The Season of the Stranger Read online

  “What are you going to do for food?” he asked.

  “I have enough for two days more,” Kuo-fan said. “Perhaps by then the trouble will have stopped.”

  “I have not,” he said. “I have not enough for tonight.”

  “I could lend you some,” Kuo-fan offered.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “If I can do nothing else I will accept the loan. But first I will talk to Mr Girard.”

  “All right.”

  “You had better go now, and I will talk to him. If I need your help I will come at five o’clock.”

  “Fine,” Kuo-fan said. “Good luck and prosperity.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  When he went into the house Mr Girard was sitting on the sofa letting a cigarette burn down between his fingers. He was in his gown and his eyes had a far-away worried look in them. He looked up and smiled.

  “Have you heard?” Wen-li asked him.

  “Yes,” Mr Girard said. “Have we much food?”

  “No. Not enough for tonight.”

  “Then we will have to go to the village.”

  “No,” he said. “If it is too troublesome to leave the university we can borrow for a few days.”

  Mr Girard nodded. “I do not like that at the gate,” he said. “Although my not liking it means nothing. But they have beaten one professor. I also do not like the thought that someone high up ordered this.”

  He said nothing.

  “Tell me,” Mr Girard said, “do you think that my presence would perplex them?”

  “At the gate, you mean.”

  “Yes, at the gate.”

  He considered. “I am sure it would perplex them,” he said. “But I do not know that it would make a difference to them.”

  “But they are notoriously afraid of hurting foreigners nowadays.”

  “Yes.”

  “And part of their political campaign is based on the supposed maltreatment of foreigners by the Communists. They could not fall into the same sin, could they?”

  “No,” he said.

  “I wonder,” Mr Girard said. He rubbed out his cigarette. “For one thing, I have a great curiosity. For another, we need food. And for a third, we need a gesture.”

  Mr Girard stood up. When he stood he was much taller than Wen-li, and Wen-li was fairly tall. Mr Girard went into the bedroom.

  “That last,” he called back, “is very dramatic and very vain.” He came out into the living room. Mr Girard always moved quietly, even though he was tall and heavy. “But there is no doubt that a gesture is needed.” He had his hat and gloves in his hands.

  He knew what Mr Girard meant and he was not very happy about it, but if Mr Girard wanted to go he could not stop him.

  Then Mr Girard said, “Would you like to come with me?”

  He looked at the floor. He did not want to go but he could not say so. And if he did not go it would be very embarrassing. He would not lose face among his friends because he was sure that none of them would go either, but he would lose a little face where he worked, and that would be worse. And he was afraid, which was also embarrassing.

  “I do not think anything will happen,” Mr Girard said, “because after four hours a mob tends to became tired and to lose its purpose. Nevertheless, I have no right to ask you to go. But I think that the gesture will be more valuable if you are a part of it.”

  He knew that was right. If Mr Girard were to go alone it would be a foreigner making use of a foreigner’s position. If he went along himself it would be different. He did not see the need for what Mr Girard called a gesture. He thought it would be better to wait a few days and borrow and hope that they all went away. But it was always somehow impossible to argue with Mr Girard.

  “If you think it is right,” he said.

  Mr Girard looked at him, very serious. “I think it is right,” Mr Girard said.

  He nodded.

  “Do not forget the shopping bag.”

  He got the shopping bag and put on his hat and gloves. He started to lock the doors. “Wait,” Mr Girard said. “She may come back while we are gone. I will leave a note inside.” He went inside. When he came out Wen-li locked the doors and they started toward the village.

  When they were almost to the gate Mr Girard spoke. “I will talk,” he said, “and whatever happens do not lose your temper or strike anyone.” He smiled. “They may even be gone by now.”

  Then they were at the gate. One of the gate guards came out of his office to meet them. “How are you,” he said.

  “How are you,” Mr Girard said.

  “You are not planning to go out?”

  “Yes,” Mr Girard said. “They are still there?” He offered the guard a cigarette. The guard took it and Mr Girard held a match for him.

  “They are still there,” the guard said. “The university has ordered me to allow no one out. The officials are in a panic.”

  Mr Girard smiled. After a minute he said, “What do you think about it?”

  The guard shook his head. “I do not know,” he said. “They are quieter now. But I do not know.”

  It was cold and the sky was still grey.

  “It would do good if I went,” Mr Girard said.

  “There is no doubt of that,” the guard said.

  “How many remain?” Mr Girard asked.

  The guard went to the gate and opened a small peephole. He looked out for a few seconds and then he came back. “About twentyfive,” he said.

  That is too many, Wen-li thought. We will go back now.

  “All soldiers?”

  “No. Six or seven townspeople.”

  Mr Girard nodded. “What are they doing?”

  “They are sitting beside the road and talking.”

  “So,” Mr Girard said, and then: “I think we will go out.”

  The guard puffed on his cigarette. He shook his head and said, “I will not stop you. But I do not advise that you go.”

