Hour of the Rat (43 page)

“He’s probably using a shitload of pesticides,” Jason says.

“So why did you want to meet me?” I finally ask. “Is there something I can do? Something you want me to tell Doug?”

He turns to me, frowning. “I didn’t ask you here,” he says. “I knew who you were because some friends of mine told me you were looking for me.”

And now I’m getting that prickly feeling between my shoulders. Like someone’s got me in his sights.

“I figured you were … I don’t know, maybe working for Eos,” he continues. “Working for somebody.” He shrugs. “I just don’t care anymore.”

“I’m not,” I say, and I’m looking around, looking for Buzz Cut, looking for hajjis, for whoever might have followed me here.

But there’s no one. It’s utterly quiet, except for the wind blowing through the leaves, like a faint shuffling of cards.

“Listen,” I say, “someone spoofed your email address. Said you wanted a meeting with me, and that I’d know where to find you. I figured out where you were through your Langhai videos. And the way I got here, I don’t think anyone followed me. But …”

I take another look around. At the silent plaza, at the cow skull on top of the pole. At the mountains, the mist, the fluttering white flags.

“I don’t think you should stay here,” I say.

“Fuck,” he says quietly.

I expect him to … I don’t know, react. Freak out. Bolt, grab his stuff, and head out of town.

He fingers his flute, like he’s going to start playing it. Then shrugs. “It’s not like I have a lot going on. I’m teaching the village kids some English. I’ll miss that.”

“Sorry,” I say, and I mean it. “But if you’re trying to hide? Maybe this isn’t the best place.”

“You think there’s a better one?” He’s looking out over the hills again. “Where can you hide anymore?”

“Maybe some place that’s not in China, for a start. Or a place in China that’s bigger. A city, like Guangzhou, or Shanghai, where there’s a lot of foreigners and you won’t stand out.”

“A city like Guangzhou or Shanghai’s the last place I want to be.” He turns back to me. “The way we’re going, who knows how much longer there’ll even be places like this left? I want to be in them while I can.”

I get it. I stare out over the hills, at the cultivated wilderness, at the people living on this land who aren’t living that differently from how they did hundreds of years ago.

Except they probably have Internet.

“Okay. But at least get yourself as far away from Eos and Hongxing as you can. Away from here, or anyplace you posted as Langhai. And for fuck’s sake, delete those videos.”

“No.”

“No?
Seriously?
” I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, hard.

“If they catch me, if that’s what I’m leaving behind, then I want them out there.” He manages a smile. Cute, almost cocky. “Maybe I’ll hop the Great Firewall and cross-post them to YouTube. Think I’ll get more hits?”

Stubborn as Dog’s been about this whole mission? I’m thinking it runs in the family.

Okay. If he wants to stay here, I’m not going to be able to talk him out of it. But I feel like, after everything that’s happened, I have to try to do something. Something positive. I don’t know what.

“I’m going back to Beijing,” I finally say. “I’ll see if there’s something I can do to help.”

He snorts. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, like …” I think, suddenly, of Moudzu and Peach Computers. Of Moudzu’s parents, who’d hoped I was a reporter.

“I know some journalists back in BJ. I can talk to them. See if someone wants to do a story. It could be a big one.”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” he says. The way he says it, I’m guessing he doesn’t think it’ll help.

“In the meantime, seriously, get yourself someplace else. And set up another email address. Email me when you’re settled. Just don’t say who you are.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You’ll think of something. We’ll figure it out from there. How to get the evidence to me. Backups of the videos. Just in case you … decide to delete them or something.”

In the distance I hear some of those crazy pipes, like I heard on the street in Kaili yesterday. Drums. And now high-pitched singing.

“Festival tonight,” Jason says. “Why don’t you stick around?” He smiles, a little hesitantly. “You can tell me about Doug. You probably know a lot about him I don’t.”

I shake my head. “I’d like to. But I’d better not. Stay, I mean.”

