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“All that was a long time ago.”
“But today, looking back from a position of world domination and tremendous prosperity, wouldn’t you have to say that the ends justified the means?”
“And what were you going to get out of it?”
Amy sneered. “You still don’t see it? With Henry and Sun out of the way, we could do anything. I helped Doug, he helped me. Doug wanted your company,” she said, acknowledging Henry. “I wanted the governorship.”
Amy’s confession, for what it was worth, gained her little but some soap, toothpaste, the promise of bottled water, and a towel.
One day when Hulan’s mother and her nurse had gone to see Dr. Du and David was on a trip to Los Angeles, Hulan heard a ring at the front gate. She padded out through the courtyards and opened the door. Though it was the middle of the day, the alley had been cleared of all people except for a man who announced that her presence was required elsewhere and she should get in the car please. She obeyed, knowing that if she didn’t come back, no one would ever know what had happened to her.
The driver took her through the narrow alleys of the hutong, then popped out on the opposite shore of Shisha Lake from Hulan’s home. Here the driver’s progress stopped while he waited for a flock of Secrets of the Hutongs Special Tourist Agency pedicabs, each loaded with one or two Westerners, to pass. This tour was a new fad in Hulan’s neighborhood, and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it. On the one hand, she didn’t like to see so many foreigners in this little enclave; on the other, the success of the state-owned agency might help to keep the neighborhood from being razed. As the sweating pedicab drivers slowly pedaled out of the way, Hulan stared out across the lake. Old men with fishing poles dotted the shore. Just outside her window, three skinny boys took turns jumping into the water. Their hollers, hoots, and squeals came to her on a soft breeze.
The sedan began to move again, and a few minutes later the driver pulled up to a gated compound. Like any traditional compound, the exterior walls were unpainted and gave no indication of hidden wealth. A guard ticked their names off a list, and the driver pulled inside.
Hulan had come here many times as a child and expected the compound to look smaller and less impressive. In fact, she had just the opposite sensation. The grounds were more beautiful than she remembered from those long-ago days. Gingko, camphor, and willow trees created a shadowed oasis. A stream—and Hulan remembered this vividly from playing out there with the other children of high-ranking cadres—meandered along the inside perimeter of the compound. Sponge rocks jutted from the sides of the stream. Stands of bamboo sheltered pavilions and summer houses. Birds chirped and twittered and cooed in the walls of greenery, reminding Hulan that there’d once been a dovecote behind the main house. She wondered if it was still there.
She followed the driver up the steps and into the foyer, which smelled of mothballs and mildew. They passed several formal parlors where the furniture was draped in dingy sheets, then traveled up a back staircase and down a hall with high ceilings. The driver tapped on a heavy door, slowly opened it, and motioned for Hulan to enter. As soon as she did, the door closed behind her. Five men, not one younger than seventy, sat in overstuffed chairs in a semicircle facing her. Each face was as familiar to her as if it had been her father’s. Behind these five men sat two others, Hulan realized as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. One was Vice Minister Zai; the other was Governor Sun.
“Please sit, Inspector Liu Hulan,” the man in the middle said, gesturing gracefully to a straight-back chair. When she hesitated, he added, “Don’t rely on tradition. We know you are still weak. Sit.”
Hulan sat, folded her hands in her lap, and waited. A matronly woman appeared out of the shadows along the wall, poured tea, then backed away again.
“How is your health, Liu Hulan?”
“Very well, sir.”
“And your mother?”
“She is happy to be home.”
“Yes, we have heard this as well. It makes us all so…” The old politician groped for the appropriate word and failed.
Another man said, “So many traditions, eh, Xiao Hulan?” She started. She hadn’t been called Little Hulan since before she’d gone to the Red Soil Farm. “They tell us how to be loyal, how to conduct conversations, how to negotiate, how to meet as husband and wife. They can be so tiresome, don’t you think?”
Hulan didn’t know how to respond.
“I say, we are old friends here,” this second man went on. “We are not family, but I can remember when you called me uncle.”
Hulan’s eyes stung with tears at these words. This compound with its memories. These men—the most powerful in her country—old now, dredging up times that were perhaps better left forgotten.
As if reading her thoughts, the second man said, “We have never forgotten your family or you. There are some people in this room who wouldn’t be here if not for the long-ago courage of your father and mother. And what we want to say is that your work for our nation has not gone unnoticed and we are grateful.”
“We also know,” the first man resumed, “that your job has come at a high price.”
Her father’s death. Being belittled in the press. Becoming an object of scorn in her own country. Almost losing her life and that of her child. Yes, she had paid a very high price.
“We are sorry,” he said.
Up to a point, Hulan thought.
“The people of our country think one thing about you,” the man continued, “but you may keep your mind easy. We know the truth.”
“Yes, but I live among the people. I work among the masses.”
The men looked at her in surprise. She wasn’t supposed to speak at all, let alone make even the slightest criticism. Over their shoulders Hulan saw Vice Minister Zai put a weary hand over his eyes.
“We need you, Liu Hulan,” the man in the middle said. “You have an understanding of the truth. You are fair. You have always been unflinching.”
