The First Excellence: Fa-Ling's Map Read online

  “What is he doing?” Guy said, watching Cheng as he rifled through the Kaders’ belongings.

  Henry didn’t bother to translate Guy’s question. He knew it would be ignored. Instead he repeated Wang’s question more loudly.

  “My name is Guy Kader. This is my wife, Paula.”

  “Why did you come to Gui?” Wang asked.

  Henry incorrectly translated the question as, “When did you come to Guangxi?”

  “We arrived today,” Guy answered.

  Paula sat on the bed studying Wang with a meek expression. Wang did not acknowledge her attention, keeping his eyes trained on her husband. Cheng, though, observed her discretely as he continued to walk about the room.

  Wang wrote in his notebook before repeating his question to Henry.

  “OK, sorry,” Henry said. “Police wants to know why you come to Gui.”

  “Gui?” Guy shook his head, not understanding the word.

  “Guangxi,” Paula said. “Gui is short for Guangxi Zhuang.”

  “We’re here with a group of Canadians,” Guy said. “We’re adopting a little girl.”

  He expected some show of surprise from the officers, but he was disappointed. Both Wang and Cheng were accustomed to the steady stream of foreigners that landed in China to fulfil their dreams of parenthood.

  “What time you first hear noise?” Henry said.

  “I was asleep,” Guy said. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “I was up,” Paula said. “I was working in the bathroom.” Henry looked confused, not sure how to translate this for Wang.

  “Look,” Paula said, pointing to her laptop. “I had it set up here.” The men followed her into the bathroom. She set the laptop on the counter and pretended to key. “I started working at around eleven o’clock. There was music playing next door at that time. It wasn’t loud. Then, at around two o’clock, I heard men arguing.” Paula recounted the sounds as they had occurred, ending with the frightening silence that followed the wail. “That’s when I called you,” she said to Henry.

  “Do you know what the men were saying?” Wang asked.

  “No. I don’t speak Chinese.”

  “Can you recall any words?”

  “No. I’m sorry.” Paula shook her head. “Excuse me,” she said, trying to get past the men and back into the main room. She suddenly felt claustrophobic, trapped in the bathroom with the men blocking the doorway.

  Henry and Wang moved into the entryway, but Cheng, pretending not to understand, stood stubbornly at the bathroom door. He wanted to see how the beautiful, neurotic white woman would react to not getting her way.

  Paula’s eyes met Cheng’s for an instant, and in that moment the look of helplessness left her and was replaced with unbridled annoyance.

  She almost ordered him to move, but it would be futile to do so given the language barrier. Besides, the big oaf was obviously taking pleasure in her discomfort.

  She regained her placid demeanour as quickly as it had fled, and waited for Cheng to move.

  Cheng’s eyes missed nothing. In the instant when they met hers, he understood she was no ordinary female. He did not need the benefit of words to read Paula Kader.

  The woman was hiding something. But what?

  FIFTEEN

  Fa-ling didn’t hear the first knock at the door. She tossed, half-asleep, jarring the earphones from her head.

  Henry knocked again more loudly. Fa-ling opened her eyes. It took a moment for her to remember where she was. She lay still in the bed, not sure whether she had heard anything.

  Impatient, Cheng pounded on the door. Fa-ling sat up, uncertain what to do. She was alone in a strange country and someone was banging on her door. She glanced at the bedside clock. It was three-fifteen in the morning.

  She padded to the entryway and looked through the peephole.

  She recognised the little concierge who had come on shift the night before. The two men beside him were difficult to make out through the tiny distorted lens.

  “Police,” Henry said in English. “Please open the door.”

  “One moment.” Fa-ling looked down at herself. Michael’s shirt was now rumpled and it fell open over her naked breasts. The only other thing she was wearing was a pair of white cotton panties. She quickly buttoned the shirt and ran toward the chair where she had laid her jeans.

  “I’m coming,” she shouted, pulling up the zipper.

  Fa-ling opened the door. Cheng entered first, followed by Wang and the concierge.

