A Certain Smile

by Judith Michael

  "For what?"

  There was a long pause and it was almost as if Li could see him deciding to make the leap to the other side. Burning his bridges. Yes,

  we all have to do that, he thought, at one time or another. "We have contracts with factories," Sheng said, "to manufacture building components with foreign labels—American, European, Japanese, Israeli— and we have contractors who buy them from us instead of the ones their architects specify."

  "At a much lower price," Li said, immediately seeing the whole scheme. "These are not structural components?"

  Sheng shook his head.

  "So no building will fall down because they're used, but everything inside will wear out faster."

  Sheng looked at his father with admiration. "Yes."

  "So you need a warehouse to store the faked goods, and your partners want ours."

  "And our trucks, to ship them around the country. Nobody would question ours, you know, the company is so respectable ..." He spread his hands. "So I figured that was why they wanted me to be president, and when I let myself say that it seemed that I'd lost everything: I didn't have partners, I didn't have a company, I had no way to get anywhere. And then I started crying, damn, it was hideous, and Wu Yi woke up and told me to stop and I couldn't, you know, I couldn't, I was shaking and crying and she started screaming at me to get out, that I wasn't the man she'd thought I was, that she didn't know what she'd ever seen in me ..." He looked at Li with tired eyes. "She kicked me out and I was still crying— tsao, what a baby I was—and feeling alone, and lost..."

  Li put his arms around his son and held him tightly, as if he were indeed a baby. Or a child. Wasn't that exactly what he had said to Miranda? My son has much growing up to do. Perhaps now, he had taken the first step. I love you, my son, Li thought, and if you want my help, I will give it to you, as much as I can.

  Sheng pulled out of Li's embrace, but not harshly; he was still caught in his recollections. "And then I thought, if I don't go along with them what will they do to me? I've always known they would get rid of me any time I wasn't useful to them, but I would have stayed until I had to leave because I didn't know what else to do, but then I found these papers and / couldn 't do that to you!"

  The words were wrenched from him and Li saw how difficult the choice had been, between admitting his weakness in caring for his father, and a future at his partners' side that still beckoned, even knowing what he did.

  The telephone rang, and Li snatched it up. "Mr. Yuan," his secretary said, "the Security people just left; they went through your desk and all

  your files; they would not let me call you. Will you be coming in today?"

  "Yes. Did they take anything with them?"

  "No, nothing."

  "If you're sure of that, you may put things away."

  As he hung up, Sheng said, "They were in the office."

  "Yes. They'll be here soon. You must go."

  "We have to hide these papers."

  Li looked at the envelope in his hand. "Leave them on top of the desk," he said wryly. "Anything out in the open does not interest them."

  "No, how can you make jokes about this?"

  "Somefimes it is the only way to survive." Li met his son's frightened eyes. "All right, I won't joke about it. Sheng, I'm going to put these documents away and you will not see what I do. This is my secret and mine alone."

  "Yes." Sheng nodded, accepting his father's protection without argument. "Thank you."

  Li left him in the smdy and went to the living room. He rolled back three feet of the large rug near his scholar's rock, lifted a square of parquet, and tucked the envelope inside. When he had replaced the parquet and readjusted the rug, he stood in the doorway of his smdy. "Now go," he said to Sheng. "You must not be found here. You are too close to me; they would suspect you."

  Sheng nodded. But his footsteps slowed as he reached the door, and he stood there, his back to Li. Finally a long sigh broke from hun and Li saw him square his shoulders. He turned and walked back into the room. "They don't think I'm close to you. Why would they? What have I done to make anyone think I was close to you?"

  Once again Li was filled with sadness. "Very little. Until now."

  "Exactiy." Sheng came to his father. "This is my fault, letting Chao and Enli make trouble for you, making them believe I'd go along with them. People shouldn't begin things if they don't think about where they might end up. I should have known where this was going when they started talking about using our company. But I didn't. It's what you said: I'm not ready for anything."

  Li shook his head. "You must not blame yourself."

  "Why not? I have a lot to straighten out m my head; maybe this is a way to start." A silence fell. It seemed to Li that his son leaned slightiy toward him, as if to embrace him, as he had embraced Sheng the other day. But the moment passed. Someday, perhaps, Li thought; how many self-discoveries can I expect Sheng to absorb in one day?

  Sheng stood before a mirror to comb his hair and knot his tie. He buttoned his suit jacket, straightened his collar. "We'll wait for them together," he said.

  At that moment, Li admired his son more than ever before. "You still have not had breakfast," he said. "Shall we wait in the kitchen?"

  Chapter ii

  Miranda arrived at the Palace Hotel in time to change her suit and gather her sketches and notes for Tang Po. She kept looking at the telephone as she moved about the room, wanting to call Li, needing to hear his voice, to hear that the frightening moment when she had left his house had led to nothing; that whatever Sheng had had to say did not involve them and could be dealt with easily.

  She did not really believe that. But she did not pick up the telephone. He knew how to reach her; he would call when he could.