  “Nevertheless,” Mr Girard said.

  “All right,” the guard said. He moved to the gate. They followed him.

  “When we have gone out do not close the gate entirely,” Mr Girard said.

  “All right,” the guard said. He pulled back the iron bars. The gate swung open slowly and Mr Girard walked through the opening. Wen-li followed him. They walked quickly.

  As soon as they saw the two men come out, the soldiers and townspeople stood up. Even when they saw Mr Girard there was no expression on their faces, except for one man. He was a sergeant and there was an expression on his face. The two had come out walking very quickly and they were almost past them and on the path when the soldiers moved suddenly and made a group between them and the path. The soldiers had rifles and the townspeople had sticks and clubs. When they made the group Mr Girard stopped and Wen-li stopped behind him. It was quiet. They all looked at one another. Then Mr Girard took a step toward them and they grouped closer and one of the townspeople raised his stick and Mr Girard stopped.

  The sergeant walked up to Mr Girard and held his rifle crosswise between their chests. He was not touching Mr Girard. The sergeant said: “No one is to leave the university.” He was smiling and he showed all his teeth when he talked. When he said that, the group came closer behind him. Now they were all of them in a small circle.

  Mr Girard moved his head as though he were looking at all of them. They all watched him now. No one paid any attention to Wen-li. He had the shopping bag over his shoulder and he was close behind Mr Girard. He wished that he could see Mr Girard’s face.

  “By whose order?”

  When they heard Mr Girard speak they all murmured except the sergeant and they shifted their feet.

  “By order of my commanding officer,” the sergeant said.

  “You will show me the written order,” Mr Girard said.

  “There is no written order. The order was given verbally.” The sergeant raised the rifle higher between them. “You will go back inside the gate.”

  “What did the order say?
”

  The sergeant said: “I have told you.”

  “And if I refuse to go back?”

  “You will be forced to go back.”

  “That was also in the order?”

  “That was also in the order.”

  “And what else was in the order?”

  “Nothing.” The group was quiet now. Some of them were looking at Wen-li. He recognized one of them. He had a spice store in the village.

  “And the gentleman who was beaten earlier,” Mr Girard said. “He refused to go back?”

  “Yes,” the sergeant said.

  “The story did not come to me in that form,” Mr Girard said. “I have heard that he was seized and prevented from going back, and was then beaten.”

  “That is not true,” the sergeant said.

  “If it were true it would be a violation of the order.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I do not think you would be punished for it.”

  “No.”

  Someone in the group said, “Hit him with the rifle, and that one with him.” Wen-li looked down. They should not have come. He looked back at the gate. It was open a short way. His knees hurt.

  “But you might be punished for other mistakes,” Mr Girard said.

  “I do not think so,” the sergeant said. He and Mr Girard did not seem to know that there was anyone else near them.

  “I will tell you what you would be punished for.”

  “I would like to know,” the sergeant said.

  “They would punish you for molesting a foreigner.”

  “The orders did not specify,” the sergeant said.

  “Because your rifles and your ammunition and your tanks and your trucks come from foreigners,” Mr Girard said.

  “The orders did not specify,” the sergeant said. He wet his lips.

  “And if they stopped coming certain questions would be asked. Among the answers would be the actions of a certain sergeant at the gate of a university.”

  The sergeant wet his lips again.

  “I think you would be punished for that,” Mr Girard said.

  The sergeant said, “The orders did not specify.”

  “If the orders did not specify, it was intended that you use your discretion. I have heard that a man does not become a sergeant before acquiring great powers of discretion.”

  “Perhaps,” the sergeant said. His tongue came out and worked back and forth over his lips. “But the one behind you must go back.”

  One of the townspeople raised a cudgel. They were all looking at Wen-li. He suddenly wanted to vomit.

  Mr Girard said, “The one behind me works for me. He goes where I tell him to. You understand, Sergeant. He obeys my orders.” Wen-li hardly heard him speaking.

  “Then you will order him to go back.” Behind the sergeant the soldiers moved and there were many sharp metallic clicks, one after another. Then they were all quiet and no one moved.

  Mr Girard pushed gently against the rifle and started to walk around the sergeant. Wen-li followed. At first his knees would not work properly. Mr Girard walked through the group. The soldiers stepped back but some of the townspeople remained in his way. As he passed them he bumped them with his shoulders and elbows. Wen-li was close behind. No one spoke. He was cold from standing still so long but his stomach was warm. He did not hear anyone move behind him. He was listening and keeping his head still and his eyes straight ahead. But no one moved and then they were on the path and they followed the path and still he did not hear anything and then they were on the dirt road crossing the field. Mr Girard stopped and Wen-li walked past him and then they continued with Wen-li in front. Now he could hear their footsteps and the warmth was leaving his chest and stomach. He could feel drops rolling down inside his gown. And then they were across the field and looking back and all they could see was a huddled group near the gate with the faces turned toward them.

  “There is still the going back,” Mr Girard said.

