A Certain Smile

by Judith Michael

  "No. I would have liked to have seen that. I've seen photographs, and a movie once. It looked so graceful, I thought it would be lovely to learn it. Someday, perhaps, I'll find someone to teach me."

  "I can show you now." Li's eyebrows rose in surprise. This was not like Shuiying. Was she doing it to help Miranda or to show her up? He watched Miranda walk with Shuiying to the center of the room. "The movements flow from one to the other," Shuiying said, "but very slowly." In slow motion, she raised one bent leg and turned on one foot, so gradually it almost seemed she was not moving at all, then lifted one hand, palm out, and, inch by inch, pushed it outward, as if pressing something away from her. Then, slowly, so slowly, she raised that arm straight up, and, still on one foot, turned again and slowly brought her arm down in a wide arc, and then, in the same slow motion, lowered her leg to the floor. She turned to Miranda. "Now, do it as I do."

  As she repeated the movements, Miranda followed her, watching intently, frowning as she fought to control her quivering muscles in the discipline demanded by each deliberate movement up, out, around, down.

  Watching the two of them, so beautiful in their dreamlike grace, Li felt something inside him crack and weep. He imagined them as friends, close friends, mingling their different worlds, learning from each other in so many ways, laughing together, sharing secrets, and that image of a family, of their family, was a shimmering mirage beckoning to him in his longing.

  I love you, he said silently to both of them, yet he knew he would never be as close to his daughter as he would like, and a future with Miranda was all shadows and uncertainty. Still, as he watched the dancing women, he felt himself reach out to them as a thirsty man would move toward a shining mirage: reaching for a beauty so clear it was as if all that he had dreamed had truly come to pass.

  "Would you like to do it one more time?" Shuiying asked, and Li

  knew that this was indeed a test; few people were able to complete more than one tai chi routine the first time.

  "Yes, I'd like that." Li saw the rigid line of Miranda's neck, and the way she clenched and unclenched her fist, and a rush of love filled him. But, oh, how sore she will be tomorrow, he thought. She has no idea how hard her muscles are working. Or she does, but she is determined to show Shuiying ... what? That she is as good as she? Or that she is good enough for Shuiying's father?

  The two women repeated the movements, and when they were finished Miranda almost collapsed into her chair. "That's the hardest exercise I've ever done," she said to Shuiying. "I admire you; you do it so beautifully. How strong you are, to make it look mystical, not like exercise at all."

  Shuiying smiled, more warmly than at any time since Miranda's arrival. "It takes many years. You are excellent for a beginner; you should continue to practice. Of course these are only a few of the hundreds of movements, increasing in difficulty. But many of them you could do." She refilled their teacups. "Dinner will be ready soon. Zemin will not be here; he has business in Guangzhou. My husband," she added, to Miranda. "He is a tour operator and does not make much money, but he has other activities and they are very profitable. How much money do you make as a designer?"

  Miranda's face flushed with confusion and embarrassment, and Li came to her rescue. "Americans do not talk about money, Shuiying."

  "Why not? It is part of everything." She turned to Miranda. "If I asked how tall you are, or how big is your house, or how old are your children, would you tell me?"

  Miranda frowned. "It isn't the same."

  "What is the difference? Are you ashamed of how much money you make?"

  Miranda's face hardened. "I'd like to make more, but that doesn't mean I'm ashamed of it. It has nothing to do with whether I'm a good person or not." She looked surprised, and Li realized that, in America, what she had said would be startling, since Americans seemed to equate character with income. Rich people never reveal their income because that might show they make less than richer people, and the richest people keep it a secret because it would seem they are bragging about how much better they are than everyone else, and people with small incomes refuse to reveal them because they cannot admit that they are less worthy than the rich and the richer and the richest. All of which is obviously absurd, he mused. Why don't they understand that?

  Miranda broke into a low laugh. "How absurd." She drained her

  cael

  teacup and set it down firmly. "I earn forty thousand dollars a year, which is enough for me and my two children."

