In the Lap of the Gods

by Li Miao Lovett

  Fang drew a long puff on his pipe, and stared at the smoke rings as if he could divine the fortunes of the enterprising Duo Ruyi. The fellow’s name implied a life of ease where things always went his way. But with eight failed businesses, including a contraband narcotics ring that had landed him time in jail, nothing was further from the truth. Still, Duo Ruyi had managed to amass a small fortune in stocks. And Fang was never one to displease his clientele if he saw some potential in the scheme.

  “I’ll see what I can do, my friend.”

  Over the next four days, Fang pulled every string he had. An old friend at the Shanghai port authority used to work for the Three Gorges Project Development Company. The fellow referred Fang to the deputy chief of the Urban Development Bureau, who was far from the sleeping bureaucrat of Duo’s estimation.

  Fang saw his job as opening the gates, and it was up to the client to step through them. Sometimes, though, he had to grease the hinges a bit, but even the most straightlaced bureaucrat could succumb under his agile touch. To keep his fingerprints off this project, Fang visited the deputy chief, a square-jawed man known as Inspector Mah, after hours. Sitting across from the chief, Fang leaned forward on his elbows and got down to business.

  “I hear the apartment buildings on Dong Yang Street are condemned. That must be a big headache—not only to find a new site to build, but to deal with the vacant land. Do you have plans for redevelopment?”

  Inspector Mah’s granite jaw did not budge, and when he did finally speak, his words were crisp with authority. He had the voice of someone who demanded obedience and never failed to get it. “No.We don’t have plans. The engineers say that another landslide from the slopes above the buildings could decimate the area.”

  “My client is a seasoned contractor. He’ll find the right folks to shore up the hillside with concrete infill.”

  “It’ll cost money,” replied Inspector Mah.

  “Not a problem,” said Fang. “My client is eager to lease, and can pay the engineers’ salaries as well.”

  The deputy chief arched his eyebrows, which were overgrown like wild rushes with streaks of gray. “What’s the catch?”

  “Nothing. He’s a shrewd man and he’s willing to pay top dollar for this hotel project. And he’ll take care of that faulty hillside. Wushan depends on tourism, as you know, and this will bring in valuable revenue.”

  Inspector Mah nodded his head. “What kind of revenue are you talking about?”

  The hinges were starting to loosen; Fang only had to lean in a little more. “Well, he’s looking at 120 rooms for a four-star hotel. You can do the math. You can also be assured that he’ll provide funds up front for the engineering surveys and work, and for other expenditures incurred by the bureau. And I’m not talking about an extra copy machine. I’m talking about some well-deserved bonuses.”

  “Such as?”The deputy chief leaned in closer.

  “Oh, there’ll be compensation for the special efforts made to speed up this process.” Fang fixed his gaze on a crystalline paperweight inlaid with an ancient bronze coin.

  “We don’t want to repeat the disaster we had a couple of years ago.”

  “Of course you won’t. You’re dealing with a known quantity here, a hillside, not an entire town. And besides, the dam on the Three Gorges is the new Great Wall, and you have access to the best technology in the world.”

  A faint smile registered on Inspector Mah’s face. “That is true.”

  “And furthermore,” Fang continued, interlacing his fingers, “you’ll receive some funds specially earmarked for your efforts. Is that your son?” Fang shifted his attention to a photo of Inspector Mah with a teenage boy with the same square jaw and crew cut.

  “Yes, he’s in high school, about to take the exams to enter university. He wants to go into business,” replied Inspector Mah.

  “Ah, college costs a fortune nowadays. He looks like a bright young man; he’ll get into a good school.”

  The deputy chief beamed; clearly, the boy would make his father proud.

  “A shame it’s so expensive nowadays.” Fang added, drumming his fingers on the paperweight.

  Inspector Mah set his jaw again. “So what’s your part in this?”

  “I help to facilitate the deal. Mr. Duo will pay you a visit shortly, and send you the first check. How does that sound?”

  “Fine.” Inspector Mah got up and shook Fang’s hands.

  As Fang got up to leave, he turned toward his host once more. “Your son will do well. My father was a great businessman. He always believed that good guanxi would get the job done, and he rewarded his allies generously.”

