Gateway (15 page)

Daiyu could not help but be impressed—and thoughtful. If, as everyone had told her, Chenglei cared only about the affluent classes, no doubt he had just been trying to ensure that the upper strata of Shenglang society did not squander their energy squabbling over the very resources that made them wealthy. Even so, it sounded like no one had suffered and everyone had benefited from his collaborative approach.

Once again, Chenglei was not behaving in the way she would expect from an out-and-out villain.

“I am glad you told me that story,” Daiyu said. “Now I like the prime minister even more.”

“My mother says we haven’t had such a good man in office in many decades,” Quan said. “Of course ,I can’t remember that far back!”

They both laughed. Daiyu almost asked him some innocuous question about what other activities he liked besides finance and world travel, but she didn’t want him to think she was actually interested in him. So she cast her eyes down again and let him try to come up with another topic.

That proved to be unnecessary; the older women apparently had decided the young couple had had long enough to get acquainted. “Look at the time!” Mei exclaimed in a wholly unconvincing tone of voice. “Quan, we have appointments back at the house. We must be going.”

After many thanks and compliments, Mei and her son departed. Xiang turned to Daiyu with a sly, triumphant look on her face.

“Mei’s son and my niece,” she said, and her voice was gloating. “Do you realize how much money that woman possesses? Every mother in the city wants Quan for her daughter. Yet
I
will be the one to secure him.”

For a moment Daiyu had trouble breathing. “I had no thought of marriage when I came to Shenglang, Mistress,” she said.

“Call me Aunt,” Xiang said.

Aurora refused to be alarmed by the turn Daiyu’s life was taking. “We didn’t anticipate this, but it’s not so terrible,” Aurora said as she slipped inside Daiyu’s room that night. She actually seemed amused. “In fact, this is good news! It means you will have more opportunities to see Chenglei. If Mei’s son is courting you, you will be a highly prized guest.”

“The more balls and dinners and breakfasts I attend, the more likely I am to make a mistake!” Daiyu exclaimed.

“You haven’t made any mistakes so far,” Aurora said.

Daiyu’s next words came out as a challenge. “The more hours I spend with Quan, the less time I will have to slip away and see Kalen.”

Aurora pressed her lips together, no doubt to hold back a reply like,
That might not be such a bad thing.
Instead, she said in an even voice, “Don’t worry. You will find time for Kalen.”

After Aurora left, Daiyu sat for almost an hour before the open window. Her room was on the second floor, overlooking a portion of the garden that was filled with hundreds of perfumed flowers. It didn’t seem like it would be that hard to climb out the window, shimmy down an ornamental pillar, and land on the soft soil. Could she find her way through the dark city to the house in the
cangbai
neighborhood where Kalen lay sleeping? Could she catch his attention without waking Aurora and Ombri? Would he wriggle out his own window and walk her slowly back through the deserted streets, listening to her stories about Xiang’s matchmaking and Quan’s politics, helping her sort through her own confused impressions? Would his very presence calm her jangled mind?

She had so many more things to tell him, things she wanted to store with him so the memories would not be lost. The slogan on her father’s favorite T-shirt, the name of her mother’s face cream, the actors pictured in the photos she had taped up in her locker at school. She was alarmed when she couldn’t remember her computer password or the phone numbers of her three best friends. How soon would the other minor details be lost to her? How quickly would Jia cover her memories like a persistent and opportunistic ivy?

Kalen will remember everything that’s truly important to me,
she tried to reassure herself.
It won’t be so terrible if I forget. Kalenwillknow.

THIRTEEN

“ARE YOU INTERESTED
in politics?” Quan asked Daiyu two days later.

They were strolling through the conservatory at his mother’s house. Ostensibly, Xiang and Daiyu had dropped by Mei’s to return a scarf that Xiang had borrowed some weeks ago. They were not going to stay long—“But why don’t you put on that green top anyway? Yes, that one”—yet Mei had encouraged Quan to show Daiyu her herb collection. It was a ploy so thin as to be insulting, but Quan and Daiyu had stepped into the thick humid air of the conservatory and dutifully inspected the mint and basil. At any rate, that’s what the leaves looked like to Daiyu, but she wasn’t much of a gardener.

“I never paid any attention to politics when I lived with my mother,” Daiyu said cautiously, not sure how to answer. “Why?”

“Chenglei is addressing the council later today, and I thought you might enjoy hearing him speak. You asked about him the otherday.”

She didn’t want to encourage him, but Daiyu couldn’t help but show her excitement at that. “Yes! I would love to hear him. Oh, Quan, how thoughtful of you to include me.”

He looked pleased at her enthusiasm. “We must ask Xiang, of course, for she might have something else planned for you.”

No plan could compete with the prospect of you spending time atmyside
, Daiyu thought cynically. “Yes, of course. I hope she will let me go!”

But Xiang, as expected, was quite content to see Daiyu disappear on an expedition with Quan, and Mei looked equally complacent. Xiang said, “You will bring her back to my house, please, before dinner.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Quan said, bowing. “Thank you for your permission.”

A few moments later, Daiyu was surprised to find Quan acting as his own driver in one of those open-air cars that apparently only the rich could afford. “Your mother doesn’t keep a chauffeur?” Daiyu asked as she settled beside him on the front bench instead of sitting in the passenger compartment in back. This was a much more pleasant way to travel, she decided at once. A little windy, but with a greatly improved view.

Quan smiled happily and tightened his hands on the wheel. Away from his mother’s presence, he was instantly more relaxed and energetic. “She keeps five. I like to drive myself.”

