Mrs. Pollifax on the China Station

own room by her purse standing on the windowsill. In
the room next to hers she saw Peter walk over to the window and pull the
curtains together. Except that if it was Peter there was something odd about
his face, she noted absently.
    ”What did you expect from your trip?” she asked, handing Jenny a
handkerchief.
    ”I thought—I wanted—it was supposed to—” She broke into a fresh spasm of
tears. ”And it—” She shoved the handkerchief back into Mrs. Pollifax’s hand,
turned angrily and fled back into the lobby to disappear down the hall to her
room. Following slowly, Mrs. Pollifax heard a door slam shut.
    Peter might be able to comfort her, she thought. Peter knew Jenny best,
and might be persuaded to talk to her. Since he’d not gone to bed yet—she had,
after all, seen him at his window only moments ago—she went to his door and
knocked. When there was no answer she knocked again, then leaned against the
door and listened. She heard no sounds of running water,-she heard no sounds at
all. She called his name softly, so that he would know it was she, and when
even this brought no answer she stood back and stared in exasperation at the
door. He was simply not responding.
    Or he wasn’t there.
    The thought of Peter not being in his room sent a chill down her spine,
which struck her as a completely irrational reaction. Moving to her own door
she carried in the suitcase waiting outside it, unlocked it and extracted
toothbrush and pajamas. She thought, He’s just strolling around the grounds,
not sleepy yet.
    But there had been something strange about his appearance when she’d
glimpsed him in the window, something off-key that troubled her. She tried to
think what it was, concentrating hard on reconstructing that moment. She
realized that he’d done something to his eyes. The light behind him had thrown
his face into shadow, but very definitely it had been his eyes that were
different: their outer corners had been subtly drawn upward, giving him a
native look. It had been Peter’s shoulders and head that she’d seen in the
window but the face of a Chinese.
    So it’s begun, she thought. This is Xinjiang Autonomous Region,
we’ve reached Urumchi and it’s begun... he’s gone out into the night to
reconnoiter, to look for the labor camp.
    She wondered how far he would go and when he’d be back. She wondered if
he’d be seen and—if he were stopped— whether his papers would pass examination,
and she felt a clutch of fear for him. But it was going to be like this for the
next few days, she reminded herself, culminating in his eventual death, and
somehow she must remain calm.
    I’d better begin doing my Yoga every morning, she thought. Resolutely!

Chapter Nine
     
    I n the morning Mr. Li knocked at her door at her door at seven o’clock,
itinerary in hand. He said, ”It has been difficult, Turfan first, Mr. Kan has had to change many plans, he was up very late.” He didn’t laugh merrily
this time but he wasn’t reproachful or accusing, either, and Mrs. Pollifax felt
that she was meeting the real Mr. Li for the first time. ”The plan,” he added,
”is now as you wish.”
    ”Come in,” she told him. ”You can explain it to me and then I’ll make a
copy and hang it in the hall for everyone to see, the way Miss Bai did in
Xian.”
    ”Excellent,” he said, businesslike and efficient, and walked over to her
desk to spread out the papers. ”As you see, we visit many places today in
Urumchi—jade-cutting factory, carpet factory, museum, free market, department
store, a hospital. Tomorrow morning we leave for Turfan and stay overnight.
After that the Kazakhs and the grasslands—with picnic and horsemanship—and the
following day Heavenly Lake, very beautiful, before leaving to begin trip to
Inner Mongolia.”
    ”Oh very good,” she told Mr. Li warmly. ”Very good indeed, I’m so
grateful to you, Mr. Li. I’ll want to thank Mr. Kan ,
too.”
    ”Yes,” said Mr. Li, looking down at the plans with satisfaction.
    When he had gone she looked at the crowded schedule and wondered how and
where Peter was ever going to find the space to make his own complicated plans
and arrangements. She would have preferred to knock on his door at once to make
sure that he was back in the Guesthouse, and to tell him that Turfan would come
first, but instead she conscientiously found a Magic Marker and made a poster
of Mr. Li’s schedule. Carrying it out to hang in the lobby, the first thing she
saw