The Eye of Jade

by Diane Wei Liang

  Mei was just about to leave when the phone rang. It was Lu.

  “Mama is worse. They are transferring her to Number 301 Hospital.”

  “What happened? She was doing fine yesterday.”

  “I don’t know. Neither does Little Auntie. They just told her what they were going to do, no explanation. I’m waiting for the duty doctor to call back, if he ever does.”

  “Shouldn’t they have consulted us before doing something like this?” Fury rose inside Mei’s chest. Her voice was strained, and her breathing grew fast.

  “Yes, they should have. But they didn’t, okay? It doesn’t help for us to argue about procedures!”

  “Why are you mad at me?” Mei snapped.

  “Well, I’m mad at everyone. Little Auntie is quite useless when it comes to something like this. And where have you been?”

  “Oh, I can’t believe this. Are you blaming me for not being there?” Mei retorted. “Why weren’t you there? You said you would go to the hospital yesterday, so I didn’t.”

  “I have a lot of responsibilities.”

  Mei felt her body tense up, and her arms began to tremble. She wanted to slam down the telephone.

  But she found it difficult to rebuff Lu; what she had said was true. Nothing had prevented Mei from being at her mother’s side. She didn’t have a career, as such. She had no family, no one to protect or please. Yet she had still failed to do the one duty required of a daughter: to care for her mother. She regretted not going to the hospital the previous night; she wished more than anything else that she had. She relaxed her grip on the telephone, overwhelmed with remorse.

  “You’re right. There’s no point in us fighting. I’ll go to 309—I was just on my way there anyway,” said Mei.

  “I will go to 301.”

  They hung up. Mei shut the door, locking all three locks, and then flew down the stairs. A little boy was sitting on the steps, drawing circles with a piece of chalk. Mei almost knocked him over.

  She got into her car. When she tried to turn the key in the ignition, her hands were shaking. On the road, people passed by on bicycles laden with shopping. Kids were playing, and neighbors chatted in the sunshine. She turned the key again. The engine roared. Seconds later, with rubber burning and dirt flying, she drove off.

  At Number 309 Hospital, Mei paid ten yuan for a visiting ticket from the sleepy soldier at the ticket booth. She waved it at the guard and walked inside. She ran up the stairs and into the long dark corridor. The nurses’ office was open but empty.

  Standing in the middle of the dark hallway, Mei noticed the silence. All the doors were shut. There was no one about. No hot-water trolleys, no relatives sleeping on the floor. It was as if an evacuation had taken place, or she was standing in an abandoned building listening to the lapse of time.

  Her heart tightened—not for herself but for her mother. The whitewashed walls seemed to be staring at her; in her mind, she began to draw crazy patterns on them.

  She turned abruptly, walking briskly down the hall, going right and crossing the skyway to the doctor’s office. Voices came out of the room: A woman was laughing, and some men were talking. Mei pushed the door open and saw the table with a few items on it—a mug, a rumpled newspaper, a pile of roasted sunflower seeds, a smaller pile of empty shells, a pair of shoeless feet with a toe poking out of a black sock.

  The TV was on, and the doctor, mouth open, nostrils widening and contracting, was dozing. His glasses had slipped to the side. Mei knocked on the door, and he opened his eyes. It was the same young doctor with whom Mei had spoken on the first day.

  He pulled his feet from the table and sat up, adjusting his glasses. “Yes?” he asked. He wiped a corner of his mouth with the sleeve of his white coat.

  “When was my mother transferred?” Mei asked, looking down at him.

  The doctor shifted his glasses. He seemed to have lost his bearings. “You are…Ling Bai’s daughter?”

  “Yes, one of them.”

  He pulled himself farther upright in his chair, straightening his back, and looked at his watch. “Half an hour or maybe forty-five minutes ago.”

  “Why? Who made the decision to move her? How bad was she? Why wasn’t the family contacted?”

