Love and the Art of War

by Dinah Lee Küng

  Joe glanced at her over his plate, ‘Don’t change the subject.’

  Jane shrugged. ‘Well, Joe’s left me for Bella. That’s that. I’m not quite sure who’s the leader and who’s the follower. Maybe Number Eighteen doesn’t apply much to my personal situation.’

  ‘Sure did to mine. They all do, as you’ll learn if you stick with Baldwin’s class.’

  Jane thought back to their last class. Number Eighteen had certainly grabbed Nigel’s attention. His Dupont scribbled along as Baldwin elaborated: ‘Target your action to the bulls-eye. Aim for the fat horse, not the slim rider. Defeat the enemy by capturing the chief. If the enemy keeps his men by money or threats, then if the commander falls, the rest of the army will disperse or come over to your side. However, if they’re bound to the leader by loyalty, then beware; they’ll fight on after his death out of vengeance.’

  Kevin’s objective for Stratagem Eighteen was to hijack an entire herd of dynamic H&M salesgirls.

  ‘My mole is a window dresser who eats lunch with them. He hasn’t reported back on which girl is the leader to pull the others down the road to my stable.’

  ‘And your brick to lure these jades? Try to use the other strategies you’ve learned,’ Baldwin prompted.

  Kevin thought for a moment. ‘Well, I could cobble together a management training seminar as a sort of brick to attract my girls, that’s Seventeen. I won’t attack too soon—I’ll Await the Exhaustion of My Enemy with Ease, that’s Six—’

  ‘No, it’s Four,’ Nigel said.

  ‘Oh, right, Four. Then, when I meet the H&M buyer for drinks, I’ll Hide My Smile Behind a Dagger, Number Three. I’ll confide that I’m downsizing floor staff, which is my Noise in the West, before Attacking in the East. That’s Six.’

  ‘Goal Kev!’ Keith collapsed on his desk. ‘You used five tactics in one go!’

  Baldwin cheered, ‘Head of the class for Kevin! You’ve read ahead to Stratagem Thirty-five, Chain Your Enemy’s Ships Together?’

  ‘No, professor, I swear! I’m just a natural!’

  ‘But first, identify that key salesgirl and let’s hope for the sake of your scheme, that’s she’s not too fat! And then gallop off with the whole team. Now, to our lovely Jane?’

  ‘Well, I’m certainly not up to doing five in one go! Let’s see. Number Eighteen reminds me of book reviewers these days. If a publisher gets The Guardian to favour an author, everybody else falls in behind like lemmings. If I were a publisher, I’d say the bandit chief works at The Guardian.’

  ‘Good example! Winston, my good man. Name your enemy commander.’

  ‘I sat up last night wondering who is my problem. You all know my situation. I thought my enemy was Nelson. After all, hasn’t he muscled his way into Dad’s good graces? He’s the all-but-anointed heir.’

  ‘Start your own business, Winston. Our bank might help you out.’ Nigel was trying to be nice. Jane wished he wouldn’t.

  ‘Nelson can’t help being a great programmer or a flashy salesman. He was just born better. I’m like my father—hopeless with electronics. Then it hit me: maybe the problem is my father. He’s the commander. If I’m supposed to show him filial piety and all that rhubarb, doesn’t he owe his own son more support?’

  While finishing their chicken pies, Dan recalled Winston’s outburst as well. Jane reminded Dan that Winston had left that night’s class looking very alone and dejected. The Chinese boy was taking the stratagems almost as seriously as Nigel—the only thing the two of them had in common. They were both strangely eager to make something—anything—work.

  Dan finished his pie with gusto. Obviously, bedsit dinners were unsatisfactory as a lifestyle. He suddenly asked Jane, ‘Did you notice something that happened during the last class?’

  The waiter handed them a dessert menu.

  ‘We’d got halfway through the stratagems when Winston asked himself whether Nelson was really his enemy.’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘Then Nigel had second thoughts about some rival banker he was targeting.’

  ‘Yes, and then, Kevin wasn’t sure which salesgirl was the so-called commander he needed to purloin—’

  ‘Or whether his sales were dropping more because of a weak link on his own staff?’

  ‘I see what you’re getting at; everyone was re-examining their assumptions about who was their true enemy. Me too! I admit it. I found myself wondering why was I blaming Bella for everything? She’s just being herself. Why am I obsessing over what she sees in him or what she wants? The turncoat is Joe.’

