Red Moon

CHAPTER TWELVE zhengzhi luxian de zhenglun Debates About Theory

Fred sat with Qi and Ta Shu on a pavilion overlooking one of the ponds in the lava tunnel, trying to identify some of the food on the table by them. He was hungry but tentative, worried he might trigger another Hong Kong reaction in his gut.

“This isn’t China,” Qi declared, gesturing at the classic landscape filling the big lava tunnel. “It’s Chinoiserie. It’s a Western fantasy of what they thought China looked like, another Orientalism. Part of the process of othering that led to the assault and conquest of the Opium War, followed by the Century of Humiliation. It’s absurd and disgusting. Who built this stupid theme park?”

“Fang Fei built it,” Ta Shu said. “And to me it looks like every Tang painting I’ve ever seen. So if it’s a fantasy, it’s at least a Chinese fantasy. The original China Dream, from well before contact with the West, much less the Century of Humiliation. Many Chinese still revere this dream. Many still know a classic poem or two by heart. It’s part of who we are.” His sweet smile was lighting up his face. “This place looks like one of Wang Wei’s paintings!”

Qi frowned. “None of Wang Wei’s paintings have survived,” she pointed out grumpily.

Fred saw she was in a cross mood. Whoever next gave her a chance to jump on them was going to get jumped. He thought knowing that would allow him to avoid being that person, but no:

“Quit smirking,” she ordered him.

“I wasn’t,” he claimed. “It’s just that I like this place too. It’s a beautiful look. See those peach blossoms in the water?”

Ta Shu laughed. “We must seek their source! Maybe there’s a place upstream where you two won’t get arrested again.”

Qi shook her head. “We are already arrested.”

“Think of it as a refuge,” Ta Shu suggested to her. “A sanctuary.”

“No,” Qi said. “There must be hundreds of people in here. In any group that large, there will be informers. So this is not a refuge. There are people out there who already know we’re here.”

She scowled as she said this; she seemed quite sure of it. Fred wondered if she had learned this by way of that call she had gotten on the private quantum phone Ta Shu had given to her. Fred had helped her to take the call, then stared curiously at the Chinese characters on her screen. As they were on the far side of the moon, the call had to be coming to her by way of a satellite link; after she had finished the call he had reminded her of that fact, which she might not have remembered or understood. Indeed she had scowled the same scowl he was seeing now, not directed at him, but at his news. “Fang Fei must have helped make the connection,” she had said after thinking it over. “I don’t know what that means yet. But for sure we’re in his cage.”

Now Ta Shu said to her, “I defer to your experience, of course, but for now I think we are safe.”

She shook her head, glanced at Fred in a way that seemed to be telling him to keep quiet. “You don’t know enough to say that,” she said darkly to Ta Shu. “This is probably just a kind of holding tank for the convenience of some faction of the elite. They’re probably very happy we’re here, available for pickup at any time.”

At this Ta Shu looked troubled. “Again I defer to your superior experience. And it’s true that my friend Peng Ling wanted you here, to be out of harm’s way, she said. But I do think that Fang Fei regards this place as his own, and will guard it as such.”

“How come we haven’t met him yet? Where is he?”

“At the source of the peach blossom stream,” Ta Shu said, smiling as he gestured up the lava tunnel. Fred saw that Qi couldn’t spoil his pleasure in this place, which obviously to him was landscape art, a kind of poem written in stone. “Let’s go find him.”

