Fox Spirit 45 – Happy Holidays – NOT!

Suddenly everything came down on Sara at once – the drabness of Beijing in early winter; the cold which couldn’t be escaped in her poorly insulated apartment and which snuck in through the window next to her cubicle at the office;  the endless work of living in a foreign country, struggling to understand the Chinese language, Chinese customs, Chinese thinking;  the uncertain reception she anticipated from Mark and Rennie during her coming Christmas visit; Storm’s rebellion against the constrictions of their affair. Sara cried until she was exhausted, then bathed her reddened, stinging eyes and fell into sleep.

            The next morning she could scarcely remember what they had quarreled about. Her rage had cooled quickly; she felt clean, purged, ready to start fresh. Only her eyes still showed the traces of the night. She put on her dark glasses and began to think of what she would say to co-workers who asked about her eyes – and what she would say to Storm.

            But Scarlet Li said nothing, Trueheart Zhang said nothing, and Storm wasn’t there.

            For the next weeks Storm’s cubicle was dark each day when she arrived at work, and it stayed dark. Sara missed the messages on her desk, the semi-accidental contacts as they brushed past each other in the aisle between cubicles, the exchanges of glances over the copy machine. Her colleagues, who had discreetly ignored their relationship, also discreetly ignored its disintegration. There was no one she could talk with.

            Only Auntie Chen felt free to comment on Storm’s absence. “Your friend, the young man. He doesn’t come by these days?”

            “No.” Sara felt she had to offer some explanation. “No need anymore. The project we were working on is finished.” Finished – she heard the dead tone in her voice.

            “Ah, yes, the visits were for work.” replied the neighborhood watch. Her sharp tone registered disbelief. “But perhaps there will be other projects to come?”

            Sara darted a glance at the old woman. The expression on Auntie Chen’s face was bland, but somehow Sara felt cheered by her interest.

            “Yes, perhaps.” She was able to smile at Auntie Chen before hurrying for her bus.

            Finally Sara had to ask about Storm’s prolonged absence from the office. “I don’t see Storm these days,” she remarked to Scarlet Li with studied casualness.

            “No, he’s changed his schedule. He used to come in the morning, when you were here, but he now comes, when he comes, in the afternoon, when you’re at the Children’s Palace. He says he’s found it better to talk with customers in the morning.”

            “He is well?” she could not help asking.

            “He’s thin, as usual; he’s moody – more than in the past few months of summer and autumn. Maybe the return of cold weather is hard for him.”

            Sara sighed. “It’s hard for me too. I think I’ll be glad to be in California for Christmas this time.” 

            Scarlet Li nodded. “A change of place is good when the heart is sore.”  Sara glanced at her sharply but Scarlet Li didn’t meet her eyes.

December 1998

Sara

            “How about Christmas this year, Mom” What shall we plan on?

            Sara longed to see Mark and her grandson Richie. But a second go-around with Ynez Cavallo might be a disaster. And more and more when Mark called he said that Rennie was off with friends, at a class, or at a meeting. There was an emptiness in his voice when he spoke of her absence. She had her proposal ready.

            “I was talking with your Uncle Jasper and Aunt Carol. They think it’s their turn to host us for Christmas dinner and Carol asked if I could stay with them and help prep for the big meal. Maybe you and Rennie and Richie could go to the Cavallos on Christmas Eve this year, and I’ll come over to your house Christmas morning for presents and breakfast. Then you could all come over to Uncle Jasper’s on Christmas afternoon while your cousin Louisa is there so we could get the kids together. What do you think?”

            Sara thought she heard relief in Mark’s voice as he answered. “I think we’d like that, But…” he hesitated. “…that means we won’t see much of you. Richie won’t see much of you.”

            “Don’t worry,” Sara cut in. Maybe I could stay with you on the weekend, so I could see you and Richie at the same time. And I want to take you all out to dinner on Boxing Day, to give Rennie a break.”

            “I understand, Mom. I think that’ll work. Let me confirm with Rennie, but it sounds good. Love you. Bye.”

            As she put down the phone, Sara wondered exactly how much Mark understood. Had he noticed that Sara’s proposal had eliminated any time where she and Rennie might be alone together?  There would be no “girl time” for confidences or accusations this trip if Sara could help it.

Fox Spirit 44 – Meltdown

Sara’s  life had settled into a routine:  in the morning she rode her bicycle through fall’s clearing air, then once early winter’s rain began she returned to the crowded bus ride. Three afternoons a week she spent at the Children’s Palace. A presentation was made to the university trustees in which Sara’s primary class performed “Eensy Weensy Spider” in both English and Chinese with hand gestures. The trustees were charmed. Everyone was pleased.

            Sara found that her stories for the primary class could do double duty – every audio tape, every Sunday phone call with Mark included a song or a story for Richie. She would put the picture of Mark and Richie in front of her as she told the story and try to imagine her grandson’s response. She asked Mark to let Richie look at a picture of her as he was listening, so that he would have some idea of who his other grandmother was.

            Rennie was seldom on the line. Even if she had answered the phone, she would quickly say “Let me hand you over to Mark,” and would be gone before Sara had a chance to say more than a hello. Sara didn’t question this. Less contact meant less friction.

            Often only Mark would be available to talk. “Sorry, Mom, Rennie took Richie to visit her parents this afternoon. She said they’d be back, but…”  Sara would hide her disappointment and promise to save her story for next time. She noticed that when Mark talked about his week, it was more and more “I did this” or “Richie and I did this” and not much of “Rennie and I are planning…” or “Rennie and I did that.” Was Mark editing his conversation because he felt the coldness between his wife and his mother, or was the coldness growing between him and his wife?  If Sara were closer, if they could go on a walk together as they used to, she would know soon.  Sara put the nagging concern aside.

            Sara went on working on marketing collateral as well as reviewing accounting statements. If there were visitors, she would apologize for her poor Chinese and give her presentation in English. If there was a dinner, she dressed in her most demure navy blue suit, sat at the end of the table and said little. She had hoped for some sign of appreciation and approval from Jerry Wang, but he still kept a cool distance.

            At the dinners Sara would try not to glance at Storm at the other end of the table. When he spoke, when he caught her eye, she would feel the heat rising in her. She would excuse herself early, before the drinking became serious; he would arrive later.  It would be worth waiting. The evening would end with caresses and soft words and sensual satisfaction and a final hushed parting embrace as she saw him out her door, usually with Auntie Chen’s light still shining from her corner window.

            They behaved with polite discretion at the office and their colleagues allowed the relationship to pass without comment. Auntie Chen also made no comment about Storm’s frequent visits. Sara’s rule against overnight stays seemed to keep enough of the decencies in place to ward off censure from the neighborhood. The days passed in a happy haze.