  ‘Exactly. And that was when the real importance of Stratagem Eighteen hit me.’

  Dan had sat out Baldwin’s lively back-and-forth except for coming up with his usual historical analogy; ‘The Soviets seizing Kabul with airborne troops in 1979? That sure grabbed the enemy by the throat and cleared the way for ground-based troops to come in.’

  ‘Not that it won them the war,’ Nigel corrected Dan.

  Tired of wrangles, Baldwin had asserted his authority: ‘Dan is correct to show how the so-called leader can be a command centre rather than a commander.’

  Jane knew better than the others that Dan’s war tales were beside the point, so she asked him now as they headed off to walk back to the square, ‘What hit you?’

  ‘‘Remember, I came over here to liaise with Scotland Yard about this New Jersey kid studying with the local imam? But that’s not where it started—not as far as the locals were concerned. Surveillance of your bookstore and the two rival imams started by tracing one of the bombs that didn’t go off back in 2006. For a while the Yard guys thought if they could grab the explosives expert, that would defuse the situation.’ He scowled, ‘Sorry for the pun.’

  The deafening traffic loosened Dan’s fears of being overheard. ‘Of course, in time, they could just find another techie with a vengeance for second-hand slaughter. And it wasn’t a problem to bring in more disciples, either. This country has as many teenagers suffering from low self-esteem and no future as the US.’

  ‘Why don’t you just arrest the imam? Isn’t he your so-called fat horse?’

  ‘There’s not enough evidence. Remember, in America we were attacked from outside—so we think in terms of retaliation. We treat terrorism suspects as enemy combatants, lock’em up, ignore the rights of the individual and forget habeas corpus. You can thank our previous Attorney General for locking up human rights in secret prisons, black holes, and throwing away the key.’

  ‘And here, in London?’

  ‘You Brits know that doesn’t work. It didn’t work in Northern Ireland, did it? You treat terrorism as crime, which stands to reason if your attacks come from the inside. It’s more like having cancer—you don’t attack yourself, you look for a cure. So, the Yard keeps suspects under surveillance as long as possible before arrest, to get the intelligence, get the evidence, get something that’ll hold up in a court case to support criminal prosecution.’

  ‘And you don’t have that?’

  ‘That’s my point. Why isn’t there ever enough evidence? What if we hauled in this bookstore owner, only to find out we played our hand too soon, wasted all our time on some number two or three? We’ve got Gilbert Sullivan in place, like I told you, just raring to strap on the ol’ bomber belt and run with it over to the nearest police station, but it takes more than hearsay to press charges.’

  ‘Well, what do you need?’

  ‘We need a top man’s fingerprints on it, literally, or our Gilbert looks like just another wild kid who took things too far. And sitting there in class, listening to that fathead Nigel talk about shifting his attention to the head of the warrants department made me think, Whoa, Dan, boy, maybe we’re circling around the wrong commander because there is no commander. That’s why Gilbert can’t bring us hard evidence to build a case. He just gets teases, suggestions, hints that something’s going on. A lot of hot air.’

  After twenty minutes’ brisk walk, they reached the square. Would Dan expect t
o come in? With Sammie getting home soon and Fairy Queen Lorraine returning in her diesel pumpkin for an aspirin and a nap, could Jane entertain Dan? Was she ready for that? She needn’t have worried.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t come in. Got a meeting.’

  ‘It’s been a lovely lunch. I’m so comfortable with you.’

  ‘Hey, what can I say? You’re feeling down. Misery loves company. Just think of the yin and yang symbols Baldwin drew on the board that first lesson.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Remember the circle had a dark half and a light half, but the light half had a dark dot in the middle—’

  ‘There was a spot of light in the middle of the darkness.’

  ‘You got it. Sun Tzu writes, “Know your enemy as well as you know yourself,” but Jane baby, your problem is, who’s your real enemy?’

  He pecked her on the cheek. He smelled of some old-fashioned shaving cream. Jane watched him until he passed the bollards and turned into the High Street and out of sight in the direction of the tube.

  He never even glanced at the bookstore.

