Ha Jin - A Map of Betrayal - A Novel

“Nice spot,” Gary said. Then he spoke the code words in an undertone. “How did you get here?”

“I drove,” the man answered casually. He turned to Gary. A knowing smile wrinkled his face, which had high cheekbones and a smooth slender chin.

“What kind of car do you drive?”

“An old Dodge.”

“What year is it?”

“Nineteen fifty-two.”

“What color?”

“Chocolate brown.”

Gary held out his hand, which the man grabbed firmly. The priest’s grip was sinewy and forceful. He must exercise a lot, Gary thought.

Gary offered him a cigarette, which Murray declined, saying he didn’t smoke. But Gary pressed the half-used pack of Camels into his hand anyway, whispering that it contained a film. He began to speak Mandarin, while the priest answered in English, saying he understood the official Chinese but his pronunciation was terrible, incomprehensible, so Gary switched back to English. They went on talking about their future work. Murray said he was merely a sidekick whose task was to help Gary communicate with China. This modified Gary’s perception of their relationship somewhat. He’d thought that Murray was his superior in charge of China’s espionage operation in the DC area or on the East Coast.

“No.” Murray shook his round head. “My job is simple — I just serve you. You’re the boss.”

“How often should we meet?” Gary asked, not fully convinced because Murray would pass orders from above to him and was at least a liaison.

“It’s up to you.”

“Okay, I’ll call when I have something to deliver.”

“Sure. I’ll be at your service.”

Murray had only a rubber tadpole attached to his hook. When he reeled in the line, Gary said, “Here, use an earthworm.” He pointed at his enamel pail.

“No way. I won’t touch any live worm or insect. They’re too creepy.”

Gary laughed, picked up a thick earthworm, and fixed it to Murray’s hook. “Fish don’t like dead bait. If you use a fake creature, you’d better keep it moving in the water, to make it appear alive.” He dangled the three-inch worm, which was wiggling a little. “This will fetch you a big shark.”

They went on fishing and chatting. In the distance, on a sprawling dock, the windows of a low-rise brick building flashed now and again. Beyond it, a tugboat crawled westward, dragging a plume of white smoke and an expanding triangular wake on the metal-blue water. “Gosh, I forgot to bring a bottle of soda,” Murray said, apparently thirsty. Gary took a fat tomato out of his bag and gave it to the priest, who started munching it ravenously. Behind them a truck sounded its horn like a guttural squawk, which spun Murray around. Gary realized that the man was jumpy, probably uncomfortable about this meeting spot.

The sun was broiling in spite of a fitful breeze, and perspiration stood out on both of their foreheads. Gary opened a new pack of cigarettes and lit another one. Suddenly the priest’s rod trembled and curved. Murray gave a yelp, pulling and reeling in the line. “I caught a fish, it’s a big one!” he cried out. His brown eyes sparkled like a young boy’s.

“Jesus, it’s just a baby bass.” Gary chuckled and shook his head. Indeed, the fish, writhing on the ground now, was less than half a foot long. “Man, you’d better throw it back or it’ll die.”

“Can … can you help me take it off the hook?” stammered Murray.

“You don’t know how to unhook a fish?”

“Never done it before.”

Gary picked up the striped bass and pulled the hook out of its mouth. “Here, hold it for a picture.” He thrust the fish toward the priest. “I have a new camera here.” His other hand pointed at his backpack.

Murray shook his head. “I don’t need such a keepsake.”

“All right then.” Gary dropped the bass into the water. After zigzagging a few yards, it vanished. “So you haven’t done much fishing before?” Gary asked Murray.

“Nope, this is my first time.”

“No wonder you have the brand-new gear.”

“I picked it up at Sears yesterday.”

“Probably we shouldn’t pretend to be anglers then.”

“I agree. The water’s so dirty that few people fish here. Besides, two Chinamen fishing together at the harbor can be too eye-catching.”

They decided to treat each other like buddies from now on and would not adopt any conventional method of spycraft — no code names and no secret drop. They both believed it would be safer just to keep everything simple and natural, misleadingly transparent. In front of others they should appear casual and relaxed to avoid drawing attention. Murray said he’d tell people at his church that Gary was his friend so that the two of them could meet at a moment’s notice.

My niece Juli wrote to me two or three times a week. She was still singing with the band, which had begun to get attention and often went to nearby towns and cities to perform. I once asked her if she’d like to come to the States. She replied: “Maybe for a visit. Honestly, I’m different from some of my friends who have the emigration bug in their heads. I feel too old to uproot myself. Besides, I can’t speak English.”

I wished she could come and stay with me for a few months. She was still carrying on with Wuping and perhaps kept dreaming that someday he’d leave his wife. I was worried and wanted to tell her that he might be an empty suit, not worth her love and devotion, but I refrained.

Then Juli informed me that two officers from the local National Security bureau had come to question her about me. Besides my “activities” in Guangzhou, they wanted to know what I’d told her about my father. To my amazement, I couldn’t recall telling her anything about Gary. My prudence turned out to have been prescient, because full knowledge of her grandfather might have confused her and prompted her to act rashly. The officers warned her about me, urging her to keep some distance from this American woman who was biased against China, even though they didn’t deny that I was her aunt. They also demanded that she notify them immediately if she heard anything unusual from me, such as an odd query or an unreasonable request. Juli had no option but to agree to do that. “Of course, I don’t believe a word of what they said about you,” she wrote me. “The instant I saw you, I could tell that you were my aunt. You and my mom really look like sisters, only you are in better shape and have light-colored hair. Family is family, right?”

She also revealed that the National Security people had questioned her parents about my visit to them. Her father urged her to be more cautious when communicating with me. “Lilian is American and might have another pot to boil,” he said to her on the phone. Father and daughter had a heated exchange — she was arguing that I was innocuous, while he insisted that she mustn’t tell me too much about China. He got impatient but conceded, “I won’t say Lilian is bad. I like her and believe she’s a good person, harmless. Just be careful and keep in mind that there’re other eyes to read what you write to her and other ears to catch what you say.”

I told Juli: “I don’t blame your dad. His concern is entirely justified. Do take precautions.”

But from then on I felt too self-conscious to speak freely when I emailed or phoned Juli. I was uncertain about to what extent the National Security people monitored our communications. I just told her to let her parents know I’d keep an eye on her brother and give him a hand whenever he needed it.

MY HUSBAND WAS FASCINATED by my nephew, so I invited Ben to visit us. There was another reason for my invitation — I needed his advice about how I could communicate with his family in China without compromising them. I didn’t want to ask him on the phone; his line might have been tapped by the FBI. Even his cell phone might not be safe. I suspected he was an agent of some kind, but perhaps involved only in some borderline espionage activities — at most a small-time spy.