by Chris West
*
Bao expected Chu Youming to be a man of taste. Surely a man who had owned such a nice scroll … However his first impression was not favourable: the gateposts had gold-painted statues on them.
‘We all have our faults,’ he reminded himself.
There was a complex intercom system that took Bao a while to work out, but finally he got a response.
‘Enter!’ squawked a tinny voice, and the gate opened automatically. Bao made his way up a tiled garden path, past fussy ornamental animals. His host emerged from the house and showed him in.
‘Have a seat,’ said Chu, ushering Bao into a front room. ‘This sofa is new. It cost me two thousand yuan.’
Bao sat down. It wasn’t even comfortable.
‘It’s nice to see this case being handled at a higher level,’ Chu went on. ‘The thief got away with a lot, you know.’
‘Yes, I know. I – ’
‘The hi-fi was the latest design. CD, Full graphic equalization, twin cassette decks and Dolby noise reduction. All miniaturized. Japanese, of course. It was four thousand yuan, full price, though I got a good deal out of the retailer. You can, you know, if you take the right line with them. Can I offer you some tea?’
‘Er, no, thanks.’
‘Are you sure? I’m having some.’
‘No, that’s fine.’
Chu shouted an order into the kitchen.
‘What about the calligraphy scroll?’ Bao asked.
‘That was the wife’s.’
As if on cue, a woman entered and handed Chu a mug of tea. He took it without a word of thanks. ‘The inspector asked about your scroll,’ he told her instead. ‘The one that was stolen. The one they say was worth money.’
Mrs Chu looked down at the floor.
‘It looked a very nice piece,’ said Bao.
She said nothing.
‘A little shy, my wife can be,’ said Chu.
‘Qing dynasty, was it?’ Bao went on.
The woman smiled and nodded.
‘And valuable?’ said Bao.
‘She says it was,’ Chu cut in. ‘Can’t see why. You can hardly read what it says.’
‘What reign was it?’
‘Not sure,’ Mrs Chu mumbled.
‘I hope you get it back. When you do, you should find out more about it. Er, how long had you had it for?’
‘Long time,’ Mrs Chu managed.
‘She paid virtually nothing for it,’ her husband cut in. ‘Bought it off Lao Ting.’
Bao nodded. He recalled ‘Lao Ting’, a former Red Guard who had fallen on hard times after 1976, the end of the Cultural Revolution. He had survived by selling artefacts that he had looted, which had either belonged to people who had been unwilling to claim them, afraid that the political situation might change again, or to families that had totally disappeared.
‘That’s the secret of all success in business,’ Chu went on. ‘Buy cheap, sell dear. Simple when you know how.’ He looked round, as if at an imaginary audience, then turned back to his visitor. ‘Now, Inspector, tell me what you intend to do to catch these thieves. I expect to hear something positive: in my view the forces of law and order have become remarkably slack in the last few years!’
Bao thought of the last case he had been on, and the fight he had had with three knife-wielding thugs, and gave a weary nod.
4
Bao and Rosina dined alone again.
‘So how did you get on at the police station?’ said Rosina.
‘All right. Nothing special.’
‘Oh,’ Rosina replied, then took another mouthful of bean-curd cheese. ‘Nothing more than that?’
‘No. There are some robberies they’re worried about, but they’re not making much progress.’
‘Ah.’ Another mouthful.
‘And frankly I don’t care,’ Bao went on. ‘Relieving a few vulgar newly rich tuhao of pointless gadgets … I know, a policeman shouldn’t talk like that, but I’m on holiday. How was the clinic?’
‘They were really nice. I, er, said I’d go and give a talk there on nursing in a modern city hospital. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because I asked you to keep away from police matters. It’s hypocritical of me.’
‘No. It’s fine. I thought you didn’t like giving speeches.’
‘It’s a talk, not a speech. To fellow professionals. Well, a nurse and two assistants. But they use a lot of interesting techniques here, you know. Traditional medicine. It’s cheaper, and the locals believe in it.’
‘That’s good.’