  "Forty thousand— Three hundred twenty thousand yuan! You are a very wealthy woman!"

  Once again Miranda looked embarrassed. "It may be a great deal of money in China, but in America it is ..."

  "Modest," Li said quietly.

  "What do you earn?" Miranda asked with a boldness that surprised Li.

  "Two thousand yuan a month. I will earn more next year."

  Miranda's eyes widened. "Two hundred fifty dollars a month? But how can you live on that?"

  "My husband earns three times as much. But of course it is not enough; it is never enough. We will earn much more in the future. You said you have children. Where is your husband?"

  "He died many years ago. I could probably earn more if I went to New York, but my children are happy in the small town where we live, so I'm happy staying there."

  "No one is happy making less money," Shuiying said firmly. "Money is good. Making more money is better. Being rich is best of all."

  "But other things are important: close friends and family, and good schools, and living in a place you love."

  "It is better to be rich. Money is the only thing that matters."

  "How can you be a poet and think so much about money?"

  "You do not believe that poets think about money? Poets have to eat, just like everyone else. It all comes down to money, and to get it you do whatever you need to do because without it nothing good happens."

  "What does your husband do besides lead tours?" Miranda asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

  "He is an official with business and government organizations, and a director of two private ones."

  "What kind of organizations?" Miranda asked, and her innocence was so un-Chinese that Li longed to reach out and hold her, to smile into her clear eyes and experience, even if briefly, that ignorance of corruption that was like a state of grace forever denied the citizens of modem China, now that they had flung it from them with both hands.

  "Many kinds; Zemin is very skillful. He is an official of a government agency—" The front door opened and a small girl ran in, stopping short when she saw Miranda. She saw Li and began to run to him, but changed course, going first to her mother to greet her and kiss her

  on the cheek. Then she ran to Li. ''Laoyeh! Where have you been? You haven't come to see me for sooooo long!"

  In Chinese, Li said, "Can you say that in English? This lady is from America. Her name is Miranda." Holding the child between his knees, he said, in English, "Miranda, this is my granddaughter, Chen Ming."

  "M hao," Miranda said.

  A stream of Chinese burst from Ming. "She wonders why I asked her to speak English," said Li, "when it is clear that you speak Chinese."

  Miranda laughed. "Not when I get past hello and goodbye and thank you. Does she really speak English? At five?"

  "I told you she is exceptional." He whispered to his granddaughter, and she turned to Miranda.

  "How do you do," she said carefully. "Are you well? I hope you like China. It is bigger than America, and richer and more beautiful."

  "Forgive her rudeness," Shuiying said. "At her age, they learn simple sentences and she does not truly understand what she is saying."

  Miranda knelt before Ming and brushed back a strand of black hair that fell over the little girl's eyes. They smiled at each other, and Li saw Miranda close her eyes and knew she was thinking of her own children, missing them. "I hope you do think your country is the best in the world," she said to Ming. "You should be proud of China; i
t's your home."

  "Oh," Shuiying said. "Americans do not usually talk like that."

  "I just hope she understands that Americans feel the same way about their country. I hope no one teaches her that America is a bad place, or that we are her enemy."

  "No one would teach her that."

  Miranda's eyebrows rose, but she said nothing. She kissed Ming's cheek and returned to her chair. "She's a beautiful child."

  Li spoke to Ming in Chinese, and Shuiying said, "Don't tell her that; it will spoil her."

  "She should know that Miranda thinks she is beautiful. Now, I'm going to take Ming to the kitchen for something to eat."

  "You spoil her all the time."

  "I hope I am only making her happy. We'll be back in a few minutes."

  From the kitchen, Li saw the edge of Miranda's chair, and her arm with the jade bracelet. He poured juice for Ming and as she chattered about her day at the children's school, he listened to the two women.

