Some stories intersect other stories and this story is one of those. At the time, the events of this story appeared unrelated to the other stories of my life. However, as I describe in an essay, the path of life takes us up to an ever higher frame in the dimension of time and, as we move forward, we can see the past with a clarity that was not possible when the past was the present, much the same way that a hiker cannot see how her current steps relate to the entire climb until she reaches a higher vista where the wandering path can be seen in its entirety from above. And so it was with the spy in Taipei.
The story of the spy in Taipei began before I knew it started. It began in 1985 when I took a job at the Department of Defense. More specifically, the first professional job I took after graduating from the university was at Naval Underwater Systems Center in Newport, Rhode Island. I was hired as a computer scientist working within their Artificial Intelligence group. My job was to do research on solutions to the problem of passive sonar for nuclear armed submarines. I had a secret clearance at the time, for which I was investigated. My fingerprints were supplied to the FBI and a folder was opened into which information would be collected about me for the remainder of my life.
This description of my first professional job may surprise many who came to know me later in my life. After all, for a period of time I became a communist and later I became (and remain) an anarchist. At that time, however, I was neither a communist nor an anarchist. The best description of my political ideology at that time is "libertarian." I was raised in a right leaning Republican family. The University had opened my mind enough to begin exploring new ideas, but it was not in the university that I took my turn to the left. That happened later in my life. Indeed, it could be said that three things turned me to the left: (1) my experience working in the United States, my experience working for the Department of Defense, and (3) my relationship with my ex-wife, a refugee from a communist country. Working in the United States convinced me that American workers are exploited and abused. Working for the Department of Defense convinced me that the U.S. Government lies. My marriage to a Vietnamese refugee convinced me that our history is a blood and imperialistic one. It was these realities that changed my course - not the university experience.
After accepting employment with the Department of Defense, I moved to Newport, Rhode Island. My first apartment was a small part of a larger house built in the 1700's. It had almost no heat and no parking. The floors were warped from more than 200 years of ocean air humidity and New England's ever changing seasons. The apartment was all I could afford on my meager government salary.
|
 |
| My Street in Newport, Rhode Island |
|
|
I was lonely in
Newport. My finance was still at the university in Boston. This meant
every night would be a lonely night, as I couldn't pick up a lover.
From time to time I would go to one bar or another and have a few
beers. On other nights, I would walk to the nearby movie theater, a
great place for art films, and sit alone taking in a film.
There
is no doubt that I was under surveillance. I knew it. It was obvious.
My telephone at work featured a red and white sticker that read "Use of
this telephone constitutes consent to monitoring." Even the pay
telephone at work bore the same sticker. I was often searched entering
and exiting the military base. Overtime was not allowed. Listening to
music in the computer lab was prohibited because electronic devices
would modify the electromagnetic environment, thereby creating a
situation where it might be possible for foreign spies to monitor the
text on our computer screens (no joke).
Once, at a bar, when I
had a few too many beers, a strange man came up, sat next to me, and
began asking me questions about my work. Of course, I didn't tell him
what I was doing, but he clearly was a government agent testing me. You
may think I'm speculating, but I have confirmation from others that
they personally know people employed to do just this kind of thing. On
more than one occasion, at airports, I was followed by an individual
wherever I went. My home telephone had distinctive clicks which were
indicative of the monitoring technology of the time. Indeed, this
continued for an entire decade after leaving the employment of NUSC,
anywhere and everywhere I moved within the United States.
While
working for the Department of Defense, several things about me raised
the suspicions of various paranoid coworkers. The man charged with
security in our department was intrigued by the fact that I had studied
Russian in the university. When explaining to me various things I
cannot write about, he asked me if I knew the name of the peninsula
which hangs southward from Siberia. I answered, "the Kamchatka
Peninsula, of course." "Hmm," he said. "And what is the name of the sea
to the west of it. Proud of my knowledge, I answered, "The Sea of
Okhotsk." He glared at me and said, "You know, it's rather curious that
you know these things."
After some months there, I was asked if
I would like to attend a special presentation by a captain in the
Soviet Navy. "We have an exchange program where each country gives
presentations about their countries," my boss explained. "Would you
like to go?"
Naturally, I wanted to go, so I accepted.
