On Borrowed Time

by Graeme Hall

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Yannie, before dropping her voice. ‘In the hit-and-run? Oh God Emma, I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay, it’s been a few years now, but you can see why I needed to ask you about it.’

  ‘Of course. I didn’t know you had a brother. Where did you get that name from? Gao Zhihua?’

  ‘I’ve been reading the press reports from the time. He was named as the driver’s boss and gave a statement in mitigation. So I just wondered …’ Emma’s attempt at keeping her composure faltered. Yannie put a hand on her arm.

  ‘Emma, it’s alright. Here, take this …’ Yannie fished out a clean tissue from her bag and passed it over. ‘He was an older brother, I guess? What was his name?’

  ‘Peter. He was three years older than me. I always looked up to him when we were young and he always looked after me. He was an English teacher. The newspapers said he was here on holiday, which is sort of true, but he was looking to move here. He loved Hong Kong.’

  ‘And I’ve brought it all back with my big mouth,’ said Yannie.

  ‘You weren’t to know, but I need to try and find out more. Can you remember anything else?’

  ‘A lot of the gossip came from reporters in the newsroom at Eric’s paper – Eric’s my husband. If you like I can ask him if he remembers anything?’

  ‘Would you? But please can you keep this between us? Don’t tell the others.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s not that it’s a secret, after all, if anybody goes back to the newspaper reports they’d spot the name, but I’d just like to keep it private if I can. For now, anyway.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Emma sniffled and blew her nose.

  ‘Look at me,’ she said, ‘I’m supposed to be a grown woman.’ She tried another taste of her bubble tea. ‘Perhaps it’s growing on me.’

  ‘Don’t feel you have to finish it. You’ve been through quite enough without being inflicted with strange Chinese drinks.’

  ‘Would you like to have it?’ Emma could see that Yannie had almost finished hers.

  ‘Pass it over.’ Yannie took the plastic cup and swapped Emma’s straw for her own.

  ‘What do you make of Alice’s boyfriend?’ asked Emma, looking to lighten the mood.

  ‘I’m not sure. There’s something odd about him. He’s good looking though.’

  ‘Has she told her parents yet?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. I think she’s scared. She was torn over the New Year. She wanted to spend time with him, but of course she had to do everything with her family.’ Yannie looked at her watch. ‘I’m sorry, Emma, I promised Eric I wouldn’t be late home.’

  They both stood up from the table and Yannie put her arms around Emma and held her for a moment.

  ‘You take care, Emma. I’ll be in touch.’

  Chapter 10

  The train rattled through interminable Shanghai suburbs until it reached the outskirts of Suzhou. There was a time when the sixty miles between the two cities was filled with villages and rice paddies, stereotypical images of rural China, but now a visitor would be hard-pressed to know where one city stopped and the other began. There was no longer any real countryside, only construction sites that had reached various stages of completion. Factories, apartment blocks, and indeterminate buildings that might become schools or hospitals; it was difficult to say which as most of them were being built in a standard vernacular that owed much to Lego. But the most obvious consequence of all this development, the most common sight from the train, was the enormous amount of litter and rubbish strewn along the side of the track. Canals and streams full of junk passed by with depressing frequency. Feral dogs hung around piles of waste, scrabbling for scraps of food. Was this the inevitable result of China’s economic growth or just a disgrace? Kwok-wah wasn’t exactly a card-carrying environmentalist but even for him it was a dismaying sight. It was hard to match the view from the train with the ever-present propaganda images of the bright new China.

  It had been Susan’s idea to visit Suzhou for the day. One of the oldest cities in the neighbourhood of Shanghai, it was famed for its classical gardens, canals and temples. A popular daytrip for both locals and visitors.

  ‘I’d like to go,’ she said one day, ‘but friends tell me that Western women – even if they are Chinese – can get hassled. Would you like to come with me?’ Kwok-wah had been ambivalent – Suzhou of all places – but increasingly he found he couldn’t say no to Susan. He worried about that.

  The journey lasted barely an hour. While Kwok-wah watched the fruits of economic expansion from the train, Susan read her guidebook.

