I’M REALLY NOT SURE if it’s a great idea, but I stay for dinner. It’s Sparrow, Kang Li, me, and Han Rong-the other volunteers have gone home. We sit at a folding table that, before the meal, held stacks of papers, books, and boxes of seed and veterinary supplies. No beer fish but plenty of beer, plus tofu, vegetables, rice, and some pumpkin dumplings that are really awesome. We eat, and we chat, and I get asked the typical questions: How long have I been in China, where did I learn Chinese, am I married, do I have children?
Kang Li holds court, even though I’d thought that the sanctuary was Sparrow’s project, not his, but then a lot of guys are like that, and it’s not as if he’s totally acting like he’s in charge, more that he enjoys talking and drinking beer and pontificating about stuff-for example, the Chinese government: “Corrupt, useless cowards, they don’t care about protecting environment, just approving projects to keep enough people working so that there aren’t more ‘mass incidents.’ ” Or Chinese businessmen: “Completely immoral, most of them. All they care about is making money, and fuck everyone else.” Or Chinese people in generaclass="underline" “Mamu, you know that term?-too numb to care about others. This country can never be great until social-relations reform.” Or America: “Hypocrites, don’t you think so? All that talk about human rights and the environment, but you invade other countries and don’t sign Kyoto treaty.” Or Communism: “a failed experiment.” Capitalism: ditto. And cats: he’s in favor.
All the while Sparrow sits there contributing the occasional word, sometimes smiling, sometimes seeming annoyed, but it’s that kind of affectionate annoyance where I’m wondering, Are these two a couple? Family? Or what?
As for Han Rong, he mostly smiles, laughing at Kang Li’s jokes and giggling at his more outrageous remarks, the sort of nerdy guy who deliberately flies under the radar and goes out of his way to act like Mr. Nonthreatening. I’m not buying it, but maybe that’s just because I’m paranoid.
He looks a little old to be a student, I think.
After dinner is done, Sparrow and Han Rong clear the dishes while Kang Li and I continue to drink beer. I know I have a decision to make, and I’m really not sure what the smart thing to do is.
I don’t think I should go back to my hotel, to Maggie’s Guesthouse, even though I’m paying for it and I’ve got a bag there. Mr. US Polo Team and his buddy already have it staked out.
Maybe another hostel out here somewhere, I think. Just for the night. And I’ll decide what makes sense to do tomorrow. “Could I use your Internet?” I ask Sparrow. “To look for a hotel?”
“Oh, but that’s not necessary,” she says quickly. “You can stay here if you’d like.” She ducks her head behind her hand, seemingly embarrassed. “This couch is not the best bed, but you are welcome to it.”
How safe is it for me here? Is it worth sticking around to try and figure out what it is that Sparrow isn’t saying? Or is that another one of my really bad ideas?
At that moment Boba trots over to me, his toenails clicking on the concrete, and stretches out his long neck, like he wants his head scratched.
“Thanks,” I say. “Thanks, I’ll take you up on that.”
Look, they rescue birds and cats-I mean, they can’t be dangerous.
I’VE HAD BEER, AND I’ve had Percocet, so I fall asleep in spite of the lumpy couch, my leg propped up on its back cushions, and my general paranoia. It occurs to me, before I drift off, that I really need to think a little more about some of the shit I do. You know, take a ruthless inventory or whatever.
I’m having some dream where there’s all these people sitting at a long table, including Reverend Jim from my churchgoing days, wearing his Hawaiian shirt, and he’s saying to me, “All of us are different aspects of God, and separateness is just an illusion,” and I’m thinking, Well, that’s easy for you to say.
Then there’s this honking, like a car horn that got stuck, and I’m really pissed off-it’s like, turn off your fucking horn, asshole.
And then I wake up and realize that it’s Boba making all the noise. I grab the flashlight I stashed under my pillow, ’cause I’m not totally stupid, flick it on, and there’s Han Rong with his hand in my backpack.
“What the fuck,” I manage.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“OH,” HAN RONG SAYS. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” I yank the backpack away from him. “Why are you messing with my stuff?”
“I…” His head swivels back and forth. “Maybe I made a mistake.”
“You think?” I aim my flashlight at his face. “So what was it you were trying to do?”
“Just…” He tries to smile. “Maybe it’s a little complicated.”
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
Boba stretches his neck out and pokes his beak in my face. I guess he wants attention, and hey, he deserves it. I scratch his head.
“That bird, he really likes you,” Han Rong says, with a nervous giggle.
“Don’t change the subject. What were you doing with my stuff?”
That’s when Sparrow and Kang Li come stumbling into the room, her wearing an oversize T-shirt, him wearing boxer shorts, both with major cases of bed head.
Couple, I decide.
“What’s going on?” Kang Li barks.
“I caught your friend here going through my backpack.”
“What?” Kang Li wheels around in Han Rong’s direction. “Are you some kind of thief?” he yells in Chinese.
“No, I… I can explain.”
“Yeah, that’s what you keep saying,” I snap.
At that point Sparrow steps forward, reluctantly. Runs her fingers through her hair. “He can,” she says with a sigh. “Maybe I should make some tea.”
WE ALL HAVE OUR tea, which is to say Sparrow and Han Rong. Kang Li and I split a beer. I’m jittery. An adrenaline rush will do that. We sit there, me on the couch, with my best friend Boba standing sentinel, Han Rong, Sparrow, and Kang Li on two folding chairs and one secondhand armchair that looks like it was salvaged from a dumpster, pulled into a semicircle across from me.
“Okay, so explain,” I say.
Sparrow and Han Rong exchange significant looks. Kang Li, meanwhile, looks almost as frustrated as I feel. “Xiaoma, what’s going on?” he asks.
“We don’t know who she works for,” Sparrow tells him. She turns to me. “We don’t know if we can trust you.”
“Look, you want to search my bag, search my bag,” I say. “You’re not going to find anything one way or another. It’s like I told you, like I keep telling all of you-I’m just trying to find David so I can tell his family he’s okay. Maybe get him to come home to see his brother. That’s it. The rest of this, it isn’t my business. I’m not going to go running to the authorities because you’re rescuing cats. I’m just a laowai with a little business representing artists.”
“Artists?” Sparrow asks. “What kind of artists?”
“Chinese artists. You heard of Zhang Jianli?”
Kang Li and Han Rong shake their heads. I didn’t really expect them to know who Lao Zhang is-it’s not like I could have named a contemporary Chinese artist before I got involved with him.
Sparrow’s forehead wrinkles.
“You know who he is?” I ask, surprised.
“I heard of him.”
I shiver a little in the cold of the farmhouse. Coincidences make me nervous. Nonetheless, I get out my wallet and extract a business card and hand it to her in proper two-handed fashion. “I can show you the Web site if you want,” I say.
Sparrow studies the card. Looks at me. “Why don’t you tell her, Han Rong?” she says.
“I work for Chinese biotech company,” Han Rong says, clutching his teacup, for warmth maybe. It’s chilly in the farmhouse, and both Kang Li and Sparrow have put on sweats. “I take leave from my job recently. I… have some problems with the work we do.” He stares into his cup. A good imitation of contrite.