The
presentation was in a large assembly hall, much like those used in high
schools. On the stage was a man dressed in a Soviet Navy uniform. There
was a screen and he spoke between film presentations. Now, as I
mentioned, I studied Russian in the university. I found his accent
unconvincing. Worse, the films presented portrayed the Soviet Union in
a largely negative and bullying light. This is not how the Soviets
would have presented themselves. At one point, they played a "music
video" to Michael Jackson's song "Beat It." The music video portrayed
both sides shooting shells from their ships while Jackson sang "it
doesn't matter who's wrong or right, just beat it!" During another
video, to the tune of "Back in the U.S.S.R.", ugly Russian grandmothers
where shown in long queues waiting for a ration of potatoes, during the
line "The Ukraine girls really knock me out, they leave the west
behind." I grew increasingly indignant at the propaganda. Finally, the
question and answer period came and I stood up and asked, "Sir, are you
really Russian? I've studied the Russian language and you do not sound
Russian to me." The presenter turned red and admitted that the show was
a farce and that he was not a Russian. Perhaps this was funny to
everyone, but it wasn't to me.
At the end of each week, we were
required to write a report on our week's work. I included in that
report my thoughts on the fake Russian presentation. I stated that I
found the entire thing propagandistic and dehumanizing of a people who
had never attacked us our gone to war against us. My boss was troubled
and asked if I really wanted my report submitted. I told her, "Yes, I
do want it submitted." It was submitted.
A month or so after
that experience, all new employees were required to attend a
presentation by the man that arrested the spy John Walker. It was a
very interesting presentation and it effected my understanding and
reaction to many things that would happen to me later in life.
The
format of the presentation was a sequence of actual cases where
Americans had turned spy for the Soviet Bloc, how they were caught, and
what happened to them after being caught. We were told that our
communications were being listened to, that our travels were being
investigated, and our contacts were being investigated, all in course
of what we were doing for a living.
Additionally, the topic of
blackmail was discussed. We were told how to react if we were
blackmailed. The case of a French man who worked for the French
military was brought up. In his case, he went to the Soviet Union on
official business. While he was there, he was seduced by a beautiful
Russian woman. The two made love in his hotel room. He was a married
man.
After this enjoyable tryst, the K.G.B. came to visit him
and showed him a large and detailed collection of photos detailing the
affair, including shots of the two making love. The K.G.B. told him
that he was to work on their behalf when he returned home. If he did
not, copies of the photos were to be sent to his wife.
The
French man grinned, and told the K.G.B. agent, "Oh, please do. In fact,
can I have copies right now. They may come in use tonight when I'm
alone. While you're at it, please blow them up before sending them to
my wife, as I'm sure she'd get off on them."
Needless to say,
the K.G.B. came through with their threat. He fessed up to his wife
right after it happened, so she knew what was coming. The lesson was
that it was better to live up to the truth and accept your actions than
to be turned a spy for the enemy. After all, we were being watched and
would never get away with espionage anyway.
Now, I have no
respect for spies. I think they are evil to the core, whether they are
our spies or someone else's spies. I would never spy on my country and
I would not spy on behalf of another country, so I took all of this as
an act of intimidation.
The question and answer period came and
I was the only one with the balls to ask a question. I asked, "To what
degree are your activities a violation of the Constitution and does
violating the Constitution bother you, given that you have taken an
oath to uphold and defend it?"
The spook looked at me with a look of shock. He replied, "Oh, we have a civil libertarian in the crowd. What is your name?"
I replied, "Stephen DeVoy." He wrote it down.
It
was becoming clear to me that I did not belong there. While working for
the Department of Defense, another opportunity arose. NUSC sent me to
classes at LISP Machine Incorporated in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The
office was right between Harvard and Central Squares. As I walked from
the office to the Red Line, I ran into members of CISPES (Committee in
Solidarity with the People of El Salvador), an organization under the
surveillance of the FBI at that time, and took their literature about
what was happening in El Salvador at the time. What I knew of the
Vietnam war was echoed in their literature and I became increasingly
interested in the Central American struggles against capitalism. I
decided to leave NUSC if LISP Machine Incorporated would hire me. I
sent them my resume and they offered me a job.
I had grown to
like the people I was working with at NUSC. Leaving was not easy.
Perhaps it didn't help that when I quit, I specified that the reason
was that I believed that "War is obsolete." I didn't know what my
coworkers thought of me. However, at my going away lunch, they gave me
a gift. I unwrapped it and it was a framed picture of a submarine.
