there are a lot of things about it I'd like to change, but it's my home and it's where I belong. I don't belong here, Li. You would fit in, in the United States, far better than I would fit in here."
"That is probably true."
"But it isn't enough."
"No."
He went to the kitchen and when he returned with a pot of tea and two cups, she was sitting as he had left her, curled up on the couch, enfolded in his robe, her gaze far away. Li filled the cups and handed one to her. "Oh, it is so good," she said, sipping it. "I wonder if I can find Dragon Well tea in Boulder."
"I'll send you as much as you want."
"No, I think we shouldn't write or call, or send packages—" Silent tears ran down her cheeks, and she let them, looking straight ahead, her wet face shining in the light.
I cannot do this, Li thought. I cannot let this happen. And it is up to me, because she is right; everything would be easier in America. All I have to do is say I will come with her.
He opened his mouth to say the words, but they did not come, and he knew then that they never would. Where, only the afternoon before, there had been no space between their bodies, no room for a wedge to pry or a wall to rise, now there was an ocean, and eternity. 'm1 .;»■..
Miranda looked at her watch. "Four o'clock." Her voice was dull and flat. "What time should we leave for the airport?"
He let out his breath, tears stinging his eyes. "Seven-thirty."
She nodded. "I'll get ready."
Too early, he started to say; we have hours. We could be holding each other, making love, giving ourselves more to remember and keep in our hearts for all the time ahead. But he held back the words. What they had to do now, for these few hours, was get used to the idea that she would leave and he would stay and all the dreams would shatter.
Miranda stood, and as she walked past him toward the bedroom she rested her hand on his head. For a long moment they were very still: Li sitting on the couch, all his being focused on the light touch of her hand; Miranda standing beside him, her fingers alive with awareness of his body, his breath, his heart. And then she went on, into the bedroom. She let the robe drop to the floor and stepped into the shower, standing with her head back as the hot water sluiced her body. Washing away China, she thought, and began to cry, tears and water streaming down her face.
She dressed in the burgundy blouse with the gold monkeys, the
scarf and bracelet Li had given her, and the black jacket from Meiyun's shop. Cross-cultural. She could see Meiyun's smile as she said it. But I'm not, Miranda thought. I wish I were, but I'm not, and neither is Li. Did we know that, when we began? Probably not. But it wouldn't have mattered if we had. I would not have missed these ten days for anything.
In the living room, Li was standing beside his scholar's rock, his back to her. "Are you looking for wisdom?" she asked. "We have none, you and I; we're foolish people, agonizing over something as small as a love affair, an infinitesimal speck in the universe."
He turned. "You said we were important. Small but important. You said love is important."
"I was wrong. The world will go its own indifferent way, and never pause to notice that we're on opposite sides of it." She came closer and saw that his face was streaked with tears. "Oh, Li, my darling, don't cry, I can't bear it." She put her arms around him and they held each other, faces buried in each other. "My love, my love," Miranda murmured. "I know we're foolish, small and fooUsh, but it is so hard; it hurts so much .. ."
Li led Miranda to the couch, and began to talk. He talked to push away thought and to hold back time. He talked to keep back his tears, and hers. He talked to fill the silence that he knew would be the only thing left in this room when she was gone. "I want to tell you a Chinese legend about a cowherd and a weaving maiden. Every July there is a festival in their honor. This is the story.
"The Emperor of Heaven had a beautiful daughter, excellent at weaving. One day she descended to earth and fell deeply in love with a herdsman, and married him. But the Queen Mother commanded her to return home, and she obeyed and flew off to the sky. The herdsman attempted to follow, but before he could reach her, the Queen Mother took a golden hairpin from her hair and with it drew a great river between them. We call it the Milky Way. The weaving maiden now sits on one side of the river, and the herdsman sits on the other side. The two lovers are allowed to meet only once a year, on the seventh night of the seventh moon. At that time, flocks of magpies fly close together to form a bridge so the maiden can cross the river and be reunited with her husband."
He took her hand. "So the universe is not too big for lovers. There are so many like us that this story was bom. Wherever we are, and for always, our love will be a bridge between us, and I will cross it in my thoughts every day, and so will you, and we will meet in the middle and embrace and be together, as we have dreamed."
de
She smiled wryly. "I can think of lots of better ways to embrace and be together."
"Well, yes, so can I, but we cannot seem to manage them."
"We could, if—" Her restless gaze wandered the room, stopping at a small sculpture of a tiny butterfly in pale blue jade fluttering on a spray of white jade chrysanthemums. She picked it up. "Butterflies and chrysanthemums: longevity and everlasting love."
"Yes. You remembered."
"I will remember everything of this trip. You've filled your home with symbols of longevity and eternity, but you won't give us more than ten days."
"Neither will you," he said quietly.
She nodded, and reached out to replace the sculpture. "Take it with you," Li said.