  THAT AFTERNOON, FANG CALLED HIS CLIENT TO REPORT HIS success with Inspector Mah. The following week, Duo Ruyi met with the deputy chief at a restaurant several blocks from the bureau office. They agreed that Duo Ruyi would handpick the engineers, and their survey of the hillside would be used to determine the best course of action. The entrepreneur sent the first check to Inspector Mah at his home address, along with a bottle of wu liang ye.

  On the last day of the tenth month, the bureau sent a notice of eviction to the apartment buildings on Dong Yang Street that stood beneath the overgrown hill.

  16

  THE BLITZ OF SMELLS AND SOUNDS IN TAI’S RESTAURANT WOULD have melted down the senses of any other year-old child. But Rose was an unusual creature. Whenever a steaming tray of food sailed past her, she leaned forward from her perch in Liu’s arms and clawed at the spice-laden air.

  The odor of fried garlic invaded her nostrils like a stifling hug from one of Mrs. Song’s friends. It stung her eyes and made her sneeze, as some of the old people did with their ointments of tiger balm rubbed below their noses, which were rather shaped like garlic bulbs.

  The sting of spicy red pepper pummeled her senses. It was more touch than smell, like the tingling sensation on her skin when she slapped her father’s arm for a donkey ride. The effervescent seeds of pepper crawled through her nasal passages and into her throat until she almost choked from the dryness.

  Rose began to cry. Bulky figures crowded around her, and her father thrust a bottle of milk in her mouth. She sputtered, letting the milk dribble, and turned her stricken face toward Liu’s chest. Breathing in the sweet, musky aroma of his sweat, Rose found some relief from the onslaught of strangers.

  She turned her head slightly and peeked at the chattering adults around her. A gaunt man, whose chin was eye level with Rose, thrust a bony finger toward her cheek. He appeared lopsided, as if his legs were crooked branches, and even his torso and face appeared somewhat twisted. He leaned in closer; his skin was nut brown with thin lines streaming from his eyes and cheekbones. A long gash ran down his cheek. It writhed like an earthworm when he opened his mouth to speak.

  Rose was about to cry again, but Liu batted away the man’s fingers. The next man to step up was bovine and broad. His shoulders filled the doorway, and the fat on his arms rolled as he approached them from a room filled with even more pungent smells. A blast of heat whipped across her face, followed by the rumbling stench of his breath when he leaned in close. Oh, that breath was inescapable, like the acrid smell of burnt stew. Then Rose realized that it was a stronger version of those flaming sticks that Liu often put in his mouth. Her tiny lungs would flutter in protest, but she had learned to let her tongue fall back, allowing small sips of air when smoke filled the apartment.

  This man was twice as thick as the first one, but he didn’t scare her.As her tongue fell back, her eyelids lifted up, following the wobbling motions of an object he dangled above her. The furry thing had little claws, and its owner made hissing noises, as if he were a dog sneezing through a mouth full of rice. The man scratched the air with his other hand and growled. Rose giggled. He pawed and growled some more. Rose batted at the object, but he lifted it out of her reach. With steely resolution, she crawled up on Liu’s chest and reached out as far as her arms would go.The object leapt once more, eluding her.

 
Now Rose was angry, and she lashed out at the big man, who couldn’t move as fast as his furry puppet. She screeched. The man tottered backward in slow motion, and crumpled to the floor. When Rose looked down, she caught a smile on his ruddy face. She giggled; it was a triumphant giggle, and those gathered around her smiled and clapped, bathing her in a halo of victory.

  And then a hush descended on the small crowd. A female figure sailed toward them like a spring breeze carrying the scent of orange blossoms. Her skirt rippled, sending a ribbon of flowers into a frenzied dance, and all around the men seemed to flutter in the electric current of this woman’s presence. Like the others, she leaned in, extending a delicate hand toward Rose’s cheek. Her eyes were framed by thick black lashes, and her nails shimmered like peach blossoms.

  In that moment of contact, Rose felt a wild pulse rippling through her skull. Something familiar. Something forgotten. A memory from long ago of warm breasts, sweet milk, a woman’s breath like spring water, unsullied by tobacco and stale garlic. She craned her neck, wanting to linger in that touch, but the hand pulled away.

