The Interior

by Lisa See

  “This man is the father of your baby,” Madame Zhang stated.

  “You know that to be true.”

  Madame Zhang grunted. She shifted her frame in her chair to stare at David directly. She leaned forward and said to him as if in confidence, “One drop of piss can ruin the well for everyone. The people of our neighborhood would not like to see this happen. Our citizens are good people. We don’t want trouble with the higher-ups.”

  David smiled and asked Hulan what the Neighborhood Committee director had said.

  “On behalf of all our neighbors, she welcomes you to the hutong. She says that America is an inspiring country, and she looks forward to many interesting conversations with you in the future.”

  “Xie-xie,” David said to the older woman. Then he addressed Hulan, “Please tell Madame Zhang that I’m very happy to call this place my home.”

  Hulan translated this as “Attorney Stark says that he is happy to visit China again, and he will do his best to obey all rules of the neighborhood and the country.”

  Madame Zhang snorted, then roughly cleared her throat. “Well then,” she said again to David. “I expect to have a request for a marriage certificate very soon, as it is not a custom in our country for this certificate to come after the one for a baby.”

  Again Hulan translated: “Our Committee director says that when good things come, they come in a pair. She is gladdened that you have come and that we are together.”

  David reached over and took the startled older woman’s hand. “I will do everything I can to make Hulan happy.”

  Madame Zhang pulled her scrabbly hand out of the foreigner’s grasp and hastily stood. “We make allowances for you, Liu Hulan, but please remember to be careful.” Then she bowed to David and hurriedly left the compound muttering to herself about the curious ways of wai guo ren.

  Hulan might have been able to camouflage Madame Zhang’s disapproval, but she had a far more difficult time when she and David met Vice Minister Zai later at a restaurant for dim sum. Vice Minister Zai spoke English. He was a shrewd man and a survivor of many political upheavals. Once the assortment of little dishes and miniature steamers were set on the table, he said to Hulan, “Your mother was well enough to speak with me on the phone yesterday.”

  These words hit Hulan deeply. She hadn’t forgotten Jinli—she’d spoken to her mother’s nurse every day since they’d gone to Beidaihe—but she’d selfishly guarded her happiness and her privacy with David.

  “I think the sea air agrees with Mama,” Hulan said. “I’m happy she’s where she can enjoy the cool ocean breezes.”

  “She was away from you for many years…”

  “I know this, uncle.”

  Hulan always used the honorific when she wanted to imply a closer relationship. In truth, theirs was much closer than even uncle and niece. With her own father there had always been layer upon layer of hidden meaning, but with Zai, Hulan knew that his hidden meanings—even when they preyed upon her filial duties and underlying guilt—were always in her best interests.

  “Then she will be returning to Beijing soon?”

  “After David and I return from the countryside.”

  David put down his chopsticks and smiled. “I didn’t know you were coming with me.”

  “I asked Miss Quo to buy tickets for both of us.”

  “She didn’t tell me,” David said.

  “You didn’t ask.”

  In the excitement of the last few days, David and Hulan hadn’t talked about her visit to the countryside, nor had she seen Vice Minister Zai to tell him about it. Now Hulan quickly recounted her trip and what she’d seen—the mysterious floor plans and other records Suchee had shown her, the incongruity of the death scene, the bizarre encounter she’d had in the village café, the official visit to the factory during which she’d seen little, and finally her decision that the only way to know what was going on there was to get inside.

  “There’s something strange about that place,” she said. “Otherwise they would have let me see the whole facility.”

  “But whatever is happening there surely has nothing to do with the suicide of your daughter’s friend,” Zai said.

  “Not to mention that Knight is important to me right now,” David added. “The sale’s my main reason for being in Beijing.”

  “I thought I was your reason for being here,” Hulan said.

  “You know what I mean, Hulan.”

  Vice Minister Zai held up his hands to silence the two of them. “There’s no need to disagree, because Hulan has no reason to go out to the countryside at all.” He turned to Hulan. “You have a job here in the city. I gave you a few personal days off to visit your friend, which you did. Now, although you have returned to the capital, you have not come back to work.”

