Lost in Translation Page 0,56

put it down.

He cleared his throat. "Wo xiang qing wen yixia. Do you know—do you happen to know—were all the camps in this area closed or are any still open? I am talking of the women’s camps. "

"Eh, younger brother, it’s not always good to speak so boldly."

"I know," he said. He was careful to look away from her now. One never knew who might be watching.

"But you have a good face, an open face. I’ll tell you to the limit of my knowing. All of them were closed, the last ones more than five years ago."

"Thank you," he said softly, and finished his porridge, not speaking to her or glancing at her again. As he left he did not notice a man observing him, a man who stood in a doorway on the other side of the road staring distractedly, now, at the ground. A man who at this moment was swiftly recataloguing in his mind every movement Dr. Lin had made, his route here from the hotel, his time inside the little café. In which a conversation seemed to have taken place, but too far away for the man to hear.

Dr. Lin turned the corner to walk back toward the Number One.

The man stepped into the street and followed him.

The four of them plodded the steep, rock-rubbled canyons for a few days more and found nothing. The third night Spencer walked into her room with a bottle of Russian vodka. "Do you mind?" he said, his face squished over to one side by his lopsided grin. "I really hate to drink alone."

"No. No—it’s fine," she answered. She’d been sitting alone, staring out the window, replaying Meng Shaowen’s death in her mind. Now the sight of Spencer’s soft, lived-in face and his worn American jeans was a welcome relief. I need a friend, she thought. "Come in."

"Thanks." He strolled past her, dropped into one of the two armchairs, and twisted the cap off the bottle. "You feeling better about your friend’s death?"

"Actually no," she said. "I’m not feeling better."

He shook his head, uncovered the ceramic tea mugs, and gurgled vodka into them. "Here." He handed her one. "My sympathies. "

They clicked teacups and drank.

"Grief is a killer, isn’t it?" he said. "Brings you right up to the truth."

Truth. Sometimes she wasn’t sure what the word even meant. What had Teilhard written? Truth lies in seeing that everything gives way in the direction, and under the influence, of beauty and goodness. That is the inner face of evolution....

"Like me," Spencer was saying. "I have this son. Tyler. Before his mother and I split I used to take him everywhere with me—when I wasn’t working, I mean. We’d go out to one of the rock ranches and dig agates, cheer at the ball games, drive around the desert to the old mining ghost towns. I used to put him to sleep every night. Now he doesn’t even live in the same state as me. He’s growing up and I’m not even getting to see it." Spencer’s eyes clouded, pinched; he looked away from her.

"I’m sorry," she said quietly.

"Yeah. Well."

"Maybe one day you’ll get married again. Then he can live with you."

"Married?" He let out a short, empty laugh. "Impossible. I’d have to have sex again first."

"Frightening, isn’t it?" She laughed, working hard not to show her discomfort.

He took a sip of vodka and closed his eyes for a second. "Look, Alice, maybe we could just talk about this. We’re on this trip together, I’m a single man, you’re a single woman. But believe me, I’m not coming after you. I can’t deal with any of that stuff at the moment. The only person I care about is Tyler. So. You can relax." He glanced at her.

"Thanks. I appreciate it. Male clients are one of my occupational hazards. They’re always coming on to me."

"I won’t. Don’t worry. "

"And I feel the same way about you. I mean," she said delicately, "I’m not interested."

"Friends, then."

"Friends."

He held out his cup and she tapped hers against it. He was glad they had gotten it out on the table, glad he had not mentioned the real reason he would never approach her, which was that she seemed far too various. He would never let himself trust a woman like her, not at this point in his life. Permanence, that was what he wanted now. Loyalty. "Can I ask you a question, though?"

She nodded.

"There is something different about you—I can’t quite place it." He studied her. "It’s