My new life could have continued smoothly forward: I would have fallen into the river of love, had a family, children, and the sort of career success that others would envy. In sum, I’d have had an ordinary, happy life like so many other people. Maybe, in my twilight years, sitting on the sand at sunset, some of my deepest memories would surface. I’d think of the town in Yunnan, the thunderstorm on Mount Tai, the lightning weapons base outside of Beijing, and the blizzard of Siberia; I’d think of the woman in uniform and the sword tied at her neck… but those would all be so far away, as if they’d happened in a different time.
But just as my hand touched the receiver, the phone rang.
It was Colonel Jiang Xingchen, asking if I had plans for the holiday. I told him I didn’t.
“Interested in taking a ship out into the ocean?”
“Of course. Really?”
“Come on over.”
After setting down the phone, I was a little shocked. I’d only had brief contact with the ship captain, and after meeting him with Lin Yun that one time, I hadn’t heard from him again. So what was behind his invitation? I pulled some things together to catch a plane for Guangzhou. Asking the girl out would have to wait till I got back.
I arrived in Guangzhou that same day. The climate of war was a bit thicker here than farther inland, and air defense slogans and posters were all over the place. For the captain of the Southern Fleet’s carrier to have any leisure at a time like this was astonishing. Still, the next day, I boarded a small sloop in Shekou and set out to sea. With us was another naval officer and a naval aviator. Colonel Jiang enthusiastically taught me the ABCs of sailing, how to read a chart, and how to use a sextant. I found sailing a ship immensely tiring work, and after getting a finger pinched in the rigging, I was unable to help in any way. Most of the time I sat alone at the bow looking at the azure sky and green sea, at the sunlight dancing on the surface, at the undulating reflections of the glistening white clouds, feeling the wonder of being alive.
“You spend all your time on the water. Do you really find sailing relaxing?” I asked Jiang Xingchen.
“Of course not. This trip is for you,” he said cryptically.
At dusk, we arrived at a small island, only two football fields in size, utterly empty but for an unmanned lighthouse. We were to spend the night there. Just as we were carrying the tents and other supplies in from the sailboat, we saw a strange sight in the distance.
The sea and sky out to the west were linked by an enormous column, white at the bottom but stained dark red by the setting sun at the top. It twisted lazily in the air like a living creature. The sudden emergence of this giant monster in the placid ocean felt like a bewitching python slithering up to a picnic on the lawn, turning a familiar world strange and savage in the blink of an eye.
“Okay, now we’ve got something to talk about, Dr. Chen. How big do you think it is?” Jiang Xingchen said, pointing in its direction.
“Hard to say. This is the first time I’ve seen a tornado. Probably… F2,” I said.
“Are we in danger here?” the pilot asked nervously.
“Judging from its heading, I don’t think so,” the colonel said evenly.
“But how do we know it won’t turn in this direction?”
“Tornadoes usually move in straight lines.”
Off in the distance the tornado moved east. At its nearest point to the island, the sky darkened, and we heard a low rumble. I shivered at the sound. Jiang Xingchen remained calm, watching with what almost looked like admiration, until at last it disappeared. Then he turned his eyes away.
“In meteorology, how far has tornado prediction technology gotten?” the colonel asked.
“I don’t think it exists. Tornadoes and earthquakes are the most difficult to predict of any natural disaster.”
“The South China Sea has turned into a high-frequency tornado zone as the global climate has changed. This is a major threat to us.”
“Really? Aircraft carriers are afraid of tornadoes? Of course, I suppose they’d carry off any planes still on deck.”
“Dr. Chen, you’re being naïve,” the naval lieutenant said. “The carrier’s structure can usually only withstand an F2 tornado. If anything larger makes contact, the main deck would be ripped apart. That would be utter disaster!”
The ocean water funneled up by the tornado began to rain down in a short, intense storm. The storm dropped fish onto the island, which we ate for dinner.
That night, the colonel and I walked along the beach under clear stars that reminded me of my night on Mount Tai.
“When you left the ball lightning project, Lin Yun was very upset. The project can’t go on without you, so I’ve taken it on myself to convince you to go back. And I’ve promised Lin Yun I will succeed,” he said.
The sea was dark at night, but I could imagine the colonel’s smile. It would take incredible confidence to undertake such a mission for a lover, but perhaps somewhere in him was a disdain for me on Lin Yun’s part that he wasn’t even aware of.