Dreams of the Red Phoenix by Virginia Pye Read Free Book Online

anyway.
    Charles swallowed and then shouted in the local dialect, “Sit!” He gestured to the available chairs. “Make yourselves at home!”
    The Chinese stared up at him, and Charles saw only distress and confusion on their faces. Where had they come from, he wondered, and from what were they running? He realized that standing so high above them wasn’t helping to put them at ease. He stepped down and began to yank the rocker and other chairs away from the center of the room. He lined them up against the walls, and the Chinese began to drift toward them. “That’s right,” he tried more patiently. “Put down your things and take a seat.”
    From his visits to Han’s father’s quarters at the back of the compound, Charles knew that the Chinese kept their formal fur niture around the outside of a room and used it only on special occasions or when an important visitor came. This parlor’s usual arrangement of seats clustered before the fireplace and in front of the bay window would seem odd to them, so Charles tried to create his own version of a Chinese setting. As he moved the fur niture, Dao-Ming appeared without a sound and began to help him. When they finished, Charles patted her on the head, and she smiled. She always stood a little too close, literally underfoot, but Charles didn’t mind having her around. She did whatever he asked, and although Charles tried not to take advantage of her too often, every once in a while he’d say something like “Dao-Ming, sneak me a malt candy stick from the cookie jar where Lian hides them, will you?” And she always would, no questions asked. She had never once betrayed him to his parents or his amah.
    He spoke again to the crowded room, bowing first. “My fami ly and I would be most honored if you would permit us the priv ilege of your taking a seat.” He bowed a second time to the most elderly of the gentleman.
    The Chinese finally settled in. They sat on the chairs and set blankets on the hearth. More made themselves comfortable along the window seats. But still no one sat on the sofa, which remained in its usual spot on the fine rug. Charles went to the injured young man and gestured for him to lie down on the silk cushions. The injured fellow looked at his friends, then down at his feet. None of them moved. Charles left the room briefly and wove through the crowd. He returned a few moments later and spread one of Lian’s rags over the silk pillows on the couch and gestured again. Finally the young man stumbled toward it on his good leg and eased himself down, grimacing apologetically.
    The older of his two friends had hollow cheeks and was miss ing several teeth, but his eyes seemed kind as he adjusted the pil low under the injured boy’s leg and crouched down beside him. His other friend had a barrel chest, stocky legs, and forearms as thick around as baseball bats. He swayed side to side and kept a restless, eager watch over his injured friend.
    Charles stepped closer to the three men and asked, “So, what happened out there this morning?”
    They looked to one another again, and the older man finally nodded. The restless fellow could hardly contain himself as he answered, “Communist guerrillas destroyed a section of the rail road the Japs have been trying to build through the mountains. I heard it was a direct hit!”
    â€œThat’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Charles asked.
    â€œYes, but they attacked us out on the plains in retaliation! They must have thought we were responsible.”
    â€œWe don’t know if that is the reason,” the older man said. “There could be action elsewhere. Or it could still be in response to the Marco Polo Bridge incident in Peking. We must be patient. Word will come.”
    â€œBut you were attacked near here?” Charles asked. “Where?”
    The older man looked at him but didn’t answer.
    The restless one