Chung Kuo - The Marriage Of The Living Dark Part 10

Han Ch'in met his eyes, his voice quiet now, subdued. "As ever you are right, little brother. You have an instinct for these things." He smiled, then reached out to hold his brother's arm. "No doubt it is the woman in you ..." Kuei Jen looked back at his brother, smiling now, letting the immense pride he felt show in his face. "Let me tell you clearly, Han. You would lose no face in my eyes. Besides, this is our chance to show these Hung Mao what we're made of, neh?"

"And what is that, Kuei Jen?"

"Blood and iron, elder brother. Blood and iron."

CHAPTER-5.

HOMECOMING.

Stepping down from the cruiser, Daniel looked about him, conscious of how familiar and yet how strange the Camp seemed after all this time. Ma.s.sive black walls rose up on all four sides, great circular gateways set into the centre of each, their huge wooden doors studded with brutal metal bolts. The central yard was cobbled, two parallel lines of steel cutting directly across from the North Warren to the Outer Gate, while above all, six great blockhouses - watch towers - loomed, dark and threatening.

Daniel shivered. Three months. It wasn't long, and yet it had seemed an eternity.

And what had they found out about him that they didn't know already? Nothing. At least, nothing worth knowing.

De-briefing, they'd called it Torture was another word for it The long rectangle of the exercise yard was empty. Or almost so. The Camp Commandant, Schutz, stood not twenty metres away, between the railway lines, two of his senior guards lined up just behind him.

So the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was still here, was he?

Daniel smiled. That was one thing about de-briefing. If you survived that you could survive anything, even another spell back here. "Mussida!" the Commandant barked. "Fall in!"

He fell in, legs apart, hands folded behind his back. After all, what point was there in disobeying orders? One foughtHOMECOMING when one had to fight, not over such stupid, petty things. But he could see how the Commandant thought even this a minor victory. Daniel smiled inwardly. Let him think what he wants. When it's important, h.e.l.l discover how things really are between us.

He let himself be marched, quick-pace, across the cobbles, over the ma.s.sive iron rails that cut across the yard, through a huge, circular doorway - "Camp Eickel: East Warren" on the noticeboard above the arch - and into the tunnel. And as the darkness closed about him, redolent with the smell of unwashed boys, so the past flooded back.

Home, he thought Or as near home as he had ever known.

"So what did they do to you, Daniel? What did they do?' The voices were unending. Whispering voices in the darkness of the long dormitory, wanting to know, always to know, more and more, gloating - so it seemed - on the details of his ordeal.

They tried to break me. They tried to crush my spirit. To destroy whatever it was they had created in me. But they failed. They couldn't break me. They could only kSl me.

But they hadn't killed him, and now he was back. The oldest of them now. A veteran of five tours.

"Quiet now," he said, wanting only to sleep. "I'll tell you everything in time."

But they could not be quiet They wanted to know. "There's a new boss," one of them said suddenly. "In the North Warren. A boy named Raeto."

"Oh?" Daniel had turned to face the wall, meaning to ignore them, but this was interesting. "What's he like?"

"A b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

And there was laughter at that To be a "boss" in the Camp, one had to be a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. It went without saying. Only the biggest b.a.s.t.a.r.ds became "bosses". It was why Daniel had never been a boss. Equally, he had never served a boss. After a while the bosses had known to leave him well alone. But a new boss might be different. A new boss might have ideas."Is he strong? Cunning? Cruel?" "All of those things," one of the boys - Tom, he thought it was - answered him from the darkness. "On his first day here he killed a boy. Strangled him in the showers."

"Yes, but he b.u.g.g.e.red him first!"

There was some laughter at that, but it was uneasy laughter. Most there knew what Daniel thought of such cruelty.

"And since then?" Daniel asked, turning to lay on his back "Ten, maybe twelve boys have been killed by him," Tom said, becoming the spokesman for them all.

It was not many, really, not when you thought how many boys died of simple exhaustion, or malnutrition, or disease. Still . . . "And the Commandant does nothing?" he asked.

"Nothing," came the answer from a dozen or so throats.

"I see."

There was silence, then, "Daniel?"

"Yes?"

"We're glad you're back"

"Ben? Ben, are you there?"

Shepherd turned from his workbench, surprised. He'd thought himself alone in the house. "Catherine?"

He heard her footsteps on the narrow wooden steps. A moment later her head popped round the door.

"I hope you don't mind. I'd heard..." Her face gave a little moue of sympathy. "Ifs true," he said, dropping the pen onto the page and straightening up to face her. "She's left me. Not before time I guess."

Tin sorry. I guess it must have hurt."

He shrugged, then went across and held her to him briefly, greeting her. As she moved back slightly, she smiled at him. "You know, it's really nice to see you, Ben."

