by Ian Hamilton
“You were born in China, in Wuhan,” Su finally said.
“In a village near Wuhan.”
“When did you leave?”
“Nineteen fifty-nine.”
Uncle expected a comment about the Great Leap Forward. Instead Su asked, “How did you leave?”
“I swam across Shenzhen Bay.”
“That was a popular exit point,” Su said. “How fortunate we are to live in this era, in a time when people are proud to be Chinese and, instead of wanting to leave, are returning to invest in our country’s future.”
Where is this heading? Uncle thought. Gone was the aggressive, threatening Su of the previous night. Uncle had expected that mention of his illegal departure from China would generate some kind of negative response instead of something that was closer to condoning it. “I believe in what Premier Deng is trying to do. That’s why I decided to invest in Shenzhen in the first place,” he said.
“The problem, Chow Tung, is that you brought some of your less welcome and frankly nauseating Western capitalist habits with you,” Su said, his tone sharpening.
It was a statement that Uncle knew he would be wise not to acknowledge. Then he thought of something and said, “Can I ask you a question?”
Su frowned.
“Who is General Ye?” Uncle asked, taking the plunge.
“Why do you ask that?”
“When I was brought here last night, one of your men mentioned that I was a guest of General Ye. Naturally I’m curious to know the identity of my host.”
“That man’s words should not be taken literally. General Ye is one of three divisional generals attached to Guangdong province. Guangzhou has the largest contingent and the most senior general, but General Ye’s responsibilities here in Shenzhen are perhaps of even greater importance to the state. And as for the man’s reference to him as your host — well, you could say that, given the general’s responsibility for maintaining order in the zone, we are all his guests.”
“Where is he from originally? Ye is not a common name in Guangdong.”
“The general is from Xin county in Henan, a famous and revered place for us in the military. We call it the ‘Cradle of Generals.’”
“There is a Ye Desheng on the Politburo Standing Committee. Are the two men related?”
“How do you know about Ye Desheng?” Su said, sounding surprised.
“When the twelfth Politburo Standing Committee was named, the newspaper I read every day listed all the members. His name was unusual enough for me to notice, and I’ve seen it mentioned several times since,” Uncle said. “Are the two men related?”
Su hesitated and then said, “Yes, they are. Ye Desheng is the general’s father, and he was a general in his own right. He was one of Mao’s most trusted officers throughout the Long March and in all the years that followed, until Mao’s death.”
“I’ve heard that the sons of men who were Mao’s key aides during the Long March have special advantages. In fact, I’ve heard them referred to as princelings.”
“General Ye is no princeling,” Su snapped. “He is a first-rate soldier who has risen through the ranks entirely on his own merit.”
“I have no doubt that he has.”
“Enough talk about the general. We’re here to talk about you,” Su said, tapping the folder.
“I’ve told you everything I know.”
“No, you haven’t, but I’m not going to argue with you about that,” Su said. “Captain Ma and I spoke last night. We are agreed that there is already sufficient evidence to bring charges against you of corrupting a public official. If we do, you’ll be in front of a judge within days and sentenced to what I assure you will be a very long prison term or a quick death.”
Uncle noted the use of the word if, and knew that it was poisoned bait. Su was hinting at a deal, and Uncle wasn’t going to admit to anything that might give him one. Besides, he remembered how Peng’s deal had turned out. He looked across the table at Su and stayed quiet. As he did, it struck him that Su seemed awkward, almost uncomfortable with the negotiations that had begun without being declared. Maybe making threats was his comfort zone.
“You aren’t the least bit afraid of prison?” Su said.
“Before I go to prison I have to be charged, tried, and found guilty. I have to believe that even in China an innocent man can be found innocent.”
“You have nerve,” Su said.
“I also have nothing to lose. China has already taken everything in my life that I valued. My grandparents, parents, and sister all died during the famine Mao created, and the woman I loved and was going to marry died swimming across Shenzhen Bay with me. What else can you take? What can you do to me that would be worse than what has already been done?”
Su looked down as if to examine the file, and Uncle knew he had rattled him.
“Would you like some more water?” Su asked when he raised his head.
“No, thank you.”
“A cigarette?”
“No,” Uncle said after a slight hesitation.
Su shrugged. “You’re making this very difficult for yourself.”
“That isn’t my intention. Why would it be? All I can do is tell you the truth, and if that isn’t good enough, then so be it.”
“Let’s not debate what is true or not true,” Su said. “Do you have any interest in listening to an offer?”
“Lieutenant, I’m hardly in a position to say no, although I can’t imagine what I might have to trade.”
“We might be prepared to ignore the fact that you bribed Peng.”
“Considering that I didn’t, that isn’t much.”
“And, of course, if there wasn’t a bribe then we would forego our right to prosecute.”
“And in return?”
Su tapped the file folder, reached for a cigarette, and lit it. He blew smoke across the table at Uncle. “Are you sure you don’t want a cigarette?”