She quickly saw why. He was very fast, accelerating around pedestrians, carts, and other vehicles with a speed that would have been reckless if he hadn’t been so very precise. She tried not to gasp when they turned blind corners, but she did hold tightly to her seat and wonder what he might think if she started shrieking at him,
Slow down, you moron, you’re risking my life!
She thought he would be so astonished he might never speak to her again.

Something to consider for the future.

When they had whipped down enough streets and skidded around enough obstacles, he abruptly pulled up with a flourish in front of a long, imposing building that simply screamed
governmentoffices.
Daiyu wasn’t sure—she thought they might be at the site of the cavernous St. Louis Convention Center. In this iteration, the building was made of a serviceable dull beige stone ornamented at a few entryways with perfunctory pagoda curves, and a banner across the front proclaimed an official welcome.

Quan found an open space in an attended parking lot, then hopped out to help Daiyu from the car.

“We might have to hurry a little,” he said, retaining his hold on her hand.

Actually, they were running as they dashed through the shadowy hallways of the building and raced up two steep flights of stairs. The corridors were relatively full of people—aides and clerks, Daiyu supposed, and maybe reporters if Shenglang had any media outlets—and Quan apologized more or less continuously as he towed Daiyu behind him. She was breathless when he led them through a doorway on the third story, and they found themselves on an upper balcony of a large auditorium.

She glanced around quickly to get her bearings. Yes, this looked exactly like what she would expect from a public forum. Below them, on the ground floor ,there was a dais where people could deliver speeches. Rows of seats faced the dais, and two balconies ran the full circumference of the auditorium so visitors could watch the entire proceedings.

Two men stood on the dais now, exchanging elaborate insults couched in flowery, formal language. Every seat on the bottom story was filled, about half by men, half by women, everyone Han. The balconies were much emptier, but clusters of visitors sat in the stiff, straight chairs or leaned over the railings to get a better look at the action. Everyone in the first balcony also was Han and looked to be financially comfortable, but there was a varied assemblage here where Daiyu and Quan had come to rest.

“Are you sure we belong up here?” she asked him in a whisper as they went to lean on the balustrade.

He gave her a careless grin. “Too many people I know one level down. Up here, I don’t have to talk to anyone.”

She grinned back, feeling a moment of genuine liking for him. But her attention was instantly caught by the drama below, as the two feuding speakers ended their presentation, bowed to the audience, and stepped down from opposite sides of the dais. In the silence that followed, it was easy to hear one man’s footsteps as he approached the stage, climbed the stairs, and then stood for a moment, merely scanning the audience. Daiyu had the ridiculous thought that he took the time to look at each individual council member, offering a swift moment of recognition; certainly it seemed as if he met
her
eyes when his gaze swept over both upper stories.

After a silence that grew even more still as he waited, Chenglei finally began speaking. “My friends, it is good to be with you all today,” he said, and again Daiyu was instantly captivated by the intimate warmth of his voice. It was as if he was addressing each of them separately, telling each of them exactly what they wanted to hear. “I have listened to the arguments of these fine men and women, and I have been struck by their words. I have been impressed by their research, and I have been moved by their passion. Clearly everyone here in this room today wants to do what is right and is willing to sacrifice tirelessly to bring about the best result. I salute you all.”

He paused, and once more he sent his gaze around the room. His eyes briefly touched Daiyu and moved on. “We have a hard task before us. People in the northwest territories are dying of
zaogao
fever. For those of us healthy in Shenglang, what is our responsibility? Let me tell you a story.”

Again, he paused, seeming to collect his thoughts. Daiyu leaned forward, impatient to hear more. She imagined everyone in the whole auditorium echoing her movement. Certainly, beside her, Quan did the same.

“As you know, there are prohibitions against people with
zaogao
fever traveling from their homes to seek aid. Many people—including some of you in this council—have railed against this seemingly inhumane quarantine. You are to be honored for your open hearts and the kindness of your intentions. Some of you perhaps know others with similarly kind intentions living in the town of Gangshi on the western coast. Gangshi decided to make itself a haven for those poor diseased souls. Its residents opened their city. They opened their gates. They opened their hearts.

“Today we just got word—the entire city of Gangshi is infected. Every adult, every child, Han,
cangbai
or
heiren
. The deaths already have been staggering, but some remain alive—in order, perhaps that their suffering may be sustained. In order that they may look upon themselves, and their decisions, with horror.

“My friends, do you believe every citizen of Gangshi welcomed the sick and the dying? Do you believe that every young mother gazed down at her sleeping son and decided, ‘Yes, this is what I will do. I will risk the lives of those I love most for a principle, for a gesture’? Don’t you believe that some of the residents voted to hold the quarantine? Do those people deserve to die alongside the good-hearted rebels who invited disaster to cross the line? No—but they are dying anyway.

“Fellow councilors, citizens of Shenglang, my friends. We are rushing aid to every part of the northwest territories. We have funded philanthropic doctors and eager scientists who have set up outposts in these bitter lands, fighting the battle with death, sifting through science for a cure to
zaogao
fever. We are not leaving our comrades, our siblings, our fellow creatures alone to suffer and die. But it is madness to even think of lifting them from their diseased beds and carrying them into our own houses to offer them succor and shelter here. It is suicidal—no! it is genocidal—to allow them to break quarantine. We suffer to see them suffer—but if we share their lives, we share their deaths. The quarantine must stand until we have found a cure. Or Shenglang will become like Gangshi, a town of walking dead.”

His easy, hypnotic voice had grown sterner and more powerful as he spoke, and his final words were delivered in a ringing tone. The minute the last word sounded, all the listeners were on their feet. The auditorium shook with applause and roars of approval. Even the
cangbai
man in the upper balcony was chanting out his agreement; even the old
heiren
woman dressed in ragged clothing was clapping her hands.