by Greg Arritt
“Pull over before you get us all killed!” he demanded, although he wasn’t even sure that the driver understood English, but with a snap of his hand in the direction of the sidewalk, the message was delivered.
“What was all that staring about?” Redding asked, while helping Lin Ming as she stepped down from the cab.
“Maybe he was trying to say that he had gone far enough.”
“Far enough? Isn’t he supposed to take us to our destination?”
“Maybe he’s just tired. It can’t be easy pedaling one of those things. Besides, it’s only another two blocks.”
* * *
As they walked, Redding pulled out his map. The major boulevards and commercial streets, along with temples, gardens, shopping districts, and hotels, were all well represented. As for residential areas, they were mostly enclosed by masonry walls, and were nothing more than an outline on the map. If store owners, clothing or otherwise, aspired to any degree of success, they would have been limited to shopping districts and commercial avenues that provided a substantial amount of foot traffic. For this reason, Redding completely ignored all residential areas. He was still deep in the map when Lin Ming interrupted his thoughts.
“I was wondering if you would like to have tea this afternoon.” She paused for a moment. “Actually, I’m having tea with friends. Maybe you could join us?”
Redding had almost accepted the invitation until she mentioned her friends. He definitely wanted to spend more time with her, but that didn’t include having tea with strangers. He reminded himself that his focus was on finding the painting, and with his well-annotated tourist map, nothing would stop him.
“I told you about Ting and Sam, remember?” Lin Ming said.
“The English teacher? Yeah, but I’m not sure about tea.”
* * *
By the time they arrived at the Humble Administrator’s Garden, the question of afternoon tea had been forgotten. They made their way through the front gate, into the reception pavilion, and out into the garden.
The garden seemed to reach out in all directions, as if it were some immense wonderland of foliage. Accenting the landscape was a colorful palette of blossoming flowers that bordered the stone-paved walkways. Mature deciduous trees, some already having lost their foliage, overshadowed the stone pathways with their sparse branches. The garden presented both contrasting and complimentary themes. Such as the contemporary stone bridge that zigzagged across one segment of the pond yet still blended well in the historic Asian setting, or the gnarled trunks of some trees that contrasted with the willowy slenderness of others.
Interspersed among the seemingly endless varieties of trees, plants, and flowers were dozens of pavilions. All were strategically placed in the garden, and each one was graced with intricate woodwork and tiled roofs that peaked dramatically at the cornices. Each pavilion varied slightly in design and size, and each had been intended for a specific use. Some were favored as tearooms and libraries, a few for meditation, and some just for the view. There was one distinctive pavilion that had even been set on an artificially made knoll for the sole purpose of providing an elevated view of the surrounding grounds.
Redding and Lin Ming strolled along walkways that wound through the garden and the pavilions, always within a whisper of each other. They found a stone bench on the edge of a blue-green pond and sat next to each other while they watched Mandarin ducks paddle aimlessly through the water lilies. Both had become drawn into the lull of the garden, completely unaware of their state of mind, which was exactly what the Humble Administrator had intended.
It wasn’t until they entered a pavilion that displayed a number of watercolors that Redding was instantly reminded of his mission. His time spent in the garden may have been unavoidable, but for his purposes, it was counter-productive. Hours had already passed, causing him to become anxious about lost time. A fair portion of the morning had already been wasted in the Lion Grove Garden, and he had no one to blame but himself.
The Humble Administrator’s Garden had been divided into three separate sections. Each supposedly represented different regions of China. Although each of the separate sections may have held some unique distinction, their individual characteristics were lost on Redding. They had seen all of the Western and Central sections, but only a portion of the Eastern; still he was pretty sure they had been there long enough. They were midway through an extraordinary collection of Bonsai plants when Lin Ming mentioned something about another garden in the old city.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t,” Redding said, clearly frustrated. “Not another garden!”
“But these gardens are an important part of Chinese culture.”
“Please don’t take any offense, but to me, it’s just a big garden.”
“In America, do you have a house?” She asked.
Redding nodded, but the truth was Victoria had retained the house in the divorce.
“And does your house have a yard, with plants and flowers, and maybe some trees?”
Again, he nodded. Still vivid in his memory were the landscaper’s consulting fees, the selection of dozens of plants, and a few trees, brickwork, sprinklers, and of course, the mounting costs to completion.
“That is your garden. You can enjoy its beauty every day. It is not that way for most Chinese people. Most Chinese don’t have a house, or a garden, and they can’t afford to buy plants and flowers. We have to be concerned about other matters. Like school and clothing, food for our families, and medical care. Those are necessities. So, we live without, but we can always enjoy the wonder of these gardens.”
There were the inescapable differences between their cultures, such as language, ethnicity, and cuisine, but it was the subtler distinctions that left him dismayed. Something as simple as their contrasting views of a garden had become one of those distinctions.
