Guangchou, China
Outside, Chi-Wen’s anger seemed to have abated. “I’ve made arrangements to take the night train to Changsha.”
“Thank you.”
“We’ll see the historical museum, but I don’t think we have time for Mao’s headquarters.”
“That’s okay. But now I’d prefer to see the university.” Lili saw Chi-Wen’s frown and added, “that is, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Chi-Wen stared in silence before responding, “As I said last night, we’ll follow your itinerary.”
“Good.” Though somehow it seemed a dubious victory.
On the way to the university, they stopped for lunch at a small xiaochi or fast-food house that specialized in noodles and dumplings made fresh. As they watched, the pastry chef placed a huge lump of dough on his head and with a flashing knife in each hand, rapidly shaved off thin slices. To Lili, it was an exciting if somewhat unnerving performance. Chi-Wen’s expression, however, was unreadable.
When they sat down to eat, Lili tried unsuccessfully to engage Chi-Wen in small talk. “What do you do at the Institute?”
“I’m a technician.”
Wondering if his reticence was simply shyness, she made another attempt. “Do you enjoy the work?”
Again he hesitated, but this time she sensed he was unsure what to say. “I suppose.”
Lili thought she saw a look of pain pass over his eyes, but it quickly disappeared. They finished their Cantonese flat rice noodles in silence.
The walk to reach Zhongshan University, south of the city, took close to an hour. Lili was surprised how much the campus reminded her of L.A. University on a warm spring afternoon — students cycling, some with Sony Walkmen in their ears, others sitting under eucalyptus trees studying, a few girls and boys holding hands, one or two even sneaking a kiss. At the middle of the campus was the sanjiaodi or triangle area, where a small crowd had gathered.
“What’s happening?”
As they drew close, Chi-Wen demanded, “Did you know about this?”
“The girl in the bookstore mentioned a demonstration. I thought it might be fun.”
“Fun?” Chi-Wen glanced curiously at her for a moment. “Shit!” he whispered.
“What?” Although she was certain she’d heard correctly.
“Nothing. Come on.”
At least a hundred students squatted on the lawn while several organizers perched on crates, addressing the group with hand-held megaphones.
“What are they saying?” Lili asked.
“That one is the leader.” Chi-Wen indicated the first speaker whose voice shook with passion.
The student pulled out a pen and a blank piece of paper and drew four concentric circles in black ink. “Here,” he was saying, pointing to their center, “are a very few good leaders.”
Lili watched as he placed more Xs in the wide track of the second circle. “Here are thousands of senior cadres.”
“Cadres?”
“Government administrators and Communist Party members. They exist at all levels,” Chi-Wen explained. “When the Communists took over, people in these positions didn’t want to be called guan or “officials” since it reminded us of the old society. Instead a new word was coined — ganbu — doer or cadre.”
“I see.”
“Today senior cadres are in every ministry,” the student was saying. Most are at least sixty years old, some well into their eighties. Old men with no education. They will neither change their ways nor hand over power. We’ll have to wait forever for them to die.”
The student pointed to the third circle. “Here are most of the Old-Hundred-Names; those who suffered without complaining. And here are we.” He pointed to the outermost circle. “Six hundred fifty million under age thirty-five — the young of this country who must work for change.”
Lili listened as Chi-Wen translated. That number was over twice the entire population of the United States.
“He urges students to think independently about politics,” Chi-Wen explained.
“Anything else?” Lili asked, sensing that Chi-Wen had left something out.
Reluctantly: “He chastises those who were uncritical during the Cultural Revolution. We must hate as well as love, he says. He urges students to boycott.”
“You think they will?”
Chi-Wen shrugged.
“What about you?”
“I’m not a student,” Chi-Wen replied with surprising bitterness. “Look. This doesn’t concern you. It’s late. We must check out. The train leaves at seven p.m.”
Seoul, Korea
Shin-yung Kim read his son’s monthly production report with unmitigated pride. MSG production had risen almost 20 percent since March. David projected a 75 percent foreign market share by year’s end. That’s more like it, the senior Kim thought. Perhaps David would keep his promise after all.
He filed the report and buzzed his secretary. “Miss Chang.”
“Yes, honorable Mr. Kim.” Although it was already 6:30 p.m., Kim’s personal secretary wouldn’t think of abandoning her post before the chief departed.
“I’m through. Why don’t you go home?”
“Thank you. sir. Annyong hasimnika.”
“Good night.”
Kim flipped off the intercom and rubbed his brow. His headaches were getting worse, but he refused to take the pills Dr. Ahn prescribed. They dulled his senses. He wanted to stay alert. The old physician said he should retire early, enjoy the time he had left, but Kim had no intention of leaving the helm of Kim Company. He was determined to stay alive until his sixtieth birthday — until his son could take over the choebol.
He winced as a sharp pain lancinated his temples. Ordinarily he might work another few hours, but tonight a little relaxation couldn’t hurt. In fact, he hoped a bottle of soju, a good meal, and a kisaeng girl might be just what the doctor ordered.
Guangchou, China
They left Guangchou on the night train.
