A Map of Betrayal: A Novel

by Ha Jin

  American life amazed him, particularly the good wages (some jobs even paid by the hour); the fabulous libraries, out of which he could check as many titles as he wanted; the streets, big or small, all illuminated by lamps at night; and the supermarkets, where even spinach, celery, and mushrooms were wrapped in cellophane. He liked the fruits here, especially bananas (fourteen cents a pound) and oranges (a quarter a dozen). He was also fond of American nuts, their kernels full and plump. But he didn’t like some meats, farm-raised fish, and vegetables, which tasted bland.

  In spite of everything, Gary was sure he’d feel miserable if he lived here for long. Wherever he was, he couldn’t shake his wariness. Twinges and jolts of fear often galvanized him. Sometimes when passing a street corner, he was afraid that a hand might stretch out to grab him. Walking home alone from work, he had to force himself not to spin around to see if he was being shadowed. He hoped he could return to China soon and again walk on solid, familiar ground. In his first letter to his handler he insinuated that he felt homesick and out of place, but Bingwen replied that they had to “stick to the original plan.”

  Soon after Gary settled down, a tallish young woman walked into his life. That was Nellie, who waited tables in a small restaurant where Gary often went for lunch. She noticed him because of his quiet disposition and gentle demeanor. Unlike other men, he never raised his voice and seemed to prefer to eat alone. Yet whenever he saw someone he knew, he would greet them warmly. He seemed easygoing and good-natured. One day toward the end of the busy lunch hour, Nellie got up her nerve to speak to him, to see if he could talk at length like a normal man, especially with a woman. For a brief moment, he looked perplexed, his eyes intense, staring at her. Then his face relaxed into a smile that showed his square teeth.

  He said, “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself. I’m Gary.” He stretched out his hand.

  “Nellie McCarrick.” The second she said that, she felt stupid to have mentioned her last name. She must have sounded as if she was at a job interview, but Gary didn’t seem to have noticed her unease. The grip of his hand felt forceful, and she liked that.

  There were few customers around, so she sat down across from him and put her elbow on the table, her face rested on her hand to check the shivers of excitement and to keep her lips from trembling. Yet she managed to hold his gaze while a pinkish sheen crept up her face. Even the tops of her ears turned red and hot.

  Already done with lunch, he took out a pack of Camels and offered her a cigarette. She declined, saying she didn’t smoke. He put it into his mouth and struck a match, shielding the flame in his cupped palm. After taking a deep drag, he let out a puff of smoke. He seemed at ease and spoke to her as casually as if they’d known each other. They went on to converse a little, about the DC area, new to both of them, and then about Japan, where Nellie’s older brother, Jimmy, had fallen in the Battle of Savo Island thirteen years before.

  “Was he in the army or the marines?” Gary asked.

  “On the Astoria, a cruiser,” she said. “The U.S. Navy had lots of casualties in that fight, thousands.”

  “I’m sorry about your loss. Was he your only brother?”

  “Yes, my parents took it very hard.”

  “I can imagine.”

  That started their acquaintance. Sometimes he seemed deliberately to come late for lunch so that he could chat with her after the busy hours. She got more and more interested in him despite his accent and Asian face, which was smooth but energetic. He spoke English with impeccable grammar, but everyone could tell he was a nonnative speaker, lacking ease and spontaneity. Some words seemed too wayward for his tongue to manage, and at times he missed the interdental sounds, mixing “th” with “s.” Yet he was a professional translator, something of a learned man, working for the government. This made Nellie eager to know him better and to find out how old he was. He looked youthful, probably in his mid-twenties. No, he might be older, because his bearing, polite and composed, indicated that he must have lived quite a bit. He seemed to have a steadfast character, which Nellie appreciated. In truth, at twenty-six, she didn’t have many prospects, and still had no real job. She looked neither plain nor pretty, with a broad forehead, fair skin, and gray eyes, which were a little wide-set, giving her a preoccupied look. Her bones were thick, though she was thin, as if undernourished. Her mother often said to her on the phone, “Find yourself a man soon or you might end up an old lady.” Nellie had gone to a two-year community college in Miami, and though her major was economics, it hadn’t helped improve her livelihood one iota. Her father would tell her, “You’d better find a guy who’s qualified for a mortgage and can make an honest woman out of you.”

