Lost In Translation Part 21

She looked up. Dr. Lin.

"Are you all right?" He steadied her, eyes wide. "What happened?"

"I got picked up by the PLA."

"What!" His composure fractured. His composure fractured. "Zenmo keneng!" "Zenmo keneng!" Could this be? Meiyan had been picked up by the PLA too. But Meiyan was gone and this woman was alive, she was here, in front of him, unhurt. And they had taken her-questioned her-what? He felt the hammering of fear. Out of concern for her he made his voice soft. "Tell me all that happened." Could this be? Meiyan had been picked up by the PLA too. But Meiyan was gone and this woman was alive, she was here, in front of him, unhurt. And they had taken her-questioned her-what? He felt the hammering of fear. Out of concern for her he made his voice soft. "Tell me all that happened."

"I went to the phone hall to call my father. My father's office"-she looked half destroyed-"ah-perhaps you remember, it is a high government office. A soldier took me from the booth and into a van, but you see, he thought I couldn't talk, and I let him think so. They drove me to some building, out of town, I think, and a man everyone called Lieutenant Shan talked. He was-very rude."

Lin tensed. "Rude how, exactly?"

"Just ..." She paused. "Crude."

"What?"

"He was Cantonese. I've heard talk like that on the street before, in Hong Kong. You know."

"Of course," Lin said, exhaling hard. "But for him to speak that way in front of you-it's unimaginable! You're an outsider. Especially a man of authority-"

"Oh, no!" Alice cried. "He thought I couldn't understand! He was complaining about not getting a briefing. He doesn't know much about what we're doing, just that it's about archaeology and Peking Man. He didn't know I was an interpreter. He thought I was another archaeologist. He'd never have talked that way if he thought I spoke Chinese."

Comprehension dawned in his chest as he looked down at her. "So they spoke freely in front of you?"

She rolled her eyes. "G.o.d, yes. Completely."

A sense of wonder started up in him, side by side with his fear. "You are brave! It takes courage to do such a thing." So she has more than intelligence, he thought, looking down at her-she has inner strength. "Now tell me. What did you learn?" He was still holding her arm. "Why did they take you in?"

"You won't believe this."

His eyes notched into a more brilliant, deeper black.

"They think if we find Peking Man, we're going to smuggle it out. They think that's why I called Washington."

"But that's-that's ..."

"Insane?" she suggested.

He closed his eyes, shook his head slowly. "At least we know now, the four of us. We must be careful. Though"-he paused-"I am sorry beyond words for this. It should never have happened."

"I'm all right," she insisted. "Really, I am."

"And ingenious too," he said softly. "Do you know, Xiao Mo, that today you were successful at jia chi bu dian? jia chi bu dian? To pretend to be stupid when one is smart. It is one of the cla.s.sic ancient strategies." To pretend to be stupid when one is smart. It is one of the cla.s.sic ancient strategies."

"It is?"

"Yes. And a difficult hand to play. I salute you."

"And I you," she returned.

He felt her open intelligence all the way through him. Again like Meiyan. Meiyan who had never returned, whose fate was unknown, who was still his wife. Meiyan was always there between him and anyone else. Would it be so with this outsider Mo Ai-li? Her hands were the pale color of nephrite, speckled, jittery. Her face a triangle, constructed differently from all faces he had known. Her hair.

"Dr. Lin?"

"You make me think of the legend of Mu-lan," he told her. "She's a famous Chinese heroine. She was very brave, like you."

"Yes. Mu-lan." Mo Ai-li smiled up at him. "I know the story. But I must disagree. I am not like her. In order to go to war, and express her duty to her father, Mu-lan posed as a man. I'd never do that."

The yawning rush of yin of yin came from her and he felt his face warming. He looked down and saw that he was still holding her arm. He let it go. "No," he had to agree, "I think you would not." came from her and he felt his face warming. He looked down and saw that he was still holding her arm. He let it go. "No," he had to agree, "I think you would not."

Lin went directly to Kong Zhen. "The PLA picked up the female interpreter!" he shouted, as soon as he had closed Kong's door behind him. "They questioned her, they were rude to her-is it not unthinkable!"

All color drained from Kong's face. "Did they let her go? Is she all right?"

"Yes. All right. But it's a disgrace!"

"Speak calmly. What happened?"

"A soldier approached her at the phone hall. She was calling her father-you see, he's an official in the U.S. Government-and the soldier ordered her off the phone and into his truck. They took her somewhere, she doesn't know where. None of them knew she could speak, so they talked in front of her-"

"Oh!" Kong said. "Very good."

