Three Gorges Dam

by Thomas V. Harris

  “How is your leg?”

  “Sore around the stitches. Otherwise, fine.”

  “The museum should post a warning.”

  “I should’ve seen the raised threshold.”

  “It’s an accident waiting to happen.”

  “Don’t be too hard on the museum.”

  “Tourists must hit their shins all the time.”

  “That’s no excuse for not being careful.” She didn’t mention the source of her inattention. “Sorry about being such a klutz.”

  “I was ready to leave anyway.”

  “You didn’t have to carry me to the doctor.”

  “I couldn’t wait to get my arms around you.”

  Kylie laughed when Michael realized what he said. She enjoyed watching him pretend he was only teasing.

  The group’s next excursion was to Badaling.

  A chartered bus took them to the Great Wall. That section is eighty kilometers northwest of Beijing. She and Michael were by themselves most of the day. He showed off a little—Kylie didn’t mind—telling her about the Celestial Empire’s dynastic history. He administered a flash quiz near the end of their hike.

  “Let’s see if you were paying attention. Name China’s ruling families.”

  Kylie was anxious to prove she remembered every word. But he had mentioned so many kings she asked for an accommodation. “How about the most important ones?”

  “Good enough.”

  Her lips practiced her answer before she gave it. “Xia, Shang, Zhou. After that, let’s see . . . Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing.” She closed her eyes and crossed her fingers. “Did I pass?”

  He acted impressed. “Perfect.”

  Their last morning in Beijing was a busy one.

  They visited the Sackler Museum then took a second walk through Tiananmen Square. She followed up on their earlier discussion about the 1989 demonstrations.

  “Do you remember reading about Tank Man?”

  Michael pointed to the Chang’an Avenue sign. “I sure do. That’s where he confronted the Red army. Their faceoff was more lopsided than Bambi Meets Godzilla.”

  It was like the armored columns had reappeared. Her grip on his arm tightened. “Where did he find the courage?”

  She expected an existential response. Michael didn’t disappoint. “I doubt he knows. Danger picked him out of the crowd, and he happened to have the right stuff.”

  The train headed west that afternoon.

  Kylie marveled at the Terracotta Warriors and the work that went into protecting the emperor in his afterlife. Michael saw the Xi’an mausoleum through a different prism.

  “The more things change in China, the more they stay the same.”

  “There’s nothing like a random proverb.”

  “Stop laughing. I’m serious. Their history doesn’t require more than that. Over here, people’s attitudes never change. Qin set the stage for Mao’s cult of personality way back in 3 BC. The Chinese have always been willing to trade freedom for stability and order.”

  “You compressed five thousand years into three sentences.” Kylie kissed him on the cheek. “That’s enough deep thinking for today. You’re a smart boy, Mikey, but you need to relax.”

  He laughed at himself. “The Warriors are great art.”

  “Such a quick learner. You’ve earned a gold star.”

  They went to the train’s bar carriage for afternoon tea and snacks. Michael was catching up on the news when Kylie needed a refill. He laid down the People’s Daily, raised their pot—solid silver, not plated— and freshened her Longjing. She returned the favor by giving him the last five-spice brownie.

  He was breaking off a piece when she asked about his language skills. “How did you become so fluent in Mandarin?”

  Michael wrote a name on his napkin and spread it across her knee. “That’s the software program I used. It taught me the basics.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  “Night classes with native speakers. They encouraged me to attend an immersion program. That was more helpful than everything else put together. I spent three months over here and never spoke a word of English.”

  “How do you stay proficient?”

  “I practice with the waiters when I eat in Chinatown. Over here I try to speak Mandarin or Cantonese. The locals appreciate the effort and it keeps me sharp. Reading Mandarin is tougher. I’m not good at it, but I browse Chinese newspapers a couple times a week.”

  Kylie tucked the napkin into her wallet. “I’m going to sign up for a Chinese class when I get home. We can practice on the phone.”

  “Not until I master Australian.”

  Kylie enjoyed the Yellow River cruise to the Buddha caves.

  But her favorite activities were walking up and down the Mingsha sand dunes and riding a camel. She was atop a domesticated Bactrian when she joked, “I feel like I’m in the French Foreign Legion.”

  That was Michael’s excuse to start an impromptu game of Trivial Pursuit. “You don’t look like Buster Crabbe.”

  She crinkled her nose. “You lost me on that one.”

  “Crabbe was a swimmer at your alma mater. He won an Olympic gold medal and starred in a TV series about the Sahara. You can get it on Netflix.”

  “What I really want is one of those whatchamacallits.” She tipped the brim of her Rabbitohs cap. “You know what I mean. Their headgear.”

  “I’ll send you a kepi when I get back to New York.”

  “With the drape running down the back?”

  “The mademoiselle’s wish is my command.”

  “Wait till you hear what’s next on my list.”

  Kylie decided on the way to Turfan. She had to make love with Michael that night. Nothing else mattered. She craved his touch and thought of nothing but him. Devising a plan didn’t mean she understood what was happening.