"Oh, may I? I like it so much."
"I wish I could give you everything in this room. What else would you like?"
"You won't give me the scholar's rock," she said smiling.
"No, my love, that must stay here. But you may come back any time, whenever you are in China, to visit it."
"I will never come back to China."
So final, he thought. Such awful finality. "Not even to work with Meiyun?"
"We'll find other ways; she comes to New York and Chicago; I could meet her there."
"And what else will you do, when you go back?"
"I'm not sure; there are a few things . . ." Her gaze dropped to the sculpture in her hand. "I wish I could give you something as special."
"Ah, but you can." He laid his hand on her hair, lacing his fingers through the short curls, still damp ft-om her shower. "It is foolish and old fashioned—I thought it only happened in books—but still..."
"Oh." A small smile lit her face. "Yes, if I can ask the same of you. I'll have to buy a locket."
"So will I."
He took a small scissors from his desk, and gently cut a strand of Miranda's hair. Then he bent his head and she did the same with his. She closed her hand over the brown strands, remembering the feel of his hair in her fingers while his tongue probed the deepest parts of her, and the glints of light in it as he bent to take her breast in his mouth; and Li held the fair, silky curls in his palm, holding with them the scent of her, the smooth clinging of her skin against his, her mouth opening
to meet his, her smile and her laughter, and the lilt of her voice when she was happy.
"A locket," he murmured. "A gold one, just for this."
He kissed Miranda and said, "I must get ready," and quickly went to his bedroom, to his shower, to get past this moment. He stood for a long time beneath the hot water, not thinking, not dreaming, soaking up the heat, then put on a white shirt and brown slacks and the cashmere jacket she had given him. When he came back, she said, "How handsome you look."
"It is the jacket."
"It is the man inside the jacket. The wonderful man inside the jacket."
He drew a long breath. "Tell me what you will do when you get home."
"Oh, there are a lot of things. Some people at the University have been asking me to teach classes in textiles and design; I never thought I was good enough, b
ut now I would like to do it. And I'm going to tell Talia I want to hire a new group of young people, and be in charge of it, to design a different line from anything we've done. And I'll work with Meiyun; I have so many ideas for .. ."
She was mming the butterfly around and around in her fmgers, and Li watched the changing expressions on her face: from bleakness to anticipation.
"Do you remember the birds in their cages?" he asked. "When they were brought outside for fresh air, you said—"
"That they were happy, and the men, too, being free."
"Yes, but also you said that all of us live in cages of one kind or another. And now you have escaped from yours."
He watched her struggle with it: the possibilities of a new kind of life now that she was no longer locked in by old fears, but at the same time her concern that if she showed it, he would be hurt.
And it did hurt, but he would not let her see that. From now on, she must only look ahead.
"You and Meiyun will make a powerful team. Soon I will see your designs on CNN, with Elsa Klensch so excited about the newest name in fashion."
"Thank you," Miranda said. "That is the most wonderful thing you could do for me. Not only that you made me stronger—"
"No, no, you became stronger by yourself. You have conquered China."
Through the tears still streaking her cheeks, Miranda burst out laughing. "China is blithely unaware of it."
del
"Well, then, you conquered your terror, of China and so much else."
"With you. I couldn't have done it without you."
"And now you can do anything."
"Except be with you."
He clenched his fist, waiting for the pain to subside. "I meant at home, finding new adventures. You can expand your life, even at home, if you have courage and trust in yourself." He chuckled, hiding the pain that gnawed him with each word that sent her farther into a future where he could not follow. "You will make Boulder Colorado an exciting place."
She touched his face. "You are the best person I know, the best person in the world. To give me so much."
"I gave you what you have given me. The discovery that I can love, more deeply than I ever imagined. And that you and I could become part of each other, and that it will never disappear."
Miranda gave a small smile. "I hope Tang Po was right."
"In what?" Li asked.
She closed her eyes, remembering. "He said we all have disappointments and losses, and sometimes they vanish, and sometimes not. And then he said, 'If not, we find ways to adjust and make a life. A different life, perhaps, but not necessarily a worse one.' "
"Very different," Li murmured. "That may be wise, but right now it seems bleak."
After a moment, Miranda said, "And what will you do for this different life, tomorrow and all the days after that?"
"I don't know. There are many choices. Imagine: choices in China. Somehow, I will help China change. Whatever that takes; however I may be useful. Sheng knows more about the inner workings of the government than I do; perhaps he will have suggestions." He was silent, gazing beyond Miranda, beyond the protecting walls of his house and thinking of a life of action and attempted change in China. It was not a pleasant prospect. But how can I be fearful, when Miranda has conquered China?
"You'll find someone to love," Miranda said suddenly. "Someone to share all the things you care about."
"No."
"You shouldn't live alone, Li. You have so much to give someone."
"That someone is you."