  ‘You know that Suzhou is known as a city of classical gardens? The Humble Administrator’s Garden – I just love the name. So cute. Can he really have been that humble if he had an entire garden named after him? We have to see that. And the Yunyan Pagoda – apparently it leans over like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.’ Susan realised that Kwok-wah wasn’t paying much attention. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Sorry – yes – fine. I was just thinking. Then there’s the Retreat and Reflection Garden, the Lingering Garden … loads of them …’

  Susan was surprised at Kwok-wah’s knowledge of Suzhou.

  ‘Have you been there before?’ she asked.

  ‘No, but sometimes I feel as though I have.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? You okay? You seem in a strange mood. It’s not like you to come over all New Age.’ Susan turned in her seat towards Kwok-wah and hooked her arm around his. ‘Tell me. What’s wrong? We may not have known each other long but I can tell that something’s up.’

  ‘Nothing – honestly. I was just thinking. My grandmother came from Suzhou. She always used to talk about the place. How beautiful it was.’

  ‘I didn’t know, you should have said … Sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have asked you to come? Does it seem strange coming here?’

  ‘A bit, but it’s okay, she only had good memories of Suzhou. She just wished she could have come back sometime.’

  ‘Is she still alive?’

  ‘No – she died a few years ago. I was just thinking about her. Wondering what she’d think of me studying in China and coming here. She met my grandfather in Shanghai and they escaped to Hong Kong just before the Communists took control of the city. That’s why my parents were so unhappy about me coming here.’ They lapsed into silence for the rest of the journey while Kwok-wah recalled the painful family arguments after he had announced his plans to come to China. His mother had been so angry, she told him he was betraying everything the family stood for, and his father refused to speak to him. For a time Kwok-wah wondered if he was making a mistake, but he was stubborn and even if they weren’t happy about it, eventually his parents let him have his way.

  Susan and Kwok-wah did the sights. Walked by the canals (also strewn with litter, they noted); explored the gardens; admired the temples and pagodas until they were all duly seen and ticked off. Susan and Kwok-wah were both hungry. They surprised themselves by admitting that they were both sick of the noodles and meat of doubtful provenance that was the main offering of the University cafeteria, so they took the chance to gorge themselves on McDonald’s. While they sat at a red and yellow plastic table under the watchful gaze of Chairman Ronald, Susan took the opportunity to ask Kwok-wah about Professor Ye.

  ‘So does he mainly do research in the same area as you?’

  ‘Mainly, yes – but I think he may be moving on to some new areas.’ Kwok-wah took a sip from his Diet Coke.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I signed for a delivery of books the other day and they were all about cryptography. Codes and so on. I didn’t know that was his thing but I guess he must be branching out.’

  ‘Is that close to what you are working on?’

  ‘Not really.’ Kwok-wah thought about it for a moment. ‘But I suppose I can see where he might be going with it.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Well, I guess once yo
u start sending data by your cell phone some people might be worried about security. You might want to encrypt it to make it more secure.’

  ‘I suppose the other thing is that if stuff is secure some people might still want to be able to read it. Y’know, police and so on?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Kwok-wah acknowledged, ‘but yes, that too. Interesting. It’s not something I’d given much thought to but the more I think about it the more it makes sense.’

  Suddenly Susan giggled.

  ‘What’s funny?’ Kwok-wah asked.

  ‘Don’t look now but the man sitting at the table behind you is wearing women’s shoes. I don’t know why I’m whispering, I don’t suppose he speaks English. Drop your napkin on the floor and have a look when you bend down to pick it up.’

  Kwok-wah did as he was told and tried hard to suppress a laugh but with limited success. The man was dressed fairly normally but there was no doubt about the shoes.

  ‘Do you think he knows they’re for women?’ asked Kwok-wah.

  ‘Stop laughing! You’ll set me off again.’ Susan gathered herself and then changed the subject. ‘It’d be cool to see where you work. Any chance?’

  ‘The department? I don’t see why not. There’s not much to see though. Just loads of computers.’

