Yet now she had stopped lying and told this man everything about her village. After all the girls had been killed, the attitude toward female children changed completely, and they were no longer known as “dead losses.” The two hundred thirteen sacrificial victims became the villagers’ spirit guardians. Women were then revered over men, so girls were sent away to the city for school, while boys were exploited for their physical strength—once again demonstrating the narrow-minded foolishness of these people. Gradually, the women drifted away, moving on to bigger and better things. Girls who studied in the city rarely came back to marry village boys. Hongmei had been one of those girls. Her mother’s family had been too poor to send her away, and so her mother’s one wish had been to give her daughter the education she’d missed out on.

The man said, I wish I could see you now, your eyes full of homesickness, a pang of guilt in your heart. You find it strange to be so moved. You’re embarrassed; you’ve turned your face aside.

Hongmei wrote, Thank you for your patience, listening to me tell a story millions of miles removed from you. I know Americans don’t like tragedies. My husband doesn’t.

Then she thought, No, that’s not right. What was this? Criticizing Glen in front of this man?

So she deleted that last sentence.

4

It was four in the afternoon when Hongmei entered the library. First she went in the direction of the restrooms. Two drinking fountains, one tall and one short. She chose the shorter one. The water formed a perfect arc, which her lips disrupted. Her eyes swung around—no one was following her. She turned to the left, dabbing at the water droplets on her mouth and cheeks with a Kleenex. Six people in sight, but none of them could be him—too young. She’d already covered one-fifth of the library’s area. There were fewer than a hundred thousand people on campus, and she was always running into familiar faces in the library. She kept walking, as if searching for someone, though she could equally have been looking for a seat. Another fifth. Including her walk from the entrance to the drinking fountain, she’d covered more than half the room. She stopped and quickly checked if she could feel someone’s attention burning into her. She thought she could.

Finding a free computer, she sat down and logged into her email.

The man said he’d seen her strolling by and tried to connect her with the story she’d told him the night before. He was starting to understand what was up with her. He said he’d never seen anyone with such a weighty, twisted love for their hometown.

Hongmei thought, He wants to call it love—all right, then.