‘In fact, I’d like to spend some time there, looking at their work. I thought it would be a good way of getting to know some Nanping people.’
Bao smiled. ‘Excellent idea!’
‘You mean that?’
‘Yes, I do. I hope it works, and that you meet nice people.’ It was easy to say this. When you really love someone, you want the best for them. Bao wished he had understood this earlier in his life, but it was better to know late than never. Confucius hadn’t understood the Mandate of Heaven until he was fifty.
‘I think I shall. I told them about the figwort,’ Rosina went on. ‘They were very interested. The nurse said we must do something to protect it. Apparently there’s a plan to flood Snake Valley. They want to build a series of dams and create reservoirs for irrigation, fish-farming and hydroelectricity.’
‘That’s ambitious. But why not? The fish at our meal had to come all the way from Jinan. And there’s a terrible energy shortage.’
‘She says it’s crazy. It’ll cost a fortune. All those fields would vanish. So would your memorial.’
‘They could always move it. And the village has to progress economically – ’
‘Anyone with any intelligence is against it,’ Rosina cut in. ‘Supposing it doesn’t work? Supposing the dam leaks or the fish die or the lake silts up? Supposing it just doesn’t make money? Fei Huiqing – she’s the nurse – reckons that Secretary Wu is after the kickbacks he’ll get from awarding construction contracts.’
Bao frowned. ‘That’s a serious allegation. I don’t want to get mixed up in anything like that.’ He paused. ‘Ming has a couple of fields in Snake Valley. I take it Secretary Wu intends paying people for the fields he floods?’
‘No idea,’ Rosina replied.
Bao sighed gloomily. ‘It’s still not our business. Even if he does get paid, Ming’s useless with money.’
Rosina wanted to make some comment about giving people a chance, but her mind flashed back to her brother-in-law’s embarrassing speech, and she kept silent.
*
The door of Courtyard Four creaked open. This time Ming himself was behind it. He appeared to be sober.
‘Hello, Zheng,’ said the older man quietly.
Bao smiled and held out a hand.
‘Come in,’ Ming went on.
The inspector crossed the courtyard and entered the bed/sitting room he had sneaked a view of yesterday. Ming had made a small effort at tidying up. The piles of books had been squared off, the papers strewn across the floor had been cleared away. But there was just too much clutter for the place ever to look anything other than messy.
‘Tea?’
‘Please,’ Bao replied, hoping it wouldn’t be local.
Ming went into his kitchen and Bao gazed round. All those books! Father had always told them to read as much as they could. There were folders full of notes, too. Ming should have been a teacher, only he had never been able to concentrate on anything for long.
On the dresser, a place he’d not been able to see when he peered in through the window, Bao noted a family photo from about 1963: Granny Peng, Mother, Father (looking so old), the three children: Ming, Chun and himself. He wondered whether this always had pride of place up there, or whether it had been specially positioned in the last few days. Next to it was a picture of an old Buddhist deity, Yama, King of Hell.
Ming reappeared with the tea. �
�Here we are. We grow it locally, you know.’
‘Thanks.’
He sat down. ‘Look, I’m sorry about, er, the other night. Those banquets are all the same. A toast to this, a toast to that - before you know where you are, you’re full of that maotai stuff and it, well, takes over.’
‘That’s OK.’
‘And I guess I should have asked you both round here. I can’t wait to meet Rosina properly.’ He paused. ‘This old place is a bit full at the moment. We’ll have a banquet at Zhou’s Noodle House. Lao Zhou’s still running it, you know. Only he’s put his prices up recently … ’
‘We’ll pay, Ming.’
“No, I couldn’t accept that!’
‘We must.’
‘You’re my guests.’
‘Why don’t you entertain us here, Ming? We could talk more … intimately.’
‘There’s a lot of clutter.’
‘We don’t mind clutter.’
Ming paused. ‘OK. Let’s fix a day.’
They did so. Bao took a sip of tea. ‘Still reading a lot, then, I see.’
‘Oh, yes. Literature mainly, of course – but factual stuff, too. One has to keep up to date.’
Bao took a book off a pile. ‘Land law.’
