by Jeet Thayil
CHAPTER FIVE
‘Light me a cigarette’
He told Dimple he had been thirty-eight when his life changed in a way he could never have foreseen. That year, at a banquet in Peking, he found himself seated beside a slender woman whose hair was curled in the new style. She wore a plum-coloured suit with white lapels and she accompanied a navy commissar who chain-smoked unfiltered foreign cigarettes. Early in the evening the commissar switched to brandy and soon he became silent and unexpectedly agile for such a heavy man. He told the waiters to replenish the teapot and the wine and water glasses. He spoke only when giving orders; he didn’t converse with his dinner companions. Then, his elbow slipped off the table and he spilled the slender woman’s wine. A deep stain spread across the tablecloth and the commissar watched in fascination, as if it were the stain of communism itself, the unstoppable stain that had spread across the world and dyed it the colour of blood. The woman – or girl, since he thought she couldn’t have been more than twenty or twenty-one – picked up the glass and placed it beside her untouched plate. She refilled it with a little wine and took a sip. Then she asked Lee to help her with the commissar. They took the man to a room above the banqueting hall, where the girl put him to bed and took off his shoes. He was already asleep. The girl smoothed her skirt over her hips as she regarded the man on the bed. She sighed in an exaggerated way and put her hands on her waist and didn’t look at Lee. She said: The first Ming, Tai Zong, drew up a list of capital offences for government officials that included such things as the formation of cliques and flattery. Public drunkenness too was a capital offence. Do you know what the punishment was? The official was flayed and his skin was stuffed with straw and installed in a government building to serve as a warning to other officials. She sighed once more in a slow, theatrical way and it must have felt good, because she did it again. She said: Light me a cigarette if you’re going to stare like that. Lee did as he was told. She stood in the middle of the room and blew smoke at the ceiling. He thought: Even her silence is expressive, even the inhaling and blowing out of smoke. See how animated she is. Is she an actress? Is it too bold a question to ask? Before he could say anything, she led the way back to the banqueting hall, then, some time afterwards, she left the table and didn’t return. A few days later he saw her wheeling her bicycle into the commissariat compound. She had her hair up in a bun and she was wearing work pyjamas. She looked very different from the girl with the cigarette whose image had taken up residence in his head. He went to her and blurted the truth, that he had brought something for her. She seemed so disoriented that he wondered if she knew who he was. He gave her a carton of cigarettes, half a cooked chicken and some stalks of sugar cane. She looked towards the compound and hesitated for a moment before putting the gifts into a carrier bag on her bicycle. She said, I am twenty-three years of age. I’m not interested in being a kept woman. Thank you for the gifts, she added, speaking so solemnly that he wondered if he had displeased her in some way. He watched as she pushed her bicycle towards the commissariat. Was she telling him to leave her alone? Did she think he wanted to pay her for sex? The idea put a ball of fear in his stomach. Then it occurred to him that she was saying something very different. She didn’t want to be a kept woman: she wanted to be his wife. This idea also filled him with fear. She was a kind of classical Chinese heroine, a prototypical leader, and she wanted to be his wife. It was hard to believe. He had to talk to someone, someone senior whose advice he could trust. The next morning, unrested, he went to the administrative governor of the region, his boss, Wei Kuo-ching. Wei wasn’t alone and Lee asked permission to marry in the presence of his boss’s colleagues. What is the woman’s name? asked his boss. Lee didn’t know. He described her and how they had met. Oh, said the administrative governor, you mean Pang Mei, Commissar Hu’s assistant. The older man clapped Lee on the shoulder and told him to go ahead if that was what he wanted. Then he said, I hope you know there’s no need for such a drastic step.