  Her rational instincts told her to wait, that she was rushing things. Totally unmoored by her feelings, she had to remind herself that she was a scientist and too analytical to be swept off her feet. Her mother had gone further and warned her to beware of infatuation. She must have told Kylie fifty times that love was a long-term process, and successful relationships were about respect and shared beliefs.

  Kylie kept coming back to the same question. Could she really have fallen in love so quickly? The night before, she confided to her pillow that the answer was unequivocally yes. Her Sacred Heart education has deeply influenced her values. She goes to church every Sunday and has never had a one-night stand. Yet she had no misgivings about being this stranger’s lover—even if only for a single night. The trip was coming to an end. They were already in Muslim territory. It would be dangerous, if not impossible, for them to sleep together in the Tarim Basin. For all she knew, it was now or never.

  The length of their relationship no longer bothered her. She knew more about Michael than men she had known for years. Her immortal soul wasn’t in jeopardy. Kylie was certain—after all the suffering she’s endured—that the Almighty would forgive her.

  Their guide described the next day’s activities during dinner.

  “You’ll need an extra layer of sunscreen in Turfan, and don’t forget to wear a hat and cover your arms. Tomorrow will be a typical day for this time of year. Scorching heat, cloudless skies, and intense UV exposure.

  “We’ll learn how the Uighurs deal with the harsh climate. It only rains there once every ten years. The director of their water department will explain how they turned the Land of Fire into a fertile oasis. Our next stop will be the Emin Minaret and Su Gong Ta Mosque. By the time we finish walking around that site, you should be hungry.

  “We’ve made arrangements for a Uighur family to serve you lunch in their mud-brick home. The women—and some dutiful husbands—will conclude our excursion by visiting a clothier’s studio. Her models will introduce you to Asia’s brightest fashions.”

  Kylie whispered to Michael, “Will you come with me?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”


  “I’ll be looking at what they’re wearing.”

  “Glad the runway has something for everyone.”

  The string quartet played a short set after dinner.

  They shared a bottle of wine following their encore. Some of the engineers and wives retired for the evening. Most went back to the bar car. Kylie and Michael had the library to themselves. She was stretched across a love seat reading Fairbank’s History of China. One of his legs hung over the side of an overstuffed chair. He was dozing off while working his way through the Journal.

  She knew how to rouse him. “Derek Jeter rejoined the Yankees.”

  Brannigan wiped the sleep out of his eyes. “None too soon.” He downed the rest of his Amaretto, eased out of his chair, and sat next to her.

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Ryan?”

  “It’s time to finish your biography.”

  She wanted to know everything about him. He had shared his innermost thoughts even though she hadn’t reciprocated. Kylie expected to hear the highlights. But he sounded like an older brother telling her not to date a certain guy. Michael’s warning couldn’t have been any clearer. He was the man she should avoid.

  “I have some rough edges.”

  She doubted he was serious.

  “You’re not the hail-fellow-well-met?”

  “To say the least.”

  “What lies beneath that calm exterior?”

  “A sinkhole of dark Irish.”

  “If you let me, I’ll sprinkle in some sunshine.”

  “You already have.”

  He was so forthcoming about his lesser qualities she wondered if that was his standard technique for winning a woman’s heart. She laughed out loud when she decided it didn’t matter. Whether he planned it or not, it was working.

  His vulnerability was a magnet.

  Michael told her about his high school earlier that evening.

  It was near the end of the cocktail hour.

  “I’m on the Catholic Church’s retired list. But I’m indebted to Regis High School for my Jesuit education. I loved the Jebbies’ Latin and higher-level math courses.”

  “What about the spiritual part?”

  “I’m a nonbeliever.”

  “Since when?”

  “My matriculation at the School of Hard Knocks.”

  “You’re putting me on again.”

  “Not this time. I graduated summa cum laude.”

  They were still sitting together in the library carriage.

  Michael’s left arm was suspended across Kylie’s shoulders. Her head was resting against his chest. He explained how he chose his profession. “My friends thought I was nuts. No one turns down the Wharton Business School to attend Texas A&M.”

  “Amazing,” she said, “except in retrospect.”

  “They all asked the same thing. Why would I pass on Wall Street to shovel horse manure in College Station?”

  “The answer?”

  “Family history. My father was chief operating officer of a New York bank. He threw his hat into the ring when the CEO left. Dad was a finalist for the top job but the board chose an outsider. The new guy cleaned house. A great severance package didn’t soften the blow. For him, it was never about the money.”

  “Souring you on the financial industry?”

  “My takeaway was broader than that. My father had a Harvard MBA but must have missed the lectures on the real world. There is no loyalty in Corporate America. I didn’t need a business school course to learn that lesson. It played out in my own living room. My father found out—after thirty years at the bank—he was nothing more than a high-priced pawn.”

  “You didn’t waste any time reaching for the brass ring.”

  “The view never changes unless you’re the lead dog.”

  “What led you to engineering?”

  “It’s black-and-white, right or wrong. And unlike my dad, I wanted to do more than trade stocks and bonds. I wouldn’t be happy chasing paper gains or doing other people’s deals. Oil, gas, and hydro-power are as basic as it gets. Energy isn’t sexy. But it makes the world go round.”

