The Red Thread

by Rebekah Pace

  “How interesting. I was never knowing this about the camel.”

  “Do not forget to treasure your opportunities. Be grateful.” She bowed again and headed back inside.

  After she left, I looked up at the camel with skepticism. Everyone who stayed at the Crowne Plaza saw it when they arrived. It couldn’t be a sign of good fortune for everyone—could it? Though I dismissed the story as nonsense, I knew Mira would find it charming.

  Back in the lobby, a male clerk stood at the front desk. “Where’s the other clerk?” I asked him. “The young lady?”

  He shook his head, puzzled. “I’m sorry sir, I’m the only one on duty tonight. You walked past me when you went outside.”

  “That cannot be. I am remembering she is a young lady working alone. And I am speaking to her about the telephone directory and the camel.”

  He nodded as if it was his duty to be agreeable. “Jetlag is very common among travelers. Did you come from the US?”

  “Yes. I am having trouble sleeping.”

  “That is to be expected, sir. It will take you a few days to adjust.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Apparently.” But I suspected that now I was getting closer to finding Mira, I was experiencing more of the magic that had brought us together.

  32

  Back on my floor, I stood at the railing and looked down into the lobby. It had come to life around five o’clock, and members of the cleaning crew, maintenance workers, wait staff, and clerks scurried about like ants on an anthill. Their hurried preparations matched my roiling thoughts. How was I going to find Mira?

  Around six, I stood at my window, watching commuters throng the streets below. Too nervous for a big breakfast, and homesick for my morning routine of coffee and a bagel, I decided to find a café where I could get a cup of coffee and a pastry. When I left the hotel, I headed for a park I’d seen from my window. It was just a few blocks away, close enough that the Crowne Plaza’s distinctive silhouette still dominated the landscape. I was certain I could not get lost.

  The air was already hazy with pollution, and I didn’t blame the many people wearing surgical masks. I wondered how much of the haze was from vehicles and how much from cigarettes. It seemed like everyone in China smoked. Lucille got me a non-smoking room, but the pungent scent of tobacco was everywhere and already it clung to my clothes.

  At the park, I spotted a vendor selling baozi. Mira must have learned to make them here in Shanghai. No one queued in a line, like at home. Instead, they jostled each other and crowded close to the window. When two men pushed to the front, no one called them out. People say New Yorkers can be pushy sometimes, and I’d certainly seen a few like that over the years. I’d also lived where personal space was nonexistent, and Shanghai reminded me of both, combined. But at least we weren’t fighting over the last of the food.

  When it was my turn, I bought an order of buns and a cup of tea and carried them to a nearby bench. Suddenly starving, I ate one of the buns right away. It seemed like a very long time since I’d eaten, and I realized my last meal had been on the airplane.

  Closing my eyes, I took a sip of tea and reminded myself to treasure my opportunity to connect with Mira in the dream, and to be grateful for this adventure in Shanghai. While I was at it, I gave thanks for Jacob, Lucille, and Benny. I hoped Miss Richter wasn’t too mad about my getaway and the damage to her car.

  Someone burped, and when I opened my eyes, my gaze fell on a man sleeping on a bench a short distance away.

  “It’s not unusual for people to nap outside.” A woman was sitting beside me with her own order of baozi and tea.

  I chuckled. “I was thinking that is the best-dressed bum I am ever seeing.”

  She inclined her head in the customary bow and smiled. “I hope I might ask your help, sir.”

  “Yes, yes, if I can.”

  “You are from the United States?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Mei Qiang. My daughter married an American and lives in Boston. They are expecting a baby, and when it is born, I will go stay with them. May I practice speaking with you?”

  “Absolutely.” I offered my hand, and we shook. “I am Peter Ibbetz. Your English is sounding very good to me.”

  “Thank you. Perhaps I should have asked for the opportunity to listen while you talk. The regional accents in America are sometimes difficult to understand. When I first met my son-in-law, I did not know what he meant when he said he had to ‘pahk the cah.’” She giggled at the memory. “Where do you live in America?”

