China Hand, page 10
At the end of the hall, she nudged me toward stairs leading to the basement.
We hurried down. I was thinking of my panicky flight from the laundry room when she pulled me into the shadows under the staircase.
We stood close but motionless, listening to the receding footsteps and conversation above. Then she dropped her bag and cupped my face, kissing me deeply. I thought I should keep my eyes open and alert, but they closed instinctively as I focused on her lips, her warmth, her body pressing firmly against mine.
I pulled away. “Did you get out of the laundry room okay?”
“Yes and no, but we don’t have time now. Have you given more thought to meeting in Shanghai? You think you can go?”
“Maybe. Will actually said he and I should go there for a few days. If I travel with him, I’d have an alibi.”
“Alibi?” She looked at me quizzically.
I smiled. Her English was so good that I was always surprised at the rare instance she didn’t understand something. “A cover story.”
“Yes!” She gripped my arms, nodding emphatically. “Yes, yes, yes. I will have an…alibi, also. I will tell my friends I have an aunt in Shanghai and will stay with her for one day.”
“So I’ll be Auntie Andie?”
We had to stifle our laughs.
“Which night can we meet?” she asked.
“I’ll only be there three days. I can’t abandon Will the whole time. Let’s plan on the second night.” My heart was already pounding with anticipation.
“I know a good hostel with private rooms near an indoor climbing wall I want to try.”
“You climb?”
“Yes, I love it. I do it whenever I can.” Lily certainly had a climber’s body—that lovely fusion of strength and tone. “What about you?” she asked.
“I tried it once but I’m no good.”
“I can teach you.” She winked. “And if you’re a really good student, maybe I’ll reward you with a kiss.”
She laughed again. I flashed back to our night together and wanted her right then and there, but even standing under the staircase with her felt dangerous.
I gave her a quick kiss and headed back up, worrying I’d run into Dark Suit or Rick, freshly released from the dean’s office, but I recognized no one in the nearly vacant hallway. As I swept out of the building, relishing a renewed sense of joy, Rick and Dean Chen himself intercepted me.
“Mr. Callahan,” the dean said, pointing at me.
I must have startled visibly because he asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Dean Chen.” I struggled to maintain my composure.
He smiled for the first time in my presence. Rick looked less pleased, as if I’d intentionally interrupted them.
“I’m glad to hear that,” the dean said. “You must be adjusting to life here.”
“I’ve enjoyed exploring the city. And this is a wonderful school.” I eased toward the Foreign Experts Building, hoping to cut the conversation short, but they stayed beside me, Chen with a collegial air at odds with our earlier encounters. I wondered why. Surely, Rick, glowering by his side, had reported his suspicions about Lily and me.
Seizing on the opportunity to work on my cover story, I mentioned the possibility of going to Shanghai with Will.
“I am pleased you and Mr. Carter are going to explore more of China. Shanghai has a fascinating history. It is a former treaty port, taken over by foreign powers after the Opium—” He stopped abruptly, maybe realizing the colonial reference could ruin the mood. “You should make a point of seeing the Yu Gardens. They really are beautiful.”
He patted my arm. “It is good to see that you have recovered after your rocky start, Mr. Callahan. I hear good things about you from your students. I hope you have a safe and pleasant journey.”
“Thank you—and thanks for the tip.” I was so astounded by the dean’s friendliness that I failed to ask about his own plans—or immediately consider why he was so interested in mine.
But I thought about him plenty as I hurried back to my apartment. What explained the dean’s abrupt charm offensive? Something was off.
And, as I reflected on it, the same might be said for Will’s sudden eagerness to go to Shanghai. He had never brought it up until I mentioned Lily’s suggestion. He warned me about “playing with fire” but then seemed to be nudging me toward the flames. Why?
As I opened the door to my building, I reminded myself that Shanghai was one of the most visited tourist destinations in China, just as Dean Chen had said. Having Will and Lily propose going there was no more suspicious than if they had mentioned the Great Wall. I needed to calm down.
