishings in her house, arranged with precision, not a rumpled cushion to be seen. And Miranda was clearly uncomfortable, sitting very
straight, studying the room with little glances so as not to seem rude, watching Shuiying's meticulous movements as she poured green longjing tea into three small cups. Li took his cup and sat opposite the two of them, framing them together in his sight. "Miranda," Shuiying said coolly, "please tell me, how do you like Beijing?"
"I like it very much. More and more, as I get to know it. The city seems to unfold, like the poem on your front door."
Shuiying bowed her head and Li wondered if Miranda understood that that meant she was pleased. "And how do you like our food?"
"Oh, it is so good. And so new to me. Our Chinese food is nothing like yours."
"Chinese people who leave home
are no longer truly Chinese. Where have you eaten?"
Miranda named the restaurants. "And breakfast with Li's friends on the street one morning—"
"On the street?" Shuiying frowned at her father. "That is not a place for visitors. What will Miranda think of us? We have such fine restaurants."
"The food was excellent," Miranda said, "and what else is important?"
Shuiying contemplated her. "You have studied Chinese food?"
"No, but every meal has been an education."
A smile flickered on Shuiying's lips. "And my father says you are here to work."
"Yes, another education." Miranda smiled slightly. "At first it was difficult, but now the people seem friendlier, even anxious to work with us. I find that very refreshing."
Shuiying met her father's eye and laughed softly. "Refreshing. Yes, I can imagine that it would be. And is your work successful, then?"
"Yes. Very. I think we will do a great deal of work in China."
"Where are you staying?" Shuiying asked, and when Miranda sighed Li thought perhaps the interrogation was going on too long. But she answered easily, 'The Palace Hotel. It is very beautiful and very comfortable. And I met Yuan Li at the airport, if you are wondering, when he helped me battle your crowds and get a taxi. He was very kind."
Shuiying was momentarily silenced. She leveled a long look at the circle of jade on Miranda's wrist. "Have you visited other cities in China?"
"Xi'an. That was very exciting."
"And where did you stay there?"
"The Xi'an Garden Hotel."
"Somewhat out of town, surely. Why did you choose it?"
"She did not," said Li when Miranda hesitated. "I took Miranda to Xi'an, and I chose the hotel. We both stayed there."
"I admired the warriors," Miranda said quickly. "They're so solid, as if the past has taken physical form and become part of the present instead of fading away."
"That is nicely put." Li heard the approval in Shuiying's voice. Miranda was sitting back now, drinking her tea and talking more easily, though still pinned down by his daughter's watchful gaze. "And did you watch tai chi in the morning? It is done all over Xi'an."
A Certain Smile Page 23