  Gary, isolated and lonely, was predisposed to friendly conversations, which brought the two of them closer and closer. Soon they began to go out. One night she let him kiss her outside a movie theater after they’d watched Singin’ in the Rain, but before saying good night, she warned him that she’d give him hell if he jilted her. He hung back, his lips parted. That thought had never occurred to him. He’d been dating her in earnest, as if looking for a wife, though he felt he might be able to handle it if she said no. He was used to losses and thought he could manage a new one with some equilibrium. He assumed that an American woman was entitled to drop a foreigner like him on a whim. Not in a position to choose, he always viewed himself as a married man and couldn’t date a woman without qualms.

  He perceived Nellie as a windfall. She was a good bargain indeed. She wasn’t a looker but had blond hair and glossy eyes. In a way, her ordinary looks could be an advantage, making her less likely to flirt and less distracting to him. Her slightly freckled face, strong arms, and solid bone structure all suggested a reliable character that could become a backbone in a household. Over and above these qualities, she was not demanding—in this respect she was totally different from George Thomas’s bride, Alicia, for whom the man frequently had to buy flowers and gifts. Yet Gary wouldn’t say he loved Nellie; his heart was numb and unable to open to another soul. He was pleased that he didn’t even have to go out with her on weekends. More often they just spent time together, sharing a meal cooked by themselves at his or her place, or taking a long walk on the waterfront or in the parks, where bullfrogs squawked like crazy after rain. He liked the pasta and lasagna she made, while she loved the chicken and fish he cooked. “The best Chinese food in town,” she often enthused. Once in a while they’d go to the movies. He was fond of Westerns, having seen all the John Wayne movies despite knowing the actor was a die-hard anti-Communist. In secret he was also enamored of Audrey Hepburn but was content to watch her on the screen—he wouldn’t talk about her in front of others, afraid that his praises of her fearsome beauty might make him sound silly and unbalanced.

  By September 1955, three months into their relationship, Gary began to introduce Nellie to his colleagues as his girlfriend, but she wasn’t happy about the slow progress. It had taken her some trouble to persuade her parents to consider a Chinese man for a prospective son-in-law. They didn’t like Gary that much; not only was he too starchy but he also had an unclear background. Worse yet, he didn’t belong to a church. He’d told Nellie that he had no family in China anymore and had only a cousin in Hong Kong. Now that her parents had finally given the green light, why was Gary so hesitant about popping the question? It was so tiresome having to come up with plans for every weekend and holiday. Nellie believed that together they could make an outstanding couple. She’d be a good wife and they would raise husky sons. Time and again she hinted they should get engaged, the sooner the better, but Gary didn’t want to rush.

  “Give me some time, please,” he said one day on their drive back from shopping. He was steering with one hand.

  “Tell me, what part of me d’you still have doubts about?” She stared at him from the passenger side.

  He didn’t turn to her but felt her eyes boring into his cheek. He said, “Not because of that, I’ve told you so many times.”


  “Then because of what? What’s there to worry about? You’ve no parents to ask for permission and no siblings to consult. I can’t see why you’re so wishy-washy. Tell me the truth, am I not good enough for you?”

  “Please don’t get fired up like this.”

  “You can’t dump a girl after sleeping with her, you know. It’s not like in China or Japan.”

  “I am serious about us. Just give me a couple of weeks.”

  She sighed. “Guess I’ve gotta bite the bullet.”

  “If that’s too hard on your teeth, you don’t have to do it.”

  “Gimme a break!” She swatted his shoulder, and they both laughed.