I started up the six flights of stairs, relieved to lose myself in the effort. Before I realized it, I was bounding up them.
I arrived breathless at my door—and a surge of anxiety riddled my body, as I realized I was trying to run away from my growing suspicions about the two people I felt closest to in China.
CHAPTER 16
By the time Will and I stepped out of the taxi at Beijing Railway Station, I was prey to nothing more than exhilaration as I gazed at the building’s gilded eaves and clock towers, a curious combination of classic Chinese architecture and mid-twentieth-century Soviet designs. We were on our way to Shanghai for the long break, and I felt liberated from the constraints of the IAU and the personal concerns that had plagued me of late.
Lily had departed two days earlier, but I still found myself unconsciously searching for her as we pushed our way through the throngs of travelers to the cabin Will had reserved.
“Just remember…I’m on record that your meeting Lily is a bad idea, buddy,” he said as we settled into our “soft sleeper” bunks. I had told him about my plans when we booked our trip.
“Maybe, but it’s a done deal.”
A few kids parted the fabric door and peered into our room, giggling. I was eager to change the topic and must have looked as excited as they were as they began peppering us with questions. “Do you like Chinese food?” a plump boy asked.
“Yes, Chinese food is the best,” Will and I agreed.
A girl asked if we knew how to use chopsticks.
“You bet,” I replied. “I can do it with both hands.”
She looked impressed—until I mimed scooping up noodles with one chopstick in each hand.
“Not like that!” She laughed.
The others did, too. Another boy asked if we knew kung fu.
I pointed to Will. “He’s a master. Like Li Xiaolong.” Bruce Lee.
Will, who’d given me my first few lessons in the days before—basic hand and leg strikes, plus some simple joint locks and counters—smiled and shook his head. But the children stiffened, hands up, pretending to be scared before running off laughing.
Minutes later, the train lurched and we were off. As the hours went by, we sped past small villages of red-brick and concrete buildings, tall cityscapes in the distance, and innumerable small plots of agricultural land. We snacked on the instant noodles we’d brought along, then dozed off, eager to rest up before our long weekend.
We pulled into Shanghai some twelve hours later, and immediately headed for our run-down hostel that Will had booked at the north end of the “Bund,” an art deco strip built by the British in the early twentieth century. It was hard to believe that, only sixty years earlier, the city was still carved up into “concessions” run by foreigners. Dean Chen’s comments about the colonial influence came back to me, and suddenly I could sympathize with the humiliation so many Chinese still felt about their subjugation by Westerners.
As Will got ready in the bathroom, I thought about my rendezvous with Lily the next day—then wondered if seeing her was a huge mistake.
So much for leaving my growing paranoia in Beijing.
I looked in the mirror and saw the drawn expression on my face. I needed to shake off my anxiety or this would prove a dismal getaway, not only for me but for Lily and Will. And I couldn’t do that to my closest friend in China, the guy who’d saved my skin already more than once and who had made this trip happen.
He emerged from the bathroom, pulling my mind out of the psychological abyss. “Can’t let you go soft after that long train ride,” he said with his inimical smile. “Last one to one hundred pushups buys the first drink.”
I chuckled, but he was already on the floor pumping them out. I dropped down, too, secretly relieved to let physical exertion, once again, put my qualms at bay. In seconds, I caught up and then beat him for the first time in a physical competition.
“First beer’s on me,” he announced.
And the second and third, as we hit several bars and clubs. At the last one, Will showed off his pyrotechnical dance skills, executing a flawless routine from Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” music video. The rapt audience gave him a huge ovation.
“You’ve got quite the fan club here,” I said as an attractive woman in a tight skirt and T-shirt waved toward him. “Maybe you should take advantage of it.”
“Nah, man. I learned our first week that I need to keep you out of trouble at nightclubs.”
