And now what’s needed is more of the big stuff. Blankets and sheepskins—anything that can be cut into vests and coats. We’re heading tomorrow into nomad country where there ought to be sheepskins in the bazaars or Friendship Stores. Buy whatever you find, you can refuse to have it mailed home for you until we get to Beijing, make up some sort of story, rope whatever you find to the outside of your suitcase and keep it with you.”
“Right,” she said crisply, noting this down on paper.
“In the meantime,” he added with a crooked smile, “I have my Mao cap and jacket, and they were very nearly top priority, believe me, because I shall have to become as Chinese as a native soon.”
“How on earth did you learn fluent Chinese at such an age?” she asked. “It’s unexpected.”
“Very weirdly,” he told her. “When I was into my freshman year at Harvard—yeah, Harvard,” he admitted with a grin, “I started out hanging around bars in Chinatown in Boston. Coincidence? I don’t know. And I began picking up the language bit by bit—with an ease that staggered me. Coincidence? I don’t know. By the time I graduated from Harvard I could read and write Mandarin, and was already into dialects, and it’s not true, either, that I’ve just finishedmy senior year. I’m in graduate school now—their Far Asian studies department—or was, until I took off to get in shape for this.”
“And Carstairs?”
He grinned. “No, it was Bishop. I met
him
in a Chinatown bar in Boston, or perhaps—who knows?—he arranged to meet me there because he’d heard of me. A setup maybe.”
She smiled. “Quite possibly. And here we are.”
“Yes. And now I have this,” he said, looking down at the atlas with astonishment. “I’ll take it along to my room and figure kilometers from the map I brought, and do some calculations.”
“Did anyone see you come into my room?” asked Mrs. Pollifax, remembering her searched suitcase, and still uneasy about it.
He shook his head. “The hall was empty.” He thought a minute. “If anyone’s in the hall when I make my exit I’ll say I came to borrow a drinking glass. But tell me first—I’m curious—what was Guo Musu like?”
She told him, describing the barbershop and their meeting, and as she talked she became aware of several quick, perceptive glances directed at her, as if he understood much more than she was saying, and for this she was grateful.
When she had finished he nodded. “I wish I could have talked with him. It’s been terribly frustrating,” he added, with a rush of boyish candor. “The opera tonight, for instance. I really hated Jenny’s running commentary when I could understand every word for myself, and I came near to hating her for demeaning it. I’ve also overheard and understood everything that Mr. Li and Miss Bai talk about together, and I feel like a bloody eavesdropper. Mr. Li,” he said ruefully, “doesn’t think very highly of me either.”He stood up. “I’ll go along now and study this map more closely.”
Rising too she said, “It might be a good idea for us to become a shade friendlier inside the group. In case we’re seen talking together, as we’ll surely have to do from time to time.”
“Good,” he said, with a grin. “I’ll begin sitting next to you at meals occasionally, and show signs of thawing. And look,” he added almost shyly, “you’ve been great. I’m awfully glad to have finally met you.
Really
met you, I mean.”
She smiled at him warmly. “That goes for me, too.” As he moved to open the door she said, “Hold it a moment,” and ducked into her bathroom. “Your water glass,” she reminded him.
He whistled. “You really are a pro! I forgot, damn it.” And glass in hand he made his exit.
T hey drove the next morning to the tomb of China’s first emperor Qin Shi Huang, and if this had once promised to be the highlight of sightseeing for her, Mrs. Pollifax now found it difficult to think of
“Right,” she said crisply, noting this down on paper.
“In the meantime,” he added with a crooked smile, “I have my Mao cap and jacket, and they were very nearly top priority, believe me, because I shall have to become as Chinese as a native soon.”
“How on earth did you learn fluent Chinese at such an age?” she asked. “It’s unexpected.”
“Very weirdly,” he told her. “When I was into my freshman year at Harvard—yeah, Harvard,” he admitted with a grin, “I started out hanging around bars in Chinatown in Boston. Coincidence? I don’t know. And I began picking up the language bit by bit—with an ease that staggered me. Coincidence? I don’t know. By the time I graduated from Harvard I could read and write Mandarin, and was already into dialects, and it’s not true, either, that I’ve just finishedmy senior year. I’m in graduate school now—their Far Asian studies department—or was, until I took off to get in shape for this.”
“And Carstairs?”
He grinned. “No, it was Bishop. I met
him
in a Chinatown bar in Boston, or perhaps—who knows?—he arranged to meet me there because he’d heard of me. A setup maybe.”
She smiled. “Quite possibly. And here we are.”
“Yes. And now I have this,” he said, looking down at the atlas with astonishment. “I’ll take it along to my room and figure kilometers from the map I brought, and do some calculations.”
“Did anyone see you come into my room?” asked Mrs. Pollifax, remembering her searched suitcase, and still uneasy about it.
He shook his head. “The hall was empty.” He thought a minute. “If anyone’s in the hall when I make my exit I’ll say I came to borrow a drinking glass. But tell me first—I’m curious—what was Guo Musu like?”
She told him, describing the barbershop and their meeting, and as she talked she became aware of several quick, perceptive glances directed at her, as if he understood much more than she was saying, and for this she was grateful.
When she had finished he nodded. “I wish I could have talked with him. It’s been terribly frustrating,” he added, with a rush of boyish candor. “The opera tonight, for instance. I really hated Jenny’s running commentary when I could understand every word for myself, and I came near to hating her for demeaning it. I’ve also overheard and understood everything that Mr. Li and Miss Bai talk about together, and I feel like a bloody eavesdropper. Mr. Li,” he said ruefully, “doesn’t think very highly of me either.”He stood up. “I’ll go along now and study this map more closely.”
Rising too she said, “It might be a good idea for us to become a shade friendlier inside the group. In case we’re seen talking together, as we’ll surely have to do from time to time.”
“Good,” he said, with a grin. “I’ll begin sitting next to you at meals occasionally, and show signs of thawing. And look,” he added almost shyly, “you’ve been great. I’m awfully glad to have finally met you.
Really
met you, I mean.”
She smiled at him warmly. “That goes for me, too.” As he moved to open the door she said, “Hold it a moment,” and ducked into her bathroom. “Your water glass,” she reminded him.
He whistled. “You really are a pro! I forgot, damn it.” And glass in hand he made his exit.
T hey drove the next morning to the tomb of China’s first emperor Qin Shi Huang, and if this had once promised to be the highlight of sightseeing for her, Mrs. Pollifax now found it difficult to think of
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