by Greg Arritt
“I don’t know about being a teacher. There are so many factors I would have to consider,” Redding said as he mindlessly went along with the conversation, almost as though he were thinking out loud rather than actually responding to Lin Ming.
“If I sold my half of the company I would have to consider the long-term effect on my retirement, and of course, taxes. And, I’d also have to consult a financial planner,” he said, as he continued to sketch by imposing a cello across the man seated in the chair.
“The children really enjoyed having you there. I think you are good for them,” Lin Ming said over her teacup as she sipped the last of her tea.
Redding had been paying more attention to his sketching than the conversation. He set the pencil down as he thought about his interaction with the kindergarteners and the first graders.
Lin Ming slid the placemat to her side of the table and with Redding’s pencil, she began adding to the sketch. She drew in a standing table just to the side of the man holding the cello. The standing table was nearing completion when Redding first noticed her additions. After correcting the table’s perspective, she began sketching a vase that sat on top of the table.
Redding watched in utter disbelief as the drawing took shape. There just wasn’t any way that Lin Ming’s additions to the sketch could have been coincidental. The odds of that happening were astronomical at best, which meant that she possessed actual knowledge of the cello painting.
“You know that painting?” Redding asked, almost stammering as he tried to contain the acceleration of his breathing.
“Yes, I’ve seen it a couple of times.” Lin Ming set the pencil down, seemly perplexed by Redding’s anxious demeanor.
“When did you see it? I mean, where did you see it?” Redding asked. The words flew out of his mouth so fast they almost sounded garbled.
“This whole time you’ve been looking for a painting? That painting?”
His reasons for not originally disclosing the truth were completely valid. Still, he found himself immersed in a wave of embarrassment. He had misled Lin Ming from day one, and she knew it.
“That’s the reason I came to China. I was hoping to find that painting,” Redding confessed.
“You could have told me,” Lin Ming said.
His concerns had suddenly shifted. A painting of that quality would have stood out like a sore thumb in a country filled with Asian art. Maybe the painting wasn’t actually missing, at least in terms of Suzhou. Maybe it was well known among the city’s residents.
“Does all of Suzhou know about the painting?”
“Of course not! The painting isn’t displayed every day, just on special occasions,” Lin Ming said. “Remember the day we were in the old city and we saw the building that had been burned? That’s where Next Trend was located.”
“Next Trend?”
“That’s the name of the store.”
“And the painting survived the fire?”
“The painting wasn’t in the fire. The store had already moved.”
“Moved where?”
“Here, to the downtown section of Suzhou, but that was only temporary. Those buildings were torn down to make room for a new shopping center.”
“So, where’s Next Trend now?”
“Well, the store isn’t in Suzhou anymore. A few months ago, Jian moved to Puxi. That’s the west side of Shanghai.”
“Who’s Jian?”
“He’s the owner of Next Trend.”
“And you know where the store is?”
“No, not really, but I do have a business card for the store in Puxi.”
The time he had spent in the old city had been a complete waste. The clothing store and subsequently the painting had been changing locations every couple of months. He could have spent a lifetime searching the old city and never turned up a single clue as to the whereabouts of the painting. Lin Ming’s explanation not only gave him the upper hand, it also provided a valid explanation as to why Joran hadn’t been able to locate the painting either.
Chapter Fourteen
Redding tried to quash any outward display of emotion, but his eagerness was practically palpable. Lin Ming hadn’t said as much, but the pleading in her eyes stated her reservations. He knew she was apprehensive about retrieving the business card. Still, any loss of time could jeopardize his chances of securing the painting. Maybe he was wrong for pushing her, but he desperately wanted that business card. He couldn’t wait to pay the bill and leave, but she was nowhere near as anxious. She caught the waitress’s attention and then lifted the lid on the teapot to indicate that it needed to be refilled. As anxious as Redding was, he kept quiet until the teapot had been refilled and the tea had been poured.
“Where exactly is this business card?”
“It’s with all of my things at home,” Lin Ming said hesitantly.
“So, when we’re finished here, we can get the card?”
Instead of answering the question, Lin Ming just sipped her tea. She was less than keen about the idea of retrieving the card, but never said why.
With so little standing in the way of finding the painting, Redding couldn’t let up. He had meant to use some restraint, but the barrel stool suddenly seemed hard and uncomfortably, making it difficult for him to sit still. He shifted his weight from side to side while he argued in favor of retrieving the card. Lin Ming never actually agreed with him, but in the end she relented.
* * *
The rain showed no sign of easing, so Redding hailed a taxi. Lin Ming had said her family’s residence was only a short distance away, but other than those few words, she had become uncharacteristically quiet. He was well aware of her reluctance and was more than willing to wait outside in the rain while she retrieved the card. The inconvenience of wet clothing was hardly a concern. It really didn’t matter where he waited, as long as he got his hands on the business card. The taxi had stopped across from a multi-use building. Lin Ming immediately got out and started across the street. It was only when he jumped out and slammed the other door that she looked back and saw him. Only then did he realize that she intended for him to wait in the taxi, but it was too late. The taxi had already pulled away.
