The Skull Mantra is-1

by Eliot Pattison

  Below his name he made the ideograms for his father's name then, with a pang of guilt, abruptly closed the pad and looked to see if Feng was watching.

  From somewhere came a low moan. It could have been the wind. It could have been someone in the stable. He moved the pad away and discovered a folded sheet of paper under it. It was a printed form with the heading REPORT ON ACCIDENTAL DEATH.

  He picked up the phone and dialed the first name on the list. It was the clinic in town, the county hospital.

  "Wei."

  "Dr. Sung," he read.

  "Off duty." The line went dead.

  Suddenly he realized someone was standing in front of his desk. The man was Tibetan, though unusually tall. He was young, and wore the green uniform of the camp staff.

  "I have been assigned to you, to help with your report," the man said awkwardly, glancing about the room. "Where's the computer?"

  Shan lowered the phone. "You're a soldier?" There were indeed Tibetans in the People's Liberation Army but seldom were they stationed in Tibet.

  "I am not-" the man began with a resentful flash, then caught himself. Shan recognized the reaction. The man did not understand who Shan was, and so could not decide where he belonged in the strata of prison life or the even more complex hierarchy of China's classless society. "I have just completed two years of reeducation," he reported stiffly. "Warden Zhong was kind enough to issue me clothing on my release."

  "Reeducation for what?" Shan asked.

  "My name is Yeshe."

  "But you are still in the camp."

  "Jobs are few. They asked me to stay. I have finished my term," he said insistently.

  Shan began to recognize an undertone, a quiet discipline in the voice. "You studied in the mountains?" he asked.

  The resentment returned. "I was entrusted by the people with study at the university in Chengdu."

  "I meant a gompa."

  Yeshe did not reply. He walked around the room, stopped at the rear and arranged the chairs in a semicircle, as if a tamzing were to be convened.

  "Why would you stay?" Shan asked.

  "Last year they were sent new computers. No one on the staff was trained for them."

  "Your reeducation consisted of operating the prison computers?"

  The tall Tibetan frowned. "My reeducation consisted of hauling night soil from the prison latrines to the fields," he said, awkwardly trying to sound proud of his work, the way he would have been taught by the political officers. "But they discovered I had computer training. I began to help with office administration as part of my rehabilitation. Looking at accounts. Rendering reports to Beijing's computer formats. On my release, they asked me to stay for a few more weeks."

  "So as a former monk your rehabilitation consists of helping imprison other monks?"

  "I'm sorry?"

  "It's just that I never cease to be amazed at what can be accomplished in the name of virtue."

  Yeshe winced in confusion.

  "Never mind. What kind of reports?"

  Yeshe continued pacing, his restless eyes moving from Sergeant Feng at the door back to Shan. "Last week, reports on inventory of medicines. The week before, trends in the prisoners' consumption of grain per mile of road constructed. Weather conditions. Survival rates. And we've been trying to account for lost military supplies."

  "They didn't tell you why I am here?"

  "You are writing a report."

  "The body of a man was found at the Dragon Claws worksite. A file must be prepared for the Ministry."

  Yeshe leaned against the wall. "Not a prisoner, you mean."

  The question didn't need an answer.

  Yeshe suddenly noticed Shan's shirt. He stooped and looked under the table at Shan's battered cardboard and vinyl shoes, then back at Feng.

  "They didn't tell you," Shan said. It was a statement, not a question.

  "But you're not Tibetan."

  "You're not Chinese," Shan shot back.

  Yeshe backed away from Shan. "There was a mistake," he whispered, and moved to Sergeant Feng with his hands outstretched, as though beseeching his mercy.

  Feng's only answer was to point toward the warden's office. Yeshe retreated with mincing steps and sat in front of Shan. He absently stared at Shan's shoes again then, apparently marshalling his strength, looked up. "Are you to be accused?" he asked, unable to hide the alarm in his voice.

  "In what sense of the word?" Shan marveled at how reasonable the question sounded.