  "—government agency," Shuiying said. "But he may stop that when his other companies begin to make more money."

  "What kinds of companies?"

  "One is a pharmaceutical company that makes medicines—"

  Li's thoughts went to the thousands of Chinese who died every year from adulterated or fake drugs, and he wondered if Zemin were responsible for any of them. The Chinese people had a saying: "The butcher hangs a sheep's head in the window but he sells dog meat." Everyone knew it but no one did anything about it. How dirty are my son-in-law's hands from all of that?

  "—and they also make Crest toothpaste and Chanel Number Five and Flex shampoo; they sell very well in China."

  "You mean he's a director of American companies?"

  "No, Chinese companies. Americans have nothing to do with it."

  "But those are American products."

  "In China, they are Chinese products. Why not? The Americans make huge profits from them; it does not hurt them if our people make money from them, too. Even if the Americans complain, the companies are quite safe because they are owned by the sons of high government officials and military officers. And the products are popular, so everyone is happy."

  Li pictured Miranda trying to digest all this.

  "And Zemin's other company manufactures TV satellite dishes. The factory is owned by men he knew when he was in the army, and they made him a director because he is shrewd in business. He gets a nice conrniission on each one he sells, and they sell excellently."

  "You can have satellite dishes? And watch anything you want on television?"

  "Why not? Oh, you think it is against the law. Well, officially it is, but since the mihtary own the factories everyone looks the other way."

  "It seems very strange. Your government violating its own beliefs..."

  "It is money," Shuiying said, as if that explained everything, and perhaps, Li thought, it did.

  Li and Ming returned to the reception room, and when Shuiying spoke to Ming in Chinese, the little girl ran off. "She will wash for dinner, and I must do some work in the kitchen. Forgive me, but I have no cook, you see. Soon I will, when Zemin becomes a partner in the satellite dish company."

  "I'd like to help," said Miranda.

  "Oh, no, a guest does not help. I will call you when I am ready."

  "Please. In America we help each other. And I'd like to watch you make dinner; I could learn so much."

  "Ah." Again Shuiying bowed her head in pleasure. "Well, then ..."

  Li watched them go through the dining room and into the kitchen, his gaze lingering on Miranda's fair hair. His love for her was so powerful at that moment that he thought he could not contain it, could not even fully understand it. Every part of my life is hers, he thought; she settles into it as if she belongs here. She does belong here. With me, wherever I am. And what am I going to do about that?

  Are you going to America?

  He could almost hear Sheng's voice blurt out the question in his office.

  ARE YOU GOING TO AMERICA ?

  It was, after all, not an impossibility. All over the world, people moved from country to country, for one reason or another. Love was as good as any. Better than most.

  "Laoyeh!" Ming peered around the comer of the doorway.

  Li knelt, and she ran into his arms. "Aren't you supposed to be washing your hands?"

  "They're very clean. I can't get them any cleaner. Will you read to me after dinner?"

  "Yes."

  "Oh, you are so good. And play a game, too?"

  "We'll decide that when we see how late it is."

  "You have to do twice as many things with me when you don't come so often."

  "I'll do three times as many if it's not too late."

  "What time is too late?"

  He laughed and kissed her. "Let us see when dinner ends and then we will have some idea."

  Ming nodded. "I told mama you would read to me and play many many games. She said you would be too busy with your friend. Miranda. She is very pretty, isn't she? She has such a nice smile. Now I have to go upstairs again, so when I come down mama will think I came straight to her." She burrowed her lips against Li's cheek. "You're such a good laoyeh" she said, and ran up the stairs.

  How did she learn such wisdom? Li wondered. To know that Shuiy-ing expects everyone to come to her first. Or perhaps that is not so much wisdom as self-preservation. How early we all have to learn self-preservation.

  "Li, Shuiying wants to know—"

  Miranda was coming in from the dining room and he met her halfway and roughly pulled her to him and kissed her. "I love you."