  “David needs my help getting settled in.”

  “He has Miss Quo for that.” Zai paused, then said, “When I was a boy, we had a saying about women. Never come out the front gate, or walk across the second gate. Do you know what that means? In a compound like your family’s, women not only didn’t go out into the street, but most were not expected to go into the far courtyards. But you were not born in feudal times, Hulan. You don’t need to stay at home to be considered a good woman.”

  Hulan blushed and looked down at her plate.

  “I will put this another way,” Zai continued. “If you were anyone else, you would have already been reprimanded.”

  David looked at Hulan, confused. “What’s he talking about?”

  “Hulan dismissed,” Zai explained, “and you expelled from the country.”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong,” David said.

  “Foreigners are not allowed to have affairs with Chinese citizens,” Hulan said softly.

  “We’re not having an affair,” David corrected.

  Hulan shrugged. “You call it one thing. The government calls it another.”

  Zai spoke to Hulan in Mandarin: “I protected your father for many years, Hulan. I don’t regret that. But you make a mistake if you think my actions aren’t being monitored. As for you, I want to remind you of the newspapers. You have money, but that can’t always protect you. Again, I refer to what happened to your father.”

  “Excuse me,” David interrupted. “Please speak in English.”

  But no one translated the last exchange for him.

  “I need to get into that factory,” Hulan repeated, switching back to English for David’s benefit.

  “And what of the baby, Hulan?” Zai asked. “If you can’t be concerned for yourself, shouldn’t you be concerned for its safety?”

  With these words the past few weeks rippled through Hulan’s mind—the boring cases, the light workload, the protectiveness of Investigator Lo. Zai must have known about the pregnancy all along.

  Hulan tried a different tack. “A minute ago you were chiding me for being old-fashioned. Now you’re telling me I can’t do something because I’m pregnant.”

  “These are two different things,” he said. “Am I not right, David?”

  As an American, David was having trouble with this conversation. It was too personal to be having with his girlfriend’s boss. Besides, what Zai said went to deep questions about the roles of men and women, of fathers and mothers, to which David wasn’t sure he knew the answers. But David was a lawyer and knew how to move a conversation in another direction if he had to.

  “If you’re so worried about corruption,” David said to Hulan, “you don’t need to go out to the countryside to find it. In a few days here in Beijing I’ve seen several instances of corruption involving foreigners: those office buildings, the fees for hooking up phones, what you told me about the salaries for translators—”

  “Everything you’ve seen is perfectly legal,” Hulan interrupted impatiently. “Foreigners have more money than the Chinese people. They should pay more.”

  “A hundred grand for a secretary?”

  “Could your secretary in Los Angeles set you up with n
ew clients? Could she introduce you to the most important people in the city? How do you think you got your new legal matters so quickly?”

  Again Zai attempted to act as peacemaker. “What David says is true. You don’t need to go to the countryside to find corruption. You can find it right here in Beijing.”

  “I don’t like to hear you say those words,” she said.

  “And I don’t like the idea of you, my true heart daughter, going into that place.”

  “Uncle, you trained me. You taught me how to look. There is something going on in that factory. I feel it.”

  “If there is, then leave it to the local police,” Zai said.

  “And what if they’re involved?”

  When Zai jutted his chin, dismissing the accusation, Hulan felt David’s hand cover hers.

  “I don’t like it,” David said to Zai. “You don’t like it. But can we stop her? Let her come down with me. She might not even be able to get into the factory. Then this whole thing will be over.”

  “And if I don’t agree?” Zai asked.

  “She’ll probably do it anyway.” David turned to Hulan. “I’m telling you, nothing’s going on at Knight. I’ve seen the records. But if you want to spend a day in the factory, if that will put your mind at ease, then fine. Do it. But then let’s not hear about it ever again.”

  “One day in the factory. No more,” Zai conceded. “And I have one other condition. Investigator Lo accompanies you to the countryside. He can act as David’s driver if you choose, but I want someone nearby who can look out for you if things go bad.”

