Chapter 47

Montello, Wisconsin

 

What can I say about my hometown?  Slowly fading away.  Biggest business?  A gas station that also sells groceries (although it does have a cool waterfall at the end of the parking lot).  My old high school is down to thirty-five kids in the senior class and ranks as one of the worst in the state for math and English proficiency.  Montello is mostly where you go to retire.  Lots of cheap houses with water frontage either along the Fox River or on Lake Montello.  Both have an average depth of three feet and become covered with algae when the water warms in the summer.  Not the most scenic views (or best smells), but you can brag to your old friends in Milwaukee or Chicago that you have a lake-front home.

My mother’s house is on Lake Montello.  Highway out front, water in the back.  Good sized front porch.  She always had four chairs there.  Four.  Even before their divorce, there were only three of us.  I always wondered if the fourth chair was for visitors.  Hi.  Come visit.  Sit with us and talk.  Sometimes people did walk by and wave, but I don’t remember anyone stopping to sit.

My father used to fish out back.  He had a short dock and stood at the end fishing for panfish.  When the water is only three feet deep, you get plenty of bluegill and crappies.  He had a bucket at his feet and dropped the fish into it.  He’d stand for an hour or two each night, his back to the house, his eyes on the lake.  Not a word.  Almost no motion.  His time to contemplate his life.  Collecting fish until late July when the water warmed, and blue-green algae covered our end of the lake.  Then he would still stand out on his dock, swat mosquitoes, and stare out at his piece of Montello.

Why am I telling you this?  It’s what I told Lori Adams, my NSA connection.  She picked me up in Chicago.  I arrived with a Chinese passport.  Lots of odd looks and a serious review of my luggage.  Customs people were leading me to an interview room when Lori arrived and said the right words to the right supervisor.  Off we went, me dragging my luggage behind me.

Chicago to Montello is about a three-hour drive.  Mostly interstate.  The final eight miles is local road.  “Montello” - just a small sign on the interstate.  We took the exit.  Everyone else kept going north to more interesting places.  Not even a gas station at the exit.  One more reason for a fading town to fade.  We had the local road to ourselves.

I knew she wanted to hear about China.  I wasn’t ready to talk about it.  Where would I start?  I assumed at some point we would get to Jiks, maybe to Sheng, certainly to Tiny Lady.  I would tell her what I could.  When I was ready.  For now, I talked about Montello.

“We have a decent restaurant near where the Fox is damned up.  You won’t starve.  And I assume you will stay with my mother and me.”

“I’d like that.”

“My mother will be grateful for the company.”

“And you?”

“I’m confused.  We had an email back channel.  It worked fine, I thought.  But now I have to be here.  Some special communication.  The Party people didn’t tell me what or why.  I don’t know what to expect.”

“Expect a conversation.”

“Why here?  Why now?”

“We’ll talk about that.”

She drove the final miles to town.  Must have had my mother’s house on GPS.  She turned into the driveway and parked without a word from me.  My mother was sitting in one of the four porch chairs.  Big smile.  Hugs for both of us.

I had slept on the plane (some), but I had been traveling lots of hours and was in a very different time zone than when I had begun my day.  My mother offered some food, but recommended I get some sleep.  I carried my bag back to my old room, lay across my bed, and slept almost instantly.  I was pretty sure that was Lori’s plan.  She wanted to talk with me, but she also wanted to speak with my mother – the link, the lady who forwarded my emails.  Much to be learned about what my mother knew – or guessed – about what she was being asked to do.  They talked.  I slept.

I woke the next day about mid-morning.  I had no idea what time it was in Shanghai.  I was confused.  A bit slow.  A shower and a change of clothes helped.  It occurred to me I had packed dresses.  Pretty much all I wore in Shanghai.  Some silk, some cotton, all nicer than anything seen in Montello.  Almost all were red.  I had some of my old clothes in my closet.  Jeans, a UWSP sweatshirt.  Wear that?  No, this wasn’t some random homecoming.  I was a Chinese woman here on Chinese business.  I went with a Chinese dress - red cotton, short sleeves and an A-line skirt.  What I might have worn for a meeting in Shanghai.