“I’d love to have one but I won’t, since it would only remind me of what I’m missing, and that would make my time in the cell all the more painful,” Uncle said. “What I do want, though, is for you to tell me what you expect to get from me in exchange for your offer.”
Su shuffled the papers in the file and then sat back, took a deep drag on the cigarette, and stared at Uncle. “We want to know about your business dealings with the Liu family,” he said.
Uncle hoped his reaction was suitably calm as he shrugged and said, without any hesitation, “What business dealings?”
“Are you going to play the denial game again?” Su asked. “First you didn’t pay Peng and now you don’t do business with the Lius. What’s next? Are you going to tell me you don’t know them?”
“No, I do know them. Although to be accurate, I should say that I mean I know Liu Leji, the customs director,” Uncle said. “I was initially introduced to him by Peng at a dinner we had to celebrate the opening of our first garment factory, but I didn’t spend more than a few minutes chatting with him. Later I was introduced to him again through a mutual friend, Zhang Delun, who is a senior officer in the Hong Kong Police Department. I was having dinner with Zhang in Fanling and was complaining about the hassles involved in crossing the border. Zhang told me that an old friend of his, Liu, was director of customs, and that he’d talk to him to see if an accommodation could be made for me. In Hong Kong it isn’t unusual for friends to use their guanxi to help other friends.”
“How did Liu and Zhang become friends?” Su interrupted.
“They met at university in Hong Kong. They were classmates for a couple of years.”
“And this Zhang brought you together?”
“Yes, he arranged a dinner in Fanling. I explained my dilemma to Liu and he said he would arrange passes for me and one of my employees, Fong.”
“Did you pay him for the passes?�
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“Of course not. He was doing a favour for a friend of a friend. It was guanxi and nothing more.”
“And since then, how much time have you spent with him?”
“None that I can remember, though I may have seen him now and then in passing at restaurants. But that’s not unusual in Shenzhen, where there aren’t many good restaurants to frequent. I mean, you often see the same businessmen and government officials together when you go around the city. It is almost unavoidable.”
Su looked down at his file. Uncle wondered if he had a list of questions or was just winging it.
“Listen, Lieutenant, I don’t know what kind of stories Peng was spinning in an attempt to save his own skin, but suggesting that I’m in business with the director of customs is ludicrous.”
“What makes you think Peng has anything to do with this?”
“Who have we been spending all our time talking about? I’m assuming he invented a story about a business connection between Liu and me.”
“And did he also invent a story that you’re partners with Liu’s wife, Meilin, and his aunt, Gao Lan, in numerous warehouse businesses?”
“If that’s what he was claiming, then yes, he did invent it,” Uncle said, more quickly than he would have liked, struggling to ignore the cold chill that ran through his body. How much information does the PLA have, and how did they obtain it? he thought.
“So you don’t know either of these women?”
“No, I don’t know them.”
Su nodded. “I wasn’t expecting you to be truthful about this. The most natural first reaction is to lie, and I suspect that’s what you’ll continue to do until you come to grips with the reality of your situation,” he said. “So here’s what we’ve decided to do. We’re going to give you twelve hours to think about what you’re going to tell us the next time we meet.
If you are forthcoming about your relationship with the Lius, then the offer I’ve made will still be valid. If you are not, then we’ll get you in front of a judge as quickly as we can and ask for a minimum sentence of twenty years in prison. And who knows, the judge may not think that is sufficient.”
“I heard that Peng made a deal with you people. How did that turn out for him?”
“His deal wasn’t with us. I assure you, we keep our word,” Su said. “If you confirm that you are in business with the Lius and provide us with details, you will be released and sent back to Hong Kong.”
Uncle closed his eyes. He was tired, and the verbal sparring with Su was starting to wear on him. “I don’t need twelve hours to make a decision. I know nothing, and that won’t change in twelve hours, or twelve days,” he said finally.
“No, we insist that you enjoy our hospitality for at least that long.”
( 27 )
The routine had been the same every time Uncle left his cell and made the short walk to the interview room. He was escorted by two soldiers acting as guards, then the same two guards took up posts by the door in the room, and when the interview ended, they took him back to his cell. But this time when Uncle stood up and walked to the door, one of the guards left his post to speak to Su. Uncle stood with the other guard until his colleague rejoined him.
“You’ve really pissed off the lieutenant,” the returning guard said to Uncle.
Uncle didn’t respond and instead turned in the direction of the cell. The soldiers flanked him. They were both at least six inches taller than Uncle and weighed about a hundred pounds more. He shuffled along, hoping they wouldn’t try to hurry him or squeeze him between them. The pain from his shoulder and arm wasn’t subsiding; if anything, it was getting worse. But they let him walk at his own pace and didn’t lean on him or yank on his arms. He was grateful for the small kindness, even if it wasn’t deliberate on their part.
When they reached the cell, Uncle felt emboldened enough to ask, “Is there any chance of getting some light in there?”
“No,” the guard barked. “And there’s also going to be no sleep. Those are our orders. The lieutenant wants you to spend your time thinking.”