*
Lee’s quarters were out of the question. There were too many people around at all times and if she was seen coming out of his rooms there would be trouble, an official investigation perhaps, followed by humiliation, punishment, even prison. The only way they could be alone was to meet in his office, late, when there was no one around. He waited nervously until she came and took her to the supplies room, where he had arranged blankets and a pillow behind a desk in the back. He locked the door and turned off the lights and they held each other in the dark, the girl’s slim form like a child’s in his arms. There was some inadequate illumination from the street lights outside, just enough to see her face. She seemed very serious, which only made him more nervous. When she reached for his dick he jumped and when she put it in her mouth he whimpered, he actually whimpered, and then he was ashamed. She took a tube from her purse and smeared a small amount of cream on herself with a single deft gesture. In the ass, she told him. Fuck me in the ass. Then she straddled him and guided him into her and played with her clitoris while she rode him. He came instantly and again he was ashamed. Later, as they lay beside each other, she said: I am taking a precaution. In case we’re caught a medical examination will prove I’m still a virgin. Then Pang Mei turned on her side, curled herself into a small ball and went to sleep. Lee thought he’d let her sleep for half an hour, then wake her and tidy up and get out of the building. If he fell asleep too it could be catastrophic. He propped himself on an elbow to look at her. He thought about the Yellow River’s summer floods and the steamed buns he bought sometimes from the railway terminus. He thought about the horses of Mongolia, about the Tartars’ subjugation of Russia, and about the wise and solitary dragons that live in the heated air above the mountains of Szechwan. The girl’s lips were moving silently in her sleep and he could see her eyes flickering under the lids. He thought about the melancholy dragons of Szechwan and just then a tremor struck the room. The air seemed to shift and the temperature dropped and there wasn’t enough oxygen. A sound of waves or mosquitoes washed against his ears. The floor shook as if a large animal was trapped under the building. Every object in the room, the standing lamp, the desks, the chairs and filing cabinets, everything was shaking. He took a deep breath but couldn’t fill his lungs. He stood up and fell to his knees. When the earthquake stopped he was kneeling on the blankets with his hands clasped around the girl’s ankles, and he knew her as his saviour.
CHAPTER SIX
To Wuhan
In the morning a cadre came to his quarters with a summons to the commissariat. He thought: How did they find out? What did I do? What did I do? He dressed quickly and followed the man to a room where Commissar Hu stood in front of a blackboard with a dozen or so others. There was a table with sweet cakes and tea and cigarette packs arranged in the shape of a pyramid. There were men who were so important that no one knew their names. They smoked and interrupted Commissar Hu’s speech with rude jokes: Commissar, we heard you last night. The earth shook so much we thought the building would surely fall. Later, Wei Kuo-ching also made a speech and Lee tried to pay attention but he heard only some of the words: blockade and industrial production and railway shipments and sabotage and military supplies. He heard the words but he was unable to fit them together into a coherent pattern. He thought about Pang Mei, how she’d slept through the earthquake, how delicate her feet were, and how lucky he was. At noon Lee was told he would be going to the province capital of Wuhan, where he was to meet the regional military commander, the warlord General Lo Tsai-ta, and negotiate an end to the factional fighting that had paralysed the city. Commissar Hu told him he had an hour to pack. As he left the commissariat he looked for Pang Mei but she was nowhere to be seen.
The trip to Wuhan took a little less than four hours. He was travelling with a group of Red Guards who changed seats throughout the flight. They pointed out of the window and laughed. What were they laughing at? Nothing could be seen except a grey wall of clouds and rain or condensation. He heard a high whine fr
om the small plane’s twin engines and he felt the vibration from the metal under his feet. When people walked up and down the aisle the plane wobbled. At times it shook so violently that he thought it would surely fall from the sky and he found he was gripping the armrests. There was an announcement. Passengers carrying guns, ammunition and radioactive material were asked to hand them over to the attendants who would return said items when the flight landed. At this, some of the Red Guards handed over an assortment of weapons, including rifles, pistols and army-issue knives. Traditional music followed. Lee listened until the music faded into a hiss. He slept for a little while and was woken by another announcement: the plane was approaching Wuhan, which was a great industrial city of central China. Passengers were forbidden to take pictures from the aircraft windows or on the ground. There was a pause. Then the voice said that those who wished to alight could do so. The plane circled several times before landing. The attendants returned the Red Guards’ weapons. More music was heard on the intercom, not Chinese selections but a song from the Western movie Mary Poppins.
