Fox Spirit 78 –
July 2001
Sara
Sara pushed back her chair from the keyboard and ran her fingers through her hair. Storm was out of town and the end of quarter numbers had absorbed all her attention. Then she heard a step behind her and Scarlet Li’s voice. “It’s Friday – you shouldn’t be working late tonight.”
Sara turned to face Scarlet with a smile and a shake of her head. “I’ve got no plans for the evening, so I wanted to finish this letter to the investors. And it’s cooler in the office. But you’re right – I mustn’t be too late picking up Riqi.”
“No plans? Then you must come eat with us. Snow Plum would be delighted to have Riqi as guest; Hu can talk politics with you. We can stop at the market, buy fish, pick up Snow Plum and Riqi together.
“Buhaoyisi. So embarrassing.” The ritual disclaimer at any invitation came naturally to Sara now.
“Bu keqi. Don’t stand on politeness. Put away your papers and come.”
There was no excuse to be had, nor did Sara really want one. Richie would be grumpy on this hot July evening and Sara hadn’t really looked forward to fighting the dusty wind, picking up Richie alone, and contriving a dinner for the two of them.
Scarlet wheeled her bicycle out of the back hallway ahead of Sara, opened the door and then stopped in amazement. The normally quiet street bordering the Bei Hai campus was thronged with students, shouting, cheering, and waving banners. Cars inched their way through the throngs, more students hanging from the windows, riding on the bumpers, cheering, and singing.
“What is it? Some special holiday?” Sara asked quickly. No, tomorrow was Bastille Day, but surely that wouldn’t trigger such a celebration in Beijing?
“I don’t know. Wait a minute.” Scarlet Li set her bicycle against the wall and walked briskly out to the road. She took a young man by the arm, Sara could see her lips asking a question, see the young man grin as he answered. Scarlet Li came back to Sara, smiling broadly. “We may have trouble buying at the market. Everyone will be celebrating! China has been awarded the Olympics!” She gave a little skip and crow of delight.
“For what year?”
“2008 – We’ll have a lot to do in seven years! We’ll give the world such a show!”
Sara was amazed at the outpouring of national pride and celebration. Banners were suddenly everywhere, waved by grandmothers from upper windows and by young men perched on lampposts. Sara and Scarlet Li struggled through the happy, singing crowd to the Children’s Palace to retrieve Snow Plum and Riqi, then walked their bicycles with the children perched astride – there was no hope of riding with so many people in the street. The children rode each with wide eyes and fingers in mouth, staring at the people, the flags, and the flashing lights.
“Maybe we won’t stop for fish,” Scarlet Li said. “I have other food at home and by the time we get there at this slow rate the children will be ready to eat anything. I’m glad we’re together – it would be harder still for just one person to make a way. I think my husband will be slow to get home also. He’ll be coming against the tide, from Tiananmen Square. All Beijing will be going the other way!”
“Long live the motherland!” The shouts echoed from the buildings. “China 2008!” ”Beijing! Beijing!” Sara kept her bicycle at Scarlet Li’s side, but could not help smiling. “Beijing!” she cried out.“Beijing!”
Her voice merged with the general shouting. Then a stranger was pushed against her, stepped on her foot, turned to apologize and stopped in mid “Dui bu qi…” as he registered her foreign face. He quickly moved back to make way for her, muttering a nervous “Par-mee, ma’am”.
Suddenly Sara was down to earth again. No matter how she felt, she would never be anything but a foreigner. She felt tears, fought them back. Scarlet looked over at Sara and her joyous expression changed to concern.
“Mei guanxi. It is nothing –just the moment…” Sara said quickly, forcing her face into a smile. Scarlet nodded and turned back to the task of finding a path for the bicycles through the crowd. Sara took a deep breath and followed her. At least she had learned about masks.
Ruth Cheng called a week later, just before lunchtime on Monday. It was the first time Sara had heard from her since their meeting after Richie’s arrival almost eighteen months earlier, except for a red and gold greeting card at the New Year. Her voice was cool and formal. “I am at Bei Hai, Meile Taitai. I’m hoping that we could again meet for coffee. Could you possibly make time this afternoon?”
“This afternoon would be difficult, Mrs. Cheng,” was Sara’s first reaction, looking at her cluttered desk. But then she wondered – What is this about? Ruth Cheng wants something. Might as well get it over, whatever it is.Sara quickly rephrased her knee-jerk refusal “I was just getting ready to go to lunch. Can we meet at the Tully’s coffee shop again at 12:30? Would that be possible?”
“Yes, you’re very kind to agree to my last-minute request. 12:30 will be fine.”
Twenty minutes into lunch and Sara knew no more than she had before about why she was there. Ruth Cheng had greeted her warmly, shaken her hand, insisted on paying for Sara’s sandwich and coffee, led the way to a table in an isolated corner. They chatted about the hot July weather, the excitement of the Beijing Olympics choice, and the excellent air conditioning in the Tully’s Coffee Shop compared to Sara’s office or the Chengs’ apartment. Mrs. Cheng mentioned how little they saw of Storm with his increased business travel; Sara agreed and took pains to mention how Storm’s hard work had helped Rainbow Software’s success.
“But it’s not just his travel that takes so much of his time,” Mrs. Cheng said softly. “When he is in Beijing he is with you and with the small child. He returns home only to sleep. We see him for breakfast only. The rest of his life is with you.”
Mrs. Cheng paused, as if waiting for a comment from Sara. Sara recognized that the real subject of the meeting was approaching and waited.
“I haven’t seen your grandson, but Storm has shown me a picture. He is a beautiful child.”
Sara still said nothing. The proper Chinese response would be to deny the compliment, but she could not make herself say disparaging things about Richie to Storm’s mother.
Mrs. Cheng took a sip of coffee, set the cup down carefully, and folded her hands in her lap. “Storm is very fond of this child, I think. And of you. He has spoken of you both as jia ren, his family.”
With relief Sara found she could speak. “Storm is very good with Riqi. Very patient. They’ve become very good friends.”
Yes,” agreed Ruth Cheng quickly. “I think this is good preparation for when Storm becomes a father. He will understand children better if he has some experience.”
The abrupt image of Storm being a father to another woman’s child made Sara’s stomach twist. She heard the murmur of conversation around them, the clink of pottery, the sputtering of the espresso machine, as if from a great distance. She knew with the sudden sourness in her belly why Ruth Cheng had asked for this meeting.