  ‘Still, I’ve got a picture of what it’s like in my head, I’d just like to see if I’m right. And I’d like to see where you spend your time when you’re not with me.’ Susan reached out and touched Kwok-wah’s hand.

  ***

  According to the rules Susan wasn’t allowed in the computer science building. It was off-limits to anybody who wasn’t a member of the department. In practice as long as you were accompanied it wasn’t a problem, and Kwok-wah gestured his thanks to the security guard as he opened the door and ushered Susan through.

  ‘Like I said, there’s not much to see really,’ he told her.

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  Kwok-wah showed Susan his desk. Late winter sunshine was flooding through the window. He had discovered that the wooden window frame had swollen in the rain during the winter and now couldn’t be opened, meaning that for several hours a day his desk was now too hot. In the research labs, Kwok-wah spotted a fellow PhD student.

  ‘This might interest you,’ he said to Susan. He switched from English to Putonghua. ‘Xiao-Fan, are you running your graphics program at the moment?’ Xiao-Fan was the only woman in the department above undergraduate level.

  ‘Yes. You want to see?’

  ‘Do you mind? I’m just showing my friend Susan around.’ Kwok-wah and Susan gathered around the terminal where Xiao-Fan was working.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Susan’s enthusiasm was genuine. On the screen was a computer simulation of a street scene: buildings, cars, pedestrians. ‘The level of detail is amazing,’ she said in her Californian-accented Putonghua.

  ‘You’re American, right? Watch this.’ Xiao-Fan used her keyboard to change the viewpoint and all at once the view was as if they were a bird flying above the scene. The transition had been seamless.

  ‘That’s really impressive. We have some CAD/CAM machines in building sciences, and some architectural software to help plan buildings, but I mean, nothing with the level of detail you have here. It would be really useful for us.’

  ‘We’re working on a new graphics chip,’ explained Xiao-Fan. ‘Faster than before so when you change the point of view it’s smooth and quick. This street scene is just a demonstration of what it can do, the possible uses are endless. Games, of course, but sure, architects could use it as well. Anybody really.’

  ‘Thanks, Xiao-Fan,’ said Kwok-wah. ‘What do you want to see next?’ he asked Susan as they left Xiao-Fan to get on with her work.

  ‘Professor Ye?’ Susan paused and then laughed. ‘The look on your face! Don’t worry. If he doesn’t even have time for you he’s hardly going to want to be introduced to me. But I’m curious to see what he looks like. Do you think he’s around?’

  ‘I don’t know, but his office is this way.’ Kwok-wah led Susan down a corridor to Professor Ye’s office. The door was closed. ‘Looks like he’s out somewhere. Or not receiving visitors.’ He turned to the departmental secretary, who was collecting and sorting documents. ‘Do you know where the professor is?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s in a meeting in the administration building. He won’t be back today,’ she replied as she left her desk and headed for the photocopying room.

  ‘It’s like I told you,’ Kwok-wah said to Susan. ‘He’s often not here.’

  ‘Another time then. I guess I’ve probably taken up too much of your afternoon. But thanks, I like to see other parts of the university. And it’s good to see where you work.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  Susan looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to run, so I’ll love you and leave you. Hang on though.’ She looked worried. ‘Where’s my bag? Did I leave it on your desk? I think I might have done.’

  ‘I’ll go look. Just wait here for me.’

  When Kwok-wah had gone Susan checked that the departmental secretary was still occupied with photocopying. Reassured that she was, Susan quickly opened the secretary’s desk drawers one by one until she found what she wanted: a selection of keys on a keyring bearing the university crest. She pocketed the keys and closed the drawer before Kwok-wah returned.

  ‘Here you go,’ said Kwok-wah. ‘As you thought, it was on my desk.’

  Kwok-wah took Susan back to the main entrance and watched her head for the library. When she turned, looked back at him and smiled, Kwok-wah realised for the first time, and somewhat to his horror, that he was falling in love. He had come to Shanghai to devote himself to his research. To lose himself in mathematics and software. The last thing he had been expecting was love. This really wasn’t what he was looking for in the slightest. He wished there was an algorithm he could follow that would tell him what to do next, because he hadn’t a clue.