When Lee stepped off the aircraft he saw that the runway was in disarray: planes and trucks were parked pell-mell and groups of young men and women walked around issuing orders that only added to the chaos. They strolled across the tarmac as if it was a village lane or they squatted and smoked and wrote slogans on the dirt. The sun was out and as Lee walked toward the airport building he heard his name called by the young Guards who were on the flight with him. They were gathered around a jeep that had driven right up to the plane. They waved to him and Lee walked back. The Guards had convinced the driver of the jeep to take them to the city, they said, and Lee was welcome to ride with them. They all crowded into the vehicle. As it left the airport and took the road into the city, the Guards decided they wanted to eat at a restaurant. Hey, hey, hey, driver, said one, if you see a pig run it over, we’re hungry. The driver smiled and said nothing. The Guards seemed to Lee like teenagers, they were obnoxious and without shame. They were never silent. At the restaurant they ordered char siu fan and beer and when it was time to pay they told the proprietor they had no money. Lee had cash but the younger men wouldn’t let him take out his purse. No, no, you are our guest. Do you want us to lose face? They turned to the proprietor. We invite you to Peking, they told him. Come to Peking so we may exchange revolutionary ideas. You will be our guest. The man knew better than to argue.
*
From his hotel that night, Lee made a phone call but the operator said she was not in her room. He tried the number at hourly intervals and gave up around dawn. The next morning he was late for his meeting with the man Commissar Hu had described as a warlord. General Lo Tsai-ta got up when Lee was shown in. But instead of making him feel welcome, the general picked up his cigarettes, excused himself and left the room. Some time later an assistant appeared to tell Lee that the general would not be available until later in the day, there was a crisis at the railway terminus that required his presence. Lee left the compound and walked to the end of the street and turned right as if he knew where he was going. There were no buses or taxis but the street was full of people. Uncleared garbage and old newspapers lay on the corner. He kept walking and came to a bridge, the famous bridge known throughout the country as a marvel of modern engineering. At its base, a man was cooking rice for his family. There were people swimming in the river and clothes spread out to dry on the parapets. Lee walked past a lecture group of some sort, a class of five or six who sat in a circle and listened to a woman reciting something. Was it poetry or the words of a song? He caught a few lines:
The world is on fire; time is a bomb.
Ten thousand years are not enough
When so much remains to be done.
Now he could see the entire span of the bridge. He noticed that there were small knots of people sitting throughout the length of it and some kind of obstruction at the other end. He stopped when he saw what it was, stopped, turned around and went back the way he’d come. A bus had been parked crossways and on the far side of the bus was a snaking line of cars and trucks and military transport vehicles, a line that stretched further than he could see. The drivers had disappeared and the vehicles looked like they hadn’t moved in a long time. Below him the muddy Yangtse too was immobile, as if it had turned to cement.
*
It was night when he returned to the general’s office. Lo Tsai-ta was on the couch, a Panama hat worn low over his closed eyes and a cigarette burning in his hand. He wore a white shirt and linen trousers to go with the hat, but the overall effect of the ensemble wasn’t elegance as much as exhaustion. He seemed too tired to speak. There were two other men in the room who greeted Lee as if they knew him well. One, an officer who gave his name only as Tung, took him to a table where a bottle and glasses had been arranged. Lee poured himself a brandy and soda. He took a quick swallow of the drink and carried his glass and stood at the window. Sit here, said Tung, and Lee took a seat on the couch opposite the general. He noticed that General Lo’s eyes had followed his progress from the window to the couch but otherwise the general was inert, like a convalescent. Lee placed his drink on the floor and waited with his elbows on his knees. After a time the general lifted his arm and took a slow sip of his cigarette. Tung and his colleague were having a whispered conversation. Lee couldn’t hear Tung but the other man’s one-word responses were clear enough. Kaolu, he said, whenever Tung stopped for breath.