They had been given rooms in a little guesthouse overlooking the water pavilion; now they were driven in a little cart along a narrow paved road running under the hills that formed the lava tube’s left wall. Other little carts hummed up or down the path, moving construction supplies, boxes, and people. The path ran behind a line of poplar trees, and every few hundred meters they passed parking lots where more carts were parked. The floor of the lava tube was mostly parkland, dotted with small villages, and everywhere green with trees; it was almost flat, but as they were driven along the side path they were moving slightly uphill. They were headed upstream. After all the time they had recently spent inside small confined spaces, the lava tunnel seemed immense. It looked to be about a kilometer wide and two or three hundred meters tall. The ceiling glowed sky blue, being painted or illuminated in some fashion that looked a lot like Earth’s sky, although it was dotted here and there by clustered sunlamps, as if the sun in the sky had been chopped into subunits and distributed evenly across the zodiac. White clouds overhead were either projected onto the blue ceiling or else were really up there, it was hard to tell. The air was cool when the slight breeze from upstream struck them, warm when the sunlamps were nearby. It was bright without being anywhere near as bright as daylight on the lunar surface, or even a sunny day on Earth. It was about as bright as an overcast day on Earth, and certainly bright enough that everything was clear to the eye.

They came to a long pond, which the stream entered and left through reed beds. On the lawn banking this pond some people were fly fishing, casting their lines far out onto the water. Behind them, in the shade of trees that Ta Shu said were ginseng, sat circles of people; they looked like classes or discussion groups. There were little cubical houseboats floating on the pond, and the sidewalls of the lava tunnel were here corrugated by vertical ridges and steep ravines, with wisps of clouds floating across them in the classic Chinese landscape painting style. Upstream a hexagonal pagoda with ceramic roof tiles towered above the treetops. A flock of geese flew overhead, wing feathers creaking as they pumped the air.

“Give me a break,” Qi said.

Their electric cart brought them down a path to the pond. A broad promenade curved around its shore, and bridges spanned the reed beds at inlet and outlet. A pavilion near the outlet extended over the water. Big willow trees dotted the bank and drooped greenly, branches trailing in the pond like hair being washed. Ripples on the water reflected various jade and forest-green tones, also the blue of the sky overhead.

“Come on!” Qi exclaimed. “What’s next, a dragon?”

At that very moment a dragon-prowed boat glided out of a boathouse on the far shore and swanned toward them.

“Enough!” Qi exclaimed. She glared at Ta Shu. “Where do we meet this guy?”

“Here,” he said. “I was told he’ll join us after a while. But before that, I want to take one of those pedal boats and ride around the lake.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I will!” Grinning hugely, Ta Shu walked carefully over to a little marina where pedal boats were moored in rows. Qi sat in a chair by the pavilion railing, and Fred joined her. It seemed to him that this was, if not a refuge, then at least a far better place than many others he could imagine them inhabiting. For one thing, they were still together. This pleased him.

When the dragon boat touched the edge of the pavilion, an old man stepped off—short and slight, elderly but upright, skillful in the lunar g. He walked up to Qi and Fred and stood staring at them. With a little bow of the head and a questioning wave of the hand, he sat in an empty chair by them.

He spoke in Chinese, then looked at Fred and said something more. Qi replied, and he nodded and stood, walked over to Fred, and offered him a pair of black spectacles he pulled from his shirt pocket. He gestured and Fred understood to put them on.

They were translating glasses. The ancient one said something, and in red across the lower half of the glasses flowed the text A nice day to be water, moving like a newsfeed. Fred found the moving scroll distracting, but understanding what the other two were saying was well worth it.

“Thank you!” Fred exclaimed.

“Fang Fei,” the old one said, and the words appeared in writing on Fred’s glasses. “Fred Fredericks,” Fred replied. They nodded in a similar way, possibly acknowledging the coincidence of their FF initials.

Qi said something to Fang Fei in Chinese. Fred’s glasses scrolled the red words I am afraid to be water.

Fred concluded that the machine translation of the glasses was imperfect, but this was always true. Now he just had to do his best to interpret what he read.

Fang Fei said, or was imputed to say, Water is life.

Qi shrugged. Why is it here? What are you doing?

When young I was three withouts.

Sanwu. Fred heard this word and remembered Qi defining it during one of their talks in the apartment: it referred to people without residence permit, job, and something else. Family, maybe. Or car. Or money. Seemed like three might not be a big enough number anymore.