Redding apologized for his waning interest. Any other time, he would have readily spent the whole day with her, wandering through the foliage. He knew she was disappointed, but the gardens wouldn’t bring him any closer to finding the cello painting. As they moved progressively toward the exit, he reiterated his desire to become familiar with the old city in totality, not just the gardens.
Chapter Eight
As they passed through the exit of the Humble Administrator’s Garden, Redding signaled for a pedicycle. He looked the driver over carefully to make sure it wasn’t the same guy as before and then they climbed into the cab. He had rehired a pedicycle not because he and Lin Ming were tired of walking or that he felt some need to let the drivers redeem themselves. The pedicycle was simply an efficient means of moving from one segment of the old city to another with ease. In the little time they had left, he desperately wanted to see and get a sense of the other half of old Suzhou.
The driver strained against the pedals until the pedicycle reached a moderate clip. Then, he coasted a short distance while he rested and caught his breath, only to jump back on the pedals the moment the taxi began to slow. In a relatively short span of time, he managed to pedal halfway across the old city. When the driver seemed to be nearing a point of exhaustion, Redding motioned for him to pull over.
He tipped the driver well, and then he and Lin Ming set off on foot. They were midway down the street when Redding caught sight of an unusual store. It wasn’t a clothing store; not that anyone would have construed it as such, although clothing was displayed in the window. Visible inside the store beyond the window display were household items that included everything imaginable, from furniture to kitchen appliances. Still, because of the few clothing items in the window the possibility existed that Mrs. Geary’s student may have inadvertently labeled the store as such. Its location was marked on his map, along with half a dozen other prospects already noted. He would return soon enough, and if the cello painting was in the old city, he would find it. Looking well past the clothing display, he peered deeper into the store.
“Are you looking for souvenirs? I know a better place,” Lin Ming
offered.
“Not souvenirs, but something more along the lines of collectables.”
Redding hated lying, even when it was necessary, but he couldn’t take the risk of disclosing his real interest in the old city.
“I don’t suppose you would be interested in visiting the Merchant’s Market?” Lin Ming asked. “It’s a group of specialty stores, some with wonderful ceramics and exotic teas. It’s usually the last stop on a tour.”
Redding knew exactly what she was suggesting. The market that she described would have been a collection of merchants that often worked in concert with tour companies. The tour operator would deliver its customers to the merchants in exchange for a prearranged commission. Everything the merchants sold was supposedly a bargain, but more often than not their goods were actually overpriced.
“I’d rather have tea with your friends.”
Somehow the words just slipped out of his mouth, and that quickly, he was committed to spending the rest of the afternoon having tea. It certainly wasn’t his intent, but given a choice it seemed like the lesser of evils.
Just as he returned his gaze to the store window, the door abruptly opened. A Caucasian man bolted outside, nearly knocking Lin Ming over and without so much as offering an apology. He just locked his eyes onto Redding and, without a falter or a blink, he held him with a penetrating stare. The intensity was enough to put Redding on edge, but before he could say anything, the stranger walked away.
“Do you know that person?” Lin Ming asked.
“I’ve never seen him before.”
“But he’s like you, an American?”
“He may be an American, but he’s not like me.”
They had already spent enough time on the streets that Redding felt as if he had a solid understanding of the old city. The main boulevard along with all of the commercial streets coincided nicely with the map’s representation. He had quartered the map into a segmented grid, with each segment approximating two days’ worth of searching. If all went well, he would complete the search in no more than a week.
* * *
Nobody was really sure how the teahouse got its name. Maybe Ting’s pronunciation was a little off that day, or maybe the company that made the sign was responsible for the error. It didn’t much matter and it was somewhat unique. Instead of “Tea House” it was “Tae House.” Ting was upset by the error, but Sam liked it, so the name stayed and the business thrived.
Tae House was located just on the edge of downtown Suzhou. It wasn’t exactly the traditional teahouse with Chinese décor that Redding had expected. It was more of a modern- style café whose clientele was almost exclusively the local university crowd. Every table in the place was crammed with people edging for elbow room except for one in the back of the teahouse. There, one individual, the only noticeable non-Asian, sat all alone, his tie loosened and shirtsleeves rolled up, reading an English-language newspaper.
Sam was probably in his late thirties, but already he looked older than his years. Other than shaving blemishes, his appearance was marred by a failed attempt to conceal his balding pate with a comb-over.
* * *
As the introductions were made, Sam motioned for Redding to sit, and the moment he settled into a chair, Lin Ming disappeared somewhere behind the counter.
“So you’re seeing China, and taking some time off from what?” Sam asked.
“You mean, what do I do for a living? I’m in the manufacturing business, precision parts, if that’s what you’re asking?”
“You’re talking about aerospace stuff, right? That’s got to be real tough right now, I mean with all the cutbacks and everything.”
“Well, there’re still plenty of others that need precision work,” Redding said.
“Yeah, I suppose, but then aren’t you spending all your time chasing new clients?”
Sam wasn’t just steering the conversation, he was fishing for information. It was a tactic that didn’t mesh well with Redding and it usually hinted at some preset agenda.
