The Golden Mountain Murders

by David Rotenberg

  “Then we came to a great dam that holds back a river. I’d never seen anything so big. A huge lake was held back by the dam.”

  As you know, Fong, that’s only true sometimes. Flooding in the interior plain is still common and deadly. But the dams are impressive. I hoped they hadn’t thought that the water being held back by the dam would lead them to the Yangtze because this water flows into the southern basin, not north to the Yangtze that would at least get them close to Shanghai. Then something occurred to me.

  “Why go to Beng Pu?”

  “There is a hospital there.”

  I looked at Chen. He signalled me to continue.

  “But there’s got to be a hospital in He Fei, and it’s the capital of your province, isn’t it? And it’s closer to you.”

  Dong Zhu Houng stamped his feet, shuffled back and forth, then looked away from me. “It was the train, wasn’t it?” Chen said.

  Chen was talking about the express train to Shanghai that stopped in Beng Pu.

  Dong Zhu Houng stood. Chen came to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “It was good thinking.”

  Dong Zhu Houng looked at Chen. “Beng Pu has the hospital and the train. He Fei has only the hospital.”

  Classic peasant thinking. Good thinking. Chinese thinking. If you are going to have to travel, travel to the place where you have as many choices as possible. This kind of thinking is part of the strength of the whole country. Chinese. Very Chinese.

  “What happened when you got to Beng Pu?” Chen asked.

  The peasant didn’t answer.

  Chen tried again, “How long was the bus ride to Beng Pu?”

  “A full day and most of the night.”

  Probably just over sixteen hours.

  “We arrived in a drizzling rain in the biggest place I have ever seen.”

  No doubt.

  “There were so many people. Some not Han Chinese.”

  There was a small but quite visible Muslim population in Beng Pu. They were closely monitored and had to this point caused no trouble, unlike their Western cousins.

  “We asked directions to the hospital but people either ignored us or spoke so quickly that we couldn’t understand what they were saying. We were concerned because we didn’t have residency passes and there were many police officers. So we walked. And walked. We went through the markets that only sold straw mats. Some blue and some wheat-coloured. But so many and just mats. Then we came upon the ox- and cow-trading market. People shouted numbers and . . . it’s funny but the thing I remember most is the thousands and thousands of bicycles that were all parked together in one place. I couldn’t help wondering how you ever found your own bicycle in all that. What if you took the wrong one? And none of them were locked. And they were all basically the same colour. Isn’t it funny, but that’s what I remember most about the markets in Beng Pu.”

  “Then what happened?” Chen asked.

  “We found Hao Zhou.”

  The herbal medicine market.

  “All day my wife had been walking like she was in a fog. She bumped into things. Sometimes I had to almost carry her. I couldn’t actually lift her and carry her in the city or some police officer would have seen so I held her up by her arm. But even that attracted attention. I noticed that none of the other couples touched. So I had to let her sort of stagger along beside me. She hadn’t spoken since we got to Beng Pu. I was hoping that the bus ride would allow her time to regain her strength but I was afraid it hadn’t. In fact something new seemed to be happening to her. I couldn’t say what. But something new . . . something bad.”

  “What happened when you got to the herbal medicine market?”

  “My wife seemed to wake up. Her eyes got a little clearer and she looked with real interest at the products that were being sold there from tables and burlap bags on the ground. About halfway through the market she tugged on my sleeve, ‘Ours is much finer than anything here.’ ‘Shall we try to sell some of our herb here?’ ‘No. These are sellers not buyers. We need to know who they sell to.’ I pointed to all the people here. ‘No,’ she said. ‘These are regular people looking to buy small quantities for themselves or their families. We need to know what stores buy here then resell the herbs.’

  “I looked at her in wonder again. I have no idea how she knew things like that. She approached a woman a little older than herself who had a white hospital hat on her head. ‘Are you a nurse?’ my wife asked. ‘No, sweetie, but the hat is good for business.’ I didn’t understand this but my wife evidently did. ‘Gonna buy something? You look a wee bit peckish.’