  Yeshe stared at him wide-eyed, as if he had stumbled upon some new form of demon. "In the sense of a trial for murder."

  Shan looked into his hands and absently picked at one of the thick calluses. "I don't know. Is that what they told you?" Perhaps that had been the plan all along. The old ones, like Tan and Minister Qin, enjoyed playing with their food before eating.

  "They told me nothing," Yeshe said bitterly.

  "The prosecutor is away," Shan said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "Colonel Tan needs a report. It is something I used to do."

  "Murder?" Yeshe's voice sounded almost hopeful.

  "No. Case files." Shan pushed the list toward Yeshe. "I tried the first name. The doctor was not available."

  Yeshe looked back toward Sergeant Feng, then sighed as the sergeant refused to acknowledge his stare. "This is only for the afternoon," Yeshe said tentatively.

  "I did not ask for you. You said it was your job. You get paid to compile information." Shan was confused at Yeshe's hesitation. He thought he had understood the reason for his new assistant. If the Bureau was watching, it would not rely simply on one bug in a phone.

  "We are warned against collusion with prisoners. I am looking for a better job. Working with a criminal, I don't know. It could be seen as-" Yeshe paused.

  "Regression?" Shan suggested.

  "Exactly," Yeshe said, with a hint of gratitude.

  Shan studied him for a moment, then opened the pad and began writing. Before this date I have never met the clerical assistant named Yeshe of the Central Prison Office of Lhadrung County. I am acting on the direct orders of Colonel Tan of the Lhadrung County government. He paused, then added: I am deeply impressed by Yeshe's commitment to socialist reform. He signed and dated the note, then handed it to the nervous Tibetan, who solemnly read it and folded it for his pocket.

  "Only for today," Yeshe said, as if reassuring himself. "I just get assignments for a day at a time."

  "No doubt Warden Zhong would not want such a valuable resource to be wasted for more than a few hours."

  Yeshe hesitated, as if confused by Shan's sarcasm, then shrugged and retrieved the list. "The doctor," he said, suddenly all business. "Don't ask for the doctor. Call the office of the director of the clinic. Say Colonel Tan needs the medical report. The director has a fax machine. Tell them to fax it immediately. Not to you. The warden's secretary. The warden left. I will talk to her."

  "He left?"

  "Picked up by a driver for the Ministry of Geology."

  Suddenly Shan remembered seeing the unfamiliar truck when the body had been found. "Why would the Ministry of Geology visit the 404th work site?" he wondered out loud.

  "It's on a mountain," Yeshe replied stiffly.

  "Yes?"

  "The Ministry regulates mountains," Yeshe said distractedly, reviewing the list of names. "Lieutenant Chang. His desk is down the hall. The army ambulance crew who took custody of the body from the guards. Their records will be at Jade Spring Camp," he said.

  "I will need an official weather report from two days ago," Shan said. "And a list of foreign tour groups cleared for entry into Tibet during the past month. China Travel Service in Lhasa should have it. And tell the sergeant we may be going back to town."

  Five minutes later Yeshe began delivering the reports, still warm from the machine. Shan read them quickly, and began to write. He had nearly finished when a claxon sounded in the corridor, a siren he had heard only once before in all his months at the 404th. It was the signal
for rifles to be issued to the prison guards. A chill crept down his spine. Choje had begun his resistance.

  ***

  Colonel Tan eyed Shan suspiciously as he stood with the report in front of Tan's desk an hour later, then grabbed the papers and read.

  The building seemed nearly empty. No, not just empty, Shan considered, but deserted, abandoned, the way small mammals abandon their roosts when a predator at the top of the food chain moves in. The wind rattled the windows. Outside, a crow appeared, mobbed by small birds.

  Colonel Tan looked up. "You've given me the ancillary reports. But the form is incomplete."

  "You have all of the direct investigation facts. And such conclusions as are available. It is all I can do. You will need to make some decisions."

  Tan folded his hands over the pages. "It has been a very long time since anyone mocked my authority. In fact, I don't recall it happening since I took over the county. Not since I was given the black chop."