The next morning, I woke up woozy but didn’t want to be late for Lily. I downed a couple aspirin with some instant coffee and steamed buns from the hostel café, and was rushing to pack my bag when Will grabbed my arm.
“You be careful. I mean it.”
“Thanks, man.” He was a good guy. I felt guilty for doubting him earlier.
My Lonely Planet guide said Lily’s hostel and the climbing center were about half a mile away. As I negotiated the mob of locals and tourists, the crisp autumn air and boats bobbing on the Huangpu River energized me, though not as much as the sight of Lily. She was on the sidewalk in front of the climbing center half a block away. She turned and saw me, and we ran toward each other and embraced tightly. I knew we should be discreet, but neither of us could help it.
She took my hand and hurried me inside. “I’ve already paid the climbing fee. It’s my treat.” Lily was bubbling with excitement. “Get dressed. You can pick up your shoes and harness over there.” She motioned to a man in front of the equipment room.
When I emerged from the lockers in my gym clothes, she helped me get fitted with a harness.
I’d had such limited exposure to climbing, with its colorful ropes and assorted gear, that I might have been intimidated by what I saw as I looked up at the three-story wall with its angled juttings and numerous hand and footholds, all so brightly painted. But Lily proved a skillful teacher. By midafternoon, with her strong hands on the safety rope, I grew more comfortable on the wall, and I was happy to reciprocate for her.
I admired her strong legs through her Lycra climbing shorts. Her snug tank top revealed her tight abs and toned arms. By watching her closely, I saw how she reduced the effort on her upper limbs by using her legs to drive herself upward.
On my last climb, I made it to the top of the wall, happy to ring a bell to announce my modest triumph. Lily clapped, along with other climbers who’d witnessed my earlier, ungainly efforts.
After showering, I met Lily in the lobby store, where she held up a harness. “They have good prices on really excellent equipment.”
I wouldn’t have known good from bad, but I’d been seduced by the sport and purchased a harness, shoes, and a neatly coiled royal blue rope. The prospect of more outings with Lily motivated me as much as the climbing did.
She suggested we drop off our things at her hostel on the next block, and we headed out. We avoided holding hands, and no one appeared to take interest in us as we entered the lobby together. We took the stairs to her room and locked the door, then tumbled onto her bed. Our pent-up desire sustained us for the next two hours.
As we lay together afterward, I finally asked what had happened after I left the laundry room that night.
Lily smacked her forehead and left her hand there. “It was so close. I quickly folded up all the sheets and towels and crammed them on the shelves, then just as I was opening the door to get out of there, the head of housekeeping walked in.”
“Oh, no.”
Lily slid her hand down over her face. “It was humiliating. I think she knew right away that I’d been down there with someone. I was sure she was going to report me when she said, ‘Fang xin.’” Don’t worry about it. “‘We are all human.’ She was so kind.” Lily choked up. “This is silly, I know, but kindness makes me cry.”
I held her close until my stomach rumbled.
“I know what that means,” Lily laughed, shooting upright in the bed. “And I know a great place to eat near here.”
Out in public again, I kept my head down, worrying that people could tell the nature of our relationship in a glance. Both of us refrained from any displays of overt affection on the way to a small neighborhood restaurant. Half of its tables were occupied with families and friends chattering away, while a few single men smoked and read the paper.
“This is an authentic local restaurant,” Lily said, eyes on the chalkboard menu. “Foreigners never come to a place like this.”
The offerings were not extensive. They didn’t need to be. Hungry from climbing, we ate a full meal, cooked to perfection: xiaolongbao, traditional Shanghainese dumplings; xiehuang doufu, tofu and crab meat casserole; a braised pork belly dish called hongshao rou; some siji dou, sautéed string beans; and white rice.
The sun was setting when we stepped back outside and made our way to Nanjing Road, following it from the famous Peace Hotel on the waterfront all the way past People’s Square on the grounds of a colonial-era horseracing track. We eventually stopped for ice cream at a Baskin-Robbins. I didn’t know where they sourced the ingredients, but it was the best tasting rocky road I’d ever had. Maybe it was having Lily by my side.
