Burger, fries, and a coke

One night in late May, in the town of Zhouyuan, Shandong province, China, an American woman named Anne arrived on foot at a McDonald's to find kind of a commotion there. Outside the restaurant, a policeman was arguing with a few people near a very fancy white car. Inside, another American woman was speaking fluent Chinese to a couple of policemen; their conversation seemed to center around the woman's cell phone. The police were agreeing with her, and seeming to cooperate; they were trying to be nice. Anne averted her eyes and used her broken Chinese to order a burger, fries, and a coke. The Chinese workers hurried to bring her her order and make her happy. She was disappointed in what she received, but she'd been prepared for the disappointment. McDonald's in China could not really compare with McDonald's in the States; she'd been told that before.

Anne was a missionary in a town near Zhouyuan, and was on her way back to where she was living. She'd stopped here because, hey, she was in the city, and besides, it gave her a good memory, a connection to her home town back in Alabama. Her mission was going well, and she'd actually learned some Chinese, enough to order, for example. But she'd only been in China for a few months, and it was all pretty new to her. Here in the city, there were hundreds of bicycles, even at night. People watched her openly as it was relatively rare, apparently, to see Americans. Aware that people were watching her, she tried to mask her disappointment in the burger and especially the fries, and just enjoy the familiar surroundings - the red booths and yellow tables, the picture of Ronald McDonald on the wall, the golden arches outside the window. But as she looked around she was aware that the people in the restaurant were somewhat traumatized, even the workers. The workers talked in hushed tones to each other. One woman in the corner stared blankly, as if she'd seen her own death in the last few minutes. Something was not right.

Suddenly, the woman who had been talking to the police asked Anne if she could join her in the booth, and Anne readily agreed. She had brown hair, brown eyes and an open American expression; she was of medium height and a little overweight. She introduced herself as Corrine, and said in a casual way that she was from Oklahoma, as Anne mentioned Alabama. Corrine's hand was shaking as she sat; a cup of coffee was in one, while the cell phone was in the other. But she collected herself quickly and seemed to appreciate Anne's company. Corrine was in her thirties, while Anne was only 22, but they got along quickly and well. Anne forgot about the bad taste of the burger and instead listened to Corrine's story.

Corrine, and others in the restaurant, had apparently just witnessed a brutal murder of a young woman, outside the McDonalds. Six people, apparently members of a cult, had come into the place and requested people's phone numbers, but had gotten into an argument with one woman. A child in the group had insisted that the woman was a demon, she said, and the adult members of the cult began to beat her up, right outside the place; she had died. The police had come and arrested everyone, including the leader, who had arrived in the fancy white car.

Corrine had apparently caught the whole thing on her cell phone video camera, and had agreed to send it to the police. That's what the negotiations were about. Corrine wanted to keep her phone, but was more than willing to share the video. Corrine had reasonably fluent Chinese; she said it was from watching soap operas; it was clearly much better than Anne's, and she was able to carry on her conversation with the police pretty well, and send them the video by text. It was impressive.

Anne asked Corrine about the cult, which, according to Corrine, was called Eastern Lightning. It was Christian, but they believed that the messiah was already here, in the form of a woman, and they were known for being abusive and violent, according to Corrine, though she admitted she didn't know much. She had no sympathy for them, after what she'd seen, though. She said something of the nature that the police here weren't great, but they were better than letting these wacko Christians go about beating people to death. She herself hadn't called the police, but she had no problem with sharing her video, if that would help the police put these people to justice.

For some reason, Anne began to tell Corrine about her own circumstances: how she'd gotten in trouble in her small town in Alabama, being a rebel with her boyfriend; the boyfriend had joined the Army and gone to Afghanistan, while she, Anne, had found Jesus and come here. The white car had reminded her of the sheriff's car in that small town; she'd actually been in it once. It was the car of a pushy, arrogant, powerful jerk, she thought, and she thought of that sheriff while Corrine was describing the leader of the cult.

Anne saw the blood splattered on the McDonalds window, and thought for a moment about the murdered woman, who she could only imagine. According to Corrine, there was little anyone could do to save her life, because there were at least five attackers, and they had some kind of bludgeon or something that they'd used to beat her with. Corrine seemed to blame it all on Christians in general, as if Anne's mission was no different from this cult, and that offended Anne deeply, but she knew that people knew very little about different kinds of Christians, and realized that Corrine would know even less, living in China and all, whereas Anne had seen all kinds of things in her small town in Alabama, and knew that all kinds of things went on under the name of Christianity that would not really qualify as Christian. One had to look past the many who would abuse the name of Christianity, to truly find the heart of the religion, she felt.

Anne's impulse as a missionary was to try to convert Corrine, but she resisted it. Corrine seemed to have deep resentment against Christianity, and alienation from the US, which she'd been away from for several years, being the wife of a businessman. Something told Anne she'd already done the best she could, just by being Christian and not sympathizing with the killers. Her impulse as an American was to say that it was too bad it had happened at a McDonald's; it made the US look bad, and it made Christianity look bad as well. She sometimes wondered what Chinese said about Americans when they were out of earshot, when they were home alone but could see the Western world, with its senseless violence and bad food, encroaching in their town. She didn't want to know.  She couldn't blame them for being a little suspicious.

Corrine finished her coffee just as Anne finished her coke, and they got up to go their separate ways. Corrine thanked Anne for her comfort in a time of stress, for giving her an opportunity to talk about and process what she'd seen. Murders were rare in China. They'd be talking about this one for some time, she figured. And she was right. When Anne got home, she saw it on the state-run media service, and from then on she heard repeatedly about the brutal murder. The government, which was called the "Red Dragon" by cult members, was not crazy about the increasing popularity of Eastern Lightning, or any other cult, as far as Anne could tell. A crackdown was coming, somebody said, and there was no telling how that might affect the lives of the missionaries. Being a missionary in China, they said, wasn't easy, even in the best of times.