Ким Робинсон - Red Moon

They came to a long pond, which the stream entered and left through reed beds. On the lawn banking this pond some people were fly fishing, casting their lines far out onto the water. Behind them, in the shade of trees that Ta Shu said were ginseng, sat circles of people; they looked like classes or discussion groups. There were little cubical houseboats floating on the pond, and the sidewalls of the lava tunnel were here corrugated by vertical ridges and steep ravines, with wisps of clouds floating across them in the classic Chinese landscape painting style. Upstream a hexagonal pagoda with ceramic roof tiles towered above the treetops. A flock of geese flew overhead, wing feathers creaking as they pumped the air.

“Give me a break,” Qi said.

Their electric cart brought them down a path to the pond. A broad promenade curved around its shore, and bridges spanned the reed beds at inlet and outlet. A pavilion near the outlet extended over the water. Big willow trees dotted the bank and drooped greenly, branches trailing in the pond like hair being washed. Ripples on the water reflected various jade and forest-green tones, also the blue of the sky overhead.

“Come on!” Qi exclaimed. “What’s next, a dragon?”

At that very moment a dragon-prowed boat glided out of a boathouse on the far shore and swanned toward them.

“Enough!” Qi exclaimed. She glared at Ta Shu. “Where do we meet this guy?”

“Here,” he said. “I was told he’ll join us after a while. But before that, I want to take one of those pedal boats and ride around the lake.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I will!” Grinning hugely, Ta Shu walked carefully over to a little marina where pedal boats were moored in rows. Qi sat in a chair by the pavilion railing, and Fred joined her. It seemed to him that this was, if not a refuge, then at least a far better place than many others he could imagine them inhabiting. For one thing, they were still together. This pleased him.

When the dragon boat touched the edge of the pavilion, an old man stepped off—short and slight, elderly but upright, skillful in the lunar g. He walked up to Qi and Fred and stood staring at them. With a little bow of the head and a questioning wave of the hand, he sat in an empty chair by them.

He spoke in Chinese, then looked at Fred and said something more. Qi replied, and he nodded and stood, walked over to Fred, and offered him a pair of black spectacles he pulled from his shirt pocket. He gestured and Fred understood to put them on.

They were translating glasses. The ancient one said something, and in red across the lower half of the glasses flowed the text A nice day to be water , moving like a newsfeed. Fred found the moving scroll distracting, but understanding what the other two were saying was well worth it.

“Thank you!” Fred exclaimed.

“Fang Fei,” the old one said, and the words appeared in writing on Fred’s glasses. “Fred Fredericks,” Fred replied. They nodded in a similar way, possibly acknowledging the coincidence of their FF initials.

Qi said something to Fang Fei in Chinese. Fred’s glasses scrolled the red words I am afraid to be water.

Fred concluded that the machine translation of the glasses was imperfect, but this was always true. Now he just had to do his best to interpret what he read.

Fang Fei said, or was imputed to say, Water is life.

Qi shrugged. Why is it here? What are you doing?

When young I was three withouts.

Sanwu . Fred heard this word and remembered Qi defining it during one of their talks in the apartment: it referred to people without residence permit, job, and something else. Family, maybe. Or car. Or money. Seemed like three might not be a big enough number anymore.

Fang Fei was imputed to say: No iron rice bowl makes China a hard place. I do not forget that.

Qi said, So you build your own private China?

Yes. It was like this once. It will be like this again.

Qi didn’t believe that, her face said. How long do we stay here? she said.

You stay anytime you want. You leave anytime you want.

Qi didn’t believe this either. What do you want? she said.

I want peace. I want China happy.

What about the billion?

I was billion. I am billion. I will be billion always.

She shook her head. Another thing she didn’t believe.

The old man was looking amused by her. That would almost certainly piss her off, but he didn’t need Fred to tell him that. He didn’t mind annoying her, Fred guessed.

Then he looked at Fred. It was a tiger’s look, calmly assessing a smaller animal, something like a deer or a rabbit. He asked something.

Do you understand us? Are translation glass helping?

“Yes,” Fred said. “They help a lot, thank you.”

Fang Fei assessed Fred a little more.

“I can speak English maybe,” he said with a slight British accent, not that different from Qi’s. “I might remember a little.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Fred said, glancing at Qi to try to see what she thought of this. “The glasses are giving me a rough idea of what you are saying, and you may want to keep speaking your language together.”

“Rough idea,” Fang Fei said in English, then a Chinese word, souzhuyi , that Fred’s glasses scripted as bad idea .

The man is not important , Qi said, according to Fred’s glasses. What is important is why you are doing this.

Doing what?

Building this China Dream. Keeping us here.

I love China. And I heard you were in trouble. Kidnapped. Traveling with foreign man accused of murder of magistrate. Yes? Big trouble it seemed. Nightmare. You have many enemies. Chan’s princess daughter in trouble. Pregnant even. Who is disrespectful father?

No one.

No one? Surprising. Does not usually happen that way. I suppose China is the father.

No.

This red exchange, crawling across the bottom of Fred’s glasses, was causing him to hold his breath. He had to consciously breathe as he watched the two of them fence. He had to look at them to help him understand. Qi’s face had gone blank, but her cheeks were giving her away with their usual furious blush. Both of them had a basilisk stare that was rather awesome to witness. Tiger to tiger, facing off. Fred focused on his breathing.

What do you want? she said.

I want peace.

I don’t care about peace. I want justice.

For you and your friend?

For the billion.

For the billion to have justice, whole world must have justice.

Yes.

The old man shrugged. An old dream , he said. China dream. A just world.

Maybe so.

We must make it together. Bring it into this world.

Qi said, You can join me if you want.

Fang Fei almost smiled at that. His eyes smiled, Fred thought.

I am happy to join you , he said.

Qi stared at him. She saw the same almost smile Fred did, a look in Fang Fei’s tiger eye that perhaps she didn’t like.

Then she began to grill him about people Fred didn’t know, What about Peng, what about Deng , on and on it went. Sometimes Fred’s glasses seemed to be translating some of the names into their English meanings, not recognizing them as names. Between not knowing who people were and being confronted with names or phrases like lotus blossom or victory in battle or construct the nation , he couldn’t quite follow what the two were saying. They were going fast, parry-riposte-parry-riposte, causing his glasses to fall into some kind of algorithmic aphasia, it seemed, making the red scroll a semi-translated mush of homonyms or mishearings: