In the Lap of the Gods

by Li Miao Lovett

  While she wrestled with her misgivings, Mei Ling noticed that the manager seemed to be paying her special attention. He stopped by the eleventh floor on several occasions, and took extra care to ask after Mei Ling. Once, while Mei Ling was stooped over a bathtub cleaning out the remains of an extinguished cigarette, Sun Daimen appeared behind her in the doorway. A startled look must have appeared on her face, and he apologized for intruding. “I’ll get someone to relieve you,” he said, touching her on the shoulder.

  Mei Ling did not cringe from the light pressure of his fingertips. Yet she was somewhat flustered by the encounter in a confined, private space. She curtsied, thinking that was what one did in such situations, and made motions to leave.

  Sun Daimen cleared his throat, and in a voice that trickled like tea water, he asked, “Do you like . . . living here?”

  “It’s nice, yes. I miss my familiar haunts back home, but there’s much to explore here after hours.”

  “Yes, Chongqing is a grand city. I’m originally from a small village near Wanzhou, moved out years ago and never looked back. I’ve been lucky to work here, and I miss the family, but it’s a tradeoff. They’re taken care of because I’m out here.”

  “Do you have kids back home?” Mei Ling asked, vaguely aware that she might have other reasons for wanting to know.

  “Oh no, I’m not married or anything. Mother would like me to be.” Sun Daimen smiled sheepishly, as if he realized he had said too much.

  Mei Ling felt emboldened by his shyness, but resisted the impulse to tease him. Instead, she thanked him for the break from her duties and excused herself.

  That evening, Mei Ling stood in front of the washbasin in the dormitory, staring into the hand mirror suspended on the wall.With lingering strokes, she brushed her long hair back from her face. She noticed the wisps around her hairline, thought of her mother, who started graying in her fifties. She began to think about the prospect of getting older, a journey from which there was no turning back and little reprieve from failed choices. She had taken her youth for granted. And yet, the responsibilities and worries that filled her days were slowly robbing her of that youth, like a small rodent nibbling in the rice sack. “Every day, the mouse would steal a grain,” her mother used to say, “and the next day another, and there were always so many left that he did not worry. Until one day....” It was a child’s story, but the meaning of that tale was impressed on Mei Ling now more than ever before.

  Mei Ling wondered what Sun Daimen wanted from her; if he had been making advances, they were barely noticeable. His mother wanted him to marry.Wasn’t he the kind of man that other mothers had designs on, if only for their daughters? And if so, why was he not already taken? Sun Daimen looked to be fairly youthful, perhaps no older than his early thirties.

  One Sunday morning, after another fruitless trip to find a church in the vicinity, she received a call from her father. “Your mother’s back in the hospital,” he told her. She fumbled with the phone, nearly dropping in onto the sidewalk.

  “You should’ve seen her,” Ol’ Chang said. “She was white as a ghost. Couldn’t eat, or keep her food down. Doctors said the drugs didn’t work first time around. The cancer’s back, and they’re trying to zap it again.” Her father sighed, and for the first time, he sounded humble and defeated. “I’m not one to go to doctors, but this one’s beyond me. Never in my days.”

  Mei Ling managed to reach her mother in the hospital, but Chen Weijin was too dazed and exhausted from her treatment to speak much.

  Shaken by the turn of events, Mei Ling could not keep her attention on the job the next day. She dragged herself about her duties, and her legs seemed to be carved from stone. As she delivered a tray of food to a guest, her knee buckled under, and a large bowl of hot soup splashed onto the carpet.

  Her supervisor was livid. “Young lady, you deserve more than a reprimand,” Lao Hu hissed. “Your blunders are just inexcusable. I’d fire you myself if I had the authority.”

  Hooked by the elbow, Mei Ling was marched to Sun Daimen’s office with a grip so painfully tight she could not have escaped if she tried. Mei Ling was too weary to fight, and resigned herself to whatever her bosses had in store.

  The old crow launched into her tirade, firing sharp glances in Mei Ling’s direction. Sun Daimen listened calmly and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Lao. I’ll take care of things from here.”

