"Appropriate, I think." Leaning against the silk-covered wall, they drank in an easy silence, drifting again, images moving across their thoughts without context or urgency. Until Miranda said, "We forgot your present. I left it in the car. Would you get it? It's on the back seat."
del
"Fll be right back." He slipped on a silk robe and was gone only a few minutes before he returned with a shopping bag. But his absence had given Miranda a chance to think about what was outside, and as he came into the bedroom, she said, "Are they still there? Watching us?"
He hesitated, and she knew how easy it would be for him to lie. But he would not lie to her; she believed that. "Still there," he said. "Probably sleeping in their car. We are not exciting subjects."
"Is that all they do? Wait for someone to come in or out?"
Again there was a pause. "No, that is not all they do."
"What else, then?"
"Open my mail, tap my phone—"
"Your telephone?"
"Oh, yes, my phone is tapped." He said it so casually it took Miranda's breath away. "It happens frequently; we do not think about it. All it means is that we are a little more careful what we say. Miranda, I would like to open my present."
She stared at him, at his easy posture and calm face. How terrible to take these things for granted, she thought, and she pitied him, and then her love for him rushed through her, so overwhelming she thought it would wipe out everything else. "Yes," she said. "Please open it."
He kissed her lightly and sat on the edge of the bed, taking from the shopping bag a large flat box wrapped in blue silk. "Most unusual and beautiful," he murmured, untying its silk ribbon. "To wrap a gift in silk."
"For an unusual and beautiful man," Miranda said.
His hands stilled as gratitude and gladness swept through him. He wondered if he would ever take compliments from her for granted. No, impossible, he thought. I will always be grateful; I will always feel this joy that she makes me feel so special.
Always, he thought. How long is always?
"Are you going to open it?" Miranda asked.
"I was appreciating what you said about me." He lifted the lid. Beneath layers of tissue paper lay a camel-colored cashmere blazer with leather buttons. He lifted it out, the fabric soft and yielding in his hands. "For me," he said, almost wonderingly. "So very fine. Nothing that I own is this excellent."
"Appropriate, I think," said Miranda.
He chuckled. "I like the sound of my words on your lips." He turned the jacket in his hands. "I have not seen anything like this in China."
"Your manufacturers send these abroad. It will have an Armani label in Europe and America."
He leaned over to kiss her. "What an amazing, wonderful gift. You remembered that I once told you I like cashmere."
"Even though you knew nothing about goats; of course I remember. And I wanted to give you something you couldn't buy for yourself."
"Now I will learn about goats. I would like to find the one that stood still to be shorn so that I could have this most wonderful jacket."
She smiled. "It took more than a hundred of them. You can thank them in spirit. Will you try it on?"
"Yes, what a good idea." He stood and put on the jacket, and Miranda laughed as he turned and posed before a full-length mirror and turned again, naked except for the blazer. "Note the perfect cut," he said in a fair imitation of Elsa Klensch on CNN. "Note the sheen, the soft glow of each fiber that only the most high-class goats can provide." He stretched out his arms, the jacket opening wide to give a full view of his lean body. "How it enhances the male figure, giving the impression of youth and vigor that every man longs for in his most salacious dreams."
"Wait," Miranda said, collapsed in laughter. "I can't get my breath."
He laughed with her, giddy with the freedom of nonsense and the power of such complete openness as he had never known.
"Champagne helps with breathing," he said, and refilled their glasses. He sat back, still wearing the jacket, and put his arm around Miranda. "Feel the softness," he murmured. "Sink into its rare warmth and cuddleness. Is there such a word?"
"If there isn't there should be." Miranda kissed him. "I love you. I love it when you're able to laugh."
"Because of you," he said.
Slowly they settled into quietness, talking a little, but mostly drifting again. Just being, Li thought. Being together.