Everyone looked at me with a mischievous look as I proudly held it up.
My boss finally asked, "You do know what kind of sub that is, don't
you?"
"No, I replied," I've never seen it before.
"Are you sure," she asked?
"Yes, positive," I said.
"It's a Russian sub," she announced. Everyone laughed. I did too, but I wondered if this was a message.
Years later I would discover what she really thought of me.
This
story is an appropriate introduction to the rest of this story for
several reasons. It establishes why the U.S. Government would be
interested in me. It establishes why I reacted the way I have to
various events in the rest of this story. It explains how I got the job
that took me to Taipei in the first place.
Several jobs and
years later, I interviewed for a job at a very small company in
Anaheim, California: Integrated Inference Machines (IIM). IIM was the
last of the LISP Machine companies. It was markedly different from LMI,
Symbolics and Texas Instruments in that it used a completely different
architecture and it worked only as a co-processor. It was housed in its
own box which needed to be connected to an Intel 386 with Windows to
operate. The company never succeeded in taking hold. It survived
primarily from investment funds, most of which came from the
president's Taiwanese connections.
The company had two
divisions. One division was commercial and the other was federal. I was
hired into the commercial division with the purpose of developing
Artificial Intelligence software for their machine. Specifically, I was
involved in porting an existing neural network shell from C to their
LISP environment.
The owner generated interest within the
military of the Republic of China (Taiwan). They wanted a battlefield
management system. My boss thought it would be cool to integrate the
neural network system with an inference engine, so I developed that as
well and we built a demonstration system on top of it. At this very
same time, Iraq invaded Kuwait. I was moved over to the federal systems
department to work on the aforementioned program. One of my coworkers
was an Iraqi national with family in Iraq. We worked together on the
project for the Republic of China.
When I moved to California to
take this job, my wife was too wrapped up in her quest for money to
move with me. She wouldn't move until she found a job in California.
However, that was not an easy task with her back in Massachusetts doing
absolutely nothing to find a job in California. We had $60,000.00
dollars in the bank at that time. We could easily have survived an
entire year with neither of us working. Had she really loved me, she
would have come to California with me, but she stayed, promising to
move soon. It took her two years to move to California and when she
did, our relationship was already ruined, as you will see in the next
story.
Because my wife was in Massachusetts, I went back to
Massachusetts once each month to spend time with her, usually for just
a weekend. This was wearing down on my spirit, so my employer allowed
me to work from home in Massachusetts for about six months. This was
before the Internet existed and updates were sent by U.S. Post in the
form of large floppy disks which were, in fact, floppy.
By this
time, I considered myself a communist and I had joined a Trotskyist
group named Solidarity (in Los Angeles). Looking for political things
to do while back in Massachusetts, I joined CISPES in Boston. I also
got involved in Solidarity in Boston. When the war with Iraq broke out,
I was in Boston and joined a great march against the war. I became very
active politically and attended many protests.
During one
protest, I came in direct contact with the Secret Service. Dan Quayle,
Vice President at the time, came to Concord, Massachusetts to give a
speech. I was in the large welcoming "committee" of dissidents that
came to "greet" him. In the crowd were a great number of rowdy
protesters, including a guy with a large sign showing a picture of a
bird and a shotgun. It read, "Quail Season is Now Open." This riled up
the Secret Service a bit. I had with me my back-sack. The Secret
Service began targeting specific people for harassment and I was one of
those they chose. They asked for my name and searched my backpack.
Convinced that I was not dangerous, they let me continue with the
protest.
It was a fun protest, so fun I almost felt sorry for
Dan Quayle. He emerged confused from his limousine and stumbled towards
us, the protesters, mistaking us for supporters. We chanted, "Dan
Quayle, you're a mess, we charge you with mindlessness." He climbed up
the podium to speak and began with "I am proud to stand before you in
this, the birthplace of the American Revolution!" I screamed, "What do
you know about revolution?" The crowd chanted "Revolution!" several
times and then went off to other chants. No one could hear Dan Quayle
at all. The next day, in the papers, they tried to shame us for not
allowing him to speak, but no one shamed the administration for backing
and funding the murder of Salvadoran peasants.
We return to
CISPES. Now, as I mentioned earlier, CISPES was a target of the FBI.
Keep this in mind as you read the rest of this story.
At a
CISPES meeting in an old church in Cambridge, a couple of members
invited this woman they had recently met. They didn't know her well,
but they thought she was "really cool." Her name was Bridget.
