The Season of the Stranger Read online

  “We should raise fish in the gymnasium pool and hares in the auditorium,” Cheng said.

  “Perhaps these children would be tasty,” Wu said.

  Girard laughed. “Remind me later to tell you of something you should read,” he said.

  “I wish I had it now,” Wu said.

  “Must decide upon an attitude which we can support unanimously,” Doctor Ku said. “If we are split or undecided we will be helpless. I do not think that we would starve to death before the situation stabilized; but enough damage could be done, enough hate and tension bred, to destroy the cohesion we have taken thirty years to develop. And should the battle for the City become a siege, there might be widespread starvation. We have then two objectives: to avoid starvation, and to preserve our unity.”

  “Some of us do things by halves,” Cheng said. “Doctor Ku does them by twos. I am sure he has two organs.”

  “Next,” Wu said, “he will delineate specifically and explicitly for our absorption, digestion, and ultimate comprehension a bicephalously organized proposition: one, when starvation comes the men shall eat the women; and two, when starvation comes the women shall eat the men.”

  “We may starve; yet if we remain passive the frictions created by a desire for amelioration of the situation will dissolve our cemented fraternity. We must then search for a middle course, demonstrating to the world sufficient audacity to command its respect, and sufficient love of peace to command its sympathy.

  “With this introduction I shall leave the platform to other speakers, who will examine the two courses verbally and make their recommendations. I shall return to the microphone later to summarize their findings.” He bowed and stepped back. They applauded loudly.

  “We could have stayed away,” Cheng said. “They will do nothing.”

  “They will talk,” Wu said.

  “Yes,” Cheng said. “They will talk; and when they are finished with their talking the faculty will recommend passive resistance and the students will vote for a manifestation.”

  “And we will have the manifestation within a week,” Wu finished.

  “You mean a parade?” Girard asked him.

  “A parade, and then an outdoor meeting in the City. It always happens. The faculty recommends and the rest of us act.”

  “Just this university?”

  “No. The parade will include most of the students of all the universities of the City, and representatives of the universities outside the City.”

  “How do you know this?”

  He laughed. “You can tell,” he said. “It builds up to a certain point, and then there is a parade. Every few months.”

  “And the result?”

  “I do not know.” He shook his head. “Sometimes they ignore us. Sometimes we make them angry and they shoot. Once we even got what we asked for.” He rubbed his chin. “This time we will not.”

  A tall and thin man was speaking. “We must examine this from the points of view of all concerned,” he said. He described for them the effect of a manifestation on the teachers, the students, the officials, the women of the university, the workmen of the university, the soldiers, the generals, the City authorities. All would suffer. He then turned to the people of the City and the repercussions it would have for them. He concluded that a manifestation would bring the wrath of the authorities, if not of Nature herself, upon all of them. He left the microphone and sat. The auditorium expanded with applause.

  “Why do they applaud?” Girard asked. “They do not agree with him and they do not enjoy listening to him.”

  “Pity on a vanquished adversary,” Cheng said. “He made the effort. He spoke. His bravery is to be rewarded.”

  “Did you understand it all?” Wu asked.

  “Not quite,” Girard said. “But I perceive with utmost facility that Doctor Ku is literate.”

  They debated for an hour. Doctor Ku returned to the microphone and informed them that the faculty was practically unanimous in condemning the idea of a demonstration. He requested permission of the gathering to appoint committees to study the several aspects of the food problem. “There will be two committees,” Wu said. Doctor Ku appointed a committee to maintain liaison between the university and the government. He appointed another to investigate the possibility of storing food in university buildings as a precaution. He bowed to the left. He bowed to the right. He sat down. The students started a song and one of them took the stage to conduct the singing. Cheng, Wu, and Girard filed down the iron staircase and outside.

  Girard handed the cigarettes to them and stretched. “What do you think?” Cheng asked him.

  “About what?”

  Cheng waved a hand. “The whole thing. The manifestation.”

  “I think the faculty can be counted on in times of trouble.”

  “For what?”

  “Procrastination. Appeasement, if you want to call it that.”

  Cheng shrugged. “It is in the nature of being a teacher, these days. If you wish to live, to go on working, you must appease the government or leave the country. If you wish to die you have only to be honest.”

  “Of course,” Girard said. “But it means that their opinions are worth much less.”

  “Who pays attention to their opinions?” Wu said. “We will march.”

  “When?”

  “A few days from now, I suppose. It will be necessary first to co-ordinate.”

  “Who takes care of that?”

  “Ma Chi-wei,” he said. He smiled at Girard. “And others. But principally he.”

  “Will you march?” Cheng asked.

  “Yes,” Girard said. “But under protest.”

  “Why the protest?”

  “The faculty is right,” he said. “But for the wrong reasons.”

  “What are your reasons?” They loafed down the steps and turned toward the dormitory.

