Lost In Translation Part 37

"Yes. I have water, some food. So this was the place they called Camp Fourteen?"

"Across that ridge." The Mongol pointed up the winding dirt track that led away from them and disappeared over the boulder-strewn hills. "But I believe there's nothing left now-"

"I know," Lin cut him off heavily. "It's all right. I know."

The Mongol raised a hand and drove away.

Lin trudged up the path to the top of the ridge and then used the map Guo Wenxiang had drawn, walking over the pa.s.s, along an ancient landslide of jumbled rocks, and through a cleft which showed him, in a depressing sun-battered sweep, the valley down below where the camp had been. Although Lin could see the remains of a road, and the broken-down huddle of mud buildings, he did not descend into the valley. Instead he followed the face of the dirt mountain around to his left, as he'd been instructed, and came to a small, jutting b.u.t.te, protected behind by piles of rock.

Guo had said this was where they were buried.

Yes. Lin narrowed his eyes against the sun. He could see the row of shallow, regular swellings in the earth. He started at the right, as Guo had told him to do, and counted back seven.

Then he stood a long time in the beating blue glare, looking down at it.

This is my Meiyan at last, he thought in a clutch of misery. He unhooked the water bottle from his belt, set it on the ground, and lay down in the dust beside her, curled into a ball, his knees pressed up to his chest.

Alice stood in her room by the curtain, staring dully out the window. The courtyard behind the guesthouse was empty, s.h.i.+mmering in the oven of midday. The hot sage fragrance of the brush along the base of the building rose to her.

All she felt was emptiness. There was an ache in her chest where love had been. It had been love, hadn't it? The real thing. Sometimes one didn't know until after. Now she knew.

It was gone, though. All in the past.

"I can't get a line to Beijing now," the Yinchuan operator told her. "Perhaps you should try later."

"It's so important," Alice pleaded. "I really have to get this call through to Was.h.i.+ngton-"

"I'm sorry. There are no lines now."

"What's the problem?" the bank manager said. He was at an adjacent desk, checking through some papers. It had been kind of him to let her use the phone again. But she could feel him wanting her to be finished and gone.

"Dabutong-le, " she answered desperately, trying to keep the tears out of her voice, I can't get through. " she answered desperately, trying to keep the tears out of her voice, I can't get through.

The manager moved his shoulders in sympathetic resignation.

"I'm sorry." She swallowed, replacing the receiver. "I'll come back later."

"I hope your father will be better," the manager said.

But he won't, she thought, walking out of the bank into the harsh sunlight. I'm losing him. Losing Horace. Is that really who he is to me, Horace? The man in the Capitol, the man on TV, the champion of hate? But he's my father, my family. My ancestor. I love you, sweetheart I love you, sweetheart-she could hear his voice, the softness in it, the constancy.

Horace had made her what she was. She was his daughter through and through. From him she got her intelligence, and her pluck. Also the pale skin on her legs, her small knotty hands, her slight body and forest-colored eyes. She pushed through the crowd of young Mongol men loitering outside the bank and stepped into the dirt-packed street.

Yes. It was Horace who'd endowed her with intuition and sensitivity and then-cruelly-put her on national display. I I have a little girl named Alice. have a little girl named Alice. She winced at the memory of his voice, the words caught in countless recordings and doc.u.mentaries and now distilled in the minds of people everywhere. Because of this she'd lived all her life inversely: always the foreigner, the other, forever pretending to be something apart from what she truly was. Unloved and unloving. It all went back to Horace. She winced at the memory of his voice, the words caught in countless recordings and doc.u.mentaries and now distilled in the minds of people everywhere. Because of this she'd lived all her life inversely: always the foreigner, the other, forever pretending to be something apart from what she truly was. Unloved and unloving. It all went back to Horace.

Suddenly everything around her jolted into sharper focus. How could she have ever expected to be a part of Asia? She saw how people moving in the road stepped carefully around her, avoiding her, turning their faces and their eyes away from her. She was the redheaded outsider. She always would be.

Of course, Horace hadn't intended to do all this. Renzi Renzi jiang-si qi yen ye san. jiang-si qi yen ye san. Before a man dies you must forgive him. That was what Lin said. Before a man dies you must forgive him. That was what Lin said.

Forgive him. Forgive him. The word was a drumbeat of agony in her head. Impossible. It was all too big, too crus.h.i.+ng, too many years of shame that never should have been hers in the first place. Anger made more sense than forgiveness. Didn't it? Rage, thundering fury-to these feelings she had every right. Ke bu Ke bu s.h.i.+ s.h.i.+ ma? ma? Yes. Anyone would say so. Yes. Anyone would say so.

Yet at the same moment, under this current of emotion, she knew that neither vengeance nor absolution would work. She had to find some middle way to acknowledge the past and free up the future. Some way to choose her own life, for herself.

And meanwhile he's going to die, she thought. Whatever else I do-whether I succeed or fail-I have to travel to him and say good-bye.