            Until one Wednesday night in November.

            It had been a difficult day for Sara. She had been working on a presentation to be given to the investors at year-end and there seemed no way to make the numbers exciting.  Storm’s trip to Suzhou had also not gone well and his return was delayed by harsh weather. By the time the two of them arrived at Sara’s cold apartment both of them were hungry and impatient. Even the simple meal Sara had planned seemed to take forever to prepare.

            Storm paced back and forth while the rice cooked, recounting the iniquities of the distributor, the transportation system and the weather, while Sara tried to placate him on behalf of all three.

            “Why must you always take the other side against me?” Storm turned on his heel and challenged her. “You always make excuses for the other person, for the poor service, for the failure to perform. Can’t you one time agree with me that they are wrong?”

            “Don’t say I “always” do something!” Sara flared back at him. “I only want you to calm down.”

            “But I don’t want to calm down. Why shouldn’t I be angry?  You’re always remarking on how we Chinese hide our feelings behind a veil – now you complain because I let them show.”

            “Not ‘always’!” Sara repeated through clenched teeth. Her tone stopped him. He turned and stared at her silently, then resumed his pacing without speaking again.

            The silence continued as the rice steamed, chicken sizzled, and gradually warmth and good smells overcame the chill of the apartment. Sara served the meal, they sat to eat at the same table, but Sara was conscious of a constraint each time either one of them spoke. The longer the silence lasted, the harder it was to break it. Finally she rose to clear the table.

            “Come, I am tired. Leave the washing up and be with me.”  Storm’s lovemaking was uncharacteristically perfunctory and immediately afterward he fell into a deep sleep, one arm flung over an unsatisfied Sara. She worked her way out from under his arm, wrapped herself in her robe, and began very quietly to do the dishes, a sense of virtue overlaying and augmenting her sense of ill-usage. When she had finished, she stood looking at him sleeping. Freed of her presence, he had taken over the entire bed, wrapping himself in the comforter. He looked very young, almost boyish. Her voice was almost maternal as she touched his shoulder:

            “Storm, wake up. It is time you must go home.”

            He moaned and drew the comforter more tightly around himself.

            “Come, Storm. It’s time to go. You’ll miss your bus and it’s late for a taxi. Get up.”

            Another moan. He turned as if asleep, then suddenly reached out and seized her arm. “Come back to bed. I don’t want to go home tonight.”

            Sara struggled to pull away. “No, I won’t. You must go. Get up!”

            He pulled her arm, trying to get her off balance, laughing softly. “I think I won’t. I think you must come down. “

                        “No!”  She jerked away, her sharp tone surprising both of them. “You must not stay the night. We talked about this. It’s the only thing I’ve asked. You’ll thank me later.”

            Storm’s face turned from a laugh to a scowl. “Always you tell me what to do, what I’m going to think! I won’t thank you for sending me out into the cold and the rain, to wait on a dark corner for a bus full of sweaty workers and half-drunken party goers.” He ended with almost a whine. “If you cared for me you wouldn’t send me out on this kind of night.”

            “Don’t give me that “if you cared for me…”!  This is an agreement we will honor. I have to keep up appearances with Auntie Chen and you must do the same with your parents.”

            “This is YOUR idea,” he protested. “I don’t remember agreeing. It’s your idea to send me out each evening as if we were doing nothing but playing cards. This pretense fools no one – why do we have to continue?”

            “You of all people to tell me that appearances don’t not matter!  You with your lecturing me about keeping a polite mask on, not letting my feelings show, how public display of emotion is not appropriate in China!”

            “And so it isn’t. But private actions speak loudly. Why do you insist on my leaving on a night when a stray cat would see more mercy from you?  It’s cold, it’s wet, let me stay.”

            Sara was tired also, tired of the cold weather, tired of the tension between them, tired of being patient and understanding. If he would only leave, she could brush her hair, wash her face, and wrap herself in the comforter. He had been taking up the whole bed.

            “No. You may not stay. I do insist.” She pulled at the comforter which he had wrapped around himself. “Come, you’re too comfortable here.”

            He struck her hand away, then tried to turn her aside with a joke. “You are indeed a huli jing! Perhaps I must leave so that you can relax by changing back into your true fox form, after leaving me exhausted. You will deny me entrance again once you have drained me completely.”

            Sara lost her temper and control of her tongue. “Ha!  Judging by your performance tonight, perhaps I have done that already!”

            Storm started up from the bed, groping for his clothes. “So this is what you really are! I’ve come back to Beijing tonight to see you only, I’ve come here when I could have been better fed in my own home, I’ve done my best to warm your icy heart and body and you show no kindness, no politeness!  I’ll go as you demand, but I won’t come back!”

            Sara’s resentment rose to match his. “Of course you won’t, as long as the weather is bad!  I wouldn’t expect you to brave the weather, when you can be coddled with your parents!  Maybe in spring, when it is warm, you will dare to come again!

            “Perhaps spring will thaw your heart. But you won’t see me. Maybe you’ll learn pretense is not everything! Farewell, huli jing!”

            He flung open the door and surged out into the rain. Sara, breathing hard, watched him nearly running across the courtyard. If she had had something to throw, she would have thrown it.

Fox Spirit 43 – Of Love and Marriage

August 1998

            “It’s been a year since you arrived. “ Storm reached across the table to touch Sara’s hand as they waited for Trueheart, Bright Liu and Jade Wang to arrive at the Jiu Jin Shan Wine Shop. “When I think of how I resented your coming, I have to laugh at myself. Surely my fate has given me my comeuppance.  Or perhaps it was a true warning – how could I have guessed that you would become my addiction?”

            “Addiction – I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Sara protested.

            “But it’s true. When I’m away I think of, wish for you, like Zhang with his cigarettes. He’s tried and tried to quit, with no success.”

            “And you – have you thought of quitting this addiction?”  Despite her light words, Sara felt a chill at the idea.

            “Only that one day, perhaps, I must go cold turkey, as you would say in English. And unlike Zhang, I won’t be able to find a new supply if my huli jing leaves. I will waste away.”

            “I don’t see you wasting away,” Sara replied, her voice sharper than she had meant. Had Storm been talking to his parents about her?  Were these thoughts placed in his mind by Ruth Cheng?

            Then she realized that Storm was laughing at her. “If you could see your face!  I was trying to say something pleasing to you, and you have your argument face on!  What word didn’t you like?”

             “’Addiction’, perhaps, has a more unpleasant echo in English than in Chinese.”

            “And yet, what other word would you use? 

            “I don’t want to be your addiction. I will be your friend, your support, your …” What word could she use?  “Lover” was still too fraught.