  Shan stared at the floor. The black chop was the authority to sign death warrants.

  "I had hoped for more, Comrade. I expected you would want to do a thorough job. Take time to embrace the opportunity I offered to you."

  "On consideration," Shan said, "it seemed that certain things should be said quickly."

  Tan picked up the report and read. "At 1600 hours on the fifteenth a body was discovered. Five hundred feet above the Dragon Throat Bridge. The unidentified victim was dressed expensively, in cashmere and Western denim. Black body hair. Two surgical scars on his abdomen. No other identifying marks. The victim walked up a dangerous ridge at night and suffered a sudden trauma to the neck. No direct evidence of third party involvement. Since no missing person reports have been filed locally, victim was likely a stranger to the area, possibly of foreign origin. Attachments of the medical report and security officer incident report."

  He turned the page. "Possible explanations accounting for the trauma. Scenario one. Victim stumbled on rocks in darkness, fell upon razor-edge quartz known to be geologically present in the area. Two. Fell onto tool left by the construction brigade. Three. Unacclimated to high mountain atmosphere, suffered sudden attack of altitude sickness, passed out and incurred injuries as described in one or two." Tan paused. "No meteorite? I liked the meteorite. A certain Buddhist flavor. Predestination from another world."

  He folded his hands over the report. "You have failed to give me conclusions. You have failed to identify the victim. You have failed to give me a report I can sign."

  "Identify the victim?"

  "It is awkward to have strangers in the morgue. It could be misinterpreted as carelessness."

  "But that is precisely why the Ministry should not trouble you. You cannot be blamed if his family is negligent."

  "A tentative identification would attract less attention. If not a name, a hat."

  "A hat?"

  "A job. A home. At least a reason for being here. Madame Ko called the American company on the business card. They sell X-ray equipment. Let's say he sold X-ray equipment."

  Shan looked into his hands. "There can be nothing but speculation."

  "One's man speculation may become another's judgment."

  Shan gazed over the shadows that were beginning to cover the slopes of the Dragon Claws. "If I gave it to you, the perfect scenario," he said slowly, hating himself more with every word, "one the Ministry would embrace, would you release me back to my unit?"

  "This is not a negotiation." Colonel Tan considered, then shrugged. "I had no idea breaking rocks was so addictive. I would be pleased to return you to the warden, Comrade Prisoner."

  "The man was a capitalist from Taiwan."

  "Not an American?"

  Shan returned Tan's gaze. "How do you think the Public Security Bureau will react at the mention of the word American?"

  Tan raised his brow and nodded, conceding the point.

  "Taiwanese," Shan said. "It will explain his money and clothing, even why he could travel without being noticed. Say a former Kuomintang soldier who had served here, had sentimental ties. Came to Lhasa with a tour group, broke away on his own and traveled to Lhadrung illegally. The government could not be responsible for the safety of such a person."

  Tan contemplated Shan's words. "Such things could be verified."

  Shan shook his head. "Two groups from Taiwan visited Lhasa over the last three weeks. The report from China Travel Service is attached. If you wait three days to check, the groups will all be home. Officially, nothing can be done to verify anything in Taiwan. It is well known by Public Security that such groups are often used for illegal purposes."

  Tan offered one of his knife-edge smiles. "Perhaps I judged you too hastily."

  "It will be sufficient to complete a file," Shan explained. "After the inspection team leaves, your prosecutor will know what to do." As he spoke, he recalled Tan had another reason to close the matter soon. Before referring to the inspection team, he had mentioned Americans, on their way for a visit.

  "What will the prosecutor know to do?"

  "Convert it to a murder investigation."

  Tan pursed his lips together as if he had bitten something bitter. "Only a Taiwanese tourist, after all. We must guard against overreaction."

  Shan looked up and spoke to the photograph of Mao. "I said it was the perfect scenario. Do not confuse it with the truth."

  "Truth, Comrade?" Tan asked with an air of disbelief.