  “They won’t,” David said. “She’ll be perfectly safe, because the factory is perfectly safe. At the end of the day she’ll come out of there tired, and that will be the end of it.”

  “She needs to be back in the office on Monday,” Zai insisted, continuing the negotiation. “No more days off until the baby comes.”

  “Agreed,” David said.

  The men, having reached an understanding, looked at Hulan for her approval. But in listening to them debate what she could and could not do, Hulan had the strangest sensation of her life options drifting out of her control. She weighed what David had said. She trusted his judgment, but what if he was wrong and something criminal was going on at Knight? What if he was reading this with the same eyes that told him that his own reputation had brought in his first round of clients and not Miss Quo’s connections?

  There were deeper issues too. She didn’t like to show her emotions either in public or private. Yet when David said he’d come here for work and not for her, she’d immediately revealed her hurt. When David made the comment about corruption in Beijing, she’d reacted by criticizing the U.S. Two hours ago she’d seen happiness before her; now she felt trapped. But had these feelings come from the realities of the conversation, from her own fluctuating hormones, or from a deeper belief that she didn’t deserve happiness?

  Finally, if something illegal was going on at Knight and it was somehow connected to Miaoshan’s suicide, then going into the factory could put her and her child in danger. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Why hadn’t she thought of that all the way down the line—when she’d gone out on those easy cases in Beijing, when she’d hopped the train to go out to Da Shui, when she’d traipsed through the fields to see Tsai Bing, when she’d entered that strange café, when she’d visited the local police, or when she’d questioned Sandy Newheart and Aaron Rodgers?

  Hulan raised her eyes to meet Zai’s. “One week,” she said, “and I will go back to my place.” Those words could have many meanings, and she wasn’t sure she understood any of them.

  9

  HULAN HAD FORGOTTEN HOW EASY IT WAS TO TRAVEL with a foreigner. By paying almost double what a typical Chinese national would pay, Miss Quo picked up two round-trip airline tickets from a travel agency. David gave instructions for Investigator Lo to fly down tomorrow, rent a car, and meet him at the Shanxi Grand Hotel. Hulan packed clothes that would be appropriate for any official meetings that might come up, as well as some old work clothes she found in the back of her closet.

  An hour and twenty minutes after takeoff, they arrived in Taiyuan. A half hour after that they registered in the hotel. Upon check-in David was handed several envelopes. In their room, while Hulan unpacked, David read the faxes. Most were inconsequential, but two were important. One was from Miles, saying that Tartan saw no problems with David representing Governor Sun. In fact, it might prove useful. The second was the promised waiver from Tartan. The last was from Rob Butler; no new leads had turned up in the Rising Phoenix investigation. David wrote a couple of letters himself, and on their way through the lobby he handed them to the concierge to be faxed ASAP.

  They ate in the hotel dining room, where they ordered the specialties of the region—thick tounao soup, steamed pork with pickled greens, and a plate of flavorful noodles. Hulan drank tea, while David sipped fen jiu, a strong wine from vineyards located to the north of the city. After dinner Hulan packed a separate bag with simple clothes, kissed David good-bye, promised that she would be back the next night, and left. She took the local bus back out to the crossroads near Da Shui Village and walked the final few li to Suchee’s home.

  The following morning, as David was taking a hot shower, Hulan washed her face with cold water. While David shaved, Hulan took a pair of Suchee’s blunt scissors and cut her hair until the edges were uneven. While he put on a lightweight suit, Hulan slipped on some loose gray pants that came mid-calf and a short-sleeve white blouse, both of which were soft and thin from years of wear and many washings. (As the saying went: New for three years, old for three years, mending and fixing for another three years. These clothes fit the last category.) Then, while David perused the many dishes adorning the hotel’s elaborate breakfast buffet, Hulan joined Suchee for a simple breakfast of a green onion pulled fresh from the earth tucked into a bun. At about the time that David opened his laptop to check his e-mail, Hulan took one last look at herself in Suchee’s hand mirror and then set out across the fields.