Bridget
entered the room, sat across from me at the table, and gave me a
pleasant look. When we were each introduced to her, round robin about
the table, a friend of hers said, "This is Steve. Though he wears no
wedding ring, I warn you that he is married."
Bridget replied,
with a twinkle in her eye, "All of us women are very disappointed." She
smiled at me. I fell for her right there and then.
Now, I had
been angry at my wife for some time. I wanted her to move to California
now rather than later. I had gone nearly a year with little sex and
now, though I was back, I was beginning to have second thoughts. I was
in denial about this at the time, but looking back, it is clear that I
would not have fallen for Bridget if I was complacent with my wife.
Bridget
and I met again at a meeting in the woods surrounding the Blue Hills.
The meeting was on the topic of fund raising for the coming delegation
to El Salvador. I wanted to go. In fact, I had enough money to send the
entire group to El Salvador. My wife, however, was so controlling of
our money, they she would even return my purchases to the stores I
brought them from without telling me. I would only find out when new
items disappeared on me and she later admitted it. If I were to go to
El Salvador, I would have to raise the money the way others did - fund
raising (which is absolutely pathetic). I entertained this possibility.
Bridget
and I were paired at the meeting to raise money for the trip. We both
had decided to go to El Salvador. As it turned out, I raised money and
she did not. However, I decided not to go and let her have the money I
raised for two reasons. I never told her this, but if only one were to
go, I wanted it to be her because I liked her and, no less important, I
couldn't stand the idea of going on money raised from donations when I
had so much money in the bank. I knew my wife wouldn't let me use my
own money to go, but I still did not feel comfortable using money
donated by others to send me. Bridget went to El Salvador. I did not.
Before
Bridget went, I was called by my office in California. They needed me
to wrap up the project and go to Taiwan with them to present it to the
Taiwanese military. Before I returned to California, however, they
wanted me to accompany them to my old employer, Naval Underwater
Systems Center in Newport, Rhode Island. They hoped to gain NUSC's
interest. I was not comfortable playing this role, but the company
really needed funding and had I said "no," there would be
repercussions, so I went along with them. My boss and a coworker flew
to Boston and met me at a hotel along 495 west of Boston. I drove them
down to NUSC, where I had not been since I left in 1986. Almost five
years had passed since then.
Entering the base as a visitor was
very different than entering the base as an employee. For one thing,
outsiders could not bring their cars inside. We had to park outside of
the base where there is a small building for interfacing physically
with the outside work. Once there, we had to be cleared. One by one
they entered our information into the computer. My boss and the other
guy where processed easily, but in my case it took them a while. I
could see the computer screen, though only partially. I saw some code
that said something like "Classification: C". It seemed to mean
something troubling to the security agent. I fantasized that "C" meant
communist. Nevertheless, they let me in.
We were transported
under escort to the building where I once worked. When I came in, my
old boss met me and was as cold as ice. She did a perfunctory job of
dealing with us and then the meeting quickly came to a close. I was
disappointed in her, but I believe my political activism had become a
concern and she did not want to be noted as friendly to me.
I
thought back over the last months and remembered that I had written
many letters to the editor that were published in the Boston Globe, the
Boston Herald, and the Worcester Telegram. I took a clearly leftist
stand in those letters and had deeply criticized the government and the
military. This probably had something to do with her reaction.
Shortly
after this meeting, without telling anyone at CISPES, I flew back to
the west coast, rented a car, found a hotel, and continued preparing
for the trip to Taiwan. The war intensified. While this was going on, I
attended antiwar protests in Los Angeles.
I knew when Bridget
was going to El Salvador and decided to give her a call from California
when she returned to Massachusetts. About a week after her return, I
called her apartment. Her roommate answered. I asked for Bridget and
she told me that Bridget wasn't there, so I decided to leave a message.
I explained who I was and that I had wanted to chat with her after her
trip to El Salvador to see how it went.
Bridget's roommate got
all animated when she heard my name and told me, "Bridget has returned
to California. She's at her parent's house. I know she would just love
to hear from YOU. Here's her telephone number...
I was surprised
to find that Bridget was now in California, just after I returned to
California. Moreover, she was only about - an hour's ride away. Now,
for all I know this was just one of those coincidences in life. Looking
back at what happened later, a story I will soon tell, there may have
been more to her move back to California than I understood at the time.
