child and that one a girl required courage of a sort that most Americans just don't understand."
"Similar to the kind of courage it took to accept the teachings of a man who had only one name and no children at all: Jesus."
Lindsay's eyes widened in surprise. She had met no one outside China who understood the Chinese people's immense need to place themselves in history through their ancestors and their own offspring. A man with no family name and no children had no face. To emulate such a man was not only ridiculous, it was offensive to one's own ancestors.
"The fact that Christ was a bachelor living away from home didn't help the Christian cause in China," Lindsay agreed wryly. "The Chinese men who were responsive to religion often chose Islam. They could more easily admire a man who had a wife, concubines and many sons."
"How long were you in China?" Catlin asked as he deftly lifted a shrimp to his mouth. The texture and flavor were both superb. With a silent, ironic laugh, he realized that the Chinese food he was eating tonight in Washington was far better than most of the food he had eaten during all his years in Asia.
"My parents were forced to close their mission when I was seven," said Lindsay. Her voice changed, thin again, remembering fear.
"Out with the foreign devils?" guessed Catlin.
She nodded, but said nothing, not wanting to pursue the subject. Since her mother's death, the recurring nightmare of China was too close, too frightening. Lindsay wanted to remember as little as possible about that time of violence and fear. She was alive, safe, a woman in America rather than a child in Shaanxi province, China.
"We went to Hong Kong," Lindsay said quickly. "Dad divided his time between there and Taipei while mother ran a small mission among the poor. Later I was sent to live with my father's sister in San Francisco."
"How old were you?"
"Twelve."
"It must have been difficult to leave your parents and the only world you had ever known."
"Yes," said Lindsay. She searched her rice bowl as though she expected to find a diamond hidden among the glistening white grains. "It wasn't the first time, though. Hong Kong was also a foreign land to me. The climate was different. The people looked different. Cantonese rather than Mandarin was the common dialect."
"Did you learn to speak Cantonese?"
Lindsay shrugged. "A little. Dad's congregation was mostly displaced northerners, both in Hong Kong and Taipei, so I had little use for Cantonese. The school I went to was English."
Catlin hesitated, wondering bow to ask the next question without revealing what he already knew. "I guess your parents wanted you to get a better education than was available in Hong Kong," he murmured, "so they sent you to America."
"My father died. My mother stayed with the congregation in Hong Kong. I went to San Francisco."
The words didn't tell Catlin as much as the tension of Lindsay's fingers holding the chopsticks; she would talk no more on the subject of Hong Kong and her father's death and her relocation in America. Despite the fact that she, hadn't told Catlin as much as he had seen in her file, he didn't think that Lindsay was being dishonest. He, too, had a deep reluctance to talk about aspects of the past that had nothing to do with government secrets. Some parts of the past were simply too painful to remember.
"How did you end up in China?" asked Lindsay abruptly, her tone determined. She was through talking about herself and the past. She had done far too much of it tonight. Dreaming about the past was bad enough. Talking about it was impossible.
"Airplane," Catlin said laconically, not bothering to correct her assumption that China rather than another part of Asia had been his destination. "You were right about the Chenin Blanc," he continued, pouring more of the wine into her glass. "It's quite good with the rabbit. I'll have to remember that. It's hell finding Western wines to go with Oriental foods. The dry whites
"Similar to the kind of courage it took to accept the teachings of a man who had only one name and no children at all: Jesus."
Lindsay's eyes widened in surprise. She had met no one outside China who understood the Chinese people's immense need to place themselves in history through their ancestors and their own offspring. A man with no family name and no children had no face. To emulate such a man was not only ridiculous, it was offensive to one's own ancestors.
"The fact that Christ was a bachelor living away from home didn't help the Christian cause in China," Lindsay agreed wryly. "The Chinese men who were responsive to religion often chose Islam. They could more easily admire a man who had a wife, concubines and many sons."
"How long were you in China?" Catlin asked as he deftly lifted a shrimp to his mouth. The texture and flavor were both superb. With a silent, ironic laugh, he realized that the Chinese food he was eating tonight in Washington was far better than most of the food he had eaten during all his years in Asia.
"My parents were forced to close their mission when I was seven," said Lindsay. Her voice changed, thin again, remembering fear.
"Out with the foreign devils?" guessed Catlin.
She nodded, but said nothing, not wanting to pursue the subject. Since her mother's death, the recurring nightmare of China was too close, too frightening. Lindsay wanted to remember as little as possible about that time of violence and fear. She was alive, safe, a woman in America rather than a child in Shaanxi province, China.
"We went to Hong Kong," Lindsay said quickly. "Dad divided his time between there and Taipei while mother ran a small mission among the poor. Later I was sent to live with my father's sister in San Francisco."
"How old were you?"
"Twelve."
"It must have been difficult to leave your parents and the only world you had ever known."
"Yes," said Lindsay. She searched her rice bowl as though she expected to find a diamond hidden among the glistening white grains. "It wasn't the first time, though. Hong Kong was also a foreign land to me. The climate was different. The people looked different. Cantonese rather than Mandarin was the common dialect."
"Did you learn to speak Cantonese?"
Lindsay shrugged. "A little. Dad's congregation was mostly displaced northerners, both in Hong Kong and Taipei, so I had little use for Cantonese. The school I went to was English."
Catlin hesitated, wondering bow to ask the next question without revealing what he already knew. "I guess your parents wanted you to get a better education than was available in Hong Kong," he murmured, "so they sent you to America."
"My father died. My mother stayed with the congregation in Hong Kong. I went to San Francisco."
The words didn't tell Catlin as much as the tension of Lindsay's fingers holding the chopsticks; she would talk no more on the subject of Hong Kong and her father's death and her relocation in America. Despite the fact that she, hadn't told Catlin as much as he had seen in her file, he didn't think that Lindsay was being dishonest. He, too, had a deep reluctance to talk about aspects of the past that had nothing to do with government secrets. Some parts of the past were simply too painful to remember.
"How did you end up in China?" asked Lindsay abruptly, her tone determined. She was through talking about herself and the past. She had done far too much of it tonight. Dreaming about the past was bad enough. Talking about it was impossible.
"Airplane," Catlin said laconically, not bothering to correct her assumption that China rather than another part of Asia had been his destination. "You were right about the Chenin Blanc," he continued, pouring more of the wine into her glass. "It's quite good with the rabbit. I'll have to remember that. It's hell finding Western wines to go with Oriental foods. The dry whites
Similar Books
