The Book of Lost Fragrances

Sixteen

NANJING, CHINA

TUESDAY, MAY 24, 8:00 P.M.

A dour-faced official took a pair of jeans out of Xie’s suitcase, unfolded them, and methodically fished inside each pocket.

Xie, who stood with Cali on the other side of a plastic partition, averted his gaze. Even though he had known there were sometimes spot exit inspections in China and that his bag contained no contraband, he was nervous. Why had they singled him out? Had Chung guessed that Xie had ulterior motives for wanting to make this trip and put out an alert?

“After this checkpoint, we’ll have to separate,” Cali said and pointed toward the next security area.

Xie thought her hand looked like a flower in a breeze.

“We’ll say good-bye, and then you’ll be on your way.”

Her chatter was a welcome distraction from the guard, who was making him more and more anxious with every item of clothing he removed from the bag.

“Have you ever been so far away before?” Cali asked.

“No. I’ve never been out of China.” It surprised him how easy it was to lie sometimes, even to someone he cared so much about. “Last year I went to Hefei to see Professor Wu receive the Lanting Award.” It was for excellence in calligraphy. The most prestigious award in all of China.

The guard took a gray sweater out of the bag and shook it. Xie tried not to stare.

“A two-and-a-half-hour bus ride isn’t what I mean,” Cali said. “This time you’re leaving China. Flying on a plane. Seeing foreign lands. Eating food you won’t recognize.” Thinking about the trip, her eyes shone.

“You should have been chosen too,” Xie said. “Your work is as good as anyone’s who was picked. Better than most.”

“But I’m too outspoken. I’m almost subversive.” She laughed. “I’m not upset that my work wasn’t picked. I’m upset that you’re getting out and I’m not. I want to see all the art you’re going to see.” Despite the partition, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “And I want to talk to the people you’re going to meet. Tell them what’s going on here. Really going on.”

“I know,” he said.

The guard unrolled a pair of black socks and searched inside each.

“I’ll tell them.”

Her dark brown eyes flickered with anger. “No, you won’t,” she said. “You’re not going to take any chances. I know you. You’re going to be careful. Please, Xie. Don’t be careful. We need to tell people how bad the censorship is here. How they are trying to control us.”

It had taken Xie two years before he’d trusted Cali enough to confide in her that he had a secret. When he finally told her what it was, he’d still told her only half of it. “I want to become a Buddhist monk.” That’s all he’d said. He didn’t know how to form any of the other words, didn’t know how to make entire sentences out of the story locked up inside of him about being identified as a lama, the years at the monastery, the fire and his kidnapping.

She’d been confused at his desire to live such an austere lifestyle and got angry with him when he couldn’t articulate why becoming a monk mattered to him. Instead, she’d argued, he should join her and her friends, young radicals who wanted to change China, to be part of the new generation who opened doors.

But he wanted to go in the other direction, back to a meditative world of seclusion that had all but disappeared.

Even though Cali didn’t understand, she willingly agreed to help him. Using her knowledge of how to hack through China’s internet policing, she sent encrypted emails to monasteries in other parts of the world on his behalf. Believing he was asking for spiritual guidance, she never guessed what Xie was actually saying in those messages or what he was trying to set up.

And now here they were. Cali wanted to change the world, but he was the one going off to try to accomplish it. Frustrated that he couldn’t tell her that their goals were the same and that this trip was part of the effort, at least he could comfort her. “You’ll have your chance,” he said. “Next year. Second-year grad students always have the best shot anyway. Next year.”

The guard was examining Xie’s running shoes now. First the left, then the right. Even taking out the innersoles. Sweat dripped down Xie’s back. Was this just a delaying tactic until a higher official arrived to take him into custody? No, they wouldn’t handle it this way. There would be no pretense. If they suspected him, they would just arrest him. Wouldn’t they?

“You have to remember every single thing you see.” Cali had moved from one of her passions to another. Now the art was making her forlorn. “All those paintings and all that sculpture…”

But the paintings and the sculpture didn’t matter. London wasn’t important. Neither was Rome. It was Paris where the opportunity lay. It was Paris he had to get to, no matter how many obstacles he encountered between here and there. It would be in Paris where he’d make a political statement that would at last make Cali proud of him.

As long as he got out of China. As long as his government didn’t find out what he was planning. As long as he didn’t do anything to raise suspicion with any of the students traveling with him who belonged to the Ministry of Public Security.

The government had spies infiltrating every aspect of society-ordinary citizens, active in the job or organization or university they were monitoring so they always fit in. But trained to observe those around them and report unusual activity.

Xie suspected the PRC students on this trip would be extra vigilant. There would be eyes watching him wherever he went. Taking note of everything he did. If he wasn’t conscientious, it would be easy to become anxious and self-conscious.

That’s what the PRC wanted. Citizens aware and afraid. Citizens controlled.

He was going to have to fight against it. Say his mantra. Constantly refocus his mind. Concentrate on what was next, on the importance of his mission.

If the PRC found out-if they discovered that a lifetime of “reeducation” hadn’t worked-he’d never get another chance. If the authorities discovered that he remembered his abduction, the murder of his teachers, and-above all, that he knew he was the Panchen Lama they all feared surfacing-then he’d never succeed in being reunited with the Dalai Lama.

The itinerary included excursions to Rome, London and Paris, but it wasn’t the great museums in each city that Xie thought about. When he let his mind fly, it was to one very small museum situated in the middle of a garden. No matter how many other people were around him and how crowded or noisy the gallery was, that’s where everything would change. For the rest of his life, there would forever be the time before that visit and the time after it.

Unless the PRC noticed him and found him out. If that happened, then he’d never leave France alive.

“I wish you could put me in that suitcase,” Cali said despondently.

“And then what would I do with my clothes?”

“You can buy new clothes when you get to London.”

“And how would you get through customs?”

“Please. No one opens bags at customs in London.”

Her earnestness made him laugh, and that made her laugh.

“So it’s a deal?” she asked. “Once he’s finished repacking your bag, I’ll climb in?”

As he had a hundred times before, Xie wished he had a different destiny. One that allowed him to take this girl up in his arms, make love to her, to join her cause and be satisfied with that life. Instead he was bound to something he believed was his karmic duty. A path he was obliged to follow no matter what the cost.

“Mr. Ping?” The official spoke through a microphone. “I am going to need to see your tickets now.”

Xie pushed them through the slit in the partition and watched the man read the documents. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he watched the official frown. Beside him, he felt Cali take his hand.