The Thought Cathedral

by Nathan Williams

  Lee tugged at Xiang’s coat sleeve. “It’s okay, just let it go.”

  Xiang gestured the young woman on with his hand. “Move along,” he said tersely.

  Lee watched as the young woman continued well into the interior of the car, looking back toward Xiang with a suspicious eye. They made the remainder of the ride into Manhattan in silence, watching the cityscape slip by.

  Lee and Xiang exited the M line at the station on the intersection of 6th Avenue and West 4th Street. She walked alongside Xiang northbound along 6th Avenue for five or six blocks until they reached a mid-size apartment building constructed of dark brown and gray brick. Xiang led her through the front entrance, into a small elevator. The doors of the elevator were made of dark wood with scuffle marks from age. Above the elevator was a circular clock, its hour hand overlapping the italic number twelve and the minute hand resting halfway between the five and six. Almost twelve thirty in the afternoon, Lee thought.

  After finishing its ascent, a gentle buzzer sounded and the doors opened. Xiang led her down a hallway to room 314, unlocked the door, and they both entered.

  Xiang led her through a small foyer into a living room where there appeared on the foyer wall a photograph of a striking, tall bald woman standing under a gingko tree somewhere in Asia. Strange markings were etched on her face: a strange curly-cue shape, like an inverted question mark, between her eyes, another small circle above the question mark, and thick, dark outlines around her eyes as though the woman had applied far too much eyeliner. Two amethyst pearl earrings dangled from her earlobes.

  As the searing image washed through her thoughts, a whole different one coerced its way into her head. It was an image of a young Asian man staring intensely at her. He had facial markings strikingly similar to the woman in the painting, except he wore only a single earring on his left ear. He was not gazing at her passively but, rather, he was looking for her. Hunting her. Small, ghostly plumes of frozen breath materialized out of his mouth. She stared back at him. Frozen. She felt her heart thumping in her chest as adrenaline coursed through her veins. In her mind, she held his gaze for a few moments before she felt something tapping at her arm. Startled at the unexpected touch, she subtly leapt into a defensive maneuver. Reflexively, she took a half-step back, grasped the arm, and twisted it away from her.

  “Whoa! Easy does it.” Lee realized suddenly that it had been Xiang’s arm she’d grasped. “Are you okay?” he asked, a concerned look on his face.

  Lee exhaled. Her face burned. “I’m sorry, Xiang. I guess I overreacted.”

  Xiang smiled softly. “It’s okay. Do you want to come in?”

  “Sure. Of course.”

  Lee glanced quickly at the bottom of the painting, where the title was displayed on a small label at the bottom: Buddha’s Eyes. Lee followed Xiang out of the foyer and entered into a living room.

  Xiang tossed his gym bag on the floor next to a brown reclining chair.

  “Make yourself at home. Would you like anything to drink? Water? Coffee?”

  “I’ll take a water.”

  “Sounds good. I think I’ll have the same. I’m still a little dehydrated after our match. I’ll be right back with the water.”

  Once Xiang had disappeared into the kitchen, she was able to focus on the apartment itself. It was meticulously clean and contained only two pieces of furniture—an ornate wooden chair with a red lacquer finish and a thin cushion, and a sofa. Both the cushion on the chair and the sofa were beige with Chinese designs. A small television had been placed on a partition on a bookshelf in between stacks of books. Resting atop a wicker stand were three Chinese evergreen plants, their large green-and-white leaves spilling over their red-and-gold pots.

  There were also a number of photographs and paintings on the walls. One of the paintings was a portrait of Deng Xiaoping, who had been China’s “paramount leader” in the 1980s and 90s. There was a second portrait of a man in a suit and tie who Lee was unfamiliar with. She was ultimately drawn, however, to a small black-and-white photo situated on the wall behind the sofa. It took her a few moments before she was able to traverse the distance across the room and around the sofa and she was able to see all of the detail. It was an old photo of two young boys standing in a sampan boat.