  A few months back he had applied for a green card so that he wouldn’t have to get his visa renewed every year, which he’d heard could be a hassle. Also, the U.S. permanent residency would make it easier for him to travel abroad. His plan was to get naturalized as soon as possible so he’d be able to access more-classified documents at his agency. By doing this, he also meant to take a part of his life into his own hands, to have some legal protection here. There was no telling what might happen between the United States and China, and the two countries were likely to have another military confrontation, probably somewhere in East Asia. If that happened, his higher-ups might not call him back in the near future.

  He had constantly agonized about that possibility, which seemed unavoidable in light of some recent events. In January 1955, the People’s Liberation Army had launched a massive attack on the Yijiangshan Islands, off the Zhejiang coast. It was a coordinated operation of the air force, the navy, and the infantry—the first in the PLA’s history. The overwhelming forces crushed the Nationalist defenders and wiped out the whole regiment deployed on the islands, whose commander, Colonel Shengming Wang, fought with his men doggedly and in the end blew himself up with his last grenade. Tactically Gary believed the Communists had scored a complete victory, but politically it was a disaster. Within ten days of the battle, the U.S. Congress passed the Formosa Resolution and granted Dwight Eisenhower the power to protect Taiwan and its adjacent islands against invasion from the People’s Republic of China. The legislation made the liberation of Taiwan much more difficult, if not impossible. From now on, the PLA would have to fight the U.S. forces if it attempted to cross Taiwan Strait. That would be unimaginable, given that the Chinese air force and navy were both in their infancy. Eisenhower even declared that he might authorize the use of nuclear weapons if necessary. In response, China’s premier, Zhou Enlai, claimed that the Chinese people were not afraid of atomic bombs and would continue to confront the American imperialists. Gary saw the attack on the Yijiangshan Islands as a political mistake that had widened the gulf between Taiwan and the mainland. While the hostility between China and the United States was escalating, he felt plunged into deeper isolation. In his heart he couldn’t stop blaming the Chinese Communist leaders and generals, some of whom he believed were too shortsighted. “What a bunch of idiots!” he’d say to himself.

  Since the early summer of 1955, he had noticed a spate of documents from Taipei that touched upon the role of General Sun Lijen, who had been the commander of the Nationalist land force in Taiwan. Gary was fascinated by this man partly because Sun and he were fellow alumni, both having attended Tsinghua University, though the general had been many years ahead of Gary. At college Sun had played basketball and even joined China’s national team briefly. Then he went to Purdue on a scholarship, majoring in civil engineering. After earning his BS, he worked in a New York architecture firm for a short while. Later he enrolled at Virginia Military Institute (class of 1927) and studied military science for two years. He then returned to China and served in the Nationalist army, in which he rose rapidly through the ranks.

  He fought numerous victorious battles against the Japanese and the Communists. Among Chiang Kai-shek’s generals, Sun was the most capable, feared by the Red Army and dubbed the Eastern Rommel by Joseph Stilwell, the U.S. commander of the China-Burma-India Theater during the Second World War. But Sun was isolated in the Nationalist army, whose generals were mostly graduates of the Huangpu Military Academy, which Chiang Kai-shek had once headed. Owing to Sun’s American background, Chiang had never trusted him and, in the summer of 1954, removed him from the command of the army and appointed him a staff general in the president’s cabinet without any commanding power.

  Through translating some reports and conversations, Gary suspected that Chiang Kai-shek might have begun purging Sun Lijen, who was suspected of attempting a coup to seize presidential power and to set himself up as a U.S. puppet. Groundless though the accusation might be, Sun was fired in August 1955 and soon placed under house arrest. Gary could see that the CIA might actually have engineered the alleged conspiracy, though he wasn’t sure how deeply Sun had been implicated. His instinct told him that Sun’s career might be over. If so, Chiang’s army would be weakened considerably, if not in disarray. He checked out the documents concerning General Sun’s situation, telling the clerk in charge of classified materials that he had to translate parts of them at home. That was common among the translators when they had to work late into the night. Gary took photos of many pages about Sun’s case, believing these were significant intelligence.

