06.29.2008 / EP. 18
Unusual Events
Rao sighed. He was familiar with superiors who required impossible results. Through the years, he’d learned to avoid confrontations with them. It wasn’t difficult. Silence was his chief weapon, and Chinese culture rewarded restraint. Rao had acquired the rare habit of seeming to agree. Calm and self-effacing, he posed no threat. He stated facts simply. Whatever the outcome, whether desirable or unfortunate, Rao personally earned the approval of his superiors. They liked him, enjoyed his nature, a virtue worth a thousand times any amount of intelligence and cunning. Rao didn’t lack the latter qualities. But it was as a humble, devoted servant of the state that he made his mark.
Rao hurriedly timed and dated his notes, pressed a button on his desk and watched Xiao Ping run in. Xiao Ping was 18, thin and gangly. Habitually dressed in black, he reminded Rao of a shadow puppet or a puppy falling over himself to impress his master. Xiao Ping indeed craved any occasion to please his boss. Rao smiled and handed Xiao Ping the notes and tape. Five minutes later, Xiao Ping had them on his boss’s desk. Or so Xiao Ping assumed. He’d never seen his boss. The desk was perfectly dusted, richly waxed and immaculate. Assistants laid papers on it and took them away. Some bore the stamp that was his boss’s signature. One basket held letters with corrections. Some carried the stamps of men that were legends. Yet nobody occupied the chair behind the desk. It was a comfortable chair, Xiao Ping had noted, made of soft leather. English, he imagined.
Two officers guarded the desk. Xiao Ping had told Rao that they were important; he’d never seen them smile. They wore the insignia of party membership and held army rank in an obscure unit. They were large men. Did they protect the desk or the door beside it? Xiao Ping wasn’t sure. He never dallied. But when full of beer and talking with a slim girl he’d noticed at a neighbourhood bar, he ventured to guess that an electronic hum emanated from beyond the door. All Xiao Ping knew for sure was that a basket existed on the desk just for the tapes and notes he brought. They must be important. So he was important.
Rao sat immobile on his wooden chair for the rest of his shift. There were no more calls. The hour hand of the clock overlaid the nine and Rao’s replacement entered the room, her skirt flaring. “How are you, Guang-Jun? Quiet day?”
Rao almost missed what she said, so enticing was the skirt or so far into a trance had he drifted. A diligent gardener keeps his eye on his flowers, he reproved himself. “How beautiful you look today, Mei-Hua,” he said. It was safer to compliment a colleague than discuss the day. Particularly in this building, the walls had ears. Mei-Hua was a slim, light skinned creature from the north. Many officers dismissed her as bony. Rao knew better. She was a gymnast and black belt in one of the Kung Fu academies. Women in China took up defensive skills to ward off persistent males. Rao knew that Mei-Hua’s interest was more serious. For one thing, her knuckles were scarred. For another, she kept herself poised physically and mentally, as though enemies could fling themselves at her at any time. Wary, Rao thought. Which could be mistaken for demure. And she kept a low profile. No one knew her family or friends. Like Rao, she attended the minimum of social gatherings required to be considered a good comrade. Rao couldn’t resist. He bent towards her and whispered, “Your skirt is crooked.”
“No it isn’t,” Mei-Hua whispered back without checking. “And are you going to sit there all day?” Self-confident, Rao thought. She knows I’m teasing, unless she doesn’t care about her clothes. No, Rao decided, she’s aware of her appearance and trusts her judgement of my character. Practical jokes don’t affect her. He wondered what would.
Rao surrendered his seat and placed his cushion safely in a corner. He waved good-bye.
Ten minutes later, at the end of a corridor and up a flight of stairs, Rao waited his turn to exit. Hundreds of employees were going off duty. As this was the Defence Ministry, each in turn held a card to a scanner and passed through detectors that sensed the pigment in government paper. The contrast amused Rao: scuffed vinyl floors, bare light bulbs, cement walls with flaked paint – and advanced electronic surveillance. He was next. An intercom spat orders. The noise alarmed the guards who hoisted their rifles. Silence descended abruptly on the mass of employees leaving the building. A lieutenant took him aside. “You’re to report to division head.” Rao didn’t like the timing. “I’ll escort you,” said the lieutenant. Rao liked this even less.
“Let me give a reason to these comrades,” Rao indicated the crowd on the stairs, “so they don’t gossip.” The lieutenant assented. Rao laughed. Better be treated as a fool than a suspect, he thought. “Those papers for my cafeteria pass.” He shook his head. The tension eased. Paperwork, the curse of the department. Cafeteria passes were a nuisance and people always forgot to renew them. There would be a few sharp words. Rao would reply that another department was late with a certificate. Water under the bridge. This wasn’t treason or theft or breach of duty. Rao rolled his eyes and headed upstairs with the lieutenant. “He’ll mop floors tonight,” someone joked. “Let me take a message to your girlfriend,” another shouted. The hubbub built up quickly.
Rao had no idea what was going on. He followed the lieutenant. A gardener must expect sudden winds and rain, Rao thought. He’d be prepared. They climbed. Soldiers stood at each landing, regarding their progress suspiciously. Four levels above his own, the lieutenant led him through a door. On the other side were thick carpets, ancient art and highly polished teak floors. Rao found himself in a plain anteroom that abutted a workroom in simple, classical proportions. The lieutenant indicated a chair. Rao sat. Beside the chair stood an old desk, but little else. It was almost pitch dark. “The Division Head will see you,” said the lieutenant and left. After a few minutes, a short thin man, roughly forty years of age and lightly wrinkled, entered through a panel that blended with the wall. He assessed Rao. Rao looked levelly back. The man introduced himself. He explained that Rao had been chosen for an important mission. A gardener must now and then expect sunshine, thought Rao. “I’m sure you will acquit yourself well and bring glory to the department,” the Division Head intoned. From which irony and generality Rao knew that this man, Division Head or not, knew nothing about why Rao had been called. The man left the room. And expect rapid change, thought Rao.
