Hour of the Rat (23 page)

I’m having some dream where there’s all these people sitting at a long table, including Reverend Jim from my churchgoing days, wearing his Hawaiian shirt, and he’s saying to me, “All of us are different aspects of God, and separateness is just an illusion,” and I’m thinking, Well, that’s easy for you to say.

Then there’s this honking, like a car horn that got stuck, and I’m really pissed off—it’s like, turn off your fucking horn, asshole.

And then I wake up and realize that it’s Boba making all the noise. I grab the flashlight I stashed under my pillow, ’cause I’m not totally stupid, flick it on, and there’s Han Rong with his hand in my backpack.

“What the fuck,” I manage.

“O
H
,” H
AN
R
ONG SAYS
. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” I yank the backpack away from him. “Why are you messing with my stuff?”

“I …” His head swivels back and forth. “Maybe I made a mistake.”

“You think?” I aim my flashlight at his face. “So what was it you were trying to do?”

“Just …” He tries to smile. “Maybe it’s a little complicated.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

Boba stretches his neck out and pokes his beak in my face. I guess he wants attention, and hey, he deserves it. I scratch his head.

“That bird, he really likes you,” Han Rong says, with a nervous giggle.

“Don’t change the subject. What were you doing with my stuff?”

That’s when Sparrow and Kang Li come stumbling into the room, her wearing an oversize T-shirt, him wearing boxer shorts, both with major cases of bed head.

Couple, I decide.

“What’s going on?” Kang Li barks.

“I caught your friend here going through my backpack.”

“What?” Kang Li wheels around in Han Rong’s direction. “Are you some kind of thief?” he yells in Chinese.

“No, I … I can explain.”

“Yeah, that’s what you keep saying,” I snap.

At that point Sparrow steps forward, reluctantly. Runs her fingers through her hair. “He can,” she says with a sigh. “Maybe I should make some tea.”

W
E ALL HAVE OUR
tea, which is to say Sparrow and Han Rong. Kang Li and I split a beer. I’m jittery. An adrenaline rush will do that. We sit there, me on the couch, with my best friend Boba standing sentinel, Han Rong, Sparrow, and Kang Li on two folding chairs and one secondhand armchair that looks like it was salvaged from a dumpster, pulled into a semicircle across from me.

“Okay, so explain,” I say.

Sparrow and Han Rong exchange significant looks. Kang Li, meanwhile, looks almost as frustrated as I feel. “Xiaoma, what’s going on?” he asks.

“We don’t know who she works for,” Sparrow tells him. She turns to me. “We don’t know if we can trust you.”

“Look, you want to search my bag, search my bag,” I say. “You’re not going to find anything one way or another. It’s like I told you, like I keep telling all of you—I’m just trying to find David so I can tell his family he’s okay. Maybe get him to come home to see his brother. That’s it. The rest of this, it isn’t my business. I’m not going to go running to the authorities because you’re rescuing cats. I’m just a
laowai
with a little business representing artists.”

“Artists?” Sparrow asks. “What kind of artists?”

“Chinese artists. You heard of Zhang Jianli?”

Kang Li and Han Rong shake their heads. I didn’t really expect them to know who Lao Zhang is—it’s not like
I
could have named a contemporary Chinese artist before I got involved with him.

Sparrow’s forehead wrinkles.

“You know who he is?” I ask, surprised.

“I heard of him.”

I shiver a little in the cold of the farmhouse. Coincidences make me nervous. Nonetheless, I get out my wallet and extract a business card and hand it to her in proper two-handed fashion. “I can show you the Web site if you want,” I say.

Sparrow studies the card. Looks at me. “Why don’t you tell her, Han Rong?” she says.

“I work for Chinese biotech company,” Han Rong says, clutching his teacup, for warmth maybe. It’s chilly in the farmhouse, and both Kang Li and Sparrow have put on sweats. “I take leave from my job recently. I … have some problems with the work we do.” He stares into his cup. A good imitation of contrite.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Just … you know, the safety, it is not so clear from results. We need more time to test. But there is a big rush to get this new rice into market.”