  “My wife smiled and moved away. I followed her. She approached several different dealers. Most sold medicinal herbs. Some sold spices. She ignored the spice sellers but watched closely as the biggest of the vendors plied their trade. About an hour after we arrived something caught her eye. ‘What?’ I asked. ‘That man,’ she said, pointing to a very ordinary-looking man who, like most of the others in the market, was dressed in a blue Mao jacket with a blue cap on his head and dark blue pants. ‘What about that man?’ I was worried that this might be a police officer. ‘He has a notebook.’ I hadn’t noticed that. ‘And he’s been at almost all of the biggest stands. He talks to the sellers then jots down something in his book.’ ‘The price?’ I asked. ‘Probably and the quantity available. He also touches the herbs in the right way. He must be a buyer for a shop.’ ‘Maybe his own shop?’ ‘Maybe.’

  “I followed the man with my eyes and sure enough he approached another large stall and did just as my wife had said. ‘So what do we do?’ I asked. ‘We follow him until he goes back to his shop.’

  “And that is what we did. It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that he finally left the market. We followed him. ‘What if he goes home and not to his shop?’ I asked. ‘Then we sleep outside his home and follow him the next day.’

  “I couldn’t believe how strong she was. But fortune was with us. We followed him down several back alleys, through a courtyard and finally to a small door with a sign over top. It was not an apothecary sign. I looked from the sign to my wife. She was ghostly pale. ‘What does the sign say?’ ‘Nothing.’ ‘What do you mean it says nothing?’ ‘This man is not allowed to say what it is he does, so the sign says Medical Help.’ ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ ‘No, husband. He’s an abortionist.’

  “I was shocked. I had only heard of such things but never imagined in my life I would ever meet such a man. ‘What kind of herbs was he looking for then?’ ‘Those to put people to sleep. Those to stop bleeding. Those to produce heat.’ ‘But I thought he was also noting our ylangylang.’ ‘He was.’ ‘But what would an abortionist want with a plant that helps men stay strong.’ ‘I don’t know. Let’s ask.’

  “Before I could do anything, she had knocked on the door and pushed it open. The place was small and dank. A single bare light hung from a ceiling. A table that smelled of bleach was in the centre of the room. Around it were counters with herbs and plants in bottles. The man threw aside a leather curtain and walked into the room. Without any introduction he came right up to my wife and reached for her. She allowed him to touch her – rather to touch the bags of herbs she wore around her body.

  “‘What’s this?’ His voice was thin and there was a slyness in his eyes that I really didn’t like. He reached up and turned her face into the light. ‘What do you two want?’ He pushed her aside and noted exactly where his hands had touched her. ‘You sell ylang-ylang,’ she said. He looked at me; a nasty smile was on his lips. ‘He’s a little young to have the droops.’ Before I could say anything, my wife said, ‘He does not droop. He is strong like a young horse. And ready any time I call.’ The man backed off a step. ‘Then what are you here for. You’re not pregnant. You’re sick somehow, but not pregnant.’ ‘I’m not sick,’ my wife said, with so much strength it astonished me.

  “Then she opened one side of her Mao jacket to reveal one of our three bags of herbs tied to her side. ‘Ylang-ylang,’ she said, ‘directly fr
om the high valleys of Da Bie Shan.’ ‘All the way from the mountains? You wouldn’t be lying about that, would you?’ ‘No.’ ‘You wouldn’t by any chance have a government licence to sell ylang-ylang, would you?’ ‘You wouldn’t by any chance have a licence to perform abortions, would you?’ my wife fired back. The man permitted a small smile to his lips. ‘So is it real ylang-ylang?’

  “My wife nodded and held out two perfectly intact dried yellowish-green flowers. The man looked at them, then reached out and plucked one from her palm. He turned it slowly in the light and allowed himself to nod. ‘Ylang-ylang.’ ‘Ylang-ylang.’ ‘Wild ylang-ylang.’ ‘Wild ylangylang.’ Then he looked at her more carefully. ‘How much of this do you have?’ ‘How much money do you have?’”

  “We spent that night in a room that we paid for. I have never been in such a place. The bed smelled bad, but it was a bed. The water ran brown from the tap, but there was water. Down the hall was a place for my wife to clean herself. I think she suffered most because in our travels she couldn’t relieve herself whenever she needed to. Here she could. As well, for a few more grams of the herb the man told us the name of both a hospital and a traditional healer and how to get to both.”

  He looked up at me. “Finally there was a way to get my wife some help. But that night she was very sick. She called out all night long and the people in the next rooms complained. Well before daylight the proprietor had thrown us out of the room. He also charged us much more than we had agreed upon. But I could not fight. I needed to find help for my wife.

