The Critical Offer

by Yitzhak Nir

  “If you’re feeling sad, pretty woman, let’s just sit down and look at the sea. There’s no need to say anything. There’s good visibility today.” He attempted in his clumsy way to identify with her feelings, without delving deeply into them.

  However, deep in her soul, her feelings whirled: ever since she was abandoned as a child in Shanghai by her father, who defected from China to the United States, she had been attracted to older men. Jerry seemed to her mysterious, mature and very handsome, and at the same time both gentle and obscurely charming. …And what is that scar? And what healthy teeth under that smile... She felt his blue eyes boring into her lovely back, and was subconsciously drawn to his long, fine fingers that held her hand. His deep, rather shy voice pleased her and made her soul vibrate, even though she tried to appear calm and distant. The image of his strong, safe body, his broad shoulders and film star’s face filled her with a strong, involuntary longing for a man, for him. But her face remained blank...

  “No, no, not crying, not sad. Just my left eye is very sensitive to the wind.”

  “And your right eye isn’t?” he asked with Israeli bluntness, immediately regretting it.

  “No, my eye wounded in a car accident. We’re riding in China Embassy’s Passat car in Haifa port, where we building very big new harbor. Many vehicles on road, you know. My driver go after truck. Suddenly, stone flies, boom!! Passat glass window all shatters! A piece of glass in my eye! Also small pieces from glass in my face. Look, you can see.”

  She removed her glasses and turned to face him. Her shiny raven hair, tied back with a purple silk ribbon, was being blown back by the wind, revealing two small ears ornamented with pearl earrings. He immediately identified faint scars around her eye, on her lower chin and her delicate, ivory-tinted neck.

  “Our ambassador telephones here and there and they say: ‘Your cornea is scratched. Must be replaced.’ I arrive very quickly at eye hospital and your doctors give me a new cornea! Take a good look, Jerry. You can’t see anything!” she said with a satisfied smile. He searched her face and saw nothing but a few faint red marks.

  “Wow! And can you see well now?”

  “Sure. Very well. Your doctors very professional and you also have bank for human parts…” She smiled.

  “Well in our country everyone holds an ‘Adi’ card. If there is an accident and someone dies, the family contributes their organs to people on a waiting list,” he said with Israeli pride. He felt that he had gained a psychological advantage over the mysterious woman sitting beside him, almost without investing any effort in his courtship. Always when he met a beautiful woman, something in him would retreat in trepidation. But the more he unveiled some kind of vulnerability in her, the more he would relax and restore his own masculine self-assurance. At least outwardly...

  “You have a very good system! Very good idea. Pity China does not have anything like that,” she said in open appreciation, replacing her glasses.

  “I heard that in your country if someone needs a transplant, you take organs from prisoners condemned to death or from Falun Gong practitioners…” already regretting what he had blurted out.

  Western human rights organizations’ complaints about organ harvesting were considered a red flag in China. …Big mistake, dummy! He silently reprimanded himself. But her sharp answer still surprised him:

  “Jerry! I don’t agree here with your talking politics criticizing about Chinese nation!” she fired angrily, her eyes narrowing to two firing slits.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it!” He suddenly felt like ‘little Gershon’, slapped by his mother for throwing a burned omelet she had prepared for him onto the kitchen floor.

  “Never mind,” she said turning her face away from him, “but better you watch your mouth and don’t tell lies about China!” she spat out quietly in perfect English.

  The cries of the crows were swallowed by the thundering waves crashing onto the shore. Her expensive sunglasses were returned to rest on her pretty nose, hiding her slanting eyes that turned to stare at the horizon. He longed to encircle her slim waist with both arms and place his mouth on hers. But he felt that the magic moment had passed.

  An old light plane rattled above them, swaying and struggling against the wind gusts and descending northbound on its way to somewhere.

  “Take care of yourself,” he whispered in his heart, referring to himself as well.

  “How many years have you been in Israel?” he asked, attempting to renew the conversation.

  “Almost three years and half.”

  “And did you come straight here from America?” he asked, trying to remove some of the mystery that enveloped her.

  “Oh no, no. My story is a bit long. Do you have break time from your work?”

  “I have all the time in the world for you,” he replied immediately with his ice-breaking smile. Then she told him that she had been only six years old when her father, Joe (Zhou) Yang, an expert in agricultural planning aged twenty-nine, had left her and her mother, boarded a bulk freighter in Shanghai and defected to the United States.

  She continued to describe how China had begun to open up to the West: its economy had developed quickly, villages were abandoned, huge cities were constructed, and Chinese industry had begun to conquer world markets. Under the regime’s leadership, investments mushroomed and China became an economic power pushing forward and holding more than half of America’s world debt.

  Joe Yang enrolled as a student, succeeded in his studies, fell in love with capitalism and by the age of thirty-nine had completed a PhD in economics. Like many Chinese students in the United States at that time, he simply decided not to return. He had taught at Yale University until his retirement, at the relatively young age of sixty-two.

  “Was it possible back then to run away and not return?” he asked.