  “There has been an occurrence,” Henry said, “in the room next to yours. The police have come to ask you questions.”

  “I don’t understand,” Fa-ling said. “What kind of occurrence?”

  Henry stood up straight and puffed his chest out. He was not immune to the presence of a beautiful girl. “There has been a death,” he said, allowing the moment of crisis to take hold.

  “Who died?” she asked.

  “I cannot say,” Henry said.

  Cheng immediately began to walk about the room, lifting things and opening drawers.

  Fa-ling watched as he rummaged through her suitcase. She hoped he wouldn’t disturb her backpack where she kept her clarinet and her journal.

  He sifted through her underwear and t-shirts, glancing up occasionally to see her reaction. The corner of her mouth lifted into a tiny half-smile, letting him know she understood the nature of his game.

  He was less interested in her belongings than in her reaction to the intrusion.

  Wang observed Fa-ling. How, he wondered, could anyone look so good on waking from a deep sleep? He’d been alone for too long. Whatever the reason, Yong-qi felt himself attracted to this young woman. She wore a man’s shirt, which she had buttoned up badly, so one side of the shirt hung lower than the other and the collar was out of whack. Her bare feet stuck out of the bottom of bellbottomed jeans that were too long for her.

  He almost smiled at the sight of her, but caught himself in time.

  “What is your name?” Wang Yong-qi asked, waiting for Henry to translate.

  “Li Fa-ling. Can you tell me what happened next door? Was there an accident?”

  “Why did you come to Gui?” he asked.

  “I came with a group from Canada,” Fa-ling answered in Cantonese. “I was born in Guangxi. I wanted to see the place where I was born.”

  Henry was disappointed his translation services would not be needed. He stood his ground near Wang, though, refusing to be left out of the action.

  “Are you travelling with your husband?” Wang asked. It was a legitimate question. Cheng allowed himself a tiny smile, which did not escape the girl’s notice. “Are your parents with you?” Wang continued, hoping his embarrassment would not show.

  “No. I came alone with a group of adopting couples. I never met any of them before. We’re with a guide. Her name’s Cynthia. Maybe we should wake her.”

  “Did you hear any noises coming from the next room this evening?” Yong-qi asked, ignoring Fa-ling’s mention of the guide.

  “What kind of noises?” Fa-ling asked. “Please tell me what happened.”

  Wang did not answer, but continued to study the young woman. Her hair was a mess, the long ponytail having shaken itself loose from its binding as she slept. Despite her dishevelled appearance, she was surprisingly calm. He would not be so cool if a couple of policemen came into his room at three in the morning in a strange country.

  Maybe, Wang thought, it’s just an act. Or, and he smiled at this thought, maybe she is aware of how beautiful she is, and understands her looks put her at an advantage over a couple of clumsy men.

  “What is he looking for?” Fa-ling asked, pointing at Cheng.

  Cheng took no notice, pulling items out of the backpack one by one.

  “We need to see your papers,” Wang said.

  The lie was so flimsy Fa-ling did not bother to dispute it.

  “You might have asked,” she said. Removing the passkey from the slot and causing the l
ights to go out momentarily, she used it to open the hotel safe. She restored the lights before handing her passport and travel visa to Wang.

  Wang pretended to study her papers before returning them to her, having no real interest in the documents. He did not doubt the girl’s word.

  “Once again, Miss,” Yong-qi said, “did you hear any noises tonight?”

  “No. I fell asleep at about ten-thirty. I didn’t wake up till you came to the door.”

  “These noises were loud. Are you certain you didn’t hear something? Maybe you weren’t sure what it was?”

  Fa-ling picked her IPod up from the nightstand. “I was wearing this,” she said.

  “Do you often go to sleep with headphones on?”

  “No. Oh, I see what you mean. I’d forgotten, there was a noise next door earlier, when I went to sleep. It wasn’t loud. Just some music and a man’s voice. It sounded like he was chanting in time to the music.”

  “Chanting?” Wang said.

