The Goddess of Yantai

by Ian Hamilton

  “His friends and most movie critics like to remember the best, but he’s obsessed by the worst. This country, this system, wore him down and turned him into something he didn’t want to be but was too weak to fight.”

  “Where was he born?”

  “In Wuxi.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “It’s a small city about halfway between Shanghai and Nanjing. His father, who was some kind of Party official, died when he was young, and he was raised by his mother. She loved Chinese opera and movies of any kind, so she saturated him with them. He was always quick to identify her as the person who had the greatest impact on his life. When one critic asked how, he said that living with her was like being engulfed in drama on a daily basis. And then he went on to say that his favourite art form was Chinese opera, because it took drama and raised it to the heavens.”

  “His mother was a drama queen?”

  “So he claimed, but I never met her. She died towards the end of the Cultural Revolution. And, of course, that was something else he maintained shaped him.”

  “It provided the fodder for his best films.”

  “Yes, and for his later decay.”

  Ava finished her cognac and noticed that Fai had done the same. “Two more?” she asked.

  “Why not?” Fai said. She waved at the server and pointed to their glasses.

  “The Air We Breathe is one of the best films I’ve ever seen,” Ava said.

  “It was the peak of his career and the start of mine. It seems like a long time ago.”

  “How did he ever manage to get it made?”

  “He was more politically sensitive then, more astute,” Fai said. “Remember, he was in his early teens when the Cultural Revolution started, so he was old enough to observe it but young enough to be protected from its excesses. His mother aligned herself with the revolutionary movement, which elevated the family’s status. Lau Lau met some of the right people and learned the language of the Revolution. He stayed in touch with the people and used that language as a way of convincing them he was one of them. He could condemn revisionists and the bourgeoisie for hours on end without meaning a word of it. Later in his life he used to do it at parties to entertain people, except some of the wrong people were listening and didn’t think it was funny.”

  “But The Air We Breathe is tremendously political.”

  “The authorities only realized that after it was made,” Fai said as the fresh cognacs arrived. “But if they’d been paying attention, they would have seen that all his earlier films were political as well. He just set them in earlier time periods, filmed them as allegories, and described them in ways that made it seem like he was skewering the bourgeoisie. What he was actually doing was condemning anyone who wielded power over another human being.”

  “They banned the film in China, right?”

  “Yes. At first Lau Lau treated that as a badge of honour, especially after all those foreign awards from Venice and France and the U.S. were heaped on it. He began to act as if he didn’t need the system here, as if he was somehow above it. But he was a Chinese director making Chinese films about Chinese subjects, and he quickly found there was nowhere else for him to go. He made a couple of small-budget films with private financing, but they were as politically unacceptable as The Air We Breathe and were banned as well.”

  “I remember them. They also won all kinds of foreign awards and accolades. And you were in them all.”

  “Yes, I was in them. And I worked for peanuts, like everyone else associated with them. The films may have won awards, but they didn’t make much money, and that began to have an effect. A lot of the crew who’d been with Lau Lau since the start left to find work that paid better. He became more and more isolated and marginalized, and when that happened, the drinking and drugs really took hold.”

  “But he made some big-budget films later.”

  “Yes, he got tired of the struggle and crawled back to the Syndicate. They gave him the money he needed and controlled every aspect of what he made, and what he made were those shitty kung-fu and Chinese warrior–myth movies. Whatever self-respect he had left had disappeared.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  Ava wasn’t sure she believed that but wasn’t going to press the issue. “It doesn’t really matter,” she said. “I’m just pleased you’ve shared this with me. I wanted to understand him better.”

  Fai looked pensive. “I wish you didn’t feel you have to talk to him.”

  “There are two disks that Ding Fa didn’t edit. There’s the one with you on it — that’s the obvious one. Ding said he didn’t see Lau Lau on any of the tapes, but you saw him, however briefly, at the end of a disk. I’m quite sure that’s the missing disk,” Ava said. “If it is, there’s a chance that Lau Lau has been blackmailed as well. Or, if we’re very lucky, he’ll know some of the people behind this.”

  “I understand your logic, but it’s still going to be difficult.”

  “You don’t have to be there.”

  “Yes, I do. This is something I wouldn’t want you to do alone.”

  “Then let’s try to set up a meeting.”

  “I don’t know how to contact him anymore.”

  “I have a phone number that our friend Mr. Fan gave me.”

  “I’ll make the call,” Fai said.

  Ava took out her phone, found the number, and sent it to Fai. “You should have it now.”

  Fai nodded. “I’m not sure he’ll want to talk to me, but here goes.” A minute later she said, “He didn’t answer and he doesn’t have voicemail. I’ll send a text.”

  “Who would know where he is?”

  “Xia Jun might.”

  “The agent?”

  “The last I heard he was still representing Lau Lau.”

  “Could you call him?”

  “Only as a last resort. It would be a bit awkward, given that I’m represented by Chen. Are there are any other options?”