  “I think it was not according to laws of government in Beijing then. But today it is alright. And my father is an important economics professor now!” she answered in pensive English, following the flight of the crows gliding down from the sandstone cliff to the beach, chattering hoarsely among themselves.

  “And where does he live now?” he asked, already regretting the question.

  “Why?” Again she quickly narrowed her eyes to those firing slits that suddenly appeared hostile.

  “No, no. Never mind. It’s just that I studied at New Haven University, so I thought…” The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue. …After all, I really did receive my degree from an extension of New Haven in Israel. …Well, I’ll Google both of them back at the office… He reassured himself and forced his mouth into a smile.

  “Thirty-three Sycamore Avenue, Manchester, Connecticut, U.S.A., Mister nice-guy.” She shot at him and widened her eyes again. Her smile seemed to mock his suspicions.

  “Why did your father retire so early?”

  “In China sixty-two not early. My father is Chinese, also wants capitalism work for his talents to make money. Students don’t make Professor Yang a rich man, you know,” she answered quickly.

  She went on to tell him that Professor Emeritus Joe Yang had begun his career as a consultant to the highest bidder: his book “Economics Outside the Box: A Guide to Crisis-Solving” became a best-seller. His name was now famous both in the West and the East and his defection many years previously was exculpated long ago. After all, it’s well known that in China, they don’t waste talent…

  The sun had already crossed the middle of the sky, creating a dazzling spot of light emerging from the sea, between the shadows of clouds. The woolly clouds attempting to cover it had turned gray and their scorched edges now shone in a blinding golden halo.

  Gershon decided to break the silence: “Your father was living in America and you remained alone with your mother in Shanghai?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, for many years I am a big girl, already a woman, don
’t see don’t hear from Professor Yang, my father…” she said sadly.

  “And now what?”

  She continued her narrative and Gershon tightened his grip, allowing himself to lightly stroke her hand, unable to believe his luck on this cold, pleasant day.

  “And is your father alone in America?”

  “No, no. My father is very handsome. A ‘hunk’, how do you call it?” She smiled. “He has new wife and also two new girls, but not like me… And also large house and dog, Gypsy. A typical American middle-class family, you know,” she ended in English, in what seemed to him a remote, dismissive tone.

  Joe Yang hadn’t seen his daughter for more than fifteen years, but since he already held American citizenship, he renewed contact with her and helped her be accepted for study in the States. Thus she was able to study economics and international relations at Columbia University in New York. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and seven years later she had completed a doctoral degree with honors in Far Eastern and Chinese economics.

  “But in the evenings I leave where foreign students live and continue to take ballet lessons, you know, for my dancer’s body not forget what it learned in Shanghai,” she spoke as if to herself, looking down her long legs with their narrow ankles, wearing sheer nylons and shining, black, low-heeled walking shoes.

  And since in China they don’t waste talent, the Chinese foreign office had suggested that she join its ranks. She advanced rapidly and was appointed to a series of senior economic posts in several countries, with the aim of furthering Chinese foreign interests.

  “Like so I also arriving at China Embassy in Isalia, near where we met Falafel Momo.”

  “So where is Mister Professor, your father, today? What is he up to now? Do you ever meet up with him?” he asked, trying to restore the open ambiance that he had unwittingly damaged a few minutes before.

  “Jerry, no jokes please,” she fired off again. “I’m telling you, although I don’t know you, and maybe my father wants me to keep it a secret. Since I think maybe you’re a good man, who don’t make troubles for my father, I telling you all this.” She opened her eyes, removed her glasses and leveled a glance at him that was both reproachful and inquisitive. Then her gaze softened and she flashed that porcelain smile of hers that had overwhelmed him at their first meeting.

  “You want me telling you more?”

  “Yes, yes. Continue. It’s very interesting. I’ll keep it a secret,” he said, trying to regain her trust. She gave him a long look, as if weighing up what to tell him and about whom, but she went on:

  “Okay, Jerry, after my dad retired, he went into partnership with Chinese government’s big projects. Lots of experts, also from India, also from China, also many Israelis, very professional guys, you know.”

  “What kind of company?” he asked, trying to remember international Chinese companies and public figures, some of whom he knew from various surveillance files.

  “The Sepcom Corporation. Do you know it?”

  “Never heard of it,” he answered without hesitation. But the name did ring a bell. Maybe it was connected with Chinese takeovers of quarries in Africa and South America? He tried to refresh his memory, but held his tongue.

  She continued to relate that China had destroyed most of its land and water resources as a result of accelerated industrial development. It lacked food, energy and raw materials to the point of endangering the existence of a population that was growing at the rate of twenty million additional mouths to feed every year.

  “My dad and Sepcom Corporation helping Chinese economy. We in China are doing many things for ‘food security’ to insure food for our people. We have many industries and huge amounts of workers, but all products must be sold, and workers must work, you know. For that we build railroads all around world, and also cargo ships and planes, exporting everything and importing to China all what we need. Do you understand?” she asked suddenly.