  Xiang’s shadow crept up the wall, and she heard the creaking of footsteps behind her. She turned to see him holding a glass of water in each hand.

  “Is this you and your friend on the little boat in Dianshan Lake?” Lee asked, taking the water from Xiang.

  “Yes, that’s right. I forgot that I’d mentioned that.”

  Lee squinted her eyes so she could make out more of the detail. Young Xiang was dressed in a gray T-shirt, a pair of khaki pants, and a pair of black sandals. His taciturn friend, who was slightly taller, had on a pair of black shorts and a white tank top, his left hand wedged into the front pocket of his shorts. “How old were you in this photo?”

  “We were both twelve at the time.”

  “Where’s your friend now?”

  “Last I heard, he was still in Shanghai working on a fishing vessel for a living. But that was many years ago.”

  “Appropriate that he’s a sailor.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “From everything you’ve told me, I had the impression you’re both water lovers.”

  “Yes, well, more true for Jiaboa than myself, to be honest with you.”

  Lee reversed her path back to the photo of Deng Xiaoping. “So this is Deng. Did you or your father ever meet him?”

  “I never did, no. But my father met him very briefly in Beijing sometime in the mid-1970s while Deng was First Vice Premier. I’m not exactly sure what the circumstances were that led to the meeting.”

  “I don’t understand what’s meant by ‘paramount leader’?”

  Xiang’s eyelids closed half-way as he thought for a moment how to explain. “The paramount leader in China is the supreme leader. It’s a designation that is made informally by both the C.C.P. and the Chinese people, however the paramount leader wields enormous power behind the scenes of the C.C.P. government. The paramount leader is higher than the C.C.P. or the State. It is a very special designation to China. There have only been six of them in the history of the C.C.P.”

  “What’s Deng’s story? How did he end up as the most supreme leader in China?”

  “To know Deng’s story is to virtually know the story of modern China. That’s how integral he was within the context of the story of the development of the Communist Party. Deng was born in Guang’an in Sichuan Province. Sichuan is one of China’s twenty-two provinces and is located in southwest China. He lived in Paifang Village of Xiexing Township, which was located about 100 kilometers north of Chongqing, itself a major metropolis. China, at the time of Deng’s childhood, was still very much a traditional society where national politics was not relevant and people were more concerned about the farming cycle and the weather. Of course, things changed dramatically during the course of Deng’s life, and he played a central role in China’s transformation.”

  “Go on,” Lee said. “What else do you know about Deng?”

  Xiang sipped on his water before continuing. “Deng first went to school at a traditional classics-oriented private school. It was a typical school under the old imperial system for sons of landowners. His father was a relatively prosperous farmer and landlord who rented his land and who worked for most of his later life as a minor official in local government. This schooling was the traditional path to imperial service at the time; however, when the imperial system collapsed after a revolution that overthrew the Qing dynasty in 1911, there was little reason to continue his schooling there. He later completed schooling in Chongqing, and it was at this point that his life started to get interesting. At about sixteen years of age, his schooling in Chongqing led him to participate in a work-study program in France and then, later, Russia.”

  “Work-study in France? Was this the same Mouvement Travail-Études
my great-grandfather participated in?”

  “The very same, yes. And remember Mao Zedong and Zhou Enlai and many other of the C.C.P.’s future leadership were there as well, though not necessarily in the same city at the same time. Life was not easy for Deng and his comrades while they were in Paris. In the early 1920s, France was in an economic crisis and work was hard to find. Most of Deng’s colleagues tended to migrate to Paris, where there were large factories hiring foreign workers. Here, they lived in close proximity, and many became involved in the budding communist movement, almost as much for social as political reasons. It was at this time and place that Zhou Enlai co-founded the Socialist Youth League of China, a forerunner to the C.C.P. in France. Deng became engaged in the work of the European branch of the Socialist Youth League, beginning in 1922. When Zhou Enlai left to go back to China in 1924, Deng took over the responsibilities of the C.C.P. newsletter Red Light. In 1925, Deng’s political activities had elevated him to one of the more senior members of the C.C.P. in France, and also placed him under scrutiny with the Parisian police.”

