"Yes, but-"

"And that I visited there last summer? And loved it?"

"Yes, but-you don't mean you really want to live over there? In China?" China?"

He had gone silent, and she had started to cry herself, because after all she was leaving him. And it hurt him. Despite all her tangled emotions she didn't want to cause him pain like this, him, her own-she could barely form the word in her mind-father. But she knew she had to go. And finally he had said all right, if it was what she wanted, he would go along with it.

And he had. He had bombarded her with love, and sent her regular checks every month, for the past fourteen years. The only time he had gone to war with her was over Jian. And he'd won. She hadn't fallen in love since.

Ah. Alice lay back on the bed, feeling the knotted silk strings under her backbone, the scratchy chenille bedspread against her bare skin. Love. The love of her father. Love of her mother, which she'd never known. And grown-up love, or what pa.s.sed for it, in whose arms she could always briefly forget before moving on.

She shifted on the bed. Mother Meng was right. She was getting too old now. Soon, she was going to have to make some kind of change.

Her eyes wandered to the dark crack of the Beijing night barely showing along the edge of the curtain. She reached down and fingered the soft embroidered silk of the stomach-protector.

Should she go out?

A few hours later, at the shift change down in the hotel lobby, Second Night Clerk Huang told First Morning Clerk Shen that the foreigner Mo Ai-li had left on her bicycle just before midnight.

"Ah, then I'll watch for her return."

"Around dawn."

"Yes, around dawn." First Morning Clerk Shen smiled to himself. That was the time Mo Ai-li always came back. Her face would be soft and her yin yin would be satisfied-for a while. would be satisfied-for a while. Aiya, Aiya, the outside people! So strange and secretive about their coupling. So entertaining to watch. the outside people! So strange and secretive about their coupling. So entertaining to watch.

"I'm sorry we could not accept your invitation for dinner," Vice Director Han said as he ushered them into his office. "You understand, we are so busy."

"Yes," Alice said politely, "we understand." She glanced quickly at Adam. She had explained to him that this refusal was not a good sign.

"Nevertheless I am trying to make some arrangements for Dr. Spencer to do his research in the Northwest. Why did I ask you here today? I want you to meet two of our scientists." He pressed the b.u.t.ton on the side of his desk and his secretary put her head into the room. "Show them in."

She nodded and opened the door wider for two Chinese men.

"Professor Kong Zhen of Huabei University." Vice Director Han indicated one of them.

"Interpreter Mo Ai-li," Alice responded, and handed the man her name card. He looked to her like one of those too-thin Chinese men who seemed vaguely unkempt in Western clothes and really belonged in the loose robes of a feudal Chinese gentleman. Instead he wore Western suit pants with a cell phone clipped to his belt. His face was long, narrow, and flat. "And this is Dr. Adam Spencer, from America," she said.

"Spencer Boshi," Professor Kong said to Adam. He smiled, showing less-than-perfect teeth. "I confess I'm relieved," he told Alice. "At least there's one of you who can talk!"

Typical, Alice thought. Not speak Chinese, just talk.

"And this is my colleague," Dr. Kong said. "Dr. Lin."

The other man stepped forward. He was the opposite of Kong, a hulking man with a broad face, small intelligent eyes, and a full, eggplant-colored Asian mouth. He was tall for a Chinese, over six feet, but he gave the impression that he placed his limbs about himself with deliberate care. "Professor Lin," he said to her in the soft, sibilant Chinese of the Yangtze Valley, and indicated himself.

"Interpreter Mo." They exchanged cards.

"It is my happiness to meet you," he said carefully, studying her.

"And mine," she answered, following him in keqi hua, keqi hua, Polite speech. Polite speech.

"The idea of the American archaeologist is most interesting to me. In our country, we had almost given up hope of recovering Peking Man."

"Do you study the ape-man, then?" she asked.

"All my life."

"Really." Like Jian, she thought: fascinated by the past.

