Bamboo and blood io-3

by James Church

  "She did. I got in her cab and told her to take me to one of the train stations. She said she was bored with school and started driving a cab. She was worried because her father was coming for a visit. If he found out she wasn't in school, she said, he would drag her home. She didn't want to go. Why not, I asked. Because he would arrange a marriage to a man who would treat her like dirt. He might beat her. What will you do, I asked. She turned around to look at me. 'If he beats me? I'll kill him.'"

  "Maybe she was just making the whole thing up."

  "Nope. All you had to do was to look into her eyes. This was real. She wasn't kidding."

  Pak took a last puff on his cigarette. "Get some sleep," he said. "You should take up smoking again." He pointed at my cigarette, floating in the soup bowl. "Might help your jet lag."

  Chapter Six

  "His name is Sohn and he's from the party," Pak said. The next morning, we were in my office, and Pak seemed a little ill at ease. It wasn't unusual these days. All of us were that way-a little ill at ease all the time. Bad stories were coming in from the countryside. Here in the capital, people were disappearing from offices, food was scarce, heat was random, electricity was unpredictable and even when there was some, it didn't last very long. No one pretended things weren't bad, though we didn't talk a lot about it. The question was whether we would get through it.

  "Am I supposed to be impressed with his party status? Because I'll tell you frankly, I'm not. Not these days. You know him, maybe?" As I spoke, Pak drummed his fingers on my desk. In better times, that would have meant he was impatient. Or in some cases, usually in the spring when it was possible to smell the earth again, that little gesture meant he was full of energy, ready to go for a long walk along the river. Now, more and more, he did it because he was nervous and depressed. "How much longer are we supposed to stand around and snap at flies?" I said. "He should have been here a half hour ago. I can't wait all day. I have things to do."

  "Like what? That report you haven't touched? Just relax, Inspector." I almost laughed out loud-him telling me to relax. His fingers had settled into a slow, steady drumbeat, sort of funereal. I realized he might keep it up the rest of the week if I didn't figure out some way to get him to move his hand. "Try not to antagonize him," Pak said, and his fingers went thrum thrum. "You can annoy me all you want, but for him, I need you to sit quietly and listen to what he says. Let him throw his weight around." Thrum.

  "I'm losing track," I said. "Who's on top these days? I can't keep score. Is the party up or down? Is the army the army of the party, or does the party emulate the military? Which is it this week? Why don't you draw me a chart?"

  "Forget that. This is no time to be choosing sides. Who knows where things will be in another six months."

  Six months, I thought. Long time. He must have been thinking the same thing. We just sat there for a minute or so, wondering.

  "I'm not going to like him," I said finally. "This Sohn character will rub me the wrong way, and you know how I react when that happens?" I'd just asked Pak if he knew the man. He'd heard me, but he hadn't answered. I was getting a funny feeling about where this was headed. I didn't need to look six months down the road to see trouble. It might arrive in only a few minutes.

  "Let's be clear, Inspector. Your personal evaluation of the man is at the bottom of my list of worries. Very near the bottom. I need you to let him say whatever he is going to say and then, without answering back or doing anything more than nodding politely, let him leave. Down the steps, out the door, good-bye Comrade Sohn. Got it? The phone call I received this morning from the Ministry said you were to be present when he showed up. You're present. I'm just making a tiny addendum-behave."

  I didn't have anything to say to that, so I looked out my window. A car went by outside, and I listened to its tires on the snow. A cold, very gray day. The sound of a car slowly driving down an empty street. It was enough to put you to sleep, that and the drumbeat from the desk. I almost didn't hear Pak. "… you're staring off into space again. I don't understand these mood swings of yours all of a sudden, Inspector. Cut it out, will you? Things are bad enough without your constant moping."

  "What do you want from me? I don't take to cheerful suffering." I instantly wished I hadn't said that. Pak's life was worse than mine. The only suffering I had was watching other people driven to their knees.

  Pak considered for a moment. His fingers went quiet, then resumed. "Not to repeat myself, but let Sohn do the talking. All you have to do is listen. That's the sum total of what I need from you. Silence." He picked up a pencil, which ended the problem of the drum. "Or am I asking too much?"

  "So, you do know him. Is he the someone for whom you're suddenly doing favors?" No response. "Alright, it's not a problem. I'll let him do the talking. I'll be mute. I'll be a stone. I'll stare at his ears."

  "Don't." Pak looked alarmed. "Whatever happens, don't do that."

  "Don't stare? Why, will he disappear in a thunderclap? Who pushed me into this, anyway?" Silly question-it was fairly obvious by now that this man Sohn was behind it. "The Ministry has a whole roster of inspectors, a lot of them in the senior ranks. Good ratings, high marks in loyalty and performance. Why me?" Also a silly question.

  "How should I know?"

  I didn't like the look that wasn't on Pak's face. "Ever since our visitor showed up, we've had nothing but trouble," I said. "You think that has something to do with this party guy?"