I
called Bridget and she was more than happy to speak with me. We agreed
to meet at her house where she would give me a presentation on what she
thought of her experience in El Salvador. As she described it, "She
would practice on me," as she planned on giving the presentation to
others. We set a date for our meeting and she gave me her address.
The
day came to fly to Taiwan. I packed my clothes, several books, and some
CDs. Included in my collection of books were several books by Bertrand
Russell. We went to the airport, boarded our flight, and took off on
our first leg to Japan. Until sunset, our flight followed the coast.
When the sun set, we were over Alaska. I awoke as we descended into
Tokyo. Militaristic looking airport security with machine guns directed
us through immigration and then onto the gate of our connecting flight
to Taipei.
|
The flight to Taipei was uneventful. We were met at the airport by several individuals working for the military of the Republic of China. The drove us to a military base next to a small village in the Taiwanese country side. As we drove there, we passed rice paddies and bamboo overgrown hillsides.
Our passports were seized by the Taiwanese military (a precaution against espionage) and we were housed in officers quarters, complete with a small kitchen, separate bedrooms, and a laundry with tiny plastic washers and dryers. Tired from the trip, we passed out and were awaken at sunrise by our hosts.
Our hosts were magnificent. We installed our hardware and software in their computing center - a white "clean room" where we had to done white lab coats, disposable slippers, and hair nets.
At a meeting attended by a dozen generals, we did a presentation and had lunch. They asked me about my political beliefs. I told them little, as I knew their views on communism, and focused only on the relationship between large countries and small countries and how I believed that Taiwan was getting a bum deal by the U.S. Government (which was a correct assessment of my position on that very narrow topic). They smiled and agreed with me.
After about a week with the military, our passports were returned and we made our way to Taiwan where we had another presentation before commercial interests. While I was there, two Americans from CACI introduced themselves to me.
|
As it turned out, my next job after IIM was with CACI. CACI would later
become involved in the second Iraq War's torture scandal. At CACI, our
biggest client was the CIA, something I did not know
before I took the position. However, that is part of the Story of
Bridget and we will return to that story later.
Two flirted with me in
Taiwan. One was a wealthy corporate investor who presided over the
presentation to commercial interests. As much as she tried to win my
attention, I kept my wife in mind and did not respond. The next woman,
however, did get some of my attention. I never did more than give her a
kiss, but, as I will explain later, that is because of my training by
the Department of Defense many years before.
I had some free
time in Taipei before we returned to California. The president of our
company boarded us in his family's condominium, conveniently
located downtown. A Canadian coworker and I decided to take the plunge
and wander around the immediate area. The street we chose, not far for the condo,
was narrow and lined with bars and restaurants. We turned into a
bar, found a table, and ordered one beer each. As we sat,
discussing the interesting things we had seen, a beautiful woman, about
24 years of age, entered the bar and sat at a table near us. She
glanced at me repeatedly. I glanced back. After a few repeats of this
primate ritual, our glances met and we both smiled.
She got up
from her table and sat down next to me, introducing herself as Ling.
She told me she was a student, and then, with an engaging stare, added
that she was a "revolutionist." I was surprised by this introduction.
Married as I was to a Vietnamese woman of Vietnamese and Chinese
extraction, I knew that it was very uncustomary to stare into the eyes
of another, especially a stranger. Looking directly into the eyes of a partner in conversation is a western cultural
attribute. In the Far East it is an act of aggression. She obviously
knew how to interact with westerners and had practice at it.
"Wow," I said. "I am a revolutionary too, but as best I understand it is not safe to talk about such things here."
With a serious look, she replied,"I'm a student of philosophy."
This
was getting increasingly improbable, for I was a student of philosophy too. I had already earned a degree in computer science, but it was
my intent at the time to complete a degree in philosophy as well
(indeed, I did, four years later). "Who is your favorite philosopher?"
I asked.
"Bertrand Russell," replied Ling.
I almost fell off of my seat. "He's my favorite too!" I exclaimed. "It's astonishing how similar you and I are."
She
smiled. We continued talking. My friend enjoyed talking with her also. I asked her what she was doing in the bar and she confided that
the owner gave her a cut of each drink we bought her. To keep her
employed, we started buying her drinks.