Now I stand up, muscles between my shoulders twitching. I’m feeling like I’ve already stayed too long. Like someone’s coming for us.

“Remember what I told you,” I say. “And … write me. Okay?”

He nods.

Who knows if he’s listened to anything I’ve said?

Me, I’m getting the fuck out.

I take one look over my shoulder as I reach the path that leads out of the plaza, into the village. See Jason sitting there, his back to me, his shoulders slumped, staring at the rice paddies below.

I
WHITE-KNUCKLE IT ALL
the way back to Beijing.

I luck out and get a seat on a train that leaves Kaili at 1:30 in the morning. I don’t particularly care where it’s going, I just want out of here, and I don’t want to go back to Guiyang.

As it turns out, the train goes all the way to Beijing, but it’s a thirty-two-hour ride.

What I do is, I get off at Changsha instead, eleven hours later, just after noon. Go directly to the airport, which takes about an hour. I miss out on the flights that leave around 2:00
P
.
M
. but manage one departing at 4:00
P
.
M
. that gets me into Beijing just after 6:30
P
.
M
.

I don’t think the Eos guys have access to whatever system it is that my passport gets entered into when I buy a plane ticket. But even if they do, if they think I’ve been looking for Jason in Changsha, all the better.

From the Capital Airport, I catch the express train that hooks up to the Beijing subway and transfer to the 2 Line. And from there it’s just a few stops to the Gulou station.

As I ride up the escalator and emerge onto the familiar corner, see that goofy bronze statue of kids playing surrounded
by half-dead bushes, I feel this rush of relief and affection that’s better than a drink.

Home.

I fumble for my keys, expecting my mom to open the beige metal door before I manage to open the second lock. But when I open the door, there’s no one home.

No Mom. No dog. Just the hall light left on.

I look around the kitchen and see a doggie water dish. An empty food bowl drying in the dish rack. There’s a bag of Iams kibble and cans of dog food in the pantry.

So they’re just out someplace, I tell myself. She left the hall light on because she knew she’d be getting back after dark. It’s not even 8:00
P
.
M
. yet.

No need to get all freaked out over nothing.

I
TAKE A SHOWER
. Change into a fresh T-shirt and pair of jeans. I’m wiped out, and what I really want to do is crash on the couch. Wait for my mom and the dog to come home. Hope that she doesn’t ask me too many questions about where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing, because no way I want to come anywhere close to having that conversation.

Two things stop me from doing this. One of which is that I’m really hungry.

I go to the dumpling place a couple blocks away on Jiu Gulou Dajie. Choose mutton with chives and spinach with eggs and wolf them down doused in vinegar, a little soy, garlic and hot chili. Wash it all down with a Yanjing beer. I’ll take this over Sidney Cao’s gourmet gorge-a-thons anytime.

Well, except for maybe the wine. That shit’s pretty good.

T
HERE AREN
’
T THAT MANY
hutong
neighborhoods left
in Beijing, but most of them are still within the Second Ring Road, and there’s a bunch between the Drum and Bell Towers and the Lama Temple. I take the subway to the Lama Temple stop, get off, and head west.

This area’s gotten popular the last couple of years. Not like Nanluoguxiang, all tourist bars and T-shirts and Maomorabilia, not quite yet. There are a number of restaurants and bars, though, some with live music, some with wine, and a couple of weird dives. I’m heading for one of those. It’s on a little alley southwest of the temple, a shoe-box-size place that’s painted matte black, the walls graffiti-scrawled with fluorescent markers. They have strong infused cocktails stored in glass jugs and good imported beer. Also free wireless.

Even with the VPN, I don’t feel comfortable doing what I’m about to do in my own apartment. Not after everything that happened. Not when I have no idea who’s watching me.

I sit in the darkest corner at the rough plank table, boot up my laptop, and log on to the Great Community.

It’s night there, too.

I’m not sure what’s going on as I wander through the square. Floating signs for an art show. A bigger one for a rave. The SexChat Club is lit up, individual bobbing lights representing the number of avatars who’ve signed in.