  “I could press Fan.”

  “We both can.”

  Ten minutes later they left the canteen and walked into a light drizzle. “Goddamn weather,” Ava said.

  They took turns carrying the box back to the hutong. It was still daylight, but it was so overcast that most of the houses had their lights on, including Fan’s. They dropped off the box at the house, towel-dried their hair, and headed back outside.

  Ava knocked on Fan’s door, and then knocked again. There was no answer. Fai moved to the right, peered through the window, and rapped on it. “He’s coming now,” she said.

  “Another visit. What do you want this time?” he said.

  “For starters, we’d like to come in from the rain,” Ava said.

  Fan stepped to one side. They walked into the living room, pushed some books aside, and sat down.

  “This doesn’t look like a social call,” Fan said as he joined them.

  “We have to find Lau Lau,” Ava said.

  “I gave you a phone number.”

  “I tried it. He didn’t answer and there’s no voicemail,” Fai said.

  “What else do you expect me to do?”

  “Be more helpful,” Ava said.

  “How? I’ve told you all I know.”

  “I doubt that. You said you’ve met him from time to time. Where? Here in the hutong?”

  “Please, it really is quite important that you help us if you can,” Fai said.

  Fan glanced at Fai, and Ava saw his attitude immediately soften. “Do you know the Fengsheng District very well?” he asked.

  “Some of it.”

  “Towards the north end, just west of Xisi Street, there are four or five warehouses. Most of them are obviously commercial and in use, but one looks abandoned. It’s not. It’s been taken over by a group of artist
s. The last time I saw Lau Lau, he told me that’s where he was staying. Whether he’s still there or not, I don’t know.”

  “How long ago was this?” Ava asked.

  “A few months, maybe a bit longer than that.”

  “Do you have any idea where those warehouses are?” Ava asked Fai.

  “I think I do.”

  “Then in that case, thank you, Mr. Fan,” Ava said.

  “But don’t come back here and blame me if you can’t find him,” Fan said.

  “You do know how to ruin appreciation,” Ava said.

  ( 36 )

  They put on jackets, grabbed umbrellas, and set out almost as soon as they got back from Fan’s. There was still daylight and Ava didn’t want to lose it, but they still had the problem of not knowing exactly where they were going. Fai tried to explain to the cab driver where she thought the warehouses were, but he acted as if he didn’t even know where Beijing was.

  “Just turn right on Picai Hutong and then left on Xidan,” Fai said. “Xidan turns into Xisi Street. I’ll tell you where to turn after that, when I see the street.”

  “Has Lau Lau answered your text?” Ava asked.

  Fai looked at her phone. “Not yet. I hope he’s still where Fan thinks he was.”

  “If he isn’t, we’ll ask around. Someone should know where he’s gone.”

  Rush hour had started and the traffic was crawling. Ava felt herself becoming impatient and told herself to calm down; Fai didn’t need to see her out of control.

  They’d been driving for twenty minutes when suddenly Fai perked up. “I recognize this area. I think the warehouses are another street or two north of here, on the right.”

  The warehouses were actually three streets to the north and within easy walking distance of where Xisi intersected with the street they were on. There were five of them, of identical design and size. They filled a large tract of land in a reverse U shape, two running down each side and the one farthest from the street completing the U. They were four storeys high and probably double that in breadth.

  As they approached, Ava could see a plethora of commercial signs affixed to every building and figured that the warehouses were servicing small to medium-sized businesses. There weren’t as many signs on the farthest building, and those looked weather-beaten and ratty. Above the main entrance someone had painted the beijing artists’ warehouse co-operative.

  “That looks like the place.”

  “I remember it now,” Fai said. “I’ve been here once before. I came with an actress who was dating a sculptor who worked and lived here. The ground floor has really high ceilings; it’s occupied mainly by sculptors and artists who specialize in large installations. The other floors have a mixture of painters, potters, and people who work with all kinds of textiles.”

  “How many of them live here?”

  “I think most of them do.”

  “Where?”

  “The entire top floor has been converted into one-room apartments, and there are large communal bathrooms and a kitchen.”

  “Is Lau Lau that broke?”

  “Probably. I don’t think he’d be here otherwise. He was always a man who liked his comforts.”

  “Did you notice that all the other warehouses have trucks and cars filling every parking space in front of them?” Ava said. “The Co-operative has three cars and about twenty bicycles.”

  “I’m sure bicycles are all most of them can afford.”

  They climbed eight wide stone steps to the large double-door entrance. Fai pushed a door open and they walked into an empty, high-ceilinged space that lacked even a building directory. There were doors leading in all directions from it, and straight ahead was a wide circular staircase. There was no sign of an elevator.

  “We’ll have to ask around, but we’ll find him. I’m sure he’s their most famous resident.”

  As they stood near the entrance they saw a steady stream of people going back and forth and up and down the stairs. Ava walked towards the stairs, Fai trailing, and stopped a young woman who was on her way down.