  Jane was sorry he hadn’t come in for—who was she kidding—tea? He was no Mr Darcy, but more like Colonel Fitzwilliam in Pride and Prejudice, not the hero, but someone she could have offered Sammie’s fat-free biscuits and more conversation.

  But his words lingered. She realized that, even after all their years together, Joe was the enemy, not Bella. She didn’t want to accept it, but it was the only way to move forward. If Joe had been so ripe for the picking, did it matter whose lap he fell into?

  This truth was as hard to swallow as one of those fat-free snacks, but from her windswept peak of Himalayan pain, she surveyed a new landscape.

  Wandering through the shadowed valley below, she imagined Joe’s tiny figure, looking not so much villainous as lost.

  Chapter Nineteen, Fu Di Chou Xin

  (Steal the Firewood from Under the Pot)

  Baldwin hooted at his class with affectionate derision: ‘Exams! Yes, Keith, of course there will be final exams! How else can your Zurich masters be convinced their precious francs haven’t been squandered on you?’

  Over the previous weeks, the school’s maintenance staff had cleared out the rubbish cluttering Baldwin’s bolthole. There was now just enough room for his long legs to dance a jig of amusement at Keith’s impending ordeal.

  ‘They’re interested in premiums—not grades, Professor!’

  ‘No doubt. But I expect you all will do well, whether or not your CEO’s or the London library poobahs take my course seriously.’

  ‘It’s been years since I sat an exam,’ Jane sighed.

  ‘What should we expect?’ Dan asked. ‘Eight-legged essays? Will you lock us up for weeks, like candidates taking the Manchu civil service exam?’

  ‘I don’t mind being locked up with Jane.’ Keith fluttered his eyelashes at her.

  ‘Wouldn’t we look a bit May-September?’ Jane bantered.

  ‘No, more early June hooking up with mid-July—’

  ‘Oh please!’ Kevin broke up, ‘We’d all run out of oxygen!’

  Baldwin cut off the flirting. ‘The exam will be timed—but not confined, Dan. First, there will be a true-false section testing your understanding of all thirty-six stratagems and what constitutes a true interpretation from a misconstruance. Part Two will ask for a one-page war plan, employing your choice of twelve tactics. Past homework exercises are acceptable unless, Winston, they failed every time. I’ll give extra credit for noting risks and preventive measures, but I will deduct points if there isn’t a good spread across the various stratagem groups.’

  He mimicked Jane’s doleful expression, ‘No sticking to just Defeat Strategies, dear lady.’

  The professor was enjoying himself. ‘And finally, there will be a multiple-choice section on historical uses—please don’t groan, Winston. God knows a little Chinese history wouldn’t do you any harm. The good news is that we’ll have a practice exam in February. That’s it! You’ve noted down the anecdotes I’ve shared with you?’

  Kevin protested, ‘But I can’t keep them all straight—the Jing, the Zhong, Zhang—

  Keith held his ears and rolled his eyes, ‘The bells, the bells, they drive me mad—’

  Baldwin handed out timelines for historical revision. His cheeks glowed red, giving the impression that he was getting outdoors more. Wisps of his soft brown hair danced across his high forehead as he bounced from student to student. ‘Not to worry. On the right you have cross-references between the Principles of Sun Tzu and the stratagems . . . ’

  Keith read out, ‘The Warring States Period . . . ’

  ‘This evening we move on to the Chaos Strategies. And we don’t want to lose our way! Keep better track of the applications, Keith. We’re exactly halfway—’

  ‘Only halfway?’

  ‘Yes, and I’m happy to say you all show more variety in your homework than previous groups.’ He actually winked at Jane. ‘Read out Number Nineteen, please, Jane?’

  ‘Avoid any contest of strength head-on. Instead undermine your enemy’s position. Remove the firewood under his cooking pot. Detach the handle of his axe.’

  Nigel’s Dupont was in trouble. The banker was licking the nib and scratching his pages in inkless frustration.

  ‘Tongue’s turning blue,’ Winston said, giggling at Nigel.

  Jane continued in her librarian tones: ‘An army without food will perish. When faced with an enemy too powerful to engage directly, first weaken him by undermining his foundation and attacking his source of power—’

  ‘Thank you, Jane. What does that make you think of, class? Fire underneath the Cooking Pot?’