            “Are we having vocabulary lessons?” asked Trueheart as he slipped into the booth, followed by Bright and Jade.

               Sara bit her lip in frustration as the conversation moved on past her. Why could Storm not live in the now? Yes, she had talked about parting before, but when he spoke of doing without her it struck her differently.  How could he speak so casually? She shoved aside thoughts of the future and plunged into the discussion of plans for the evening.

            Later, after they returned to Sara’s two rooms, as they lay together on the narrow bed, the word she had been afraid to say slipped out from her as naturally as breathing. “I love you”. Sara lay still, holding her breath. Would he draw back? Would he be afraid she wanted some kind of commitment?

            Storm went on stroking her without a pause, but absently. He pulled back and gave her a quizzical look. “I love you” he repeated, using the exact same intonation. “Shuo zhongwen, you shenme yisi? What would the meaning be in Chinese?”

            Sara tried to explain, her Mandarin deserting her as she thought:  “Meaning is, you touch me and I feel more alive. I see you and a smile begins inside me. In a babble of voices I hear only your words. I think more of your good than of my own.”

            His expression didn’t change. She had expected he would smile, touch her again, show some acknowledgement of her feelings. She stopped speaking, confused.

            “So, in Western love, there is no idea of marriage?  You don’t speak of marriage.”

            Sara was shocked. That he should notice the omission. That he should mention marriage. That he should think that love and marriage were not linked in Western thought. That she had not linked them. She could think of nothing to say.

            Seeing her confusion, he laughed. “It’s all right. We don’t talk of marriage. But it’s strange. In China, to think of love without marriage, or marriage without love, is very old fashioned. We read Western-style novels and we hope to marry for love as in these books. But  I think now in the West  there is still another idea. Maybe putting love and marriage together is now old-fashioned to you. We will never be in step.”

            She had said she loved him. He had responded by talking about their different cultures. Sara didn’t know whether to be upset or amused. But at least he had not talked of the future.

Fox Spirit 42 – Parenting, Chinese Style

Storm fell silent again. Sara did not interrupt his thought. The faint light from the curtained window silhouetted his head, caught a gleam from the smooth black hair. Muffled traffic noises came through the same window, a distant sound of a siren, perhaps voices on the street outside.

            Storm began again. He had also been listening to the sounds, noticing the light. “Life here was so different. Beijing was so strange to me. In Two Ox Village the nights were blacker than you can imagine. The street lights were turned off to save energy. There were no factories in our region; at night I could see the Silver River of stars almost in a solid band overhead; I could watch the planets dance. In Beijing there are no stars.

            “And here it is never quiet – even in the deadest hour there’s movement, traffic, people, alarms. In Two Ox Village there was always noise in the day – the broadcasts from loudspeakers of news, music, the Plan of the Day – but at night it was quiet. Pa’s house was made of rammed earth; the walls were thick. It was so silent at night that I could hear the blood flowing in my skin.” He fell silent again.

            “Your parents.” Sara recalled him to the story. “How did you discover that they were your true parents?”

            “Ah, that was hard. I cried each night for Ma and Pa. I woke in the night calling for them. I tried to run away and they locked me in my room. One night Auntie… she was very tired, I think. One night she slapped me and shouted that I must sleep, stop crying like a baby, stop calling for Ma; it was not respectful to her. I shouted back, “I don’t need to respect you. You’re not my mother!”

            “And she told me then, ’But I am your mother. And Cheng is your father. Uncle Hu and Auntie Du, you were only on loan to them.  Would they have given you to us if this were not true?’

            “I didn’t want to believe her. I ran from the room right into the arms of Uncle. I asked him if it was true, what Auntie had said. How could it be true?

            “He told me yes, it was true. He and Auntie had a chance to come to Beijing to study after the Ten Years’ Turmoil, but they couldn’t bring me. So Uncle Hua and Auntie Du had agreed to be my foster parents for a while. It was never meant to be for always. Uncle Hua and Auntie Du did wrong to let me think they were my parents. I looked in his face and saw my own face. I had never seen myself in Pa’s face. I had to believe Uncle.”

            “They must have been happy to have you with them” Sara prompted. “And your grandparents?”

            “Perhaps my parents and grandparents were happy. But a child doesn’t care for that. I felt that my own heart had twice been torn in two – first when they left and I had only Ma and Pa. Then when they took me back and I had only them, I missed Ma and Pa so much.

            “Auntie Lan and Uncle Cheng were among the first of the sent-downers to return to the universities. They had to work so hard. After they had brought me to Beijing they left me with my father’s mother and my father’s father. Nai Nai was kind and gentle; she tried to teach me music, but I had no patience. My grandfather knew only scholarly things; he wasn’t like Pa. Grandfather couldn’t fix machines, or gut animals for the market, or carve toys from bits of wood to entertain me. And both of the grandparents had been through so much during the Ten Years’ Turmoil. They were like hollow reeds; the life was sucked from them. They believed in nothing, hoped for nothing.” Again he fell silent.

            “Did you find friends in Beijing?” Sara prompted again.

            Storm shook his head. “It took me a long time to find Beijing friends. I talked like a villager, a hick. I hadn’t had any schooling since Auntie and Uncle had left. There was no teacher in Two Ox Village except for the Communist Party councilor, nothing to read except Party bulletins.

            “Of course, schools in Beijing hadn’t fared much better during the Turmoil. I wasn’t so far behind there.  But I had no idea of what interested city kids, no idea of how to spend my time. I read a lot, Chinese and English books, anything I could find. I think I nearly memorized Gone with the Wind; that book was a big hit in China when the Chinese version was released.” Suddenly he laughed. “I believe every literate Chinese person within five years of my age has an idea of America that comes from Gone with the Wind/ Funny, isn’t it? My first conversation with Bright Liu, it was because I had a copy of Gone With the Wind under my arm and he asked if he could borrow it.”

            Sara smiled along with him, glad that the darkness of his story had broken. “So, your mother missed five years of mothering while you were back in the village, and your grandparents have ten years that they missed; they have a lot to make up! No wonder they take great care!”

            “Perhaps they do take care now. My grandparents sacrificed a two bedroom apartment with a parlor and a bathroom which they were given because of what they endured during the Ten Years Turmoil. Instead they took two 1-bedroom apartments with a bathroom down the hall so that my parents and I could have our own place close to a good high school. This is the way they show their care.

            “My parents are also entitled to an apartment because of their work. If I should marry, my grandparents would ask for their two-bedroom apartment again and my parents would move in with them. I and my wife would have the one-bedroom apartment.  But I’m not yet thirty. It’s not approved that I should marry yet.”

            “What happened to Ma and Pa in Two Ox Village?  Have you seen them? Do you write to them?”