  “Hey, hey, slow down, okay?” The doctor stood up, holding his palms out like a barrier to block Mei’s stream of interrogation. “Did we question anything? No. We did what we were told. I can’t believe you are shouting at me!” He tapped his hands on his chest.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s be frank. I was the one who had to write up your mother’s medical report and send it up every day. You’ve got friends in high places, fine. We have no argument with you. After all, we’ve seen it before. If you’ve got connections, by all means, use them. I would.”

  Mei stepped back. “What are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t you arrange for her to go to Number 301 Hospital? It wasn’t our decision to move your mother.”

  Mei shook her head. “No. We didn’t know anything about it.”

  “That’s strange.” The doctor retreated, reaching for his tea mug. He had a sip, frowned, and put it down. It must have gone cold long before. “This morning an order came directly from the hospital leadership to move your mother. We figured you must have some important connections.”

  “No. It certainly wasn’t us. Are you saying that my mother’s health has not gotten worse?”

  “She hasn’t improved, either.”

  Now both Mei and the doctor were embarrassed. She smiled awkwardly. He fidgeted with his glasses.

  “I’m sorry to have bothered you,” said Mei, hands on her handbag.

  “No, not at all.”

  They said goodbye politely and turned in opposite directions, puzzled.

  TWENTY SIX

  THERE HAD BEEN AN ACCIDENT on the ring road, a small one, with hardly any damage to either of the cars. But that had not prevented traffic from backing up for miles. When Mei passed the scene, three men and two women, the owners of the cars in the crash, were standing by the roadside, pointing and shouting. Other drivers rolled down their windows as they passed by and joined the argument.

  When Mei finally arrived at Number 301 Hospital, she found her sister and Little Auntie outside the intensive care unit. Little Auntie looked exhausted. The skin of her face had shrunk, making her eyes protrude. She had undoubtedly eaten badly and slept little in the past two days. The pain of watching her sister dying was clearly tearing her heart.

  “Nothing for us to do here. She is isolated, no visitors allowed,” Lu told Mei. “Have you had breakfast yet? I’m starving.”

  Mei thought of the two cups of coffee she had had that morning. “No,” she said.

  “Why don’t we go and have a quick bite in the hospital cafeteria, and then if they don’t need us anymore, we can go home.”

  “You two go. I’ve had my breakfast,” Little Auntie said solemnly. “I’d rather stick around, just in case.”

  “I suppose it’s not a bad idea for one of us to stay here.” Lu looked first at Mei and then at Little Auntie. “Are you sure you don’t want us to bring you something from the cafeteria? Steamed buns, or tea, perhaps?”

  “I’m okay,” Little Auntie said.

  The hospital cafeteria was on the ground floor of the main building, overlooking a small shrub garden. In the garden, a few patients accompanied by family were walking slowly, taking in the sunshine. Behind them was the building that housed intensive care.

  The cafeteria had just started to serve lunch. Big pots of meat fried in lard and stacks of hot steamed buns were being delivered. A line had formed while the kitchen staff busied themselves with pots, steamers, and cash boxes. A group of nurses in little white hats came in, holding aluminum bowls and chopsticks. They chatted cheerfully as they stood in line.

  Lu laid claim to an empty section of a long table while Mei stood in the line for food. A few white-coated doctors and visitors near them were finishin
g up breakfast or a snack. Some of them looked at Lu curiously, probably thinking she looked familiar and wondering where they had seen her before.

  Lu wore no makeup, but her lips were tinted. The natural glow of her skin shone through like sunlight on a clear morning. A beam of sunlight, visible in dancing dust particles, crossed the air behind her.

  Mei bought two set-meals, served in the same white plastic containers used for the patients’ food trolleys. She carried the box-meals to the table. “Which one do you want, double-cooked pork with steamed rice or shredded beef with noodles?” She had also bought two cans of coconut juice.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m so hungry I’d eat anything. Maybe the noodles.” Lu searched through chopsticks of different lengths and shades in a metal mug on the table. “These seem to match.” She handed a pair to Mei.

  The sisters ate until they were satisfied. Then they relaxed and drank their juice.

