Mrs. Pollifax on the China Station

his
grandmother gave him this trip as a present because she was born in China and can’t
come herself. I daresay he’d much rather be off backpacking somewhere with a
group of friends.”
    ”If he has any friends,” said Iris. ”Well, I can see how he feels, of
course, but if somebody gave me a present—any kind of present—you wouldn’t
catch me sulking like that. And a free trip to China—wow!”
    Mrs. Pollifax smiled faintly, noting the words if anyone gave me a
present, any kind of present, and reflected that Iris would be too busy
giving presents to receive any; the takers must flock to her like bees to a
honey flower. A pity, she thought, and said mischievously, ”George Westrum
seems very nice.”
    Iris warmly agreed. ”Oh, isn’t he? And I think”—she lowered her voice—”I
think he used to be an FBI man, isn’t that intriguing?”
    ”FBI?” repeated Mrs. Pollifax alertly. ”How very exciting!”
    Iris nodded. ”Now all we need is someone from the CIA.”
    ”Yes indeed,” murmured Mrs. Pollifax, without so much as a blink of an
eye. ”Quite horrid people, I’m sure.”
    ”Oh there must be some nice people among them,” Iris conceded
with her radiant smile and then, glancing ahead, ”Look—that must be the park.
We’re here! Except why are the others huddling around the gate?”
    ”Because it costs money,” shouted Malcolm, as Iris called out her query,
crossing the avenue. ”The real stuff. Either of you have any?”
    ”I have,” Iris announced, joining them. ”I bought those white jade cups
at Canton airport, remember?” As the natives gathered to watch, she dug into her purse,
brought out small wrinkled bills and then several coins and presented them to
the man. He selected several fen, beamed at her, and issued them
tickets.
    ”Now this,” said Joe Forbes as they entered, ”has to be the real China .”
    Mrs. Pollifax was inclined to believe him. There were paths to the right
and to the left, but she was drawn instead toward a crowd straight ahead from
which, even at a distance, she could hear roars of laughter. Joining it Mrs.
Pollifax stood on tiptoe to peer over heads and found them gathered around a
television set, a modest and perfectly normal television set plugged into some
unseen outlet in the out-of-doors, with cartoons dancing across its screen.
Amazing she thought, and looked instead into the faces of the people watching
the cartoons, touched by their innocent excitement and joy.
    The subtitles, however, were in Chinese, and presently— still smiling at
the pleasure it was giving—she moved away to investigate a small growing crowd
off to the left, and discovered Malcolm seated under a tree sketching. Not far
away George Westrum was attempting sign language with a young woman, with Joe
Forbes chuckling at his elbow. At once a young man spotted Mrs. Pollifax and
hurried to her side. ”You are American too,” he cried eagerly. ”I may ask
questions?”
    ”Oh yes,” she told him warmly. ”Ni hao! Good evening!”
    His boldness, his daring, immediately drew people from Malcolm’s circle
into his, and Mrs. Pollifax found herself smiled at and approved as the
audience waited with attention for their comrade to address this visitor from a
country halfway across the world. Their pride in him was palpable, and Mrs.
Pollifax waited too, her heart beating a trifle faster at the importance of
this moment.
    ”In America ,”
he said slowly, his brows knitted together by the seriousness with which he,
too, regarded this moment ”you grow cotton?”
    Mrs. Pollifax, a little surprised, nodded her head. ”Yes. Oh yes. In our
southern states.”
    ”Suzzen states?”
    ”Warm places,” she explained. ”Like Canton ?”
    ”Canton?” He looked bewildered, and she saw that they had suddenly lost
their way; the eagerness still hung between them, tangible but severely
threatened.
    ”No,” she said, trying to retrieve direction, ”in the United States ,
where I live. Where—” She was suddenly overwhelmed by the nouns, pronouns,
verbs that separated them and with which she must frame a sentence, acutely
aware too of the perplexities of for and about and from; the wall between them seemed opaque, the gulf immeasurable, and then with sudden
inspiration she remembered the snapshots she had crammed into her purse at the
last minute. She reached into her purse and drew them out: a photograph of her
apartment house, with herself standing in front of it; several of