"It's been my life's dream to find Peking Man. Without it, the fossils we have for our research are very limited."

"I see." She looked up, aware of the others. It was inappropriate to conduct a private conversation in a Chinese business meeting. "Duibuqi, "Duibuqi, " she murmured. They all sat down. " she murmured. They all sat down.

"Dr. Kong and Dr. Lin have some interest in your research," Vice Director Han announced. "As they have luckily consented to accompany your expedition, they can help you with the many arrangements you would naturally be unable to make on your own." He cleared his throat. "This means I do not have to allocate so much time to a.s.sisting you, do you understand me or not? It removes a difficult problem for me. Under these circ.u.mstances it has been decided that I can grant the permits."

Alice translated everything for Spencer in a neutral, professional tone, smiling at the American when she put the words into English: "I can grant the permits." They went through the arrangements, the date they would depart Beijing, the plan for these two archaeologists to return and make preparations at their home in the city of Zhengzhou, Henan Province, then come north on a separate line and join their train at the halfway point. Through her Dr. Spencer explained, all over again, why he believed Father Teilhard had gotten Peking Man back from the j.a.panese and hidden it in the Northwest.

As she did her job, her mind humming in its two languages, she tried to keep her eyes off Dr. Lin. But she couldn't help seeing how he turned her name card over and over in his hands, large hairless hands with smooth, fine-textured pale-amber skin, studying her name in Chinese characters and then in English letters before glancing at her once, briefly, and then carefully sliding her card into his pocket.

"Fax for Dr. Spencer," said the short Chinese woman in the green hotel uniform, and thrust the folded paper at him.

"Yes-thank you...." He stared at it-amazing, it was here-then looked up. She was already off down the hall, her short, curved legs pumping. A young man was holding the elevator for her. She jumped inside and Spencer heard their quick, giggly Mandarin bubble up and then click off when the doors whooshed together.

He closed the door to his room, heart racing with excitement.

Open it!

He'd known they would back him, James Hargrove and Fenton Wills. Old friends. They'd been kind to him all these years, even though their stars had soared straight into the stratosphere and his-his had gone nowhere. Just teaching at the University of Nevada. Publishing the occasional minor paper. An unimpressive academic life which would contribute to Tyler's inevitable realization-someday, when the boy was much older-that his father had been a failure. He had not succeeded in staying married to Tyler's mother, and as if that weren't bad enough, he hadn't done much with his career either. Adam felt he had to turn things around. He had to be at least as good as his own father, who, though cool and preoccupied, had been a humanities professor of some note at a small campus in Sacramento. He, Adam, couldn't even seem to measure up to that slim standard. These days he was never quoted, never cited, never invited to present work at conferences. Whereas James and Fenton quickly became the people running running the conferences. Still they'd always taken his calls. Always had lunch with him when he pa.s.sed through town. Maybe they knew what he knew, that he was just waiting for the right idea, the right opportunity-and then he would make his mark. Then he would break out. the conferences. Still they'd always taken his calls. Always had lunch with him when he pa.s.sed through town. Maybe they knew what he knew, that he was just waiting for the right idea, the right opportunity-and then he would make his mark. Then he would break out.

Open it.

He turned it over in his hand, visualizing what it was going to say: Dear Dr. Spencer, the National Science Foundation is pleased to inform you ...

He swallowed and pressed the single page open. He read it. Looked out the window for a minute, heart pounding.

He read it again.

And again.

We regret we are unable to fund...

How could they?

Heavy limbed, underwater, he stood and crossed the room to the wooden desk, opened one of the Teilhard books, and slipped the fax between its pages.

How could they? How could they turn him down? This was Peking Man, for G.o.d's sake. And he knew, knew, he had what his grandfather had told him, Henry Bingham.... he had what his grandfather had told him, Henry Bingham....

Not only that. Now he and Alice had found the letter, the letter to Teilhard from the Northwest, hidden in Lucile's clothes. It was solid evidence. It proved everything.