  ***

  There was a time within living memory when dance halls and ballrooms were a defining feature of the social scene in Shanghai. In the years before the war, every night the city was full of waltzes and foxtrots. Dancing crossed social boundaries, for the young and old alike. Stylish young Chinese women, Russian émigrés, European and American expatriates, all shared a love of the tango and the quickstep; gangsters mixed with prostitutes, while debutantes waited to be asked to dance by young naval officers. This was within living memory, yes, but at the same time it had been another world. Now, for the most part, only an echo of those days persisted in the elderly couples who danced in the parks as an alternative to tai chi, and most of the dance halls never reopened after the revolution.

  One of the remaining relics of Shanghai’s golden age was the afternoon Tea Dance at the Majestic, a dance hall that had somehow managed to survive uninterrupted apart from a short hiatus during the Cultural Revolution. Dusty chandeliers provided a dim light that hid from sight the patches of damp on the ceiling and the places where the gilt was starting to come away from cornices and mouldings. The dim light also hid from view discreet assignations. There were stories that in her youth Madame Mao had once danced there, and even though she had fallen out of favour long ago, the glamour of the association hung around the Majestic like a faint perfume. A small band made up of piano, trumpet, bass and drums were playing a foxtrot on a raised dais at one end of the ballroom. The musicians looked old enough to have played for Madame Mao herself and were all dressed in black tie, but the jackets were developing threadbare patches and the players looked more like waiters from a restaurant that had seen better days. Nobody appeared to notice that the trumpet was slightly out of tune.

  At four in the afternoon the room was busy, mainly with Chinese couples of an age for whom the foxtrot was natural but there were also some who were younger and a few Western tourists. Some were taking a rest, sitting at tables and watching the dancers. Others were sipping tea and eating delicate sandwiches and petits fours. Most of tho
se on the dance floor were moving with grace and elegance. Susan was not one of those. She did not know the foxtrot and was relying on trying to follow her partner, a Western man in his sixties with greying hair, immaculately parted, and a distinguished, patrician bearing. His light grey suit was classically cut, with a crisp linen handkerchief in his breast pocket. He had suggested that Susan dress smartly, but even in a skirt and blouse, which she hardly ever wore, she still felt underdressed. The man held Susan properly, in a gentlemanly manner with his right hand resting lightly on her lower back, as he did his best to guide her among the dancing couples. When the music stopped they took a break and sat at a table in a booth. Two drinks and a bowl of peanuts were waiting for them on a silver tray.

  ‘This is the most unlikely place to meet,’ said Susan. ‘What made you choose it?’

  ‘You’ve just answered your own question, my dear,’ the man replied. He had an accent straight out of Gone With The Wind. ‘It’s somewhere we can talk in private without being overheard, and it’s a place where nobody thinks anything of seeing an older Caucasian man with a pretty young Chinese woman. And at least as importantly, I enjoy dancing. It reminds me of the balls I went to as a young man in Charlotte. Have I ever told you about those? One day I’ll show you some old photographs. It may surprise you but I was quite the dashing beau back then.’ He raised his whisky sour in Susan’s direction. ‘Your good health. So, tell me, how are we doing with our young man?’

  ‘Making progress. I think he likes me.’

  ‘I’m sure he does. He’d be a fool if he didn’t. Tell me about him.’

  ‘He’s a geek. His only real interest is in computers. He’s a decent guy though. I get the feeling he’s struggled to adjust to life as a student in China. I don’t think he has any local friends. I mean, he gets on alright with his room-mates and they’ll go for a beer together. But I don’t think he’s close to any of them.’

  ‘Family?’

  ‘His parents. No siblings. Interestingly his grandparents came from Suzhou and Shanghai. There’s a bit of history there we might be able to work on if we need to. He does have a cousin in Hong Kong – she’s older than him – who appears to be more politically aware than he is. I don’t know if that might be useful or not.’