  Exactly on time, she greeted Tang Po in the hotel meeting room she had reserved for that day and the next. He was a small man with alabaster-smooth skin, a slightly pursed mouth, and an aristocratic air that took her aback.

  "You see, Miss Miranda," he said in a reedy voice, "we wish to expand our line, to make Nantong Woolen Mill one of the finest, the very best, in China. But we will do this slowly, without haste, beginning with two, only two, products, and watch our sales performance, our success or failure in these new venmres."

  Miranda smiled. Evidently Mr. Tang liked to say everything in two different ways. Well, that way he would never be misunderstood.

  She spread her sketches on the table. "I have cashmere robes and throws," she said. "The robes are for men and women; I have some ideas for children's, as well. They may be different from others you have seen—"

  "Different, yes." He was studying the sketches so closely his nose almost brushed the paper. "Theatrical," he said.

  "Not all of them." She pointed to a red and black check, and a blue and green plaid. "These are for country wear, rather than city."

  He looked up and smiled slyly. "Not Chinese country. Paris coun-try."

  "For now," Miranda said, "but someday ..."

  "Ah, yes. So many people in China making money, getting rich, young people becoming Western, very modem; it seems strange to an old man like me, but for business it is good."

  Young people like Sheng, Miranda thought as Tang Po went back to poring over the sketches. If everything is all right, they'd be at work.

  "Would you excuse me?" she asked Mr. Tang. "A brief telephone caU."

  He waved his hand. "Yes, yes, I am happily occupied. Such fine designs."

  But Li's secretary said he was not there. "If you would care to leave a message ..." but Miranda said it was not necessary. She would call back.

  "This robe, the embroidery," Tang Po said. "Perhaps each flower could have its name embroidered below it?"

  "Yes, what a good idea." Once again, Miranda shut out everything else. "Perhaps below some flowers and beside others."

  He beamed. "Very elegant."

  "It increases the cost," Miranda said. "Are the names written in one character, or more than one?"
>
  "Some are more than one. It is all right. This will be our very expensive, top-price robe; it will show how reasonable, how moderate, the others are, and attract customers who think something is not good, not desirable, unless it costs a great deal, and also those who do not need to think of cost at all. There are many of those in the world, are there not?"

  "A great many. You are very wise."

  "And you are an excellent designer, a truly fine designer, and a lovely lady, and it is very good that I came to Beijing. Now let us discuss your designs."

  They settled down to work. Miranda tried to keep herself fix)m looking at the telephone until, an hour later, when Tang Po said, "Perhaps you should try to make your call again," she knew she had in fact looked at it more than once.

  "Thank you," she said. "A moment only."

  But once again Li was not there. Where could he be? I can call him at home, she thought. Just to see if he's all right.

  Oh, yes, my phone is tapped. That casual statement, no more dramatic than a comment on the weather. But it had chilled her, and she

  would never call him there; she would not let them eavesdrop on anything she and Li said to each other.

  So she would not call him at home, and she had no idea where else he might be. I don't know him well enough, she thought, and, remembering their lovemaking, thought what a strange and topsy-turvy affair they were having.

  "These robes for children," Tang Po said when she returned to her chair. "Very nice, yes, very nice. Perhaps matching ones for the parents?"

  "Yes, there could be, for many of them. I thought of that, but I've had no time to make separate sketches." She took out her notes. "I thought of appliques on f>ockets, collars, cuffs, sashes: animals for both children and adults; cartoon characters, probably just for children; stars and planets, cars, airplanes, ships and boats, flowers, probably just for girls and women. The list is really endless. I'd begin with three or four designs and if they sell well, expand to others. I also have another idea, which you might find interesting."

  They bent over the sketches spread across the table. The next two hours passed quickly, and Miranda was able to hold off returning to the telephone. In fact, in spite of the knot of fear in her stomach, she enjoyed the time with Tang Po, because she liked him and he was excited about her new designs. She had not been sure he would approve them, but he had not rejected any of them, and even when he had his own suggestions, he deferred to her expertise. The perfect client, Miranda thought, grateful to him for making the time pass quickly.

  At noon, he stood and nodded his head rapidly. "A productive morning, time well spent. I thank you. Miss Miranda. This afternoon we will look at your designs for throws. And now, may I invite you to lunch here, in the hotel?"

  She was so tense she almost wept at his courtliness and kindness. "No, thank you, Mr. Tang, you are very kind, but I have other work I must do."

  He bowed his head. "Then I will see you here at one o'clock."

  Upstairs, in her room, Miranda called Li's office. "He was here, Mrs. Graham, but he has left," said the secretary. "He asked me to tell you that he will see you at four-thirty this afternoon and if that is not convenient you may tell me now."

  "No, it's fine." Her heart was pounding. He's all right. Whatever happened this morning, he can still be with me. He'll see me at four-thirty. Four and a half hours from now. How can I wait that long?

  de

  Tang Po, with his kindness, made waiting easier. For two hours they talked about cashmere throws: fringed tlirows, throws with satin trim, throws with embroidery or woven designs or decorative button detail or applique, throws with pockets for books or reading glasses, throws that reversed to velvet or heavy satin, throws so fine they could double as shawls.