  “Yes, like a prayer chant, or something like that. It went on for hours. Like I said, it wasn’t loud, but it was a strange noise and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I put on my headphones to block the sound.”

  Cheng opened the closet door, noticing it was empty. Fa-ling had not bothered to hang up any of her clothes yet.

  “This chanting,” Wang continued, “are you sure it was only one voice?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. It was the same phrase repeated for hours to the sound of a Chinese melody. The melody did not change.”

  “What was the phrase?”

  “I couldn’t understand it.”

  “What did it sound like?”

  “It sounded like ‘Um-dee-um-dum’.” Fa-ling gave Wang a crooked smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t pay attention.”

  “Very well,” Yong-qi said. “Thank you for your help. If you think of anything else, please call me.” Wang fumbled like a schoolboy in his pocket for a card, aware that Cheng was enjoying his moment of awkwardness in front of the pretty girl.

  “Good night, Miss,” Henry said, leading the way out of the room. Wang followed, having no excuse to linger.

  Cheng was the last to leave, stopping in the bathroom to urinate noisily. He came out without washing his hands and studied Fa-ling.

  “Please do not be concerned, Miss,” he said gently. “It appears there was a suicide in the room next to yours. A man fell from the window. You understand, we have to ask questions, to be sure of the circumstances.”

  “Thank you for telling me what happened,” Fa-ling said. She was not angry over his having searched through her things. She understood the Chinese have a different set of rules, and one could have no reasonable expectation of privacy here.

  “Good night,” Cheng said, showing off one of his rare English phrases.

  “Good night,” Fa-ling replied.

  SIXTEEN

  Ting-lo fussed with the supply of brand-new baby clothes, re-arranging dresses in the closet and packing and re-packing diapers.

  She and Adrian woke at three-thirty and lay awake till four thanks to jet lag and nervousness. Finally Adrian ran a hot bath and took a book with him into the tub. Ting-lo knew there was no point trying to sleep. Her mind was a whirl of activity.

  Of course there was the baby, little Anna as they had named her. That alone would have been enough to keep their minds humming with excitement. On top of that Ting-lo had seen her brother the previous evening for the first time in years. She and Adrian had been delayed in the boardroom thanks to that fool of a guide. How could Cynthia have let everyone fill the forms in blue ink? Didn’t she have any prior experience leading adoption groups? Wasn’t she aware all government forms had to be completed in black? Thank goodness Ting-lo had remembered the basics rules of form-filling in Asia and had come prepared with a black pen.

  Finally all of the couples had turned in their forms. Adrian was worn out and dying for a drink, but she dragged him instead to the sixth floor to introduce him to her brother.

  In the five years she and Adrian had been married, Ting-lo heard from Tang infrequently. For the most part he seemed to be happy.

  Lately, though, things had changed. Tang did not go into detail in his letters, but Ting-lo managed to speak with him several times on the phone. He believed he was being followed. Two of his friends had been arrested and shipped off to a re-education camp. He was not able to contact them, though he had tried several times. He feared the worst.

  In the end, Ting-lo was no longer able to reach her brother. Tang seemed to have moved again, and she did not know his phone number or address. On Sunday mornings he would call her, each time from a different phone. His stories became increasingly worrisome.

  When Tang’s wife was beaten and taken to an unknown location a few months earlier, extensive inquiries into her whereabouts had left him frustrated. Finally a trusted friend convinced him Gui-Jing was probably dead. Tang understood his own days were numbered. Desperate, he fled to the nearest city and went underground.

  Ting-lo had to save her brother. She contacted a well-known rights activist in Toronto’s Chinatown. He helped her to procure false travel documents and a Canadian passport for Tang.

  The plan was simple — get Tang to Canada as quickly as possible. Once in Toronto he would seek asylum. From there, they would have to pray things would work out.