"Yes?" He looked at her sceptically, his eyes searching hers. "And how's Sergey these days?"HOMECOMING "Fine. But I hardly see him. He lives his own life." Sergey was her first husband. The father of her first child, Sasha. Ben and he did not get on at all.

"So why are you here?"

"To see you."

He looked past her. "No surprise guests this time?"

She looked hurt "I thought..."

"What?"

"I thought we might try again. You and L" She looked down. Her hands still held his arms. Tve been thinking. Remembering things." He waited. After a moment her head came up and her eyes met his again, a question in them now.

"You want me to take you to the bedroom and f.u.c.k your brains out, is that it?"

She grinned. "It might be a start Ifs been ages."

"Almost five years, to be exact"

A little tremor went through her. "Well?"

He stared at her a moment, then pulled her closer, his hands sliding down her back until they rested on her b.u.t.tocks, drawing her close in against him. "All right," he said. "But no games this time, Catherine. I take you back, you stay, right?"

She smiled, then, placing her right hand about his neck drew him closer, kissing him deeply, pa.s.sionately, while her left hand travelled down his chest until it lay upon his crotch.

For an instant he tensed, as if some final barrier yet remained between them, then, with a shudder, he gathered up the soft fabric of her dress and tugged down her briefs, his movements rough, brutal almost. Freeing himself, he pushed her back against the bench and entered her, thrusting up into her with such violence that she cried out But Catherine did not try to push him away. She clung to him desperately, matching each thrust with her own, bringing her legs right up so that they pressed against his chest as he f.u.c.ked her, her eyes wide and wanton, the moaning sounds she made inflaming him, so that he came quickly, violently, his whole body going into spasm, as she too came with a great groan and a shudder.Later, snuggled up against him in the big double bed that had been his parents' and his grandparents' before that, she wondered how she could ever have left him. But then, that had been the pattern of their relationship, and doubtlessly she would leave him again despite what he said about her staying for good this time. He said it because he was hurting and in need. But when Meg came back ...

When Meg comes back things witt change. As they always did. For she's his wife.

I know that now.

It would hurt. She knew it would. But let tomorrow take care of itself. For now she was happy to be with him once again. However long it lasted.

Commandant Schutz was angry. And when the Commandant was angry, someone usually got hurt He looked about him at the crowded duty-room, then brought his fist down hard on the desk.

"How dare they send him back! How dare they!"

The rumours had been circulating for weeks now. Rumours that had begun to border upon legend. And now the central figure in that legend was suddenly back here, in Schutz's camp. The thought of what it might do to the carefully-established status quo was clearly too much for Schutz.

The cramped room was packed. Every last one of his senior officers was there, at Schutz's bidding. Above the door a single screen seemed dark, as if switched off, but if one looked hard, one might discern the sleeping figure of the boy. From where he stood by the wall, to the left of the Commandant, Schutz's second-in-command, Raditz, glanced at his fellow officers, then quietly asked: "What if he were to have an accident?"

"An accident?" Schutz blinked, and looked up at him. "You mean, kill the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

"In a manner of speaking ..."

Schutz snorted his derision. "And have the Man's agents crawling all over the place? No. Start using your brain to think with, Raditz, not your a.r.s.e! If the Man sent him back into the Camps, the Man had a reason. Killing him's no answer. What we need is to get him transferred out of here. Personally, I don't give a f.u.c.k what happens to the boy, I just don't want him here, as my problem!" "Then maybe he could get sick. Real sick."

Schutz seemed to like that better. He actually smiled. "I like that But how do we go about it?"

"Inject petroleum into his leg," one of the senior guards suggested.

Schutz laughed. "You want to try and hold him down while we do that, Sergeant?" "I thought..." The Sergeant hesitated, then, "I thought maybe we could get one of the bosses to do it for us. You know..."

"That1 s right," Raditz chipped in. "We could make it seem like it was all just part of our normal gang rivalry."

"Excellent," Schutz said, watching his man. "Now you're thinking. Okay, work on it, Raditz. But make it quick. The last thing I want is a f.u.c.king hero in the camp."

No, Raditz thought, still smarting from that earlier insult, the last thing a c.o.c.k-sucker like you wants is to have a bright light shone on his practices! "I'll get onto it straight away," he said, coming to attention and saluting. "In fact, I'll wake that little a.r.s.e-lick Raeto right now and tell him we've a job for him!"

"Good. Then go to it I want that little s.h.i.t out of here before he's had a chance to shake things up. Remember, we've worked hard to get things the way they are. I don't want any of that hard work ruined, you got me?" "I got you," Raditz said.

"Then go. And Raditz?"

"Yes, Commandant"

"Make me a tape of it, huh?"

They were woken at dawn and, after a cold shower and the briefest of inspections, marched to the meal hall at double pace. Coming out of the tunnel into the brightness of the exercise yard, Daniel closed his eyes, lifting his face to sniff the air.