A Chinese version of “Green Green Grass of Home” bounced over the speakers as Chi-Wen guided Lili past the clamor of several hundred travelers struggling through the Hard Sleeper turnstile. He helped her climb aboard the Soft Sleeper car filled with Party cadres and People’s Liberation Army officers whose leather briefcases and finely tailored common soldier uniforms distinguished them from ordinary workers jamming the carriages next door. Lili was surprised that class consciousness was so evident in this classless society.
There were six four-person berths in the car — two uppers and two lowers. A dirty red carpet ran down the aisle, a thin green one covered the floor of the compartment Chi-Wen indicated was theirs for the night. Thick cotton quilting lay in rolls at the end of each bed; the mattresses were wrapped in a grayish white sheet, held in place by snaps and decorated with a row of fringe.
“You take the upper bunk,” Chi-Wen offered. “It’s more comfortable.”
“Are we sharing this compartment?” she asked, eyeing the close quarters.
“You, me, and two others,” he replied as a middle-aged man with a rasping cough entered.
The man announced in Chinese that he was a traveling railway supervisor. He was dressed in a heavy cotton suit despite the heat. Within moments he removed his clothes until he was down to his undershorts. Lili almost laughed aloud. Obviously the supervisor
didn’t realize she was “company.” She was sure of it when he hopped onto the bunk opposite hers, hawked loudly, then nonchalantly expectorated a huge bolus of phlegm onto the carpet.
“What is she saying?” Lili asked, indicating the high-pitched voice that followed the music over the public address system.
“Comrades, we welcome you to your journey. Do not spit everywhere.”
Macao
All eyes were on the small white ball as it bounced from number to number.
“Red thirty-two.”
“Too bad, cheri,” Camille said sympathetically.
David Kim shrugged and placed another bet.
Black twenty. The roulette wheel turned again.
“Red thirteen.”
So what if he was down? Ng had given him carte blanche in his casino. So far the Macanese pirate had proved true to his word — having funded their new joint venture to the tune of two hundred forty million Hong Kong dollars, the equivalent of roughly thirty million U.S. dollars. Everything was going as planned. Dr. Quan was in China. With Ng’s capital, he’d increased wages in the MSG factory and boosted production. The general’s son promised to deliver the secret to him well before his father’s sixtieth birthday. Then he would head Kim Company and all his worries would be over.
“Perhaps you’d have better luck tonight with chemin de fer.”
David smiled at Camille. “Sure, why not?”
Guangchou to Changsha
Dinner on the train was nondescript. Lili tried to engage Chi-Wen, but he had erected an impenetrable barrier between them. So she contented herself by gazing through the dining car window as dusk’s light melted over the landscape until a young couple indicated by
gesture their desire to sit at their table.
“Of course,” Lili smiled.
A waitress placed bowls of noodles in front of the couple, which they ate with the relish of the famished. The young man used his chopsticks as an arrhythmic baton, gesturing to Lili as he spoke. “Are you an American?” he asked in English.
“Yes.”
He told her that he purchased parts for a machine tool factory and that he wanted to learn enough English to converse with the wave of foreigners anxious to do business with China. “There are many more opportunities with Deng’s new reforms.”
“You speak English well.”
“No, I speak only a little.” The young man turned to the plain-looking young woman beside him and smiled. “We are on our honeymoon.”
Although neither looked barely out of adolescence, Lili recalled Miss Pu’s explanation that Chinese law forbade marriage before a man had reached twenty-two and a woman twenty.
“How nice.”
Haltingly, the young man related how he had met his wife on a business trip to Guangchou. “She was leaving her government office when I saw her. I knew immediately I would ask her to register.”
“Register?” Lili turned to Chi-Wen for clarification.
“In China, a man and woman desiring to contract marriage must register with the marriage registration office.” He explained how after several months of courtship by letter, they married and were now honeymooning at his home for a week.
“Where is home?”
“Wuhan,” he replied, expertly snaring his slippery noodles between chop sticks. “I want my family to meet my bride. She must return to Guangchou.”
“Why?”
“Because her job is there.”
“Can’t she change jobs?”
The young bridegroom was flustered by Lili’s question. Chopsticks poised over his bowl, he gazed into the distance of the loud, smoky car.
“Dr. Quan, in China it is not permitted to move from job to job or from city to city,” Chi-Wen said evenly. “You follow your prescribed path.”
“You mean a married couple must live in separate cities?”
Chi-Wen nodded.
“When do you see each other?”
“Once a year husbands and wives are allowed ‘marital leave.’ ”
“Once a year?”
“When we retire we can make a home together.”
“That’s ludicrous,” Lili said. “How do you stand it?”
“Chinese adapt,” Chi-Wen said simply.
“And you?” the new bridegroom asked, hoping to change the
subject.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m on my way to Changsha to see Shaoshan where Mao was born.”
“Everyone used to visit that village,” he replied. “Today no one does.”
Lili would have asked why not, but she knew she’d already been too forward.
Soon the young man indicated that they ought to be getting back and his wife obliged with a giggle. After all, they only had a week together before they would begin a long separation.
