Jake Maroc - Shan Part 46

"He knows. I think he knows."

Sinuous stratus, tinged with the pink-orange-sienna of reflected light, the sun sinking into the cool blue mountains to the west. A pair of plovers winging their way across the dusty strands of sunlight, their feathers burnished gold for a moment, before they were gone. The scent of almonds in the air, reminding him of cyanide. He had seena man die of cyanide poisoning once, a spy who had failed, his operation compromised, capture imminent. Not only capture but torture and, finally, a longed-for death. Bit through the capsule in his mouth.

Zilin looked away, to the cyan hills. "If you believe that, then you must leave."

"Leave?" She seemed bewildered. "Where shall I go?"

"I will protect you."

"He is my husband. I cannot leave him."

"On the contrary, Senlin," he said. "You left him long ago."

"Hold me," she whispered. "Will you hold me?"

Zilin put his arms around her and she ducked her head inside, lay her cheek against his chest. Her hair swept down across her face so that she seemed lost to him. He wondered now why he had begun this affair. He had knownalways knownthat it would come to this one day. Such liaisons ended this way without fail.

But he knew that he did not want it to end. With a tiny start he realized that he was not prepared to give Senlin up. He wanted to make her happy. At this moment, that wish was extraordinarily important to him. It was as if by doing this he would be expiating all his sins. He would ease a conscience made dull and heavy by the wailing of all the dead, all the injustice, all the terror. And he might even atone for the necessity of leaving Athena, his second wifeJake's motherand Sheng Li, his mistress, to fend for themselves during the war.

He knew he was putting much weight on one act, the happiness of one human being. Perhaps too much. But Senlin was special. Was he the only one who saw that? Certainly Huaishan Han did not.

Huaishan Han. This had to do with him as well. Zilin's conscience was burdened by Huaishan Han. Without Zilin, the man would not be here now and perhaps this hideous reign of terror might not be happening.

But even as he thought it, Zilin knew it for a solipsistic thought. This reign of terror had not been thought up by Huaishan Han, and he knew deep in his heart that it would have occurred with or without the man.

Still, the evil that Huaishan Han perpetrated was plain enough. And there was the matter of the Shan. Perhaps only the mountain knew who was organizing the reaping and distribution of the tears of the poppy, but Zilin could not believe that Mao was involved. Mao longed only to be out from under the thumb of Moscow. The war in Korea, as Zilin had argued, was a difficult but definite way out. IfMao was raking in such enormous amounts of capital from the sale of opium would he have needed to involve his country in a dangerous war? Zilin thought not.

On the other hand, Lo Jui-ch'ing, K'ang Sheng and Huaishan Han had most recently emerged in the power hierarchy of the new government with an appalling amount of influence. How had it happened? Was the mountain, the Shan, partly the cause? Zilin thought it reasonable to think so.

Against him, Senlin was weeping. "It is ending," she said, "just as I saw it would."

"No," Zilin said. "This time you're wrong." But the scent of almonds was still strong on the air.

He reached upward and snuffed out the moon. Now the velvet night enfolded him. Thick clouds rode across a wheat-colored moon that was almost full. Rain was in the air, coming from the southeast. The barometer was falling, the indolent air becoming heavier still.

Zilin used the pa.s.s Mao had signed for him. He had spent an hour-and-a-half reworking the date and the result, he felt, was more than adequate. The State Security Forces prison loomed dark and forbidding. It was off the square, in a new building whose design and construction had been supervised by the Russians. Consequently, it squatted ugly, already dilapidated, old when it should have been young. It was surrounded by a phalanx of newly planted plane trees. There was an army tractor and two troop transports parked in front. All the vehicles were empty. At this time of night, the square was deserted. He pulled his official car over and parked.

He was pa.s.sed through by three sets of guards without incident. But it wasn't getting in that concerned him; it was getting out.

At night, the prison staff was cut by two-thirds. That was princ.i.p.ally because the upper floors were currently being used for administrative purposes and high-level staff meetings.

The prisoner was not in his cell, he was told by the cellblock division leader. He was being interrogated. Was this usual? Zilin wanted to know. The division leader, whose name was Chu, said yes. It went on all night.

"When does the prisoner sleep?" Zilin asked.

"He does not sleep," Chu said without much interest. "This is part of the interrogation process."

Zilin shoved the paper signed by Mao in Chu's face and said, "Take me to him."

"This is most irregular," the division leader said. "Perhaps I should check with Huaishan tang zhi."

"I come from Chairman Mao. Why don't you do it right and call him," Zilin said with heavy sarcasm. "I'm sure he would appreciate being woken up to answer such a pressing procedural question."

Chu looked doubtfully from the slip of paper to Zilin's face. Then he nodded. "This way," he said.

The hallway smelled chokingly of disinfectant. It merely masked the stench of feces and urine. Bare light bulbs set in wire cages hung from the concrete ceiling, providing mean illumination. Their shadows flickered in front and in back of them as they moved down the hall.

