His thoughts turned to the policeman. Judging by the location of the wound and the blood loss, his chances of survival were slim. Perhaps he had already bled to death on his way to the hospital. Even though the man had often treated him badly and tormented him in interrogations, Luo was surprised to realize that he felt something like pity. Not so much for the man but for his family. A child would lose a father. A woman her husband. Parents their son.
They have turned us into a people of murderers, he thought. Even a twelve-year-old. They have sown so much rage and hatred, so much bitterness and despair, they have done us so much injustice that we don’t know how to help ourselves except through violence.
They.
Who were they? Luo had not found a satisfactory answer to this question yet. The Party. The communists, whom he had previously been one of. The people in power and their henchmen. But they were everywhere – in every village and in every family. They. We. The longer he thought about it, the more they and we merged into one.
He had wished for Da Lin to have a better life. But he had given up on this hope after Zhong Hua’s death. Now he could do nothing more for his grandson. Ever since the accident with his leg he had thought often about taking him to Beijing. He had postponed it from one month to the next because he could not bear to be parted from him.
Da Lin.
How dear his grandson was to him. Now he had had no choice but to entrust him to a family he barely knew.
Luo heard the cars coming from a distance. There were at least three of them, probably more. Their speed increased as they approached.
If the police let him talk he could claim that he had made the shot with the catapult. They would be happy to have someone admitting to the crime.
It was always about guilt and punishment, not about justice.
The cars braked sharply. Doors were opened and slammed closed. He wanted to face them standing, so he got up.
They ran towards the gate. There were more of them than he had expected. For a moment he felt frightened. The policemen would want him to feel their anger. If so, from what he knew of them, they would beat him up thoroughly before they asked any questions.
He shut his eyes and thought about his son, and his fear went away. The first policemen stormed into the yard and came directly towards him. He felt that Zhong Hua was beside him.
He had not felt him so close since his death.
IV
They stood by the side of the field with their luggage. Paul was on the verge of losing hope. Ever since the car had disappeared around a corner, an almost complete silence had surrounded them. He reached for Christine’s hand and held it tight. In the darkness they were only able to find the edge of the road with some difficulty.
He did not even know which way they should be walking. Back towards where they had come from or in the direction the car had taken, in the hope that there was a village behind the next hill? And what then? Even if they found a village after a few kilometers, who would help them there? So late at night. How could they explain who they were, where they came from, and where they wanted to go?
They stepped onto the road and started walking the same way the car had gone, in silence. Da Lin held onto Christine’s other hand and Paul carried David.
Over an hour later, they heard a car approaching behind them. In the distance they saw two headlights, which disappeared behind a rise of land before appearing again. When they came into view, the brakes were applied and two men stared at them in astonishment through the windscreen. Paul signaled at them to stop and for a moment it looked like they were hesitating, but then they drove on.
The second car, half an hour later, did not even slow down.
Neither did the third.
The fourth car stopped fifty meters away from them. Paul ran towards it as quickly as he could, but when he had nearly reached it, it started moving again and disappeared into the darkness.
Paul could see that Da Lin and Christine were getting tired. It was long past midnight. They sat down by the roadside to rest. When he saw another car approaching in the distance, he stepped a little way into the road and waved for help.
The car slowed down but did not stop.
When the next car came, Paul stepped into the middle of the road and waved both arms. The driver stepped on the accelerator and drove straight at him. If Paul had not jumped aside at the last moment, he would have been run over.
Did they take him for a highway robber and fear an ambush?
One hour later a vehicle stopped.
It was a small pick-up truck. Three Buddhist monks and a young man were squeezed into the driver’s cab. They rolled the window down.
“Where do you want to go?”
Paul could only shrug helplessly.
“Should we take you to our monastery?”
“Yes, please.”
“Get in.”
They climbed onto the back of the pick-up truck and kept Da Lin and David between them. The monks gave them a thumbs-up through the rear window. Paul nodded at them, exhausted and grateful.
The oncoming wind was cold. They crept behind the driver’s cab and huddled together. Despite the biting cold and the rumble of the truck, Da Lin, David, and Christine all fell asleep within minutes.
Paul fell into a trance-like state somewhere between sleep and semi-wakefulness. At some point he realized that they had come to a stop. He heard voices. Christine and the children were still sleeping. Someone spread a blanket over them. Paul was too exhausted to find out where they were.
_________
The vibration of the phone in his trouser pocket woke him shortly after sunrise. A text message from Zhang.
where are you?
Paul replied immediately: on the way to hongyang
is luo with you?
no
where is he?
??
Shortly after that the phone rang. Paul was startled. They had agreed only to phone each other in a desperate emergency. Or was it not Zhang at all? Who else had his number?
“Hello?” Paul spoke quietly so as not to wake the others.
“It’s me,” Zhang said. “Where are you?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Paul said, sitting up. “I think we’re in a monastery. We were driven here by some monks in the night.”
