"So what is Knight?"
"They-a father and son-make toys. Do you know Sam amp; His Friends? Do you have that over there? It's a TV show for kids. Sam amp; His Friends is a cartoon. I've never seen the actual show, of course, but the advertising! I think Knight makes dolls. No! What's the word? Action figures! They've got an action figure for every one of those damn 'friends' and ads to go with them. Knight makes those over there? Jesus!"
"It's that big?"
"Remember the rage over Cabbage Patch dolls? Did you have those in China?"
"No. I don't think so."
"Tickle Me Elmo?"
"No."
"Beanie Babies?"
"No. Barbie, I know Barbie."
"Sam isn't like Barbie. These Sam toys are a fad. Kids are crazy for them."
"How do you know so much about it?"
"That's what I'm trying to say. It's on the local news every time a new shipment hits the stores. Parents line up around the block to buy these things. The supply can't meet the demand. It's in the business pages practically every day. Knight stock has gone through the roof. Here's a company that was percolating along for about seventy years, then this show comes on and kids go nuts. It's a phenomenon."
"And Knight is manufacturing the toys in Shanxi," Hulan mused thoughtfully.
"I guess it shouldn't be that strange, Hulan. Half of everything is made in China."
"Sure, in the Special Economic Zone in Shenzhen," Hulan said as the train whistle blew again. "In Guangdong Province. Around Shanghai. But Shanxi? There's nothing out there, David."
These last words were almost lost in the noise behind Hulan. "We're at the station," she said. "I'll call you later. I love you." And then she was gone.
After putting the receiver back in the cradle, David couldn't go back to sleep. By the time he pulled on shoes and shorts, there was enough light for him to head out for a run around Lake Hollywood. Tall and lean, he had dark hair, graying a bit at the temples. His blue eyes tended to pick up the hues of whatever environment he was in. This morning, with the fog still hiding nature's sky and water tones, his eyes were flecked with highlights from the greenery around him.
His pace was fast today and he knew why. Certain words Hulan had used this morning-the Red Soil Farm, the Cultural Revolution, an apparent suicide-had sent tremors of anxiety into his bloodstream. Could Hulan have more secrets from him? Would she be placing herself in danger out in the countryside? Was it even healthy-physically or mentally-for her to go out there? With each stride he tried to convince himself that there was nothing to worry about. Hulan worked for the Ministry of Public Security. No one would mess with her, especially in the countryside. Besides, a girl had committed suicide. That was about as open and shut as you could get in law enforcement.
Maybe after Hulan settled this thing, she would go back to Beijing, pack up, and come to him. Who was he kidding? They had gone around this way for three months now, talking on the phone and communicating by e-mail. Back in March Hulan had promised she would come to Los Angeles. "We'll be together," she'd said, and he'd believed her. He'd begun talking to government officials and filling out forms for a permanent-residency card. But days had turned into weeks, weeks into months as Hulan's doubts kicked in. She had lost so much in her life that, as much as she loved him-and he had no reservations about the depth of her passion-she was still afraid to commit for fear of what she could lose. But she would never say this, and he could never push her into that conversation without her skittering away from the subject. Instead Hulan would say that she didn't want to uproot her mother. "You should have seen Mama today. We talked for half an hour." Or, "Mama had a bad time today. How can I ever repair the damage?"
"Bring her here," David might say. "Bring the nurse. I'll make the arrangements." But Hulan always seemed to have another excuse.
And so their conversations had changed. Instead of Hulan coming to California, she now wanted him to move to China. "You said that if I didn't come, you'd come back for me. Well?"
But how could he? He had his job at the U.S. Attorney's Office. His family was here in America. His friends were here. All of which was true for Hulan as well. She too had her job, her family. Which was why they were at an impasse. "We're both strong-willed people," David had said once. "I guess it's not in either of our natures to give in."
Hulan's laugh had come floating over the line. "It has nothing to do with that. Relationships are always like this in China." Then she'd babbled on about other people she knew. So-and-so got married, spent one day with his wife, then was transferred down to Shanghai. That was two years ago. Since then the couple had spent a total of three nights together. Another couple she knew had met at Beijing University and gotten married. Chai Hong and Mu Hua had struggled hard to get a wedding permit. The problem was that she was from Hebei Province and he was from Zhejiang Province. Officials might give them the marriage permit, but they couldn't guarantee that the next bureau would give them residency permits for the same city. But Hong and Hua, persistent and idealistic, finally received their marriage permit and got married. But after their education was completed, twenty years ago now, they had each returned to their home provinces. They hadn't lived together again except for a week or two here and there during annual vacations. For people from different countries the problems were even greater.
And here was where David would typically interrupt and remind Hulan that she had promised to come to him. She would again launch into the excuses about her mother. Around and around they went. Who was going to concede first? On what issue would he or she cave in? Career? Family? Friends?
David stopped in the middle of the path that led around the lake. He was on the far side now, just a little past the halfway mark. He looked out across the city: Hollywood below him, downtown to his left. To his right, way in the distance, he should have been able to see the ocean, but the morning fog still shrouded the western side of the city. But David wasn't thinking about weather conditions. He was thinking about friends. Hulan didn't have "friends." Vice Minister Zai was Hulan's superior and her mentor. She seemed to have an amicable relationship with a neighbor woman, but Madame Zhang was decades older than Hulan. She had her colleagues, whom she treated with a polite coolness. Friends. Hulan had called Suchee a friend. He felt another wave of worry ripple through him.
Even as he stood there looking out across the city in the early morning coolness, he saw clearly that his emotions and concerns were primitive, base, elemental. Hulan was pregnant with his child. He remembered with absolute clarity when she'd told him. For weeks their conversations had revolved around anecdotes about cases they were working on, how the harshness of the Beijing winter was fading, how much she loved him, how much he loved her. But when she'd spoken the words "I'm pregnant," his life changed and the tenor of their conversation shifted. David wanted his child to be born in the U.S., where he or she would automatically become a citizen. "This is a Chinese baby too," Hulan said. "Why can't it have Chinese citizenship?"
That had been their only real argument. David had reminded her of the Great Leap Forward, when Mao had attempted to revolutionize agriculture and industry, but instead had created the largest famine in history, resulting in the deaths of thirty million people. He'd reminded her of the One Hundred Flowers Campaign, when people were encouraged to criticize the new society, then those who had made those criticisms were thrown in jail or worse. He'd reminded her of the Cultural Revolution, which had been so devastating to Hulan's own family. And then he reminded her that she had been the one who told him all of these horror stories. "And you want our child to remain in China?" He had pushed her too far, argued her into a corner, and they hadn't spoken about the baby since.