  “I’m surprised that so much of the foundational activity of China’s C.C.P. originated while they were in Paris, France,” Lee said. “It’s also interesting to me that many of the founders of the C.C.P. were, in their day, considered politically active intellectuals for their time. Would you agree?”

  “Yes, I’d agree. But why is that surprising to you?”

  “It’s surprising because of how wary the C.C.P. leadership has always been of politically active intellectuals that question the core of their belief system.”

  Xiang smiled. “Because they, of all people, know how dangerous those kinds of people can be politically. Speaking of intellectual activity,” Xiang continued, “I wanted to also mention that, after spending a few months in Paris, Deng spent seven months in Montargis, France. In the early 1920s, Montargis was a gathering place to many Chinese worker-students from provinces across China who were politically radical. These students had established a branch of the New People’s Study Society, which later became the nucleus for the Socialist Youth League. The New People’s Study Society was founded by Cai Hesen and Mao Zedong himself in 1918 and, in 1919, was active in recruiting students to go to France.”

  Lee remained silent, so Xiang continued.

  “Anyway, in January of 1926, Deng left France for Moscow, Russia.”

  “Why would anyone leave Paris, France for Moscow, Russia?” Lee asked.

  Xiang shrugged his shoulders. “Why not?”

  “Because Paris is the City of Romance. The City of Light. Whereas Moscow is just…cold.”

  “I thought you liked the cold weather?”

  “I do, I guess. But I think I’m weird that way.”

  Xiang shrugged his shoulders again. “This romanticism attached to Paris isn’t as strong in China as it is in the West. In fact, Moscow is where much of the political action was. And, as such, it would’ve been an interesting place for someone like Deng to go.”

  “What political action are you referring to?”

  “Well—” Xiang was going to continue, but his thoughts seemed to be interrupted by something else on his mind. “Would you like another glass of water?”

  “No, that’s okay. We’re going to eat soon anyway.” Lee handed her glass to Xiang.

  “I’m going to grab a little more water for myself. I’ll be right back. Please take a seat if you wish.”

  Lee acknowledged him with a nod of her head and observed Xiang as he disappeared into his kitchen. Lee reached into her pocket, where she felt the bulge of the microphone. She pulled it out of her pocket and studied the device as it rested in her left palm. She turned to glance at the Chinese evergreen plants resting on the wicker stand in the corner. She could hear the rattling of glass cups clinking together coming from Xiang, evidently still in the kitchen. So she dashed over to the plants and slipped the little rock-like device into the soil of the one that had been slid furthest into the corner. When Xiang re-entered, she was sitting once again on the brown sofa.

  “So, I think I was talking about Russia.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Deng went to Moscow in January of 1926. This time period happened to be a time of maximum cooperation between the C.C.P., the Chinese Nationalist Party, and the C.P.S.U.”

  “Let me interrupt you,” Lee said.

  “Of course. What’s your question?”

  “So, I know what the C.C.P. is, but what about the Nationalist Party and the C.P.S.U.?”

  “The Nationalist Party was a political party formed in China prior to the C.C.P., sometime around 1911. They were similar to the Communist Party in that they longed for national statehood, however, they didn’t promote socialism, at least not to the extreme that the C.C.P. did. Rather, they believed more closely in democracy as it is interpreted in Western societies such as the United States. In fact Sun Yat-sen, the founder of the Nationalist Party, had visited the U.S. and his philosophies were said to have been influenced heavily by his experiences here. His idea of government incorporated such ideas as government by the people and for the people, civil rights, and checks and balances.”

  “I see. What about the C.P.S.U.?”