            Storm’s face darkened. “I wrote to them. I sent them packages. I had a few letters, but Ma and Pa weren’t so good at writing. Then the letters stopped.”

            “Just before I left school, I met a new student who was from Two Ox Village. I asked him about Ma and Pa. He told me there had been cholera at Two Ox Village. Pa died first; he had never recovered from the sickness of the winter that I left. Ma died after. He said that she didn’t eat well or sleep well after Pa died. I don’t know what happened to their ashes. Sometimes I worry that their ghosts haven’t been cared for and that’s why I’m haunted by dreams.”

            Sara said nothing. Her mind boiled with questions. How could these young parents have let their child think another couple were his parents?  How could they abandon their child, leave him to live with unlettered peasants while they returned to a privileged life in Beijing? She tried to imagine, if John’s work had taken their family to some remote rural spot and then they had the opportunity to return to city life, but only if they left Mark behind, could they have accepted?  Of course, for Storm’s parents the government had forced them into the countryside. But then they had left Storm behind at the first chance. She couldn’t have done it to Mark, not for any opportunity.  Her anger against Storm’s mother burned hotter than ever.

Fox Spirit 41- Two Mothers, Two Stories

            Suddenly Storm got up. Sara realized that the bus had stopped at the gate of Bei Hua. Together they descended the steep steps and walked through the darkened courtyard to Sara’s house. Neither spoke until they had entered Sara’s door. Storm went to the window and looked out at Auntie Chen’s lighted window, then moved to the sofa and motioned Sara to sit next to him. He picked up his story as if there had been no break.

            “I still dream about the day they left; it’s one of my two worst nightmares.”  He had been about seven years old. Ma was crying; Storm clung to Auntie Lan and wailed, refusing to let go.  The bus could not wait longer. Finally Pa pried the boy loose and half-pulled, half-carried him to the little basement room used as a root cellar. ‘If you cannot be a man, you must be a turnip,’ he said to the boy. His voice was harsher than Storm had ever heard it. Looking back, Storm realized that Pa also had been holding back tears. He locked Storm in the root cellar. There was a little window high up. Storm could hear Auntie and Uncle walking down the gravel path; Auntie was wearing hard-soled shoes that clicked on the stones. Uncle was wearing cloth slippers that shuffled. He thought Auntiewas crying too, but he couldn’t see for sure.

             “In my dream I hear the sounds of their feet going away. I smell the damp in the basement, the moldy roots that hadn’t been eaten. It’s so cold.”   He shivered next to Sara on the sofa. She moved closer as he continued.

            Life was different without Auntie and Uncle. The work on the farm was hard; Ma and Pa and the boy missed their help. And the two younger people had been full of energy and ideas; the older couple and the boy missed that lightness. Ma scolded Storm often. He was growing taller, he always wanted more food, there was never enough. Pa would give Storm extra food from his plate when he thought Ma couldn’t see. If she caught him she scolded even more. Storm knew he shouldn’t take Pa’s food, but he was always hungry. Without his share of food Pa became even quieter; when he did speak his voice was like an old man’s.

            Sometimes Auntie and Uncle sent packages from the city,  but you could tell that the packages had been opened before they arrived in Two Ox Village. The wrappings were loose. There were empty spaces where things had been removed.

            Storm rose from the sofa and began to pace the small room. “I live with Cheng and Lan now, I call them “Pa” and “Ma”, but I can’t forget that they abandoned me before; I can’t love them with the pure love of a child for his parents. And still, a small piece of my mind wonders if it’s all a lie, that I’m not really the son of Cheng Bo Yin and Liu Yun, that I belong in Two Ox Village, not Beijing.” He fell silent.

            “How did you come to Beijing, then?” Sara asked quietly.

            “Ah, that is my second nightmare. I was four more years with Ma and Pa – they told me Auntie and Uncle had left us for a chance to make a better life in the city. I believed I was truly a Hua. I tried to be a good son and not spend too much time on the books which I loved. What good would books do a farmer?  Then two things happened at once. Pa became ill; he had a fever, he shook with chill, he struggled for each breath. And one day a letter came – Maasked me to read it to her; she was no scholar and letters were rare. It was from Uncle and the father of Uncle. I read it aloud; I read each word but I couldn’t take in the meaning. Ma’s face turned gray. I thought she would fall.

            “It was a formal letter; it offered to adopt Hua Bao Feng, the son of Hua Hong Lan and Du Xi, into the family of Cheng. It offered a large payment. It offered a life without hunger for me in Beijing. It would mean hot meals and warm blankets for Pa. Still I think that Ma and Pa wouldn’t have accepted, if it weren’t that Pa was ill, and they knew, though I did not, that it was my own blood parents making the offer.”

            “A few days later a big black car drove into our dusty village. It was Auntie and Uncle, but they were different, dressed in city clothes, with city haircuts. I hadn’t noticed their Beijing accent when they lived with us before. Now it seemed I could barely understand their speech. Pa’s face was as hard as a stone; Ma’s eyes were red and her mouth twisted. ‘I’ll be watching over you,’ she said. She was hugging me. She didn’t usually hug me, or hold me. ‘Be brave,’ she told me. ‘Be strong.’ Then she let go of me.  Auntie took my hand, but I turned back. I called ‘Ma! Pa!  Let me stay!’ but they had turned away. Auntie and Uncle pulled me into the car, but I looked out the window – Ma had turned toward me and I thought I heard her call ‘Xiao Hua! Xiao Hua!’ I tried to call to her but the window was closed. We drove away fast.

            “In my nightmare I hear Ma calling. I hear her say in my ear ‘I am watching over you. Are you brave? Are you being strong?’  I try to answer but my voice is choked; I wake up gasping for air, hearing her voice fading away under the roar of the car.

            “So I am torn between two mothers, two memories, two stories…”

Fox Spirit 40 – Storm’s Parents, and his Past

Neither the tree-less street, the plain exterior of the Cheng’s apartment block, the gray, utilitarian elevator nor the austere hallway of the seventh floor gave any hint of what Sara might find inside the Cheng’s apartment. Only the brightly painted green door with its ornamental brass screen betrayed any deviation from the dour official architecture.  Mrs. Cheng opened to her son’s knock and stepped aside bowing to welcome her guest. But Sara stopped in midstride as she entered, looking around her in frank surprise. “Your apartment!  It’s so lovely!” She took in the scroll paintings on the wall, the elegant floral arrangement on the desk, the silk carpet figured with cranes and pine trees, the glimpse of gleaming appliances visible through the door to the kitchen. “One would never guess from outside.”

            A piece of a poem by Lao Tze which Sara had memorized a year earlier in her Chinese class floated into her mind. “Pi he huai yu. A rough cloak conceals jade.” She quoted the line, bowing in her turn.

