Bamboo and Blood

by James Church

  I nodded and barked to show I was on his wavelength. Pak shot me a sharp look.

  “These are perilous times. It is not clear that we will survive another year.” Sohn said this in a normal tone of voice, like the one normal people used when they talked about normal things—the cost of bus fare, or the price of a movie ticket. “Does that shock you, Inspector? That I should be candid about something so sensitive? But, why? Everybody thinks we’re on the edge of the precipice, don’t they? Don’t you?”

  If the man imagined for an instant I was going to answer a question like that, he was crazy. “I’m still waiting to hear what you want,” I said, with less humility than Pak had indicated he wanted from me during this session.

  Sohn moved so he was standing over me. I tried not to notice his ears. “I know you, Inspector. Believe me, I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t know you inside and out, top to bottom. Your type worries a lot, but you also know how to act when the time comes. This is it—time to act. Things will get worse, maybe a lot worse. Those who cannot take the pain this winter, cannot drag themselves through the final few months, they’ll fall by the side of the road. We’re better off without them.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Pak shift in his chair. “And I’m not talking theory, Inspector. I know what things are like in the provinces. I just got back from there. They are as grim as everything you’ve heard. They are as grim as our enemies say. This is the fight for survival. But do you know what? We will survive. Despite what everyone thinks, or fears, or hopes—we will survive.”

  “I hear they’re shipping in food, our enemies,” I said.

  This time it was Pak who coughed. “Get to the point, Sohn.”

  “The point. Thank you, Chief Inspector. The point is we need more from them, our enemies. More food. More oil. More whatever they are ready to squeeze through the eyedropper they use to measure what they will give. As the inspector just said, they are shipping in food, but we must have more. That’s where you come in.” He leaned down slightly, so I was looking directly at one of his ears. “You will help us get it, Inspector.”

  “Me? What if I say no?”

  “Ha! That you cannot do. You can’t. You can’t say yes or no, because no one is asking you to make that choice. You have no choice because there is none. You will carry out this assignment; it is what you are going to do. Period. We are down to the naked essence of existence, reduced to simplicity itself.” I thought of Pak’s lecture on “essence.” He must have heard that line on “essence” somewhere. Maybe it had been in one of those cadre lectures I avoided; maybe it had been the theme in one of those newspaper editorials I never read. Or maybe Pak had regular meetings with Sohn, and this whole conversation today was a charade for my benefit. I looked hard at Pak. No, it wasn’t a charade. The memory of amusement had left his eyes. His face was drained.

  “This is not an order, Inspector.” Sohn wasn’t finished talking. He stood up straight again and leaned against Pak’s desk. “Let’s be as precise as a bayonet through the throat. This goes far beyond an order. It transcends an order. What shall we call it? I know!” He snapped his fingers. “It is an imperative. This is one of those times when the old concepts don’t fit. We are past any notions of shirking or obeying. This is about the survival of the nation. Not this country, not this person or that individual, but the nation, our nation. And on that, you have nothing to say. We will survive, and you will make sure of it. Your grandfather ensured we survived; you will do no less. Not one drop less.”

  “That’s it. I don’t think I can help you, Sohn.” I stood up and opened the door to leave. I didn’t think, I just did it. Pak would be furious with me for this sort of insubordination. Who knows what Sohn would do? Anyone who put bayonets and throats together into the same image was tougher than the normal party hack. But if he was going to drag my grandfather into this, as far as I was concerned, the conversation was over. I could deal with hot water. I always had.

  “Sit down, Inspector.” Pak was no longer subdued. He didn’t often issue commands to me, but there was no mistaking his tone. “You’ll leave when I give you permission, and I haven’t done that. And you”— he turned to Sohn—“you don’t come in here and push my staff around. How many times do I have to tell you people to lay off? If there is any semblance of order left in this city, it is thanks to officers like Inspector O.”

  Sohn took in the surroundings again, four bleak walls and a window looking nowhere. “A little box for little men. Trust me, I’m not here to debate. Day after tomorrow, the inspector leaves on assignment. He’s my body until that assignment is over. End of story.” He threw a piece of paper on Pak’s desk. “This is the order, signed by your minister. I heard you only liked signed orders. Go ahead, look it over.”

  3

  The next day, Pak sat in my office, drumming his fingers on my desk again. Same march of the doomed, if anything at a more somber pace. We hadn’t heard anything else from Sohn.

  “I still can’t even remember what century I’m in, and they want me to jump in an airplane again! How many days since I got back from New York?” I looked out at the empty street.

  “Two days. Tomorrow will be three. The century isn’t important, as long as you can correctly locate the planet.”

  “Maybe Sohn has forgotten us.”

  “Not a chance. He’ll be back. Didn’t I tell you something big was up?”

  “Sure, always something big and important. And when it’s not important, it’s earthshaking. Trumpets every damned time you turn on the damned radio. Nothing ever says: ‘This is beneath your notice, O, don’t concern yourself with it.’ I’m so low in the food chain, I’m expected to vibrate to everything.” I sat down and put my ear to the top of my desk. “Wait! I hear far-off rumbles.”

