The Season of the Stranger (6 page)

“I studied each group, yes. And you cannot say that there is no perspective. It is just that the parallel lines come together in your eye and not in the distance. It opens as you look at it, so the subjects must be ranged one above the other. Your western paintings, above all those that I can understand, are limited by size and horizon.”

“And those that you cannot yet understand are closer to your own because they are not limited. It requires only study.”

“All right,” she smiled. “I will study.” They came out of the park. “This way,” she said.

“Why? Are we not eating at home?”

“No. We are going to the Pearl River restaurant.”

“That would be silly,” he said. “Wen-li will have a lunch prepared.”

“
My eye
,” she said. He stopped and laughed.

“Where did you learn that?” he asked her.

“In a novel you gave me. Did I use it correctly?”

“Yes,” he said. “It is the first English I have heard you use in a long time. Do you still study?”

“I read. I would like to speak with you in English, but I am afraid you will not progress with Chinese if you speak too much English.”

“It is not as bad as that,” he said. “We will use English sometimes in the evenings. I have not used it myself for almost two weeks, except in class.”

“But you read almost always in English.”

“Yes. I should be ashamed. But English is easy, and except for the new magazines Chinese literature is not yet as interesting to me as my own. I mean the content.”

“I know,” she said. “The novels you gave me are as interesting to me as our own. This way.” She turned.

“What about Wen-li?”

“I told him before we left that we would not be back for lunch.”

“Really,” he said. “Thoughtful.”

“He asked me if you knew. When I said no he thought it was very funny.”

“He will never respect me again.”

“He will always respect you because you are a teacher.”

“A fine teacher,” he said. “Led around by a woman of twenty years.”

“Here we are,” she said.

He pulled open the rotting wooden door and followed her into the dark restaurant. There were six tables and no customers. They took a table in the rear, against the wall. “The stove is just behind the wall,” she said. It was warm. They sat on cramping uncomfortable wooden sawhorses. He put two together and was more comfortable. “Give me another,” she said. He fixed it for her and they sat down again. The waiter came in with a strip of paper. He put it on the table and stood waiting.

“Tea first,” Girard said.

“Pour tea,” the waiter shouted. They read the menu.

“Sweet and sour pork,” Girard said, “and a Miss Huang plate. Rice. Afterward cabbage soup.”

“Sweetsourpork. Huangplate. Rice,” the waiter yelled. He disappeared into the kitchen.

“Warm?”

“Yes.” She picked up a newspaper that had been lying against the wall. “Today's.” She read through the first page. “Ten thousand communist troops killed.”

“Yes,” he said. “That brings the total to well over three hundred million. More than half of China. At a sacrifice to our own brave armies of twelve men, four million five hundred thousand square li, and one drummer boy.”

“One what?”

“Drummer boy. As in the opera. A small one who drums. The western armies used to have them.”

“Oh. It says here also that Kuach'eng has repulsed an enemy attack.”

“That means it has fallen. It is the only way to be sure. Wait until the government newspaper says the enemy has been beaten back, and then make your bets. Where is Kuach'eng?”

“A small town in the north. The girls said this morning that it had fallen, but no one can be sure.”

“We can be sure now,” he said. “The government has said that it still stands. Is it an important town?”

“I do not know,” she said. “I am not familiar with the small towns of the north. I think a railroad goes through it because I have seen the name on the old British timetables.”

The waiter came with the tea. He was about eighteen years old and he had once had smallpox. He put the tea on the table and went back to the kitchen.

“Are you,” he said, and stopped.

“Am I what?”

“I do not know the word,” he said. “It is what a doctor does so that you will not get the disease the waiter has had.”

“Oh,” she said. “Vaccination. Smallpox. Yes, I am.”

“How do you say them?” She told him and he sat remembering them and using them in sentences. “Smallpox,” he said. “Vaccination.”

She turned a page and folded the newspaper double. “That's right.” She did not look up.

“Let me see the characters for Kuach'eng,” he said. She held the newspaper toward him and put her fingernail under the characters. “Oh,” he said, “that is kua. Now I know where it is.”

“Where is it?” She was reading again.

“South of Shenyang. Very important.”

“Why?”

“If it has fallen the whole war may move southward quickly.”

The waiter came in with the rice and the pork. He set two bowls of rice in front of them and put the meat in the center of the table. He dropped four sticks on the table and two square patches of paper, and went out again and brought in a bowl of hot water. They dipped the sticks in the hot water and rubbed them clean and dry with the paper. The sweet and sour pork was sticky and too hot to take by itself, without rice. The other was a platter of hot and peppery finely chopped pork in a watery sauce. Li-ling put away her newspaper and they ate.

Before they had finished the first bowl of rice four customers came in and ordered. A beggar came in after that and sat in the corner near Girard, on the floor, making noise over the hot tea the waiter gave him. The waiter said to him, “How are you?”

“Terrible,” the old man said. “Terrible. Everyone gives me the old out-of-date money.”

“Ya,” the waiter said. “Stay a while and be warm.”

“Thank you, old grandfather,” the beggar said.

“Never mind, old flower,” the boy said. He left and the old man sat sniffling into the tea.

They finished the meat and the second bowl of rice and the next time Girard saw the boy he asked him for the soup. When that was gone he had to shout into the kitchen for him. The waiter came to the table and stacked the plates, muttering his addition in rapid almost unintelligible calculation. When he had it he added the tea money and said, “Four million five hundred thousand dollars.”

Girard looked at Li-ling. “Pay him,” he said. “I have no money.”

