The Interior by Lisa See Page A

and other dry goods. Painted on empty walls were advertisements for chewing gum, appliances, and face cream. She even saw a couple of billboards.
    Twenty-five years ago the only decoration in the village had been larger-than-life posters and paintings of the Great Helmsman. Of course, there had been other embellishments in the form of revolutionary slogans promoting Mao’s Cultural Revolution (“Universal Redness With No Exceptions” or “Fight With Words, Not With Weapons”) and in
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, the big character posters that proclaimed the real and imagined crimes of this or that villager. In those days loudspeakers had blared Chairman Mao’s quotations all day and long into the night.
    Even today cone-shaped speakers wired to the eaves of buildings played a set routine of programs, beginning at six in the morning with news and commentary. At noon, those fortunate enough to have fields near the village would have lunch accompanied by news and maybe a little music. At dusk, when peasants from the surrounding area converged on the town for a cup of tea, a little conversation, and a game of cards, the programming would start up again with what had traditionally been political indoctrination. Right now an old-fashioned military march accompanied Hulan as she walked down the dusty street.
    She went straight to the local Public Security Bureau. The linoleum floor was worn and dirty. An electric fan hung from the ceiling, flanked by two sets of fluorescent lights, but none of them was turned on. Hulan went to the counter. Two women sat at desks against the wall. One was eating from a bowl of food she’d brought from home; the other was doing nothing as far as Hulan could tell. Neither woman looked up. The police bureau was not part of what might be considered the service industry. Manners had no place here. There were no forbidden phrases or outlawed attitudes. To the contrary, people in law enforcement—even if they were simply office staff—were allowed to be rude. Hulan understood the routine, but that didn’t make her like it any more.
    Finally Hulan cleared her throat.
    “What do you want?” the woman eating noodles asked.
    “I was hoping to see whoever is in charge.”
    “Captain Woo is busy. He can’t see you now.”
    “I can wait.”
    The two women exchanged glances. The woman eating noodles smirked as she said, “You can sit or you can go, we don’t care.”
    What came to Hulan’s mind as she stood there in the hot room was a centuries-old saying: To be an official for one lifetime means seven rebirths as a beggar. Wisely, she didn’t say this and sat down instead. She picked up a newspaper, but there was little news in the province this week. A while later, she got up and walked to the bulletin board. Here were the usual posters promoting the one-child policy, a flyer for employment at the Knight factory, a chart showing farming quotas, and a government-sponsored list of slogans encouraging better work habits, personal hygiene, and good attitudes such as “Time Is Money, Efficiency Is Life” and “Persist in Reform and Open Policy.”
    At last a door behind the counter opened and a man came out. Seeing Hulan, he leaned down and spoke quietly to one of the secretaries, then straightened and addressed Hulan directly. “You may come in, but only for five minutes.”
    The sign on the door said Captain Woo. He motioned for Hulan to sit and asked, “What’s your name?”
    “Liu Hulan.”
    “An old-fashioned name. People don’t use that name much anymore.”
    “This is so.”
    Captain Woo poured himself a cup of tea from a thermos but didn’t offer any to the woman who sat before him. “You are not from Da Shui.”
    “I have come to visit a friend.”
    “And you find that you argue, that things aren’t as they were? This happens sometimes. Friends grow apart.”
    “No, that isn’t it—”
    But the captain wasn’t listening. “The bureau doesn’t get involved in domestic disputes. That is