In Michael O'Brien's novel The Father's Tale (chapter 41), the protagonist Alex is imprisoned in China. Two of his interrogators, Dr. Xia and his young translator Pin, reveal themselves to him as secret Christians:
“Alexander,” said Pin in a whisper, “we are Christians.”
“If you are Christians,” Alex said, with a certain hostility, “what are you doing in this devilish institution?”
Xia answered. “We will not remain here long." . . .
“I am a recent convert. For several months I have been a Gospel disciple—Protestant, you say—and Pin is Tsen-tu-tong—Catholic.” . . .
“I am a [Party] member in name but no longer in spirit. I am a political officer at my faculty in the university. But soon I will . . . retire. For reasons of health. Then I will become an evangelizer.”
“Dr. Xia has risked everything”, Pin said. “There are more and more like him. But the harvest is greatly in need of harvesters. He is learning wisdom swiftly.”
“Before I leave the work of the devil, I will undermine it”, Xia declared with quiet intensity. Pin lowered her eyes.
Seeing this, sadness filled Xia’s eyes. “Pin does not agree with me. She has asked me to leave immediately this work. But there are things to be finished, good work, setting captives free. Is this not in the Gospel, Pin?”
“Yes, but in another sense. We cannot work for the devil even for good purposes.”
“I am leaving soon. Give me time, my mother.”
This was an incongruous utterance, for Xia was in his sixties and Pin in her midtwenties.
“Why are you here, Pin, if it’s the devil’s work?” Alex asked.
Xia answered for her. “In the eyes of the state, she is nothing more than a worker. Her peasant background and lack of connections to the Party make it difficult for her to study. Yet she is a genius of languages, Mr. Graham. She has no academic future, and so I hire her as my translator from time to time, usually for ordinary work at the university. She is here with me because Cui thinks she is one of us. He does not suspect me. “In a free country, she would be a professor. Now she works in a factory to earn her living, and at night she moves about the city and countryside tending the flock of the Lord.”
“Doctor,” Pin interjected, “you need not speak of my situation.”
Ignoring her, Xia went on. “She has been responsible for the conversion of hundreds, including me, including other Party members. The Holy Spirit works through her, swift, far, deep. She prays with everyone who is willing to pray, Catholic and Protestant, upstairs and downstairs. She is mother to many, though, as you see, very young.” . . .
“Alexander,” said Pin, leaning forward earnestly, speaking in a low voice, “do not lose the grace that was given to you. It is difficult to trust. We know how difficult it is. You must pray again, and let our Lord show you the truth.”
There was a quality, an authority, in her words that could have come from nowhere else but the realm of Christ. Alex regretted his suspicion and bowed his head.
“I’m sorry”, he said. “You’re risking a lot, aren’t you? You’re doing it for me.”
“And for the flock of the Lord”, said Xia. . . .
“Your brothers and sisters in China, they know of you”, Pin said. “Many are pleading with heaven for you.”
“Why for me? I’m not important. Not in any way.”
“You are a brother”, said Pin. “That is important enough. Does not Saint Thomas Aquinas teach that one human soul, any human soul, is worth more than the entire value of the material universe?” . . .
“One thing is certain: for you, all paths lead to the cross. I am sorry. I do not want to tell you this. . .”
Her eyes strained with pain, Pin said, “It is better to be prepared, Alexander, than to cling to false hopes. Still, we must hope and pray.”
Shaken, Alex whispered, “You’re right. It’s better to know.” . . .
Pin plucked some dry stems of pond flowers and braided them. When Alex looked up at her, she reached for his hand, timidly at first, because the gesture was entirely alien to her culture. She looked into his eyes with compassion and encouragement. Her face was so pure, he could hardly bear it. He glanced down at his own hands, which seemed to him naked, scarred, dirty. Sinner’s hands.
“A gift for you”, she said.
Overwhelmed, he could not speak.
“Will you open your hand, Alexander?” she said.
He opened his right hand but quickly clenched and withdrew it.
“It is for you to decide”, she said gently. “You are free to open or not to open.” He opened his hand.
She cupped his hand in hers. Hers were warm, flawless ivory, a small temple.
“Who are you?” he said, unable to look at her.
“I am the smallest”, she answered.
She placed into his hand a tiny fish woven from strips of dry weed.