  “Excuse me, but we’re looking for Lau Lau, the film director,” Ava said.

  The woman looked annoyed at the question and seemed to be on the verge of an abrupt reply when she noticed Pang Fai. She blinked and her hand flew to her mouth. “Are you really who I think you are? Pang Fai?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my god, I can hardly believe it.”

  “We’re here to see Lau Lau. Do you know where we can find him?” Ava repeated.

  “He could be working in the film lab on the third floor, or maybe the fourth,” the woman said. “I’ll take you.”

  “But you were just coming down,” Ava said.

  “It’s not a problem, believe me,” the woman said.

  They followed her up the stairs, a process that was slow because the young woman kept turning to stare at Fai. A few people on the way down appeared to recognize her as well, coming to a complete stop as they passed.

  When they reached the third floor, the woman ran ahead to open a door, stood to one side as they walked through, and then slipped in front of them again.

  If there was a film lab, Ava couldn’t see it. In one corner of the floor the walls were covered with film posters, including one for The Air We Breathe, a screen was set up, and there was a projector on a table. But there were no people.

  “He must be upstairs. I’m sure he’ll be really pleased to see you,” she said to Fai.

  “Yes,” Fai said, her face blank and her tone neutral.

  They followed the woman up the last flight of stairs and walked into a communal living space. Off to their immediate left and right were bathrooms. There weren’t any signs to indicate that, but neither facility had doors and Ava could see people inside going about their business. This floor wasn’t as open as the others they’d seen. A corridor that ran from the bathrooms opened onto a cluster of tables and chairs at the far end. Ava assumed that’s where the kitchen was, and that the corridor was flanked by the one-room apartments.

  “His room is near the end,” the woman said. “Come with me.”

  Many of the doors they passed were open, and most of the rooms were empty of people. It seemed to be, thought Ava, an open and trusting environment.

  The door the woman stopped in front of, though, was closed. She raised her fist as if about to knock and then stopped. “It might be better if you did this,” she said to Fai.

  Fai rapped on the door.

  “Who’s there?” a voice rasped.

  “Lau Lau, it’s me, Fai.”

  There was silence — a long, prolonged silence. The young woman looked at Fai and then said, her discomfort obvious, “I’d better head back downstairs. It was such a thrill to meet you.”

  Fai waited until she left before saying, “Lau Lau, open the door, please. I need to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “Whatever it is, I won’t do it through a closed door. And I’m prepared to wait until you come out.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I came to talk to you.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “You’re too famous to be invisible.”

  “You’re a bitch, Fai.”

  “I know, but I’m the only one you ever had who meant anything.”

  There was another silence, and then he said. “Wait a minute.”

  “He’ll come out,” Fai said softly.

  A moment later the door opened. Ava found herself looking at a man who bore only a vague resemblance to the picture she had in her mind of Lau Lau.

  He looked at Fai and then at Ava. “Who’s she?” he said.

  “Her name is Ava Lee. She’s my friend.”

  “What kind of friend?”

  “My girlfriend. My lover.�
�

  “Just like that? You say it just like that?”

  “Why not? It’s the truth.”

  “This is a new Pang Fai,” he said, and then looked again at Ava. “You must be a very special kind of woman.”

  “Not particularly.”

  “I don’t believe that. But then I really don’t care either way,” he said.

  “We need to talk to you,” Ava said.

  “About what?”

  “Do you want to do it here or shall we find someplace a bit more private?”

  “What’s better?”

  “Private, for everyone’s sake,” Ava said.

  He nodded. “We’ll talk in the dining room.”

  As Ava followed him and Fai towards an empty table in the corner of the dining area, she thought about the Lau Lau she’d just met. He was about five foot nine and lean, like the man she’d seen in photos, but the cropped black hair that had once been receding was now grey and shaved up the sides, so all that was left looked like a small grey skullcap. The high, well-defined cheekbones were still there but clouded by large discoloured bags under his eyes, and the square, defiant chin that had once highlighted a sculpted face now hung almost around his neck.

  The tables were long and narrow, more North American cafeteria style than Chinese. Lau Lau sat at the far end of one and they sat across from him. He stared at them, and Ava saw that his eyes were bloodshot and watery. She felt a wave of sympathy.

  “What is it you want?” he asked.

  “It’s a bit complicated to explain,” Ava said. “I hope you’ll be patient.”

  He smiled and waved a hand in the air. “What else do I have to do tonight? I have all the time in the world for you as long as your story is interesting enough. If it isn’t, then you two can fuck off and I’ll go back to my room and talk to myself.”

  Ava leaned forward, her eyes focused on his. “Our story concerns a tape that was made of a famous film director having sex in bed with another man, and the steps the director took to destroy that visual record.”

  His smile was forced. When Ava saw his eyes flicker to above her head and his hands clench, she knew she’d found part of the truth.