Their agency settled down on a quiet backstreet in Alexandria, Virginia, as an extended unit of the CIA, for which it provided translation services. Gary had his own office in the small three-story building; to the east spread a wood of spruces and oaks. He lived just a few blocks away and walked to work. His apartment, for which he paid forty-two dollars a month, had a bedroom and a den, which he used as a study. Against a side wall of the den stood a pair of bookcases, their bottom shelves filled with a set of Encyclopaedia Britannica, the 1913 edition, left behind by a former tenant. The bathroom was shabby, the mirror stained with coppery blotches and the slats on the venetian blind drooping with age, but the claw-foot bathtub surrounded by a new shower curtain pleased Gary and made him feel like a man of means whenever he ran a hot bath. What’s more, the tap water tasted good, better than anyplace he’d been before.
American life amazed him, particularly the good wages (some jobs even paid by the hour); the fabulous libraries, out of which he could check as many titles as he wanted; the streets, big or small, all illuminated by lamps at night; and the supermarkets, where even spinach, celery, and mushrooms were wrapped in cellophane. He liked the fruits here, especially bananas (fourteen cents a pound) and oranges (a quarter a dozen). He was also fond of American nuts, their kernels full and plump. But he didn’t like some meats, farm-raised fish, and vegetables, which tasted bland.
In spite of everything, Gary was sure he’d feel miserable if he lived here for long. Wherever he was, he couldn’t shake his wariness. Twinges and jolts of fear often galvanized him. Sometimes when passing a street corner, he was afraid that a hand might stretch out to grab him. Walking home alone from work, he had to force himself not to spin around to see if he was being shadowed. He hoped he could return to China soon and again walk on solid, familiar ground. In his first letter to his handler he insinuated that he felt homesick and out of place, but Bingwen replied that they had to “stick to the original plan.”
Soon after Gary settled down, a tallish young woman walked into his life. That was Nellie, who waited tables in a small restaurant where Gary often went for lunch. She noticed him because of his quiet disposition and gentle demeanor. Unlike other men, he never raised his voice and seemed to prefer to eat alone. Yet whenever he saw someone he knew, he would greet them warmly. He seemed easygoing and good-natured. One day toward the end of the busy lunch hour, Nellie got up her nerve to speak to him, to see if he could talk at length like a normal man, especially with a woman. For a brief moment, he looked perplexed, his eyes intense, staring at her. Then his face relaxed into a smile that showed his square teeth.
He said, “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself. I’m Gary.” He stretched out his hand.
“Nellie McCarrick.” The second she said that, she felt stupid to have mentioned her last name. She must have sounded as if she was at a job interview, but Gary didn’t seem to have noticed her unease. The grip of his hand felt forceful, and she liked that.
There were few customers around, so she sat down across from him and put her elbow on the table, her face rested on her hand to check the shivers of excitement and to keep her lips from trembling. Yet she managed to hold his gaze while a pinkish sheen crept up her face. Even the tops of her ears turned red and hot.
Already done with lunch, he took out a pack of Camels and offered her a cigarette. She declined, saying she didn’t smoke. He put it into his mouth and struck a match, shielding the flame in his cupped palm. After taking a deep drag, he let out a puff of smoke. He seemed at ease and spoke to her as casually as if they’d known each other. They went on to converse a little, about the DC area, new to both of them, and then about Japan, where Nellie’s older brother, Jimmy, had fallen in the Battle of Savo Island thirteen years before.
“Was he in the army or the marines?” Gary asked.
“On the Astoria, a cruiser,” she said. “The U.S. Navy had lots of casualties in that fight, thousands.”
“I’m sorry about your loss. Was he your only brother?”
“Yes, my parents took it very hard.”
“I can imagine.”
That started their acquaintance. Sometimes he seemed deliberately to come late for lunch so that he could chat with her after the busy hours. She got more and more interested in him despite his accent and Asian face, which was smooth but energetic. He spoke English with impeccable grammar, but everyone could tell he was a nonnative speaker, lacking ease and spontaneity. Some words seemed too wayward for his tongue to manage, and at times he missed the interdental sounds, mixing “th” with “s.” Yet he was a professional translator, something of a learned man, working for the government. This made Nellie eager to know him better and to find out how old he was. He looked youthful, probably in his mid-twenties. No, he might be older, because his bearing, polite and composed, indicated that he must have lived quite a bit. He seemed to have a steadfast character, which Nellie appreciated. In truth, at twenty-six, she didn’t have many prospects, and still had no real job. She looked neither plain nor pretty, with a broad forehead, fair skin, and gray eyes, which were a little wide-set, giving her a preoccupied look. Her bones were thick, though she was thin, as if undernourished. Her mother often said to her on the phone, “Find yourself a man soon or you might end up an old lady.” Nellie had gone to a two-year community college in Miami, and though her major was economics, it hadn’t helped improve her livelihood one iota. Her father would tell her, “You’d better find a guy who’s qualified for a mortgage and can make an honest woman out of you.”
Gary, isolated and lonely, was predisposed to friendly conversations, which brought the two of them closer and closer. Soon they began to go out. One night she let him kiss her outside a movie theater after they’d watched Singin’ in the Rain, but before saying good night, she warned him that she’d give him hell if he jilted her. He hung back, his lips parted. That thought had never occurred to him. He’d been dating her in earnest, as if looking for a wife, though he felt he might be able to handle it if she said no. He was used to losses and thought he could manage a new one with some equilibrium. He assumed that an American woman was entitled to drop a foreigner like him on a whim. Not in a position to choose, he always viewed himself as a married man and couldn’t date a woman without qualms.
He perceived Nellie as a windfall. She was a good bargain indeed. She wasn’t a looker but had blond hair and glossy eyes. In a way, her ordinary looks could be an advantage, making her less likely to flirt and less distracting to him. Her slightly freckled face, strong arms, and solid bone structure all suggested a reliable character that could become a backbone in a household. Over and above these qualities, she was not demanding — in this respect she was totally different from George Thomas’s bride, Alicia, for whom the man frequently had to buy flowers and gifts. Yet Gary wouldn’t say he loved Nellie; his heart was numb and unable to open to another soul. He was pleased that he didn’t even have to go out with her on weekends. More often they just spent time together, sharing a meal cooked by themselves at his or her place, or taking a long walk on the waterfront or in the parks, where bullfrogs squawked like crazy after rain. He liked the pasta and lasagna she made, while she loved the chicken and fish he cooked. “The best Chinese food in town,” she often enthused. Once in a while they’d go to the movies. He was fond of Westerns, having seen all the John Wayne movies despite knowing the actor was a die-hard anti-Communist. In secret he was also enamored of Audrey Hepburn but was content to watch her on the screen — he wouldn’t talk about her in front of others, afraid that his praises of her fearsome beauty might make him sound silly and unbalanced.