"She said their language was crude. The leader argued with his men-he hadn't wanted her brought in. They said they thought the Americans might smuggle out Peking Man if they found it. Then they apologized to her and let her go."

"Aiya, " Kong sighed. " Kong sighed.

"This cannot happen," Lin said firmly.

"I know, I know. Ten thousand years of stink! All right, Shiyang, don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"Elder cousin," said Kong Zhen into the phone barely an hour later. He had gotten a call through to Vice Director Han as quickly as he could. "We have had a small problem. The Army detained one of the Americans-the female. They frightened her." He paused, listening to the flood of indignation on the other end. "Yes. I know you never intended it. Yes. Yes, they let her go. But this sort of thing cannot be permitted. Consider the potential for guoji yinxiang," yinxiang," International repercussions. "Elder cousin." Kong took a deep breath. "I truly believe these particular outside people will not smuggle out Peking Man. The possibility is as remote as a needle at the bottom of the sea. Yes, I know this is only my humble opinion. Yes. I know you must be careful. But, elder cousin"-he swallowed-"my lowly suggestion is this: You should remove the surveillance." International repercussions. "Elder cousin." Kong took a deep breath. "I truly believe these particular outside people will not smuggle out Peking Man. The possibility is as remote as a needle at the bottom of the sea. Yes, I know this is only my humble opinion. Yes. I know you must be careful. But, elder cousin"-he swallowed-"my lowly suggestion is this: You should remove the surveillance."

"Here is buried Abel Oort," said Guo Wenxiang, kicking lightly at the small, moss-eaten headstone in the weeds.

Alice watched Spencer drop to a squat and lay his hands on the pocked, lichen-molded surface. She had told him right away about being picked up by the PLA. He'd been p.i.s.sed. Good and p.i.s.sed off like a friend should be. Then she told him the rest, that they thought he meant to steal Peking Man if he found it, and she saw him frightened, pale for the first time. He had turned around and walked away from her, and closed the door of his room. An hour later he emerged, in control of himself again, and said he was ready to go and meet Guo at the graveyard.

Now Guo and Alice stood watching Spencer bent over the gravestone, writing in his notebook. "I understand you ran into some trouble today," Guo said.

She froze.

"It's so, isn't it? I told you my connections were top level."

She swallowed. "Yes," she said. "You did."

"You must move carefully." He threw each syllable at her emphatically. "There seems to be suspicion that your group will smuggle national artifacts out of the country. Now, Interpreter Mo. If I am to be your consultant, you should explain your business in China." He waited.

Tell him. "Dr. Spencer is an archaeologist. He has an idea he may be able to recover the remains of Peking Man." "Dr. Spencer is an archaeologist. He has an idea he may be able to recover the remains of Peking Man."

Guo's eyebrows flew up in abhorrence. "He would take Peking Man out of China?"

"No, no. That's crazy."

"Are you certain?"

"Certain."

"Really. Do you know the true face of this man?"

She looked at the middle-aged American in the weeds. "No," she said honestly. "But I know that's not what he's after. It doesn't fit-not in the world he comes from. He's a scholar. He wants academic success. Were he to smuggle an artifact, he'd lose unimaginable face. It would ruin his career." To her it all seemed so clear that she was sure Guo Wenxiang must perfectly understand it. An American would change his expression, say, Ah yes, I see, you are right. But Guo was Chinese. He stonewalled, staring across the graves and weeds, as if she had said nothing of import.

Then he answered: "Of course, the PLA is basically business, do you understand me or not? The business of holding the plate of sand together. This is China." He stopped and lit a cigarette, sucked hard, and blew out smoke. "Also, Mo Ai-li. The place Dr. Spencer is talking about in Inner Mongolia is even more sensitive than here. Don't do anything that might be wrongly interpreted."

"You mean near Eren Obo?"

"Yes. That's Alashan County. It's a military area-most cla.s.sified. Missiles. Mo Ai-li, be more careful. Think back and forth."

She nodded, pushing down anxiety.

"If there are things you want to know, come to me," Guo advised.

"Perhaps you're right." She closed her eyes. The advanced Chinese, the command of colloquialisms, the slang: at a certain point, when you got close to things that were neibu, neibu, Inside their d.a.m.ned private bubble, it was all worthless. "There is something"-she sighed-"a most delicate matter." Inside their d.a.m.ned private bubble, it was all worthless. "There is something"-she sighed-"a most delicate matter."

"No problem."

"And no one is to know of it."