  “The C.P.S.U. was an acronym for the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. The C.P.S.U. was formed from the Bolshevik political party that had been in existence prior to the October Revolution in Russia in 1917. Prior to the revolution, the Bolsheviks were one faction of the Russian Social Democratic Labor Party. They held Marxist values and, therefore, believed in the revolutionary upheaval of the upper classes in favor of the working class. Led by Vladimir Lenin, the Bolsheviks orchestrated the October Revolution and overthrew the Russian provisional government, after which all the power was then transferred to the worker’s councils, or “soviets” as they were called. After the overthrow, the Bolsheviks founded the world’s first constitutionally socialist state. However, this form of governing was far from being uniformly popular and it required a bloody civil war to unify all of the Russian territories under one government. After the Bolsheviks finally won the war in 1922, they formed the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.

  “Of course,” Xiang continued, “the October Revolution occurred in 1917, and the civil war didn’t end until 1922 which means, of course, that this time period immediately preceded and overlapped Deng’s time in Europe. Remember that this was a very open time intellectually for Deng as well as his fellow students. It was a time where their whole purpose was to study and experience other types of government to see what might work best in China.”

  “You’re implying that this revolution in Moscow made an impression on them.”

  “Without a doubt. In Russia at this time you have a Marxist political party putting their ideology into practice. And it worked! They did it! Just like that, over the course of a few days, the power shifted. This had a huge effect not only on the young students in Europe, but on the Chinese intellectual community as well.”

  “You believe that the success of the October Revolution in Russia was a major catalyst that moved the Chinese toward socialist thought and, ultimately, to a socialist government?”

  “Absolutely. It was not the only factor, but a major one. You have to also understand that throughout China’s long history over hundreds of years, there have been multiple times where some sort of national unity was achieved, only to have it dissolve for one reason or another. For much of Chinese history, the Chinese people were content not to have any formal national unity. However, that changed once foreign powers began to exert control over China. The Chinese people are a very proud people. The imperialist aggression didn’t sit very well with China at all.

  “Anyway, the original point I wanted to make is that the success of the Bolshevik revolution in 1917, and then the civil war that followed, legitimized Marxism in the eyes of Deng and many of his peers. It would have been quite appealing for them to travel to Moscow and learn from them.”

  “I see,” Lee
said. “What was it like for Deng in Russia?”

  “Well…I think it must’ve been really cold,” Xiang said, a smirk slowly playing across his lips. “In all seriousness, he studied at Sun Yat-sen University in Moscow, a school that had been founded only a few months earlier in 1925, in order to train personnel for a revolution in China. Recall that both the Nationalists and the C.C.P. wanted national unity and, until 1927, C.C.P. members were typically also members of the Nationalist Party. Of course, this changed in later years when China’s civil war erupted between the two.”

  “It seems ironic to me,” Lee volunteered, “that Deng studied at a school bearing the name of a man who founded a socio-political ideology that was so much different than the one Deng ultimately favored.”

  “Yes, I guess it is ironic.”

  In a brief silence, Lee heard Xiang’s stomach rumble.

  “Are you as hungry as I am?” she asked.

  A wry smile crept across Xiang’s face. “I think probably more so.”

  “Well, let’s save the story of the revolution for another day. Let’s get some food.”

  “I won’t complain.”

  They two of them grabbed their winter coats and left the apartment behind.

  Chapter 15

  New York City

  Saturday, January 31, 12:48 a.m.

  Lyn Lee groaned inaudibly as she trudged along the hallway in her apartment complex. She still had thoughts of her date with Xiang earlier in the evening on her mind, but she was too exhausted to focus on them. Though it was a Saturday, her date with Xiang had been a stressor. Prior to the start of the date, she’d been called in to the office to assist with a portion of the portal development that she’d finished months ago. The analyst that had taken over her duties while she was doing her work with the FBI was having difficulty sorting through some of her code, and she’d been asked to go in and provide clarification.