Mrs. Pollifax on the China Station

to know, given those time changes crossing the Pacific; her logic in
this area had never been trustworthy, and speaking of logic she wondered why
she felt like crying whenever she remembered that Peter was going to die in
three days...
    Iris wandered out of the building looking distracted. ”Oh dear,” she
said, sitting down beside them and pushing back her hair.
    ”Oh dear what?” asked Mrs. Pollifax.
    ”I don’t know. I hope the free market comes next, I like the sound of
it, I must be feeling very confined. What is it, by the way—have we been told?”
    Peter said briskly, ”Flirtation with capitalism. People in the communes
are being allowed small parcels of land of their own now. Instead of selling
their produce or pig to the government, they can sell it in the free market and
keep the profit for themselves.”
    Iris’ eyes opened wide. ”But that is capitalism!”
    Peter grinned. ”It would be tactful not to use that word, I think. Call
it motivation instead. Actually they call it—” He abruptly stopped,
looking stricken.
    He had nearly used a Chinese word, and Mrs. Pollifax glanced quickly at
Iris to see if she had noticed; she found her staring into space without
expression. A moment later the others came out of the building and they climbed
into the minibus, and Peter gave Mrs. Pollifax a rueful apologetic smile.
     
    As he smiled at her Peter was thinking My God that was a close one,
this is growing really difficult, I’ve begun to think in Chinese and I almost
spoke in Chinese in front of Iris. As he passed Mrs. Pollifax, already
seated, she glanced up; their eyes met and she winked at him.
    He grinned, at once feeling better. She’s really something, he
thought, taking a window seat two rows behind her in the bus, and to his
surprise he found himself wishing that she could go with him tonight, when he
planned to follow the river to the labor camp. She’s getting to me, he
realized. Me, the hard-line loner. He wondered what it was about her
that drew him, and for want of any cleverer insight decided that it was a kind
of capable innocence, but that didn’t fit either. There had begun to be a sense
of kinship between them; he felt at ease with her, which astonished him.
    At dinner Peter made a point of yawning a great deal, which proved
tiring in itself for there were twelve courses through which to yawn. Because
of their busy day there were no plans for the evening, which was merciful, for
an early start mattered very much to him tonight. Jenny suggested a
get-to-gether in the small lounge for some singing, a suggestion aimed at him,
he realized, but he only yawned and said he was going to catch up on his sleep.
    Once in his room he quickly changed into the cheap plastic sandals and
gray cotton pants he’d purchased in Xian, added a white undershirt and
then—leaning over his canvas dufflebag —he divested it of the thin
mountain-climbing rope with which he’d laced the bag. This he wound around his
waist and chest before adding the khaki Mao jacket over the bulk to conceal it.
Into pockets he thrust his jogging shoes and ID papers, and then brought out
the very clever invention that tilted his eyes by ingeniously concealed tapes.
Peering into the mirror at the effect, he grinned: he looked very much like the
workers he’d seen all during the day. When he’d undergone his wilderness
survival class they’d gone to great lengths to prevent him acquiring a tan; now
he understood the thinking behind it because he’d seen very few dark Chinese.
Both Mr. Li and Mr. Kan had complexions like bisque china, the
skin very white and opaque. His own pallor, his heavy brows and slanted eyes
certainly removed all resemblance to Peter Fox: he was Szu Chou now, as his
papers proved.
    Unhinging the screen at his open window he pushed it back, slipped
outside, and became part of the night.
     
    It was nearing midnight when he stumbled across the cave by accident.
Only an hour earlier he had found the river, and in following it had left the
road behind him, wading across at the only point where the stream narrowed.
This brought him into difficult terrain where he had to use a flashlight. He
disliked showing a light, but it appeared to be deserted countryside. Since
leaving Urumchi only one truck had passed down the road—he had taken shelter in
a hollow—and rather than stumble into trees and over rocks, wasting time he
couldn’t afford, he had to assume this area was equally as untenanted.
    Half