city at large.
“I believe I have found a picture of my sister at the Kowloon Bakery.”
The name sounded familiar. Dan thought he recalled such an establishment from his student days. “I think I know it,” he said.
“In the picture, my sister is sitting at a table eating with other customers.”
“Are you sure it’s her?”
Ren nodded. “I am very sure it is her.”
“When did you last see her?”
“At Tiananmen Square on the night the fighting started.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“It was my eighteenth birthday. We were at a restaurant called Red Dragon. Ling, myself, and two friends from school. On the way home, we heard the noise of many people gathered in the square near the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong. We already knew there was unrest and anti-government protests, but not the fighting. I said to my friends, ‘Let us go and see what is happening.’ We all went. Then the tanks arrived. When the fighting started, we tried to escape. I was shot.”
“You were shot?”
Ren gripped his thigh. “Here.”
Dan remembered the scar he’d seen on Ren’s leg, the worm at the heart of the perfect rose.
“I fell down. Others were screaming and yelling. My friends ran away. When I got up, Ling was gone. I never saw her again.”
His expression was subdued.
“I loved my sister very much,” he said softly.
“What happened after that?”
“I hid until the fighting was over. Some people took me in. I could not go home for two weeks. There was no telephone. My mother was very scared, but my father was angry. He beat me when I came back without Ling.”
“And your leg?”
“It healed eventually. It still hurts sometimes.”
“I’m not surprised,” Dan said.
The waiter returned with drinks. Dan waited till he left again before continuing.
“Tell me about your sister. What was she like?”
“Ling was a well-behaved girl and always obedient to our parents. She obtained very high marks in school. My sister was very smart and exquisitely beautiful.”
“Older or younger than you?”
“One year older. Ling was extremely intelligent and liked to read. In fact, we were both good readers. When we were children, our father brought us books from the military library. We would read each one together. When we had finished all the books in the library, he went on his bicycle to another town to get more books. Especially English authors.”
Dan looked at him in surprise. “I thought they would have been banned by your government.”
“Not all. Only propaganda. If something criticized the Western world and the exploitation of workers, such books were allowed. Charles Dickens, for instance.”
Dan smiled to think that Pip and Oliver Twist were Chinese heroes.
“How did you find the picture of your sister at the Kowloon Bakery?”
“When we were children, there was a calendar in our home. It was from the Kowloon Café in Hong Kong. Ling and I said that one day we would go there together. When I saw the advertisement for the Kowloon Bakery in Toronto, I clicked on it from simple curiosity.”
“It sounds like your sister decided to go there without you. Did you print a copy of the picture?”
Ren shook his head. “No, this was not possible. Authority figures would be curious why I should want such a thing. But I was so surprised to see her, I cried out loud.”
Dan studied Ren’s face. “What makes you sure the woman is your sister?”
“It has to be. If I think how she might change in twenty years, then this is precisely what she would look like today.”
Dan’s experience told him that was not always the case, but he was willing to hear the full story before making a judgment.
“Would you be able to find the site again?”
Ren nodded slowly. “Yes. I am sure I can find it.”
The waiter returned. Dan and Ren sat in silence while he placed a basket of bread before them, plates piled with salad on either side. The boy stepped away from the table with a brisk nod. Dan almost expected him to click his heels and pivot.
He nodded to Ren to begin then picked up his fork and dug in. Fresh oregano, olive oil, and vinegar clanged against his taste buds.
“Supposing I find her? What then? What if she doesn’t want to see you?”
Ren looked surprised.
“You have to be prepared,” Dan cautioned. “These are the difficulties I always advise my clients to be ready to face. Tiananmen was what — twenty years ago? If your sister has lived in Toronto all this time without trying to contact you, there may be a reason for that.”
A tremor passed over Ren’s face. Hurt, possibly. Or disbelief. Perhaps it hadn’t occurred to him that his sister was fleeing something, or else she simply had no desire to see her family again. The logic was sometimes beyond comprehension. There was often a valid reason, if only in the mind of the person who had gone missing. Unspoken resentments, unexpressed fears. Intolerable secrets. It was impossible to say. There didn’t even have to be a reason, just a lack of desire to be in touch with the family again. You couldn’t make anyone go home again, not if they didn’t want to. Sometimes it just took one thing — an accident, a revolt — and you realized the moment had come to make a choice: go through that brief window in time or wait for a second chance that might never come.
“She will wish to see me,” Ren insisted.
“I hope she does, but I can’t make her,” Dan told him. “You have to understand that would be between the two of you. Assuming I can find her after twenty years. I just want you to be prepared, no matter what.”
“I am a rich man. I can pay.”
“I gathered.”
A Chinese national with money to burn was a rare thing, Dan knew. Once an impoverished nation that could barely feed its population, the economic reforms China implemented over the past three decades had given it the second-largest economy in the world. While the average citizen remained below parity, an energetic private sector had created a small pool of millionaires whose status ranked alongside political officials. Ren’s lodgings alone said he was special in that regard. If he was well set up with his government, there was no telling what he had at his disposal.
Dan pushed his salad plate away. A late lunch crowd arrived, filling the tables around them. The noise grew.
