The Season of the Stranger (33 page)

Mr Girard pushed gently against the rifle and started to walk around the sergeant. Wen-li followed. At first his knees would not work properly. Mr Girard walked through the group. The soldiers stepped back but some of the townspeople remained in his way. As he passed them he bumped them with his shoulders and elbows. Wen-li was close behind. No one spoke. He was cold from standing still so long but his stomach was warm. He did not hear anyone move behind him. He was listening and keeping his head still and his eyes straight ahead. But no one moved and then they were on the path and they followed the path and still he did not hear anything and then they were on the dirt road crossing the field. Mr Girard stopped and Wen-li walked past him and then they continued with Wen-li in front. Now he could hear their footsteps and the warmth was leaving his chest and stomach. He could feel drops rolling down inside his gown. And then they were across the field and looking back and all they could see was a huddled group near the gate with the faces turned toward them.

“There is still the going back,” Mr Girard said.

21

The going back was not difficult. They shopped and people looked at them strangely and seemed surprised when they walked in. They bought a great deal of everything, above all of meat. He saw when he handed money across that his hand was shaking but the longer they shopped the better he felt. Mr Girard did not say anything except about the shopping. When they were finished they went down the main street and onto the dirt road crossing the field. He had the full shopping bag over his shoulder and packages in his other hand. Mr Girard had both arms full of packages. They walked slowly across the field side by side and when they reached the path to the gate Mr Girard went first.

The soldiers and the townspeople were leaning against the wall and did not move as the two approached them. Mr Girard looked at them and said nothing. They were all holding their rifles and sticks and for a time Wen-li thought they might do something, but they just stared and looked threatening. At the gate Mr Girard knocked and when the guard asked who it was he said, “It is I,” very loudly, and then complained loudly about the slowness in getting the gate open. When they were inside, the guard locked the gate and Mr Girard smiled at him and said, “Excuse me for having abused you. I thought it would be better if they felt that you too had been bullied.”

The guard grinned and said, “You are very considerate,” and then he took in a deep breath and let it out and said, “You had great luck.”

Mr Girard nodded and said, “We had great luck. And your cooperation.”

The guard laughed and said, “I was of great help,” and they all laughed. Wen-li's laugh did not sound right to him.

Then Mr Girard thanked the guard and they left him and went home. It had not been difficult at all, except for that one short time of fear when they were almost at the gate.

When they got home they put the food in the kitchen. The front door was locked so the girl had not come home. Mr Girard opened it and went into the house. Wen-li went into his room and put his hat and gloves on the shelf and sat on the bed. He began to shake again so he lit a cigarette and lay back against the wall. Inside him the warm feeling was coming and going. It was almost being afraid but it was not the same. He got up and poured a cup of cold wine and drank it and then he had a different kind of warm feeling and after a few minutes there was nothing left of the warmth and he had stopped shaking. He started to think about what might have happened. The only time he had really felt lost was when they said that Mr Girard could go on but that he would have to go back. They might have left Mr Girard alone and jumped on him. He did not know what Mr Girard would have done if that had happened. He did not see what Mr Girard could have done. For a minute he was angry, but he decided that Mr Girard had probably thought of that. He wondered how sure Mr Girard had been. The more he thought about it the more he was surprised that Mr Girard had asked him to come along.

He got up and put some wine into a teapot and put it on the stove. He would have a breeze for Kuo-fan if Kuo-fan came visiting. Kuo-fan would not recover from this for a long time. He would be casual. He would say, “How is the affair of the gate?”

And Kuo-fan would look clever and say, “There is a breeze.”

And he would ask him, “What does the breeze say?”

And Kuo-fan would smile and raise a finger and say in an excited whisper, “That one has gone out and returned unharmed.”

And he would say, “Who was this?”

And Kuo-fan would say, “I do not know. It was not a very informative breeze.”

And then he would tell him. Kuo-fan would not recover from it so soon.

There was a knock at the door. He put out his cigarette and went to open it. Mr Girard was standing there.

“Listen,” Mr Girard said. “I would like to talk. Are you busy now?”

“No,” he said.

“May I come in?”

“Yes,” he said. “Come in. And sit down.” He pointed to the bed.

Mr Girard said, “I will take a chair,” and sat in the wooden chair and tipped it back so it leaned against the wall. He put his hands out toward the stove. “You will not sit, yourself?”

“Yes,” he said. He sat on the bed.

“If anyone comes to see you,” Mr Girard said, “we will have been discussing the food bills. If you like, I have been scolding you. Although I do not see the necessity for such theatricals, I will save your reputation.”

He did not say anything. He was thinking again that Mr Girard had had no right to ask him to come along. Although he was a fine man. Still he had no right.

“Of course I must apologize first,” Mr Girard said. “It was not polite of me to take you into that.”

“There is no need to apologize,” he said.

“I was sure that nothing would happen. And for a foreigner alone it was too easy and meant too little.”

“You are right,” he said.

“I am right factually. But I would not like to think that you had lost respect or friendship for me. Perhaps you will feel better if you think of Kuo-fan. This will be impressive.”

He smiled. “I have thought of it,” he said.

Mr Girard laughed. “Although,” he said, “we must not spend too much time thinking of the impression. It was done for other reasons.” Smiling sadly now, Mr Girard said, “It is at times like these that I come closest to despair.”

“What times?”

“When the doing of something normal and honest becomes impressive. It means that the world around you is so abnormal and dishonest that the drinking of tea or the buying of food becomes a brave and not ordinary act.”

He had never thought of it that way and now it seemed to him that the only abnormality was in going out there at all. Otherwise it was fairly normal. But it seemed to him too that there was something he did not understand in what Mr Girard had just said. So he nodded.

