Beneath the Tree of Heaven

CHEN WENT HOME.

It was just after seven when he got back, tired and on edge, confused by all that had been happening to him. Outside his door he paused, wondering if it was really such a good idea. He needed to shower and freshen up, to grab a bite to eat and change his uniform, but he could have done all of that at Bremen. So why here? There was nothing for him here. He was about to turn away when, through the paper-thin walls, he heard a child’s shriek and then laughter—an infectious giggle that made his heart contract. No. There were still his children. He tapped out the combination, then stepped inside. At once Ch’iang Hsin was on him, her face lit up at the sight of him. “Daddy!”

He held her against his side, the fierceness of that sudden feeling almost overwhelming him. How could he have forgotten? What poisons were in his blood that he could have overlooked them even for a moment? He crouched, facing her. “How’s Mummy?”

She shrugged, then smiled again. “Tian Ching’s been teaching me how to sew! I’ve been making you a surprise!”

He looked up and saw the girl in the doorway to the kitchen, watching him. Did she know? he wondered. Could she tell where he’d been, merely by looking at him?

She turned away, busying herself.

“Where’s Wu?” he asked, “and Jyan?”

“Wu’s still in bed, and Jyan’s with friends,” Ch’iang said unselfconsciously, her left hand tugging at his cheek, as if to check that he was real. “Are you staying this time?” “For an hour or two,” he answered, saddened that this once he couldn’t stay a little longer. Then, taking her beneath the arms, he picked her up and carried her through to the kitchen. He cuddled her a moment, then set her down on a chair. “You stay here with Tian Ching a moment, while I go and see your mother, okay?”

She nodded, smiling up at him.

“Good.” He glanced at Tian Ching. “Thank you,” he said quietly, turning away before she could answer.

Wang Ti’s room was dark and silent, yet from the far side there was a wavering light and there was the faintest smell of burning. He looked. The bed was empty, the cover thrown back, and Wang Ti. . . Wang Ti was kneeling on the floor, her shape outlined against the wavering light. Slowly, quietly, he went across. There, in front of her, was a shrine. A shrine just like the one he had seen down-level. The doors were pulled back, revealing a blood-red interior, against which stood a dozen tiny figures. Household gods, he realized. In front of them three tiny red candles burned in tiny pots, sending up faint wisps of incense. Wang Ti’s eyes were open, staring straight ahead, into the bright interior of the shrine, and her lips . . .

Chen caught his breath. Her lips were moving.

He turned, realizing that Tian Ching was in the doorway.

“How long has this been here?”

She looked down, abashed. “Two days. I—I thought it might help.” He looked back at Wang Ti, saw how she gazed into the flickering shadows, and shivered. For almost three years there had been nothing, not even a flicker of life in her, but now . . .

He turned, nodding to the girl, his eyes thanking her; then, turning back, he kneeled beside his wife, his left hand reaching down to take her right where it lay upon her knee, palm down.

“I’m here, Wang Ti,” he said softly, conscious of the soft murmur of her voice beside him. “I’m here.”

CHAPTER TWELVE