This rejection in no way reflects on the quality of your project. We receive far more proposals than our funds allow us to support. We receive far more proposals than our funds allow us to support.

His heart seemed to be trying to hammer its way out of his chest. He walked heavily to the bed and stretched out. He lay there, motionless, staring at the ceiling.

How the h.e.l.l was he going to pull this off now?

4.

Alice hadn't been able to find Spencer-he wasn't in his room, or if he was, he didn't answer the door-so she wrote the address of the restaurant out in Chinese and slipped a note under the door suggesting he show it to a cabdriver and meet her there.

Now she sat at their table in a side room, off the middle courtyard. The clean, tiny room was exquisite with the beauty of old China. High ceilings were crossed with intricately painted beams. The floors were antique tile. Doors and windows, open now to the breeze, were framed with scrolling woodwork and fitted with etched panes of gla.s.s: each pane depicting mythical beasts, or figures from legends, or scenes from famous Chinese novels. Outside she could see waiters bearing dishes to and from the many private dining rooms which ringed the courtyard. The summer night sounds of clinking dishes, laughter, and conversations swelled all around.

She liked coming to this Sichuan restaurant because it was housed in an historic old mansion, the former home of the warlord Yuan Shikai. He had controlled Peking for only a brief time-between the fall of the Qing dynasty and the establishment of the ill-fated Republic-but he had certainly lived well, Alice thought. The mansion was right in the heart of the city, only a few blocks from Tiananmen, but like all old Chinese si-he yuan si-he yuan it was a timeless island of peace and removal. All the rooms faced inward, to the trees or ponds or rockeries in the yards. They were kept clean and perfect, even though the streets outside might be filthy. Often when she was in old Chinese houses, Alice reflected on the way in which the colloquial term foreigners had once used for the Forbidden City- the Great Within-so perfectly summarized the domestic sensibility of feudal China. Actually she knew that in old Chinese the Great Within, the it was a timeless island of peace and removal. All the rooms faced inward, to the trees or ponds or rockeries in the yards. They were kept clean and perfect, even though the streets outside might be filthy. Often when she was in old Chinese houses, Alice reflected on the way in which the colloquial term foreigners had once used for the Forbidden City- the Great Within-so perfectly summarized the domestic sensibility of feudal China. Actually she knew that in old Chinese the Great Within, the Danei, Danei, referred to the part of the Forbidden City which housed the administration for eunuchs. The referred to the part of the Forbidden City which housed the administration for eunuchs. The Danei. Danei. But foreigners found the metaphor so apt, so completely aligned with their image of the Chinese mind, that they adopted it to refer to the Forbidden City as a whole. Still today it rang true to Alice-and she could never look at the high-walled, mysterious palace complex without thinking of the words. The Great Within. But foreigners found the metaphor so apt, so completely aligned with their image of the Chinese mind, that they adopted it to refer to the Forbidden City as a whole. Still today it rang true to Alice-and she could never look at the high-walled, mysterious palace complex without thinking of the words. The Great Within.

"There you are," said Spencer, stepping over the wooden doorsill. "Sorry."

"No problem," she answered. "Here." She began serving him the spicy dried tofu, shredded jellyfish, fried peanuts, and hot pickled cabbage that had been waiting on the table. Until he arrived she had not wanted to touch these leng-pan, leng-pan, cold dishes, but now she took some for her own plate and started eating. cold dishes, but now she took some for her own plate and started eating.

He sank into his seat.

She looked up, chewing, and realized he was just staring at the table. "Something wrong?"

"I didn't get the money," he blurted.

She finished chewing, put her chopsticks down. She took her napkin up off her lap and dabbed at her mouth, replaced it. "What did you say?"

"I didn't get the grant. They turned me down."

She sat silent for a minute, then picked up the teapot. "Here." She poured. "Better drink some tea."

