"What are they waiting for?" she asked.
"He's a doctor," Li said. "Probably retired. This is the most famous traditional medicine shop in Beijing, and he is diagnosing medical problems and prescribing medicines that his patients can buy here."
"Without examining them first?"
"He would tell you that he has seen and heard everything in a lifetime of examinations, and in the wisdom of his years he can diagnose and prescribe without any more of them."
She looked at him. "Do you come here when you're sick?"
"Fortunately I do not get sick. But if I did, certainly I would come here. People speak highly of him and the line waiting to see him is far shorter than those in the hospital. Would you like to buy something? Ginseng root, ground tiger bone, fungus, deer antlers, dried sea horse, rhinoceros horn, dried slugs, snake wine, plus of course the obvious ones like hyacinth, angelica, loranthi, pubescentis, white paeonia, and a thousand or so others."
"You're making fun of me."
"Only a little. And with love. I am trying to tell you—"
"That you take this seriously? You really would go to him and swallow things like that?"
"I would," he said gently. She could barely hear him in the noise of the crowds and the blasts of rock music, but she knew that he thought her foolish for dismissing his kind of medicine so easily, and she tightened in annoyance. But she also was confused, because Li was not a fool or a superstitious peasant; he was an urban professional, educated, well-read, smart. So how could he believe in this nonsense?
"It works, you know," he said. "Your Western medicine is now discovering that. China has had five thousand years to refine the use of plants and animal parts, and slowly your doctors are admitting that we are right. They recently decided that acupuncture is a useful technique. If they had not been so quick to call us primitive and stupid, you would have benefited from it for decades."
"I never said you were primitive and stupid."
"Of course not. I don't hold you responsible for the arrogance of Western medicine."
"Arrogance! Do you have to tear down everything that is part of my life?"
He looked startled. "I was not thinking of it as yours."
"America!" she cried. "When I'm in China, everything American is me!" She put a hand to her mouth. "Why are we quarreling?"
"Are we? Perhaps we are just having a discussion." He was jostled by a customer, and he made a gesture of frustration. "This is no place to talk. We'll go somewhere else. Before we leave, would you Uke to buy something?"
"Yes. Aspirin."
"This shop does not carry any. A pharmacy nearby will have it; shall we go there?"
"No." She was ashamed. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to ridicule ... I mean, I understand that you all take it seriously. But it seems like hocus-pocus to me."
"Someday you may change your mind."
She started to argue, then let it go. "I would like to buy something," she said, thinking that Adam and Lisa might be amused by it. "Fungus. I'll buy some fungus."
"May I suggest something else? Ground tiger bone. It looks like a powder, but its name is far more exotic than fungus, and we will have them put a colorful label on it."
"Fine," she said, and then, "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to sound arrogant."
"You are not arrogant. You are my love." Waiting in line to pay for the ground tiger bone, his voice was very low. "You and I do not fit
into categories. We are two people in love. We have nothing to do with countries and governments or the crowds of Dazhalan or all the herbal medicines in the world."
But they had everything to do with countries and governments, and Miranda knew they both were thinking that as they left the shop, the tiger bone in her purse, encased in a small clear bag with a bright label covered with Chinese characters. They walked the rest of the way through Dazhalan, past a group of theaters, past stores with mannequins wearing silk and wool and polyester suits—
"Li," Miranda said suddenly, "why are all the mannequins Western? Even in billboards and magazine and newspaper ads, they all look American. It's very odd."
"A sign of our inferior feelings." He stopped beside a mannequin of a blond, blue-eyed woman, tall and willowy, wearing a suit that was a copy of a Calvin Klein. "Our people still believe that only Western things are the newest style. If our mannequins were Chinese, the people would think the clothes they wore were of poor quality, or last year's style. That will change someday, when we think we are truly as good as anyone."
"How sad," Miranda said, as if she herself had not just thought that the Chinese were superstitious and gullible for believing in the potency of roots and herbs and bones and flowers.
"Shall we go?" Li asked. "We need some time to explore the Summer Palace before dinner."
They walked on until Miranda stopped at a shop window filled with jade. "Do we have time for me to buy something for Lisa and my mother?"
"We will make time."
The shop was no bigger than a closet, with flat trays crammed with hundreds of jade necklaces and bracelets. Miranda picked up a bracelet and turned it over and over, watched closely by a wizened man on a stool in the comer. "It doesn't look at all like mine. Is it really jade?"
"Less fine than yours, but still jade." Li picked up a necklace of dark green hearts. "And so is this. Do you think Lisa would like it?"
"Oh, yes. But—" She took it from him and turned it in her hands. "I'd like to buy her something that glows the way mine does. This one is pretty, but it's so flat."
"I think this is better for a young girl," Li said. "If we are given the rarest of treasures when we are young, what do we have to look forward to?"
Miranda gave him a long look. She glanced at her wrist. "This was an expensive bracelet, wasn't it?"
"No more than fine jade is worth. Now, if you think Lisa would like this one, I should determine what price you will pay for it."
"The price tag says five hundred yuan."