  “It was hard in Beng Pu to know when the sun was up. The whole place seemed surrounded in clouds but not like in the mountains. There were smoke clouds from the factories. The walls and streets were slick with wet ash. We both held our noses as we made our way towards the traditional healer’s shop.

  “We bought some food from a ten-spice egg seller. I ate mine in almost one swallow but my wife only took a tiny bite from the top of her egg. ‘Please, eat.’ ‘I can’t.’

  “When we arrived at the traditional healer’s shop, he was finishing his morning porridge. He smiled at me. He had no teeth. He turned to my wife. He allowed his old head to nod up and down several times and pointed to a chair. My wife sat and he indicated that she should remove her jacket. I stepped to one side when she did. The scars were much more numerous now and several of them bled. Again the old man let his head nod up and down several times. ‘Have you been sick long, child?’ ‘Months.’ ‘Did you give blood?’ It hurt me deeply to see her cry. ‘Yes.’ ‘Put your jacket back on.’

  “He turned to me. ‘Take her to the hospital but be careful. They may deport you to one of the compounds. Do the authorities at your home village know about this?’ I nodded. ‘Well, then, I wouldn’t be surprised if your entire village is already under quarantine or moved to the camp.’ He went to his jars of medicines and began to put bits of this and that together into a stone bowl. Then with a large pestle he mashed the ingredients together. When they were fully mixed, he took small amounts of it and put them into each of twelve small paper packets, which he folded shut. ‘Make her a tea out of this. Boil the water fully then let it sit until it is just too hot to put your hand in. Then put one packet of this into the hot water. Swirl it around until the mixture is basically dissolved. Then she must drink it right away. And she must drink it all. It will not get rid of the sores but it will help her system fight the infection that is causing them. She can only take the medicine for twelve days. It is very strong and can kill her if she takes too much. Bring her to the hospital. See what they can do. But be careful. Do you know what this disease is called?’

  “It hadn’t occurred to me until that moment that my wife had a disease. I just thought she was sick. I know that sounds stupid.”

  “It doesn’t. You are not a doctor. You are just a man with a sick wife.” I shot Chen a look. His use of the present tense bothered me. This man’s wife was dead, not sick. “What did he tell you the disease was called.”

  “AIDS.”

  “Had you heard of this disease?”

  “No.”

  Chen nodded. “How did she take to the tea.”

  “I’d never seen her so sick. So terrified. I had begged an outdoor stall to let me brew the tea. I couldn’t believe how much money they charged me to boil water. I prepared the tea as I had been instructed. My wife sat at the end of the alley with her back against a wall. I think she was delirious. I brought the tea back to her. At first she pulled her head away from the smell of the drink. Then she opened her mouth and allowed me to put some in her mouth. She spat it out. I begged her to drink it. She finally did, then threw away the bowl. It crashed against the cold stone wall of the building on the other side of the narrow alley. Then she burped. It made her smile. Then her smile disappeared and she grabbed her stomach and cried out in pain. She was like that for hours. I held her and rocked her. And cleaned her when she shat in her pants. Finally she slept on my lap. We stayed like that all night. I just hoped we were far enough back in the alley not to be seen and reported.

  “The next morning she had a little strength and we made our way to the hospital. I tried to figure out if it was safe for her but I really didn’t know how. I discovered where you had to go to get to see a doctor but saw quickly that you had to present a residency card for Beng Pu. So I waited and watched. A young doctor was looking after those checking in. Several nurses worked for him and were efficiently dividing up the incoming patients. The flow of patients continued without let up until just before noon. Then things began to slow down. I watched a patient being led through the doors by the doctor. I let a little time pass then followed them. I went down several hallways and then saw an open door. This young doctor was tapping the patient’s back with his hands. Words were exchanged between the two then a nurse stepped forward and talked to the patient. As she did the young doctor slipped out of the room and headed down a corridor. I followed him. He left the hospital by a side door and travelled quickly for several blocks then went down a series of steps into an eating place. Once I saw him take his seat I rushed back to the hospital and got my wife who had been sitting on a bench in the sun at the east side of the building. For a moment when she saw me, I don’t think she knew who I was. Then she smiled, ‘Let’s go home,’ she said. ‘No, let’s go see the doctor.’”

