When we arrived at his place, Sonya was cooking spaghetti and, with a wooden spoon, stirring the sauce of ground beef and black olives. She was wearing a mauve housedress like a maternity outfit, though her pregnancy wasn’t showing yet. In spite of her smile, which accentuated a pimple on her nose, her roundish face was a picture of worries, her eyes a bit shadowy, but she still looked pretty, especially in profile. She’d been suffering from morning sickness, and her nose was congested. The previous evening she had confided to me, “I just can’t figure Ben out. He seems sick of everything. He promised me this and that, but I’m not sure I can believe him.”
After trying the sauce, I told Sonya, “This is delicious.” Then I said in an undertone that we were going to Montreal the next morning, but she mustn’t let anyone know of the trip.
“What for?” she asked.
“We’re going to see an old friend of my father’s. We’ll be back on Sunday.” I kept my voice low and assured her, “Don’t worry too much. Everything will work out fine.”
“I hope so.” She breathed a feeble sigh. Another pot was coming to a boil. Sonya broke a bunch of angel-hair spaghetti in two, threw it into the water, and began stirring. I turned to wash the pans in the sink.
There was a gas station close by, so after dinner I took Ben’s black Mustang there and filled the tank. Then he worked for a while on his car in the basement garage. He poured a bottle of fuel treatment into the tank, saying that was something he’d done every fall. He also checked all the lights and added fluids. I put two coats into the trunk, having heard that the temperature would plummet the following day. Back in his apartment, he and I avoided talking about his spying activities and the trip openly, not so much because of Sonya as because the place might have been bugged. In a way, I admired Ben for his composure. He seemed to have inherited Gary’s ability to bear stress and uncertainty. Though knowing the FBI was after him, he was still clearheaded about everything — he must have gone through a considerable amount of mental training. In spite of my admiration, I feared he might not be able to find his way out of danger. Perhaps I should urge him to defect and file for political asylum, but we had to thoroughly consider the pros and cons of such a drastic move.
AFTER WE CHECKED IN to a motel outside Montreal, I phoned Suzie to let her know we had arrived. She said her apartment was too messy for us to meet there. I offered to take her to lunch in Chinatown, where she lived. She suggested Kam Fung, which I knew was a pricey Cantonese place where all the tables had tablecloths. We agreed to meet at eleven the next morning.
At the front desk of the motel, I’d thought Ben might feel uncomfortable about sharing a room with me, but he had stopped me when I asked for two rooms. He said, “Let’s have one room with two beds. This is more natural.” I was pleased he felt that way. We didn’t go to bed until midnight, even though the seven-hour trip had tired me out. We were talking about his family back in Fushan County and about my father. As our conversation continued, I managed to steer it to his current situation and even mentioned the possibility of turning himself in to the FBI. He shook his head and said, “You’re too naïve, Aunt Lilian. Like most Americans, you think only in clear and straight ways. What will happen to my parents and siblings if I defect? China will grind them down, and they’ll never forgive me.”
“I didn’t take them into account,” I admitted.
“You met them and saw how well they were doing in a godforsaken town. Do you think they could succeed like that just on their own? There’ve been powerful hands helping them ever since I started in my profession. If I betray my country, those hands can also destroy them.”
“What should you do?”
“That’s the question I’ve been grappling with these days. My business here is worth one and a half million dollars. It was the Chinese government’s investment. If I surrender to the FBI, the business will be gone and I’ll be blamed for the loss. Worse yet, I’d have to give the FBI a lot of information on Chinese espionage operations, especially in North America. Then to China I’ll become a criminal guilty of high treason.”
“Why can’t you reverse the roles of the plaintiff and the accused? Why is a country always innocent and always right? Hasn’t China used both you and your grandfather relentlessly? Hasn’t your country betrayed you?”
He looked astonished, his eyebrows locked together. I continued, “Ben, things have been changing in China, where many people no longer depend on the state for their livelihood and survival. If your family’s economic situation takes a downturn, I can send them money regularly. So for now, just think about what will be the best for you and Sonya.” I had to mention money to fully convince him that his family’s survival might not depend on the state anymore.
“Thank you, Aunt Lilian! This means a great deal to me. With your help I’ll have my rear base covered. I will figure out a way.”
He didn’t go to sleep for a long time after I switched off the lights. He tossed and twisted in the bed close to the window, now and again letting out a faint sigh. My promise must have set his mind racing.
We checked out of the motel the next morning and drove into the city. It took just fifteen minutes to get to Chinatown. I liked Montreal for its easy traffic. After parking in an outside lot, we headed to Saint-Urbain Street, where Kam Fung was. No sooner had we sat down at a corner table than Suzie appeared, using a cane that had a thin leather strap attached to it. She was much frailer and more bent than ten months before and might have suffered from rheumatism and osteoporosis. Ben and I stood, he drew up a chair, and we sat her down. I hung her cane on the back of the chair. She took out a Kleenex and blew her nose. She tried to smile, but her effort only made her face look sickly. Her eyes were watery, the lower lids a little swollen.
I said, “Are you under the weather, Suzie?”
“No, it’s just the withdrawal symptoms.”
“Withdrawal from what?” I asked.
“Caffeine. I just quit coffee.”
“Why did you do that?” The thought came to me that she might not have many years to live.
“I want to put my life together again.”
“Have you been dating someone?” I asked in earnest.
“Get out of here!” She cackled. “I quit sex long ago. I just want to live longer. When I was young, I thought I’d die before sixty, and I wouldn’t mind that as long as I was happy when I was alive. But since I turned sixty, somehow the older I get, the longer I want to live. Guess I’ve got greedy.”
“That’s natural,” I said. “Life has become more precious to you.”
“What a smart girl. That’s why I like you much more than your mom.”
Ben poured her a cup of jasmine tea and said, “Here, drink this, Grandaunt, and you’ll feel better.”
Indeed, a few swallows later she returned to normal, relaxed with her legs folded under her. She grinned, and her face creased, showing a coating of makeup. She glanced sideways at Ben, blinking her eyes, which had lost their almond shape and were almost triangular now. “He’s handsome like your dad,” she said about Ben.
“You bet,” I agreed. “He’s also smart like him.”
We ordered lunch. Suzie wanted only a bowl of wontons, saying she wasn’t hungry and was happy just to see us. Indeed, she’d been beaming nonstop. We resumed making small talk.
When our food had come, I said to Suzie, “One question has been on my mind since we last met. How come my dad left his diary with you?”
“Gary had a feeling that something bad might happen to him. He told me to say nothing about his secret profession to the investigators. Just play the fool and deny knowing anything. He wanted me to keep the diary and let nobody know of its existence. He had a sixth sense for danger.”