Fox Spirit 10: Confrontation
Sara
The next Monday as Sara reached her desk, she noticed that the empty cubicle across from her, the one where the sales manager never was, showed signs of occupation. A line of characters marched across the empty background of the computer screen, blue on black, just too far away to make out. Intrigued, she stepped into the cubicle to get a closer look. She could decipher only a few of the moving glyphs – “you walk one … something … road, something something my…something….” There was a slight noise behind her. She turned.
Sara saw a thin young man with glossy black hair pushed to one side and hooded eyes. His eyes flickered as they took her in; there was no hint of welcome in his look or his stance. He spoke in Mandarin, “Excuse me, miss, you are looking for something?”
Sara felt the flush creep up her cheeks. “I beg your pardon. I was curious about the screen saver – what the characters mean. It is a poem, isn’t it? Did you write it?”
His expression did not soften. “Yes, a poem, but not written by me.” He made no attempt to explain, only stood aside so that she could leave the cubicle. She felt her face burning at his cool regard. Damn him, she had only been trying to show an interest. He acted as though he had caught her stealing!
Storm
Storm had seen only a woman’s form silhouetted against the window. She was almost as tall as himself, and dressed in dark clothes. Her hair was lit from behind, glowing red as embers, twisting like coiling snakes. Her face was pale, even in the shadow. He caught his breath – was this some fox-spirit come to life? Old tales of the huli jing stirred in his mind and for a moment he felt a child’s fear of the strange, the boy’s fear of the dark yin sucking away his yang .
Then he realized – this must be the American face – the puppet accounting manager. He had just come from Boss Wang’s office. He had been reprimanded – lightly, but still it flicked his pride – about the expenses he had incurred in Suzhou. “We are on a tight budget,” Boss Wang had said. “We have to watch all unnecessary expense.” And here was the American face – how much additional work would he have to do to cover the cost of this extra person, this useless person? And what was she doing in his cubicle?
Storm had never seen a woman blush so strongly. On the white skin it was easy to see the blood rising. The mottled skin clashed with her rust-colored hair. Was it a sign of anger? Embarrassment? He did not know or care.
Sara
Scarlet Li’s cheerful voice broke through the awkward silence. “Returned finally from Suzhou, Manager Cheng! But you have not yet met our new colleague, Mei le Jing li. She has already been very useful to us in meeting with our Hong Kong investors. Let me introduce you.”
A courteous mask slid over Storm’s face. “Hello – but your name is not really Mei le,” he said in excellent British-accented English. “How would you say it?”
”Wo xing ‘Miller’, jiao ´Sara’.”
“‘Sara Miller’. I can say it. You don’t need to practice your Chinese with me. I’ll practice my English instead. But excuse me, I have no time to chat now.” Storm’s eyes went to Scarlet Li. “I’ve just seen Boss Wang. Is Manager Shi here?”
“He’snot here yet. Maybe after ten.”
“Good. I’ll be back at ten.” He turned on his heel and was gone.
Sara was startled by Storm’s body language and speech, the words so curt, no ritual compliment on how well she spoke Chinese. She looked questioningly at Scarlet. The office manager shook her head. “Cheng always has business. He comes and goes. He’s very smart, but not a restful person. My apologies.”
“None needed. I’ll get to know everyone in time.” Sara returned to her own cubicle, thinking hard. Storm Cheng had been nearly rude. Maybe he was protecting his territory. He could have his cubicle, no matter how tantalizing his screen saver, but Sara had already resolved take a share of his work, the English language collateral part. It would be better for the company, after all. She set her jaw, pushed her hair back with both hands, and settled down to review the company prospectus once more.
Just before noon, Sara heard her neighbor return to his cubicle. Feeling his gaze she looked up from her book. His question was abrupt. “You read? Not go to lunch?”
She held up the book so that he could see the cover. It was a Chinese language textbook.
“Studying.”
“Ah. You study Chinese from a book, when you could be talking with real Chinese speakers.” There was a hint of a curl to his lip, a trace of censure in his tone.
“Talking would be good,” Sara returned coolly. “But in the office, people often ‘have no time to chat.’”
His lips twitched as he recognized his own words. “You are right,” he said, turning his back again. The mysterious slogan disappeared from his monitor as he hit the first keys.
Sara considered his coldness, his abruptness. She couldn’t afford an enemy, even a young one known for being “not restful”. She would have to convert him.
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