  “Why Texas?”

  “When it comes to petro engineering, you can’t beat A&M.”

  “Did you ever second-guess yourself?”

  “No reason to. I learned the business from the ground up during my summer breaks. After my freshman year, I worked in the Gulf. There’s nothing that compares to being a roughneck on an offshore rig. The next break I operated drilling equipment on a North Sea platform. Junior year I expanded my horizons and worked at a dam in the Andes. The only tough decision was figuring out what to do after A&M—work right away or get more schooling. Stanford’s program was too good to pass up.”

  Kylie could have finished her undergraduate work there. She turned down the Cardinal’s scholarship offer because she felt more comfortable in Los Angeles. She was interested in what attracted him to Stanford. “How did you like Palo Alto?”

  “It was the right place for me. The dean allowed me to carry a heavy course load and specialize in petro and hydro.”

  He didn’t sound interested in the scenery or Bay Area climate. She sensed he would have chosen Stanford even if its campus were in Timbuktu.

  “How was your social life?”

  “A welcome change from big-hair girls.”

  “So I have a chance?”

  “Careful what you wish for.”

  “Am I really in the running?”

  “Don’t laugh. I’m serious.”

  “What happened after Stanford?”

  “Fortune 500 companies were out. They’d own me no matter how high I climbed. I worked at Exxon for a while. It was a tremendous job. I interned with the CEO and learned how to run a company. I might have gone somewhere at Double X. Which is why I left. To avoid the temptation.”

  “That was gutsy.”

  “Failure beats cruise control.”

  “Energy is such a fickle industry.”

  “That’s why I don’t own, build, or produce anything. I followed IBM’s strategy. They sold off successful mainframe and PC businesses to focus on consulting. I can’t match Exxon in extracting energy, or compete with Bechtel in building dams. There was no reason to try. The margins in consulting are larger, and the entry barriers much lower.”

  “Global had to be your show?”

  “Nobody can ever fire me.”

  “How did you finance the company?”

  “Venture capitalists.”

  “They’re a tough bunch.”

  “As well they should be. Most of their bets don’t pay off. I was such a nobody I couldn’t find anyone to finance me. Finally, a group from Greenwich decided to roll the dice. They pitched me for an equity share. They almost backed out when I refused. The haggling went on for months. But we reached a compromise. They upped the interest rate and I maintained complete control.”

  “Do you own all of Global’s stock?”

  “Not after setting up our ESOP.”

  “What a nice boss.”

  “I still hold a solid majority.”

  His foot always seemed to be on the accelerator. She thought someday he might self-destruct. “Why haven’t you cashed in and gone public?”

  “I’d be at the mercy of the takeover artists and short sellers.”

  She thought of her father’s career path.

  “There are ways to deal with that.”

  “I wouldn’t do it to get rich.”

  “What do you have against money?”

  “Nothing. I just don’t need any more.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Great question.” He smiled as if he hadn’t considered it before. “What do I need? Let me think . . . Need or want?”

  “Need.”

  “To be in charge.”

  “Is that all?”

  “And to stay very busy.”

  She knew her next question might offend him. But she had to ask.

  “There’s something
about you I haven’t figured out.”

  “Singular?” he laughed.

  “Yeah.”

  “You have a handle on the rest?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Will you be my new therapist?”

  “New” caught her attention. But she let it go. He dished out so much blarney she thought it was more of the same.

  “I’ll pass. Being your friend is more fun.”

  “So tell me. What’s so mysterious about me?”

  Her mouth suddenly felt dry. “I’m embarrassed to bring it up.”

  “No you aren’t.”

  “You promise you won’t be angry?”

  “It’s my ten years in prison.”

  “That doesn’t bother me.”

  “What does?”

  She had trouble getting it out. “Why aren’t you married?”

  “That’s a very personal question.”

  “About a very personable guy.”

  “The lady wants to know why I’m single.”

  “Unless it makes you uncomfortable.”

  “You won’t like the person I describe.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  This was a first. He seemed reluctant to open up. When he did, his tone was flat. “Maybe I should start at the end.”

  “If that works best.”

  He nodded and said, “Fair enough.” But he stopped talking.

  Sensing his uneasiness, Kylie linked their fingers together. “You can do this in one sentence, ten words or less.”

  Five was all she got. “I’m not good husband material.”

  She thought he was being modest. Michael was easy on the eyes and in great shape. He could have his pick of the litter in New York, Houston, or anywhere else. Most women would tolerate the traveling and long hours to land a guy this successful.

  “Why is that?”

  “Remember, you asked for this.”

  “Yes I did.” The sadness in his face almost changed her mind. But Kylie let her question stand. She had to know what made him so unhappy.

  Michael took his hands back and rested his elbows on his knees.

  “I had a wife . . .” When he paused, she tried to picture the woman who had won his heart. Was she blonde or brunette, tall or small, chatty or quiet? Those images went blank when he added “. . . and failed miserably.”