“Do you know where Luo is?”
“No. I think he must be at his farm.”
“He’s not there. When did you leave?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
Zhang took a deep breath. “I’ve just arrived. It’s bad. Chairs and shelves have been thrown around the house and the table and chest of drawers have been smashed to pieces. There’s a dead dog in the yard. And blood everywhere.”
Paul was too horrified to speak.
“Hello?”
“I’m still here.”
“Did you get my message with the address in Hongyang?”
“Yes.”
“Get in touch as soon as you know where you are. I’ll try to meet you in Hongyang.”
Paul would have liked to talk to him for a while longer. The familiarity of his voice did him good. But Zhang ended the call without another word.
Christine, Da Lin, and David were still asleep. Paul could not stay lying down any longer. His back ached from lying on the hard surface. He climbed off the back of the truck. A fire had been lit somewhere. The smell of wood smoke spread over the courtyard. A gentle breeze sounded the wind chimes on the roof. The monastery consisted of only two buildings and one temple, with an encircling wall. In the temple he found three statues of Buddha with colorful fairy lights wound round them. There were biscuits and plastic flowers laid before them as sacrifices.
He sat down on a wooden stump in the rising sun. Reddish-brown monks’ robes were hung out to dry on the washing line next to him. A young monk walked up to him. It was one of the three monks who had taken them on board the truck last night. Paul got up and bowed.
“Thank you so very, very m
uch. You have helped us a great deal.”
The monk just smiled. “You must be hungry.”
“A little.”
“Come with me.”
He led Paul into a small dining room, took a bowl from a shelf, filled it with rice and stir-fried vegetables, and put it on the table.
“Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
Soon they were sitting facing each other, in silence.
The monk examined him closely. He could hardly take his eyes off Paul. It was as though his guest was an exotic creature to be studied in detail.
“This tastes good,” Paul said with his mouth full. “Thank you very much.”
The monk grinned. Then he started laughing. It was a laughter without malice; he was not trying to hide anything or pretend anything; it was neither aggressive nor embarrassed.
Eventually Paul could not help but join in.
The monastery’s abbot entered and the novice fell silent and stood up immediately. He bowed respectfully and, after hesitating briefly, left the room.
“Welcome,” said the abbot in a gruff voice. He sat down opposite Paul and sized him up thoroughly. He was about the same age as him and had deep lines on his face, strong hands, and a big belly. Paul got the impression that he had spent most of his life working on the land.
“Thank you very much. We are grateful for your hospitality,” Paul said, hoping that the monk would not ask too many questions.
“Where do you want to go?”
“To Hongyang.”
“That is far away.”
Paul nodded. “Is there perhaps a taxi in the village that we could take?”
The abbot poured himself some tea. “I don’t think so. But we could take you to the bus. It goes to Xian. There will surely be a connection to Hongyang from there.”
“I . . . I’m not so keen on taking the bus,” Paul said evasively.
“I thought so.”
A tense silence followed. The abbot cleared his throat. “I was told that you were standing by the side of a road in the middle of nowhere.”
Paul could not think of any good reason to give for this, so he merely nodded and said nothing.
The abbot drank his tea and waited for an explanation. When none was forthcoming, his face darkened. “Are you tourists?”
“Yes, we’re from Hong Kong.”
“From Hong Kong?” the abbot repeated, sounding curious. “That’s far away.”
It didn’t make any sense. Everything that Paul said would make the monk more and more suspicious. “And we have to get to Hongyang urgently. How long does it take to get there by car from here?”
“I think it will be eight to ten hours. What do you want to do in Hongyang?”
Paul ignored the question. He hesitated before saying what was on his mind. “Could the driver maybe . . . ?”
The abbot shook his head. “I’m sorry. That’s too far. We need him here. I would like to help you, but I’m afraid I can’t.”
Paul could not stop himself. “But how shall we get to Hongyang, then?”
“By train or by bus,” the monk said coldly.
Paul’s strength left him. It was as if all the air was slowly draining out of him. His head and shoulders grew heavy and his back slumped.
The abbot watched him calmly. “How urgently do you need to get there?”
“Very.”
“How much money do you have with you?”
“About 2,000 yuan’s worth, in yuan and Hong Kong dollars.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm. No jewelry?”
That hadn’t crossed his mind. He thought for a moment. “Two gold wedding rings. They were expensive. My wife is wearing a necklace but it’s not valuable.”
The monk shook his head, disappointed. “I don’t think I can find anyone in the village. Give me everything you have and I’ll ask around.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.”
The relief was short-lived.
He wanted payment upfront.
Their eyes met, and suddenly Paul did not know if he could trust this man. The money and the jewelry were all they had. What were they to do if the monk could not find anyone to help them but did not return the money? Or simply disappeared with it immediately? Took it for himself and reported them to the police?
