Lost in Translation Page 0,122
buying more land! The sale of Peking Man.
But Guo was searching through his dignity-rumpled pockets for a smoke. "Mei-le, " he muttered, and shot her his most unctuous smile. "Mo Ai-li. Trouble you. You have a cigarette?"
"I don’t smoke."
He looked pointedly at the shoes on the floor, the male trousers which might very well—he made this clear with his knowing shrug—have had a pack in one pocket. But he said nothing. With a long sigh he folded back into the chair. "Let us ascend to the summit of our discussion, then. Mo Ai-li. I have other news. You asked me to learn what became of the professor’s wife, do you remember it or not? I have done what you asked. I have attained the answer."
"Later!" She dropped her voice. "We should meet at another time to talk on this."
But Lin heard.
And the bathroom door crashed open.
He stumbled out, clutching a white towel to his waist. He looked blazingly at Guo Wenxiang, and pounced on each syllable. "Mafan ni zai shuo yibian, " Trouble you to say that again.
"Eh, it’s you." Guo gave his larded smile. "Dr. Lin! Good morning. It’s my pleasure to see that you and the American woman have become intimate friends. I was just talking about news of your ... wife. Eh, my sympathies! It’s been a bad road. Truly! But time passes. Is it not so? In spring, the orchid; in autumn"—he glanced meaningfully at Alice—"the chrysanthemum."
The blaze of fury crept palpably up her face. The condescension to say this right in front of her!
But Lin would not be sidetracked. "Who asked you to look for my wife?"
"Don’t you know, Dr. Lin?" Guo said creamily. "Your colleague!" He gestured to Alice.
"Ai-li?" Lin blinked back astonishment. "You engaged him to look for Zhang Meiyan?"
"Yes."
His face darkened in a way she found terrible, unreadable.
"It’s true, I asked him to look for her."
"Why?"
"What do you mean, why! You were looking for her. Were you not? I thought this would help."
"This was my search, Ai-li," he said evenly. "Not yours."
"Please, Shiyang, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it—"
"But you did it in secret!"
"Yes ..." She looked down, yes, okay, so in a way she’d deceived him. But why would Lin not welcome help? From her, from anyone?
"Don’t stand on ceremony!" Guo cut in. "It’s of no import! What’s certain is this: I have gained news of the woman Zhang Meiyan from Camp Fourteen." He shrugged as if uncovering this secret were a trifle, no more than another job well done. He patted his pockets conspicuously. "Eh, Lin Boshi, you yan meiyou?" Do you have a cigarette or not?
"I do not."
"Pitiable." Guo rummaged around in his clothes one last hopeful time.
"Guo Wenxiang," Lin ordered, "whatever it is. Say it."
Oh, God, Alice thought. Zhang Meiyan is alive! Waiting in some desert hut or some apartment in some desert town, waiting for Lin, still in love with him, waiting....
But Guo was speaking. "Bitter the river. Bitter the lake. Forgive me for carrying this news. She has been dead for nineteen years."
17
All the air seemed to blow out of Alice at once. From her core burst the shameful thought: Dead? Thank God!
"Are you sure of this?" Lin’s gaze pried at Guo Wenxiang’s face.
"Certain as the moon in the sky."
"And how do you know?"
"Shi zheyangde. I’ve talked to people who remember things in that camp. It was bad for some years. Not enough to eat. And other years, sickness."
Lin Shiyang’s eyes filled.
Alice felt she would burst, looking at his life pain, the boards and nails that had defined him all these years, flooding out. The archaeology of his heart. His eyes spilled over. Unlike Western men, Chinese men cried when they needed to, free of shame. Yet another thing she loved. Ge you ge de tedian....
"You will excuse me. I need to get dressed." Lin stumbled past them, snatched up his clothes, slammed into the bathroom.
"Congshi zhaolai!" she spat at Guo.
"Of course I’m telling the truth."
"Your information’s good?"
"Miss Mo, dangran-le, Hasn’t it always been good?"
She nodded. "Yes." She steadied her breathing. "It has...."
Lin came out. "Now, tell me everything."
"Eh, all right, I’ll speak frankly." Guo relaxed into his self-important smile. "To be honest, I know only the general line of events."
Lin waited.
"Your wife’s name was Zhang Meiyan. Is it not so?" Guo paused as if this was a masterful stroke of detective work, when in fact it was only information given him by Alice.
"Yes."
"So. Two different people told me this story. Each was