“Rice?” I fish through my backpack and grab the New Century Hero rice bag. “Like this one?” I toss it at him.

He puts down the teacup. Picks up the sack. Unfolds it. Studies the label.

“Yes, I think so. You see this?” He rises, comes over to where I sit on the couch, points to a string of letters and numbers in smallish print on the back of the sack. “With the ‘XE’? Stands for Hongxing and Eos.”

Hongxing = Red Star. And Eos … that’s the American company Jason has a bug up his ass about.

“So this rice … this is made by an American company?”

“In part. It is … a partnership. A joint venture. Hongxing is Chinese side, Hongxing Nongye Chanpin.” Han Rong bows his head. “This is company I work for.”

I try to figure it out. I wish I were smarter, or faster, or at least more awake. But I’m none of those things, so I just ask the stupid question:

“So how is David connected? Or am I wasting my time out here?”

Han Rong hesitates. “I come here, to Yangshuo, to get away from stressful situation. Enjoy time in nature. I meet Sparrow and David at the Gecko. We begin to talk, about problems in the environment. You know, China’s environmental problems are relatively serious,” he adds earnestly.

No shit, I think. “Yeah, so I hear.”

“I start to talk to David, about my work, about the concerns I have,” he continues. “David is very knowledgeable on this subject. Especially about our American partner, Eos. He tell me he is involved before in criticizing their activities. He tell me also they are very dangerous. They have spies who work for them, who can cause trouble for people. That’s why … that’s why I look in your things.”

“ ’Cause you thought I might be a spy for Eos?” I laugh. “Right. Like if I were a spy, I’d leave the evidence in my bag for you to find.”

Kang Li slams his beer bottle down on the desk. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?” he says to Sparrow in Mandarin, and he sounds pretty pissed off.

“Because you like to talk too much,” she snaps back. “You go on Weibo, go on Youku, you say whatever you think, you don’t care if you get in trouble—”

“I’m not going to get in trouble—”

“You don’t know that! Besides, sometimes you can accomplish more by saying less.”

“I’m not criticizing the government! I’m talking about protecting the natural environment!”

“Sometimes I also think you are completely naïve.”

“No one can say anything,” Han Rong announces in English, sounding anxious. “Not yet. Not until we have proof.”

“Proof of what?” I ask.

“Many GMOs not approved for use in China,” Sparrow explains. “Han Rong thinks Hongxing and Eos selling them anyway. This Hero Rice.”

“This company, this New Century Seeds, it’s not a legal company. Not registered,” Han Rong says. “Hongxing and Eos set this up to sell seeds, get them in the marketplace.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because once GMO rice in the environment, easier to get official approval. It is like … how do you say?” Han Rong smiles. “Easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”

“They can say, ‘Look, this product is being used, there are no problems,’ ” Sparrow tells me. “Even though we can’t say for certain if there are long-term bad effects or not.”

“And if there is contamination, if farmers grow this rice by mistake, then Hongxing and Eos can say, ‘We own these seeds,’ ” Han Rong adds. “ ‘This … product.’ ”

I think about this. “Wait a second. You work for these guys. And you don’t have proof?”

Han Rong’s eyes do this little shifty thing, just for an instant, but I catch it.

“I don’t have it,” he says.

“And you can’t get it?”

“I can’t be involved,” he says frantically. “You know how things are in China. My company has government connections.
They can cause a lot of trouble for me. Besides,” he adds in a low voice, like a cartoon conspirator, “is much easier to pressure the foreign partner.”

Eos.

I’m starting to get it.

“So you told David about the project. You gave him the information about the fake companies.”

He smiles, a big beaming one, and nods. “Because David is foreigner. He says he can talk to foreign media. Help put pressure on Eos.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. Of all the things Jason could and should be doing, going after his old nemesis, in China, is pretty much the opposite of a good idea.

The kid is obsessed. Completely out of his mind. And this guy Han Rong took advantage of it.

For some kind of noble goal?