Chu stopped and rapped on a metal door with a wire grille set into it at head height. After a moment someone spoke to him through it. They were let in.

The vile smells a.s.saulted him. Three uniformed men were takingturns with Ross Davies who was squatting, naked, in the middle of the square room. A battery of lights were trained on him. There was an odd, vitriolic buzzing in the room and Zilin looked around. One of the interrogators was holding an electric prod. As Zilin watched, the man pressed the tip of the prod against Ross Davies's pale flesh. There was a blue-white arc, a strangled gasp of pain, and a whiff of smoke, stinking from charred flesh.

"That is enough!" Zilin commanded. "I have come for the prisoner."

"By whose authority?" the man with the electric prod said defensively.

"Mao zhu xi," Zilin said.

"It is true," Chu said, waving the paper with Mao's name affixed to it. "This minister is on the Chairman's personal staff."

"Give him his clothes," Zilin said, knowing that this had to move fast now, very fast or they would spot the flaws. "Get him dressed. Not in prison attire. Mao zhu xi wishes to interrogate the prisoner himself."

Two of them had to help Davies on with his clothes. His hands trembled and he did not trust himself to look in Zilin's direction.

"Do you need any a.s.sistance, Comrade Minister?" Chu asked when Davies was ready. "I can spare two of my men."

"No," Zilin said, "that's quite all right, Chu tong zhi, I can manage him."

"Are you quite certain, Comrade Minister?" Chu inquired, holdingthe door to the interrogation room open as they pa.s.sed through. "I do not want to think of what would happen should the prisoner escape."

"Look at him," Zilin said, supporting Davies. "The man can hardly walk a straight line let alone attempt to overpower me. I take full responsibility."

"As you wish, Comrade Minister."

Three checkpoints and they were pa.s.sed through each one. Outside, in the still night, Davies let out a tiny sigh. His head rested on Zilin's shoulder just as Senlin's had earlier that night.

"Just a few steps farther, old friend," he whispered in Davies's ear. "We're at the car now. Can you get in?" Davies nodded, disentangled himself from Zilin's embrace, slid himself painfully onto the pa.s.senger's seat.

Zilin went around and climbed in. He started the engine and pulled away from the square.

Even years later, when the memories still haunted him, he was unable to say just what it was that led him to Xiang shan. The huge park was nestled into that area of Peking known as the Fragrant Hills. It was only afterward that Zilin remembered the old name for the place: Hunting Park.

Perhaps it was because Zilin always loved this park. It had a stream running through it which originated in a limpid pool high atop Gui Jian chou Shan in the west.

In the twelfth century there was so much game in these forests that the emperors made it their personal hunting ground. But by the middle of the eighteenth century the greedy emperors had depleted the stock so completely that Manchurian ma lu had to be imported so that the hunting could continue.

The place within Xiang shan where Zilin brought Ross Davies was Shuang jing, the Villa with Two Wells, in the southern end of the park. Here there was both shelter and water, though one of the wells, the deeper one by far, was covered over with a rusting corrugated iron cap.

Zilin stopped the car at the entrance to the park and they got out. With Zilin's a.s.sistance, Ross Davies limped past the bronze lions, guardians of Xiang shan, on what used to be known as Mai mai jie, Tradesmen's Street. There were still remnants of the shops that once proliferated here.

It seemed an inordinately long way to the Villa with Two Wells but it was well screened even from within the park. This was only a temporary resting place. In the morning Zilin would have to moveDavies on. But where? First things first. We must make an example of him, of course. He could not let that happen. Spy or no spy, Davies was his friend. His life meant more to Zilin than a dress espionage trial ever could to the new China. The present regime would soon forget that Ross Davies had ever existed; Zilin could not.

He set Davies down, gave him water, made him as comfortable as was possible.

"Why have you done this?" Davies said. His face was streaked with dirt which had run in the runnels of his sweat and blood. "I was certain I'd never see you again."

"You are a barbarian," Zilin said softly. "What do you know."

Davies smiled and closed his eyes. "I thought the Shan was bad," he said. "It was worse in there," he said. "Much worse."

Zilin said nothing as he squatted next to his friend. Perhaps, he thought, it is important for him to talk now because he could not before.

"I thought that they had prepared us well for a all eventualities. But nownow I think that even they did not know what would happen to us if we were captured."

There was a deep-throated rumbling from the southeast. The rain was on its way. Zilin looked up, past the tiled roof overhang. There was no illumination in the low sky save a dull electric reflection from the lights of the sleeping city. He thought of the brilliant blue-white electric arc of the prod, the smell of cooking flesh, Ross Davies's flesh, and was glad at what he had done.

"I don't know," Davies said as the first drops pattered onto the villa's roof, "how I got here. This is a long way from Virginia. A long way from home." He put his head down between his drawn-up knees. "I feel like I'm on another planet, and I thinkI think, absolutely, that is the worst part. Dying so far from anything familiar."