‘Yes. I was thinking of studying law. China needs lawyers. Under the old system the police could just … ’ Ming’s voice died away. ‘How’s Chun?’
‘Busy, as ever.’
‘Earning lots of money, I’m sure.’
‘Much more than you or I will ever have.’
‘You still have your privileges.’
Bao thought of the jeep-ride to the village. ‘Sometimes. But you know how it is nowadays. Money’s talking louder and louder.’ He paused. ‘Do you still have those fields?’
‘Ah. That’s why you’re here. Family business.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Bao snapped. At once he felt guilty. Memories of arguments between himself and his brother flooded back. ‘I’m here to see you. To re-establish contact. But Rosina told me about the plans for the dam. And I know where your fields are.’
Ming nodded. ‘They’re offering compensation. Not enough, of course. Two thousand yuan. What the hell can you get with two thousand yuan nowadays?’
Bao did a quick sum: if each bottle of Maotai cost one yuan fifty …
‘Wu says the fish-farm is a village project,’ Ming went on. ‘He says everyone will benefit from it. He says that he needs to keep costs down, and that anyone who tries to argue the compensation up is putting personal interest above the general good. He says we’re saboteurs, reactionaries.’
‘How many other people are there in your situation?’
‘Enough. We’ve formed a group. We’re fighting.’
‘Hence the book on land law?’
Ming looked ashamed. ‘At first, yes. But I’ve really got interested in it. I’d like to know more. Study it properly.’
Bao remembered his brother saying exactly the same thing in nineteen sixty-seven about Mao Zedong Thought. Then in the late seventies about science and technology; then in the late eighties about economics.
‘If I got a decent payment out of Wu, I could go on a law course,’ Ming continued. ‘Jinan TV University does one. But I’d need a video recorder, textbooks, time off work.’ He pointed to a pile of books. ‘Justice. Dad always talked about justice, didn’t he? Maybe, if I could become a lawyer, I could help bring it about. But I won’t if that bastard Wu nails me down over the land, will I?’
‘No,’ said Bao.
Silence fell again.
‘Can I top up your tea?’ asked Ming.
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘I can offer something stronger if you’d like.’
‘Not today, thanks.’
Silence.
‘Oh look,’ said Bao. ‘Outlaws of the Marsh. D’you remember how dad used to read to us from that when we were lads?’
Ming smiled for the first time in the interaction. ‘Tell me all about life in the big city, brother.’
*
Rosina met with Fei Huiqing at the top of the pass, and they walked down the other side towards the monument. She felt an instinctive liking for the local woman, a caring medical professional like herself, but also, she sensed without knowing why, an outsider, something she felt herself to be, too.
‘There’s loads of it down there,’ said Rosina, gesturing towards the trees where the monument was. ‘Just growing wild. I’m sure money could be made from it. It’s another argument you could use against Secretary Wu’s fish-farm.’
‘So you’re on our side?’ Huiqing asked.
‘I’m … not taking sides. But I see your point of view. Thoughtful people in Beijing are becoming more and more aware of the environment.’
Huiqing smiled. ‘Most people round here reckon the project is wonderful. More money, that’s all they see. They don’t understand the costs.’
‘That’s old thinking,’ said Rosina.
Huiqing winced. Rosina felt bad: the old Maoist phrase had just sprung to her lips semi-ironically, the way such talk did in the capital. Out here, such words clearly still carried weight.
‘These fields will be fine,’ said Huiqing, once they had rounded the first corner. ‘Wu wouldn’t dare flood them. They’re prime land, and they belong to the top families.’ She pointed at the lower fields. ‘Those will all vanish. That one over there belongs to us – well, we have the right to cultivate it.’ Huiqing pointed to a fenced-off plot marked Private. ‘That sign is my father’s protest,’ she explained. ‘He says either people have rights over land or they don’t. If we don’t, then the Party should be honest about the fact. If we do, then they shouldn’t intimidate us into selling.’
‘He sounds quite a character,’ said Rosina.
‘He is.’