She walked quickly away down the street, conscious of the crowd's awareness of her, conscious of the tears seeping from her eyes. The saving breath of his love, the death grip of his power. When he pa.s.sed on it was all going to drain away from her at once.

She pushed through the front door of the guesthouse and saw Spencer and Kong bent over a pile of flakes, cobbles, and hammerstones in the lobby sitting-room. "Alice!" Spencer cried. "Just the person! Come and help us!"

"With what?" she whispered.

"You won't believe what Dr. Kong has found! Look at this!" He held up a piece of incised bone.

Alice walked over, took it, tried to focus her swollen eyes on the etched design of an animal face surrounded by streaming sun-rays. "Is it-"

"It's the monkey sun G.o.d!"

"But where-"

"Kong dug it out of the ash layer! In an irrigation trench he found!"

"But it's what-a tool? A piece of a tool? What does it mean?"

"Don't you see?" He stared at her. "It means we've found the monkey sun G.o.d people! We can excavate the site, we can get a firm date on their culture-this is bone, you see, it's been buried all this time and not exposed to the air, so we can carbon-date it-Alice! A whole world of research just opened up here-articles-books-conferences-"

"Dicheng yidian ye mei dajiao-ne," Kong put in excitedly. Kong put in excitedly.

"And the site is totally undisturbed," Alice translated. Spencer laughed. "Amazing, isn't it? People walk away from their homesteads twenty thousand years ago. The climate keeps everything perfect. n.o.body disturbs it, n.o.body knows it's there-h.e.l.l, n.o.body even pa.s.ses by it for all these centuries except a couple of shepherds and to them, it's nothing but some rocks!" He looked radiantly at the small prize in front of him, then turned to Alice. "Will you help us?"

"With what?"

"Well, we've got at least one monkey sun G.o.d site here and I'm sure there're dozens more. We'll be the first to survey and the first to identify and date the culture. Kong and I. We're going to do it together." He pointed to Kong.

The Chinese scientist nodded.

"These notes here-we're starting to frame out a grant for NSF. I am sure sure they'll go for this. It's airtight. We have a few hours left before we leave for Yinchuan. Will you help us, Alice? Translate some of Kong's ideas while I'm drafting it? I mean"-he colored again-"hey. You've given me more than I had a right to ask for already. I know that. I just mean, if you're here and you're feeling, well, you know, terrible, and maybe focusing on something else might help you-" He broke off. "G.o.d, Alice. You look awful. Listen. I'm sorry about the thing with Lin. I'd really like it if things went well for you. You know-as a friend-if there's anything I can do-" He stopped, nodding wordlessly at the papers in front of him. "You know." they'll go for this. It's airtight. We have a few hours left before we leave for Yinchuan. Will you help us, Alice? Translate some of Kong's ideas while I'm drafting it? I mean"-he colored again-"hey. You've given me more than I had a right to ask for already. I know that. I just mean, if you're here and you're feeling, well, you know, terrible, and maybe focusing on something else might help you-" He broke off. "G.o.d, Alice. You look awful. Listen. I'm sorry about the thing with Lin. I'd really like it if things went well for you. You know-as a friend-if there's anything I can do-" He stopped, nodding wordlessly at the papers in front of him. "You know."

"Yeah," she said. "I know. But something else has happened."

"What?" He looked at her.

"My father's sick."

"How sick?"

"Dying sick."

"What! Horace Mannegan? What's wrong?"

"Prostate cancer."

"Oh, G.o.d-" His eyes filled with feeling. "Alice-what are you going to do?"

"I'm going straight back to Beijing, as soon as we get to Yinchuan. Fly to Was.h.i.+ngton."

Spencer reached out and gripped her hand. He didn't know what to say.

Neither did she. "Thanks," she managed.

Kong had sat while they spoke English, seeing that their exchange was emotional, but not understanding, thinking her unhappiness was all over Lin, waiting to say something in Mandarin. "Interpreter Mo," he put in kindly. "I am sorry for your sadness. I hope your happiness returns. Now come, see the marvelous quality of this hammerstone from the trench. The monkey sun G.o.d people made it! Hold it in the palm of your hand!" He extended a perfectly, lovingly worn stone tool.

She closed her hand around it. He was right, it had such a comforting weight. Like the heaviness of wool blankets on a cold night. Like the lead ap.r.o.n in the dentist's office. She closed her eyes. Thousands of years ago, long before she had lived this life and felt this pain, this stone had pounded grain. "Meizhile, "Meizhile, " she said softly, the Beijing street slang for incredible, marvelous, and handed it back to him. " she said softly, the Beijing street slang for incredible, marvelous, and handed it back to him.

Kong laughed at her unexpected colloquialism and then turned serious. "You know," he said, "the French priest was right. There is a treasure here. The Helan Shan is close to heaven!"