  “The young doctor was very surprised when I sat down beside him in the restaurant. ‘I mean you no harm, doctor.’ ‘You’re the one who was in the waiting room all morning but never registered to be seen, aren’t you?’

  “I really didn’t understand what he meant, but I nodded my head. ‘You are a good doctor,’ I said. The young man smiled a little and said, ‘Thank you.’ ‘My wife is sick.’ ‘I’m eating my lunch here. Bring her to the hospital and I will see her there.’ ‘I can’t do that.’ The young doctor put down the chopsticks he held in his right hand and asked, ‘Why is that?’ ‘I think she has AIDS.’

  “I was looking for a backing off from him but I saw none. He picked up his chopsticks and swirled some noodles around them and put them in his mouth. He must have noticed me watching him. ‘Hungry?’ I nodded. He ordered me some noodles with pork then asked, ‘Where is your wife now?’ I pointed out the window. She was leaning against a building across the street.

  “The young doctor shouted to the waiter to put the food in a bag, got up and crossed the street to my wife. ‘Can you walk with me a little?’ he asked her. She nodded. They walked. I couldn’t overhear their talking. At one point she took out one of the eleven remaining packets we had gotten from the traditional healer. The young doctor opened it and took a pinch of the mixture up to his nose. Then he returned the mixture to the paper, carefully refolded it and handed it back to my wife. Shortly it became clear that they were walking back towards the hospital. My wife kept looking back to make sure that I was following. I was.

  “They entered the hospital from one of the back courtyards. Around the open space, the only green I’d seen in
this entire city, sat elderly patients taking in a little sun. The young doctor led my wife into the basement of the building and down a long dim hallway. Just before I followed them I thought I noticed one of the old patients get up from his bench and walk fast towards another entrance to the hospital. But I had no time to check this.

  “At a heavy door the young doctor stopped and knocked. No one responded. He knocked again.

  Still no response. He slipped a key out of his pocket and opened the door. She went in and he signalled for me to follow. The place was a cold open room with a cement floor and a table made of iron, slightly tilted with a bathtub drain at the bottom end. “The young doctor turned to my wife. ‘Take off your clothes.’ Then he turned to me. ‘Do you know what room this is?’ I shook my head. ‘The temporary morgue,’ he said. Before I could question him, he said, ‘It’s the only place I could think of that would be safe to examine your wife. If one of the nurses were to find out about this you would be reported and I don’t even know what they would do to me.’”

  Probably he’d be sent west of the Wall. Internal exile was an effective way of keeping people silent but productive – as well you know, Fong. Beijing has not admitted that there is a single case of AIDS in the whole country, let alone an outbreak in the far reaches of rural, peasant China. No doubt they want to control the dissemination of such volatile information.

  “My wife stood on the cold floor with her clothes off but pressed hard against her body. I could see lesion marks down her legs. And she was so thin. With the bags of the ylang-ylang wrapped around her I had forgotten how thin she was. She was shaking violently. ‘Help her up onto the table,’ the doctor said to me. Then to her, ‘I’m sorry but it is going to be cold.’

  “His examination of her was not long. She cried out several times when he touched her or pressed his fingers against her. Finally he told her to get dressed and waved me over to one side. ‘The herbs you got from the healer may well deal with the infection that is causing the sores. But her lungs are badly infected. She has pneumonia and I think there is a growth beneath her breastbone and another behind her left knee. Both may not be life-threatening but the infection in her lungs could kill her.’ He reached into his pocket and extracted a bottle of pills. ‘These are a very strong general antibiotic. It’s hard to tell, but these may help. Give her two every time you give her the tea.’ He stopped and looked away. Then he turned back, ‘This is just the beginning of this. If you manage to stop the infection in her lungs she may get better for a while but she will get infected again with something else. Probably much worse and most probably fatal.’ ‘What do I . . . ?’ ‘Do? Get her to Beijing or Shanghai. Try to get her treated there. There is a thing called a cocktail that if she is not too far gone could save her life for a while.’ ‘Don’t you have . . . ?’ ‘No. This is China, remember. There’s not suppose to be any AIDS in China so why would there be a need for this cocktail here?’ ‘But why in Shanghai or . . . ?’ ‘Because the powerful are there. And when their wives or sons get sick, they want them treated.’