Lost in Translation Page 0,54

surely that was impossible, for the Japanese had spirited the bones away fifty years before—the Americans might try to smuggle the fossils out of the country? The very idea made Sun Gong bridle in righteous fury.

Or was it possible—could it be—did they suspect espionage?

Yes, he thought, pulling hard on the strong cigarette and feeling his heart race, yes, it was possible. Anything was possible. The archaeologists were going to cross a missile range, after all. Highly sensitive. State secrets.

For years, Sun Gong had been looking for a way to prove himself to the bosses above his head. It was not easy, out here in the provinces, where nothing ever happened.

He snatched up the phone and jabbed out a number. Miles away, at the PLA command post, he heard the insistent ring.

"Wei?"

"Give me Lieutenant Shan."

"Lieutenant Shan! Who’s calling?"

He raised his face and blew a perfect smoke ring, which floated lazily toward the ceiling. "His cousin," he answered, satisfied, for a moment, with his lot in life. "Ningxia Province Party Vice Manager Sun Gong."

Back at the Number One, she stopped at the front desk after dinner. "Phone call to Beijing." She took a form and filled it out.

The fuwuyuan took the slip, bored. "Hao-de, " she said. "Deng yixia. "

On her way back to her room Alice thought through what to say. Mother Meng, I’m sorry for the scene I caused, showing up like that with Jian and his wife there, at your apartment. Next time before I visit you I’ll call first —

The phone in her room was jangling. Next to it she saw the clipping, the yellowed newsprint, the obituary of Lucile Swan. She snatched at the receiver. "Wei!"

"Beijing dianhua!" the operator screamed.

Suddenly there was a male voice on the other end. "Wei! Wei!"

A male voice? But this was Meng Shaowen’s apartment.

"Wei, " she said tentatively, "Duibuqi." Sorry. "I must have punched wrong. I’m seeking the home of Meng Shaowen."

"Who is this?" The voice tensed.

"Jian?" she whispered. Of all the bad luck—

"Mo Ai-li," he said flatly, recognizing her.

"Jian, please. Is she there? I need to talk to her."

"You can’t."

"Please, Jian—"

"Do you understand me or not!" he cried in a swift, miserable spurt. "She’s gone away!"

"What?" Gone away was the Chinese euphemism for dead, but he couldn’t mean she was dead, he couldn’t possibly—

"Ta zou-le, " he repeated, She’s gone away.

"But what are you talking about!" she cried.

"It was her lungs—an embolism, they think. The neighbors took her to the hospital but"—now she heard his voice cracking —"it was too late."

"But I just saw her Saturday! She was fine!"

"It happened that night. Later."

"I don’t believe it!" Behind the words her heart was screaming and thrashing in her chest. "Are you sure?"

"Ai-li," he said softly. "Of course I’m sure."

"But, Jian, it’s impossible."

"Ai-li, please," he said. There was a strained silence, as if he was trying to decide whether to comfort her, which was dangerous, for it might let some of the love back in between them, or whether to cut her off quickly and decisively. "Eh, " he said gruffly. "How do you think I feel? She’s my mother. But now she’s gone. Gone to the Yellow Springs. You’ll see her in another life. Isn’t it so?"

He waited for her to answer but she couldn’t, she could only stand frozen with the tears burning and forcing and finally seeping out of her eyes. She pressed the phone against her forehead. How could he expect her to answer?

"Eh, Mo Ai-li, bie ku," Don’t cry. "I’m sorry if I was rough with you the other day. I never expected to see you here. And my wife—my baby ..."

"I know," she gulped through her tears.

"I wish you good luck in your life," he said. "Really." He paused and she didn’t answer. He waited a little more and finally cleared his throat. "Good-bye, Ai-li," he whispered softly, and hung up the phone.

7

"All right," she called through the door. "I’m coming." She splashed a little more cold water on her face, then checked the mirror. Anybody could tell she’d been crying.

"What’s wrong?" Spencer said instantly.

"Nothing."

"Come on. Don’t be so Chinese. Something happen?"

"I just learned a friend in Beijing died."

"Oh." He studied her. "Close friend?"

"Yes."

"Hey. Sorry. Was it sudden?"

"Yes. Well, no. She was old. She had lung problems."

"That’s too bad." His baggy gray eyes were kind. "Still want to go out on our mission this evening?"

"Yes," she said firmly, and wiped her face with the backs of her hands. "Yes. Let’s go."

"Good. That’s what Teilhard would have said,