For three months he had been locked in a tiny cell, his only escape the daily walk down the narrow corridor to another, bigger room where, beneath glaringly bright lights, they beat him or tortured him or found new games to play with his head.

He had almost enjoyed the last, if only for the relief it gave from the physical side of things.

Daniel flicked his eyes open. He was near the front of the column of marching boys. Up ahead was a pair of double doors. As they approached, the doors swung back. Guards -their guns ostentatiously on display - flanked the doorway, three to each side. That, he knew, was not normal. That was for him, to remind him just who was in charge here.

Inside the hangar-like hall, the stench of cooking hit him like a foul miasma. Daniel made a face. "Nothing changes," he said, and there was laughter where before there would have been none.

They were all watching him now. Taking their lead from him. He joined the queue, making no effort to push in as the other bosses did, patiently waiting his turn to take a tray, a bowl, a spoon and a cup, joining the slow shuffle towards the serving hatch.

They saw that, too, and whispered among themselves, surprised by Daniel's behaviour and wondering what it meant, for they were used to displays of power and privilege, and Daniel, surely, was a power now. Slowly the queue diminished as the boys were served and made their way to the tables. Daniel was almost at the hatch when he heard a commotion at the door. He turned, seeing at once the source of the disturbance - a small but thick-set boy with a wide, lumpy head - heading straight for him, several "heavies" - their faces familiar from Daniel's previous stay in the Camp - in tow. Raeto, he thought, knowing it even before the whispers about him confirmed his guess.

Raeto stopped a metre from him, scowling at him, staring at him as if he were a steaming pile of s.h.i.t and not another boy. "They said you were bigger," he said, a sneer in his voice.HOMECOMING Daniel stared at him, his face expressionless, taking in the cold blueness of Raeto's eyes, the strange, almost waxy, smoothness of his skin, then turned away, facing the hatch again. Barely a second pa.s.sed and then he was barged aside, as Raeto and his friends stepped in front of him. Usually they would have gone straight to the front of the queue and taken what they wanted from the trays. But today was different Today they were keen to make a point Daniel stood there, unmoving and unmoved, staring at the backs of their necks, dispa.s.sionately studying the blemishes in the pale flesh - the scabs and pustules that were the result of an unhealthy diet At least his session in debriefing had had that going for it - they had fed him well Daniel looked in at himself. His pulse had not changed. He was calm, his breathing normal. Inwardly he felt clear and still, like a cool, dark pool at the bottom of a deep, deep well.

Good, he thought, pleased that he had come this far. "You settling in, new boy?" Raeto asked, his back arrogantly turned. "You got a nice soft cushion for your head?"

There was a moment's silence. Raeto's head turned the tiniest amount.

"Maybe I come visit you," he said. "Maybe I come use your a.r.s.e, eh?" You can certainly try, Daniel thought, but outwardly he gave no sign that he had even heard the other boy.

"Yes," Raeto said, with a great deal of unpleasant insinuation. "I think you make a good cushion for my head!"

There was laughter at that from his lieutenants, but Daniel could sense how uneasy they were, having to stand there with their backs to him as the queue went down. It was clear they'd prefer to see what Daniel was up to. But Raeto was keen to give his machismo full rein.

"Maybe I let you lick me, eh? You could be my cleaner. You got nice long tongue, eh, boy?"

At any other time that would have been a step too far, for there were boys in the camp - runts and weaklings - who would provide just that service for a boss: who would suck hisc.o.c.k and lick his a.r.s.e clean for him, too. But the insult washed over Daniel.

He looked out over the rows of tables, his gaze casual. You could almost feel the expectation in the hall. They wanted him to fight - to put down this smug little s.h.i.tball once and for all. But what was the point? It would change nothing. Not while The Man was still in charge. He'd learned that. One could fight all the little s.h.i.tb.a.l.l.s in the universe - could put every last one of them in the morgue - and there would still be The Man.

And one could not fight The Man.

Raeto's head was almost half turned now. He wanted to see what Daniel was doing - to see what expression was on his face - but pure machismo did not allow him to turn round. He had set up the rules of this encounter, but Daniel had not played by the rules.

Seeing it, Daniel almost - almost - laughed.

Insults. He knew a lot about insults these days. But an insult was not an insult unless it contained a grain of truth, and all in that hall knew that Raeto had as much chance of getting Daniel to be his "cleaner" as Schutz had of getting The Man to give him head.

"Whafs the matter, new boy?" Raeto said, the tiniest hint of desperation in his voice. "Too scared to speak?"

Again the shot was wide. Daniel looked to the boy beside him. The young lad - who was eight or nine at most - was hunched into himself, fearing a sudden explosion of activity at any moment.