He brought a look of surprise to his face.
“I threatened the sergeant,” Mr Girard explained. “And I do not believe in threatening. I believe in reasoning.”
“It seemed to me you were reasoning,” he said.
“No. I threatened. I threatened him as a foreigner. After all the evil that has been done because foreigners have the power to threaten, I have turned around and used it myself.”
“But you did not use it for evil,” he said.
“It does not matter what I used it for. It is the same power that makes it impossible for you to protest if a foreigner hits you on the street.”
He had realized all that before they went to the gate. Now he said nothing.
“So I have sinned,” Mr Girard said. “But you may be right. I have sinned so that we could eat.”
“I do not think you have sinned,” he said.
“Good. But it was necessary to tell you. I do not like playing the powerful foreigner.”
Mr Girard was thinking very deeply about it and Wen-li did not believe that he should. So he said, “Will you have a cup of wine?”
Mr Girard looked up and smiled. “Yes. Thank you.” He nodded toward the teapot. “Is that wine?”
“Yes.” He got another cup from the shelf.
“I thought it was tea.”
He moved the table closer to Mr Girard and put the two cups on it and poured wine into the cups. Mr Girard picked his up. He picked up his own and said, “Dry cup.”
“Dry cup.” They drank.
He filled the cups again and went and sat on the bed. They sipped for a minute quietly and then he asked, “What did the corporal want?”
“The corporal?”
“The one who was here. A week ago, perhaps.”
“Ah,” Mr Girard said. “That one. He said he had been detailed to preserve law and order in the region of the university. He thought that I, as a law-and-order-loving foreigner, would like to help him.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him that he could rely on me. So he said that I should begin by disciplining you.”
“What did you say then?”
“I told him that to accomplish what he wanted me to accomplish I would have to be allowed to use my own methods, and that you would not be disciplined as long as you followed my orders, and that as a foreigner I might have unusual methods, but he would have to trust me. He said he understood perfectly. Then I told him that I would appreciate it if he would report our interview to his commanding officer, being sure to mention my name and my promise of full cooperation.”
He laughed. He thought that was very funny. For a foreigner this one had great wit. “The corporal will hear unbelievable news from his commanding officer,” he said.
“He will.” Mr Girard finished the wine and held his cup out. “Why did you ask?”
“Because in the auditorium a few nights later, at the moving picture, someone sent for me from outside, and when I went to see, it was the corporal and several soldiers. They did not see me and later they went away.”
Mr Girard looked upset. “I do not like that. He must have heard about me from his commanding officer.”
“I have not seen him since,” he said.
“If they stopped paying the corporals they could build a road from here to Chungking with the money.”
“Yes.” He poured himself another cup of wine.
“They are more nervous now. And the incidents may continue.”
“I hope not.”
“They probably will. For another two or three weeks.”
“Why only two or three?”
Mr Girard made the finger sign and laughed.
“Oh,” he said. Then he asked, “Do you know what they will be like?”
“The Communists?”
“Yes. Do you know any?”
“Only some of the students. And I do not think we can judge on the basis of the students. So I do not know. It can get no worse than it is now, and from all the reports we have it will get much better. More than that I do not know.”
“Two or three weeks,” he murmured.
“It should not be much longer. It will be difficult near the end, probably. You know better than I do what happens when a city is about to fall.”
“I remember,” he said. “In the twentysixth year when the Japanese came, and the thirtyfourth year, when they left. There was evil done.”
“There will be evil done this time,” Mr Girard said. “It will be very bitter. Perhaps the climax will pass quickly.”
“It may be as bitter after the climax,” he said.
“It may be,” Mr Girard said. “I wish we could know more surely. But as I said, it could be no worse.” He took a package of cigarettes from his pocket and put it on the table. He pulled one from it and pushed the package to him.
He took one. “No,” he said, “it could be no worse.” He struck a match and held it up for Mr Girard.
“Thank you,” Mr Girard said. “What do some of the people you know think about it?”
“I am not sure,” he said. “Most of my friends think the way I do. That there is no way of knowing and that we must prepare for anything, but that it cannot be worse.”
“And of the Russians?”
He had never known a Russian. He shrugged. “The Russians are like any other foreigners.” Then he stopped. For a moment they were quiet and then he said, “Excuse me.”
Mr Girard laughed. “You surprise me,” he said. “It was complimentary that you forgot.”
He laughed too. “It was,” he said. Then he went on. “Perhaps after some Russians arrive we will have a way of judging them separately. But now we cannot, except by newspapers and the posters.”
“And they are believed, the newspapers and the posters?”
“By some,” he said. He leaned forward. “Kuo-fan, for example. He believes what is close to him. Thus a poster in the moving picture house said that the Communists killed all men over thirty. Kuo-fan believed.”
“And you?”
“I believe very seldom,” he said. “I believe what I see. And what I hear if it is not a man-made noise. But I do not see much and most noises are man-made, so I believe very seldom.”