  Their re-union the previous evening was a shock for Ting-lo. She had no idea her brother had become so heavily involved with Falun Gong. He was painfully thin, as if he seldom ate, yet he did not seem interested in the food she had brought him from the hotel restaurant. The whole time Ting-lo and Adrian were in his room, meditation music continued to play in the background. Tang seemed to be spiritually removed from them, lost and floating somewhere in the cosmos.

  His conversation made little sense to her. Yet Tang believed every word he spoke. Ting-lo was hesitant to translate his allegations for Adrian, leaving out large portions of what Tang said. The truth was, she was beginning to think her brother had lost his mind, and she was more than a little embarrassed.

  Tang spoke of midnight arrests, police raiding the homes of believers and non-believers alike and dragging entire families from their beds. He told tales of beatings, imprisonment without trial, and most horribly of all, the brutal removal of body parts from live ‘donors’. Kidneys, corneas, and even livers would be offered for sale en masse to International patients who could afford to travel to China for surgery.

  It was alleged that, once the organ removal was complete, the ‘donors’ would be killed and cremated to eliminate evidence of the transaction.

  Ting-lo’s interest in Falun Gong was limited to her brother’s involvement. When Tang first spoke to her of the movement, she began to worry for his safety. She’d read stories in the Chinese newspapers in Toronto about zealots hanging themselves or setting themselves on fire in support of their master, Li Hongzhi. Of course, the Chinese community in Toronto was known for making a general nuisance of itself by demonstrating daily outside of the Chinese consulate in support of Falun Gong.

  In fact, when Ting-lo and Adrian had visited the consulate building to pick up their travel visas, they were shocked at the stories and photos that lined the walls. There were thousands of accounts of Falun Gong members who had allowed their families to starve, who had lost their minds completely, or who had even taken their own lives in their religious zeal.

  Ting-lo was not naïve. It was not hard for her to believe that a number of the so-called ‘suicides’ were probably assisted by government officials, who saw any form of religion as a threat to Communism.

  But organ theft? Murder, torture, and rape on a grand scale? These things were hard to swallow, even for someone with as little regard for the Communist regime as Ting-lo had. She wanted Tang to be mentally healthy, but at the same time she hoped he was delusional.

  Despite all of these worries, Tang was her only living relative. She was not with him when he buried their parents. Their fa
ther had died in a freak accident on their family farm. Two years later, their mother developed pneumonia — government sources assured the public there were no cases of tuberculosis in China, and doctors would not discuss the possibility she had contracted S.A.R.S., Sudden Acute Respiratory Syndrome, while visiting relatives in Beijing. She was dead within days of entering the state-run hospital.

  Tang was left completely alone. No wonder he had jumped at the chance to marry Gui-Jing, a pretty young girl who lived nearby. Gui-Jing was a spiritual person. She believed immersion in the ancient arts of T’Ai Chi and Qi Gong would cleanse the soul and keep the body and mind in optimum health.

  Gui-Jing was a ready student when Master Li Hongzhi came on the scene, recruiting hungry souls with promises of spiritual freedom. Still grieving the loss of his parents, Tang was ripe for conversion. After all, atheism was cold comfort in comparison with the joy of a shared meditation experience.

  Since leaving China, Ting-lo had led a comfortable life. She was the top buyer for a chain of women’s clothing stores. The hours could be difficult, but the work paid well.

  Ting-lo considered herself to be a fashion connoisseur. Adrian could not believe his good fortune in landing such an exotic and exciting wife. In addition to being a rare beauty, Ting-lo was also generous and loyal, the kind of partner men dream of spending their lives with.

  The only blight on their relationship was their inability to conceive a child. Both spouses had undergone medical testing, and both had been found to have healthy reproductive systems. Fed up with fertility pills and disappointment, Ting-lo suggested they look into adoption. Adrian agreed.

  They never could have foreseen that this trip to adopt Anna would double as a rescue operation to smuggle Tang out of China!

  Even now, after listening to his bizarre stories, Ting-lo still believed there was hope for Tang. He was only thirty-five. He would grieve for Gui-Jing in a safe environment, in the company of a sister who loved him, and in time he would regain his desire to live.