A good-morning hug from my mother and a big smile from Lori.  They were sitting around the breakfast table, seemingly best friends.  I sat and let my mother make me some eggs and toast.  She started the conversation.

“I got a passport last month.  I could visit you I China if you like.”

My mother was early fifties.  Never traveled much.  I remembered one short visit to Canada, back before passports were required.  Now she could visit me in Shanghai.  Did I want that?  Maybe.  After many things were settled.

“That would be nice.  I think you would like China.”

I was pretty sure she would hate it.  Apartment towers in every direction, twenty million people crowding every road.  If you wanted the antithesis of Montello, Shanghai was it.  I ate my eggs and looked over at Lori.  Would she want my mother in China, or would she want her right where she was, forwarding weekly messages from “back channels” in China?  No clue from Lori’s expression.  The quiet lady sat comfortably at the table sipping her coffee.

“It turns out Lori has friends in Wisconsin.”

My mother brought my breakfast and filled all three coffee mugs.  So, she and Lori had bonded.  Women of a similar age.  Did Lori really know people in Wisconsin?  I doubted there was any place on a map she didn’t know someone.  Easy woman to know.  Easy woman to talk with.  A woman who would pursue any conversation.

“And you two talked about my emails?”

“Yes.  I am happy to help.”

Happy and proud from the look on her face.  Mom sipped her coffee looking pleasantly at both of us.

“You look lovely, by the way.  An actress.  Lori tells me your movies are very popular in China.”

“They have been giving me acting lessons, and they are very good with makeup.  If you saw my movies, I’m not sure you would recognize me.”

“Still, I would like to see one.”

“We could watch one on my laptop, if you like.” 

Lori held up a thumb drive.  I guessed (correctly) it was the latest film.  With two endings.  So, we would see the film, and then Lori would ask her questions.  In a sense, I was relieved.  Yes, let’s get this over with.

My mother made room on the table and Lori set up the film.  We adjusted our chairs and refilled our coffee cups.  Time for a movie.

For the first few minutes, my mother had her fingers all over the screen.

“There you are.”

And she would touch my face.

“Why is your hair black?”

I explained that I was half-Chinese in this film.  My mother nodded and went back to touching my face every time I came on the scene.  The dialog was all in Chinese, so she didn’t know what anyone was saying, but gradually she spent less time touching my face, and more time watching the film.  She began to share the emotions of the actors.  Celebrations when two of the nurses went off to marry.  Fear when the rest of us hid from the soldiers.  Real fear when another nurse and I snuck around the empty hospital trying to find medicines we might need.  My mother held my hand during that scene.  Then the shock and anger as the other two nurses were found and carried off.  Fear again as she saw me rush down to the docks with a group of soldiers.  Then tears as the two nurses were thrown onto a boat and taken away.

“Those bastards.”

She cried as the boat slid off down the river, me and the other nurse hugging each other and crying as the film faded to black.

“Such a sad movie.”

“There is another ending, Mom.  It was in the second file you forwarded to Lori.”

“Two endings?”

“That’s why I am here.  Lori and I need to talk about the two endings.”

“Oh.”

Lori closed up her laptop while my mother gathered up the breakfast dishes.  I waited.  Time to talk to Lori.  Where?  Lori led the way out the back door.  We have an old picnic table near the water’s edge.  We sat with our backs to the table, side by side, looking out to the lake.  By the way, just to be fair to Montello, the lake looked pretty good.  Cool fall nights had killed off the algae and turned willows around the lake a deep shade of gold.  September.  One of the better months.

“Mary, just start anywhere.”

“Tiny Lady.  I don’t know her name.  When I asked, she told me I would make a film about her someday.  Old.  Maybe five foot but probably less.  Walked slowly with two canes.  But she pushed me back against a wall.  Fire in her eyes.  Three bodyguards, but I’m not sure she needed them.  She had me take off my shoes.  She wanted me down where she could look me in the eye.”

“Her age?”

“Eighties for sure.  Maybe nineties.”

“Long March.”

Lori looked out at the lake.

“She would be nearly a hundred, but if she survived the Long March, yes, you will want to make a film about her, and yes, you wouldn’t want to mess with her.”

“Mao’s retreat?”