“And the others?”
“I think they are more like Kuo-fan,” he said. “They believe what is close to them. But they do not believe all they are asked to believe.”
Mr Girard said nothing.
“Are there many Russians in the City?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mr Girard said, “but they are White Russians. I do not know what they will do.”
They sat a few minutes in silence. Outside night was coming. The cigarette smoke was grey and difficult to see in the room. “Will the university open if the City falls?”
“Yes. I am sure of it.”
“I hope it is not damaged in the fighting,” he said.
“I too,” Mr Girard said. “It is in a bad position. The railway line on one side and the main road from the north on the other.”
“Perhaps the fighting will pass the university on both sides,” he said.
“I do not think so. From the university both the railway line and the road can be defended. There is no other such point of meeting. And here there are buildings and offices and storehouses to be used. I think we will see trouble.”
“Will we have to leave?”
“I think that there will be no command to leave, but that each will decide for himself. I will stay.”
“Perhaps they will approach the City from another side,” he said.
“Perhaps. But they are coming from the north and we are north-west of the City. Perhaps they will go to the northeast. But perhaps they will not.”
“Will you find yourself in trouble when they come?”
“I do not think they will want to bother with me,” Mr Girard said. “I am not worried, anyway. Not about that.” He stood up and dropped his cigarette to the floor and crushed it out. “What I wor
ry about sometimes is the people who live here and the laboratories and machinery. If the fighting comes here people will be killed. Equipment will be destroyed. Both sides would do accidental damage, and the loser would do deliberate damage.”
“I had not thought of that,” he said.
“It is worth thinking of. For us the loser is the source of danger. And I do not like to see danger come to all these people. Or to you. Or to her.” Mr Girard smiled. “Or to me.” He walked toward the door. “Thanks for the wine. I will go in now.”
“There is no need for thanks,” he said. “Do not behave like a guest in your own home.”
“Thanks anyway,” Mr Girard said. “Say hello to Kuo-fan for me.” The door closed.
He stood for a time smiling in the darkness. He was coming to like Mr Girard.
22
It was good that all this had happened in winter. He sent meat around to some of the neighbors and most of them were running short so they were grateful. And then the soldiers and the townspeople went away. There was no explanation and no one knew where they had gone. They just disappeared from in front of the gate. There were still groups of soldiers, farther up the road, holding classes, but they did not bother anyone. So then people could get to the village to do their own shopping, and they began sending back the left-over meat. There he was with many small scraps of meat and it was all three days old. But because it happened in winter the meat was good for chopping so there was no harm done.
And a week later came a time of warmth. It was unusual at the end of the second month to have a time of warmth, but it had happened before. It was not so much real warmth as a loosening of the earth, and a wet breeze from the south. The ice was still on the streams but it did not look as though it would stay for long. They all talked about the weather. Some said that it was a sign. The fighting was closer and once in a long while they could hear the sound of it, faint and far away like a last rumble of heat thunder, and some said that the warm weather was a sign of early spring and that the City would fall soon. Others were more worried because the winter wheat might start pushing up and then would come a month of hard frost and perhaps damage it. Mr Girard said that he did not know why it was warm but he was glad of it and he hoped it would last, because they had not much more coal and he did not want to buy more.
Wen-li was still wearing the heavy gown, but if the heat continued he was going to stop wearing it. The second day of the warmth he went to the village in it and coming back with his arms full he was sweating. After the walk across the field with the wet breeze blowing on him and the earth feeling soft against his feet he was sweating so hard that he stopped to rest and talk with the gate guard. The concrete cabin was cold and after a few minutes he could feel the chill, so he said goodbye and left. Outside and walking he became warm again.
There was a man behind him that he noticed when he made the turn near the coalyards, a little man in a blue gown and a felt hat and spectacles. He did not think anything of this then, but when he took the road to the house he saw him again. He thought the man might be coming to see Mr Girard, so when he got to the house he put the food in the kitchen and stood in the courtyard to see. After a minute the man came walking in, blinking and looking very small. Then the man saw him.
“Is this the home of Mr Girard?” the man said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I would like to see him, if he is free.”
“I will announce you,” he said. “Will you wait here?”
“Yes,” the man said. “Thank you.”
He went into the house. Mr Girard was lying on the sofa with a book in his hand and the girl was sitting on the sofa near his feet. She was sewing. “There is a gentleman to see you,” he said.
Mr Girard looked up. “Is it someone we know?”
He shook his head. “No. He is wearing a gown and spectacles and a western felt hat. A small man.”
Mr Girard shrugged and looked at the girl. She picked up her sewing and smiled at him and went into the bedroom. “Show him in,” Mr Girard said.
He did. The man walked in. Mr Girard was standing near the sofa and the man walked up to him and said, “Mr Girard? My name is Ch’en.” Mr Girard bowed and asked him to sit on the sofa. The man bowed and sat down. Mr Girard looked at Wen-li.