"You will trust me," he said. It was a cold observation, a twist of the knife that said, Face it, you'll trust me, you have no choice. He sucked on his cigarette. "Shenmo shi?" "Shenmo shi?" What is it? What is it?

"A colleague of mine is searching for his wife. She may be dead. Her name is Zhang Meiyan."

"Zhang Meiyan?"

"Yes. Originally from Zhengzhou, but interned here in the laogai. laogai. Early seventies, I think." Early seventies, I think."

Guo blew a smoke ring. "Interned where? Which camp?"

"I don't know. But I believe there were a lot of camps on the Nei Meng side, over the Helan Shan, in the desert-"

"I know that," Guo cut her off. His tone said: I know because I live here and I lick crumbs out of the gutter for my living, but it's something know that," Guo cut her off. His tone said: I know because I live here and I lick crumbs out of the gutter for my living, but it's something you you are not supposed to know. He studied her strange green eyes. are not supposed to know. He studied her strange green eyes.

She stared back.

"Did he hear from the wife after she was sent away?" As Guo spoke his lips came apart around the cigarette, revealing small, pointed teeth.

"I don't think so. Not for a long time, at least."

"Boundless is the bitter sea." Guo exhaled one last blue cloud, then ground the b.u.t.t under his shoe. "Well. The women's camps were all closed. In 1980, all the women still alive were released. Some were given housing registrations in villages on the Ningxia side. Others were a.s.signed in Inner Mongolia, across the mountains. What's the husband's name?"

"Lin Shiyang."

"And the wife, again?"

"Zhang Meiyan."

"All right."

"See what you can find."

He nodded.

She felt the sick tug inside her that told her she shouldn't be doing this, she had no right to invade Lin's life in this way. It was wrong. Ah, but maybe in a way it wasn't wrong. He wanted to find his wife, didn't he? She could help. Help him find her; or if she was gone, help him forget her. Everyone can change, she thought. Even him. The axis and leading shoot of The axis and leading shoot of evolution. evolution.

Spencer had covered the yard and was walking back toward them. "Nothing here."

She glanced at Guo. "It's too bad you couldn't find anyone who remembered the Dutch priest, only this grave. It's a dry end."

She lowered her voice. "Better luck with the Chinese archaeologist's wife."

"Look," Spencer said. "I think we're going to need some more help. Ask Mr. Guo if he'll do another a.s.signment. Get him together with Kong and Lin for a briefing. See what he can find out about the Mongol family."

When they got back Alice sat in her room, looking at the paper spirit-objects she'd bought from Master Tang. The bed, the wedding chest, the upright paper man. These were the things she would burn and send to the women on the other side. A barb of discomfort went through her.

What was she doing?

Guo Wenxiang went to the apartment of his friend Hu Bin, a fellow Sichuanese who, like him, enjoyed undoc.u.mented status here in the oasis city. Both came from mountain villages where there'd been no money to be made, no future to be had. Both were men who were young and strong, who had to get out.

In China that meant leaving organized society and floating, living by the wind and one's wits. People who belonged to the floating population had no a.s.signed apartment, no danwei, danwei, no iron rice bowl. But Guo didn't really need those things, not at this point in his life anyway. He was a man approaching his prime during capitalism's fin de siecle. There were plenty of things he could do. no iron rice bowl. But Guo didn't really need those things, not at this point in his life anyway. He was a man approaching his prime during capitalism's fin de siecle. There were plenty of things he could do.

"Old Hu," he called, rapping at the door. "Old Hu!"

"Lower the noise," Hu Bin grumbled, opening up.

Guo pushed into Hu's room, a congenial concrete-walled s.p.a.ce with large windows open to the desert breeze. Everywhere were local oil paintings, landscapes, city scenes, desert roads, all framed by rough, handmade wood. Hu liked paintings. He traded any service he could come up with for works by Yinchuan artists.

"I have a job." Guo grinned. "Americans."

"Americans! You'll line your pockets."

"It's so! With dollars." Guo tried to say the English word and they both laughed. Guo listened to Voice of America and the BBC. His ambition was to learn English. That would be the ticket, to learn English. Unfortunately he had little formal schooling, and it was rough going.

"What's the job?" Hu asked.

"Search for some Mongols who used to live out to the northwest in Hetao County, across the river-that's in the foothills of the Helan Shan."

"It can be done. What else?"

"Find out what happened to a woman who disappeared here in the laogai." laogai."

Hu Bin sucked in his cheeks, his wide, poetic mouth puckering into a circle. "You must watch over your shoulder, making inquiries like that. The people who know those things cannot be crossed."