“So what exactly do you want to know?” Redding demanded.
“Nothing, really! I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that I don’t often get to interact with other Americans.”
“Somehow, I’m not surprised.”
When Lin Ming returned to the table with the tea, Redding asked for something cold with ice. She only smiled and headed back to the service counter.
“Did you know that I’m a teacher? Lin Ming probably told you, right?” Sam asked, but he didn’t wait for a response. “The pay definitely sucks, still I wouldn’t mind so much if I was retired, but that’s not the case. We’re anxious to start a family, but we decided to wait until we move back to the States. That’s the only reason we’ve held off.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Redding said, but he wasn’t so much listening to Sam. His thoughts were back on the streets of old Suzhou.
“So, you and Lin Ming. What’s the story?”
“She’s my tour guide. We just met today.” Redding lowered his voice. “You know, I could use a little help understanding the culture.”
“It’s all gut instinct, and knowing the culture isn’t going to help.” Sam knew what Redding was really asking.
Someone reached over Redding’s shoulder and set an ice-filled drink in front of him. He turned to acknowledge the service, but it wasn’t Lin Ming. The woman behind him was short in stature, with a thickset shape and an unremarkable face.
“This is Ting, my wife,” Sam said.
Ting moved around to Sam’s side of the table, the whole time gazing across the café. Satisfied that every table had been serviced, she sat down next to Sam. Then, she set her eyes on Redding, studying his every move as if he were the only foreigner she had ever seen.
“If you’re interested, I can show you a part of China that isn’t on any tour,” Sam said. “All you have to do is come with me tomorrow and help out in the classroom. It’s all easy stuff, you know, just reading a kid’s book to some first graders,” Sam said.
“You got the wrong guy,” Redding said as he took a sip of his drink. “You definitely have the wrong guy. Besides, tomorrow I have plans for the whole day.”
“You’re interested in Lin Ming, aren’t you?”
“I don’t need any help, thanks anyway,” Redding said.
“Two minutes ago, you were asking about the culture. All of the sudden, you know everything? If you think it’s going to be easy, you’re wrong, but I can set it up.”
“I have a better idea,” Ting interrupted, before turning to Redding. “So, you’re busy tomorrow, but what about tomorrow night? Do you have dinner plans?”
Redding shook his head.
“Then I will arrange everything, and the four of us will have dinner together,” she said as she stood up. “And on Tuesday morning, Lin Ming will bring you to the school.”
Redding knew he was being railroaded, but he didn’t see an easy way out. Lin Ming was undoubtedly a close friend, and if he refused Sam’s request it could reflect badly on him. Ting was definitely the driving force in their marriage, but he wasn’t sure who was responsible for this conspiracy. It was obvious that Ting and Sam were using Lin Ming as the bait, he just wasn’t sure why.
Chapter Nine
Redding opened the drapes, allowing the diffused lighting of an overcast morning to seep into the room. As he buttoned his shirt, he turned to face the mirror. The reflection that it returned was his, but in an absurd likeness. His image had morphed into a human cello, with an overly broad, cracked, and weathered shell. Long, spindle-like arms protruded from the upper portion of the shell and his head teetered precariously on top of the cello’s elongated neck. The unnatural merging was nothing more than a product of his mental devices; nevertheless, it was disturbing.
He closed his eyes and forced the distorted image from his head. It wouldn’t have been so unsettling except that he had had the dream again. He could still hear the screeching of the cellos as they care
ened around the racetrack, hell bent on destruction. The self-annihilation had raged on and on until the life had been crushed out of every last cello.
Neither the dream nor the image in the mirror was given any credence. They were nothing more than fragmented thoughts that had somehow become stuck in his head.
* * *
Under a light drizzle, the taxi wound its way through the downtown traffic in the direction of the old city. The drizzle was a bit of an annoyance, but it was light enough not to require an umbrella.
After evaluating his notes, Redding had made a decision to expand his search beyond the limits of just clothing store. It had already become apparent that some clothing venues were something of an anomaly, and thus not easily identified. So he intended to investigate every store unless it was obviously a poor choice to house a painting, such as a fruit market or a bicycle shop.
Another concern was that the boundaries between the old city and Suzhou proper were sometime difficult to assess. Someone slightly distracted could have easily crossed the canals that bordered the old city and not even realized that they had. That meant that Mrs. Geary’s student might have thought that she was in the old city when actually she was not. So the possibility existed that the search would have to be expanded beyond the old city boundaries.
The most frustrating issue were the stores that were either closed indefinitely or didn’t maintain normal business hours. The problem was further complicated by the fact that almost every storefront was covered by a roll-down metal door. It wouldn’t have been such a problem except that the exterior signage was almost exclusively in Chinese. Other than trying to find someone to translate the signage, there was no way to know what kind of business was hidden behind the roll-down doors. All of these locations were marked on his map so they wouldn’t be missed when he made a follow-up pass.