Mrs. Pollifax on the China Station

moment they gazed
at each other and she was mute, deeply touched by a recognition, a tenderness
between them. She said at last, very softly, ”Thank you, Mr. Guo,
and—please—may you have long life and double happiness.”
    He nodded and walked away, once again a sallow nondescript man, no doubt
wearing an ironic smile for the comrades who moved eagerly toward him. She
watched him hold up the atlas she’d given him, and as his neighbors drew close
to examine it she left. Presently she was mounting the steps to the Drum Tower .
    Mr. Li was waiting at the entrance. ”Where have you been?” he demanded.
”Miss Bai has gone to search for you.”
    She only smiled at him, and moved past him.
    She found the others in the small Friendship Store at the top of the
building, looking into glass cases at ancient relics displayed for sale. Not
one of them looked up at her entrance, and she commended her silent partner for
being so controlled and disciplined an actor. But although she too concentrated
on the relics with control and discipline, her thoughts remained with Guo Musu
and on that curious sense of meeting that she’d experienced with him. Nothing
happens by accident, she thought, and she knew that she would not easily
forget that moment of tenderness between them.
    And she had succeeded. Her job was done. She’d found and made contact
with Guo Musu and there was exhilaration in this, and a sense of triumph.
     
    They attended Chinese Opera that evening. Mrs. Pollifax, tired from the
suspense and from the tensions of finding Guo Musu, found Jenny and Peter
extremely irritating. In spite of being several years older, it was Jenny who
seemed to be succumbing to Peter’s hostile attitudes: they had moved from an
early sharing of college jokes and anecdotes to a running patter of tactless
criticisms of China that Mrs. Pollifax found deplorable. She had already overheard a few whispered
flippancies about Mr. Li, and only that morning they’d been giggling about the
questions Iris had asked at the cloisonné factory’s tea and briefing.
    Now it was the Shaanxi local opera that met with their unkind laughter.
    Mrs. Pollifax herself was entranced. The theater was shabby and the
audience in dull work clothes, but the stage shone like a jewel with the
brilliance of the costumes—color for the eye at last, she thought, as she
feasted on it. Mr. Li had explained to them that the ancient tale was in serial
form and had begun three nights ago; it would last four hours tonight, but they
would depart at intermission. Mrs. Pollifax found no problems at all in
following it: the gestures were stylized but the meaning of each one, coupled
with the droll and vivid expressions on the actors’ faces needed no words of
explanation. There was a marvelous humor in the story, and she laughed along
with the audience without the slightest idea of what was being said.
    Jenny, however, was not content with this and demanded of Mr. Li a
translation of every word spoken, after which she would repeat his explanation
in a loud voice for the rest of them.
    ”So this guy—the one in black,” she was saying, ”has come down from
heaven to avenge the death of—which one, Mr. Li?”
    ”Get a load of the singing!” interrupted Peter, laughing. ”Straight
through the nasal passages, vibrating all the sinuses!”
    Jenny giggled. ”Not to mention how the princess sniffles into her
sleeves, the one in bright red?”
    Ugly Americans, thought Mrs. Pollifax sadly, and was about to speak
to them when George Westrum surprised and impressed her by turning around and
doing it first.
    ”Look here,” he growled, ”you’re not giving this a chance, and you’re
being damned rude, too.”
    Mrs. Pollifax glanced around and saw that Jenny had the grace to blush
but Peter’s face only turned cold and stony again. They stopped their
chattering and Mrs. Pollifax returned to the opera, but something had gone out
of the evening. She realized that the first rift had appeared in their group,
and the embarrassment of it hung in the air, an embarrassment for themselves,
for Mr. Li, for China ,
and for Peter and Jenny. It was not a comfortable way to feel, thought Mrs.
Pollifax, and when they left at the intermission there were no comments about
the opera on their way back to the hotel. The silence was awkward, and only
Iris and Mrs. Pollifax called out good night to Jenny and Peter.
    * * *
    She had been alone in her room for only a few minutes when the