  ‘Caffeine,’ Winston answered. ‘Nelson lives on caffeine. He just got a second-hand espresso machine from a Chinese restaurant in Turin. Now he’s worse than a drug pusher—every customer gets a free coffee.’

  Dan shrugged, ‘So? Unplug his new toy.’

  ‘No.’ Nigel interrupted, sticking his invalided nib in Dan’s face. ‘Secretly replace his espresso with decaf, sprinkled with laxative.’

  ‘Nigel!’ Jane exploded.

  ‘Hang on. It would take your cousin a day or two to see why he wasn’t on form. His customers won’t be coming back. That’s combining Stratagem Nineteen with Twenty-five, Steal the Beams and Change the Pillars.’

  Baldwin laughed and said, ‘How refreshing to see you working as a team. Now, a business example for you, Nigel.’

  His case study was about a small Minnesota soap company launching the first liquid soap for home use. Worrying that one of the ‘big boys’ like P&G or Colgate would move right in, Minnetonka Inc first sewed up the manufacture of the pump containers in long-term contracts.

  ‘Minnetonka survived long enough to establish themselves as leaders of the so-called soft soap market.’

  Baldwin then explained more sophisticated ways of seeing Number Nineteen: tackling a problem from the bottom up; the root-removal stratagem, cutting the ground out from under someone’s feet, or sapping their morale by holding them up to ridicule, ‘the enfeeblement stratagem.’

  ‘Or defusing a conflict which is contrary to your interests in the “conflict-limitation stratagem.” And all the time,’ Baldwin urged his little audience, ‘Protect your own material and spiritual strength—your fire—against possible enemy use of Nineteen.’

  ‘Like installing better antivirus programs in our network. I’ve been telling them to do it for months—’ Nigel mumbled to himself, scribbling with Jane’s spare ballpoint.

  ‘Maybe you need an outside consultant,’ Winston insinuated. ‘Like Nelson. Take him out of my hair for a few weeks and I won’t make any more rude comments. That’d be a great use of Nineteen.’

  Jane’s mobile rang. Taking the call in the corridor, she heard Lorraine’s panicked voice: ‘Jane, darling, come home now. It’s Sammie. Take a taxi.’ The voice that could carry three measures of song to the second balcony cracked with urgency.

  ‘
What’s happened? Drinking again? An accident?’

  ‘She’s not hurt, well, not exactly. Just come now, darling. I cannot handle this.’

  White-faced, Jane bundled up her book bag. Alarmed, the rest of her classmates promised to e-mail notes on Number Twenty, Trouble the Waters to Catch the Fish.

  It was a bad dream repeating itself. Lorraine again waited up on the landing outside Jane’s front door. Her bare feet exposed bunions from years of dancing shoes and high stilettos. Sammie was home and her low sobs could be heard through the warped wooden joins where the stairwell ceiling met the wall of the back bedroom.

  ‘She was throwing up again this morning. Well, I assumed, darling, that it was flu or food poisoning. But when I asked her what she’d eaten, she said to mind my own business.’ Lorraine’s graceful white hands fluttered like Blanche DeBois but her voice had the steel of Amanda Wingfield.

  Jane dumped her bag on the landing and found Sammie lying face down on her bed.

  ‘Go AWAY,’ Sammie moaned into the pillow.

  Jane leaned down to embrace her, but Sammie shoved her back. Jane tried again and got as far as hugging Sammie’s bony shoulders only to be pushed away even harder.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Leave me alone . . . please.’

  ‘Did something happen at school? What’s going on?’

  ‘Go away. I’m all right.’

  ‘Grandma says you’re sick.’

  Sammie didn’t answer, but pulled the fleecy sleeves of her jacket tighter over her clenched fists and shoved her arms deep into the duvet under her tiny waist, folding herself up as tightly as she could, into a hard rod of grief.

  ‘Is it about your father and me?’

  ‘GO AWAY.’

  Lorraine was in the kitchen, her hands shaking. ‘Sammie said her flu was much better, so I said to come up and keep me company. I made her some mint tea and waited, but after more than half an hour, I came downstairs to take her temperature. I found her sitting there in the corner, all dressed, doing her homework at Joe’s desk as if nothing in the world was wrong. It was creepy, Jane. Remember that play, The Bad Seed? Patty McCormick opened in it when I was first doing that awful—oh, never mind, you get the idea. It was that creepy.’