Now, my experience in
Tijuana taught me about this kind of employment and I figured her for
nothing more than a prostitute, except for the very strange coincidence
that she and I were revolutionists, we were both students of
philosophy, and we both considered Bertrand Russell to be our favorite
philosopher. This did not reconcile well. I considered the possibility
that our employer had hired her to keep an eye on us, but this
contradicted the fact that it was completely unnecessary to do so
clandestinely. After all, if he had introduced this woman to us and
told us that she would be taking us around, we would have happily
accepted the offer and I'm sure he would not be surprised that we
would. More importantly, I am certain that no revolutionist introduces
herself to strangers in bars as a revolutionist, especially in
fanatically anti-communist Taiwan. Come to think of it, no person
without the permission of the government would do this. Nevertheless, I thought it so improbable that someone would send a spy to watch
me in Taiwan, that I decided to assume that what she said was true and
to enjoy the encounter, within reasonable limits (limits imposed by what I had learned working for the Department of Defense).
I asked her if
she'd be interested in showing us around. We'd pay her for her time.
She went to the bar's owner and he let her go for the evening. Ling
accepted a mere 50 dollars to be our guide that night. I explained
to her that I was married and wanted her as guide and nothing more. She put her
arm around my waste and we walked off into the night of downtown
Taipei. The three of us had a great evening and when it came time to
return to the condo, I arranged to meet her the next day in front of
the bar at 4:00 PM. My friend arranged to meet her earlier the same day.
He and I were both married and I do not think he engaged her as more
than a guide as well.
During the day, Ling obtained
tickets to a Chinese opera that very same afternoon for my friend.
When they finished, she met me in front of the bar. We walked around downtown and
talked about philosophy for a while. I found her knowledge to be
limited to Bertrand Russell. She had indeed read several books by him,
but I had the impression that she did this very recently and only once.
Nevertheless, she was pleasant to look at and there was a lot to do and
see. At about 4:45, she asked me if I would like to go to a museum
situated a few blocks away. I agreed.
We walked up the stairs to
the museum and as we entered, a stern guard approached and announced that we
could not enter the museum. It was closing for the evening. We would
have to leave. She turned towards him, looked directly into his eyes, and while standing at what looked like attention, she spoke to him in a
very calm but loud and firm tone, in Chinese. His eyes averted
hers. He looked intimidated. He said something and took a step
backwards. Ling turned to me and said,"This kind gentleman has offered
us the museum for the next hour to walk about and enjoy alone."
I
was, to say the least, very surprised. Hand-in-hand, we toured the
museum, she and I, together and alone. The guard waited by the door to
let us out when we were finished. She leaned towards me in an intimate
and playful way as we walked, hugging my arm with both of hers. I
had the impulse to kiss her, but I held back.
After the museum,
we went out to dinner. At the end of the evening, I offered to pay her for her
time, but she would not accept. "I'd like to see you
tomorrow," she said. We made an agreement to meet in front of the bar
at 10:00 AM. She hailed a taxi, we hugged, and away she went.
When
I returned to the condo, my friend and the president of the company
were sitting at a table in the kitchen. I came in during their
conversation about Ling. The company's president, a former resident of
Taipei, was insisting that there was no way my friend and Ling obtained
tickets to the opera on zero notice. "It takes months to get those
tickets," he said. But my friend had a ticket stub and a long and
interesting story about the experience. Given what I saw that
day, I am certain that she applied her"magic" and got him the tickets.
I
had trouble sleeping that night. I felt guilty about spending time with
Ling and I felt guilty about thoughts of Bridget. I wrote Bridget a
post card. The next morning I asked the woman of the house to mail it
for me and headed off to rendezvous with Ling.
Ling was bursting
with color that morning. She wore an orange miniskirt and a floral blouse.
Like teenagers, we walked, as if on air, through the downtown market,
looking at all of the interesting things we came across and talking to
one another about, of all things, communism. I asked where she would
like to lunch, and she said"Pizza Hut." We hailed a cab and went to a
Pizza Hut near a movie theater.
The Pizza Hut was familiar, but
different. In size, it was more like one of those two story McDonald's
you find in the urban areas of cities like Boston or Quebec. The
menu was very different. Yes, it offered the conventional things one
finds on pizza, but it also offered a wide range of seafood topings - things like scallops, squid, octopus, shrimp, and so on. I found this
very appealing. Another major difference was an alternative to cheese,
based on soy. I asked her about it and she explained that most Chinese
consider cheese to be disgusting and this is what they order instead.