  "In the end, you will still have a killer to find."

  "That will be a matter for the prosecutor and myself to decide."

  "Not necessarily."

  Tan raised an eyebrow in question.

  "You can complete a file sufficient to divert the matter for a few weeks. Maybe even send the file without all the signatures. It might sit on a desk for months before someone notices."

  "And why would I be so negligent as to send the file without signatures?"

  "Because eventually the accident report will have to be signed by the doctor who performed the autopsy."

  "Dr. Sung," Tan said in a low, sour voice, as though to himself.

  "The medical report was rather thorough. The doctor noticed the head was missing."

  "What are you saying?"

  "The doctor has other authorities to whom she reports. They do their own audits. Without the head, I doubt your accident report will be signed by the medical officer. Without the report, the Ministry will eventually examine the case and classify it as a murder."

  Tan shrugged. "Eventually Prosecutor Jao will return."

  "But meanwhile a killer is out there. Your prosecutor should be considering the implications."

  "Implications?"

  "Like how this man was killed by someone he knew."

  Tan lit one of his American cigarettes. "You don't know that."

  "The body was unmarked. No evidence of a struggle. He smoked a cigarette with someone. He walked up the mountain voluntarily. His shoes were clean."

  "His shoes?"

  "If he was dragged, they would have been scuffed. If he had been carried, he would not have picked up the fragments of rock that were found on his soles. It's in the autopsy report."

  "So a thief found a rich tourist. Forced him to walk up at gunpoint."

  "No. He wasn't robbed- a thief would not have overlooked two hundred American dollars. And he didn't drive to the South Claw on a whim, or at the request of someone he did not know."

  "Someone he knew," Tan considered. "But that would make it local. No one is missing."

  "Or someone who knew someone here. An old feud rekindled by a sudden visitor. A conspiracy unraveled. An opportunity for settling a score presented itself. Have you tried to contact him?"

  "Who?"

  "The prosecutor. One of the troubling questions I didn't write down is why the murderer waited until the prosecutor left town. Why now?"

  "I told you. I don't want to speak about this on the phone."

  "What if something else is planned for his
absence? Before the inspection team arrives."

  He had Tan's attention now. "I don't know. I don't even know if he's reached Dalian yet." Tan studied the ember of his cigarette. "What would you have me ask?"

  "Ask him about pending cases. Was he putting pressure on someone."

  "I don't see-"

  "Prosecutors look under rocks. Sometimes they stir up a nest of snakes."

  Tan blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "Did you have a particular breed in mind?"

  "Potential informers get killed. Partners in crime lose trust. Ask if he was compiling a corruption case."

  The suggestion stopped Tan. He crushed his cigarette and walked to the window. Staring out the window for a moment, he absently picked up a pair of binoculars and raised them toward the eastern horizon. "On a clear day when the sun is right, you can see the new bridge at the bottom of the Dragon Throat. You know who built that? We did. My engineers, without any help from Lhasa."

  Shan did not reply.

  Tan set down the binoculars and lit another cigarette. "Why corruption?" he asked, still facing the window. Corruption was always a more important crime than murder. In the days of the dynasties, those who killed sometimes simply paid fines. Those who stole from the emperor always died by a thousand slices.

  "The victim was well dressed," Shan observed. "Had more cash than most Tibetans earn in a year. Statistics are kept in Beijing. Cross-references between cases. Classified, of course. Murders typically are the result of one of two underlying forces. Passion. Or politics."

  "Politics?"

  "Beijing's way of saying corruption. Corruption always involves a struggle for power. Ask your prosecutor when you reach him. He will understand. Meanwhile, ask him for a recommendation."

  "Recommendation?"

  "A real investigator, to start the fieldwork now. I can finish the form, but the real investigation needs to start while the evidence is fresh."

  Tan inhaled and held the smoke in his lungs before speaking again. "I'm beginning to understand you," he said, letting the smoke drift out. "You solve problems by creating a bigger one. I wager that has a lot to do with why you are in Tibet."