"But not forever."
"Why not? How many times do we find love in one hfetime?"
There was a long silence, and then she rose and went to the window. "The rain has stopped. And the sky seems a little brighter."
"It is no longer weeping for us?"
She smiled. "No. There is a time to stop weeping."
He looked at his watch. "We must leave soon. No, wait, wait. I have no picture of you. In all these days, we never... Wait, I must have a picture." Taking a camera from a nearby chest, he began to circle her, the shutter clicking again and again, while she gave herself to his film, to his eyes, to him. "You have a certain smile; all your own," he said. "You did not have it when you arrived, but now it is so much of what you are, I will see it before me all my life."
She took from her purse the small camera she had used for souve-nier photos throughout her trip. "Only four left," she murmured, and took more time than he had, planning her few shots while he stood in place, trying to imagine his photograph in her home, perhaps in a silver frame, perhaps in her bedroom or in the sunroom where she worked, perhaps in her wallet. In all the places where he would have hers. Wherever his eye might light in the course of a day or night.
When she was finished, she said, "Now we should go," and Li nodded. He would have suggested breakfast, another half hour of talking, but she was right: it was time for them to go.
He took her overnight bag to the car, and when she did not follow, he went back and found her standing still, wrapped in the hush of the living room, breathing in the faint scent of sandalwood, memorizing the furniture, the art, the whorls of the scholar's rock, the soft palette of the rugs. He saw it all, with her, and thought, It will never look this way again because I will not be seeing it through her eyes.
At the airport, while his driver carried her luggage inside, Li and Miranda walked to the ticket line. It was not a line, but a swarming crowd of Chinese toiuists and Li looked at them with bitterness. The throng shoved and elbowed and thrust forward and, almost absently, Miranda shoved back, moving forward as if parting the waves. She looked at him and they began to laugh.
"But I couldn't do it if my knight in shining armor hadn't come to my rescue, that first night," she said, and their hands touched, and Li wanted her so wildly that he had to fight to keep his hands to himself, his body still, his face bland. There was a roaring in his ears; he wanted to pick her up and run from that place, run for hours, for days, until they found shelter, where they would be alone, and safe.
But suddenly it was time to board the plane, and they faced each other at the gate, in the midst of another milling crowd. "I love you," Li said.
Miranda laid her hand along his face and kissed him, and he held her and they kissed as if they had indeed found a space that was theirs
alone, a space that was not China, or anywhere else. "I love you, Li," said Miranda. "I love you, and I will come to you on our bridge, I promise."
"I promise," he echoed, and their hands touched, clinging, one last time, and then she turned to go. She gave her ticket to the gate attendant, and beneath the noises of the crowd she thought she heard Li's voice, she was sure she heard Li's voice. "Be happy, my love. Be happy in your home." She turned to see him, but all she saw were crowds, Chinese crowds; he had been swallowed up by them, and she could not see him at all.
"Miss, you must get on," urged the attendant, and Miranda walked into the dark passage that led to the plane, and when they rose from the ground and banked to turn toward the ocean, and America, she did not look at the city falling away beneath her; she closed her eyes and saw Li's face, his eyes on hers, telling her he loved her, and his smile.
Glossary and Pronunciation of Chinese Terms
Yuan Li
Yuan Sheng
Yuan Shuiying
Ye Meiyun
Pan Chao
Meng Enli
Feng Zhiwen
Beihai
Xisi Bei
Xiujiang
Xiushui Silk Market
Liulichang
Empress Cixi
Biao zi yang de
gao shi
gou zaizi
za zhong
guanxi
lao tian
meishi
youtiao
zai-jiang
ni hao
xi-xi
Yuan Lee
Yuan Shung
Yuan Shway-ying
Yee May-yeu win
/> Pan Chow
Mung En-li
Fung Jer-wen
Bay-hi
Suh-see Bay
Stiee-oojee-ahng
Shee-oo-shway
Lee-ooleechong
Tse-shee
Bee-ow dzu yong doh
(shit) gow shur
(mutts/bastards) goo-dzeye-zuh
(bastards)
(connections) guanshee
(good God) lao tee-an
may shur
yootee-ow
(goodbye) dzeye-jee-en
(hello/good day) nee-how
(thank you) shee-eh shee-eh
(continued from front flap)
Li's wildly ambitious son — test their love in the complex crucible of politics, nationality, and family loyalties.
Judith Michael has written an expansive, unforgettable story that explores two hearts shrouded by their own history, and suddenly blossoming. And they show us how true love can change a person forever, opening the way to passion, fulfillment, hope —and a certain smile.
^-^JUcltlfl Q/fu
Jacket (ie^jign by Honi X''erner Aathorj photO(jraph by Nara Fetter
This book made available by the Internet Archive.
Table of Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Pages
Copyright
Back Cover
A Certain Smile Page 34