  “New Jersey, by way of Germany. I was emigrating when I was a young man.”

  “What brings you to Shanghai?”

  “To visit a friend. An old friend, from long ago.”

  “How lovely. Does your friend live nearby?”

  “That’s the thing. I am not sure. We are having kind of a . . . communication breakdown, I guess you’d say.”

  “But you can reach this friend by telephone or perhaps by email?”

  “The way we are trying to set up our meeting, the details are being fuzzy.”

  “Fuzzy?”

  “Unclear.” The look when someone thinks you’re crazy is the same in any language. In desperation, I pulled the locket from inside my shirt and showed it to her. “My friend gave me this, a long time ago. She’ll know me when I find her.”

  “A red thread!” Mei Qiang nodded. “Now I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course. If you have the red thread, you must have heard the . . . what you might call folk tale. Fairy story.”

  “Maybe the camel legend I heard about yesterday and the red thread go together somehow. Please, tell me.”

  She laughed. “I do not know if the camel fits into this story, but legend says a red thread connects soulmates, linking them forever so they can always find one another. Yue Lao, the matchmaker god, ties an invisible red cord around the ankles of those destined to be lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. The cord may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.”

  She patted my hand. “You possess a locket on a red thread. Even in modern times, many people here believe the old legends and fairy stories. Remarkable and unexplained things happen all the time, don’t they?”

  “If you only knew.” I took another sip of tea. “But how is that helping me find Mira?”

  “You must trust the magic, but I would not rely on it alone. Have you tried to find her telephone number?”

  “Not yet. I was planning to start there.”

  She took out her phone. “Would you like me to try for you?”

  “Yes, please.”

  We bent our heads over the screen, with me telling her how to spell Mira’s name. The search came up empty.

  “Are you certain she lives here?”

  “Yes.” Though I wasn’t as certain as I’d been before I’d arrived.

  “And you are certain this is the correct name?”

  “It is possible she is using another name.”

  Mei Qiang tapped her chin with her finger. “I must introduce you to my friend. She may be able to help you.”

  “Is she a detective?”

  “No, she works at the Information Office. Please wait just one minute.” She dialed her phone, held a brief conversation, and then stood up. “Come. I can take you to her now.”

  Why I chose to trust Mei Qiang I cannot say, but I followed her out of the park, where she hailed a cab. She gave the driver an address on Century Avenue, and we joined the flow of traffic. When we merged onto a highway heading away from the city, only then did I consider I might have made a severe error in judgment, driving away with someone I’d just met. The minutes ticked by, and I started to sweat. I could feel my cell phone in my pocket. But even if I could dial it without her noticing, who would I call for help?

 
“How far is it?”

  “About eighteen kilometers.”

  I settled back against the seat and closed my eyes for a moment, breathing slowly to calm my racing heart. When Mei Qiang shook my shoulder, I blinked blearily. “What? What happened?”

  “You dozed off for a little while. Here we are.”

  The cab had stopped in front of a soaring office building. The sign out front read “Information Office of Pudong New Area People’s Government.”

  Mei Qiang patted my arm. “Pay the cab driver. Inside, ask for Yu Yan. She will help you.”

  I shifted to get my wallet out of my pocket. “Aren’t you coming in with me?” When I turned back, she had vanished. I looked out the window.

  “Where did she go?” I asked the cab driver.

  He looked at me blankly. “Who? You got in the cab alone. Thirty renminbi, please.”

  I paid him and got out. Camels and magical red threads jumbled in my mind as I went inside.

  At the reception desk in the lobby, I asked to speak to Yu Yan.

  The bespectacled clerk wore a microphone headset. “Who may I say is here to see her?”

  “My name is Peter Ibbetz. I am being . . . referred by Mei Qiang.”