  21

  The going back was not difficult. They shopped and people looked at them strangely and seemed surprised when they walked in. They bought a great deal of everything, above all of meat. He saw when he handed money across that his hand was shaking but the longer they shopped the better he felt. Mr Girard did not say anything except about the shopping. When they were finished they went down the main street and onto the dirt road crossing the field. He had the full shopping bag over his shoulder and packages in his other hand. Mr Girard had both arms full of packages. They walked slowly across the field side by side and when they reached the path to the gate Mr Girard went first.

  The soldiers and the townspeople were leaning against the wall and did not move as the two approached them. Mr Girard looked at them and said nothing. They were all holding their rifles and sticks and for a time Wen-li thought they might do something, but they just stared and looked threatening. At the gate Mr Girard knocked and when the guard asked who it was he said, “It is I,” very loudly, and then complained loudly about the slowness in getting the gate open. When they were inside, the guard locked the gate and Mr Girard smiled at him and said, “Excuse me for having abused you. I thought it would be better if they felt that you too had been bullied.”

  The guard grinned and said, “You are very considerate,” and then he took in a deep breath and let it out and said, “You had great luck.”

  Mr Girard nodded and said, “We had great luck. And your cooperation.”

  The guard laughed and said, “I was of great help,” and they all laughed. Wen-li’s laugh did not sound right to him.

  Then Mr Girard thanked the guard and they left him and went home. It had not been difficult at all, except for that one short time of fear when they were almost at the gate.

  When they got home they put the food in the kitchen. The front door was locked so the girl had not come home. Mr Girard opened it and went into the house. Wen-li went into his room and put his hat and gloves on the shelf and sat on the bed. He began to shake again so he lit a cigarette and lay back against the wall. Inside him the warm feeling was coming and going. It was almost being afraid but it was not the same. He got up and poured a cup of cold wine and drank it and then he had a different kind of warm feeling and after a few minutes there was nothing left of the warmth and he had stopped shaking. He started to think about what might have happened. The only time he had really felt lost was when they said that Mr Girard could go on but that he would have to go back. They might have left Mr Girard alone and jumped on him. He did not know what Mr Girard would have done if that had happened. He did not see what Mr Girard could have done. For a minute he was angry, but he decided that Mr Girard had probably thought of that. He wondered how sure Mr Girard had been. The more he thought about it the more he was surprised that Mr Girard had asked him to come along.

  He got up and put some wine into a teapot and put it on the stove. He would have a breeze for Kuo-fan if Kuo-fan came visiting. Kuo-fan would not recover from this for a long time. He would be casual. He would say, “How is the affair of the gate?”

  And Kuo-fan would look clever and say, “There is a breeze.”

  And he would ask him, “What does the breeze say?”

  And Kuo-fan would smile and raise a finger and say in an excited whisper, “That one has gone out and returned unharmed.”

  And he would say, “Who was this?”

  And Kuo-fan would say, “I do not know. It was not a very informative breeze.”

  And then he would tell him. Kuo-fan would not recover from it so soon.

  There was a knock at the door. He put out his cigarette and went to open it. Mr Girard was standing there.

  “Listen,” Mr Girard said. “I would like to talk. Are you busy now?”

  “No,” he said.

  “May I come in?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Come in. And sit down.” He pointed to the bed.

  Mr Girard said, “I will take a chair,” and sat in the wooden chair and tipped it back so it leaned
against the wall. He put his hands out toward the stove. “You will not sit, yourself?”

  “Yes,” he said. He sat on the bed.

  “If anyone comes to see you,” Mr Girard said, “we will have been discussing the food bills. If you like, I have been scolding you. Although I do not see the necessity for such theatricals, I will save your reputation.”

  He did not say anything. He was thinking again that Mr Girard had had no right to ask him to come along. Although he was a fine man. Still he had no right.

  “Of course I must apologize first,” Mr Girard said. “It was not polite of me to take you into that.”

  “There is no need to apologize,” he said.

  “I was sure that nothing would happen. And for a foreigner alone it was too easy and meant too little.”

  “You are right,” he said.

  “I am right factually. But I would not like to think that you had lost respect or friendship for me. Perhaps you will feel better if you think of Kuo-fan. This will be impressive.”

  He smiled. “I have thought of it,” he said.

  Mr Girard laughed. “Although,” he said, “we must not spend too much time thinking of the impression. It was done for other reasons.” Smiling sadly now, Mr Girard said, “It is at times like these that I come closest to despair.”

  “What times?”

  “When the doing of something normal and honest becomes impressive. It means that the world around you is so abnormal and dishonest that the drinking of tea or the buying of food becomes a brave and not ordinary act.”

  He had never thought of it that way and now it seemed to him that the only abnormality was in going out there at all. Otherwise it was fairly normal. But it seemed to him too that there was something he did not understand in what Mr Girard had just said. So he nodded.

  “Although what I did was not honest,” Mr Girard said.