Fang Fei was imputed to say: No iron rice bowl makes China a hard place. I do not forget that.

Qi said, So you build your own private China?

Yes. It was like this once. It will be like this again.

Qi didn’t believe that, her face said. How long do we stay here? she said.

You stay anytime you want. You leave anytime you want.

Qi didn’t believe this either. What do you want? she said.

I want peace. I want China happy.

What about the billion?

I was billion. I am billion. I will be billion always.

She shook her head. Another thing she didn’t believe.

The old man was looking amused by her. That would almost certainly piss her off, but he didn’t need Fred to tell him that. He didn’t mind annoying her, Fred guessed.

Then he looked at Fred. It was a tiger’s look, calmly assessing a smaller animal, something like a deer or a rabbit. He asked something.

Do you understand us? Are translation glass helping?

“Yes,” Fred said. “They help a lot, thank you.”

Fang Fei assessed Fred a little more.

“I can speak English maybe,” he said with a slight British accent, not that different from Qi’s. “I might remember a little.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Fred said, glancing at Qi to try to see what she thought of this. “The glasses are giving me a rough idea of what you are saying, and you may want to keep speaking your language together.”

“Rough idea,” Fang Fei said in English, then a Chinese word, souzhuyi, that Fred’s glasses scripted as bad idea.

The man is not important, Qi said, according to Fred’s glasses. What is important is why you are doing this.

Doing what?

Building this China Dream. Keeping us here.

I love China. And I heard you were in trouble. Kidnapped. Traveling with foreign man accused of murder of magistrate. Yes? Big trouble it seemed. Nightmare. You have many enemies. Chan’s princess daughter in trouble. Pregnant even. Who is disrespectful father?

No one.

No one? Surprising. Does not usually happen that way. I suppose China is the father.

No.

This red exchange, crawling across the bottom of Fred’s glasses, was causing him to hold his breath. He had to consciously breathe as he watched the two of them fence. He had to look at them to help him understand. Qi’s face had gone blank, but her cheeks were giving her away with their usual furious blush. Both of them had a basilisk stare that was rather awesome to witness. Tiger to tiger, facing off. Fred focused on his breathing.

What do you want? she said.

I want peace.

I don’t care about peace. I want justice.

For you and your friend?

For the billion.

For the billion to have justice, whole world must have justice.

Yes.

The old man shrugged. An old dream, he said. China dream. A just world.

Maybe so.

We must make it together. Bring it into this world.

Qi said, You can join me if you want.

Fang Fei almost smiled at that. His eyes smiled, Fred thought.

I am happy to join you, he said.

Qi stared at him. She saw the same almost smile Fred did, a look in Fang Fei’s tiger eye that perhaps she didn’t like.

Then she began to grill him about people Fred didn’t know, What about Peng, what about Deng, on and on it went. Sometimes Fred’s glasses seemed to be translating some of the names into their English meanings, not recognizing them as names. Between not knowing who people were and being confronted with names or phrases like lotus blossom or victory in battle or construct the nation, he couldn’t quite follow what the two were saying. They were going fast, parry-riposte-parry-riposte, causing his glasses to fall into some kind of algorithmic aphasia, it seemed, making the red scroll a semi-translated mush of homonyms or mishearings:

Save communism geese fly south.

No. Red heart maze runner.

There will be fish every year.

Black-haired algae.

What about elliptical, what about construct the nation, what about glorious homeland?

At this Qi slapped the table, and Fred read on anxiously; happily it clarified a bit:

The Party works for the Party! Not for China! Only the Party!

Do you think so? Fang Fei inquired. Fred could see he was genuinely curious. What about your father? Is he like that?

Qi scowled at the mention of her father. How would I know what he is like? she said bitterly. I am only his daughter.

Daughters know. My daughters know me.

Do they? Do they know you are here now?

Yes, of course. They pester me with their knowing. Do this, do that.

But you do what you want.

He shook his head. I do what they want.