He looked at the cup as if he'd never seen anything like it before, and finally picked it up and drank from it. Then he smiled the soft, lopsided smile of someone who knows all about being hurt, who's been hurt before and who knows this won't be the last time either.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going ahead."

"Be serious."

"I am serious. I can't go back now. This is my chance to make something of myself."

She drew her brows together, trying to sort out this logic.

"I just have to figure out where to get the money."

"It's going to be more than you think. You have to pay for these two extra guys now. And the vice director is sure to pile on a lot of fees and charges."

"He is?"

She shrugged. "I'm sure he wouldn't have granted the permits unless he thought it'd be profitable."

"Hmm." He ran his hands through his pale hair and looked at his plate. "This any good?"

"Very. Try some."

He tasted the jellyfish. "Hey, you're right. Alice, listen. I have a great project here. If I find Peking Man, it'll transform the field. It'll answer some huge questions. I can't let the whole thing go just because the people back in Washington don't understand it-can I?"

"I guess not."

"Right."

"Teilhard wouldn't."

"What?" He looked at her.

"Teilhard wouldn't let this go. Think about it. He had this vision of evolution-he saw saw it, saw the whole design, the spiral of life from the most primitive to the highest levels of development. He saw it, and he got the fossils to prove it. But his Jesuit order said no, no way. it, saw the whole design, the spiral of life from the most primitive to the highest levels of development. He saw it, and he got the fossils to prove it. But his Jesuit order said no, no way. Littera scripta manet, Littera scripta manet, Holy doctrine. So they exiled him to China. They forbade him to publish. But did he stop studying it and writing about it? No!" Holy doctrine. So they exiled him to China. They forbade him to publish. But did he stop studying it and writing about it? No!"

"And he wrote books, and put them away, and then after he died they were read by millions of people."

"Exactly."

He thought about this. "So what was it, after all, that the Church objected to so much? What made them exile him?"

"Original sin. The Fall. His vision of man's development didn't jibe with the Adam-and-Eve myth-the idea that all humans are born soiled, sinners, and need to be redeemed. The Jesuits ordered Teilhard to sign a statement explicitly endorsing original sin. He refused. So they sent him to China."

"It sounds so insane," Spencer said. "The idea that we're born with guilt."

"I don't know," she said, uncomfortably aware of her own burden of shame. "Maybe some people still believe it."

"Well, he he saw the truth-and he had the courage to be himself. I've got to have the same courage, Alice. I have to go ahead." saw the truth-and he had the courage to be himself. I've got to have the same courage, Alice. I have to go ahead."

"But you don't have the money."

"Look." He leaned across the table. "I think I can sc.r.a.pe up enough for the out-of-pocket. I'm not sure, but I think I can. What I want to ask you is this. Would you consider deferring your fee? It's not like I wouldn't pay you. I would pay you"-he swallowed-"I would pay you just as soon as I could."

She looked at the table, dismayed. I should back out, she thought. It's his problem. Not mine.

"Listen," he rushed on. "Don't answer me right now. Okay? Think about it. Please. Take your time."

She found herself remembering the things Teilhard had written-the carefully composed thoughts in his books and the more spontaneous lines in his letters to Lucile: I don't believe I don't believe fundamentally in anything but in the awakening of spirit, hope, fundamentally in anything but in the awakening of spirit, hope, and freedom. and freedom. And for some reason she saw, flitting across her mind, the profoundly reflective face of the Chinese archaeologist, Dr. Lin. His eyes, aware. His hands holding her name card, turning it over and over. And for some reason she saw, flitting across her mind, the profoundly reflective face of the Chinese archaeologist, Dr. Lin. His eyes, aware. His hands holding her name card, turning it over and over.

"Okay," she said. "I'll think about it."

A waiter stepped over the doorsill and placed three dishes on the table. "Gan bian niu rou si," "Gan bian niu rou si," he declaimed. he declaimed. "Yu xiang "Yu xiang qiezi. Siji dou." qiezi. Siji dou."