  Mei Ling waited until Mrs. Lao’s heavy footfalls had disappeared down the hall. And then she glanced up at Sun Daimen. Mrs. Lao’s charges only appeared to amuse him. His face beamed with delight, as if he had been waiting to see Mei Ling.

  “You look tired, Miss Chang. Everything all right?” he asked.

  At first, Mei Ling mumbled that she didn’t feel well, but Sun Daimen was not convinced. “My mother is deathly ill,” she said at last. “I came out here to find work to support her, and I don’t know what else I can do, if I can do any good at all.”

  Sun Daimen was silent; it seemed as if her travails had touched some part of him that could know suffering. “Your mother deserves the best, and you’re doing all you can, I’m sure.”

  Mei Ling shook her head vigorously, and the hot tears flowed forth. She turned her head and brushed them away, but a fresh supply materialized.When Sun Daimen offered her a tissue, she buried her face in her hands, embarrassed that he should witness a woman’s weakness so nakedly.

  “I have a back office where you can stay for a few hours,” Sun Daimen said. “Don’t worry about Lao Hu.We’ll sort it out, get you a transfer.”

  Still ashamed of her outburst, Mei Ling whispered a few words of gratitude, and retreated into the small room. An hour later, Sun Daimen appeared with a tray of hot soup and rice.

  “To replace the one you spilled,” he teased.

  Mei Ling had recovered enough to flash a feigned look of indignation. “Are you trusting me with that? No guarantees you’ll have a clean tie when you leave.”

  “I’ll take my chances, “Sun Daimen grinned, setting the tray down beside her. Mei Ling was touched that he would deliver the food himself. It was something she could never see her father doing for her mother, no matter how sick she was.

  That evening, he stayed with her until the last office employees had left, past the prime hours when the guests dined fifteen floors below, and even after the businessmen finished their deals, lingering in the bar for another round of drinks.

  Sun Daimen told her that he had cared for his ailing father in his youth, while his mother sought work outside the village to make ends meet.The man had suffered from a multitude of diseases, compounded by his earlier indiscretions. “Women and drink. It’s done him in,” he said wryly. As a young man, Daimen had gone away to work in the factories, not long after the market economy opened up. His two older brothers had fallen sick from the chemicals used at the local tannery and could not work. He was the youngest son, but the responsibility had fallen to him.

  Mei Ling glanced at Sun Daimen with admiration. Here was a man who had risen up the ranks, and remained devoted to his family. He did not seem to be the kind who gave in to infidelities like other men of means.

  The following week, Mei Ling was transferred to the bookkeeping department, where she took to her new duties quite well, often staying into the night to finish a task or take on an additional project. At the end of the evening, Sun Daimen would take her to supper at one of the local restaurants. She could see that while he could afford a fine establishment every night, they both felt at home in the modest noodle shop they frequented. As they ate, they watched the proprietress making wonton at another table. A dollop of ground pork, a pinch of the wrapper, and another dumpling would land on the growing mound while a giant pot of water rumbled nearby.

  Mei Ling knew that the other women on staff were gossiping about them, some out of jealousy, others out of curiosity or boredom. Yet she was drawn to Sun Daimen for all the things that Liu could not offer her. Unlike her husband, this man had a position that command
ed awe and respect. And his aura cast a wide circle around those under his wing. For that reason, few of the women mentioned him directly to Mei Ling, and none asked where her husband might stand in light of this possible affair.

  Sun Daimen was an educated man, but one who grasped the unschooled ways of the human heart. He was not one to rush any declarations, nor force her into the physical intimacies that someone in his position could easily demand.

  In fact, Sun Daimen was so much of a gentleman that Mei Ling could allow her fantasies to nestle comfortably in her bosom, unclouded by worries that she could be unfaithful. At the same time, Mei Ling never mentioned her marriage to Sun Daimen.

  As the colors of fall blanched toward winter, a deep friendship blossomed between the two. On her birthday, Sun Daimen gave her a painting of two magpies on a single branch. “Something I do in my spare time,” he said modestly.