  Pak stopped drumming. “Quit kidding around.”

  “Who’s kidding?” I put my ear against the desk again. “Let’s make it eight hundred kilometers to the west.”

  Pak motioned for me to get up and shut the door. There was no one else around, but shutting the door had become a ritual that Pak was reluctant to give up. “How did you find out?” He didn’t want to know, but felt obliged to ask.

  “I vibrate, remember?”

  “Go on.”

  “There was a defector in Beijing a few days ago. High level. Very, very high level. Am I right?”

  Pak gave me a noncommittal look. “Whatever happened, if anything happened, will be reported to us, all in due time, in proper channels, with proper vibrations, I’m sure. Someone just has to figure out the angle. This is bad, but it is good, precisely because it is bad. Things are less dangerous, and that means they’re more dangerous. That sort of thing.”

  I continued. “This morning, on my way to the office, I stopped at District Headquarters. After my trip, I figured I should look in and say hello. I saw a lot of nervous people running around covering their hindquarters, erasing signs that they were ever in the same room with this defector person. I barely got over here and settled with my feet on my desk when I started receiving a lot of nervous phone calls from people who wouldn’t tell me why they wanted to know what they wanted to know. The question that naturally occurs to me is, what does it have to do with us? I never saw the man.”

  “A party secretary who defects,” Pak said, “cannot but have something to do with us. How can you be so sure you never saw him? Did he ever drive through your sector?”

  “I’d guess he probably did. It’s hard to get anywhere in the city without going through my sector.”

  “Did he ever meet with anyone, talk to anyone, smile at anyone, nod to anyone while he was passing through your sector?”

  “How should I know? I don’t follow people at his level. That’s State Security’s job, if they ever wake up long enough to look at their daily operational packet. It’s not my worry.”

  “Well, of course, these things are beneath you, O. By no means should you worry about them. Keep on not worrying until someone comes a-knockin’
to find out what you know, or don’t know. And someone will. Soon. They always do. This … situation … has rattled a lot of expensive teeth. At the Ministry last night I heard most of the special squad was sent in a hurry to Beijing. Of course, they made things worse. Bunch of thugs standing around the streets. Did they think he’d change his mind and come back home after he looked out the window and saw their ugly faces? Speaking of ugly, I wonder if your friend Mun tagged along with them. Maybe he’ll be back to question you.”

  I thought of the man at the Foreign Ministry whose ambassador had disappeared. “So what? He’ll find nothing, because there’s nothing to find.”

  “Really? Mun already knows we recently entertained a visitor of dubious credentials.”

  “We didn’t entertain him. He was assigned to us.”

  “And you didn’t go out walking with him?”

  “What has this got to do with anything?”

  “Sometimes, Inspector, I think you must have been hatched in another galaxy.”

  “No, I meant, what does all of this have to do with being snatched by Sohn and sent away on another airplane? If I fly into Beijing, I’ll be landing in the middle of this mess. You don’t want that, do you?”

  Pak went into statue mode: no response, not even any sign of comprehension.

  “For the record, the chief inspector declines to answer.”

  “Ask Sohn.”

  “Do you actually think he will tell me anything?” I already knew what Pak would say, but I let him say it.

  “Probably not.”

  4

  The next day was the coldest on record. I read once that people in some countries get accustomed to the cold. Iceland, maybe. Not someplace I needed to go. I’d never convince myself to crawl out from under the quilt to go in to work in Iceland.

  “Get something hot to drink,” I heard Pak say as I passed by. He didn’t complain that I was later than usual. He left me alone until afternoon, when he walked quietly down the hall and stood at my door. He must have been waiting for a few minutes for me to look up from the plans I was studying. The plans were for a built-in bookcase, which appealed to my sense of fantasy. Built into what?

  “You’ll want to keep those in the bottom drawer for the next few months. I think we’re going to be busy.”

  I looked up. “What?”

  “Sohn is coming back in a few hours with a more complete set of orders. The Minister personally rejected what he tried to push on us the other day. The Minister doesn’t want to dip into his special fund anymore.” Pak stepped inside. He leaned against the wall in an effort to appear nonchalant. “Try not to antagonize the man again. I know that’s what I said before, but apparently I wasn’t clear. Just listen to what he has to say, even if he raises something near and dear.” Pak paused to let that sink in. “Let him throw his weight around, something you failed to do last time he was here. He is one of the few who has kept his balance during this push by the army. We may need his protection someday, so don’t—do not—get under his skin.”

  “Why do I keep getting the feeling that you two know each other?”

  “His skin, O, stay out from under it.”

  “I’ve forgotten again. Tell me again, whose backside do I worship this week?”

  “The wind blows, we bend like one of your trees. Bamboo, maybe. Bamboo bends, doesn’t it? Nothing too difficult. You should try it sometime.”

  “Bamboo. It’s not real wood, you know.” I didn’t say the rest of what I was thinking.