I don’t know. Color me suspicious.

“Where’s David now?”

Han Rong shakes his head. “Don’t know. Last I hear, he go to Guiyu. Since then nothing.”

I glance over at Kang Li and Sparrow. She sits there, eyes downcast, seeming to stare at her hands clasped in her lap.

“You should have told me,” Kang Li tells her in Chinese, glowering. He stands, pounds down the last slug of his beer, and stalks out.

Sparrow sighs. “Maybe,” she mumbles.

S
O AFTER THAT
I sleep. I mean, might as well. If I’m being played by Han Rong, I figure he’s already made his move. “Good night,” he said after Kang Li flounced off, trailed by Sparrow a few minutes later.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him.

Han Rong smiled at me, bobbed his head. “Just taking a rest. Helping with the birds.”

Right.

W
AY
,
WAY TOO EARLY
, Boba sticks his beak in my ear. Makes little chuckling noises. Kind of like a giant white chicken rooting for seeds. Or bugs.

“Shit, bird,” I mutter.

Not that it really matters, because a few minutes after that, Sparrow creeps in. Okay, “creeps” isn’t fair. She’s not being sneaky, I don’t think—she’s just light on her feet, someone whose footsteps don’t echo.

“Zao
hao
. You want tea? Nescafé?”

“Nescafé. Thanks.”

By the time Sparrow brings me a chipped mug full of caffeine, sugar, and non-dairy creamer, Kang Li has shuffled in, scratching and yawning.

“
Zao hao
,” he mumbles, taking a seat in the decaying armchair. The fabric used to be some sort of gold brocade, blackened now and worn out in places, with hints of stuffing peeking through the frayed threads.

I look for hints about what happened between them after their fight last night, and I can’t really tell.

“Good morning,” I repeat.

I sip my Nescafé, they have their tea, and none of us says anything for a while.

“Can we give you a ride anywhere?” Sparrow finally asks.

I think about this. “Thank you,” I say. “Maybe back to my hotel. If you don’t mind.”

K
ANG
L
I VOLUNTEERS TO
drive me. But first he needs to see to the cats and do a few other chores. “No problem,” I tell
him. It would be nice if we could make it to Yangshuo before noon so I can save myself another day’s charge at Maggie’s, but it’s not going to break me if we don’t.

Sparrow, meanwhile, checks on the birds needing special treatment in the main farmhouse.

I follow along behind her.

She crouches down at the cage with the injured cormorant, the fishing bird with the infected neck. “How is he doing?” I ask.

She sighs and shakes her head. “Maybe not so good.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

I watch as she reaches in and grasps the bird at the base of its skull, applies some kind of ointment to its oozing neck, squirts something—water? medicine?—down its gullet with a plastic syringe, coaxes it to eat what smells like mashed-up fish. The bird lowers its head, like it’s embarrassed, not willing to eat.

“
Chi yidian
,” Sparrow whispers to the bird. Eat a little.

“Do you trust Han Rong?” I ask.

“Not really,” she says.

K
ANG
L
I DRIVES ME
into town in his vintage PLA Jeep. He drives like he does a lot of things—with swagger, one hand on the wheel, other arm draped casually across the seat back.

“Han Rong, he’s okay, I guess,” Kang Li says. “He comes to sanctuary a few days a week, works a little. Best thing he does? Gives money. I think this is really why Sparrow has sympathy for him.”

“Ah.” Well, that explains a lot. You got a guy who pitches in, says all the right things, and, most important, helps pay for the birdseed and kibble. Maybe you’re not inclined to look too closely at his story.

And who knows? Maybe it’s even true.

Kang Li shrugs. “Hard to keep the place going. Always short of money. Sparrow worries.”

I nod, distracted. We’re just pulling in to Yangshuo, and I’m more than a little nervous about going back to my hotel. I’ve got stuff there, and if I don’t check out, God knows how many days of charges I’ll pile up before they give up on me. But who’s to say that those two rent-a-thugs, Mr. US Polo Team and his plain-wrap pal, don’t still have the place staked out?