She had always thought she could imagine what Paul had felt then. As a mother, she knew what it was like to worry about a child. Now she knew how wrong she had been. She could not possibly have imagined how he had felt. Her whole body was in revolt. How Paul must have suffered for months.
Hours passed.
At some point Da Lin lay down on the floor and fell asleep. She sat down next to him and put his head on her lap. He held her hand as he slept. A child’s hand, she thought, pulling him closer to her. How thin he was. She could feel every single one of his ribs. She lifted his upper body onto her lap so that he would not catch cold from the cold stone floor.
Soon she lost all feeling in her legs.
_________
Christine heard footsteps. A policeman entered and, in a brusque voice, ordered her to follow him.
On her own.
She asked for a blanket for Da Lin. After hesitating for a moment, he brought her one and Christine tucked it gently under the sleeping boy.
They walked down a long, badly lit corridor, past several empty rooms. The police station seemed to be as under-staffed as the town was under populated. The policeman led her into a room, pointed her to a chair and sat down behind a desk. There was a form and a pen in front of him. And a catapult.
“What is your name?”
“Wu.”
“Wu what?”
“Christine Wu.”
“Don’t you have a Chinese name?”
“No,” she lied.
A gesture of disapproval. “And the boy is your son?”
“Yes.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Not much likeness,” he said, smirking. “Not on the outside, at least.”
She shrugged. What did he expect her to say in reply?
“How old is he?”
“Twelve.”
“What’s his name?”
“Da . . . Da . . .” Christine started stammering. Should she give his real name? If they were searching for him, she would be giving them a lead. “Damien. Damien Wu.”
“Damien? What kind of name is that?”
“British.”
“Does he live with you?”
“Yes.”
The sardonic look on his face showed that he did not believe a word she was saying.
“Where do you live?”
“In Hong Kong.”
He looked up, surprised. “What are you doing in Hongyang, then?”
“We’re tourists.”
“Tourists? They don’t come to our town often. What exactly are you here to see?”
He was enjoying her uncertainty.
“Nothing. We’re here visiting a friend.”
“I see. A friend.”
“Why do you want to know all this?”
He ignored her question. “Where were you before this?”
“In Xian,” she lied. “We went to see the terracotta warriors.”
“And before that?”
“We were in Beijing. I wanted to show my son the Forbidden City and the Great Wall.” She could hear how thin and false her voice sounded.
The policeman didn’t even bother to write anything down. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. “Beijing, Xian, Hongyang. You’re travelling through the country in a zigzag. Have you been to Shi?”
He knows, she thought. Of course he knows.
“Where is that?”
“In Sichuan province. You should know that.” He picked up the catapult, examined it carefully, tugged at the elastic band and laid it back on the desk.
“It’s well made. Does it belong to your son?”
She did not reply.
“Does it belong to your son?” he repeated, in a loud and threatening tone.
Before she could reply, the door opened and Da Lin entered. A second policeman followed him.
His giant frame almost filled the doorway. He was wearing a uniform with several stars on the lapel, and looked about the same age as Paul.
She had seen him before. It took her a few seconds to realize where.
XV
The strong smell of someone who had not washed for several days wafted out of the lift towards them. Zhang had exchanged his monk’s robes for rags. The jacket was torn at the sleeves and the gray trousers were dirty. He had bound a strip of fabric around himself as a belt. His shoes did not have laces in them. He was unshaven and he had lost weight.
“Who is that?” David whispered.
_________
Gao Gao found an unopened box of men’s clothing for him.
“Do you wear men’s clothes as well?” Paul asked.
“No. But I couldn’t resist buying them. They were on special offer. Seventy percent off.”
“The aftershave too?”
“Which aftershave?”
“The one the whole flat smells of.”
“No,” she said in a somber voice. “That’s my father’s eau de toilette.”
While Zhang took a shower, Gao Gao prepared rice, vegetables, and red-stewed belly pork from the freezer.
David did not leave his father’s side. “When is Mama coming back?”
“In half an hour.”
“For sure?”
“Yes. Do you want to draw a picture in the meantime?”
“No.”
When Zhang came out of the bathroom, they both could not help laughing at the sight of him. The red turtleneck jumper was two sizes too big, as were the green jacket and the blue trousers. He looked like a clown.
Zhang sat down and ate quickly. Every now and then he spat a small bone onto his plate, and he took a second and a third helping. Paul did not feel hungry. David sat on his lap and they looked on as Zhang and Gao Gao ate.
“Where’s Christine?” Zhang asked with his mouth full.
Paul hesitated before replying. “We . . . we’re not sure.”
Zhang put his chopsticks down. “What do you mean you’re not sure?”
“She’s gone for a walk,” David said in a firm voice.
“And the boy?”
“He’s gone for a walk with Mama.”
“For a walk?”
Paul could see that his friend required a further explanation. “They’re sure to be back soon.” He hoped that his son would not hear the helplessness in his voice.