"Which is far too high and, in any event, means almost nothing, except to unwary tourists." In rapid Chinese he and the vendor bargained, their voices crossing and sliding, each of them looking astonished or shocked or insulted at each offer. At last Li turned to Miranda. "One hundred sixty yuan. About twenty dollars."
"Twenty dollars? It doesn't seem fair; how can he make a living?"
"He will still make a good profit. I told you: it is not a high-quality jade and labor is cheap in China."
"Then I'll take it."
"And for your mother . . ." Li ran his fingers lightly over several of the flat trays, and plucked from one of them a long necklace of pale pink, irregularly shaped stones. "Do not look as if you want this too much." He handed it to Miranda, and turned again to the vendor, to begin bargaining. At last he took the necklace from Miranda. "We do not want it," he said emphatically, and leaned over to put it back.
"But I do," Miranda objected. "It's very beautiful. I'm willing to pay more for it."
"And you will. But not what he stubbornly insists on." With his hand on her arm he turned her to walk away when the vendor's shrill voice came after them. Once again the bargaining began, and soon Li had his wallet out.
"No, I'll pay—" Miranda began.
"You'll pay me back," he said shortly, counting, and when the necklaces had been packed in small fabric-covered boxes, the lids fastened with a tiny piece of bone slipped through a silk loop, they did walk away. "Forgive me, but there is a time not to interrupt. Of course you will pay me; they are your gifts for your daughter and your mother. Your mother's necklace is sixty dollars. I thought that was fair; it is good jade."
"Thank you," Miranda said. "I have no idea how to bargain."
"The first rule, perhaps the only rule, is, never show that you want something. After that, it is simply a question of endurance."
Miranda was silent as they drove to the Summer Palace. Primitive medicine and sophisticated jade of many degrees of fineness. How did people adjust to swinging in such wide
arcs between one extreme and
the other? Unless they're not so extreme, and I just don't understand them, she thought.
The Summer Palace, once a royal park, was now a vast public preserve, lush with pavilions and palaces, menageries, gardens in the last stage of their fall splendor, and the huge expanse of Kunming Lake. Miranda and Li strolled through the gardens, talking of their childhoods.
"What was your favorite color?" Li asked.
"Blue. What was yours?"
"Green. Why did you like blue?"
"The sky was blue, and the sky was freedom and infinite possibilities. Why did you like green?"
"For growth and renewal and the mystery of unfolding promise. How much alike we are! And what were your favorite books? And dreams. Did you have wonderful dreams of what you would do when you grew up?"
"I dreamed I'd be a movie star." She stopped and looked around. "There's no one here. How incredible, in China. Where is everyone?"
"This is Suzhou Creek, not on tourist itineraries, so almost no one comes. I want to kiss you."
"Outside? In public?"
"The public is at the lake, and in any case we are hidden by bushes and trees." They kissed, holding each other as if for the first time, everything new: the fresh smell of gardens, the sound of the creek, the breeze brushing past them. How many things we haven't done, Miranda thought. Little things, like kissing outside, and big things like . . . kissing outside. Feeling free enough to kiss outside. Hundreds, millions of things not done. A lifetime of things not done.
Li's lips moved along Miranda's cheek, her closed eyes, her throat, her mouth. "How new this is, to kiss you in a park. I want to kiss you here and in other parks, and inside buildings, and everywhere; I want to drink you and eat you, take you into me and hold you there, part of me, forever and ever."
Footsteps clattered nearby, and they sprang apart. Miranda ran her hands through her hair. An elderly man with a child came around a bend, followed by another child and then a young couple, and Li murmured, "Never quite alone." They turned to walk on. "Did you say you wanted to be a movie star?"
"Oh, for about a month; I was always changing when I was young. What did you dream of?"
"Being a drummer in a jazz band. I thought there was nothing more
American than that. But there was no jazz or jazz band in China then, so I decided to be a poet. I am not a good poet and never was, but it seemed safe to sit in a iiidden comer and write about beautiful things, or even ugly things in a beautiful way."
"And did you?"
"Yes, but as I said, I was not a good poet, so eventually I decided to build. Tall, mighty buildings that would slice the sky and make people think how powerful I must be to create such things."
"But you told me you are not powerful."
"And I am not. I might want people to think I am, out of some kind of childish vanity, but in reality I know that in this society, at this time, I am powerless."
Instinctively, Miranda looked behind her. A few people strolled in small groups, a boy and girl chased a ball, a baby cried and was picked up. As usual, she saw no one watching them. "What a terrible feeling," she said.
"Only when you long for power, or need it. What most people want is to live quietly, to find love and friendship, to make enough money for a comfortable life, to have small successes that give pleasure and a sense of accomplishment. For that, all we need is to be left alone."
"But they don't leave you alone in China."
"When that happens we retreat into our shells and wait until a calmer time."
"Is that what you're going to do now? They're trying to frame you, and you're going to retreat into your shell?"
"There are many ways to survive in China; that is one of them."
"You didn't do it when it would have been safer to stop seeing me."
Li stopped walking. "No," he said slowly. "I did not do it then."
"I'm sorry," Miranda said quickly. "Please forgive me. I have no right to criticize you; I don't know anything about it."