“Although what I did was not honest,” Mr Girard said.

He brought a look of surprise to his face.

“I threatened the sergeant,” Mr Girard explained. “And I do not believe in threatening. I believe in reasoning.”

“It seemed to me you were reasoning,” he said.

“No. I threatened. I threatened him as a foreigner. After all the evil that has been done because foreigners have the power to threaten, I have turned around and used it myself.”

“But you did not use it for evil,” he said.

“It does not matter what I used it for. It is the same power that makes it impossible for you to protest if a foreigner hits you on the street.”

He had realized all that before they went to the gate. Now he said nothing.

“So I have sinned,” Mr Girard said. “But you may be right. I have sinned so that we could eat.”

“I do not think you have sinned,” he said.

“Good. But it was necessary to tell you. I do not like playing the powerful foreigner.”

Mr Girard was thinking very deeply about it and Wen-li did not believe that he should. So he said, “Will you have a cup of wine?”

Mr Girard looked up and smiled. “Yes. Thank you.” He nodded toward the teapot. “Is that wine?”

“Yes.” He got another cup from the shelf.

“I thought it was tea.”

He moved the table closer to Mr Girard and put the two cups on it and poured wine into the cups. Mr Girard picked his up. He picked up his own and said, “Dry cup.”

“Dry cup.” They drank.

He filled the cups again and went and sat on the bed. They sipped for a minute quietly and then he asked, “What did the corporal want?”

“The corporal?”

“The one who was here. A week ago, perhaps.”

“Ah,” Mr Girard said. “That one. He said he had been detailed to preserve law and order in the region of the university. He thought that I, as a law-and-order-loving foreigner, would like to help him.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him that he could rely on me. So he said that I should begin by disciplining you.”

“What did you say then?”

“I told him that to accomplish what he wanted me to accomplish I would have to be allowed to use my own methods, and that you would not be disciplined as long as you followed my orders, and that as a foreigner I might have unusual methods, but he would have to trust me. He said he understood perfectly. Then I told him that I would appreciate it if he would report our interview to his commanding officer, being sure to mention my name and my promise of full cooperation.”

He laughed. He thought that was very funny. For a foreigner this one had great wit. “The corporal will hear unbelievable news from his commanding officer,” he said.

“He will.” Mr Girard finished the wine and held his cup out. “Why did you ask?”

“Because in the auditorium a few nights later, at the moving picture, someone sent for me from outside, and when I went to see, it was the corporal and several soldiers. They did not see me and later they went away.”

Mr Girard looked upset. “I do not like that. He must have heard about me from his commanding officer.”

“I have not seen him since,” he said.

“If they stopped paying the corporals they could build a road from here to Chungking with the money.”

“Yes.” He poured himself another cup of wine.

“They are more nervous now. And the incidents may continue.”

“I hope not.”

“They probably will. For another two or three weeks.”

“Why only two or three?”

Mr Girard made the finger sign and laughed.

“Oh,” he said. Then he asked, “Do you know what they will be like?”

“The Communists?”

“Yes. Do you know any?”

“Only some of the students. And I do not think we can judge on the basis of the students. So I do not know. It can get no worse than it is now, and from all the reports we have it will get much better. More than that I do not know.”

“Two or three weeks,” he murmured.

“It should not be much longer. It will be difficult near the end, probably. You know better than I do what happens when a city is about to fall.”

“I remember,” he said. “In the twentysixth year when the Japanese came, and the thirtyfourth year, when they left. There was evil done.”

“There will be evil done this time,” Mr Girard said. “It will be very bitter. Perhaps the climax will pass quickly.”

“It may be as bitter after the climax,” he said.

“It may be,” Mr Girard said. “I wish we could know more surely. But as I said, it could be no worse.” He took a package of cigarettes from his pocket and put it on the table. He pulled one from it and pushed the package to him.

He took one. “No,” he said, “it could be no worse.” He struck a match and held it up for Mr Girard.

“Thank you,” Mr Girard said. “What do some of the people you know think about it?”

“I am not sure,” he said. “Most of my friends think the way I do. That there is no way of knowing and that we must prepare for anything, but that it cannot be worse.”

“And of the Russians?”

He had never known a Russian. He shrugged. “The Russians are like any other foreigners.” Then he stopped. For a moment they were quiet and then he said, “Excuse me.”

Mr Girard laughed. “You surprise me,” he said. “It was complimentary that you forgot.”

He laughed too. “It was,” he said. Then he went on. “Perhaps after some Russians arrive we will have a way of judging them separately. But now we cannot, except by newspapers and the posters.”

“And they are believed, the newspapers and the posters?”

“By some,” he said. He leaned forward. “Kuo-fan, for example. He believes what is close to him. Thus a poster in the moving picture house said that the Communists killed all men over thirty. Kuo-fan believed.”

“And you?”

“I believe very seldom,” he said. “I believe what I see. And what I hear if it is not a man-made noise. But I do not see much and most noises are man-made, so I believe very seldom.”

“And the others?”

“I think they are more like Kuo-fan,” he said. “They believe what is close to them. But they do not believe all they are asked to believe.”

Mr Girard said nothing.

“Are there many Russians in the City?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mr Girard said, “but they are White Russians. I do not know what they will do.”

They sat a few minutes in silence. Outside night was coming. The cigarette smoke was grey and difficult to see in the room. “Will the university open if the City falls?”

“Yes. I am sure of it.”

“I hope it is not damaged in the fighting,” he said.

“I too,” Mr Girard said. “It is in a bad position. The railway line on one side and the main road from the north on the other.”

“Perhaps the fighting will pass the university on both sides,” he said.