  By seven, when Hulan arrived at the Silk Thread Café, the old-timers had already taken their places for the day and were sucking at cups of tea, picking their teeth with toothpicks, and smoking cigarettes. The man who’d so brazenly spoken to Hulan during her last visit called out, “Good morning! You have come to see us again. Perhaps you have reconsidered our offer!”

  Hulan kept her eyes lowered. She spoke softly, humbly. “I have.”

  The man pulled himself out of his chair and crossed to Hulan. “Where have you been all this time?”

  “I went to Beijing. People in my village say it’s easy to go there and find work, but no one would hire me.” Hulan’s voice filled with anxiety. “They are not nice to country bumpkins like me.”

  “Like you? Like me, too!” The man signaled the waitress to bring tea, then said, “Sit down. I can help you.”

  The waitress brought the tea, poured it, and left without a word. Hulan’s fingers shyly edged across the tabletop to her cup. The man said, “Take the tea. It will relax you and we can talk.” As Hulan sipped, she kept her eyes focused on the greasy tabletop. The whole time she could feel the man appraising her. “Do you still have the papers I gave you?” he asked at last.

  Hulan nodded and gave them back already filled out. She’d tried to answer each question as simply as possible, knowing that the closer to the truth her lies were, the easier they would be to remember.

  “Liu Hulan,” the man read aloud, glancing up at her. “A good, common name for women your age. There are probably some other Liu Hulans at the factory. You might enjoy meeting them. Your birthplace? Umm…” He crossed out what Hulan had written, then wrote in new characters. “We’ll say Da Shui Village. It’s less complicated that way. Now, what are your special skills?”

  “Until my husband died, I worked in our fields. I can also cook, sew, clean, wash…”

  The man shook his head impatiently. “They will teach you everything you need to
know. Any illnesses?”

  “No.”

  “Good,” the man said. “Now sign here.” When Hulan faltered, he said, “What is it?”

  “How much will I earn?”

  “Ah,” he said, drawing out the syllable and assessing her again. “You are a thinking woman. Impudent but thinking.”

  Hulan stared at the man noncommittally.

  “The contract is for three years,” he said. “As I told you before, the factory will pay you five hundred yuan a month, plus room and board. You will have Saturday afternoons and Sundays off. You may leave the compound during those times, but since you don’t live in a neighboring village, you will be allowed to stay in the dormitory for a small fee. You won’t be lonesome, because most of the women who work there are from far away.”

  Hulan picked up the pen and signed.

  The man’s solicitous attitude instantly evaporated. “The bus comes at eight o’clock. It will stop right outside the village. Please wait there.” With that he scooped up her contract and walked away.

  Hulan raised her eyes and saw the man hunker back down into his group. She picked up her satchel, left the village, and went to stand on the dusty patch of land that passed for Da Shui’s parking lot. At quarter to eight two other women arrived. Hulan ascertained that one of them, Jingren, about eighteen, had—like Hulan’s cover story—retraced her steps to this town after failing to find work in Beijing. The other, Mayli, was about fifteen. She’d come here from Sichuan Province after some labor scouts had come to her village promising work in either Guangdong Province or Shanxi Province, even though she was below legal hirable age. The salaries were the same, Mayli explained, but if she came here, she was only a six-day bus ride from her village.

  “And no other women came with you?”

  “Oh, there were many girls from my village who got on the buses. Have you been on a bus before?” When Hulan said she hadn’t, Mayli said, “Everyone has her own meals packed. This is okay on the first day, but on the second day, with the smells and the winding road, many people were getting sick. For me it was very bad. The other girls are complaining, because I am so sick. Finally the bus driver can’t stand it anymore. He leaves me in another village. I am there for five days. Can you believe it? But I had signed my contract, and the bus had to come back for me. I got here last night.” She gestured back toward the village. “They found me a place to sleep. They said they usually send new girls to the factory on Sunday nights, so they can get processed first thing in the morning and work a full week. But they also have a bus that comes every day to nearby villages to pick up stragglers.” Mayli looked at Hulan and Jingren. “What does that mean, to be processed?”