  "How should I know?"

  "How should you know? You keep saying that. You know plenty that you don't tell me. If you owe him something, that's up to you to handle. Don't drag me into it." A horn sounded as a car pulled into our building's driveway. I looked out the window. The car was black, and it had party plates. "It's Sohn."

  "I need to be in my office," Pak said, bouncing out of the chair and hurrying down the hall. A moment later he was back, with a tired smile around his eyes. "I just realized, he'll be outside the gate for a while. The new guards are going to give him a hard time. He'll show them his party ID and they'll stare at it. There, see?" Pak pointed out my window. "One of them dropped it in the snow, and the other stepped on it."

  "Mind if I watch, too?"

  "No. I don't want him to look up and see you." Pak stepped away from the window. "Actually, he shouldn't see me, either. He'll get out of the car"-a door slammed-"and start threatening them. Then he'll demand to use the gate phone."

  The phone on Pak's desk rang. Pak pressed a button and routed it into my office. He put the receiver carefully to his ear. "Yes, comrade. I'm happy to give them orders to let you in, but I don't control them, as you know." He listened, but not with any tension in his posture. "No, not at all; I'm not denying you entry. It's just that I don't control entry. They do. No, it wasn't my idea to have it done that way. Who can I call to fix it? I can call the Ministry, but then they'll have to call the army. That's the new… yes, of course, I'll be right down." He hung up the phone. "The guards will back off when they see me, at least I hope so. Otherwise my feet will get cold in all that slush."

  2

  It had started snowing again and was almost dark when I heard what sounded like a bear coming up the stairs. The door to Pak's office slammed. There followed fifteen minutes of angry words and sharp barks. I leaned into the hall to hear better. Suddenly, Pak's door flew open.

  "There you are, Inspector." He motioned to me, a slight warning. "Come in and sit down." Pak walked back to his desk with that uneasy gait that meant he was going to tell me something I didn't want to hear. "Close the door while you're at it."

  I half expected the bear would be sitting across from Pak, but when I stepped into the office, the visitor's chair was empty. Instead, in the far corner, a man lounged against the wall. If Pak wanted the door shut, it meant we were not going to have a conversation about the weather.

  "Inspector." Pak cleared his throat. "This is Comrade Sohn. He is from-"

  "Never mind where I am from." The man barked to clear his own
throat and then coughed to make sure the job was done. His ears were exceedingly small and perfectly shaped. It was as if the old ones had been surgically removed, replaced by a new pair from a child, and pasted to the side of his head, but slightly too low. On a woman, they might have looked good. Like shells. On him, it made you wonder if he was underdeveloped from the neck up. I tried not to stare. No wonder Pak had been so upset at the mention of ears.

  "We can skip where he is from." Pak indicated I was to sit in the vacant chair. "But I believe he has something to tell you."

  As far as I was concerned, Sohn had stepped off on the wrong foot. "I'm all ears," I said. I cleared my throat, not to be left out.

  The man looked closely at me, weighing whether I was going to be trouble. Then he grunted and glanced around the office. It wasn't exactly disdain on his face, but he managed to convey that he was not usually to be found in this type of unimportant setting. Maybe that's why he was standing, to make clear he didn't feel completely comfortable in such a place. "Normally, our conversation wouldn't be held in offices like this," he said at last and coughed. "Normally, your supervisor would have nothing to do with it. Normally"-he paused to emphasize how abnormal everything was-"I would just borrow you for a while. You'd be put on leave from your duties, and then when everything was done, you'd drop back into this place. If all went well, you wouldn't drop back from too great a height." He stopped to make sure he had my attention. He did. "But your Minister has recently made clear he doesn't want his people disappearing like that these days. 'Too disruptive,' he complains. Your Minister has a reputation for complaining overmuch sometimes, did you know that?" The little ears waited for either of us to respond, but we knew enough not to.

  "Naturally." Sohn barked twice and then continued, "Things being what they are, I try to help out where possible. Your ministry is important to us in these troubled times. That's the reason, and the only reason, I'm including your supervisor in this conversation." So it wasn't that I was supposed to be present when Sohn talked to Pak, it was that Pak was to be present when Sohn spoke to me.

  I waited for Pak to say something. It was his office, it was his status being knifed. He sat back, subdued, very unlike the way he had been with the crowd from the special section not so long ago. There should at least have been some tension in his eyes. There wasn't. All I could detect was a quiet amusement, as if over a joke told long ago.

  "What do you want from me?" If Pak wasn't going to say anything, I might as well speak up.

  Sohn looked at Pak and smiled. "Your Inspector has asked what we want from him. Will you tell him, or shall I?"

  Pak looked out the window. "It's your game, comrade."

  "Fine." Sohn turned to me. "Plenty, Inspector, I want plenty." He barked and grunted, which I figured meant he was going to say something important. "So listen carefully. Don't take notes; don't ask questions. Just listen."

  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."