Kai frowned. Before she had a chance to question the men further, the door to her flat opened and Han smiled at her mysteriously. He had a surprise for her, he said, and told her to close her eyes. The young carpenter glanced at Kai and Han with timid curiosity, and Han told the boy to keep working, before he pulled Kai into the flat. What was it? she asked, but Han insisted that she keep her eyes closed. Kai sighed and let him hold her hand and guide her into the living room. When she was told to open her eyes, she saw in the middle of the room a huge cardboard box with a blue television set printed on it.
“When did you get out of town?” Kai asked. The only place to buy a television set was in the provincial capital, with a special permit, and even though Han had been talking about buying a TV for days, Kai thought it would take weeks before permission could be granted.
“I didn't take one step out of my office today,” Han said. “And I didn't have to spend a penny.”
Kai nodded absentmindedly. Han seemed to be disappointed by her lukewarm reaction. “It's a present,” he said. “And only three families in Muddy River got them. Guess who?”
“Your parents and the mayor, and us?”
“Nothing escapes your eyes,” said Han. “Who else deserves such a prize?”
“For the kidney transplant?”
Han smiled and said that the mayor and his wife had recommended the carpenters, as they had finished a top- quality TV stand for them just two days earlier, and he had asked that the carpenters finish by the next day. Shouldn't the neighbors be consulted before they let the carpenters use a public space? Kai asked, but Han dismissed the question and said that he believed the neighbors would feel just fine about it—the men in the three other families occupied positions not much lower than Han's, yet they were the ones who had reached their limits, as Han put it; he himself was the only one on their floor with a future.
Kai nodded, and then asked if there was other news.
“I need to talk to you about something,” Han said as the door to the nursery opened. Ming-Ming walked out on tiptoes, his hands pulled up by the nanny's hands. He looked at his parents and led the nanny toward the sofa. Han had rearranged the furniture in the living room to make room for the TV stand, and when Ming-Ming climbed onto the sofa, now close to the light switch, he reached out to turn on the light, and then off, and then on and off. Kai and Han, both preoccupied with their own thoughts, watched the baby in the blinking light.
Finally, Han made a gesture toward the nanny. Kai picked Ming-Ming up and kissed him, but he wiggled out of her arms to go to the sofa. Kai asked the nanny about the baby's lunch and then told her to dress the baby warmly and take him for a stroll around the city square. A walk before the nap? the nanny asked in surprise, and Kai answered that it was a warm day and he might as well get some fresh air.
Han stood next to the window and watched the street. “I'm sure you've heard of the situation out there,” he said, once the nanny had shut the door to the flat.
Fifteen hundred copies of the first leaflet had been distributed three nights earlier, but by noon the next day they had been torn down by the sanitation squad, and no one had mentioned it since. A couple of nights later a second leaflet showed up, this time talking not only about Gu Shan's execution but also about a democratic wall movement in Beijing. By now Kai thought it would be suspicious to pretend to be unaware of it. “The leaflets,” she said, feeling her words filled with a bitterness that only she herself could detect. She wished she had been part of what was happening in Muddy River.
“This nonsense about the democratic wall, and the talk of the dead woman, neither would be much of a headache if treated separately.”
“Why?”
Han waved a hand to dismiss the topic. Lunch was ready, he said, and they might as well enjoy a good homemade meal.
Rarely did Kai ask Han about the affairs he managed, though he had a habit of recounting his daily activities when they lay in bed at night. Kai decided to wait before asking any more questions. They sat down and ate their lunch, neither talking for a moment, and then Han cheered himself up by turning the conversation back to the new television set. It was a fourteen-inch black-and-white, imported from Japan, bigger and of better quality than the one he had originally set his heart on; the three sets had come as a surprise that morning, a gesture of gratitude, no doubt, from their powerful friend in the provincial capital.
It seemed a perfect invitation for Kai to ask questions. “Who is this mysterious friend you keep talking about?”
Han thought about this and then shook his head. “I'll let you know as soon as we find out where these leaflets are coming from.”
“Is there anything wrong?”
“Not from what I can see,” Han said, and reached across the plates of food to pat Kai's hand. “These are things you shouldn't bother yourself about. Politics is not for women. The last thing I want is for you to become my mother,” Han said with a grin. Before Kai could reply, he straightened his face and imitated his mother's speech at the May Day gathering the previous year; Kai's mother-in-law was nicknamed the “Iron Woman” behind her back by her inferiors.
Kai didn't expect Han to be aware of such talk, as he and his father were known to be admirers of the woman they shared. “You should be thankful for your mother,” Kai said. “You wouldn't have been so lucky, if not for her.”
“Oh, I love her dearly. Still, you wouldn't want our son to have a mother like her, would you?” said Han with a wink. There was a knock at the door. Kai, expecting the nanny with the baby asleep in her arms, went to the door but found Han's parents, both waiting, unsmiling, to be let in. She greeted them, and they nodded and entered the flat without a word. In a low, stern voice they told Han, who had already gone to the kitchen and poured two cups of tea for them, to come up to their flat right away.