            “Ah, my son, you have brought us a scholar.” Mr. Cheng moved from behind his wife and took Sara’s offered hand with a smile. Sara silently blessed her Chinese tutor.

            Storm’s father was a thin, formal man who moved with the natural elegance which he had passed to his son. He spoke little but managed to steer the conversation with those few words into channels where his interests and background showed well. Mrs. Cheng was smaller than Sara and as round as her husband was thin. Her English was precise and correct, but the welcome in her words did not reach her eyes, which seemed to take in every detail of Sara’s appearance. Sara remembered Storm’s comment “My mother is suspicious of any woman who has influence over me.”   She resolved to be very careful. She too could wear a mask.

            The talk during dinner was in Chinese, but stayed on safe topics – how  long had Sara been in China, was this her first trip, where did she learn Chinese, how did she like living in Beijing, how did the weather compare to California – and Sara had no trouble holding her own with the standard responses. But after dinner Mr. Cheng introduced harder questions and longer answers and soon he and his son were talking animatedly about the political situation in Hong Kong since last year’s takeover, and what would be the prospects for Macao’s handover at the end of 1999.

            Sara floundered out of her depth while father and son sparred on. She turned to Mrs. Cheng who had spoken little, but now moved her chair a little closer to Sara.

             “We will let them talk politics in Chinese,” said Storm’s mother in a confidential tone. “You and I can tell secrets in English, all right? And please call me Ruth.”

            Sara nodded, uneasy at both Ruth Cheng’s tone and her fluency in English. There would be no hiding behind the language barrier.

            Mrs. Cheng pulled her chair still closer to Sara. “So, you and my son are great friends, yes? I think this is good. Please do not fear me.”

            Sara stiffened. “I do not fear you.”

            “Please don’t be offended if this was the wrong word. I only mean that I will not try to discourage him in this friendship. It’s good for a young man to learn from an older woman. You are a foreigner, well-educated and healthy. He will pick up no evil things from you. When it’s time for him to marry, you will return to your people and he will know much more about how to please a wife, yes?”

            Sara sat stunned, stripped naked in front of this woman’s frankness. She struggled to find a response which would not be defensive, not reveal her shock. Finally she managed a few sentences. “I understand what you say. You’ve spoken very plainly.”

            “Ah, if I spoke in Chinese I would wrap these words much more beautifully, but I do not know English so well. Still I wanted you to understand our feeling and while Storm is busy arguing with his father we can talk about these things.”

            Sara struggled with rising  anger.. She had expected to be treated with the courtesy and formality one would give to one’s son’s colleague, with maybe a hint of curiosity at the deeper relationship between them. Instead it seemed that Mr. and Mrs. Cheng had agreed to receive her in their home because Storm could benefit from the services of a courtesan, services for free, to boot!  And Ruth Cheng had made no attempt to conceal these thoughts behind the usual façade, no pretense of politeness as should be due to a guest. Sara took a deep breath and began to form an answer, when Storm interrupted. “What are you two whispering about?”

            “Just talk for women,” his mother replied smoothly. “Have you gentlemen resolved the problem of Hong Kong sovereignty now?”  She quickly steered the conversation for all four toward a safely impersonal topic. Sara realized that Mrs. Cheng had accomplished her purpose. She knew that Storm’s parents would be polite to her as Storm’s nu pengyou. There would be no fight for influence, as long as Sara agreed that her place in Storm’s life would be temporary.

            Sara’s cheeks were burning with humiliation, as she and Storm left the Cheng apartment.  The more she thought of Mrs. Cheng’s words the angrier she became. There was nothing Ruth Cheng had said that was not true, nothing Sara hadn’t herself said to Storm months ago. But every fiber of Sara’s soul wanted to fight her. Because she was so confident of her way. Because she dismissed the possibility of opposition. Because she spoke as if Sara was some sort of hired convenience. Damn Chinese pragmatism! Damn Chinese manners! How could she be so smooth?  Why didn’t I fight her?

            “You’re quiet. Are you thinking of my parents?  What did you and my mother talk of, over there in the corner?” asked Storm as they boarded the bus back to Sara’s apartment

.           “Your mother takes great care of you still,” Sara replied lightly, dodging his question.

            “Ah?” he replied. “I don’t think so. She hasn’t always been so much my mother.”

            “What do you mean?” Sara was taken aback.

             “It’s difficult to talk about. It’s complicated.”  He sat forward on the seat, staring past her out the window. “Liu Yun who you met tonight is my birth mother and Cheng Bo, he is my birth father. I’m nearly sure that this is true.  But years ago, they’ve never told me why, they abandoned me in the country. They let a peasant couple, Hua Ba and Du Ma, I still think of them as Pa and Ma, claim me as their son. I lived in a farming village, the son of peasants, for five years, while my true parents lived as professionals in Beijing.”  He couldn’t hide the bitterness in his voice.

            Sara stared at him. “Was that Two Ox Village, you mentioned before? Can you tell me more?  Would it help?”

            “I’m not sure.”  He smiled wryly and turned in his seat to face her. “You Americans, I’ve read, often tell each other your deepest secrets. This is called ‘therapy’, yes?  In China, this isn’t so common. For so much of our history it hasn’t been safe to reveal too much; you never know if even your mother, your sister, your child, your friend, will repeat something you said to the wrong person. This goes back at least to the Ten Years Turmoil, maybe even before. I don’t  know if ‘therapy’ is designed for Chinese people.”  He sighed. “Still, if you wish to hear this story, I’m not afraid to tell you.”

            For the remainder of the bus journey, right up until the bus stopped at the gate at Bei Hua, Storm told Sara about his childhood. He had been born in Two Ox Village. It hadn’t mattered then that he lived with two mothers and two fathers. To the child Bao Feng it made no difference which were his real parents. For twelve years he believed Hua Hong Bo and Du Dan Feng were his parents. He had called them Pa and Ma. Pa Hua was called Hong Bo – Red Wave – and the boy was called Hua Bao Feng– Storm. He believed that Auntie Lan was his nurse and best friend and Uncle Cheng was the nice man next door who played with him whenever he could.

            He could remember when Auntie Lan and Uncle Chenggot married. There was a big party; there were cakes, there were lanterns, there were red paper streamers. He had thought it was the most wonderful party he had ever seen. He was maybe four years old. Afterward Ma and Pa invited Uncle to live with them, to share the room they had given to Auntie and the boy. It seemed very natural. No one commented.

            Storm had been very satisfied with his family. He had Auntie and Uncle for hugs and play and learning books. He had Ma and Pa for learning crafts and skills for around the farm and the house, and for stories at night around the heated bed platform. He thought he was luckier than other children because he had an Uncle and Auntie in his home. “I thought I was lucky to have twice as much family to care for, but now I know it only means twice as many sorrows.”