When we returned to her room, our lovemaking, for the first, time, assumed slower rhythms, as though we understood that we wouldn’t be doing this again for a while. Will had made plans with me for the next day, and Lily needed to keep up appearances—in every sense—with her friends.
We fell asleep as I held her close.
Over tea the next morning in the hostel, Lily noted the obvious. “We can’t meet in the basement of my building again.”
I agreed and told her about anxiously watching Rick and Dark Suit in front of the North Gate. “It seems like there’s no way to have privacy on campus.”
“I was thinking of the hostels in Beijing,” she went on. “There are so many, and we could be anonymous there, too.”
I was increasingly sure that this was no mere fling, and that we were both steering toward a real future together. I was so certain of this that I didn’t question our ability to find a safe harbor for our love.
CHAPTER 17
I took the bottom bunk on the train back to Beijing, replaying my most passionate moments with Lily as the lullaby of the tracks rocked me to sleep.
I woke up with a start, realizing that we hadn’t gone to the Yu Gardens, which the dean had specifically said we should visit. Would he be offended? The memory of his scowling face answered that question.
“Bad dream?” Will looked down from above.
“You could put it that way.” I explained that the Dean was probably expecting a report on the visit to Yu Gardens.
“Just tell him you loved the gardens. Say the rockeries were—”
“The what-eries?”
“Rockeries. Stone walls with lots of plants and flowers. The main attraction—those and some koi ponds and ginkgo trees. Just riff on that and you’ll have it covered.”
Taking his word for it, I fell back asleep, and we both returned to Beijing reenergized for Will’s potluck dinner party on the last night of our long break. He’d invited the nine other teachers—American, French, Korean, and Japanese—asking us to bring a “taste of home.”
I arrived early to help him prepare, setting my bowl of neon yellow Kraft macaroni and cheese on the table. Not gourmet, but definitely American. I’d found the familiar blue boxes at the Western supermarket across town. Will, of course, outdid me with a fragrant pot roast—culinary skills honed at his family’s small restaurant in Asheville.
The other Americans added barbecued ribs, buffalo wings, and fruit salad—with dragon fruit as an exotic addition. The Frenchman Philippe brought beef bourguignon, the Korean couple bibimbap—a mixed rice, meat, and vegetable dish—and the Japanese couple Yukimi and Makoto contributed a perfect platter of tonkatsu, a fried pork chop breaded with panko. For dessert, Will made Toll House chocolate chip cookies, and we all regifted piles of bland, red-bean-filled mooncakes—the fruitcakes of China—that we had received for Mid-Autumn Festival.
Everybody filled their plates—sans mooncakes—as Will handed out cold beers and wine.
“Let’s toast to tonight’s spectacular example of international collaboration—at least on cuisine!” he announced to shouts and claps.
“Salut!” yelled Philippe as he uncorked a bottle of champagne.
“I do believe we’ve assembled a menu almost as diverse as the Cheesecake Factory,” Will added.
“Chi-zu-kei-ki?” Yukimi asked her husband, her eyes darting around.
“An American restaurant chain,” I explained to slow nods.
I’d been eager to get to know the other teachers but was immediately buttonholed by the one man I’d been avoiding since orientation, when he introduced Dean Chen: Tom Blum, with his fly-away mustache, intense dark eyes, and Mao suit. Blum was a committed Marxist, and Will had warned me that Tom was always on the prowl for new converts to his cause.
As the long minutes turned into an hour, I tried to numb myself by downing a second and then a third Yanjing while Blum droned on about how he came to understand the superiority of communist systems—first in the Soviet Union and then in China.
“It was 1973, toward the end of the Cultural Revolution, and I went to Beijing to see for myself how Mao’s great mobilization of the proletariat was working.”