When he put away the empty botde and their glasses, Miranda lay back and Li bent to kiss her. But he held back, gazing at her. From beneath her body, gold-embroidered dragons leaped to right and left: heads, tails, outstretched wings, flaring mouths spewing flames, their oudines darkly burnished in the soft light of the hanging lamp. Birds soared among the dragons, poised to dive, with wide beaks and quivering plumage, their eyes devouring the sky, their talons curved to grasp the treasures of the earth. Against blue-black silk and gold threads, Miranda was like a long white flame, soft, radiant, magical.
"How glorious you are," he said, "with dragons and great birds flying all about you. As if you are deep inside all the fairy tales and legends ever told. As if plays would be written about you, and operas, and
long, lyrical poems of love, lovely poems of love ... and I am drunk with love."
Miranda smiled. "You are drunk with champagne."
"Ah, no, though it perhaps played a part in unlocking a reluctant tongue, too long denied a chance to run free, and dance, and fly, and kiss." He kissed her, slowly, then more deeply. "You are my love, my only love, and all my life I have been waiting for you, and for the rest of my life—"
He felt her muscles tighten, and knew that still she was not ready to talk of the future. And was he ready? What would he say? What would he offer, or ask?
"—for the rest of my life, I will drink champagne when I feel like saying 'I love you.' But for now we must talk about tomorrow. Can you leave work early? I have plans."
Miranda smiled sleepily; it was very late and the champagne filled her with warmth and languor. "You have plans for everything."
"Not for us," he said quietly. "Not yet." And then, more briskly, he said, "This is what I have thought of. Tomorrow I would like to take you to Dazhalan Market, and then we will have a special dinner to celebrate your first week in China. We must get there a little early, to see the Summer Palace first."
Your first week in China. Miranda looked at him, but barely saw him. A week. How could so much have happened in one week? How could I have changed so much?
And I have four days left.
"And if you can end your meetings early the next few days, we could go to Liulichang for antiques on Thursday, and on Friday the Xiushui Silk Market. And on Saturday the Forbidden City."
He's filling our days. And the nights take care of themselves. And on Sunday morning . . .
"Unless you think I am filling your days too full."
"No. Oh, no. But..."
"And there will be time for talking. Because of course we do not plan to sleep very much."
There will be time to sleep on the plane, she thought, and the thought kept her awake, sleepy as she was; she lay quietly beside Li, his warmth warming her as he slept in the way he had, on his back, hands folded on his chest, his breathing slow and even. When she finally slept, she was restless, waking, dozing, waking again to think of airplanes high above vast, indifferent oceans.
But the next morning, since they slept late, they had no time to think of anything but getting to work on time. Miranda showered first, and
Li gazed at the long line of her back as she stood at the marble wash-stand, combing her hair. "What shall I wear to the Summer Palace?" she asked as they dressed, and Li said, "Something casual. Pants with the black jacket from Meiyun."
"I asked Meiyun to have dinner with us. How will that fit in with your sightseeing plans?"
"It will change them. She'll be here day after tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"She could go with us to Liulichang after
dinner."
"I'll ask her when I talk to her today."
How easy this is, Li thought as he buttoned his shirt. We are as casual and comfortable as a married couple beginning a new day. Comfortable. At ease. Familiar. In love. He ached with unsaid words.
"Oh, how late it is," Miranda said, pulling on her suit jacket. "I can't have breakfast."
"A quick one; we have plenty of—" There was a knock on the door. "Why would they do that?" Li murmured. "They've worked for me long enough to know they are not to interrupt—"
"Father?" Sheng's voice came through the door. "I must talk to you."
Li's eyebrows rose in shock as Miranda shrank back. "What shall we do?" she asked.
"He has never done this," Li murmured. "Something must be terribly wrong. Or he is terribly frightened." He looked at Miranda as if he had just heard her. "We will invite him to join us for breakfast. We have done nothing wrong and we are not hiding. Are we?" He opened the door and Sheng strode in, his hair disheveled, his tie hanging loosely around his neck.
"I have to talk to you; something has happened—" He stopped, and stared at Miranda.
"You've met Miranda," Li said easily. Fear was rising in him, but he would not show it. "We were about to have breakfast; will you join us?"