As the bride turned to leave, she spoke to Chi-Wen in Chinese. His response was a firm head shake, but Lili noted the violet blush racing from neck to hairline. After they’d gone, Lili asked what was said.
“She asked if . . . uh . . . if we were engaged,” he stammered.
“Oh. I see.” The second person that day who wanted to make them a couple.
Ten minutes later, they returned to their compartment to find a fourth passenger sound asleep, snoring loudly in his bunk. From the uniform hung neatly on the hook by the door, Lili guessed he was a high-ranking officer in the People’s Liberation Army. The railway supervisor also slept, his intermittent cough punctuating heavy breathing. Apparently he had brought his own food, evidenced by the peanut shells and cake crumbs covering the floor. In addition to that, the car stank from cigarette smoke.
Lili hopped up onto her berth, switched on the overhead gooseneck lamp, and brushed her hair. Her eyes were closed, but when she opened them she caught Chi-Wen standing nearby, staring at her. For an instant, she shuddered at the power of his glance. Then he broke the spell, quickly turning off his light and disappearing into the bed below.
Odd fellow, Lili thought as she picked up the copy of The Old Man and the Sea.
A whisper from the darkness: “Dr. Quan?”
“Yes?”
“I suggest you not stay up too late.”
“Why is that?”
“The public address starts at five a.m.”
“Thank you.” An afterthought: “May I make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“If we are going to be traveling companions, you might as well call me Lili.”
Macao
Paulo Ng was watching the casino floor action on a video monitor when the cashier knocked.
“Mr. Kim now owes the house thirty thousand dollars. Shall I continue to extend him credit?”
Ng opened his drawer and pulled out the red ink and stamp that constituted David Kim’s legal signature. He had extracted the tojang from David as a form of collateral. Now he stared at it, mulling his options.
The cashier waited.
“Know your enemy and know yourself, then in a thousand battles you can never be defeated. “
“Sir?”
“An ancient Chinese saying. Give him anything he wants,” Ng said, sucking on a fresh cigarillo. “For now.”
Ng waved the cashier out in time to catch David losing another hand of chemin de fer. He shook his head. The young man was bright, but he didn’t know how to gamble. And that could be a problem — for David Kim and for Ng.
The Macanese pirate blew a fresh smoke ring across the room, never taking his eyes off the action below. How he loathed this smooth, pampered young man. For now, though, he had to control his emotions. He still needed David, but once he had the elixir, the young Korean would be more a liability than an asset.
Guangchou to Changsha
Her name, like her laughter, was musical. Long after Lili had turned off her light and fallen asleep, Chi-Wen lay in the blackness of the compartment, tossing and turning, filled with conflicting emotions. Warning himself he had to keep his distance — for her sake as well as his own.
Still, when he finally slept, Chi-Wen dreamed of a woman with hair that flowed like a dark rain over her shoulders.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tuesday
April 18
Near Changsha, China
A five a.m. the ceiling loudspeaker blasted martial music followed by glass-splitting local opera in falsetto, with plenty of gongs and static. Lili groaned and groped for a switch to turn the system down before she realized where she was. China is on Beijing time, so dawn had not yet crept into the eastern sky. When she opened her eyes, she saw the compartment bathed in the incandescent gl
ow of three gooseneck lamps. The supervisor and the army officer were gone. Everyone had stripped their pillowcases and bedding, folded up blankets and sheets to help the railway personnel prepare the train for its next ride.
Chi-Wen, dressed only in slacks, was in the midst of tai chi chuan. Smoothly his arms rose, his fingers extended as he began to weave slow circles before his face. His eyes closed, his hands rose higher. He lifted one foot and turned aside, bending, stretching, still working
circles with his hands.
Lili lay where she was, fascinated by the slow, graceful movements, conscious of the ripple of his muscular shoulders. He hardly seemed to be breathing. Quietly turning, twisting, gently dipping. Suddenly aware of the thumping of her heart, she admired his fluid grace, hoping to catch his eye again, to share another secret glance.
When his ritual was complete, Lili said, “That was beautiful.”
Chi-Wen didn’t turn, but the quaver in his voice betrayed
embarrassment. “You’d better wash up. We’re on the second shift for breakfast.”
The washroom was separate from the toilets. It contained a row of basins and mirrors where men and women stood side by side as they shaved, brushed their teeth, and combed their hair. No wonder there was no word for “privacy” in the Chinese language, Lili thought as she elbowed a position for herself.
A piercing scream transcending the cacophonous chorus of
garglers came from somewhere outside the bathroom.
Chi-Wen appeared at the door. “Come quickly, please.”
Lili followed him. “What’s going on?”
“A sick child in the dining car. Hurry!”
Lili pushed through the crowd, shouting that she was a doctor.
“Yi shen.” Chi-Wen translated and a path quickly opened.
A little boy, no more than three or four, lay on the floor, his flat Cantonese face growing cyanotic, his black eyes round with fear. Lili knelt beside him, feeling for a pulse. Thready, but present. With her ear close to the child’s mouth, she could hear the straining sound of air forced against a barrier. The boy was choking, dangerously close to losing consciousness.
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