"You know about courage." He was gazing past her, at a temple silhouetted against a fiery sunset. "Sometimes we forget about courage. We become tired and cautious and want only peace, which is perhaps a kind of death." He looked at Miranda. "But I found you and then I wanted life, with all its beauty and uncertainties and danger. And hope." He picked up a stone from the path and rolled it in his palm, then suddenly flung it into a row of bushes. "I did not want this! I have had my fill of mrmoil and tragedy."
"I'm sorry," she said again, her words muted. "I should have kept quiet."
They walked in silence. "But you are right," Li said at last. "I might talk about crawling into a shell, I might even think that I want to, but it
is too late: I turned my back on that when I stayed with you. I chose life, and now I must figure out how to live it."
"What does that mean?"
He was silent. Then: "This part does not concern you."
"Li, don't shut me out. I want to share this with you."
"Without knowing what I am talking about?"
"Yes."
"Well, then. There are ways I can take care of Sheng's partners so that they do not bother him or me again. If I play by their rules."
"What does that mean: play by their rules?"
"Do things that I know are wrong. Be a person I do not much like."
"But—"
"But sometimes it is necessary. Sometimes it is either that ... or crawl into a shell."
"Will Sheng play by those rules?"
Li gave a small laugh. "They are the only ones he believes in. He would be happy to ... how do you say it? Do his partners in. Punish them so that he can be free of them."
"Is that really what he wants?"
He gave her a quick look. "You understand so much. Yes, that is the problem. If he really wants to. I suppose, before I ask him to join me in doing his partners in, I should be sure of what he wants. I can do it myself, of course, and I will, if I must." He stopped, then chuckled. "It seems I have made up my mind to go ahead with this. You see, my Miranda, what being with you has done for me." He leaned toward her, to kiss her, but suddenly people were everywhere and they stepped back, away from each other, and without speaking turned to walk on. "Where were we?" Li said, trying for lightness. "Dreams. Weren't we talking about dreams? Yes, of course. You were telling me what you dreamed as a child."
"I don't know how you do this," Miranda said, almost angrily. "You can't really lock a compartment and convince yourself that nothing is there."
"Please," he said quietly, "talk to me about these new subjects. It makes life seem normal."
"Oh." She gave a small nod. "Well, when I was a child. Oh, I dreamed of so many things. Of being a writer and a carpenter and a ballerina and a designer. And of course a wife. We all assumed we'd be wives, my friends and I; that was not a dream, it was destiny. For the other dreams, my father said I wasn't beautiful enough to be a movie star, and publishing was too irrational for anyone to depend on it for a living, and he was sure I'd cut off a thumb or something if I became a
carpenter, and I wasn't particularly graceful, so how could I be a ballerina? He did think I could be a designer, since I'd designed sets and costumes for high school plays, but he kept telling me that marriage was the safest. That way I'd always be taken care of."
"Yes, you said they were fearful people."
"Of most things," Miranda murmured, and thought again of how far she had come this week.
Li pulled her hand through his arm and they walked along the creek, through gardens that stretched away on all sides, until they came to a quiet grove of pines and turned onto the path that cut through it. "And what did you read? Books of love, like most girls?"
"Mysteries and westerns. I loved Zane Grey and—"
"Zane Grey! So did I! One of my father's boxes had many of his books. How wonderful, that we share so much! Do you remember . .." He rattled off a list of characters who strode through Zane
Grey's stories. "And the land! I could smell the sage and feel the wind across the prairie and hear hoofbeats and the shouts of cattlemen. Your West was my dream: it was freedom, anarchy, brutality, beauty. Everything a young boy wants. And then I found them, but not the way I wanted." He stopped beside a temple adorned with small statues of Buddha in carved niches, and said thoughtfully, "I have found anarchy and brutality in modem China; I have found freedom in my thoughts. I have found beauty with you. Beauty and love and freedom. Come, I want to show you something."
At the edge of the water stood a strange boat. "Marble," said Li, standing close to Miranda as tour groups walked past, behind guides lecturing and answering questions. "Restored, as was the entire Summer Palace, by the Empress Cixi with money meant for the Chinese navy. One of the many follies that make up Chinese history."
Miranda shook her head. "How can you be proud of your country when you say so many harsh things about it?"
"I still recognize its strengths and beauties; I know how great it can be. You do the same with your country."
"Americans aren't harsh about their country; they love it."
"They say that their government is greedy, wasteful, full of sex and campaign money scandals, that their senators and representatives are concerned only with getting re-elected. Americans want government to stay out of their lives. They think their government is no good."
"You keep making all these pronouncements but you don't understand anything about democracy. Americans criticize a lot of things, because they can. No one will have a secret trial or put them in jail for
something they said. So they say whatever they feel like, and sometimes they exaggerate, to make a point."
"They don't really mean the government should stay out of their lives?"
"Some of them do, some of the time. They're happy to take government help after a flood or tornado, or when they want an airport or new highway, or more police. A lot of people are confused about what government should and shouldn't do, but at least they're debating it in public, instead of thinking about it inside a jail cell. Why can't you understand that? Just because we criticize America, doesn't mean we don't love it."
A Certain Smile Page 27