I
ordered a pizza with cheese and all of the available seafood toppings.
She ordered a pepperoni pizza with the fake cheese. We playful talked
throughout the meal and when we were done, she said, "Let's go to a
movie! There's a movie cinema across the street."
We crossed the
street, I bought two tickets, and we entered a theater much like any in
the United States. I was deeply engaged in conversation with her when
martial music began playing. I ignored the music, but she snapped
to attention, looked at me sternly and with a bit of indignation in her
eyes, said,"Stand up, now, this is our national anthem!"
Now,
this was a telling moment and I had a bit of an epiphany. Why in the
world would a"revolutionist" behave this way in response to the
national anthem? I asked her about it and she said,"You don't want to
get in trouble, now do you?" So I stood up, with the rest of the
audience, listening the martial music as the flag of Taiwan waved on
the screen.
When it ended, I was glad it was over and sat back
down. The two of us were quiet for a while, ignoring one another, but
as the movie started, she snuggled toward me held my hand.
That
evening, we agreed to meet again the next evening, at the same time.
She told me she had made arrangements to meet my friend too. Since
it would be our last evening, she'd like to take us out. We hailed a
cab, she told the driver where to take me, and I paid the driver for
her ride and mine.
Another night passed with restless sleep. I was beginning to like her, but I found her to be an enigma.
The
last night was, in a way, the best of all. It was surreal. The three of
us had dinner. The rain poured down torrentially and would not stop. The
three of us, under the cover of umbrellas, took a taxi to the Chiang Kai Shek memorial. The deluge was of such
proportions, that we were the only souls there. In the great plaza of
monuments and buildings open to the torrential sky, we danced about, like three
lunatics. At one point, the rain became so heavy, it was like standing
in a waterfall. We scrambled up the steps of the
memorial and took refuge beneath the roof's overhang, behind the veil of
runoff. Had it just been Ling and I behind the shroud of falling water, it would have been an incredibly
romantic moment and I may have just broken down and made out with her, there where no cameras could spy.
But it was not just the two of us. My friend began pounding on the
monstrously large doors of the memorial yelling,"Hey Chiang, let us in,
it's raining out here." I thought this was funny, but it pissed off Ling
and she gave us a speech about showing respect. Now, this was the
moment when it became undeniable to me that Ling was not who she said
she was. I already figured she wasn't a philosopher, but now I doubted she a revolutionist either. Who was she?
She became friendly again. This was
the end of our journey together. My friend
and I put our money together and gave her a gift of cash for giving us
such a wonderful time while we were there. At first she refused, but we
pressed and she accepted it. We hailed two cabs, one for my friend and
I, and one for her. As we parted, we hugged. She turned towards me for a
kiss and I did kiss her, lightly, the way one kisses a relative.
"I know, you're married," she said. "I understand. You are very old-fashioned?"
"Not
really," I replied. "I love my wife, but I would like to keep you as a
friend." She gave me her address. I wrote her from Massachusetts, some
time later, but I never heard from her again.
Back in the United
States, when I told her story to Chinese and Vietnamese friends, they
all, without exception, insisted that she must have been a spy. The
question was, whose spy was she? Given her knowledge of me, I think it
is likely that she was one of ours.
Back in Los Angeles, I had a
short window of time remaining during which I could see Bridget before
returning to Massachusetts. I called her and we made an appointment. I
was to meet her at her parent's house in Palos Verdes. She gave me
directions.
Now, CISPES members are not good dressers (and
neither am I). They wore your typical comfortable American leftist
clothes which could be described, more or less, as cheap rags. When I
arrived at Bridget's home in Palos Verdes, California, she came to the
door dressed rather attractively. She had makeup on (something I had
never seen on her before) and she was positively radiant. She seemed
very, very excited that I was there.
We had dinner at a restaurant in San Pedro
and while dining, we discusses CISPES. She told me of how she did not like the members of Boston CISPES, especially Sarah. She confided that the only remaining member she liked was a guy the name of whom I do not remember. He was a professor at that time.
There is much
more to say about Bridget. In fact, the story of Bridget is a long
story that, it now appears, has not yet ended, though I thought it
ended in 1994. It turns out, Bridget is not who I thought she was.
|
Copyright �
2008, Stephen DeVoy. All rights reserved. Copying and republishing
is prohibited without prior written permission of the author.
|
|