“Will you bring some tea?”
“Some tea,” he said. He went out.
He made the tea quickly and put some small cakes on the tray and went back into the house. As he walked in the man was saying, “to keep violence at a minimum.” Then the man stopped talking.
Mr Girard waved a hand. “You may continue,” he said.
So the man looked at Wen-li and went on. “Naturally, as merchants, we fear this violence. And we are doing what we can to prevent its occurrence in any level of society.”
Mr Girard said, “Do you really believe that the students would tolerate violence and looting?”
The man shrugged and said, “Perhaps not. But sometimes even the finest of people react badly in a crisis.”
“True enough,” Mr Girard said. Wen-li had finished serving. He saw a book on the large table, so he took it up and went quietly to the bookcase and put the book on a shelf.
The man said, “We therefore hope for your cooperation.”
Mr Girard said, “I will cooperate. But not because I am afraid of what the students will do. I think we can have more confidence in the students than in any other group. I will let it be known, however, that I oppose looting, and I am sure the other professors will. I do not imagine they would put themselves on record as being in favor of looting; and I must tell you that I think the whole procedure unnecessary.” He paused then, and after a moment he said in a different voice, a little puzzled, “The students will be here, isolated, and there will be no transport during the time of the greatest trouble. I am sure that bus service will not be resumed until all danger is past.”
Wen-li crossed the living room.
“Perhaps,” the man said. “But it is well to be cautious.”
Mr Girard said, “I am sure it is.”
Wen-li went out of the house. He went around the kitchen where they would not be able to see him from the living room and he went up on the hill. Then he crossed over to the side of the house. He had opened a window early in the morning to air the house in the warm breeze. No one had closed it. He came near and sat down slowly without making a sound. From where he sat he could see the bathroom door and the bookcase. If he leaned to the right he could see Mr Girard and part of the back of the man’s head. He hoped no one would come into the courtyard. He did not want to have to move away quickly.
“Then that is settled,” the man said.
“Yes,” Mr Girard said.
They were quiet then, for so long that he was afraid Mr Girard had seen him. Finally the man said, “There is another problem.”
Mr Girard said, “I thought there would be.”
The man went on. “I hope that you will not become angry. I hope you will allow me to finish what I have to say.”
“Of course,” Mr Girard said.
There was a quick movement of something up the hill, to his right. His arms twitched and his head swung toward it. He could see nothing. Then further along, off to the north, he saw it. It was the shadow of a cloud. His arms relaxed and he smiled.
The man said slowly, “I am the friend of a man whom you know. I have come to speak to you in his name.”
There was another silence.
“The man is Hsieh Ming-p’u.”
He leaned quickly to the right. Mr Girard was looking at the floor. There was no expression on his face.
“You know that his financial position is excellent,” the man said. “But his political position becomes more … precarious. With the approach of the Communists, it becomes grave.” The sofa creaked. What was this man’s name? Ch’eng. No, Ch’en.
“He may find it necessary to leave the City. He may later, in fact, find it necessary to leave the country. You
understand.”
“I understand,” Mr Girard said.
“For various reasons he would be unable to go to Japan, or to certain European countries, or,” the man hesitated, “to Australia. But I am sure that he would reach Hong Kong.” The man paused.
“Continue,” Mr Girard said.
“From Hong Kong,” the man said, “he has decided that he would go to the United States, England, or the Philippine Islands.”
“He has decided,” Mr Girard said.
“Yes,” the man said. “I may tell you that it is not an easy decision. You will understand what it would mean to him to be thrown suddenly into a world of foreigners. His aim, however, is to go to that part of the world where he will be most useful to his government. He foresees the loss of most of China, and is convinced that his government will ultimately be forced to carry on its battle from a foreign country.” The man was speaking quickly now and with confidence. “He would prefer to avoid the Philippine Islands. Chinese are not entirely welcome there, you know. He feels that he will best be able to serve his government from the Hawaiian Islands or from the mainland of the United States. A considerably strong part of his government is already in the United States. He is aware of the immigration restrictions. But his status, should he have to go there, would be that of a political refugee. The hospitable policies of the United States in respect to political refugees are well known.”
“And well appreciated,” Mr Girard said.
“And well appreciated,” the man said. “There is, unfortunately, a drawback.”
There was another silence. The sun was falling lower on the other side of the house. It did not reach him now. Sitting on the ground was making him cold. In the shadows the wet breeze lost its warmth.
“Hsieh Ming-p’u has few foreign friends,” the man said, “and none of them are westerners. He knows you, however.” The man was speaking very slowly now. “And he imagines that you have perhaps been annoyed and disturbed by some of the … the pressures which have recently made your life more difficult.”
“He imagines correctly,” Mr Girard said.
The man’s voice came out in an oily stream. “So he feels that you might agree to put the relationship on a more reasonable basis, by exchanging tokens of confidence.”
The Season of the Stranger Page 26