"No. Father, I have to talk to you!"
"Li, I'll go on to work," Miranda said.
He hesitated, but he knew it was best. "My driver will take you. Please send him back for me. I'll call you later."
"Goodbye," she said to Sheng, briefly met Li's eyes, and left, walking through the courtyards almost blindly, shocked and afraid of all the things she could not name but, because of that, feared even more.
Li watched her through the open door until she was out of his sight. "Now," he said.
"Do you know what this is?" Sheng took from an inside pocket an envelope stuffed with papers. "Your letters to student dissidents. Your telephone lists. Your plans for disrupting the welcoming ceremony for the American president in Tiananmen Square." He began to shout. "How could you do this? First that woman, and now this! You're betraying all of us! You'll ruin all of us!"
"Wait." Li's heart was pounding. He took the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of typewritten papers. They were all signed in his handwriting. Stunned, he read them. "I never saw these before. They are not mine. I have no idea where they came from."
"Your desk! Where else would they come from?"
"Some other place." He looked steadily at his son. "They came from somewhere else before they arrived at my desk. They did not originate there." The room was silent as he read and reread the pages and his signature. It was not his style of writing but he had never written political agitation before, so one could say it might be his. But then he saw that something was wrong with the signature. It was close to his, but not exact; the strokes were tighter, more cramped, less sweeping than his. It was not totally different from his, but different enough for him to know.
He looked up. "How did you find these?"
"What?"
"You went into my desk. When?"
"This morning ..."
"Do you do that often?"
"Of course not!"
"But this time you did."
"I was looking for something."
"Obviously. Looking for what?"
Sheng looked at the papers in Li's hand. "Why should I believe they aren't yours? They were in your desk, they're signed with your name, and I recognized your handwriting right away."
"Signatures can be forged, you know that. What were you looking for in my desk?"
"You don't know anything about what's in them? All those lists, names of students, telephone numbers, plans for disrupting the welcoming ceremonies?"
"Nothing. I've told you I have nothing to do with all this. Why are you in such a hurry to believe it?"
"They were in your desk! Signed by you! What am I supposed to believe?"
"That something is wrong about this whole thing. You know I have
nothing to do with dissidents, and you should know me well enough to know I would never be part of making a scene with the American president."
"That woman knows dissidents. You told me she's being followed because of it. And she spends the night here! You're mixed up in something; the government knows it, or they wouldn't be following you. You told me she delivered a letter; you said—"
"I know what I said. It has no importance. She did not know what the imphcations were. She has nothing to do with any of this. What were you looking for in my desk?"
Sheng frowned. "I didn't know," he said at last. "I just thought there might be something there. I looked in mine, too."
''Your desk?" Agitated, angry, Li stood up. "You suspected someone in our company of framing one or both of us, is that right? And now it seems that someone is framing me. So you went to work early this morning to look in our desks, is that right? Is it?"
"Not quite." It was almost a whisper.
"Well what is wrong with it? Stop this childish game you are playing and tell me what is going on. Whom do you suspect in our company? And why?"
Sheng slumped in his chair. "Not in the company. Out of it. Biao zi yang de," he swore ferociously. "I thought, when he wanted to use my telephone, and asked for the keys to the office, I thought it was a reasonable idea, he said he needed a place where his calls couldn't be traced, but the more I thought about it the more peculiar it seemed."
"You gave someone die keys to the office," Li said quietly, holding in his growing rage. "Who was it?"
"Pan Chao. He wanted to make some phone calls."
"There are telephones all over Beijing."
"I know. That's why I began to wonder about it. I thought maybe he wanted to check up on me."
"Or to plant something in my desk. Or yours. And then what? Report to the State Security Bureau that they should search my desk. But no one has. When did you give him the keys?"
"Yesterday afternoon; I saw him after our meeting with the construction presidents."
"When did he give them back?"
"He hasn't, yet. I didn't need them; I gave him a set I found in my desk."