“Mao’s victory.  His army of a hundred thousand was pretty well surrounded by Chiang Kai shek.   Mao spent a year leading his troops west to the desert, then north where they had some protection.  A year on the march.  Over five thousand miles.  He started with a hundred thousand and ended with eight thousand.  But he got them out.  And he became their undisputed leader.”

“And the woman who spoke to me?”

“I’ll have our people do some research, but if she finished the Long March, she would have spent the rest of her life in senior party positions.”

“What does she want from me?”

“She wants a trade.”

Rather than ask the obvious question – what trade?  I just sat and waited.  Lori would tell me whatever she thought I should know.

“Let’s assume she’s a Long March veteran.  But she’s a woman in a culture run by men.  And these days, run by one man.  Her options are limited.  But it appears she has some influence over media – propaganda.  She saw the first version of your film, saw where it led, and ordered a second ending.”

“The first version leads to anger.  Even my mother felt it, and she doesn’t speak the language.”

“It puts a face on Taiwan.  Chiang Kai Shek’s Nationalists have been gone seventy years.  Off on their island.  Largely invisible.  Now they are seen as tech giants.  FoxConn and the rest.  Yes, the island is Chinese, but there has been no rush to reclaim it all these years.  Your film makes this all personal again.  Real people killed and kidnapped by the Nationalists.  Real people doing evil deeds.  Motivation, Mary.  Motivation to stir up average Chinese citizens who normally don’t give Taiwan a second thought.”

“And the second ending?”

“Still pretty dramatic.  A history lesson like all your other films.  Basic education.  Reminders of past offenses.  But the nurses are recovered at the end.  They are made whole.  The Nationalists might be bastards, but they are bastards sailing off to their own isolation.”

“I keep asking Jiks which ending he will use.  He has not answered me.”

“He is waiting to be told.”

“Tiny Lady?”

“She wants a trade.  If we want to keep things calm, we need to trade for the second ending.”

“What do we trade?”

“I have no idea.  Maybe a visit of our senior people to Beijing, maybe fewer American visits to Taiwan, maybe a delay in arms shipments.  I need to talk with our people to see what is on the table.”

“They might invade anyway.”

“Yes, they might.  We are adversaries, Mary.  Two big powers looking for opportunities, evaluating risks.  Conflict at one level or another is guaranteed.  Russia made this all worse.  A land war in Europe?  Who would have thought that even possible?  Well, obviously it is.  Whether Russia wins or loses in Ukraine is less important than the essence of the act.  It turns out even in this century, countries can invade other countries.  Whatever China was thinking before, it is reviewing all that thinking now.”

“I think Tiny Lady wants peace.”

“I agree.  But war might happen anyway.  It could have dozens of causes.  She has her fingers on one.  We will try to respond.  We might take one cause off the table.  Others?  We do what we can, when we can.  But we may still end up shooting each other.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Spend a couple days with your mother.  Enjoy Montello.  I may have a message for you to take back.  And I will be sending you a man.  Talk with him.”

“Who?”

“Your friend from Sausalito.”

“Do I ever take a step you don’t know about?”

“Not many.”

Lori wasn’t done with me.  We sat at that table until dark.  I talked about Lee, about Jiks, and even about Sheng.  I guessed she already knew most of what I was saying, but I wanted my version of events out there.  I was completely honest.  Especially about Jiks and our agreement.  Whatever might happen between the US and China, I had already made my decision.  Jiks was my man.  China would be my home.  I thought it important she know that.

Our final conversation took place at the side of her car.  We hugged, and I asked a hard question.

“Lori, you created opportunities for me.  Thank you.  But have I given you what you needed?”

“More than we expected.  Much more.  Your films tell us so much.  We can count bombers and estimate defense budgets, but we need to learn attitudes.  Your missionary films did wonders for our understanding.  Foreign religions – bad.  Okay, we guessed as much.  Some Americans – the missionaries in your films – bad.  But some Americans – maybe good.  That film where you grew up with those other girls – and you were just one more pretty girl who could fall in love – that showed an openness we did not expect.  They let you write that dialog.  They let you act.  We were surprised, and grateful.  It showed possibilities for peace still exist.  Thank you for that film.”

A long hug followed.  Then she drove off into the night.