  "Shuiying is in the other room! This is her house! What if she saw us?"

  "She would be surprised."

  "I think she'd be angry. She'd never invite me here again."

  "Of course she would. She likes you. She did tai chi with you and I have never seen her do that with anyone. She'll invite you many times." Their eyes met, and Li knew that the only way Miranda would ever return to his daughter's home would be if she were staying in China. Living in China. With him.

  Are you going to America?

  It's not impossible. But neither is it impossible that Miranda would stay here.

  Stay with me. Live with me. Be my —

  "No, Li." Miranda took a step backward. She had seen it in his eyes. "I don't want to talk about that."

  "Later," he said, his voice trembling with new thoughts, new possibilities. "We have to talk about it; we've known that for some time now." He moved away and picked up a carved ivory figure, turning it in his fingers to calm them. "What does Shuiying want to know?"

  "Oh." Nervously she ran her fingers through her hair. "Whether you want cold and hot appetizers, or just hot. She says you don't like cold. I didn't know that. I think she's trying to show me that I don't really belong here because I don't know you as well as she does."

  "You belong with me. She knows that, whatever she may be pretending. A long time ago I did not like cold appetizers; I've changed. Perhaps daughters don't like to think of their fathers changing. I would like both, and I will tell her so."

  "No, I'll tell her. She says she doesn't like men in her kitchen."

  Li stood still, his fingers following the contours of the ivory figure as he gazed at the doorway through which Miranda disappeared. You belong with me. That is what we have to talk about. That is what we have to remember.

  But he put off talking about it, even later, after saying goodbye to Shuiying. She had not invited Miranda to come to dinner again; she had not even said she hoped they would meet again. "I didn't really think she would," Miranda said to Li as they drove to his house. "But I guess a little part of me thought she might." She paused. "And I wanted her to. I thought she liked me."

  "She did. She simply does not know what to make of you. That will come. Give her time."

  But we have no time.

  Both of them thought it. Neither of them said it.

  In his house, he locked the door and brought Mira
nda to him, holding her close, his lips against her hair. "I like coming home with you. I

  like thinking about coming home with you. You make my house warm and ahve." He took her hand. "I have a surprise in the bedroom. I hope you hke it."

  Miranda stopped in the doorway as she saw the new silk spread on the bed. "I do like it. Oh, I love it."

  The spread was deep blue, almost black, embroidered in dragons and fantastic birds of gold that seemed to flicker beneath the hanging lamp. "It will be better with us on it," said Li. "I bought it for us. Together."

  Their clothes slid to the floor; they lay on the bed, and Li kissed the small pulse in Miranda's throat. "Together, wherever we are. Where I can look for you and know I will find you, where I can say your name and know you will reply." His lips slid to her breasts, her stomach, the blond curls between her thighs. "I want you always, your body and your smile, your voice, the look in your eyes .. ."

  His mouth parted her thighs, her hands were in his hair, and he tasted the honey of her, golden and sweet, and heard the quickness of her breath and his name on her lips, and then her body rose beneath his mouth and fell back, shuddering.

  They stayed that way for a moment, floating, drifting, without thought, a sweetness in the air curling over them, until, as if awakening, Li moved along the smoothness of Miranda's body to lie full length upon her, his body matching hers, curve into curve, and he came into her with the sureness and ease and endless gratitude of someone coming home.

  "I missed you all day," Miranda said when they lay together, her head on his shoulder, his hand slowly caressing the outline of her face. "It was as if I could see you and almost touch you, and everything else didn't matter."

  "Meishi," Li murmured.

  "What?"

  "That means, it doesn't matter. I said that today, too, and I was very angry that anything was interfering with my thinking about you. And now I have something for us." He went to a cabinet and brought a bottle and two slender glasses to the bed. "We have never drunk champagne together and I thought it was time."

  They touched their glasses. "Taittinger," Miranda said, reading the label. "Amazing."