  “If the soldiers come you will be beaten. If you want martyrs you will have them. And if the soldiers do not come you will accomplish nothing. Perhaps the townspeople will be grateful for the diversion. But you will get no food. You will get no promises.”

  “Understood,” Cheng said. “Naturally, And carrying your paradox a little further, we can say that the students are wrong, but for the right reasons.”

  “How?”

  “They are wrong for the reasons you gave. But they are the only group existing in China which would think of protesting. No one else would want to, or would dare to. And someone must.”

  “All right,” Girard said. “Agreed. If I die it is because I was doing the wrong thing for the right reasons under protest. Most of us will die protesting something. The national habit here.”

  “Protesting?”

  “No. Dying under protest.” They turned into the long lane running the length of the dormitory. They walked silently in the darkness. When they reached the door Girard said, “I am going home.”

  “Don’t you want to come up?”

  He shook his head. “No. I want to go home and study Chinese. Doctor Ku has upset me.”

  “Good,” Wu said. “We will see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” Girard said. “See you then.”

  “See you then,” they said. He waved a half salute and left them.

  When he reached the house he went to Wen-li’s room and knocked. Wen-li answered the knock and said, “Oh,” when he saw him.

  “You alone?” Girard asked.

  “Yes. Is there something wrong?”

  “No,” he said. “Do you want to come and play cards? I want to talk.”

  Wen-li wiped his hands on his gown and ran a sleeve across his lips. “Will there be anyone coming to see you?”

  “No. It is much too late.”

  Wen-li nodded. “All right. Let me go in and light the lamps. The electricity just went off.” He went back into his room and blew out the lamp on the table. He came out and crossed the courtyard and opened the front door. Girard followed him in. Wen-li found the matches in the bookcase a
nd lit the two lamps. “The small table?”

  “Yes,” Girard said. “Sit down. I want to put on a sweater.” He put on the sweater and went to the small table. Wen-li was in the large chair sitting stiffly with his hands folded in the lap of his gown. “Relax,” Girard said. “Have a cigarette.” Wen-li took a cigarette and held the lamp to it. Girard dealt cards.

  “What happened at the meeting?” Wen-li asked.

  “Much talk,” he said.

  “Usual.”

  “Yes. Do you know Doctor Ku?”

  “No.”

  “A man of vocabulary,” he said. “A man of many words and one thought.”

  “What is the thought?”

  “Peace,” he said. “Safety.”

  “Neither exists without the other,” Wen-li said.

  “Neither exists at all in this country,” he said.

  “But he wants them.”

  “Yes.”

  Wen-li shrugged. “Is that wrong?”

  “Maybe not for him,” he said. “He can probably find them somewhere if he wants them. But very few can.” He played his last card.

  “My game,” Wen-li said. “Very embarrassing.”

  He laughed. “You mean that, don’t you.”

  “Yes,” Wen-li said. “For a man and a horse to play together is ridiculous. For the horse to win … suppose the man’s neighbors should hear.”

  “I do not like your images,” he said.

  Wen-li pushed his hair back and looked at the table. “Of course,” he said, “of course I did not mean it just that way.” He paused. “Not that I am a horse, or even equivalent to a horse.” He frowned. “It is very hard to forget that I am a servant.”

  “No one asks you to,” Girard said. “You are asked only to deny that being a servant is meaner or lower than being anything else.”

  Wen-li was still frowning. “That too is hard,” he said. “There is no precedent.”

  “Be a precedent, then,” Girard said, “and not a horse.” He threw his small pile of cards to the other side of the table. “Deal, precedent.”

  Wen-li smiled. “What else passed at the meeting?”

  “Nothing. We left after the talking. The students had begun to sing. They are probably there in the dark now, still singing.”

  “Then the faculty has made the decision?”

  “Not exactly. The faculty has made a decision binding only upon the faculty. The students will march.”

  Wen-li raised his eyebrows. “How can you be sure?”

  “They told me,” he said.

  “When will they march?”

  “Sometime in the next few days.”

  Wen-li shook his head. “They will gain nothing.”

  “I know,” he said. “They know too. They will march because there is no one else to remind the government that the people still exist.”

  “Ya,” Wen-li said. “The government could use reminding.”

  “I will march too. I want to see how it operates.”

  “The soldiers will love that,” Wen-li said. “My game again. This is silly.”

  “Why? Get the abacus and keep score.”

  Wen-li went to the bookcase. As he crossed the room he said, “A longnose in the demonstration. The soldiers may be afraid to fire.”

  “I doubt that,” Girard said. “The protection of my government does not cover all personal foolishness.”

  Wen-li sat down. “Then you admit that this is foolishness.”

  “Of course. I will go to see what happens. I do not expect to return with a bag of wheat over one shoulder.”

  “And when you have seen what happens?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “But it will be a part of my experience. I will know whether or not to march next time, perhaps.”

  “Suppose there is shooting.”