  Gershon didn’t want to stop the flow of her narrative. “Please continue,” he answered softly. And she did…

  “Back in 2013 President Xi Jinping launched the ambitious BRI, ‘Belt and Road Initiative’ that includes a huge system of infrastructural projects connecting China via global sea and land networks of ‘trade-routes’ to the world. The system is supported by harbors and airports as hub centers. It’s enhancing the flow of Chinese merchandise, labor, and resources, thus creating an Eastern economic block led by China, versus the Western economic block led by the US. Some one trillion dollars invested already in the plan, and eight more trillions are planned to be gradually invested in the future.”

  “And now, it is the biggest economic adventure since the American Marshall Plan after the end of the Second World War, you know,” she said, her eyes sparkling with pride.

  “Full marks to the Chinese,” he remarked, but it seemed to him that Li-Lan had suddenly lost the friendly ease that he had sensed in her previously. He noticed that her body had tensed, as though she had let slip a secret that she was not supposed to reveal.

  “May I ask a question?” he essayed, trying to release the tension in her back. She was surprised, stopping the flow of her narrative.

  “Oh, yes. Please go ahead.”

  “Tell, me what he’s like, your father?”

  “What do you mean, Jerry?”

  “How does he behave with you? After all, he left when you were only six years old…”

  “Oh, I see. I understand what you ask. It’s a bit complicated. I don’t know you well enough to speak about my feelings,” she hesitated. “Anyway, he’s taller than I am, smiles a lot, wears only very expensive clothes, sort of. He also crazy about gadgets, you know. He’s always sure that he knows better. A good man, basically, my dad. I admire him… but when I little girl alone in Shanghai, very sad and very angry!” She distorted her face again like an insulted child.

  “But now it’s okay, I guess…” she said, completely abandoning Hebrew and turning her gaze to the horizon, alternatively squeezing his warm palm with her delicate hand and tilting her head towards the waterline: “Finally my father looks at me with pride… Do you understand, Jerry?”

  Beneath the Seagull Monument, opposite the stormy sea, Gershon tightened his embrace. Perhaps due to the cold, perhaps due to his hand supporting her slim back under the red jacket, she removed her hand from his and thrust her arm under his jacket, encircling his waist under the ribs, without noticing the small pistol shoved into his belt.

  …And even if she detects it, I have a ready explanation: Our Isalia has to constantly cope with terror, doesn’t it?

  “And do you have children?”

  “No, no children. No husband, no boyfriend.”

  “Really? A beautiful woman like you and a senior diplomat, how is that possible?” he asked, unaware of the rudeness of his question.

  “I have not much time for family and children, maybe also for other things. I don’t know you well enough to tell you,” she answered coolly, returning to Hebrew.

  Gershon found it hard to believe. “And Israeli men haven’t tried to strike up a friendship with you?”

  “Israeli boys are very rude, you know, unpolished. They tell too many jokes and also ask unpleasant questions. They want make big impression on Chinese women, but they don’t understand the soul of a woman. They very afraid that I am too sophisticated for them, you know.”

  “I like the way you explain things and the way you size people up,” he said, ashamed of his manners and hoping he wasn’t one of those “rude Israeli boys.”

  “Thank you. I also like what you said, Jerry.”

  “Thank you, pretty woman. And what is your job here with us?”

  “I try helping my country as much as possible, make every Isalia-China deal a win-win situation, you know.”

  “How do you help?”

  “My job is to make business co
nnections: Chinese companies and Israeli companies, you know. For example: the Dead Sea, harbors, high-tech, quarries, food, medicine, tunnels, the Tel Aviv Metro and far more. I am also responsible for the BRI Chinese policy in Israel!”

  “What is this policy of yours?”

  “But I explained to you earlier, Jerry! You don’t listen!!” she chided him like a little girl.

  “Anyway, we are developing China economy: on sea gigantic maritime routs around the world: Westbound via India, Africa and the Middle East to Europe, and eastbound to South America, and around the Pole to the USA! We are sailing thousands of container ships around world and controlling many harbors to support us. Our name for the sea routes “String of Pearls”! She smiled and looked at him: Jerry! Do you know that the ports Piraeus in Greece, Gwadar in Pakistan, Darwin in Australia, Cyprus, Malta, the Italian harbors and many more are already controlled by China?! And you too, in Isalia, are part of our “String of Pearls”: Haifa, Ashdod, Eilat… She spoke rapidly in English.

  “Really?” he pretended.

  “Oh yes, yes! On land we build huge fast railroads and highways across Manchuria, Mongolia, Siberia and Russia to Europe, and also through Gobi Desert the Old Silk Road and the Caucasus via Turkey to Europe. Everything we build fast, fast, strong, strong!! China now center of world, connected to whole world!”

  It seemed that she was slowly freeing herself from diplomatic reticence, while her eyes had a new sparkle. The salty sea wind and her jasmine perfume enveloped him and he was more and more drawn to her.

  “So you’re both a beautiful and an important woman!” he attempted a clumsy compliment, wondering who the person sitting next to him really was.

  “Jerry,” she said, ignoring his comment, “in the sky we building big aviation! First place in aviation, China!” And with money from our banks we develop all the nations along our BRI!! Do you understand now, Mister Jerry?” she added with rather annoying arrogance.