She started to say something and then dug into the interior pocket of her heavy gown. She counted out five million dollars and put the bills on the table. They stood up. The boy took the money and counted it and looked around and said, “Good.” Then he shouted very loudly, “Four million five hundred thousand dollars paid, five hundred thousand dollars wine money.” The others in the restaurant stopped talking to listen and when they heard they yelled enthusiastically, “Ya-ah, ya-ah.” The waiter shouted again: “The lady paid.” The customers roared, “Ya-ah,” and beat on the tables. The beggar beat on the floor with the flat of his hand. Then they stopped and the two went out.

“Where to?”

“Back to the park,” she said. “There is too much sun to go indoors.”

On the hill, on the same bench, they sat together and let the sun warm their faces. He slumped back against the snow and closed his eyes and she leaned back against him. After a few minutes she said, “Will you really stay if the war comes?”

“Yes. Will you?”

“I suppose I will. I have no friends in any other part of the country.”

“You would not be afraid?”

“I might be. But no more than the others. It is different with you.”

“I know,” he said. He put his arm around her and they sat without moving.

“Andrew,” she said, “let's go back. There are clouds and I am cold.”

“All right,” he said. “What time is it?”

“After four.”

He looked at his watch. “I must have slept.”

“You did.”

“Are you angry?”

She smiled. “You were pretty. Once you opened your mouth.”

“Did I make noise?”

“No. Help me down the hill.” He stood and shook the gown and rubbed his eyes with snow.

“All right,” he said. “Come on.”

At the bottom of the hill she said, “You are still asleep.”

“I was tired,” he said.

“My child,” she said. “Chase me home.” She turned and ran with her short light steps across the dike that cut the pond in half. He started to walk slowly after her and then changed his mind and ran. At the end of the dike he dug in to jump to the wide path and the dike crumbled. He slid back and dropped on one knee, going through the ice into the shallow water at the edge of the pond. He picked himself up and took two steps to the bank and followed her.

When he got to the house Wen-li was putting coal on the fire. “There is a letter for you,” he said.

Girard took it from the bookcase. It was on university stationery. He tore off the end of the long brown envelope and unfolded the letter. It was a request to see Dean Chou at his earliest convenience. He put it back in the envelope and put the envelope in the one volume Shakespeare. “Anything important?” she asked. Wen-li paused at the door.

“No,” Girard said. “It concerns the syllabus.” Wen-li went out.

“Your feet,” she said. “Did you fall in?”

“Yes.”

She went to the door and called after Wen-li. “Bring some hot water in a basin.”

Girard went into the bedroom and hung his gown in the closet. He put on a flannel shirt and a sweater. He took off the shoes and socks and the soggy padded trousers and wrapped his thin spring gown around him. “Bring me a sweater,” she called. He took from the closet a red sweater he had never worn and went into the living room with it. She had thrown her gown on the large chair and was standing near the stove holding her hands out. “Here,” he said. “Put it on.”

Wen-li came in with the water. “Right here,” she said, “near the sofa.” He crossed the room and put the basin on the floor. “Come and sit,” she said to Girard. He sat on the sofa and pulled the gown up over his knees. She went into the bathroom and came out with a washrag and a towel. She relaxed on the floor and put his feet into the basin.

“Very hot,” he said.

“Of course,” she said. She rubbed his feet and ankles with the warm cloth. After his feet had been in the water a few minutes he was too comfortable and his eyes began to close again. She stopped that by taking one foot from the water and rubbing it with the towel. When it was dry she picked up the other foot and someone knocked at the door.

“Come in,” Girard called.

“Andrew, don't,” she said, and then she stood up quickly. Doctor Liao was in the doorway. He stared at the basin and then nodded at her.

“How are you,” he said.

“How are you,” she said. She bowed with her head and said, “Excuse me. I will wash my hands.” She went into the bathroom. The doctor looked at Girard.

“Very domestic,” he said.

“Yes,” Girard said. “I fell in a ricepond.”

The doctor looked at Girard's legs “Oh. And she always takes care of you?”

“She does not live here, if you mean that.”

“I would not dream of suggesting it,” the doctor said.

Girard stood up. The gown fell to his ankles. “Listen, Hsü-mo,” he said. “Today we are speaking your language. When a man wants to lie he uses his mother tongue. I tell you there is nothing of that.” He walked around the doctor and into the bedroom. When he came out with a pair of socks and dry shoes the doctor was standing in the same place. “Don't be a fool,” Girard said. “Sit down.”

The doctor took the large chair. Before he sat down he took Li-ling's gown from the arm of the chair and put it carefully on the sofa. “I apologize,” he said. “I believe you.” He looked at the closed bathroom door. “I want to see you. But not with her, and not when either of us has been angry. Will you come to my home tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” Girard said. “Is it something of importance?”

“Important enough,” the doctor said. “Don't see the dean until afterward, will you?”

Girard looked at him, trying to see something in his eyes. “You know that a letter came for me?”

The doctor shrugged. “If you had not already received it you would have tonight.”

“How bad is it?”

The doctor shook his head. “Not bad at all. Just confusing. But see me first.” He stood. Girard stood with him and shook his hand. “After I've gone let her know that I like her,” the doctor said.

“I will. And thank you. I will come to your home in the morning.”

“Good,” the doctor said. He went to the door. “See you again.”

“See you again,” Girard said. The doctor went out.

When Li-ling heard the front door swing to she came out of the bathroom. “Did you hear everything?” Girard asked her.

“Yes. He is very nice.”

“He is.”

“What does he want to see you about?”

“I do not know,” he said. “Maybe about this syllabus thing.”

“You should speak English with him,” she said. “He likes it.”

“I know. But he feels the same way you do. He knows what is necessary and what is luxurious.”

“Andrew, put your shoes and socks on,” she said.

“You don't listen when I talk.”

“Yes, I do. Put them on.” He sat on the edge of the sofa and put the socks on. One was ripped open at the big toe. “You have a hole in your sock,” she said.

“I see it,” he said. “Don't hang over me.”