  The woman hovered near Rose but did not touch her again. In the impulse to feel her electric warmth, Rose thrust out her arm, fraught with need and desire. It was innocent enough, and yet her advance caused the woman to withdraw—ruby lips, peach fingernails, bat-like lashes, all retreated in a single swift motion. A lump arose in the soft cave of Rose’s throat; something pressed on her eyelids but she could not cry.

  LIU’S REAPPEARANCE HAD CHEERED HER UP A LITTLE, BUT Mei Ling remained in a despondent mood. Nothing to ward off her father’s insistence that she enslave herself to his wishes. That Sunday, she forced herself to go to Mass, more out of habit than out of any strength of will to lift up her spirits.

  But the ritual of Mass did give Mei Ling comfort. The hardness of wood against her bones as she kneeled down, resting her folded hands on the pew in front. The soft light that illuminated the altar where Father Chong stood, with Jesus Christ the Savior behind him, a wounded but divine guardian. The glow of parishioners’ cheeks, wrinkled with age, turned to the light of the Lord.

  That Sunday, Father Chong focused his sermon on the Virgin Mary and her willingness to serve as mother of the Lord Jesus.

  “Now Mary could have said, ‘I don’t want to be the Lord’s servant. We have no money, no means to take care of the child, and my feet hurt. I can barely take care of myself.’” Father Chong scrunched his eyes, and pushed up his thick glasses. After a pregnant pause, he threw his arms out toward his congregation, imploring, “Could you see the utter devotion that Mother Mary showed her God? To accept the Lord Jesus into her womb. To say, ‘Yes! I will be the vessel to hold the child of God, the salvation of the world.’ Can you say ‘yes’ like Mary?” Father Chong’s eyes shone, and beads of sweat trickled down his temples.

  The crowd murmured. Bellies rumbled in anticipation of the noon meal, armpits and crotches itched; some got relief, others, not. Foreheads tingled; some from the presence of gnats, others with the glimmer of understanding in the wake of Father Chong’s poetic plea.

  “Can you say ‘yes!’”

  “Yes!” the congregation replied in unison.

  “Yes, Lord, I will accept you.”

  “Yes, Lord, I-I-will-accept-pt-you.” The rest of the declaration was jumbled with coughing and gnat swatting.

  Mei Ling put the full force of her breath into those words. She imagined being that vessel, serving her Lord, and she allowed her belly to swell as she took a deep breath to sing the opening verses of “Ave Maria.”

  Her voice lifted her up, away from Wushan and her troubles, to the heavens. For the time being, her mind felt at ease. At the end of service, Mei Ling thanked the priest for his wise words.

  “No need, my child. Just remember, the Lord wants to hear your ‘yes.’”

  That afternoon, when Mei Ling returned home, she shut her eyes and searched her heart. The face of Father Chong, sincere and pious, appeared before her. Could it be so simple to say ‘yes’? What was God really asking for? Surely, He would not want her to say ‘yes’ to her self-serving father. Mei Ling shook her head vehemently. No, she did not have to say ‘yes’ to needless suffering.

  When her roommate came home, Mei Ling sat her down. “Pei, you know how my faith has been tested by that father of mine? I’ve decided I can stand up to him. My life is here; this is where I’m supposed to be. It seemed like I had no prospects here, and now this fellow at Tai’s has invited me to supper, this coming Tuesday.”

  In her excitement, Mei Ling took to cleaning their small bedroom. She ran the feather duster lovingly across the desk, as if she were a fairy whisking away the troubles of mere mortals. She pounced on other surfaces, and then on Pei, giving her roommate’s shoulder a playful swipe.

  Pei neither smiled nor pushed her away. In a quiet voice, she spoke up. “Mei Ling, I didn’t want you to worry about one more thing. But I think you should know, because it’s no longer just a rumor.” Pei thrust a dirt-stained notice in front of Mei Ling. “We have to move out of our apartment, by the end of the month.”

  “What?” Mei Ling’s gleeful expression fell away. “Why do we have to move?”

  “The building’s condemned; the hillside above us could give in to landslides, I’m told,” said Pei.

  Mei Ling’s foot twitched, as if it, too, could remember. That morning, when she was late for work, she had stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk. She had been in a hurry. She had blamed herself, but perhaps there were indeed forces that moved mountains.

