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“Hello,” he said, his eyes still closed.
“David.” Hulan’s voice coming to him at eight in the evening from thousands of miles away across the international dateline jolted him awake.
“Is everything all right? Are you okay?”
“Of course.”
Her next words were lost in a wave of static. Hulan insisted on using a cell phone to call him, despite the poor sound quality. She said she didn’t trust the phone in her office for their personal calls. More recently she’d begun to suspect the phone in her home. The cell phone was in no way perfect. Just about anyone could listen in if they wanted. Hulan took solace in this. There might even be an element of protection in more than one party—even an innocent person—listening in on their private calls.
The transmission cleared and David asked, “Where are you?” It eased his mind to visualize her. Usually she called from her garden and she might describe for him what was in bloom or the feel of the sun on her skin. He could almost see her there—the wisps of black hair that framed her face, her black eyes that often revealed the real meaning of her words, her delicate frame that belied profound inner strength.
“I’m on the train.”
David sat up, squinting as he turned on the light. “Where are you going? Is it for a case?”
“Not exactly. An old friend has asked for my help. I’m going to see what I can do.”
David thought this over. He had to be careful how he questioned her. “I thought you were trying to wrap things up. I thought your next trip would be here.”
“I’ll come
…”
“One day? Eventually?”
She chose to ignore this. “You know I miss you. Can’t you come to me?”
David was just barely awake. He couldn’t face that conversation again right now.
“So, where are you?”
“I’m on my way to Shanxi Province in the interior.” She paused, then said, “I’m going to a village near Taiyuan.”
He could hear the hesitancy in her voice even over all these miles, even with the static. “What village exactly?” He tried to keep his tone light.
“Da Shui. It’s where the Red Soil Farm was during the Cultural Revolution.”
“Oh God, Hulan. Why?”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry. You don’t know everything about that place.” (That’s probably the understatement of the year, David thought.) “I had a friend out there. She…Well, it doesn’t matter right now. Her daughter died, an apparent suicide. Suchee thinks it’s something else.”
“Sounds like she should go to the local authorities.”
“She went to the Public Security Bureau. That’s the local level of the ministry. But you know how things are here.”
Corrupt, sure he knew it.
“Look, it’s probably nothing,” Hulan continued, “but the least I can do is ask a couple of questions and put Suchee’s mind at rest. She’s a mother.” That word came over the line with tremendous weight. It was another thing that Hulan didn’t like to discuss. “She lost her only child.”
“When will you be back?”
“I was lucky enough to get a seat on a semi-express train to Datong. That means we’ll only be making about ten stops over the next six or so hours. Tomorrow I’ll take another train to Taiyuan. Then a few days in Da Shui, then the trip back. I’ll be back in Beijing next week.” When David didn’t respond, she added, “This is nothing to worry about.”
“How will I reach you?”
“I don’t know what our days are going to be like, so I’ll call you.”
He didn’t like it, but he said, “Fine.”