Zhang looked at Paul and David in turn and back at Paul again. It took Paul a while to understand what Zhang was trying to tell him. He took David over to the television and put on the Winnie-the-Pooh film that they had watched together the day before. He promised to come back to sit with him in a moment, and then went back to the dining table.
“I have bad news,” Zhang said in a low voice. “The policeman is dead.”
“Are you sure? Or is that just a rumor?” Gao Gao asked.
“Quite sure. He bled to death on his way to the hospital. A former colleague of mine in Shenzhen looked into it thoroughly for me.”
“What’s happened to Luo?” Paul asked.
Zhang dropped his gaze. “He was the first one to pay the price,” he said, in an even lower voice.
Zhang did not know how he had died. Or he wanted to spare them the details.
Out of the corner of his eye, Paul saw Winnie-the-Pooh licking a pot of honey clean.
“Papa, when are you coming?”
“In a moment.”
“The boy is wanted for murder. They’ve started a massive search for him.” Zhang paused and drank some tea. “And for you.”
“How do the police know who we are?”
“They don’t know your names yet. But they have descriptions of you. Fairly detailed ones. A neighbor must have seen you.”
Paul took a deep breath in and out, but still felt that he could not get any air. “Why us?”
“As accessories to murder. You were there when the boy took a shot at the policeman. Now you’re helping him escape.”
Paul closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands. Zhang did not have to tell him w
hat that meant. Now they not only had the henchmen of the crazy son of a senior Party cadre after them. They were also subjects of an official police search. A policeman had died. To pin his murder on them was a simple matter. Would the US embassy be able to help in this situation? China did not allow any foreigners who were being investigated for murder to travel. Not without demanding a price. And in China murder came with a death penalty.
Paul felt faint. Zhang’s hand on his arm. He opened his eyes and looked into Gao Gao’s concerned face.
“What’s wrong, Papa?” David was standing next to him.
It took Paul all his strength to lift the child onto his lap. “Everything’s fine, sweetheart. Everything’s fine.”
XVI
The police officer was clearly a few grades senior to the one who was interrogating her. The younger man automatically sat up and sat ramrod straight at the desk, as though awaiting instructions.
At second glance, Christine remembered where she had seen the man before.
“Thank you,” he said to his colleague. “You may go now. I’ll take over.”
The younger man stood up immediately. “Yes, Detective Superintendent.” He left the room without saying anything further and closed the door.
Da Lin remained standing a few meters away from her, clearly frightened. She opened her arms wide but he didn’t dare to move. He gave the detective superintendent a questioning look. When the man nodded, he ran to Christine.
Despite his height and the uniform, the man did not seem threatening. He had an unusually calm air. He gave a deep sigh.
“The boy is wanted,” he finally said. “And so are you.”
I’m sorry to have to tell you . . .
“What for?”
“Murder,” he said in a serious voice.
Christine held on tight to Da Lin.
“There . . . there’s been a mistake,” she stammered.
He shook his head, picked the catapult up from the desk and looked at it for a long moment. “I’m afraid not. I’m going to have to put you under arrest.”
She felt the urge to retch. Not here, though, she thought, not here. She asked for the toilet.
“Not now,” he said flatly, looking at his watch.
She took a deep breath, hoping to calm her stomach that way. The urge grew stronger. She swallowed a few times and clamped her jaw tight.
The policeman passed her a wastepaper bin in the nick of time.
The sour smell of fresh vomit filled the room. She retched until she was only bringing up greenish-white bile. Da Lin turned away in revulsion.
The man stood in silence opposite her. For several minutes. He seemed completely unmoved, merely looking at his watch every now and then.
Stomach acid burned in her throat.
Suddenly he opened the door. “Follow me. Both of you.”
He led them deeper into the building. They went down into the basement and walked down a long corridor. At the end, they climbed up some stairs to a door that he opened by keying in a code.
Out in the yard was a black van with tinted windows.
“Get in,” the policeman said.
Christine hesitated. What did the detective superintendent intend to do with them? Would they be taken to a jail to be interrogated? Why not in an official police car? Were they to be secretly transferred to Shi? She did not want to leave this ghost town. At least they were near Paul and David here. Everything in her resisted this. If she got into the van she would never see them both again.
“Get in now,” he ordered in a stern voice. “Come on.”
She opened the automatic sliding door to the van. Behind the steering wheel she saw Gao Gao.
XVII
How soft her hands were.
Da Lin had not really wanted her to stroke him. He didn’t like the feeling of someone else’s skin on his. He never allowed anyone to touch him. The only exception had been his father. He had often held his hand as he went to sleep, clinging on to it as tightly as possible. Less often, he had also held his hand when going on walks together. His father had patted him on the head now and then and Da Lin had felt happy whenever that happened. Apart from that, he did not like to be touched. Not by Grandpa. Nor by Mama. And definitely not by other children or other people.