  “What did the doctor say?” asked Mei.

  “Not much. He wanted to do more tests. He’s not optimistic but will try his best. He said intensive care is the best place for Mama. They have a designated team of nurses, modern equipment, and a doctor on duty around the clock. Should Mama need emergency resuscitation, they can do it without moving her. He said intensive care is especially good for weekends, when the rest of the hospital has a minimum level of staffing.”

  “Did he mention anything about money?” Mei asked, remembering her encounter with the young doctor at Number 309 three days ago.

  “No. Little Auntie signed some paperwork, and then I signed a couple of forms, the usual stuff, like we did at Number 309.”

  “Don’t you think there’s something strange about this? First Number 309 Hospital wanted us to pay for her medical expenses. Now she has been transferred to the best military hospital in China, and no one has asked us to pay for anything.”

  The juice was cool and soothing to the last drop. The cafeteria buzzed with noises of all kinds: serious voices, the sounds of eating, the loudspeaker in the corner calling for doctors and nurses.

  Lu shrugged. “Of course I think it’s strange. Mama does illustrations for magazines and books. She is hardly famous or rich.”

  “Maybe she knows people of high rank. You know, people who have power.”

  Lu didn’t answer, choosing to follow her own thoughts. “Most of Mama’s friends are useless artists. They have no connections or money. All they can offer is one of their paintings. Though maybe some will be worth something one day.

  “Remember when I graduated from college, I was assigned to Beijing Mental Hospital? Mama tried to help, but she had no strings to pull. Eventually, I got myself out. I took every opportunity, tried every angle, begged, and paid my dues. I had to spend a whole year in that depressing place. No, our mama does not have the kind of connections that can do all this for her.”

  Mei leaned forward and put her arms on the table. “I wonder if it has something to do with Song Kaishan. I think there’s something very peculiar about him. He appears from nowhere, and the next thing we know, Mama is being given the best of care: Her rank is no longer a problem, her medical bills are paid for. But why?”

  “You’re the detective. You work it out.”

  The sisters were silent, lost for ideas.

  “What should we do with Little Auntie?” Mei asked at last.

  “I’ll take her home for tonight, and then we’ll see,” said Lu.

  As she spoke, she turned her head and tossed her long honey-brown hair over her shoulder. A gleam of shine flickered in the sunlight behind her. “Little Auntie!” Mei exclaimed. An idea had crystalized inside her mind.

  Lu was startled. She frowned and gestured for Mei to keep her voice down.

  Mei stretched out her hands as if to hand Lu something invisible. “Little Auntie is Mama’s only sister, and they have always been close. Don’t you see? She may know. Oh, I can’t believe that I missed it. The key to the mystery has been in front of us all along.”

  It took Lu a while to understand what Mei meant. She nodded finally. “Come over this evening. We’ll have dinner together and make her talk.”

  “What about Lining?”

  “Don’t worry about him. He’s leaving on a business trip this afternoon.”

  “He’s traveling on a Saturday?”

  “Flying to America. Oh, look at the time! I want to see him before he goes to the airport.”

  Back at intensive care, they found Little Auntie dozing in a chair outside the entrance. Someone had just mopped the floor. The room was cool.

  Little Auntie’s eyes moved wildly as she woke up. “I thought you were the doctors.”

  “Little Auntie, what do you think about this? You come with me to my apartment. I’ll send my assistant to fetch your luggage from the hotel. Mei will come for dinner, and we can talk about what to do from here. This way, you can also have a rest and call Shanghai.”

  “It’s for the best,” said Mei.

  Little Auntie agreed. She picked up the leather bag that was sitting by her chair.

  “Let me take that for you,” offered Mei.

  “No need. It’s not heavy,” Little Auntie said.

