Chapter 39: Dian Mu speaks to her co-conspirators
Draped once more across her Poltrona Frau chair, the afternoon sun hot and bright outside on the almond tree on her high patio overlooking Guangzhou, Dian Mu was thinking about her husband. More specifically, she was thinking that there wasn’t really a framework for ascended gods to divorce.
Another of the meals required by the odd circumstances of their ascendance and powers loomed, and she wasn’t looking forward to it, wished that she could break free of even this tiniest of obligations, but hadn’t found a mechanism yet. And much as she disliked the nostalgic, ill-tempered, misogynistic prude, she had no particular interest to have his blood on her hands. At least she knew the faults of this particular animist expression of thunder, had worked out a means of dealing with him. She presumed if he were destroyed, another would pop up who she would be linked to, and the possibilities there were endless.
Monthly meals were far from an onerous restriction, and she’d stopped taking seriously the rest of the historic duties of wife to husband. Her lips curved up at the thought of the undoubtedly imminent consummation of her latest transgression on marital fidelity.
However, there was work to do. The world was shifting to her whim, and she needed to ensure that the massive mahjong tiles were played in the right order and with the right degree of table talk. She slipped her earbuds in, told her phone to make the first of her calls.
Seconds later, the Chairman of the China Huaneng Group was on the line. He assured her that all had occurred as she had willed, that construction was on schedule, and that the initial tests had been flawless. He tracked through the status across the countries where they were in operation. They spoke briefly of the financial aspects of the situation. They too were favourable. She was pleased, and expressed this to him. His voice expressed relief as they said their joigins.
The HSBC Chairman followed. They spoke of the leveraging strategy that he had undertaken, where the major financial stakeholders were and key outcomes to be expected. She shared with him key insights about the upcoming changes that would be of benefit to his personal investments. He thanked her profusely for bringing the initiative to him in the first place, trusting him and his Bank to make it come to fruition.
Next she spoke to Ida. The various puts and calls had been executed, as agreed they were short in the right places and long in the correct sectors and specific companies. They spoke briefly about minor perturbations in the financial force that had come into play since last they spoke, agreed that they were inconsequential, requiring only minor adaptations to the strategy that they had laid out in Beijing months before. Ida raised the subject of another dinner, perhaps another night. Dian Mu redirected the conversation without quite saying no, put Ida off again. She had made the decision long ago that Ida was not quite to be trusted with her entire reality, and saw no reason to change that, much as it pained her to leave Ida wondering. They exchanged zàijiàns, Ida’s faintly coloured with longing.
The South African took her call immediately, woken from sleep in whatever time zone he was in today, but energetic and enthused by what lay ahead. Sadly, she’d discovered that he was entirely monogamous, at least in marriage if not in businesses, but their technical and business relationship had deepened since their first meeting. The schedule that they’d agreed on was on track, and he was looking forward to the next steps.
The next call wasn’t verbal. A finger on her iPhone, she joined her dancing partner, now much less sickly, much more centered, much more mature in his realm. They exchanged constructs of thought which would have been incomprehensible to anyone or anything else, and to her not long ago as well. Her artistic idea had borne fruit unexpectedly. In helping him, he in turn had helped her and now her intellect shone more brightly and widely than before. While still enraptured with the physical and sensual, her being had been enhanced once more. In a way, she had ascended once again. They didn’t say goodbye, one of the by products of the changes in her being that they were never really not in communication.
She spoke to Zau briefly, told the old dragon what he wanted to hear. His voice was hoarse, made less intelligible by his fangs and snout, his pythonesque tongue.
Finally, she called Zhang Gaoli. He was working on his English, understandably, so they spoke in that language of the timing and approach necessary for the next phase of what was to occur, the shape of events that they were unfolding, the implications of their geopolitical and financial origami, and the results of the various efforts under way. He expressed his gratitude once again. His position and life would be enriched by what she had brought him, the changes he was coordinating with her. Unlike Ida, he knew what and who she was, what she represented, so their call ended in the appropriate way laid out in the ancient and refreshed treaties.
The calls over, all right with the world and the near future part of it she lived within, she relaxed, let her head fall back, breathed out, stared at the ceiling for a moment. The light had changed while she spoke and didn’t speak, was now slanting with the advent of evening, was tinged ginger. She smiled, now in anticipation, and as expected a hint of vanilla stole across the room, sensual and erotic. Her skin woke up, her name etched in ancient hanji in differentials of charge upon it. Poetically lush and ripe suggestions were made in flowing language invisible to other eyes, tailored to her senses.
But now there was something new. A time. A place. An occasion to meet. In person. And a means to communicate back, a simple verbal shì or méiyǒu. She let it linger, let it sink in, let uncertainty build. Then spoke.
“Shì.”