  That night, he treated her to a special dinner in town. Perhaps he sensed it was time to drop the pretenses. Or maybe she had exuded a willingness, in the glow of her cheeks, to take their friendship to another level. He was a little drunk; his manner had a touch of brashness that seemed out of character.

  “You may not know this,” Daimen said, “but your friendship is one I’ve come to count on over the months. I may be ill at ease with my superiors’ demands, or tired and frustrated after a hard day, but seeing you always gives me such joy.”

  “Oh, you’re too kind, Daimen. Don’t forget, it was you who pulled me out of a dark hole when my mother was doing so poorly. I can never repay you for what you’ve done. And for taking me out of the clutches of Lao Hu.”

  “No need, Mei Ling. She’s got other young hires to torment, I’m sure. But I couldn’t let her do that to you.” Sun Daimen gazed intently at Mei Ling. “You mean a lot to me.”

  Mei Ling felt a surge of warmth in her bosom. If there was any shadow of resistance, it melted away in the light of his declaration. She reached over and placed her hand over his, feeling the spark that rushed from one to the other, across skin, in an ecstatic vibration. It was pure desire, seeking to be fulfilled.

  “Let me take you to my place, shall I?”

  Mei Ling nodded, and the two quickly left, arriving before too long at Sun Daimen’s apartment on the waterfront, where the Yangtze and Jialing Rivers met.

  The lights from the city below glowed excitedly. Now that the consummation of their desire seemed close at hand, Sun Daimen was a bit clumsy, rattling the kitchen cabinets for a bottle of wine. At length, they settled down on the couch, with glasses in hand, and when he leaned closer, Mei Ling got a whiff of sweat on the nape of his neck. It smelled of straw and earth and bare sun, of a man never too far from his roots.

  He moved even closer. She wanted to give herself to those yearnings. She felt the push and pull, the silent pulse that drew them close. As she breathed in the scent of his body, sweet as loamy earth, Mei Ling felt her face flush from alcohol. She leaned toward him, her heart pounding. And then, without warning, a tide of shame overtook her.

  Sun Daimen placed his hand on her hair, stroking it gently, but she turned away. “I can’t . . . do this. Sun Daimen, I haven’t told you, but I’m married. I have a husband, and an adopted child. I’ve had to take care of them too, and it’s given me almost as much anguish as my mother’s illness.”

  She slowly looked back at Daimen. His fingers retracted from the silken mass of her hair to a throbbing point on his temple.

  “Are you . . . were you aware how I felt toward you?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t have the courage to tell you. I can tell you now, though, that I regret I did not meet you first.”

  “But you are married to someone else.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Mei Ling, it’s up to you, if you choose to be with your husband. I will have to live with it, I don’t know how, but you won’t have to worry about me getting carried away like this.”

  That night, as Sun Daimen drove her home, Mei Ling felt an icy chill seize her body.The alcohol had started to wear off. A cruel emptiness remained where their intimacy had been tended so carefully over the months. She had to choose, and she would have to live with the consequences for a long, long time. Whatever she chose would bring disappointment to someone in her life, and she wondered if her happiness mattered at all in this tangled web.

  26

  STILL IN HIS SILK PAJAMAS, FANG THUMBED THROUGH HIS MAIL at a languid pace. He expected a few business deals to come through this month. The thrill of baited victory had lost some of its luster, although months had passed since his last trip to Lanping village.

  A fragile envelope addressed to Fang in large, bold strokes caught his eye.The handwriting was neat, although the hand that penned it had been somewhat unsteady.

  Dear Fang Shuping,

  You may think me shameless, to turn to you after I had so flatly rebuffed you. But I must put my pride aside, and seek help from all possible channels.

  My brother, as you know, has been trying to negotiate better terms for our villages with this resettlement business. He was detained shortly after delivering a petition to Beijing. Two weeks ago, the authorities came and arrested him again. But nobody will tell us what his crime is, and we do not know his whereabouts. If you have any connections with the authorities or the company involved in this dam project, please consider contacting them on behalf of my brother. If you are able at all to help, my sister-in-law and I will look forward to hearing from you.