The ground floor of the building consisted of storefronts and situated between two of the storefronts was a foyer. The foyer housed a stairway and an elevator, along with a couple dozen mailboxes that had been built into the wall. Redding offered to wait there, but Lin Ming absolutely refused.
“You should come with me, otherwise the neighbors will see you and start asking questions.”
Redding knew he had really screwed up, but he had no choice other than to follow her up the stairs. At the third-floor landing, they turned into the dimly lit hallway and were immediately assaulted with the pronounced smell of burnt soy sauce. They stepped around a wayward tricycle and made their way to a door at the end of the hall.
* * *
The apartment wasn’t large by Redding’s standards, nor was it small. A Chinese woman, slight in stature but authoritative in presence, greeted them from the kitchen as they entered the apartment. In the middle of the living room, an elderly man sat on an ornate wooden chair that had been faced toward a television.
Lin Ming introduced the willowy woman as Mei, her sister-in-law. Mei’s eyes locked onto Redding and she spoke in Chinese while bowing her head. Even though Redding didn’t understand a single word, he knew what she was saying. He politely returned the gesture.
Then, Lin Ming turned in the direction of the elderly man and introduced him as her father. Redding smiled and nodded, but other than an unceasing stare, the old man did not acknowledge him in any way.
Redding waited while Lin Ming hurried down the hallway that divided the kitchen and the living room. She disappeared into a room off of the hallway, leaving Redding to steal glances around the apartment. The furnishings and décor were of Western design, except for a few Asian accent pieces and the one ornately styled chair that was occupied by her father.
Lin Ming returned holding a large jar filled with business cards. She emptied the contents of the jar, spilling the business cards onto the table. Then, she settled into a chair and began spreading the cards out across the table.
Redding tried organizing the cards in small piles, but Lin Ming just fanned them out again. He had wanted to help, but his efforts soon proved useless. The business cards were all printed in Chinese, and to further complicate matters, many of the cards were printed on both sides.
The cards were spread three and four deep across the table, and if that weren’t confusing enough, Mei set a teapot and cups down right in the middle of the mess. Her animated expressions and kind hospitality were a partial relief from the unending glare that emanated from Lin Ming’s father.
The old man said something in Chinese, but to Redding’s ears, it sounded like the growl of an old dog. Lin Ming ignored whatever was said and Mei returned to sifting through the rice. There was little Redding could do to assist Lin Ming other than retrieve the few cards that had fallen from the table. All other attempts to help were futile, so he patiently waited.
The old man burped loudly, but neither Lin Ming nor Mei seemed to notice. On the heels of his eruption, he began to speak again. This time he spoke in a decidedly more pronounced tone. Whatever he said seemed to have a chilling effect on Lin Ming. She was frozen in place, holding business cards in each hand. All color in her face seemed to drain away and, with a pale, cold expression, she slowly turned to face her father. She answered him in a quiet, unwavering voice. As she turned her attention back to the task of the business cards, she tried to assure Redding that everything was all right with an artificial smile. The smile only confirmed his suspicion that something was awry.
Less than a minute had passed before the old man restarted his verbal assault. This time his voice sounded angry, loud, and deliberate. Mei held a wooden spoon that she wagged at the old man, but it had no effect. She marched into the living room to calm him, but he wouldn’t have any of it. Lin Ming’s hands trembled and business cards fell about the table. She raised her hands to her face and wiped away tears as they formed and still the old man continued with his assault. As the situation unfolded, Redding became increasingly uneasy. He certainly didn’t perceive Lin Ming’s father as a threat, but the verbal thrashing had a very real effect on Lin Ming.
“Is there something I should know?” Redding asked.
She didn’t look at him or answer his question. She just glared at the hundreds of business cards strewn about the table. Unsure of what to do, he stood up and slid the chair back to the table. He desperately wanted that business card, but under the circumstances he thought it best to leave.
“There it is!” Lin Ming said, as she reached across the table.
She grabbed the business card from the pile, leaving the remainder on the table. As she stood up and bolted toward the door, she inadvertently knocked her chair over backwards. She ignored the turned-over chair and hustled Redding outside in an effort to escape her father’s angry discourse.
* * *
“What happened in there?” Redding asked as they descended the stairs.
“My father is old, and sometimes he can be difficult. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”
Everything that Lin Ming had said was undoubtedly true, but Redding was sure it was nowhere close to the whole truth. There was much more going on inside that apartment, but he wasn’t about to press for answers.
“Are we going to see the painting?” He asked the question, but he already knew the answer.
Ling Ming started to say something about being needed at the tour company, but her voice trailed off. She seemed to be collecting her thoughts before she answered.
“Not today. We’ll meet tomorrow morning in the hotel lobby.”