Fox Spirit 39 – Generational Conflict

Storm painted a gloomy picture of his student life.  The books were old. There were rumors of new discoveries, but little contact with scientists from other countries. Chinese professors seldom could attend world conferences, or have access to papers published in foreign journals.

            “Still, sometimes there would be an opening. Someone would come to lecture for a semester from the West. Or we were allowed some copies of Western science journals. Every time this happened we were excited, hopeful that we would be allowed to catch up to the West.  You must understand, we dreamed of being like America. All our dreams for China were based on what we knew of America.”

            Storm pulled Sara closer. “Sometimes I think you are part of that dream. So much you know, so much I love, so much I don’t understand.” He fell silent.

            Sara could not leave it there. So much she also didn’t understand.

            ”What happened to your dreams?  Why aren’t you a scientist now?”

            Storm sighed again. “It was spring in my last year of school. Spring is a time for dreams and hopes. Some of the students at Bei Hai came from such poverty. They were very bright, but they had to be taught to use a toilet, to use a shower. Others were children of the cadres, the elite families of the Communist party. They were accustomed to having the best, being the best. They demanded their own rooms, their own toilet. Sometimes they complained that they had been given poor marks, even though they hadn’t worked. This gap was harmful to our learning, to our school, to our country. It was so clear to us.”

            His voice trailed off.  “What happened that spring?” Sara prompted, gently stroking his hand.

            Storm shook himself and drew away a little. “I’ll shorten the story. The students demonstrated. The government seemed divided. Some leaders, like Bao Tong, seemed to welcome our calls for reform. Others thought we should be controlled. We were joined by some professionals, teachers, lawyers, doctors, and by some of the workers in the city. Our demonstrations grew larger and larger. When Hu Yao Bang who had spoken on our behalf died suddenly, over 100,000 people filled Tiananmen Square to mourn him.

            “When one of the worker’s unions also joined the demonstrations, I think it was too much for the government. These workers had always supported the party. The top man, Deng Xiao Ping, decided in favor of control. The army was called in. The leaders who had spoken in our favor were imprisoned. There were tanks, there was gunfire. People were killed. No one knows how many. Our dreams died also.”

             “Was this…was this the Tiananmen Square massacre?” Sara asked hesitantly.

            “We don’t call it that. We think more people died in Muxidi, the posh district where some demonstrators went to protest the wealth and corruption of the elite. Perhaps we should have known better than to appear to threaten families. The army protected the homes of the elite and fired on the demonstrators. We ran, we sheltered behind barriers, but the tanks drove right through. We hid in doorways and some of us were pulled inside by friendly shopkeepers. Zhang and I met as we sheltered behind a barber’s chair. Others weren’t so lucky.”

            He fell silent again, remembering.

             “What did you do afterward?” Sara prompted again.

            “At first I went back to class, but it seemed pointless. Deng was saying ‘To get rich is glorious.’ I decided that perhaps there were better ways, faster ways, to create an America in China.  I finished my degree to satisfy my father and then became a capitalist, like you, working for a profit, like you. Do you think I would be a good American?”

            His voice had gone back to its normal ironic tone. The enthusiasm which had lightened his voice earlier had burnt out.

               Sara moved closer and touched his face. “Maybe American ‘with Chinese characteristics’.”

            Storm smiled wryly and responded “You must teach me more,” and bent to kiss her.

August 1998

Sara

            “It is as you foretold when we first began to keep company. My parents would like to meet you.” Storm had waited until after a cozy dinner at Sara’s apartment to break this news to Sara

            “Aiyah! Zenme ban?   What can be done?” Sara’s panic was only half-pretended.

            Storm laughed and patted her hand as though calming a nervous pet. “Not to worry. They’re curious about how I’m spending my evenings. I’ve told them that the new laowai in the office has been helping me with English. My mother is suspicious of any woman who has influence over me. So they invite you to dinner.” 

            Sara rose and wrapped her arms around him as he sat, pressing herself against his back as she murmured in Storm’s ear. “I think it will be difficult for your mother to believe that we are friends only. I don’t think Jade or Trueheart has said anything and our other colleagues at Rainbow Software are polite and pretend to see nothing. It’ll be harder to fool your mother and father.”

            Storm turned around to face her. “I don’t talk of fooling.  If they ask you what you are to me, I will tell them. I’m not ashamed. You are my darling,  that is all.” He used the English word. Sara drew in her breath sharply.

            “What is it?” he asked.

            “You don’t know… to you, that word is just a sound, a foreign word that you have heard in a movie. To me, it is special.”

            “Explain to me why this word darling is so special?  You’ve used it with me. What does it mean to you? I’ll try to find a Chinese word which you can use for me, if you can make me understand.”

               “To me, when I use it with you, I tie up all my feelings, hopes, caring, awe, love, and give them over to you in a bundle, trembling  at my own courage. When you use it to me, to me it is so sweet, so full of joy, I want to laugh and cry all at once.”

            “Ah, this is very romantic. Just one word does all this?  I must use it carefully.”

             ”Maybe you should save it for your dream girl, the one who will be the mother of your children.” Why did I say that, Sara thought. Why break into this moment?  But Storm pushed her words aside.

             “This girl does not exist. She certainly won’t be having dinner with my parents this week,” Storm said impatiently. “Let me tell you how it will go.”

Fox Spirit 38 – Masks

June 1998

Jerry Wang

            Sara dashed into the office, spotted Storm, Jerry Wang and Scarlet Li already in the meeting room for the Tuesday status meeting, and hurried to the table. “Ah, dui bu qi, I’m sorry I’m late, so many policemen in the street, so many detours, even for bicycles, I didn’t expect…”

            Jerry Wang noticed a quick exchange of glances between Sara and Storm, their shared smiles, and felt a surge of irritation. Zhang had hinted at an attachment, a relationship, but he hadn’t listened to the insinuating tone of his hints. It was none of his business, as long as each did their job. Storm was too young for her. She would do better with someone older. His board had been right. He should have chosen a man for the American Face. He stubbed out his cigarette in deference to official office policy and nodded a stiff greeting. “You should have planned on delay. Your president Ke lin dun is visiting, so the usual roads are closed.”

            “My president – Clinton -of course.  I knew there might be problems, but I hadn’t thought in Bei Hai. What a nuisance!”

            ”But this is your president,” said Scarlet Li softly. “You must be happy that he gets this recognition. He’s talking with our highest leaders. It’s exciting for us to read about these talks. It’s a window into a space that’s often hidden from us.” 