It was different with Christine. Her hand glided through his hair as she stroked him tenderly. Nothing in him resisted. Her gentle, regular movements soothed him. Her warm body, that he could curl up to, and her smell, all helped calm his fears. His mouth and chin did not feel so painful when she held him tight. She whispered something in his ear. Da Lin did not understand a word, but her voice told him that he was not alone.
He hoped she would never leave. He wanted someone who would stay with him. Da Lin reached out for her hand and held it tight. He would never let it go again.
Why had she saved him? She could have said no. She could have claimed not to know him. The policemen would have driven on with him and they would never have seen each other again. Everything would have been easier for her that way.
He did not know whether she could really protect him, but with her by his side, he felt there was someone looking after him.
He would have liked to show her how grateful he was, but how? By giving her a present? All that he owned were the clothes on his back. The policemen had taken away the catapult his father had given him. And even if he still had that, what would Christine have done with it? He still had the second billiard cue at home. But would she be glad to have a cue?
A present! A small one would be enough. But there was nothing he could give to her or share with her.
The inside of his mouth still hurt terribly.
He hated crying. Tears were a sign of weakness. He felt small and helpless when he cried. The last time he had cried was after the death of his father. But only for a short while.
Now he sobbed without restraint. Christine held him even tighter. He realized for the first time how it did him good not to have to hold his tears back.
Da Lin grew tired and his eyelids started drooping. He lay down on the floor to sleep.
How cold it was.
He thought about his father. And about Grandpa.
Half asleep, he felt her sitting down on the ground next to him. Tugging him onto her lap.
Her lap was soft and warm.
She covered him with a blanket. He wanted to fall asleep like this and never wake again.
Beijing
I
They had to get out of the city. By the quickest route. The family was now in even greater danger. Gao Gao had understood that, and not hesitated for a moment.
Li Gang had phoned and given her brief instructions. Where she had to be and when. How to get to the rear entrance of the police station. What she had to do there and what they had to say if someone asked what she was doing there.
He had hung up as she was about to thank him.
Typical Li Gang, she had thought. He was the only link she had to her previous life. They had met many years ago when he had been one of her father’s bodyguards. She had seen him at official events and dinners and every now and then he had accompanied her father home and been on duty there too. She had liked his unassuming air. The laid-back manner and the inner calm that he projected. He was the only one she had seen reading books. Tang dynasty poems! Once she had even seen him read a volume of political essays. She had forgotten the title, but she remembered that it had been banned shortly after. When she encountered him again and he told her that her father had made him the chief of police in Hongyang, she thought it was a joke. He did not fit her image of policemen. The role fit even less well with what she had thought of him.
“You don’t know my story,” he had said to her, with no indication that he was going to tell her anything.
She had thought often about his statement since. You don’t know my story. How apt this was in many cases. We seldom know a person’s story. How little we know about the backgrounds to their actions. The real m
otives behind their deeds. Yet we always have an opinion. We judge. We evaluate.
She was no exception, even though she had made efforts ever since to be more careful.
His help would come with a price. Gao Gao was under no illusions there. Everything had a price. Li Gang was no Samaritan, and he also owed her nothing. If he felt indebted to anyone it might have been to her father. Letting two criminal suspects go was a not inconsiderable risk for him. He would have thought things through carefully. As the chief of police he clearly did not fear betrayal by one of his subordinates. And he must have a plausible explanation ready if it was needed.
What would he want from her? He was not especially interested in money. She would probably have to submit to his advances the next time. Widower or no widower. The thought of it did not fill her with gladness but it also did not repulse her. It was a long time since she had slept with a man. Maybe it would even be fun.
_________
The main road was incredibly empty and they made good progress. Zhang was in the passenger seat. He had not said a word since they had set off, and he replied to questions with only a nod or a shake of the head. Now he sat cross-legged next to her as though he was meditating. What an oddball.
But you don’t know his story, she thought.
The others were huddled together in the two rows of rear seats. In the rear view mirror she saw Da Lin had fallen asleep on Christine’s lap. Paul was reading a book to his son in a whisper.
They would arrive in Beijing late in the evening, and Gao Gao had no idea where they would stay the night.
Hotels were out of the question. She had neither friends nor acquaintances in Beijing. Not any longer. And even if she had known people, none of them would have been willing to take the risk of putting them all up for the night. Or perhaps she was wrong. She had forgotten Lin Dan. She had been at university with her in Beijing. Lin had also made a fortune from property. From what Gao Gao knew, she lived alone in a large flat near Tiananmen Square and owned a string of flats spread out over the whole city. Gao Gao passed her phone to Zhang and asked him to ring Lin Dan.
Lin Dan was not pleased to hear from her. That was clear from the tone of her voice, no matter how much she claimed the opposite was true. She did have room for a guest, she said, but only for one night and only for one person. A group of six people? Not with the best will in the world. She would like to help, but under these circumstances . . .
The Far Side of the Night Page 19