  In mid-October he took a two-week leave and went to Hong Kong. He met Bingwen and handed him the films. His handler was thrilled, since the mainland was still dead set on liberating Taiwan, and the loss of Chiang’s top general might open a window of opportunity. Gary also reported on his relationship with Nellie and asked for instructions from their superiors.

  Two days later he and Bingwen met again at a teahouse. His handler told him, “As for this woman, do whatever is necessary. You must live in America as long as you can.”

  “You mean I should marry her?” Gary asked.

  “Yes, that will make your life easier. We all understand the situation. Besides, that’ll make you appear more normal among the Americans.”

  “How about my wife and parents back in Shandong?” Gary muttered, his heart gripped by a numbing pang, even though in recent months he had managed to suppress most of his memories of Yufeng.

  “Our country will take care of them. You can set your mind at rest.”

  So Gary spent ninety-four dollars for an engagement ring with a tiny pear-shaped sapphire. He flew back to the States three days later. He had no idea that he already had two children. His superiors must have instructed Bingwen to withhold the information so that Gary could settle down more quickly in America.

  My sister, Manrong, insisted that I stay with her family, so I checked out of the inn late in the afternoon and left with my niece Juya for her mother’s house. Juya, a strapping woman with an ample chest and wearing a purple kerchief on her head, was carrying my stuffed suitcase with as much ease as if it were empty. On the way, whenever we ran into acquaintances of hers, she’d tell them I was her aunt, and I just nodded at them without speaking.

  Manrong’s husband, Fanbin Liang, greeted me warmly and shook hands with me. His palm felt thick and meaty. He had been a low-level official in the county administration and had just retired. In China the retirement age for men is sixty and for women fifty-five. I often half-joked with my colleagues in Beijing that I wished I were a Chinese woman so I could retire at fifty-five, which meant I’d have only one year left. By and large, China was still a good place for older people—in some areas life could be slow and easy. At age sixty-one, Fanbin didn’t look that old, though his eyes were pouched and his mustache and temples grizzled. He kept saying to me, “What a happy day this is for our family.” Indeed they were all in festive spirits. Manrong had called over her son-in-law and granddaughter, a small girl who was a bit rambunctious, wearing a tiny pigtail on either side of her head. The six-year-old gaped at me and brought out, “You don’t look like American.”

  “Shush, Little Swallow!” Manrong scolded the girl, then turned to me. “She hasn’t started school yet but is already a big mouth.”

>   “I just told her what I think, Nana,” Little Swallow cried back.

  That made the grown-ups all laugh. I touched the girl’s apple face and patted her hair. In response she placed both palms on the back of my hand. This indeed felt like a family reunion, as if every one of them had known me for ages. I was moved—rarely had I been among so many relatives. My mother had an older sister who had a son my age, but I’d met him only twice in my whole life.

  Manrong’s home was clean and spacious, the floors made of fine bricks sealed with cement. A large flat-screen TV stood against the back wall in the sitting room, a stainless-steel floor lamp inclined its gooseneck from a corner, and framed family photos were propped up on a long oak chest against another wall. “This is my mother,” Manrong told me, pointing at a black-and-white picture. I leaned over to see Yufeng in her mid-forties: a smooth egg-shaped face, narrow cheekbones, a straight nose, bright but pensive eyes, a mole above the left corner of her mouth, and graying bangs covering a part of her forehead. She looked healthy and somewhat citified, like a nurse or schoolteacher. She must have been very capable both inside and outside the household. Next to this photo stood another one, a wedding portrait, in which she and my father, shoulder touching shoulder, were smiling blissfully. They were a handsome couple, lean-faced and rather elegant, a veil over the bride’s head while the groom’s hair was pomaded shiny and parted on the side. In his breast pocket was stuck a fountain pen. Above their heads, toward the right-hand corner, was a sloping line of characters: FOR WEIMIN AND YUFENG’S HAPPY UNION, JANUARY 16, 1949.

  “Your mother was very pretty,” I said to Manrong.

  “Yes, she was voted the number one beauty back in our home village in Shandong.”