impossible path to travel if one happened to be a cop.
Since Mike's ultimatum about getting married and Ching's pronouncement that she was stubborn, April had steadily been taking stock of herself. She knew that people with whom she'd worked said she was inner-directed, like an ingrown toenail—frustrating and difficult to get to know. Such an assessment might well be in her record. And she knew it was there because she was neither fully Chinese nor perfectly American and couldn't be both at once.
As much as she'd longed to be all reason, April had always been guided by less rational laws of the universe—those of her own gut instincts and the wisdom of the ancients. The homicide of a bride, when Mike wanted her to be his bride and Skinny Dragon Mother wanted her to be anyone else's, brought it all into sharp focus. Tovah's murder had aggravated Chinese superstition (her own, Auntie Mai's, Ching's), and she was stuck trying to sort out reality from feeling.
In many of April's cases, synchronicity played a part. One unconnected event after another suddenly connected unexpectedly in a brutal murder, in catastrophe, and these evils created chaos. The abrupt, dreadful occurrences that changed lives forever were often completely random. The victim was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The randomness, the luck of the draw in so many aspects of life even in the twenty-first century, was at the core of Chinese superstition and was in complete opposition to Western belief in causality and reason.
What Westerners had always worshiped as cause and effect passed almost unnoticed in the Chinese mind, which was ever preoccupied with chance. The immense importance of serendipity could not be underestimated in Chinese thinking, and with good reason. For the ancients, no amount of foresight or precaution could possibly protect either the state or individuals against the vagaries of disease, war, politics, and natural disasters like earthquakes, floods, and famine. Throughout time, the best shot a human had was to remain as solid as the earth, accepting all with a steadfast heart and praying for the good luck of safety and good fortune.
All her life, in the Chinese way, April had tried to avoid conflict with her parents. She didn't want them to lose face by her marrying a Mexican American. But this correct Asian passivity was highly incorrect and even considered self-destructive in Western culture. Self-destructive didn't even exist in Asian thinking, for the self was not regarded as a separate entity.
In the wee hours of Friday morning, nearing the exact midpoint between tragedy and celebration, April resorted to the
and her Chinese heart to get a reading on her life and Tovah's case. The I
or Book of Changes, charts the movement of all things: the sun, the moon, fire, earth, water; human activities, qualities, emotions, and good and bad actions. Though obscure to the Western mind, the
offers to the informed questioner judgments on when to persevere, when to stand back, when to speak, and when to remain steadfastly silent. It foretells danger and success and reveals the way to act correctly in all situations, to gain wealth and inner peace.
As the rain let loose, April sat on her single bed and prepared to throw the coins—five pennies and a dime— to get the judgment of the ancient oracle as to who was Tovah's killer and what she should do about her crisis with the man she thought it would be bad luck to marry. Like a gambler at a craps table, she blew on the pennies, then threw them out. The coins fell on the flowered quilt three heads, then three tails.
Three heads represented three straight lines one on top of another: heaven. Three tails represented three broken lines beneath the three straight ones: earth. Heaven over earth was the hexagram
(standstill or stagnation). The judgment was: Heaven and earth do not unite, and all beings fail to achieve union. Further, it said, The shadowy is within, the light is without. The way of the superior was falling. The way of the inferior was rising.
April was crushed. Her dime was in the fourth position, third line from the top. That meant her personal message was: He who acts at the command of the highest remains without blame. What was willed was done.
She was mulling over what it meant when Skinny Dragon opened her door without warning. Four days she'd been away and this was her greeting.
(you), I have food; you eat.'
A wet Dim Sum ran into her room, yelping happily, and jumped on April's bed to lick her face. It was the middle of the night, but for once April was not unhappy to see her mother. Dragons had things they wanted to talk about, had trouble sleeping, wanted to be nice. And look, Skinny was smiling. She'd brought a ceremonial gift of oranges. Hastily, April gathered up the coins and her fancy Princeton edition of the
and hid them under her pillow.
Thirty-two
F
riday morning Mike and April were working downtown in Bellaqua's office when Mike finally located someone at God's Goodness out in Minneapolis who personally knew the man they had under restraints in Bellevue. Daniel Dody came on the line just before eleven o'clock. Mike put him on speakerphone so April and Bellaqua could listen in.
'Oh, yeah, Ubu Natzuma. I remember him. Big guy, real shy.' Dody's strong Midwestern voice was cheerful. 'Who are you again?'
'Lieutenant Sanchez, New York City Police Department, Inspector Bellaqua, Sergeant Woo.'
'Three of you, I see. How can I help you?' The voice cooled down without losing its perkiness.
'I gather you have responsibility for Mr. Natzuma.'
'Well, not exactly. We did sponsor him in a school program out here, but after his orientadon, he decided to stay in New York.'
'He decided to stay in New York? A real shy guy?'
'He didn't want to get caught in the middle,' Dody said slowly.
'In the middle of what?' Mike asked.
'The country. A big landmass. He gets upset when he's frightened, so we didn't try to force him.'
'He was upset, so you left him here?'
'Well, no, we didn't just leave him. We gave him some names and numbers, found a place for him to stay and a school for him.'
'I need those names and numbers,' Mike said. The notebooks were out.
'Uh, sure. I'll have to look them up, though. It may take some time. What is this all about?' Dody sounded a little less sure about those names.
'A woman was shot here in New York last week at her wedding. Mr. Natzuma may have been involved,' Mike said flatly, doodling in his notebook, not glancing at April or Poppy.
'Oh, no. Not that one I read about in the paper? That Jewish girl?' The voice flattened out a little more.
'Yes, Tovah Schoenfeld. How does Mr. Natzuma feel about Jews?'
'Oh, goodness. I can't even imagine. I know he may have some primitive ideas, but I'm sure Ubu never even met a Jew.'
'Tell me about him.'
'I don't know where to begin. He experienced some real deprivation when he was very young. Malnutrition, abuse, just like almost everyone in his country. I don't know if you know anything about Liberia's wars, but he was in the middle of it. Landlocked and also trapped between warring factions, one of which killed his parents. He may have witnessed that.' Dody ran out of steam.
'Do you have any dates on this?'
'Gee, let me think. We're pretty sure he was recruited into a militia when he was eleven or twelve, but before that he lived with a gang of boys, hiding out, for several years. His parents may have been killed when he was nine or ten. It's hard to put dates on anything. We can only piece together their histories from their own accounts. If he's eighteen now, we might be able to correlate events in his village nine years ago.'