A brief silence fell. ‘Who would actually buy the land?’ Rosina asked finally. ‘Secretary Wu?’
‘The fish-farm cooperative. But that is run by the Party. I don’t think Wu is after the land,’ she added. ‘He wants the commission he’ll get from whoever gets the construction contract.’
They reached the small path to the memorial. Rosina led the way across to the trees, then stopped, pulled out a figwort plant and examined the root.
‘All my life I’ve lived in Nanping, and I’ve never noticed this,’ said Huiqing. ‘That shows how interested I am in revolutionary heroes. We should gather some samples.’
The women set to work. It was a pleasant day, and Rosina soon found herself immersed in the task. Above her head, the skylark was singing again.
The cough came from a clump of trees no more than twenty metres away, followed at once by a curse and the sound of someone charging through undergrowth. Rosina stood up, ran a few steps in pursuit then stopped.
‘He was spying on us!’ said Huiqing.
‘You don’t know that,’ Rosina replied defensively.
Huiqing shook her head. ‘My opposition to this project is unpopular. Associate with me, and you’ll become unpopular too.’
‘I’ll decide who I associate with,’ said Rosina. ‘We’ll carry on collecting until we have enough specimens, then take them down to the clinic.’
*
‘To our harvest!’ said Rosina.
‘To our harvest!’ Huiqing replied. They clinked tea mugs and drank.
They were celebrating in the Chrysanthemum Tea House, a small local restaurant with formica-covered tables, wooden benches and whitewashed walls. A cassette player blasted out pop hits from Guangzhou: the only other customer, an old man slurping noodles in the far corner, couldn’t eavesdrop even if he wanted to.
‘We’ve done well, haven’t we?’ said Huiqing, with a sudden childlike enthusiasm.
Rosina grinned back. Part of her was really enjoying the affection of this person, whom she felt could be a true friend. But another part of her felt caution. She hadn’t told Huiqing who her husband was, just that Zheng had once lived in the village and that he was
showing her the place he’d grown up. No mention of his Party connections. Was she in danger of wandering over some boundary she didn’t understand? Maybe she should back off a little.
‘You must come to my home!’ Huiqing went on. ‘It’s very simple. Just my father and me. He can be a little distant, but he’s had to put up with a lot in his life. He is rich peasant class. That probably doesn’t matter a lot in the city, but here … They still haven’t really “taken the class hats off” yet.’
Rosina’s mind went back to Mrs Yao’s speech. Then she thought angrily, ‘This wasn’t my past. Why should it stop my making friendships? At the hospital nobody gives a damn about this old stuff. It’s 1993, for heaven’s sake!’
But the unease wouldn’t go away.
‘Of course, I suffered, too,’ Huiqing went on. ‘But the worst persecution – the cowshed, the jet-plane rides – was over by the time I was growing up. I got some education. I got taken on at the clinic. They had to; I knew that bloody Barefoot Doctor’s Manual cover to cover.’ She scowled. ‘Even so, for the first few years the Party bigshots seemed to think I was only waiting for my first chance to poison them.’
Rosina grimaced.
Huiqing sucked the last drop from her mug and called to the restaurant owner for refills of boiling water. ‘Have you tried the local tea?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘Don’t. It’s revolting.’
*
‘I’ll pay. You’re my guest,’ said Huiqing when the bill arrived.
Rosina knew her friend would be offended if she offered to pay, despite her Beijing salary, so accepted with a smile and watched as the local woman produced a simple grey purse and pulled out some grubby notes.
‘Now come and see where I live,’ Huiqing went on, enthusiastically.
‘I …’ Rosina began, an excuse formulating itself in her mind. Then that anger came back again. If she made an excuse and ran off back to the guesthouse, she’d be playing the same game as Mrs Yao. She was a modern woman and she’d choose her own company. That way, maybe she’d help Nanping modernize a bit, too. Wasn’t that what China was supposed to be doing?
They got to their feet and left.
The restaurant’s one other customer appeared to take no notice of their leaving until they were out of sight, whereupon he stood up, muttered something to the owner, and began to follow them.
