A Map for the Missing(98)

Sitting in her home now, the image that appeared in her mind wasn’t of Yitian’s face the night before, but of how hopeful he’d been when he was seventeen, when they’d returned from taking the test. She saw how sure he was of himself then—how sure he still was now. She wanted that sureness for herself. She’d thought that by kissing him she could have taken some of that feeling, but she’d been wrong. What had surprised her most about the night before was that she hadn’t been able to will even more into existence. She’d closed her eyes and tried to disappear this world, to enter into the old one with him, but they hadn’t been able to make it there. There was a distance between their lives that meant she would never have what he did. What she felt wasn’t desire for him, but rather a yearning for his very life.

But did she not have a life of her own, too? Her eyes darted around the room, trying to tally up its objects as evidence of her solidity. The jade vase with fake orchids set inside, the ceramic carved ashtray on the coffee table, the television with the gleaming, polished screen—she’d learned in the last month how precarious these accumulations were.

She rose and went toward Yuanyuan’s bedroom, feeling the urgent need to see him, even if he was still asleep.

At the threshold she paused, overcome with calm at the image of his small shape, barely registering as a bump beneath the comforter.

She got into bed next to him, sitting cross-legged beside his head. Yuanyuan’s eyes blinked open at the sensation.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked. His hair stuck up from the back of his head after being squished against the bed all day.

“I’m still so tired.” He rubbed at his face with his fist, and then crawled into her lap in a way that he hadn’t in many months now. He was heavier than she’d remembered him to be, his weight pinning down her arms. She was sure her own mother had never held her like this, at least not in any memory she had. Perhaps when she’d been a very young infant, when cradling was a matter of necessity. Her mother loved her, of that Hanwen was sure, but not like this. Her mother’s tenderness had been shown through all she’d wanted for Hanwen, all that she’d dreamed for Hanwen to accomplish, so that now she lived in that want, too, and had created her life to fill it. Perhaps that was why Yitian got the chance she never did. He’d learned for its own sake, but she’d always kept this secret reason behind the reason.

Her son’s life would not be like that. When his fever subsided, she would read him a story, she decided, and then she’d start telling him about math and science, and later on he could tell her he didn’t care about any of it at all. He would make choices about the person he wanted to be. Perhaps the country had finished its wars, was done with sending people away without notice and changing in an instant the course of one’s life. Or maybe it was not—how would she know? Guifan’s mistake had shown her that even the world of tall towers being built was not so reliable as it seemed. And so she would keep building this life and her son’s, so that they were strong enough to withstand the people around them trying to make history.

Yuanyuan’s small breaths blew and lingered in ripples across her chest, and she thought of how she knew she wouldn’t go to Yitian again, because of this. Because she knew she’d feel this way when her son came to her. Her life had unfolded in a way entirely unexpected to her; how could she have predicted the path it would take? But she would have to face it. She inhaled deeply, trying to gather the courage for what she knew she would have to do next.





Thirty-seven



She’d spent more time on the phone these past few days, she marveled, than ever before in her life. In time, she might miss this period, her home and family transformed by the flurry of activity. But for now, all she wanted was to return to the quiet of before.

She tucked Yuanyuan in bed and went to the telephone. She dialed the number and held her breath.

“Mr. Qian? This is Tian Hanwen. Vice Mayor Wang’s wife?”

“Yes, yes. To what do I owe the pleasure, Mrs. Wang?”

She paused. She had to be particularly careful with the words she chose. “I’m calling because I’ve been talking to Guifan about—about what we were discussing.”

“Oh, and what did he say?”

She rolled her finger inside the phone cord. For each sentence she spoke, she flattened a coil. She only needed a few, and then she’d be done. “Well, I was saying, there’s no need to make this so difficult. We met Mr. Li at dinner, and he seemed to want to help the city. The shopping center will be good for Hefei. Those old homes, you know, what’s the use of having them there? They’d have to get demolished eventually anyway, right?”

“That’s what we’ve been saying all along. What did your husband say?”

“I had some difficulty convincing him, but he agreed with me in the end.”

“Good. Very good. I can tell your husband is one of those very technical men. They like to analyze. Sometimes analysis doesn’t make things easier. It makes the situation more complicated, in fact. It’s better to trust your gut.”

“So, since he’s agreed—then you won’t come and talk to us anymore, is that right?”

“Have I been bothering you, Mrs. Wang?”

“No, no, of course not. I just wanted to . . . understand.”