“Well? Don’t you want to go and get the money and the rings?”
Paul did not know what it was. The man’s voice, in which he suddenly thought he could hear greed? His body, which seemed more tense than before? His eyes, which were avoiding his? Or was he just imagining it all? The doubts wormed deeper into him. Suspicion had a voracious appetite. He hated himself for having such thoughts. The man in front of him was the abbot of a small monastery! A person who probably spent his life meditating and helping the poor instead of pursuing the Chinese dream of accumulating great wealth somewhere in a city. And who was making a generous offer to help.
Out of compassion.
Or out of greed?
“Perhaps it would be better for us to take the bus,” Paul heard himself say.
“Are you sure?”
Was his doubt a well-meant warning or a threat?
Paul was completely thrown. He could no longer tell what was what. “Yes.”
“No problem. We’ll take you to the bus station. There are only two buses a day. One in the morning and one in the evening. You should still be able to get the one at nine. Then you’ll be in Xian in the early evening.”
Had he made a mistake, turning down the offer? From the man’s voice, he could detect no disappointment over losing a good deal, more relief at getting these strangers off his hands again so quickly.
Paul’s phone vibrated. “Excuse me.”
He dug around in his pocket for it.
they are on my trail
Paul was about to put the phone away when a second message arrived.
do not get in touch. take the battery out of the phone. pastor lee is expecting you
“That was a friend,” Paul said hesitantly. “He’s asking us to get to Hongyang as quickly as we can. It’s an urgent family matter for my wife.”
V
She would not give up her wedding ring. Not under any circumstances. She did not care what Paul and this dreadful monk said. She would rather have the two gold crowns torn from her mouth.
Yes, they could have the necklace but it was cheap costume jewelry. The abbot cast a brief glance at it and shook his head dismissively.
He was more interested in another chain, made of silver with an amulet from her mother. He assessed it like a jeweler and took it.
No, she didn’t have anything else, apart from her jade talisman of course. It was always in her bag, even though, looking back, she had to admit that it had not remotely fulfilled its function in any convincing way. It had not saved her from marriage to her first husband, nor helped her to gain material success. And on the cold and rainy day in February that she had first met Paul on Lamma, it had been lying on top of the chest of drawers in her bedroom.
It was a small shimmering green dragon, supposedly dating from the Ming dynasty. It had been a present from her father when she was born. She had been told that he had received it from his father in turn. It was the only memento she still had from her father. As a child in Hong Kong, she had protected it like a treasure. Before going to sleep, she had often put it under her pillow in the hope that it would bring her closer to her father and brother. On some nights it had worked miracles: they had appeared to her in her dreams and spoken to her; when she woke, she thought both of them were really standing by her bed.
Christine had always thought that the amulet had more symbolic than material value, but if she read the monk’s expression correctly, she had been wrong on that count. Very wrong.
Yes, she was prepared to exchange it for being driven to Hongyang, but that was all she would give up. She would keep the cash and the rings.
The abbot looke
d carefully at the jade dragon again, from every angle. He held it against the light and studied the patterns in the stone. He stroked it almost tenderly.
He would definitely be able to find someone in the area to drive them there in exchange for two thousand yuan and the dragon.
“One thousand. Not one yuan more.” She hoped Paul would keep out of this. He was no good at haggling.
“One thousand five hundred.”
“Done.”
The monk’s satisfied smile told her that she should have driven a harder bargain. He reached his hand out for the jade dragon.
Christine shook her head. “Only when we arrive in Hongyang.”
He let his arm drop and looked disappointed. “I’m afraid I can’t help you then.”
“Why not? I give you my word.”
“Because I won’t find anyone who will trust you.”
“But you expect me to trust a stranger?”
“No, of course not.” There was a thin and cold smile on his face. “But you don’t have any choice.”
“We’ll give you the cash now,” Paul said. “We’ll keep the dragon until the driver has taken us to Hongyang.”
The monk cast him a look of contempt, then turned as if to leave. Christine could see Paul grinding his teeth with rage. He sat up to say something, but did not manage to get a single word out.
“We have to get to Hongyang by the quickest way possible,” she called after the monk. “We have two children with us . . . We need your help.”
Without reacting, the monk went to a shrine in the middle of the courtyard, pulled a handful of joss sticks out of an old canister, lit them with a candle and bowed several times in front of the shiny gold statue of a fat and happy laughing Buddha.
Christine walked over to him. “We need some security.”
“Security?” The abbot paused for a moment. “You’re clearly not from China. Security is a rare commodity here. I would even say that it does not exist.”
He gave her a bitter smile and bowed once more. Christine understood that there was no point trying to convince him or to bargain with him anymore. They were in his hands. They had to accept his conditions.
He put the smoking joss sticks in a bowl filled with sand, bowed one last time, and walked towards the exit.
The Far Side of the Night Page 13