Mrs. Pollifax on the China Station

in the doorway.
    ”Please—come outside,” she said in a low voice. ”Are you Guo Musu?”
    He stiffened. ”How is this, please,” he whispered, ”that you know my
name?”
    They were being watched with interest by a circle of bystanders in the
alley, and by the men behind them in the barbershop. In spite of their being
out of earshot she knew that she must be careful and protect this man, whether
he helped her or not. She asked, ”Which way to the Drum Tower ?”
    Automatically he pointed in the direction she’d been heading; she hoped
this gesture established authenticity, but it was going to be difficult to
remember appropriate gestures while she talked. ”There isn’t much time,” she
said quickly. ”Your brother Chang, who reached Hong Kong safely, said you could
tell me where the camp is located that you lived in for three years. The labor
camp somewhere in Xinjiang Province.”
    ”Chang!” he exclaimed. ”Labor camp?”
    Damn, she thought, and deplored this lack of time and
privacy, he’s going to need time to adjust to this, the shock couldn’t have
been greater if I announced that I came from the moon. ”I’m visiting your
country,” she told him politely. ”We’re enjoying Xian very much. We saw Ban Po
Village this morning, and tomorrow we visit the tomb of—”
    Amusement flickered in his eyes; she had underestimated him. He said,
”And you have somehow found me to ask—”
    ”I know what you think,” she told him frankly. ”You could be arrested
for giving me this information but I can also be arrested for asking you.”
    An ironic smile crossed his face.
    ”I’m American,” she told him. ”It’s Americans who would like to know.”
    ”Americans,” he repeated, turning the word over on his tongue. ”And just
what do you expect of me?” There was a very real irony in his voice now.
    She said earnestly, ”What I thought—what I hoped—I bought an atlas this
morning in Xian, with Xinjiang Province on page
thirty-eight. Let me show you.” She turned to page thirty-eight and handed it
to him. ”If you decide to trust me I thought we might walk a little—away from
your shop and your neighbors—and I could hand you a pen.”
    He looked at her, studying her with curiosity and interest. The irony
slowly receded; he said at last, quietly, ”I will walk with you to the end of
the road and show you the way to the Drum Tower .”
    ”Oh thank you,” she gasped, adding quickly, ”You’re very kind.”
    He said politely, ”Not at all.”
    As they walked he glanced down at the map of Xinjiang Province, whereas
Mrs. Pollifax glanced back, relieved to see that only a few of the smaller
children followed, but at a distance. Nearing the end of the alley he looked up
from the atlas and met her gaze. Wordlessly she offered him the pen, leaning
closer to him so that no one would see. He gravely accepted it.
    ”I’ll keep talking,” she told him as he made a mark on the map, and
without watching him she began a pantomime of gestures and smiles. After a
moment he slipped the atlas back into her hand, and she slid it into her purse.
    Bringing out her identical copy she said, ”In case any one saw us—”
    His eyes widened in astonishment.
    ”No, this is a duplicate,” she said, presenting it to him with a bow.
”Look at page thirty-eight and you’ll see.”
    He turned to that page, and she saw his relief. ”Please take it,” she
told him. ”As a gift. For showing me the way to the Drum Tower.”
    ”For showing you the way to the Drum Tower ,”
he repeated, and suddenly smiled, showing a number of teeth capped in steel.
”And Chang?” he asked, his irony exquisite now. ”He is well?”
    ”I am told he is very well,” she said, smiling back at him, and suddenly
she was aware of the immensity of what he had dared to do for her, and she
seized the book he held and wrote her name in it. ”Now each of us knows,” she
told him. ”It’s only fair. We’re hostages now to each other.”
    ”But there was no need for that,” he told her gently.
    Startled, she said, ”Oh?”
    ”Your eyes speak for you, which is why I do this,” he said. ”I think it
is possible that you also follow The Way.”
    She had forgotten that he was Buddhist. ”I seek,” she acknowledged
softly, ”but sometimes—oh, in very strange ways.”
    His smile was warm. ”But there are no strange ways, xianben —only
the search.”
    ”Ah,” she said with a catch of breath, and for a long