"For the office," Li muttered. "But if he is serious, the office would not be enough." He looked around the room. "Nothing out of place. But he would be careful..."
"You think he came here?" Sheng asked. "Broke into your house? But you were home last night. You're always home."
"I was having dinner at Shuiying's last night."
"Tsao" Sheng exclaimed and they dashed from the living room into Li's study. They had to hunt for it, but they found the envelope buried in a file beneath rolls of blueprints and specifications. 'Tsao," Sheng said again despairingly, and slumped against the desk. Li stood a little apart, his fear cold within him.
"Why would anyone do this? If State Security had found these, I would have been doomed." Added to my student newspaper, my friendship with Professor Ye, my closeness to Miranda, whom they already suspect, even the meetings with labor representatives that are being held at my instigation, in my office, with construction company presidents who think I am subversive.... "Why?" he asked again. "Why does Chao want to have me arrested?"
Forcing the words out, Sheng said, "They might want you out of the way."
" 'They?' You mean both of your partners? What is it to them where lam?"
"They think I should be president of the company. They talk about it all the time. They think I would run it better."
"Why?"
Sheng winced. "We need younger people," he faltered. "Better able to understand China today, more flexible, more part of things."
"And you think that describes you?"
"Not... really. I thought about it last night. I don't think I can. I mean, I don't know enough."
"Yes, we talked about this before," Li said, but more gently this time. He felt great sorrow for his son, that he had to admit so much to a father he had always wanted to defeat. But he could not linger on that now. "What
is it they want you to do with this company if you are president?"
Sheng shook his head, back and forth, back and forth. "I can't tell you."
"You'll damn well tell me, and right away!" He waited. "Did you hear me? Look at me! I'm talking to you! Who is it you're protecting, them or me?"
"I have to think!" Sheng shouted. "It's not so easy ..."
"I don't give a damn whether it's easy or not. Your friend has put my whole life at risk ... I could lose everything—"
"He's not my friend." The words came out jerkily. "I thought he was, but..."
"Then why are you protecting him?"
Still slumped against the desk, Sheng bent over, holding his stomach. 'Tsao," he said resignedly. "They don't really care if you're arrested, or go to America, or what; they just want you gone, so I can take over the company."
"And do what with it? Something I would not allow, is that it?"
"You see, they kept saying I would be a fine, modem president, and I thought they meant it—I wanted to believe they meant it—but I think they were really planning to use me. Last night.. ." He groaned. "Last night Wu Yi asked me a lot of questions about Chao and Enli, whether they admired me and if I thought they told me the truth. It was very strange: she never asks about my work and I said it was like a test and I asked her if I'd passed and she laughed. But she kept asking questions, and finally she said that when they talked about my being president of the company it sounded ... rehearsed. And she's an actress, she knows these things, so I paid attention. You know?"
"Yes," Li said, sadness for his son filling him again. Wu Yi, running after the powerful and successful, questioning his son to see if he met the test. Yes, of course it was a test. Sheng had it right, without knowing it.
"She said she thought they weren't honest; she thought they were using me to get something, and she didn't like to see somebody close to her being used. You know, weak enough to be used. And I kept thinking about that, and what you'd said, that I'm not ready to take over the company, and you see me at work, but Chao and Enli don't, so why would they be so sure I could do it?"
"And then?" Li asked.
Sheng spread his hands, his head down. "We were in bed and she'd gone to sleep and I kept thinking, and ... I started crying. A goddam baby.'" He shook his head. "It was terrible, so terrible ... I couldn't stop; I kept thinking about you and how hard it must be for you to admit that I haven't learned what most men my age have learned, how to run a company, a legitimate company with a good reputation, and I thought, you don't enjoy criticizing me, but you do it because you know I'm not ready, no matter what they keep saying. And you're right; I know that. I haven't learned enough; I've been too busy plotting with Chao and Enli, and pretending I was powerful because they liked me. And then I remembered that I hadn't let them use All-China's warehouses ..."
A Certain Smile Page 25
