Read Online Mrs. Pollifax on the China Station by Dorothy Gilman - Free Book Online
Authors: Dorothy Gilman
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Wang’s rescue was a success, the man was going to have to be accompanied out of China—escorted, led, or dragged out, depending on his sympathies and his state of mind.
He wondered if she realized that in order to accompany Wang out of the country he himself was going to have to disappear from the tour group—and foreigners were simply not allowed to disappear into China. When would sherecognize the fact that the whole purpose of the tour was to allow him to vanish—and that indeed all of them were hostages to his success in disappearing …
It was a woman guide who met them at the airport in Xian, and Mrs. Pollifax was amused by the look of awe and delight on Iris’ face at sight of her. Apparently Mr. Li knew the woman from previous trips and greeted her cordially. “This is Miss Bai,” he told them, introducing her.
She was a slightly built woman, older than Mr. Li, very serious and intense, in fact one could guess her efficiency by the way that Mr. Li subtly relaxed on finding her there. Noticing this Mrs. Pollifax experienced a sudden insight into the tensions behind Mr. Li’s nervous laugh: the necessity to please not only the people he guided but also nameless faceless superiors who had selected him out of thousands to associate with foreigners.
“You will not be far out of town here,” he told them cheerfully. “The hotel is in the middle of Xian.”
“Horray,” cried Jenny.
Because they had all been separated on the plane Mrs. Pollifax noticed that they met now like long-lost friends. Even Peter looked less sullen, and as they headed for their next minibus she heard him asking Malcolm about his books—word had spread quickly, she thought dryly—while Joe Forbes was teasing Jenny about her hair, which she’d braided into a pigtail. “Going native, huh?” he said, pointing to a girl on the street with a similar thick braid down her back.
“I can’t wait to buy a Mao jacket and cap,” she told him. “Wait till you see me then!”
“You wish such purchases?” asked Miss Bai, overhearing her. “I will arrange for a visit to a department store tomorrow.”
“Wonderful,” breathed Jenny. “Thanks!”
Xian was the color of the mountains they’d flown over, terra-cotta and dusty, with patches of green only in the long lines of newly planted poplar trees and in an occasional rice field. New cement apartment houses were being built, but they were windowless and unfinished, still outnumbered by the old walled compounds along the road and the tiny mud-and-straw homes glimpsed behind them. Their bus drove toward the city through pedestrians and bicyclists, constantly sounding its horn. Entering Xian the landscape changed, the buildings drew closer together, they met with billboards lining each intersection where once Mao’s thoughts must have been inscribed but which now advertised soap and toilet paper and toothpaste.
This time their hotel sat squarely in the center of town on a busy street. In Canton there had been lingering traces of the European influence, but here the architecture was Russian, a massive square hotel built of gray cement with a wall and a sentry at the gate. The Chinese spirit had asserted itself, however, with a huge scarlet sign on which gold letters in Chinese and English proclaimed THE THEORETICAL BASIS GUIDING OUR THINKING IS MARXISM AND LENINISM . MAO TSE - TUNG .
Iris regarded this in despair. “I’ve not
read
Marx,” she cried. “What was his approach to women?”
“Cautious,” said Malcolm.
“I’ll bet yours is, too,” Jenny told him.
“Naturally,” he said, “or I’d not be a bachelor.”
“Are you really!” Jenny exclaimed happily. “Not even one very
little
marriage somewhere?”
Mrs. Pollifax gave Jenny a sharp glance. On the surface she thought Jenny insouciant and lively, yet she’d begun to notice a strange bite to her words. It was present when she mocked Iris’ clumsiness, and it was in the tone of her voice now, a curious
He wondered if she realized that in order to accompany Wang out of the country he himself was going to have to disappear from the tour group—and foreigners were simply not allowed to disappear into China. When would sherecognize the fact that the whole purpose of the tour was to allow him to vanish—and that indeed all of them were hostages to his success in disappearing …
It was a woman guide who met them at the airport in Xian, and Mrs. Pollifax was amused by the look of awe and delight on Iris’ face at sight of her. Apparently Mr. Li knew the woman from previous trips and greeted her cordially. “This is Miss Bai,” he told them, introducing her.
She was a slightly built woman, older than Mr. Li, very serious and intense, in fact one could guess her efficiency by the way that Mr. Li subtly relaxed on finding her there. Noticing this Mrs. Pollifax experienced a sudden insight into the tensions behind Mr. Li’s nervous laugh: the necessity to please not only the people he guided but also nameless faceless superiors who had selected him out of thousands to associate with foreigners.
“You will not be far out of town here,” he told them cheerfully. “The hotel is in the middle of Xian.”
“Horray,” cried Jenny.
Because they had all been separated on the plane Mrs. Pollifax noticed that they met now like long-lost friends. Even Peter looked less sullen, and as they headed for their next minibus she heard him asking Malcolm about his books—word had spread quickly, she thought dryly—while Joe Forbes was teasing Jenny about her hair, which she’d braided into a pigtail. “Going native, huh?” he said, pointing to a girl on the street with a similar thick braid down her back.
“I can’t wait to buy a Mao jacket and cap,” she told him. “Wait till you see me then!”
“You wish such purchases?” asked Miss Bai, overhearing her. “I will arrange for a visit to a department store tomorrow.”
“Wonderful,” breathed Jenny. “Thanks!”
Xian was the color of the mountains they’d flown over, terra-cotta and dusty, with patches of green only in the long lines of newly planted poplar trees and in an occasional rice field. New cement apartment houses were being built, but they were windowless and unfinished, still outnumbered by the old walled compounds along the road and the tiny mud-and-straw homes glimpsed behind them. Their bus drove toward the city through pedestrians and bicyclists, constantly sounding its horn. Entering Xian the landscape changed, the buildings drew closer together, they met with billboards lining each intersection where once Mao’s thoughts must have been inscribed but which now advertised soap and toilet paper and toothpaste.
This time their hotel sat squarely in the center of town on a busy street. In Canton there had been lingering traces of the European influence, but here the architecture was Russian, a massive square hotel built of gray cement with a wall and a sentry at the gate. The Chinese spirit had asserted itself, however, with a huge scarlet sign on which gold letters in Chinese and English proclaimed THE THEORETICAL BASIS GUIDING OUR THINKING IS MARXISM AND LENINISM . MAO TSE - TUNG .
Iris regarded this in despair. “I’ve not
read
Marx,” she cried. “What was his approach to women?”
“Cautious,” said Malcolm.
“I’ll bet yours is, too,” Jenny told him.
“Naturally,” he said, “or I’d not be a bachelor.”
“Are you really!” Jenny exclaimed happily. “Not even one very
little
marriage somewhere?”
Mrs. Pollifax gave Jenny a sharp glance. On the surface she thought Jenny insouciant and lively, yet she’d begun to notice a strange bite to her words. It was present when she mocked Iris’ clumsiness, and it was in the tone of her voice now, a curious
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