Eventually, Tung turned to Lee. Wuhan is a test case, he said. Everything happens here: the plague, riots, surplus productivity, famine, tremendous industrial output, the end of everything. We believe Peking is using us as a kind of social experiment. They want to see how much punishment a city can take before it shuts down. They’ve posed an interesting question or set of questions, I will say that much. For example, how much chaos can the human system absorb? What are the uses of insanity? Is there intelligence in negativity? How far can destruction extend before it stops being creative? How useful is chance? Can the individual imagination apprehend the last beach, the last birdsong, the last sunset in the last sky? The inhabitants of Wuhan have thought about all these questions, we’ve thought about and discussed them in great detail. We’ve answered them too, if only to our own satisfaction. There’s only one question we are incapable of answering. Do you know what it is?
Lee thought: Why do you continue to stay here? But he shook his head. No, he said.
Tung said, ‘What are you doing here?’
At this all three men looked at Lee as if he had just then appeared out of thin air.
‘I’ve been sent by the Party to look carefully at what is happening in Wuhan,’ said Lee. ‘I am expected to make a report and that’s as far as my responsibility goes.’
Tung was shaking his head even before Lee finished. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, no, no.’
It was then that Lee chose to make a comment about the Mao Tse-tung Thought Million Fighting Wuhan Revolutionary Heroic Workers Troops, a coalition the general was known to support, though not openly. The Workers Troops was larger than its older rival, the Wuhan Area Proletarian Mao Tse-tung Thought Fighting Workers Centre, which had the support of Peking. Lee said he thought the Workers Troops was the cause of much of the rioting and disorder on the streets.
Tung made a spitting sound. ‘You are ignorant,’ he said. ‘It is the Workers Centre that has caused unrest in Wuhan.’
Lee nodded slowly. Then he said, ‘There’s talk in Peking that the Workers Troops should be disbanded.’
At this the general got to his feet and gestured that Lee should do the same. ‘This meeting is at an end,’ he said. It was the first time he’d spoken in Lee’s presence and it served as a kind of signal to Tung, who threw his cigarette to the floor and shouted a slogan against the Workers Centre. Lee wasn’t sure what he was shouting because Tung was too angry to articulate his words properly. He marched around the room and stopped in front of Lee.
‘I am prepared to sacrifice my life,’ T
ung said. ‘We are soldiers. This is what we have trained for, self-sacrifice. You tell them that.’ Then he walked out and let the door bang behind him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Twice Abducted
When Lee returned to his hotel and placed a call to Pang Mei it was well past midnight. He heard the phone ring at the engineering college hostel and then he heard a siren and people shouting in the courtyard below. Wei? said the switchboard operator in Peking. The noise in the courtyard became louder and there were announcements on a public address system. Lee hung up and went to the window. A fire truck and a covered transport vehicle were entering the hotel’s gates, and a loudspeaker van and men carrying rifles and choppers and home-made spears. He went to the door and locked it and placed another call. He was talking to the receptionist at the commissariat when they broke open the door and punched him to the floor. He got up and a man who looked somehow familiar slapped him on the side of the head, so hard that his glasses flew off his face and landed on the carpet halfway across the room. There was a ringing in his ears and someone hit him low in the stomach and someone else kicked his feet out from under him. Lee landed on his back. There were flecks of blood on his shirt and his ribs felt bruised. They pulled him to his feet and bound his hands behind his back. Then they marched him out of the building and towards one of the vans. The lobby was in pandemonium. The hotel’s official cars had been overturned and gutted and a tree in the courtyard was ablaze. The staff stood under the portico. As Lee was brought down the steps he saw a man run towards the gate. A small mob set upon him with bare hands and rifle butts and brought him down. The man shouted: Help me, comrades, help me. Who was he talking to? How odd, thought Lee, that fear should make you ask for help from the exact source of your torment. A man with a chopper stepped up and cut off the fallen man’s arms with precise and economical strokes. The man twitched and shivered as he gazed at his severed arms and the ropes of blood that joined them. His lips moved and the words he spoke, if at all he was speaking, were inaudible. Blood pooled around his hips. He sat up and vomited and the crowd stepped back in disgust. Then the man with the chopper cut off his head, though this took some effort because the chopper was no longer sharp and wouldn’t cut through the neck bones.