Then he actually smiled, a rather horrifying crack-faced leer. But genuine. Maybe I am like Party and they are like China. I try to help them take care of them. They yell at me and tell me what to do. Then I try to do it.

That is not how China works, Qi said. Or maybe you are right like this. Daughters yell at father and father still does exactly what he wants. The Party is like that. It works for itself.

It wants both. It works for itself and it works for China.

But when it has to choose, it works for itself. If a time came when abolishing the Party were best for China, the Party would not do it.

Our constitution says we run ourselves by way of the Party. I am a member of the Party, and so are you.

No I am not. I am only daughter of Party. I never joined.

Really?

Really.

No wonder your father is mad at you. Why not join Party?

I hate the Party. I want laws. That is what I mean when I say justice. The rule of law.

Fang Fei nodded. Do not hold breath on that.

What?

He repeated it in English: “Don’t hold your breath! Isn’t that how you say it?” he asked, looking at Fred. “If wish for something unlikely?”

“Yes,” Fred said.

Qi said, “I am holding my breath.”

Again Fang Fei nodded. He cracked another awful smile. “Cutting off nose to spite face?” he suggested. “Another good saying. Almost Chinese, it is so good.”

“English has lots of good sayings,” Fred protested.

Fang Fei nodded without assent. “Seems possible.”

Why are you helping us? Qi demanded.

Fang Fei stared at her.

Are you helping us? she said. You are not helping us. Are you. You are Party.

No I am helping you. You were in trouble.

“We have to go,” Qi said to Fred.

You are free to go of course, said Fang Fei to her.

“Go where?” Fred asked.

Again that ugly smile from the old man, which made Fred realize, too late as usual, that he needed to stay out of this conversation. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ll go wherever you want. But here we are now.”

“Be quiet,” she suggested.

“Okay,” he contradicted. “I’ll leave you to it. But I do like this place.”

To keep himself from diving deeper into trouble, he got up, almost fell over, and pronged unsteadily across the pavilion, over to the low wall that overlooked the lake. Carefully he sat on the wall’s broad top. The water lapped against what looked like concrete, and through the water he could see that the bottom also appeared to be concrete, painted jade green at the lakeshore, cobalt blue farther out. Or maybe it was just the bottom of the lava tube, scooped out and then painted. Fred sat on the wall and looked around. It looked very much like a Tang or Ming diorama in a museum or a theme park. The Disneyland in Hong Kong would presumably have just such an area in it, featuring Princess Mulan no doubt. He looked back at Qi and Fang, smiling to think of it. Definitely not something to mention around Qi.

Out on the water, a little armada of white swans was led by a black swan. Maybe Qi was her people’s black swan. Or maybe she thought she was. Fred wasn’t sure. What others thought was always hard to ascertain; he didn’t even know what he thought, most of the time. In this case he didn’t know the language, the culture, or the political situation. With a sinking feeling it occurred to him that this was only a particular case of a general situation. What did he know about anything?

Shadows of the pseudo clouds made dark circles on the lake. On the far bank a gang of monkeys were begging a fisherman for a handout.

Suddenly Qi plopped down next to him, holding her belly in both hands.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” she said.

“Where are we going to go?” he objected. “We were in trouble. We kept getting caught.”

“I know. But China is big. If we hadn’t left our apartment on Lamma, we wouldn’t have gotten caught.”

“I’m not so sure. Didn’t you say there were people waiting outside our door? If we hadn’t left when we did, they would have caught us then, maybe. Anyway we did leave. Why don’t you like this place?”

“I don’t trust him. We’re locked up here, and there are people on the outside who know we’re here. It’s a kind of jail.”

“He said we could go if we wanted.”

“I don’t believe him.”

“Do you think he’s working with your father?”

“I don’t know. He’s not working with my people, that I do know. And my people need me.”

“No one is indispensable,” Fred said, though he wasn’t sure about that. “Why don’t you just stay here at least until your baby is born, make sure that happens safely, and then you can think about it.”