            “Humph!” Jerry Wang snorted, his short fingers playing with the dead cigarette. “Our leaders will talk about exchanging technology and the Americans will say ‘No, thanks, we have all the technology we need.’ The Americans will talk about human rights and our leader will say ‘So sorry, but our people are happy with the rights they have.” All talk, but what will really happen.?”

            Wang saw Sara’s eyes widen at the sharpness in his voice. “You don’t agree, Manager Miller? You think maybe our Chinese idea of what is right could be expanded, yes? What American rights do you think we need?”

            Sara shifted in her seat and hesitated before answering. “Maybe, for one, in the United States we have the right to a trial and a lawyer to defend us if we are accused of a crime. A person is innocent until he is proven guilty. I’ve heard this is not so in China.”

             “I see,” Wang replied. ”This is a Western idea, like ‘privacy’. I read of this in the papers when I worked in California. Sometimes a wealthy person could use tricky lawyers to delay a trial for years, while a poor person could only afford get a bad lawyer who was eager to collect his fee as fast as possible. We trust that the government would not accuse without good reason, so the accused person must provide proof of innocence, not government provide proof of guilt.”

            Sara shook her head. “But the government has so much more power. I still think that every person should have a chance to defend himself before being punished.” She looked around at her colleagues as if hoping someone else would enter the debate, but even Storm kept his eyes lowered as Wang continued.

             “So much discussion, what does it accomplish? Like these meetings between leaders. What they say won’t matter, it’s what is done afterward that matters.” He stubbed the dead cigarette emphatically into the ashtray to emphasize his point. None of his Chinese employees would have disagreed with him for as many minutes.

            Sara’s smile seemed forced. “Perhaps you are right, Boss Wang. Maybe we should act now on Manager Li’s agenda and save our breath for something we can really change.”

            Wang leaned back in his chair, smiling with satisfaction. The American Face had abandoned the debate. Let her chase a younger man; he, Jerry Wang, was still the boss.  The meeting moved to business.

 

Sara

            Sara couldn’t shake her uneasiness at Jerry Wang’s behavior. She remembered what Storm had said about not talking politics at the office, so why had Jerry Wang  insisted on the subject for so long? Except for her misstep with the CEO of Miao Wei LLC back in November, she had always felt Wang had supported her. He had sympathized with her difficulties in adjusting to life in Beijing, he was pleased with her efforts in helping the programmers with their English, he had been on her side. Yet this morning he had been abrasive, playing the boss role, taking advantage of her lack of vocabulary to express complex ideas. What was behind it?

            Had he glanced at Storm just before he asked his question about human rights?  Had someone said something about her and Storm?  Was their relationship a bad idea?

Of course it’s a bad idea. People write books about why it’s a bad idea to fall in love at the office. People write books about the problems of intercultural romances. People joke about older women preying on younger men. And that’s just in Western culture – Chinese culture is much more conservative. Of course it’s a bad idea. But it’s happened.

            But maybe I’m imagining. Scarlet Li, I think, encouraged us. And Jade Wang – she hasn’t shown any problem with my being older. Zhang, yes, but he’d be jealous of anyone Storm spent time with. And Storm is happy with me. And I’m happy with him. This is my life now. He is my life now. Right now everything is perfect. Almost perfect.

            But still the seed of worry nagged at her.

 

            “You were so silent!” Sara complained to Storm that evening as they walked to the Jiu Jin Shan Wine Bar to meet Zhang and Liu. “I thought you and your friends had been reformers when you were students together. You’ve talked about June 4^th, spoken with anger at the waste of the students who died. Yet you now say nothing, while Boss Wang says that throwing people in prison is good!”

             “Bu bi fa sheng. You mustn’t get upset. The two times are different,” Storm answered. To Sara he sounded  like a parent trying to simplify a subject for an inquisitive child. “June 4^th was like an argument within a family. All Chinese didn’t agree, but it was a Chinese matter, not for the world. Now this meeting with the American President, this is a very public matter. If there’s a problem, we lose face before the world. So even though we may disagree within the family, we put on a calm, tranquil face for the world.”

            “Again, the Chinese masks,” sighed Sara.

            “Yes. Perhaps one day soon I’ll take you to see Beijing Opera. Everyone wears a mask and plays the role that matches the mask. Then perhaps you’ll understand better.”

 

            To Sara’s surprise, at the wine bar Storm and his friends were absorbed in the reporting of Clinton’s visit. “This is remarkable,” Storm told her as they watched the late news broadcast on the television over the bar with Trueheart Zhang, Bright Liu and Jade Wang. “Clinton speaks at Beijing University on this favorite American topic, human rights. The questions from the students are broadcast live to all of China. You don’t realize how unusual this is.”

             “And did you see Bao Tong on the news earlier today?” interjected Bright Liu. “He was interviewed by an American reporter!  This is amazing!”

            Sara felt their excitement without understanding. She had only a shadowy idea of Bao Tong’s role in the June 4^th demonstrations of 1989 and the political crackdown which had placed him under house arrest with no visitors ever since.

            “Let’s wait and see.” Trueheart could not bring himself to be excited. “This may be just for the American President. After Clinton is gone, we may hear differently about Bao Tong.”

            “Still,” argued Storm, “It’s remarkable that his words have seen the sunlight at all, after almost eight years in the darkness of prison and house arrest. Perhaps we’ll see a new day after all.”

            Sara had never seen Storm so animated except when arguing, never so smiling except when they were alone. She tried to catch Jade Wang’s eye, but failed. Jade was attending only to Bright’s expression as he also watched the news feed of Clinton’s Q&A session at the University. Sara realized that Jade was also taken aback. The three young men had all been wearing masks.

            Back at Sara’s apartment, Storm’s mood was still elevated. He paced the room impatiently as she finished her usual straightening up of the cooking area, then pulled her down onto his lap to kiss her as she passed to wash her hands. She laughed, ran his fingers through his hair and returned his kiss. “You are so excited by Clinton’s speech. I almost don’t know you.”

            He laughed back at her and then his mood turned. “I almost don’t know myself. But which is my real self – this happy one with dreams of the future, or the quiet one with few illusions that I have become? It has been some years since I have had such hopes.”

            Sara settled against him and drew his arm around her. “Tell me about those hopes. What happened in those years?”

            He sighed. “I was a student then. Not at Bei Hai, but at the technical university. I was going to create new science, help bring China into the front of the world. We all had dreams then.”

Fox Spirit 37 – When Worlds Collide

Sara

            Storm stopped by Sara’s cubicle. “We should celebrate the end of the week. Shall we go again for karaoke?”

            Sara looked quickly at Storm to see if he was joking. “But last time you were embarrassed by my singing.”

            “You sing well. Maybe choose a song which doesn’t betray your heart so clearly this time.”