  "You have done wonders with these," Tang Po said just before three o'clock. "The choices are narrower, less broad, than for robes,"

  Miranda laughed. "To put it mildly. Thank you. I'm sorry I have to leave early, but we can begin tomorrow at whatever time you like."

  "Nine o'clock will be fine. I hope you have a pleasant evening."

  "Yes. Thank you."

  Upstairs again, she showered quickly and put on her silver-gray suit with the burgundy blouse from Meiyun. And my bracelet, she thought, slipping it on again; she wore it everywhere. And then it was time to be downstairs, waiting in the lobby, so he would see her when he arrived.

  "My dear one," he said, not touching her but standing close, "I am so very glad to see you."

  "Are you all right? What happened this morning?"

  "Yes, we will discuss that. Come, my driver is waiting."

  They made their way through the clusters of businessmen, and tourists greeting each other as if they were long-lost relatives. Miranda understood that now, from the times she heard English on the streets and in the restaurants of China: when travelers hear strangers speaking their own language, the strangers seem closer than all the foreigners surrounding them. But then she knew that she was closest of all to Li, and that the two of them were separate from the noisy crowd, like wayfarers sheltered in a cave, warm and dry while a deluge drums above.

  So far, we have always been able to find shelter.

  In Li's car, with the partition behind the driver tightly closed, she said, "Now tell me. I was so frightened."

  He told her, briefly, minimizing the consequences to him if the documents had been found. "But they weren't; my dear friend Professor Ye had lived in my house for a year during the Cultural Revolution, after Meiyun had been sent away, and he had carved out a few hiding places for his most treasured books and papers."

  "So you hid them. Are they still there?"

  "Yes, until we decide what to do with them."

  "But I don't understand. If Sheng's partners had been planning this, wouldn't he have known it?"

  "It seems they do not take him into their confidence: one of his many recent discoveries. As for planning it, I think they took advan-

  tage of the fact that I am being followed. It made it easier to suggest that the State Security Bureau search my office and my home."

  "So it comes back to me. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be followed, and the Security people wouldn't—"

  "No, no, you must not blame yourself. They would have searched my house and office anyway, on a telephone tip; it is how they justify their existence. Security forces do this often and they know they will be disappointed a certain percentage of the time; they get many tips, usually from disgruntled employees, and many are exaggerated or completely made up."

  "You mean, employees plant incriminating documents on their bosses, and then call the Security people?"

  "Usually there are no documents; the accusation is enough. The search makes a terrible mess and some people feel that is satisfactory revenge for whatever wrongs they think they have suffered."

  "Ugly," Miranda murmured. "Terrible and ugly."

  "There is always ugliness in life; that is why we search for beauty. But Sheng and I can deal with this because it is not unfamiliar. And one good thing has come out of it: we are on the same side, mostly because he became frightened enough to come to me."

  "Not only frightened. He cared about you."

  "Yes, is that not astonishing? All this time, beneath his hostility there was something about caring. The communists could not wipe it out, and neither could the chase for money. Now here we are at Dazha-lan, and I have put all this into a compartment and locked the door, and we will not think about it for the rest of the day and night."

  "You can't mean that. You can't do that."

  "I intend to try. There is nothing Sheng and I can do tonight. If there is nothing to do, I will not let it consume me. I told you: this is something we learn. It is like a chameleon putting on a new coat to deal with new conditions. I can take off the coat tomorrow; for today, I wear it, and so will you."

  She studied the hard lines of his face that she knew so well by now: harder than usual, anger just below the surface, d
istraction in his eyes. But determined. He had made up his mind, and though it was clearly not as easy as he made it out to be, she would not make it harder by refusing to join him. If he wanted to lock his compartment, she would not force it open.

  The driver had opened Miranda's door and they walked from the quiet of the car into the maelstrom of Dazhalan. From the description in her guidebook, Miranda had pictured something like an American shopping mall, and so she stared in disbelief as Li led her into the nar-

  de!

  row hutong, no wider than an alley in an American city, so crowded that the shops could barely be seen. Everything was old, from the crumbling and potholed street to the faded brick buildings with sagging roofs, but the atmosphere was festive, with rock music blaring from invisible speakers and shoppers chattering non-stop as they bored their way into and out of the shops.

  Miranda and Li, crushed together, made their way into some of the shops, and Miranda soon found herself shoving back with all her strength to have space to inspect everything from Mongolian hot pots to fur hats and cameras. Across the way, she caught a glimpse of a pickle shop so jammed with shoppers she decided it was not worth the effort to get closer, and, next to it, one that seemed to be a pharmacy. She pointed to it and Li nodded and they plunged into the crush to cross to the other side.

  Standing in the doorway, Miranda gazed at glass display cases and shelves crammed with boxes, jars and plastic bags. At the back, in a tiny booth, a black-clad man perched on a high stool. His long gray hair was tied back with a piece of string and his eyes were magnified by thick lenses in horn-rimmed glasses. A long line of people waited to see him, some holding babies, others stooped over canes, a few reading newspapers or magazines.