"You're not going to die," Zilin said, shifting a little to get out of the rain, which was coming down harder now. He remembered the wild ride they had taken along the Jinyun Shan. He took out a cigarette, lit it, put it between Davies's lips. He thought it was good that Davies's parents wouldn't see him this way.

"I am afraid," Davies said, not smoking at all. "I am afraid to die. I would have tried to kill myself in my cell between interrogations but for that. It is a mortal fear. What will happen to me afterward? Will I drift in nothingness? Will I feel the cold? Will there be anything at all?"

"I am a Buddhist," Zilin said. "There is no heaven, no h.e.l.l."

With an uncoordinated jerk, Davies turned his head. "Then what?"

"A beginning," Zilin said. "Lifeour lifeis only the beginning of a cosmic journey. And who may say where it will end. Life is to be fought for. Every moment. But death is not to be feared, my friend."

He reached out, took the faltering cigarette from between Davies's lips, sucked in some smoke. He exhaled, gave it back.

Davies looked at him. "I am so far from home."

"Forget about America," Zilin said. "China is your home now."

Davies put his head back, took a long drag of the cigarette.

A noise, a sharp sound from the shadows beyond the well, and Zilin lurched to his feet. Saw a figure staggering toward the villa. Took a step forward, rain cascading over him, then another and another until he was near the covered well.

"Senlin!"

She hurled herself over the last few meters, into his arms.

"Ah, the lovers!"

Zilin knew that voice well. Huaishan Han. He appeared from out of the copse of trees, the hunter bringing his prey into the killing ground.

"The loyal Chu called me after you left," Huaishan Han called as he advanced on them. "He is a very thorough man, Chu tong zhi. Suspicious as well. I told him to keep you under surveillance until I arrived." He smiled but there was no humor in his face. "Now I am here."

Zilin looked down at Senlin, who was shivering uncontrollably against him. It was very dark and the rain swept away what clear vision there might be. A clap of thunder, darkness and then a spit of lurid lightning illuminated her bruised and battered face.

"Senlin, what!"

"I told you he knew," she sobbed. "This is my punishment. He hit only my face. I think there are broken bones. That is what he wanted. *Everyone must know your shame!' he shouted as he beat me. *For the rest of your life, you will be known by what you have done!' "

Zilin, speechless, hugged her to him. He kissed her face while she whimpered.

"For this?" he said, in time. "For this?"

"Not only for my infidelity," Senlin said. "But also because I carry a child in my belly. It is your child."

Stunned, Zilin watched, detached, as Huaishan Han gripped Sen-lin's wrist.

"Give her up, traitor!" His eyes blazed. They had the flat, opaquequality endemic to ideologues. Once Zilin would have bet on Huaishan Han's conversion to Communism. That was what motivated him to change sides, wasn't it? No, no. Now Zilin saw Huaishan Han for the clever opportunist he was. Moving from Nationalist to Communist served Huaishan Han well, and that was all he cared about. That was why he had involved himself with the tears of the poppy. Money and a widening power base: these comprised the ideology to which Huaishan Han subscribed.

Huaishan Han placed the blade of a knife at the side of Senlin's neck where the carotid artery pulsed. "Give her up unless you want to see her die."

Zilin unwound his arm from around Senlin. Watching for that split instant of relaxation in Huaishan Han, he ducked down and forward, b.u.t.ting his head against the other man's stomach, bulling him backward.

Huaishan Han grunted as his spine was jolted by the edge of the iron-capped well and the knife spun from his nerveless fingers.

Zilin put his hands together, slammed them down onto Huaishan Han's sternum so that the other doubled over in pain. Lifted him by crotch and hip, the rage, long held neatly in check, boiling over in a fever. Threw him upward.

Huaishan Han landed heavily on the center of the iron lid. Already rusted through by the elements and decades of neglect, the cap gave way. Huaishan Han shouted and, reaching desperately out, regained his hold on Senlin. She went down with him.

Shouting into the storm, Zilin scrambled atop the well, shaving skin off his knees and shins. The odor of the ages a.s.saulted him. He could see nothing, only feel a hand, fingers grasping for his. Reaching to his limit, he held on to skin made slick with sweat and slimy condensation.

Whose hand was it? Huaishan Han's or Senlin's? In the darkness and the storm he could not tell.

Then the bosom of the moonlit ocean opened up to him and he was within da-hei. He heard the calling.

I will destroy him. He felt the voice. I must destroy him. Let go. Let go.

No! He cried silently. No!

There is no other way. He is killing me.

Hauling on the hand. No.'

I will not let him kill you as well. Let go, I beg you.

Senlin! Stars dancing in weir light off the bosom of the ocean. I can save you! And he reached out, not with his hand or even his mind but with his qi, his extraordinary qi, until he found her, grasped that essence of her with which he had merged so many times.

And merged with it one last time.

Senlin.

It is the only way!

Then he let go of the hand.