She slipped the business card into his shirt pocket. Then, she turned and headed back up the stairs without so much as even saying goodbye. She wanted him not only out of the apartment, but also away from her family.
He didn’t mind the drizzling rain or the lack of taxis even though he would soon be soaked through and through. He understood why Lin Ming had been so reluctant and he felt bad for the trouble he’d caused her. He withdrew the business card from his pocket. The first thing that caught his eye wasn’t the name of the store embossed in English, nor the Chinese scripted address. His eyes had been drawn to the background of the card. The background was composed of a washed-out color image depicting the painting, “A Man with a Cello.”
Chapter Fifteen
Redding pulled open the drapes allowing the morning sunlight to flood his hotel room. He had showered and shaved well ahead of his wake up call. His expectation of recovering the cello painting had spurred his early rise. In spite of his elevated sense of anticipation, he had managed a solid night of sleep. He had fallen asleep thinking about the painting, but woke up thinking about Lin Ming and the unusual interaction that had taken place with her family. Nothing about it seemed normal and yet Lin Ming had passed it off as insignificant. Maybe, he shouldn’t have cared, but for some reason he did. Still, he wasn’t about to let that issue or any other get in the way of recovering the painting.
* * *
Redding found a place to sit away from the reception desk and had only just opened his newspaper when Lin Ming arrived. As she crossed the lobby in his direction, she swept her hair away from her face with the same shy confidence as the first day they met. Although she was dressed in the uniform of a tour guide, he was absolutely transfixed by her natural beauty. She was the woman he had spent a night with, and yet her demeanor was entirely professional, just as he would have expected.
While they waited at the hotel apron for a taxi, she provided the details of their travel itinerary. Their immediate destination would be Suzhou’s train station and from there on to Shanghai. They were on schedule and everything seemed just as it should be, with one exception. She never said so much as a word about the bizarre incident with her family.
* * *
In a mere five minutes, they were delivered to the Suzhou Railway Station. The outdated structures had an obsolete quality that was reminiscent of the American railway stations of the past century. The station consisted of a couple of old, weathered wooden buildings that had been set back from the street. Between the street and the main terminal building was a paved-over plaza that was well distressed by years of weather and use. On the far side of the plaza, trucks waited in turn for the loading dock. For the most part, the plaza was empty, except for a few groups that were waiting just outside the annex building. Some stood alongside their luggage, while others carried clothing that had been tied into bundles.
The annex was adjacent to the main terminal building, but it was positioned in such a way that it opened onto the plaza. It served as a queuing station for the multiple ticket windows situated along the back of the building. As Redding handed money to Lin Ming for the tickets, he leaned forward with the intention of kissing her. Sensing his immediate objective, she spun around three hundred and sixty degree and lengthened the distance between them.
“You cannot!” Her words sounded harsh, only to be softened by her explanation. “A public display of affection is frowned upon in China.”
He admitted fault for his lapse in memory. Still, he didn’t think his intentions justified the hardened reaction.
The annex was already filled to capacity with anxious passengers, each intent on purchasing tickets. So he waited with the overflow in the plaza while Lin Ming stood in line. She had spent ten minutes waiting in the queue before finally securing two seats on the next train to Shanghai. She handed him the tickets, asked him to wait, and then disappeared into the
crowd.
She returned a few minutes later with two Styrofoam cups filled with a steaming-hot yellow liquid. Each cup held two bamboo skewers half immersed in the yellow liquid.
“Be careful. It’s very hot,” she said, as she handed him one of the cups.
He held the cup with one hand and lifted one of the skewers with the other. On the end of the skewer were three small meatballs.
“I’m not complaining, but what is this?” Redding asked, somewhat perplexed by the contents of the cup.
“Breakfast,” Lin Ming said, as if she were stating the obvious.
They stood outside the main terminal building apart from the crowd and slowly sipped the hot soup. The yellow broth possessed a light, meaty flavor that was enhanced by the mild, salty taste of the meatballs. After satisfying their morning’s appetite, they continued to linger in the plaza, just killing time.
Other than the daily routines of the plaza, there was little if anything that provided any distraction. The least of which was the flurry of passengers queuing up for ticket purchases. On the other side of the plaza, a delivery truck jostled for position ahead of an oversized pushcart. Lining the street side were a number of taxis and pedicycles awaiting their next fare. Under the bright sun the day was quickly warming, but Lin Ming insisted that they wait outside. She didn’t say why and he meant to ask, except that she suddenly remembered something important.
“You should not criticize Jian’s store, or even his sense of style. If you do, then he won’t let you see his painting.”
The store itself meant nothing to Redding, nor did he care about its style. He only cared about the painting. Although he wondered how that store could have possibly survived two relocations in the course of a single year. He tried to imagine the impact of a forced relocation on the parts manufacturing business and that reminded him of Yves’ proposed buyout. He was still ruminating over Yves’ underhanded tactics when Lin Ming said it was time to board.