  The three Wang women walked away. They had been cut off from their mother and sister. The thought of Ling Bai lying alone inside an unknown room made their steps heavy.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  BACK ON RENAISSANCE BOULEVARD and on the ring road, Mei had the feeling that her life was being tangled up in a web too big to comprehend. She thought about Yaping, his chauffeured car and the luxurious Great Wall Hotel. She thought about the big-bellied Wonton Queen; she liked the name Coming of Spring. She thought about the childlike face of Lili, her strange giggle. Again she pictured the white eyes of Zhang Hong, his pink scar and bluish face.

  Spring had definitely arrived. Mei could have sworn that on the banks of the City Moat, a tender green hue had appeared on willows that had been bare the day before.

  But there was no color where her mother was lying, in a bleached white box with white coats and little nurse hats. Only an arm’s length away, separated from her by a brick wall and a thin glass window but divided by a lifetime, the sweet smell of spring was bouncing on sunbeams like transparent butterflies.

  Mei turned off the ring road. As she came down the overpass, the swirling city engulfed her like a tidal wave, dispersing her sorrows with its chaotic energy.

  She stopped by the side of her apartment building and cut the engine. The apartment complex was quiet at siesta time. Mei got out, inhaling a lungful of spring dust. Her throat was dry. She needed a drink.

  She went up the dark stairs and opened the door of her apartment. The window was still ajar. Noise poured in from the ring road. She found a can of Coke in the fridge. She popped it open and started to drink it down. At the same time, she heard a knock on the door.

  It was Yaping. He was dressed in a white shirt and a pair of chinos. A mass of red roses bloomed in his hands. He looked cool and polished, every bit as attractive as he had the previous night.

  “I was on my way to the airport and thought I should drop in and try my luck,” he said.

  “But this is not on the way to the airport.”

  “In that case, we’d better hurry. Let me take you somewhere we can talk.”

  Mei hesitated.

  “Please,” Yaping implored. “I’ve come all this way, and these roses cost me a fortune.”

  That made her laugh. “All right.” She took the roses. “Let me put them in water first.” She went to look for a vase.

  Yaping leaned against the doorframe. “How is your mother?” he asked, crossing his arms.

  “She’s been transferred to intensive care at Number 301 Hospital. It’s the best care she could have. We hope this means she’ll make a recovery.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Please give her my best the next time you see her.”

  Mei nodded, though she was not quite sure how her mother, who had never liked Yapin
g, would respond to such a greeting.

  Outside the Workers’ Stadium, vendors were setting up their booths. Crates of bottled water, cola, and fizzy fruit drinks were being unloaded. A fast-talking woman was giving orders about laying out plum candies, dried fruits, roasted peanuts, and sunflower seeds. The stadium was yet to open.

  Yaping asked Mei to wait for him by the gate and disappeared into the ticket office. A few minutes later, he came out with a man in a suit. They were laughing. The man unlocked a side door.

  “Just for twenty minutes,” Yaping said. He was very polite, but he had an air of authority.

  The man nodded. “No problem, sir, take as long as you need.” He was a young man with an old man’s posture.

  “How did you get him to open the door for you?” Mei asked Yaping once they were inside.

  “With a thick stack of money,” replied Yaping.

  The stadium was flooded in bright sunlight and miles of emptiness.

  Yaping smiled. “Do you remember the soccer game we watched here? It was the World Cup group qualifier, China versus South Korea. I remember it like yesterday. You screamed and cheered just like everyone else. I don’t think I had ever seen you like that before.”

  Mei shook her head. “I don’t remember,” she lied.

  But she did remember. The stadium had been packed and loud. There had been handkerchiefs waving everywhere. There had been drums. That was the first and only time she had been here.

  They started to walk along the barrier. A long way down, a few indistinct figures were preparing the grass for the afternoon game. The white lines were brilliant under the sun, so sharp they hurt the eyes.

  “It was a very hot day. Then the rain came. I went to America.” Yaping leaned over the bar and there was a warm space between them.

  “And you stopped writing,” said Mei, staring at Yaping’s profile. His mouth looked soft in the light. A strand of hair had fallen over his forehead. There was a lost expression in his eyes.

  They sat down on one of the benches.