  Still, Mei Ling would not surrender so easily. She mustered a note of optimism. “Pei, we’ll be able to manage, won’t we? I mean, even though Lan is getting married, we should be able to find a decent new place.”

  Pei remained silent, and Mei Ling felt an impulse to pry the words out of her roommate’s mouth. When Pei spoke at last, her eyes seemed clouded over by a strange glaze. “Perhaps I should not have waited to tell you, but I have been talking to my parents about moving into their home in Guangzhou.”

  Mei Ling choked back her tears. She threw down the duster. “How could you not tell me, Pei? I thought we were in this together. You were the one who brought me to the city in the first place.”

  “Oh, Mei Ling, I’m so sorry,” Pei cried. “I’ve been really torn about the prospect of leaving this town, leaving you behind. But my family needs me.They are not doing well. My father has some kind of kidney disease; he suspects the water’s been poisoned by nearby factories. Father says he needs me to take care of him. I must go. I have no choice.” Pei slumped against the wall.

  Mei Ling reached out to her roommate. “I had no idea . . . I am staying for my selfish reasons, but my parents don’t need me, like yours do.” Her anger had melted away, and now guilt crept into its place. Could she have said “yes” if she had been in Pei’s shoes?

  Pei stood up, squeezing her hands. “I must do my part, too. The village chief is a scumbag. He doesn’t care about the people who have gotten ill. He’s just stuffing his own pockets. If we’re to keep the spirit of the revolution alive, we must fight for the lao bai shing. It’s capitalism that’s killing us, poisoning our rivers, making people sick with the slime from factories.” Her plain, creaseless eyes flashed with indignation; the proletarian cause seemed to catalyze Pei even more than did her parents’ plight.

  For Mei Ling, old revolutions meant nothing. And capitalism was no greater evil than the innate greed that hardened the hearts of people like the village chief. And how was lust different from greed? Her Po Po had surrendered her life because of the man who fathered her child and would not take responsibility. And her mother paid the filial debt of shame, enduring the scorn of the aunt who raised her. Mei Ling had nothing to be ashamed of, but she understood the weight of family sorrows. And her work at Tai’s had become tedious. Perhaps she was ready for a change.

  “Yes. . . ,” Mei Ling mumbled.

  Pei stared at her with a puzzled look.


  “Pei, I know why you must leave this place. Please don’t worry about me. I’m in good hands.”

  Before leaving for work, Mei Ling pressed a 100-yuan note into Pei’s hands. “For your parents.” She turned toward the door before her roommate could protest.

  LIU DONNED HIS BEST SHIRT, HIS ONLY GOOD SHIRT MADE OF linen with a starched collar. He looked in the mirror, an old handheld thing that dangled upside down above the washstand, pulled the skin of his cheek taut, and drew the razor blade across. A trickle of blood erupted at his jaw line. He dabbed at the cut with a moth-eaten towel.

  Liu thought of what he would say to Mei Ling on their date. Would he feel the same ease he had when they were co-workers? He had not seen her for the few weeks since his prison stint. He had worked up his courage to bring Rose to the restaurant. She was delighted to see him, and kind to little Rose. But she appeared distracted, and paid them little attention the rest of the night. He noticed that she moved about with a slight limp, and wondered if it was an ungodly curse from working with Tai. And then, when he saw her again the following Monday, Mei Ling’s spirits had somehow been revived. A rosy blush had returned to her cheeks, and she moved about with her old spryness. Mei Ling flashed a buoyant smile at Liu, not only when she was serving him, but throughout the evening. “Would you like to have supper with me?” he asked, and she said yes.

  The past week had been filled with Liu’s fretting and pacing about, to which Rose appeared to be oblivious. Tonight, he would need to harness every ounce of his jing shen, his vitality, and his chi, that flow of life energy, to ask for her hand in marriage. Every time he thought of the prospect, his bushy eyebrows flickered. Was he doing the right thing? Did she feel a special affinity toward him? Ah, but those sweet glances—which she had showered upon him for the past eight days—seemed to say so. After all, she had not paid such attention to the other male customers, even the dapper, well-dressed ones. A strange sense of possessiveness seized Liu. He wanted Mei Ling; he wanted to drink in her beauty, her womanly attentions. And he wanted her to love Rose, as a mother would love her own child.