Fiction: THE RECKONING (1)
A sleepy tourist hotel on the outskirts of Beijing isn't what it appears to be. (excerpt from an unpublished novel with the working title: MY OLD CHINA: A Delicate Friendship)
The landline in the lobby, a weak link if there ever was one, remained, despite the admonitions of the dorm staff, my hotline to Huamei. It was monitored on both ends, but it was fairly convenient and a good deal faster than dropping notes in the mail. The clunky old phone sat on the security desk in the Foreign Expert’s Reception Hall where there were perky young attendants, crusty old minders, dour floor moppers and dust sweepers drifting in and out of auditory range. Between the slapdash, sleepy campus switchboard on my end and the busy governmental switchboard on hers, there was a lot of room for listening in.
“Wei, wei, wei?” I answered, scanning the lobby for snoops, cradling the scuffed plastic receiver close to my ear.
“Why do you answer in Chinese?”
“Because you never know who’s calling.”
“It’s me!”
“Yeah. But I didn’t know that till I knew that.”
“You don’t know anything.”
When Huamei rang, which was not often, she could be quite short with me, which is to say, even more abrupt and…