The corn statue, the one Sea Horse was building … how many weeks ago? It’s still there, but it’s changed. The giant ears of corn have rotted, black gaps among the kernels, some kernels swelled up to the point of bursting, like tumors. There are more dead bees lying belly-up around the corn. A few of them have shriveled, like they’ve been dead for a long time. The only thing that’s the same is the baby. Rosy-cheeked and chubby. Bearing a basket of rotting, poisoned corn.

I head to my house. As always, the three-legged dog runs
toward me, barks, and wags its tail. The orange cat sleeping on the stoop wakes up and purrs.

Funny. I have a real dog now. Maybe I should get a cat. Kang Li has a few to spare.

While my avatar sits on the couch and waits, I order another beer.

Finally, when I’m about ready to pack it in and head home, Monastery Pig—Lao Zhang—knocks on my virtual door.

NI HAO
, he types.
HAO JIU BUJIAN
. Long time no see.

SORRY
, I type.
BUSINESS HAS BEEN A LITTLE COMPLICATED
.

Lao Zhang’s avatar sits on the couch next to me.

Where to start?

I MET A BILLIONAIRE WHO WANTS TO BUY SOME OF YOUR WORK
, I type, but that’s as far as I get before Lao Zhang drops the bomb.

I
’
M COMING BACK TO BEIJING
, he says.

YOU CAN
’
T
, I tell him.
THERE
’
S NO POINT
.
THINGS ARE BAD HERE NOW
.
THE GOVERNMENT
’
S SCARED
.
ESPECIALLY WITH THE LEADERSHIP CHANGES COMING UP NEXT YEAR
.
ANYBODY THAT WORRIES THEM
,
EVEN A LITTLE
,
THEY
’
RE HASSLING
.
THEY
’
RE ARRESTING
ARTISTS.

I type that bit in caps, hoping he’ll get it.

I UNDERSTAND
.
BUT I HAVE NOT DONE ANYTHING WRONG
.

AND YOU KNOW THAT DOESN
’
T MATTER
!

IT WASN
’
T RIGHT FOR ME TO PUT YOU IN THE PLACE I DID
.
WHERE THEY ARE COMING AFTER YOU INSTEAD OF ME
.
I DIDN
’
T THINK YOU
’
D HAVE THESE PROBLEMS
.
I THINK MAYBE THINGS ARE NOT GREAT
,
BUT THEY WILL NOT BOTHER FOREIGNERS THIS WAY
.
I WAS WRONG
.

NOT TOTALLY WRONG
.
THEY AREN
’
T GOING TO ARREST ME
.
I
—

I stop there. Because what I’m about to type is that I have a friend in the DSD. Creepy John. Who wants to protect me. And there is no way I want to get into that whole situation right now.

ANYWAY
,
MAYBE WE CAN SETTLE THE PROBLEMS IF I COME BACK
.

ARE YOU CRAZY
?
THEY
’
RE GOING TO WANT TO KNOW WHERE YOU
’
VE BEEN
.
WHAT YOU
’
VE BEEN DOING
.
THEY
’
RE GOING TO SAY YOU LEFT THE COUNTRY ILLEGALLY
.
THAT YOU
’
RE WORKING WITH FOREIGNERS
.
THAT YOU
’
RE A SPY
.
I MEAN
,
WHO KNOWS
?

MAYBE I HAVE NOT LEFT CHINA
.
MAYBE I HAVE AN EXPLANATION
.
I AM JUST WORKING SOMEPLACE
.
IN THE COUNTRY
.
LIKE TAOIST MONK LIVING IN CAVE TO WRITE POEMS
.
I DON
’
T KNOW ABOUT PROBLEM
.
NOW I DO
.
SO I COME HOME TO FIX
.

THEY
’
LL PUT YOU IN JAIL
.
IN A BLACK JAIL
.
OR WORSE
.
DON
’
T DO IT
.