The door closed behind Uncle as soon as he stepped through it. He found the cot and sat down. What had been a bad situation an hour before was now infinitely worse. He hadn’t expected the Liu family to enter the conversation, but, looking back at the previous interviews with Ma and Su, he realized that was where it had always been headed. They had just taken their time getting to it, and he’d been stupid not to anticipate it. They didn’t give a fuck about Peng. He was relevant only as leverage to get to the Lius. But why do they care so much about the Lius? he thought.
Uncle recalled his talk with Su and was satisfied with the way he had conducted himself. He had given nothing away — at least, nothing he could remember. He had mentioned Zhang Delun, but if Su and the PLA had a way to check the connections between Liu and Zhang and Zhang and Uncle, both would be verified, and that would be a good thing. If they looked into the ownership of the warehouses, there wouldn’t be a trace of a Liu. Financially, they wouldn’t find a record of a single dollar changing hands. It was true that Gao Lan and Meilin had visited the warehouses, that Fong met with them quite often, and that there had been those lunch meetings. Was it possible the PLA had been tailing them? But, even if they had, what did it prove?
This was most likely Peng’s doing, he thought. Peng might have been grasping at straws, desperate to find anything that would deflect attention from him. He couldn’t have known for certain that the Lius and Uncle were connected, but he had sensed enough to make that claim. Was that all it took to get the PLA interested and involved?
“What a fucking mess,” Uncle said. The recognition that there was nothing he could do to help himself gnawed at him. He was completely dependent on Liu or Fong to do something that would extract him from this hellhole, and the thought frustrated and angered him in almost equal measure.
The cell door opened and a guard he hadn’t seen before stuck his head inside. When Uncle nodded at him, the guard nodded back and closed the door.
“I need to stay awake,” Uncle muttered, and stood up from the cot. He was still in total darkness, but the frequent openings of the door had allowed him to check out the cell in its entirety, and he had a picture of it in his mind. He held out his good left arm and walked in the direction of the door. When his hand touched it, he stopped, turned, and walked towards the back wall. It took six medium steps to reach it. “If I keep moving, I won’t sleep,” he said aloud.
For the next hour or so he shuffled between the door and wall, resting twice on the cot when the pain in his shoulder became too much to handle. He kept time by counting the number of times the door opened, and he was happy every time it did. But the minutes still dragged and, as his visits to the cot became more frequent, he knew it was going to be difficult to last twelve hours without sleeping. He asked himself if grabbing half an hour of sleep was worth getting struck with the baton. As he weighed the pros and cons, the door swung open again. That surprised him, because he was sure only about ten minutes had elapsed since the last visit.
Two guards pushed their way into the cell, and Uncle could see at least two more standing in the corridor. “Get to your feet,” one of them said.
“Am I going somewhere?” asked Uncle.
“Yeah. There’s been a change of plan.”
Uncle stood up.
“Turn and face the wall and put your hands behind your back.”
Uncle’s head filled with questions, but everything about the guards’ manner told him they weren’t going to answer them. So he did as he was told, wincing as his right arm went behind his back. The guard moved directly behind him, grabbed his left wrist, and attached a metal handcuff.
“What the hell — ” Uncle started to say, but his words turned into a groan as his right wrist was cuffed.
As Uncle tried to adjust his body to lessen the pain in his shoulder, th
e guard said, “Stay still and keep your head straight.”
A few seconds later Uncle’s world turned black once more as a mask was slipped over his eyes. “Now turn around. We’ll walk you to the door,” the guard said.
Uncle turned and felt their hands grab his arms, and then he was propelled forward. When they reached the corridor, he started going to the right but was pulled back.
“Other direction,” the guard said.
Maybe because he’d been counting his steps in the cell, Uncle found himself doing the same thing as they walked down the corridor. After 112 steps the guards stopped. Uncle heard a door opening and then he was forced to walk again. A door closed behind them and he heard a jumble of voices as the guards talked to each other. Uncle strained to hear what they were saying but couldn’t make it out. All he could be sure of was that there were more than two of them and maybe as many as five.
“Get on your knees,” an unfamiliar voice said.
“What?”
Hands grabbed him by the shoulders and started pushing him down. Uncle resisted.
“Get down on your own or we’ll break your fucking kneecaps,” the voice said.
Uncle lowered his left knee to the ground and then slowly and gingerly did the same with his right.
“Your lack of co-operation has become a problem,” the voice said. “Our superiors have had enough of you.”
Uncle heard the shuffle of feet, and then something cold and metallic was held to the base of his skull. He knew it was a gun, but he couldn’t believe they’d fire it.
“If you have any religion, now is the time to make your peace,” the voice said.
“I don’t have any religion, but if the plan is for me to join my ancestors, my family, my loved ones, the time can’t come soon enough,” Uncle said in a steady voice.
“Oh, we have a brave little man here,” the voice said. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, little man. I’ll take five bullets out of this gun and leave one. Then I’ll spin the barrel and start firing. If you’re lucky, you will live for an extra thirty seconds or so.”
