Then Juli informed me that two officers from the local National Security bureau had come to question her about me. Besides my “activities” in Guangzhou, they wanted to know what I’d told her about my father. To my amazement, I couldn’t recall telling her anything about Gary. My prudence turned out to have been prescient, because full knowledge of her grandfather might have confused her and prompted her to act rashly. The officers warned her about me, urging her to keep some distance from this American woman who was biased against China, even though they didn’t deny that I was her aunt. They also demanded that she notify them immediately if she heard anything unusual from me, such as an odd query or an unreasonable request. Juli had no option but to agree to do that. “Of course, I don’t believe a word of what they said about you,” she wrote me. “The instant I saw you, I could tell that you were my aunt. You and my mom really look like sisters, only you are in better shape and have light-colored hair. Family is family, right?”
She also revealed that the National Security people had questioned her parents about my visit to them. Her father urged her to be more cautious when communicating with me. “Lilian is American and might have another pot to boil,” he said to her on the phone. Father and daughter had a heated exchange — she was arguing that I was innocuous, while he insisted that she mustn’t tell me too much about China. He got impatient but conceded, “I won’t say Lilian is bad. I like her and believe she’s a good person, harmless. Just be careful and keep in mind that there’re other eyes to read what you write to her and other ears to catch what you say.”
I told Juli: “I don’t blame your dad. His concern is entirely justified. Do take precautions.”
But from then on I felt too self-conscious to speak freely when I emailed or phoned Juli. I was uncertain about to what extent the National Security people monitored our communications. I just told her to let her parents know I’d keep an eye on her brother and give him a hand whenever he needed it.
MY HUSBAND WAS FASCINATED by my nephew, so I invited Ben to visit us. There was another reason for my invitation — I needed his advice about how I could communicate with his family in China without compromising them. I didn’t want to ask him on the phone; his line might have been tapped by the FBI. Even his cell phone might not be safe. I suspected he was an agent of some kind, but perhaps involved only in some borderline espionage activities — at most a small-time spy.
I invited Ben to join us for Independence Day, but his girlfriend Sonya’s parents would be in Boston for a short visit that week. He arrived on July 8 instead, and we went to pick him up at the train station, driving my two-year-old Toyota Prius. This was his first trip to DC, and at the sight of me and Henry, Ben waved spiritedly. He hurried over, beaming, with a blue suitcase in tow. He hugged me, then my husband. The two of them had spoken on the phone.
Stepping out of the station, Henry asked him about the train ride, and Ben said, “Everything was splendid except for Baltimore.”
That made us laugh. On our drive home, Ben was impressed by how quietly and smoothly my Prius was running. He said that his Mustang, with 230,000 miles on it, was noisy and jerky whenever he accelerated, but he’d just found a used engine and would have his old one replaced soon. He’d never trade his Mustang for another car unless it was a Chinese model. Too bad China hadn’t produced safe, quality cars yet.
“How about a new Volvo?” I asked. “A Chinese company acquired Volvo from Ford last year.”
“Hope they won’t bungle the product,” Ben said. “But a Volvo is not for a bachelor like me. It’s more like a family car, isn’t it?”
“Why d’you say that?” Henry asked him.
“If I had kids I might consider a Volvo.”
“It’s expensive,” I put in.
“Sure, assuming I can afford it,” said Ben.
We ate at home that evening, mixed greens salad and boiled dumplings stuffed with shrimp, pork, and chives, which I’d bought ready-made at Maxim Super Market in Silver Spring. Ben liked red wine, so we uncorked a bottle of Merlot. As we were eating, all using chopsticks and mashed-garlic sauce mixed with balsamic vinegar, Henry asked Ben, “Don’t you miss home?”
“Sometimes I do,” Ben said, smiling with his top lip curled a little, as if the food were too hot. “But New England is quite similar to northeast China in climate and landscape. It could have been worse if they had sent me to Miami or Houston. I’m a northerner and not used to the hot humid weather. I lived in Alabama for half a year, and my first American summer down there was pretty miserable.”
“So you feel at home in Boston?” Henry pointed his chopsticks at his own plate as he spoke.
“Not really. I must learn to be detached, because at any moment my company might call me back or transfer me elsewhere.”
“If you had your druthers,” I said, “would you like to settle down in the States?”
“Absolutely, I like America. Life’s good here.”
“What d’you like most about American life?” asked Henry.
“Believe it or not, I like the order and peace you can have as long as you’re law-abiding.”
“And can pay your bills,” I said.
“Of course. For that matter, I’ve found Americans work too hard, harder than the Chinese, perhaps because there’re too many bills to pay here. I have friends who are doing two or three jobs at the same time. That’s crazy. They all believe that only by working hard can they get rich. I don’t see how they can get out of money troubles by making ten or eleven dollars an hour. On the other hand, this shows another positive aspect of American life — hard work is always rewarded more or less.”
Henry and I chuckled, amused and impressed by his remarks. After dinner, we retired to the living room and resumed our conversation. Both Ben and Henry loved hockey, so, teacups in hand, they turned to watch a rerun of the final match between the Canucks and the Bruins, while I retreated to my study in the basement to revise a paper on the depiction of Asians in Hollywood Cold War movies. There was a hard deadline for the submission, so I’d have to complete the piece within three days.
BEN TOLD ME I ought to avoid talking about politics when I phoned Juli, because her line was definitely tapped by Chinese National Security. In addition, I should be careful about what I wrote to her. The Internet police there monitored the online traffic and could break into your email to gather evidence against you. Recently they had banned a good number of bloggers and shut down their accounts because those users had grown too outspoken, their voices gaining too many readers. Whoever could hold the attention of the multitude might be suppressed sooner or later. Ben was worried about his twin sister, who could easily get carried away.
After breakfast the next morning Henry and I gave Ben a brief tour of our property. We took him through the three floors of the building and then to the grounds behind it. On the boughs of a sycamore hung two transparent bird feeders filled with mixed grains and sunflower seeds. We stopped to watch some goldfinches, red crossbills, and robins eating the feed. A handful of birds, already done with breakfast, were chattering while bathing and grooming at a granite birdbath next to a kidney-shaped flower bed, but most of the other birds stood quietly on the maples and hornbeams nearby, waiting for the two at the feeders to finish and fly away — then another two would go over to the plastic tubes and eat. They’d mostly been standing in line patiently, though a few scudded from branch to branch.
“Gosh, they’re more polite than the subway riders in Beijing,” Ben quipped. A red-breasted robin fluttered its wings as if in response.