  “One moment, please.” I stepped back while she dialed, but I couldn’t have eavesdropped, since she did not speak English during the call. Then she waved me back over. “Yu Yan will be down shortly.”

  When the elevator opened, several people got out. All the women were dressed in conservative, dark suits, but the one who approached me seemed to sparkle, despite her drab attire.

  “Mr. Peter?”

  When I nodded, she bowed. “Mei Qiang sent you to me?”

  “Yes. But she couldn’t stay.”

  “She is not one to linger. Please”—she gestured toward a sofa in the lobby— “let us talk for a few minutes. How can I help you?”

  “I am looking for my friend, Miriam Schloss. Mira. She is not in the telephone directory, and I only have five days to find her before I must leave.”

  “I see. Mei Qiang told you I could search the records here?”

  “She didn’t say exactly what you could do. If I need to pay you—”

  “No, that is not necessary. I will do everything I can for you and your Miriam.”

  She studied my face for a moment, and then took a pad and pencil from her handbag. “Where are you staying?”

  I told her the name of my hotel.

  After she wrote it down, she put Mira’s name on the next line. “What is her age?”

  “She’d be ninety, almost ninety-one.” Even as the words left my lips, I pictured the young Mira, whose hair had blown in the wind as she rode with me in the Mercedes. Who danced the Charleston. Played the violin. Defied the heights on the devil’s bridge. Carried my child.

  When I found Mira, she would not be the laughing little girl with the curly hair or the young woman who loved me and wanted me even though I had let her down. She would be old, like me. Approaching the end of her life. She had said she needed me—but would I find her in time?

  Yu Yan’s voice penetrated my thoughts. “Might she have another surname?”

  “I don’t know.” There was so much I didn’t know—and I wasn’t sure how I would take it if Mira had married someone else. Unexpected tears welled up in my eyes.

  Yu Yan laid a calming hand on my arm. “Everything will be as it should be, Mr. Peter. You must trust your path, trust your love for Miss Miriam, and trust the power of the red thread to reunite you.”

  “How did you know about the red thread?”

  She pointed at my open collar, and I glanced down. The frayed silk cord showed inside my shirt.

  “Also,” she said with a smile, “Mei Qiang told me. I will be in touch when I have news. What do you plan to do today?”

  I hadn’t thought about it. “I was going to look for Mira, but if you’re on the job . . .”

  “There is little you can do until I complete a records search. What are you interested in seeing while you are here? Maybe you could take a tour of Yu Garden?”

  “I guess I could. I hadn’t given sightseeing much thought. Mira—Miriam—was all I was thinking about when I planned my trip.”

  “The red thread has a strong hold over you. Have faith that we will find your Miriam. You should visit the gardens and the Old City Temple today. It’s not far from your hotel. I’m sure the concierge can help you plan your time.”

  She stood. “I’ll leave word at your hotel when I have news.”

  33

  When I left for Yu Garden, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I thought I’d find a nice bench near some plants and sit for a few hours watching the crowd go by.

  Instead I stepped into an exotic world, in which every rock, plant, and structure had been carefully placed to create perfectly composed vistas. I melted into the crowds that walked along the covered walkways over slow-moving streams. Schools of koi swim past, and willow branches dipped low enough to touch the water. When I looked up, I noticed delicately painted panels in the ceilings.

  The buildings were painted in reds, whites, and blacks, with gold-leaf Chinese characters on the walls, and curving pagoda roofs made of tile or timber. Swaying paper lanterns hung between buildings in the row of shops. Even here, I found a Starbucks.

  I sipped coffee as I continued walking, and a round archway that framed a carved and lacquered door reminded me of the devil’s bridge. I wondered what was on the other side. Though Mei Qiang and Yu Yan seemed to believe folk tales, like the one about the red thread, I had no sense of foreboding here. It felt peaceful.

