The Interior - Страница 6

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.

Ridiculous Chinese laws might be acceptable to couples like Chai Hong and Mu Hua. In fact, they might even work. David knew of many couples even in the U.S. who kept bicoastal relationships romantic and alive. But ten thousand miles was too great a distance with a woman like Hulan. He needed to see her eyes when she told him she was pregnant. He needed to be face to face with her to ask why she'd waited so long to tell him. Today he'd needed to see her eyes when she said the word friend.

David arrived at the U.S. Attorney's Office at nine. He was dressed in corduroys and a Polo shirt instead of his usual suit and tie. He grabbed a cup of coffee and headed down the hall to his office. Today he had no appointments or court appearances. In fact, for the first time in years he had nothing on his calendar. No cases on the docket. No depositions to set up. No special assignments. All he planned to do today was clean up his office after months of trial work. Later, workmen would come by with dollies to take away all the boxes and put them in the file room for temporary residence before moving them to a big government warehouse.

David sat for a few moments behind his desk, where files and correspondence were piled together haphazardly. Along the walls were stacked dozens of boxes already filled with trial transcripts, interviews with witnesses, and photocopies of evidence from the Rising Phoenix cases. Against many of the boxes were propped large poster boards. Some charted evidence, some served as time lines, others showed diagrams of crime scenes. Facedown on a set of boxes near David's desk were post-mortem photographs, which graphically showed the handiwork of the Rising Phoenix. The triad had once been the most powerful Asian organized-crime syndicate in the city. Now, after a series of trials that David had headed-at one point he'd supervised four cases involving other gang members in addition to his own trials involving the triad leader and his lieutenants-the Rising Phoenix's members were either dead, behind bars, or had been absorbed by other gangs.

During the trials David had received several death threats. He hadn't taken them seriously, but the FBI had. They put a trace on his phone and arranged for round-the-clock surveillance. The routine was claustrophobic and enervating, but-as the agents had reminded him on their last night of duty after the trial was over-he was still alive. Better to be safe than sorry, they said.

David took a sip of coffee, grabbed a box, then began sifting through the papers on his desk. There was a time when he would have kept the congratulatory letters, but now he tossed them, even the one from his ex-wife, in the trash. His secretary had grouped about a dozen invitations together with a rubber band. Without opening them, David dumped these as well. Why should he look at them? He knew what they were. Ever since the O.J. case, lawyers had become pseudo celebrities. Hostesses and fund-raising groups liked to invite lawyers who'd been on the news every night to give their parties a buzz. Other invitations were issued by private law firms. With his rise in celebrity-and with every Rising Phoenix conviction-several headhunters had phoned to inquire if he wanted to go back into private practice. Old friends, who'd been ensconced in firms for years, had called out of the blue to ask if David would like to have lunch with the senior partners or stop by for drinks. David had said no. He understood that this chapter of his life was over, but not knowing what would happen with Hulan had put his career in limbo.

By eleven, David had gone through the easy piles. Now he moved on to the everyday materials that he'd needed during these last months of back-to-back trials. As he began looking at the folders-knowing that they held so many lives that had been lost or ruined-he couldn't help but be aware of his own dejection.