Demon Box

No decorations adorned the walls save for a long calendar, hand-penned, and a framed photograph of students posing in a black-and-white past. Nothing obstructed the polished floor except one floor lamp, one empty urn, and three pieces of furniture—a leather divan, a two-person loveseat, and a stuffed chair that would have looked at home in any living room in middle America in the twenties. This was clearly the Doctor’s chair. He stood beside it, smiling, nodding the editor and little Bling onto the divan and the beefy photographer into the wide loveseat. To me, as to a student called to his professor’s office for a little tête-à-tête, he assigned the ceramic urn.

When we were finally situated to his satisfaction, Fung Yu-lan lowered himself into the stuffed chair, folded his hands in his lap, and waited, smiling at me. I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks and my head go empty. I began gibbering awkward introductions and explanations and stuff. Babble. I don’t think I would have recalled a word of what was said in that room if I hadn’t happened to nervously thrust my hands into the pockets of my bulky safari jacket and come upon filing’s cassette machine. I still had enough journalistic presence of mind to surreptitiously fidget it on.

And now, weeks later and thousands of miles away, as I try to type up a transcript of the taped encounter in the privacy of my own study—to have some little sample of the wisdom of the Orient to send down to my minister friend in backsliding Berkeley—I still find the exchange almost too embarrassing to abide:

Fung Meeting—Beijing Campus Day before Marathon

Dr. Fung: May I request you gentlemen some tea?

Americans: Oh, yeah. Yes. Of course. Please.

Fung: I shall do so. Pardon me.

An order is given in Chinese. There is the sound of the little girl’s clog sandals on the floor, and the kitchen door spring creaking. For a moment, as the door swings, a big band can clearly be heard swinging through the jazz classic Sing Sing Sing.

Fung: So please tell me: what brings you all to China?

Bling: Sir, me, I live here… a student at this very institution.

F: Ah? Studying what, may I ask?

B: Chinese Law and Track and Field.

F: Very good. And the rest of you?

Deboree: Sir, the rest of us are journalists.

F: Please. The years have made me somewhat deaf.

D: The rest of us are journalists! Here covering the big race! The Beijing Invitational Marathon? It happens tomorrow. Paul there is the editor of our periodical; Brian is the photographer. I am the writer.

F: Ah. A sportswriter… .

D: Not really. Fiction, usually. Stories, novels. Actually, back home, I’m quite a big-time writer.

This evokes muffled Yankee snorts: Oh boy, will ya listen to that? Big-time Writer back home.

D: Also, I am a very big fan of the I Ching, the Chinese Book of Changes. I have been consulting the Ching oracle religiously for more than ten years, throwing it every day.

More snorts, low and inside: My, my, him also Big-time Ching Thrower, too.

D: But what I essentially came to China for, actually, was to find out what has become of you, Doctor. Perhaps you are not aware of it but for many years in our country, scholars of philosophy have been wondering, “What has become of Dr. Fung Yu-lan? What is Dr. Fung Yu-lan doing now?” I mean, those of us who have been seriously influenced by your work… have been wondering—

This is mercifully interrupted by the sound of the door swinging back open and the tinkle of the tea service.

Americans: Thank you. This is very nice. You bet. Just what we needed…

F: You are all welcome.

Fidgeting. Sipping. Clink of china on china. And a kind of patient, silent amusement.

D: So, ah, here we are. How are you then, Doctor? I mean, what have you been doing all this time?

F: I have been working.

D: Teaching?

F: No. I have been working on my book.

D: Very good. And what book have you been working on?

Again, that subtle moment of amused silence.

F: I have been working on my History of Chinese Philosophy. As always. On what else would I be working?

D: Oh. Of course. I guess what I meant was on what aspect. A revision? For a new edition?