  Sincerely,

  Chu Sulin

  Fang Shuping put down the letter, and sat drumming his fingers on his eyeglass case. He had tried to put Chu Sulin out of his mind, and now his hopes were rekindled once more. But something else stirred, a wave of indignation that his friend had been treated so poorly. What could the man have done that was so terrible? What was so unreasonable about bargaining for a better deal? It was done all the time in the world of business.

  He realized with irony that these villagers had little power in the grand scheme of things. How was it, then, that he had suffered such abuse at the hands of peasants as a young man? Those were different times, he decided. Heady times when the poor thought they could earn a place at the table. They had seized their petty power with such vengeance. And their cruelty was unforgivable.

  “Damn them all,” Fang muttered to himself. His anger, coiled like a serpent, rose up at the memory of the indignities he had endured. Those shackles that bound him had long ago been thrown off. But if it hadn’t been for Sulin . . . he realized that he owed it to her, and now she needed him as never before.

  Rising from his chair, Fang cleared away the clutter of newspapers that remained unread for weeks. Invigorated with a new sense of purpose, he began to rummage through his files for all the contacts he had in Sichuan province who could help with the case. Later that day, he would venture to make the most important call of all, to Chu Sulin and her sister-in-law, to arrange a visit in the next day or two.

  THE DIM GRAY INTERIOR OF CHU LONGSHAN’S HOUSE HAD fallen into neglect with his absence. The weathered bricks that formed its humble walls were caving in to the stresses of wind and rain. Made of the rich mud that lined the riverbanks, they were dried in the sun rather than baked and hardened at high temperature. Fang approached the door, scraping the mud off his shoes before knocking.

  Longshan’s wife opened the door, and her face lit up upon seeing him. “Fang Shuping! Come in, come in. You must be tired after traveling so far. I’ll fix some tea. Please make yourself at home.”

  Through the feeble light, Fang could see Sulin sitting on a small chair by a barrel of preserved eggs. Mrs. Chu went into the kitchen, leaving the two alone. “Sulin, I never thought I’d see you again. But bad news brings us together, I suppose.”

  Sulin appeared too distraught to put up her usual defenses. “Thank you for coming. I would not have troubled you, but I think the authorities really mean business this time.” There was a catch in her throat, and Fang did not know what
to say. He stood there awkwardly, beneath the faded picture of Mao Zedong, until Longshan’s wife emerged from the kitchen with tea.

  Mrs. Chu apologized for the humble offering, then sat down with her hands folded in her lap, recounting the events of the past months. “After he got detained for going to Beijing, Longshan was sullen and untalkative for days. Then he started going out in the evenings, always coming home quite late, after I’d gone to bed. He only told me that the authorities were displeased with our claims. They said we had no grounds. No grounds, indeed! When they’re robbing us of our livelihood, not giving us enough to put a roof over our heads.”

  Mrs. Chu took a deep breath and continued. “Well, early one evening, shortly before he was heading out, the police showed up again and arrested him. It seems like they were watching him, maybe even followed him around at night. Maybe we’re even being watched right now.” A frightened look appeared in Mrs. Chu’s eyes.

  “Where was your husband going that night? Fang asked.

  “To meet with the others from that intervillage council, that’s what we think. Will they know what’s going on? Should we ask them?”

  “Worth a try,” replied Fang. “Did Chu ever mention those guys by name?”

  Sulin, who had been listening patiently, replied, “Some of them were on the tour of the new site.There was a fellow by the name of Dong Xiawen from my village.”

  “Let me talk to the fellow. I’ll find out what’s going on.We’ll get your man back yet.” Fang stood up. “Sulin, shall we pay him a visit tomorrow? There’s not enough light tonight for me to accompany you back to the village. Don’t want to give your neighbors any ideas.” He looked at Sulin intently, eager to detect a reaction to his words.

  “Mr. Fang, I’m not scared of you,” Sulin said coldly. “Tomorrow’s fine.”