  “Bend, O, for once in your charmed existence, bend.”

  “I’ll tell you the truth. I still don’t like him. It’s not a snap judgment, I’ve given it a lot of thought during my sleepless nights. He doesn’t look very smart. The back of his head resembles an anvil.”

  “Inspector, I’m not interested in wood, or anvils, or even your exotic sense of the sublime. Whatever his physiology, he still is a key piece of the machinery of the Center. That means he has power. And to some people, there is nothing more beautiful.” A car drove by. We both stopped to hear whether it was turning into our driveway.

  “So, who’s behind him?” The car had passed without stopping. “That’s the question. The party is losing its grip, and the army is getting very cocky. Maybe I forget to tell you, I had a nasty run-in with a colonel a few weeks ago.”

  “Did he take down your unit number?”

  “No, he was in a hurry. He only wanted to make sure I knew he could wipe the floor with me anytime it suited him.” My thoughts trailed off. Another car went by.

  “We’ll worry about the army another time. Just let Sohn say his piece and go away. That’s all I ask. I think I fixed things; don’t say anything that will get them unraveled. It’s delicate, but he has to show up one more time for appearance’s sake, and then he won’t bother us anymore.”

  “Nice thought,” I said, “but it’s hard not to stare.”

  “Don’t think about his ears.”

  “I’m still so tired I can’t see straight. Why did they pick me? I keep wondering.”

  “We’ve been through that, Inspector. Maybe they pulled your name in a random drawing—how should I know why you got tagged?”

  A horn blared. Pak moved to the window. “It’s Sohn.”

  “You stay,” I said. “This time I’ll go down to receive the man. I’ll be humble and crawl behind him up the stairs.”

  “No, humble is not your strong suit. Anyway, I don’t want him marching up here like the king of Siam. I want to be in my office when he calls from the gate. Same routine. He’ll argue with the guards for a while, but then he’ll have to ask me to rescue him.”

  The snow had started falling again, and it was almost dark when I heard the bear once more coming up the stairs. The door to Pak’s office slammed. Was reality what I remembered had happened or what was happening now? What if they were the same thing? Angry words and sharp barks emerged, even sharper than the first time. Finally, Pak’s door flew open. I was half dozing in the hall, just where Pak expected me to be. “Come into my office,” he said. “There’s someone here you may remember.”

  I started to clear my throat, but Pak shook his head, so I just coughed politely and stepped inside, meek as a goat about to meet a bear.

  PART III

  Chapter One

  I had been relaxing on the bench only a couple of minutes when a tall, thin man sat down beside me. He wore a felt hat with a feather stuck in the band. It wasn’t a whole feather, or if it was, it was from a very small bird. The hat didn’t do much for him, but he didn’t seem to care. The sun was up and the clouds were clinging to the western horizon, so it looked like it might be a nice day. Even so, the lakefront was practically deserted. Only a few people were out for solitary morning strolls, probably waiting for the cafés near the lake to open. Along the path where I sat there were several other benches, all vacant, but the man in the feathered hat clearly wanted to be on this particular one. This bench, and only this bench, would do.

  Maybe it was his usual place to sit early in the morning; maybe he often put on that green felt hat and came here to think about his life. Maybe in taking up his normal spot, I was interfering with a rite that had by now begun to define his existence. It seemed churlish of me to do so, and I almost got up to move. On second thought, I told myself, maybe being overseas, in unfamiliar surroundings, was causing me to philosophize myself into a corner. I’d only been here a day; it was too soon to feel guilty.

  The man didn’t say anything at first, just sat looking out at the water with a completely relaxed air. He took off the hat and laid it on the bench so that it sat between us, the feather pointing at me. Then he pulled a croissant from his pocket and tore off a piece, which he chewed slowly. He stood up and threw the rest to the swans, who had assembled in the shallow water near the shore, about ten steps away. The strollers had gone past, and there wasn’t anyone else around except an elderly couple with a child, very subdued and with a serious look on his face. I wond
ered if the child had been vetted, or maybe the swans. This was a setup. I could feel it in my bones.

  The man sat down again; he didn’t even turn his head when he spoke. “Against my advice, you were given permission to enter.” His English was deliberate, like a person might speak to a dog whose intentions are unclear. “I don’t control the border. But here, inside, you are mine. You understand? Your every move will be watched. If you enjoy the scenery, I will receive a report on what you looked at, how long you observed it, whether you took a picture. I’ll even know what exposure you used on the camera. If you stop for a drink at a bar, I’ll get word in a trice what you ordered, how big a tip you left, whether you stared at anyone, or made small talk, or winked at the Indonesian prostitutes hanging around at the entrance. I’m going to be all over you until you get back on an airplane and fly away—far, far away.” An insect landed on his shoulder. He crushed it quickly, examined what was left, and then flicked the pieces onto the grass. “Fine weather for February.” He stood up. “I wish you a pleasant stay in Geneva.” He left the hat on the bench. I don’t like green felt. As he strolled away, I had the feeling neither did he.