She shook her head. “That’ll just give him another hostage.”

“He already has all of us. You don’t want to be on the run when your time comes. And the due date is coming soon, right?”

She shot him a glance full of distrust. She didn’t like it that he knew her due date. As if he was going to forget it now. He wasn’t sure if she thought he was stupid or just forgetful. But she was the one who was forgetful; she kept forgetting what he was like, it seemed, and then he popped back into her awareness and again she had to figure out what kind of creature he was.

He sighed and she said, “What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m not really here.”

It was her turn to sigh. “Shut up,” she complained. “I don’t need you moaning and groaning right now.”

Fred stopped talking. Across the lake the monkeys were carefully rolling a bicycle into the water.

Ta Shu churned his pedal boat back in to the little marina, got out and stepped over to them, lofting unsteadily in the g. He came over to Qi and Fred without his usual smile, which was so unusual that Fred realized he had never seen Ta Shu’s face without that smile. Something must have happened.

Indeed it had:

“Sorry to have to leave you,” he said as soon as he joined them. “I’ve gotten news that my mother is sick, and I need to get to her as soon as I can. I’m the only family she has left.”

“You must go then,” Qi said.

Fred saw she would have done the same if it were her father who was sick. All that talk of what her father had done and not done as a politician would have gone by the board. Fred considered his parents: would he go to them if they fell ill? Yes, he would. If he could.

Now Ta Shu was saying, “Fang Fei got the news to me, and he is helping me leave fast. With luck I will rejoin you here. If not, I’ll see you again elsewhere.”

“We’ll probably be here,” Qi said darkly. “I don’t think Mr. Fang is going to let us leave.”

Ta Shu was startled to hear this. “Why do you think that? Did he tell you that?”

“No, he said we were free to leave.”

“He said we had nowhere else to go,” Fred added.

“That’s how people always put it,” Qi said bitterly. “You’re safest here, they say. I’ve been hearing that my whole life.”

“In this case he may be right,” Ta Shu said. “There’s a struggle going on right now. It’s more than the usual infighting.”

“It’s way more than that!” Qi exclaimed. “It’s a fight for China itself!”

Ta Shu regarded her as he thought it over. “Maybe. But if that’s the case, even worse for you. You are a princeling during a war of succession. That’s a dangerous thing to be.”

“I’m more than a princeling,” she told him. “I’m Sun Yat-sen. I’m Mao on the Long March.”

Startled by this, Ta Shu stared at her and then said, “Worse yet! I hope it’s not true, for your sake and for China’s. I don’t think we can take a civil war right now. There are too many other problems.”

“Those other problems are what is forcing this to happen.”

“Well, even so…” He floundered, seeming thoroughly spooked by this turn in the conversation. “Even if so, maybe this cave must be your cave of Yunnan. Wait here patiently, like Mao did in Yunnan, until a real opportunity presents itself. Or, failing that, at least until I return. If it pleases you.”

“It does not please me.”

Ta Shu shrugged. “I have to go home.”

“I know that.”

He regarded her for a while. Fred saw he was checking out of this exchange, his mind going elsewhere. Finally he said, “When I’m free to return, I’ll come and see if you are still here or not.”

He turned and strode purposefully toward the wall road, doing his best not to bounce too much. Fred hurried to follow him, which caused him to make yet another inadvertent launch, followed by a brief flight through the sky; he had to spin his arms backward and twist his legs forward to land on his feet, just a short distance behind Ta Shu. The old man heard him and turned. Again Fred was struck by the absence of his usual smile.

“I’ll stay with her,” Fred said. “Her baby is due in a few weeks, so I’m hoping she’ll stay here till then. It seems like that might work.”

“I hope so. We’ll stay in touch. Fang will pass messages along.”

There was a car waiting in a little parking lot, under a grove of what looked like sycamore trees. A driver sat at its wheel.

“Good luck,” Fred said helplessly. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

“Thank you.” He was already gone.