Vice Director Han mulled this: Takeo Akabori, yes, a minor figure, in charge of handling Peking’s foreigners of neutral nationalities, if his memory served him right. But an interest in paleontology? In Peking Man? This he did not recall.
Now the blond man was speaking.
"Dr. Spencer wants to stress the research importance of these fossils," said the female interpreter. "Peking Man was the most coherent group of Homo erectus fossils ever found in Asia. If it were somehow recovered it could be used to resolve the most important disagreement in the study of human origins- the debate between the regional evolution theory and the out-of-Africa theory. When the remains were last seen, they included one hundred and fifty-seven teeth. Pieces of forty different individuals. All that is needed is one that is completely intact. By taking tissue from such a tooth plug, the scientists could analyze the creature’s DNA structure, and compare it with the DNA of modern Asians and modern Africans. This would be research of worldwide importance."
Worldwide importance? Han thought. Ke bu shi ma. If Peking Man were found, international interest would surely return to this once-preeminent Homo erectus site. As it was now, the new fossils they’d managed to unearth since 1941 were stuffed here and there, in dusty boxes, around Beijing. Unsorted, unlabeled, low priority. Recovery of Peking Man would change everything. But aloud, he parried, "You know, I have been searching back and forth the technical literature ever since I received Dr. Spencer’s letter." He paused and glanced away from them, out the window to the busy boulevard below. "Forgive me. I am ignorant! I do not find any citations from Adam Spencer of the University of Nevada at Reno. No articles, no references, no footnotes…"
The interpreter rendered this hesitantly. Vice Director Han observed the man’s discomfort when he put a reply to her. Eh, the childlike Americans, was there nothing they could conceal? It was obvious this man, making such careful notes in his benzi, was a minor figure from an inconsequential university.
She spoke. "Dr. Spencer does not contribute to the international journals. His work has only appeared in two journals: the Journal of California and Great Basin Anthropology, and American Antiquity. His specialty is archaic desert cultures. In the last year, though, he has concentrated all his research on the recovery of Peking Man."
Vice Director Han nodded, but thought, preposterous! They would never recover Peking Man. Though what enormous face such a miracle would confer on the nation! The entire world would be reminded that China was not only, of course, the oldest continuous culture on earth but also-quite possibly-man’s point of origin. Ah, yes, the honor would be huge. But it would never happen. The bones had been missing too long.
He stroked his chin, staring out the window at the crowds on Xizhimenwai parting for a marching formation of green-clad, lockstep PLA soldiers, the kind of strong-arm show of force that had become so much more frequent in the capital since the Six-Four at Tiananmen Square. The soldiers stamped past and the milling crowd re-formed in their wake, the black-headed human tide of pedestrians and bicyclists that poured always through the streets.
He returned his attention to the room, reminding himself that there was another thing about Peking Man he should consider-that the Europeans had always wanted the fossils for themselves. Were not the museums of London, Paris, and Berlin filled with the treasures of China? A thrill of fear ran through Vice Director Han as he contemplated the chasm that had just split open in front of him. Peking Man was one of the country’s great cultural prizes. If these foreigners found it, they might spirit it out. Was that not more or less how things had gone before? Vice Director Han studied the polished surface of his desk and thought back. At the time of Peking Man’s disappearance it had been en route to the Museum of Natural History in New York, whence-wasn’t it so?-it would almost certainly never have been returned to China.
He allowed a silence to take shape and then drag out until it was vaporous, almost a visible coil in the air between them. The American man perched and craned. With great interest the vice director watched him exhibiting his waibiao-his impatience with his pen and notebook, his bluntness, his superior Western certainty that everything would, eventually, be done his way. As if that were the right way to do it.
The vice director could grant the permits, of course, if it seemed expedient. Did it? Should he? The project would fail, certainly. Though there was one facet of this American hypothesis that was irresistible to him-its potential for ruling out the distasteful possibility that the Chinese race might be descended from Africans. It would all be worth it just for that. And if Peking Man were by some miracle found, and he prevented the foreigners from stealing it, the face he personally would gain would be endless. Ah, yes. Endless.
Through these thoughts he noted that the foreign woman retained herself implacably. At least she had control, unlike the yellow-haired man. Interesting.
Another possibility: If he allowed the expedition he could send along his father’s second cousin, an archaeology professor from Huabei University. Then he could monitor things as closely as he liked.
And there was a final, even more delightful consideration -the Americans had money to spend.
"I will take this matter up with my colleagues," he told her, his Mandarin rich and educated but still trailing the liquid burr of the native Beijing-ren. "We will consider each aspect and discuss back and forth."
"Thank you. It’s a great trouble." Unconsciously she, too, was now rolling and drawing out her r-sounds, unable as always to check this chameleon quality of her Chinese-speaking. She invariably absorbed and replayed the other speaker’s accents.
"No trouble," he answered, hearing the local patina of her speech. Impressive. And she still sat cross-legged in a small calm. Where was her husband? Could she be unmarried? Strange. But he had heard enough. "So sorry, I have another appointment. Can you return next week? Maybe Tuesday? We’ll discuss this again."
"Ah. Tuesday." She pressed her lips together.
"I will need time to consult others. But in the meantime you should visit the Zhoukoudian site, where Peking Man was found. Tell me the day you choose. I will arrange for you to pass the tourist barriers."
"Ah." Now she smiled. It was obvious she understood this hint of positive inclination. She turned to the American. There was the bubble of English again, then her "Thank you. And regarding the research-Dr. Spencer says he is sure both sides will benefit."
"Both sides benefit," he repeated, and hid a surge of contempt. This was a thin Western fantasy. Pathetic. One side always won. The other lost. Win, that was the thing, and get the others to pay. Oh, yes, he looked at the American man with satisfaction, you’ll pay, vehicles and supplies and personnel at four times the rate we get normally, and it’s still nothing to you, money drips from your hands like water.
He glanced over at the brief redheaded woman, contained and watchful. And you, he thought, you can talk, but you don’t know so much and you are not Chinese. "May I say, Mo Ai-li, how pleasant it is to meet an outsider who really understands China. So many don’t. Really. You are an expert."
She looked at him, for an instant, unprotected. First he saw the quick confusion-should she believe he was sincere? Certainly not, he wasn’t-and behind that, in a frightened leap like a rabbit, snared quickly and then hushed behind her eyes before her control arose again and locked in around her, he saw her longing. It was only an instant, her eyes flicked away, but he saw it. This woman actually wanted to be Chinese!