  Carved stone statues of lions and dogs posed on the paths and in front of some of the buildings, while bronze warriors with bows and arrows and undulating dragons perched on the rooftops. The curving tips of the pagoda roofs seemed to be smiling, and I smiled too.

  They reminded me, just a little, of the dormer windows on City Hall Leipzig. It was fascinating to consider that people of different cultures, who lived on different continents centuries ago, could have influenced each other’s architecture. Even after driving across Europe with Mira, I never imagined such a beautiful place.

  My father would have loved to take photographs here. I found myself wishing I’d bought a camera for the trip, until I realized people all around me were taking photos with their cell phones. I pulled out my own phone and poked around on the screen.

  When I’d bought the phone, I’d thought I’d never need it, but the camera was easy to use. I got detailed shots of the temples, rock carvings, and the round door. If I lived in Shanghai, I’d come here every day. Did Mira? With a jolt, I wondered if I might find her before Yu Yan.

  In my ignorance, before I made the trip, I had assumed I’d be one of only a few non-Asians in Shanghai. But I was wrong. An elderly white woman wouldn’t stand out, either in this crowded tourist destination or on any street in the city. A red scarf caught my eye, and I studied the wearer’s face as she walked by with her grandchildren. It wasn’t Mira, and a wave of bitter disappointment threatened to overwhelm me.

  “Get ahold of yourself,” I muttered aloud. “You were knowing it would not be easy.” In the dream, I got whatever I wanted with little effort. Here, it was up to me to make my own luck. I spent hours walking through the park, watching people pass by, and straining to hear Mira’s voice or glimpse her smile.

  ***

  When the crowd thinned near the dinner hour, I had trouble getting a cab, and it was nearly dark when I got back to the hotel. Tao, the clerk who had checked me in upon my arrival, greeted me when I returned. “Did you enjoy your visit to the gardens?”

  “Yes. I am thinking if I go there every day, I will not run out of new things to see. It was the most beautiful place I have ever been.”

  Tao bowed, pleased.

  “Are there any mess
ages for me?”

  “No, sir. I’m sorry.”

  My shoulders sagged. I wasn’t ready to go up to my room, so I ambled over to the restaurant off the lobby, where a young man in a white chef’s uniform attended the buffet.

  I decided to embrace the new experience and picked up a plate. “What is it you are recommending? I am not knowing this type of food, but everything smells very good.”

  “If you like, sir, I’ll select a variety of things for you to try.”

  Just as I’d enjoyed the gardens, I sampled the unfamiliar flavors with gusto. The chef had given me a cup of shark fin soup, steamed crab, some pancakes he called Cong You Bing, and Xun Yu, which was a spicy smoked fish. I washed it all down with a bottle of Tsingtao and had a couple of little pineapple buns for dessert with tea. When I finished my plate, I was the only diner left in the restaurant. I flagged down the chef from the buffet line as he passed my table. “Thank you. This was all very good.”

  “Why are you here alone, grandfather?”

  I motioned toward the empty chair across from me. “Please—have a seat. I came to meet a friend of mine. A friend from long ago.”

  “How long since you have seen them?”

  “Seems like all my life. But I’ve been here for a day and I think—I think I’m getting close. It’s a long story.”

  The bartender brought me another bottle of Tsingtao and joined us as the chef said, “Tell us about your journey and your friend.”

  “Well, once upon a time, there was a girl. A beautiful girl. I wanted to marry her. During the war, we lost track of each other. But then I was getting another chance, and it was like a miracle, until I lost her again. I came here to find her. With a little help, maybe I will.”

  ***

  The next day, I asked Cheung, the concierge, to book me on a tour of the Jade Buddha Temple. It was another peaceful refuge from the crowded streets of Shanghai. The Grand Hall in the main courtyard was painted mustard yellow with tall, varnished wooden doors. Fringed red paper lanterns swayed in the breeze as the guide spoke to our group about four noble truths, which made me think about how Mira and I had asked questions that would keep our conversation going without venturing into taboo subjects.