            “Humph!” Sara snorted. “This time I will be careful. How about if I teach everyone to sing a children’s song, like ‘Eensy Weensy Spider’?  The students at the Children’s Palace love that.”

            “You don’t have to go that far. There’s plenty of songs for grownups.” Storm refused to respond to Sara’s irritation. Instead he changed the subject. “But I have news:  Bright Liu is bringing his nu pengyou –a girlfriend.  It’ll be good for us to have more women in our group. Otherwise we talk too much politics with Zhang, right?”

            Sara nodded. “Better yet, we should find a girlfriend for Trueheart Zhang.”

            Storm laughed in agreement.

             They were both surprised at the karaoke bar when Bright Liu arrived with Jade Wang, the receptionist from Rainbow Software. “How is this?” began Storm, and then broke off with sudden understanding. “I introduced you two  last July at the time of the Hong Kong handoff. And you’ve been keeping secrets since then!” Sara’s smile was genuine as she welcomed Jade. Now she was no longer the newcomer. In the back of her mind, though, was an uneasy stirring. She and Storm had been discreet at the office, and Trueheart Zhang had said nothing, but now another work colleague shared their secret. Would it make a difference?

            This time at the karaoke bar Sara volunteered early, before anyone else had performed “Country Roads”. The familiar words gave her confidence and for the last chorus she gestured for the rest of the group to sing along. She stepped down to warm applause and, to her satisfaction, no sideways smiles or meaningful glances.

            Jade Wang followed Sara with “The Rose.” Her soft voice vibrated with intensity as she sang the last verse about the rose waiting to bloom beneath the snows of winter. Sara realized that she knew little about Jade. At the office Sara’s attention had at first been focused on winning over Scarlet Li and Jerry Wang, and then all her thoughts had been absorbed by Storm. Could Jade become a friend?

            After Liu had taken a turn with “I Left My Heart in San Francisco”, the group of five moved back to a quiet table.  Trueheart Zhang’s thin face was flushed as he finished his third beer and he glanced around the table as if looking for an argument. Sara accidentally caught his eye and he leaned forward suddenly.

            “Sai Le, so many American songs talk about going home, going back, leaving your heart somewhere else. Why do Americans move so much?  Why don’t they stay put?”

            “I don’t wish that Sai Le had stayed in her home,” interjected Storm, trying to deflect Trueheart’s belligerence.

            “No, you wouldn’t,” agreed Trueheart. “But she’s doing work that could be done by a Chinese, is being done by a Chinese in her office. Why should she be here?”

            Sara bristled at the unexpected attack. “Trueheart, you’re not being fair! I’m doing my best to help in the office and I back you up whenever I can.  It’s because I’m American. If I were Chinese you would treat me differently!”

            “But of course!  If you were Chinese you would be different. I would have a different expectation, just as we have a different expectation for America than we do for China.”

            “Why be so anti-American?” Sara protested. “You…”

            ”Not so,” Trueheart interrupted. “I admire America because of your success. America went from revolution to being a world power in 100 years, to being the #1 world power in 200 years. In your French-and-Indian War the British in America lost the first battles, but the American colonists learned from the losses how to fight a different way, so they succeeded in their revolution in 1779. Our Communists also learned from the losses of World War II how to succeed against the Nationalists in 1949. Your General Stilwell was our greatest teacher and hero.”

             “You must pardon Zhang,” Bright Liu intervened. “In college he studied American history. He wrote his final paper comparing American and Chinese history; he can go on like this for hours.” Trueheart forced a smile and shrugged his shoulders, his eyes darting back and forth between Sara and Storm.

             “Trueheart, pardon me,” Sara said humbly. “You’ve studied our history better than I have.”

            “No, don’t be polite. I only know a little, but I always want America to be our best example, so China can continue to learn, to change.” Trueheart stared moodily into his beer mug.

                        “Come, Zhang,” said Liu, elbowing his friend impatiently. “This isn’t a night for politics. It is your turn to sing. And it must be in English, to honor the coming visit of the American president.”

            Trueheart Zhang shambled up to the microphone, leafed through the menu of selections, punched in a number and launched into “To Dream the Impossible Dream.” His voice was thin, but true, and his eyes never left Storm.

            Sara was thoughtful as they returned to her apartment. “I didn’t realize Trueheart Zhang was so interested in politics. He never talked politics when we worked together in the office in Santa Flora. And he never mentions anything political at the office here.”

            “Of course not, “ Storm replied. “One doesn’t talk politics at work. Only among friends, and good friends at that. We aren’t so far from the Ten Years Turmoil as that.”

            “I’ll be careful,” Sara said. But I was surprised, too,  how much Trueheart knows about America’s history. I didn’t know Stilwell was so revered in China.”

            “Zhang has learned from many sources. When we were students he was always the political one, always the one comparing the reality of our lives with what might be. Now he is, maybe, a little bitter, and skeptical of what people are told. It is hard to know the truth of what is happening right now. Only after much time has gone by can we see clearly.”

            Sara moved to the closet to hang up her raincoat. She heard Storm stop at her desk, the sound of something being moved. She turned and saw Storm holding the framed picture which she always set by the phone during her weekly phone call to Mark. She had forgotten to put it away.

            “What is this picture?” Storm asked. “Is this your brother and his child?”

            Sara turned to face him. “No, it is my son Mark and…” H her voice stumbled, “his son. His name is Richard.”

            Storm frowned at the picture. “I can’t believe that you are a grandmother.”

            “And what’s so strange?” She was angry with herself, both for having left the picture out and for feeling embarrassed. Irrationally her anger flared in Storm’s direction. “I have a son, you know that. He is married – you know that. Why shouldn’t he have a child? You, you have a grandmother. This is how the world works.”

            “I have a grandmother, yes, but she isn’t like you.”

            His calmness only irritated Sara more. “Of course!  My mother also isn’t like me. She is older.”

            “No, my grandmother has never been like you. I’m sorry. As you say, I shouldn’t be surprised. Your son married very young?”

            At least, he was saying the tactful thing, whatever he was thinking. “Yes, very young, not out of college. And Richie arrived within a year. I also…” She stopped in mid-sentence. Why should she explain?

            Storm put the picture down carefully, still studying it. “Your son doesn’t look like you. The baby maybe a little bit. Your skin, your hair – different. Eyes maybe the same. It’s hard to be sure.”

            He moved toward her and put his hand on her shoulder, studying her face. “I can never decide what color your eyes are.” He kissed her gently, felt her tension. “Again you show that you are huli jing,  never aging, always new.” He kissed her again less gently, as she relaxed into his arms, relieved. Of course it would be all right –she would never deny her grandson. She had just omitted him for a while.