"I guess it is," she agreed. There was death inside her, death all around, but maybe it would feel better to work. "Okay," she said. She sat down. "Tell me what you want in the grant proposal, Dr. Kong. I'll translate it for Dr. Spencer."

"What are you saying?" Hope danced in Spencer's face.

She switched into English. "I'll interpret." She sighed.

And the American man broke into a smile.

When Lin woke up it was nearing sunset. He was cold, stiff, curled up in the dirt next to Meiyan's grave.

How had he fallen asleep? He rolled to his back and sat up. He rotated his head slowly from one side to another. The light was lengthening. The boulders all around him had dropped their growing shadows onto the hard ground.

Was she here? Was she next to him? Though he'd slept he hadn't dreamed of her. He tried to imagine her now, Meiyan, his wife, his airen, airen, but all he could see in his mind was the way she'd looked when she was young. She wouldn't be young now. Impossible. He looked down at his hand, the worn skin pulling tight, no longer marble-smooth and poreless the way it had once been. He, his friends, everyone he knew, had grown older. None of them was young anymore. but all he could see in his mind was the way she'd looked when she was young. She wouldn't be young now. Impossible. He looked down at his hand, the worn skin pulling tight, no longer marble-smooth and poreless the way it had once been. He, his friends, everyone he knew, had grown older. None of them was young anymore.

Yet Meiyan was frozen young. By death.

He touched the slight swelling in the ground next to him.

And then in a rush of warmth he saw the redheaded west-ocean woman in his mind. He remembered her arms and legs around him. Why had she used him? Why had she not treated him as a man-a man with a heart- Because I have no heart, he thought suddenly, staring at the shallow grave. I lost it a long time ago. He could feel his face burn as the truth came clear.

Somehow he understood that he still wanted Mo Ai-li. He wanted her here, wanted her to sit beside him staring at the desert, wanted to shed a thousand tears into her neck. He wanted to describe to her the cruel twisted road of his life, the walls, the beams and girders hammered in around him. And he wanted to see her face exalted again by the high tide, her sea-colored eyes open to him, transported. He couldn't simply forget her. Her shadow was still on him.

He climbed awkwardly to his feet and brushed some of the dirt from his clothes. Evening would be here soon. He had to walk back to the road and get a ride to Eren Obo.

At the end of the day, when they'd finished roughing out the NSF proposal, she realized she had not eaten since the night before. She forced herself to go down for dinner. Only Kong was there.

He smiled at her with great kindness. "Eat, girl child," he said, and placed tidbits of his choosing on her plate.

She looked at him and her eyes brimmed with tears.

"Ah, come, Interpreter Mo! Do not cry! I cannot face you in such sorrow. Eh. Come, eat. The river of life flows on."

He picked up his own chopsticks.

"I don't deserve your kindness," she said numbly, automatically reverting to the old manners.

"Don't talk polite." Kong sighed. "It's so tiresome. No one does that anymore. Look." He dug in his pocket and produced the hammerstone she had held earlier. "I saw how you took to this. It's so, isn't it? You liked this relic. It's all right! It's well and good! I want you to have it."

He pressed it into her hand.

Alice stared.

"Take it. Such a thing few modern humans own! A tool from twenty thousand years ago, eh, it's a wonder." He turned, embarra.s.sed, back to his plate.

"Oh, Dr. Kong." She sighed. "I'd love to have this thing. You are right, it's a wonder. But I cannot remove this from China. It is wei-fa," wei-fa," against the law. against the law.

"Eh, of course. You are right."

She placed it carefully back on the table in front of him.

"I could send it to you-"

"Thank you. No. I would not want to break the law in any form."

"Eh," he a.s.sented, expressing the requisite disappointment in her refusal and yet revealing, in the Chinese manner, his relief at her graceful withdrawal. "Eat," he commanded her.

She took a few bites. Strange, she didn't feel like eating. The hunger that had dogged her for years now seemed absent.

"Where will you go now?" he asked. "Do you have another interpreting job?"

She shook her head. "I must return home as quickly as possible. To America. My father-you see-I've just learned my father is very sick. To speak frankly he is dying."

"Bitter and deep is the sea!" Kong said, shocked. "Interpreter Mo, I am so sorry."

She nodded, almost overwhelmed by his empathy.

"Level road," he told her with feeling. "Peaceful journey."

On her way out of the dining room she was surprised by Guo Wenxiang.

"I thought you'd left," she said, her distaste plain.

"Leaving soon. I wanted to say good-bye."

"That's hardly necessary."

"Still, between friends-Ah!" He snapped his fingers in a shallow, calculated parody of having just remembered something. "Mo Ai-li!"

"What?" she said tiredly.

"There is something I must give you! Something for Lin s.h.i.+yang. Blame me, for I almost forgot!" He reached inside his s.h.i.+rt collar and withdrew a black silk cord, then pulled it off over his head. Hanging from it was an ancient, human-looking tooth.

"What is it?" She stared.