  He laughed. “If there is shooting you will find me in the bar of the Six Nations Hotel.”

  Wen-li grunted. “And if there is shooting you may lose a cook.”

  “How? That would be carrying it too far.”

  “If the soldiers become angry enough they will come here. They will come with a sad story: the conscription lists have not been filled in the City. They will say that they require men, several men, from this area. They cannot take the teachers; but they will happily take their servants. And I am only thirty-two.”

  “I did not think of that. They would do it?”

  “What would stop them?”

  “I thought they would be afraid to do these things with the enemy coming closer.”

  “They are afraid,” Wen-li said. “That makes it worse. They will do things they would not do otherwise. They are all afraid of being taken and shot when the City falls. They will therefore take revenge beforehand.”

  “You are right,” he said. “I must think. I did not know that would happen.”

  “Why think? The manifestation will take place. It is a risk we run with every parade. But the danger is greater now because the enemy is nearer.”

  “Perhaps if I march they will come looking for you before the others.”

  “I doubt it,” Wen-li said. “I will still be in a favored position.”

  “My game,” Girard said. “Look at that. My game. Mark it on the abacus.”

  Wen-li smiled. “I talk took much.” He moved the wooden rings. Girard dealt and they played without conversation. Wen-li won.

  Wen-li coughed, dealing. “May I ask a question?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is the girl?”

  “At home,” Girard said. “Her father was unhappy. She is at home, making him happy.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that her father is in a good position. And with this new trouble he is in a better position. He threatened both of us. He also has power in other departments. It is better that I do not see her.”

  “He does not like foreigners?”

  “No. And he has other reasons for disliking me. Perhaps after the City falls.”

  “After the City falls he may take her south.”

  “Yes,” Girard said. “I have thought of that.”

  Wen-li raked the cards together. “My game. Four out of five. I know you have thought of that. You think too much these days.”

  “A man can never think enough,” he said.

  “It has become much more difficult to rouse you in the morning,” Wen-li said. “Almost impossible now. You look tired always. You have been thinking too much.” He took another cigarette from the box and stood. “I am going to bed. You should do the same.”

  “You are a very intelligent horse,” Girard said.

  9

  Girard was at the table the next morning waiting for coffee when he noticed the hockey stick leaning against the bookcase and the ice-skates on the floor. He got up and hefted the stick. Cheng’s name was cut into the handle. When Wen-li came in with the coffee Girard said, “Where did you find the stick?”

  “I borrowed it,” Wen-li said.

  “Do you plan to play today? I will come to watch.”

  “Do not joke,” Wen-li said. “It will do you good. You need physical exercise.”

  “If I were newborn you would nurse me. How do you know that I want to?”

  “You do not want to, probably. But you should. I went to see Cheng Ta-tzu this morning. He said he was going to the City. I borrowed his stick.”

  “How do you know I can skate?”

  “Would you have brought iceskates if you could not skate?”

  “Logic,” Girard said. He looked again at the stick and the iceskates. “All right. I will go. What have you planned for me for this afternoon?”

  “It is almost afternoon now.”

  “Very true,” he said. “Would you like to hold the cup while I drink?”

  Wen-li laughed. “Drink it while it is hot,” he said. “Do not dream over it.”

  “Yes, old mother.” Wen-li laughed again and went out.

  Girard finished the coffee and
put on the heavy red sweater that he had never worn. He remembered the night Li-ling had worn it. His gloves were split and would be of no use. He wound a scarf around his neck and tucked its ends into the collar of the sweater. He picked up the iceskates and the stick and left the house. Wen-li looked out the kitchen door. “Enjoy yourself,” he said.

  “This is not probable,” Girard said. “But I will try.”

  He walked to the large pond behind the gymnasium. The day was cold. He had only one pocket, in his shirt. He tied the iceskates together as he walked and put them over one arm and the stick under it and put his hands under the sweater at the waist. When he reached the pond he sat on the bank and blew on his hands. He changed into the iceskates. When he was lacing them three of his students stopped in front of him.

  “That is a sweater, is it not?”

  “He has chosen wisely in the matter of color.”

  “Not when the war comes. He looks like a target.”

  “Still, the blood would not show.”

  “Methinks thou art more honest now than wise,” Girard said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It is of an ancient tongue,” he said. “It means that you are being disrespectful and will probably fail your English courses this term.” They laughed and said they would see him later and skated away.

  The pond was crowded. He saw more of his students. They watched him and he skated carefully. After the first snappings in his ankles he went to the bank and rubbed and flexed them and felt better. He went around the pond again and skated backward and when they saw that he was not going to fall they stopped watching him. He skated to the rock island in the middle and sat watching a hockey game. When his body chilled he skated again and when he was warm he went to his shoes and took the cigarettes from one of them and sat smoking.

  A man came from his left and braked skiddingly toward him, spraying him with wet shaved ice. He rubbed it out of his eyes and said, “Who is the clumsy one?”