The Far Side of the Night

by Jan-Philipp Sendker

  “I appreciate my good fortune.”

  “I hope so.”

  The two men clinked their glasses.

  “Happiness is fragile.”

  Gao Gao looked at Paul. She wanted to let him know that this was an innocent remark by her guest. But fear darted into his face. He did not glance at her, but fixed his gaze on the man opposite him.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Li Gang was taken aback by the question. “Exactly what I said! ‘He who lives in happiness does not know what happiness means.’ So the old Chinese saying goes.” Don’t you agree?”

  Paul nodded, still feeling unsettled.

  XI

  They had told him not to leave the flat on his own. Gao Gao and Christine had impressed that on him several times yesterday. But he had been awake for ages. The clock showed that it was just after six. Everyone was still asleep and he was bored. What could possibly happen to him in this strange town? There weren’t any people on the streets that he had to avoid. Apart from that, he would be back in half an hour at the most. No one would know about his little outing.

  Da Lin picked up his catapult, opened the door quietly, and stepped into the hall. Not a sound could be heard. He liked the silence. It reminded him of Grandpa. He had often sat in the courtyard with him and listened for moments of perfect stillness. Grandpa had called that learning to hear the quiet. Most people couldn’t do that.

  He did not trust the lift. He had been unnerved by the speed with which it had shot them up to this height. He had felt an unpleasant pressure in his ears that had only gone after a mighty yawn.

  A sign showed the way to the staircase. It was a narrow stairwell and the stairs seemed to go on downwards for such a distance that he thought he would never get to the end of them. There was a small pile of rubble next to the door to the stairwell. He picked up a lump of mortar, tossed it over the railing and listened for the sound of the impact. He waited in vain.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Da Lin decided that he would take the lift on the way back, despite his reservations.

  On the street, it was almost as quiet as it had been in the flat. There was the occasional birdsong from a couple of birds and he heard a car in the distance.

  Da Lin leaned his head back and looked up at the block of flats. He had never seen such a tall building. When he closed his eyes a little as he looked at it, the tip of the building seemed to be boring straight into the low-lying gray cloud. He walked down the street and came to a fountain with no water in it. Next to it were six flagpoles with no flags on them. Da Lin picked up a small stone, placed it in his catapult and aimed at the top of one of them. A metallic sound told him that he had hit his mark. And a second and a third time.

  At the other end of the square was a multi-storied building with a façade of glass windows. Parts of a neon advertisement sign were on the ground in front of it. It looked like the entrance to a large shopping mall. Da Lin was curious, so he crossed the square. The doors to the building were secured with heavy chains and locks. All except one of them. He needed all his strength to open it.

  Inside, the stillness spooked him a little. There were lifts leading up and down. There were at least three floors. The golden railings gleamed and the floor had been mopped. The shop windows were clean. Everything was ready. Only the people were missing.

  Suddenly he heard footsteps. Then two men’s voices. They were far enough away for him to have time to find somewhere to hide. Da Lin looked around. There was not a flowerpot to be seen. He tugged at the door to a shop. Locked. He tried another.

  The voices came nearer.

  He pulled at a third door.

  Then they saw him.

  Perhaps everything would have been different if he had not run away but simply stayed where he was calmly. And told the men that he was a boy from the countryside visiting his aunt, had been looking around because he was bored, and now couldn’t find his way back to her flat. With tears in his eyes. His grandfather had said that he was a good actor. Perhaps they would even have helped him.

  But he turned and started running. Da Lin ran as though his life depended on it. They shouted at him to stop. He heard them start running after him, as though he had woken a hunter’s instinct in them. He ran even faster and deeper into the labyrinth, and would most likely have escaped them if there had been an exit open at the other end of the mall. But the lift that led to the upper floors was blocked with wooden planks. The emergency exit door was locked. Da Lin was in a dead end. He heard the panting come closer to him. When they saw that he was trapped, they slowed down and stood still for a moment to catch their breath. They, too, were out of breath.

  Da Lin turned around. They were only a few meters away from him. Tall, burly men in uniforms. He raised his catapult and they shrank back. It took a moment for them to realize that there was nothing in the sling. He tried to escape once more. He feinted first to the left then darted right and threw himself onto the floor, hoping to escape their clutches that way. In vain.

  One of the two men caught him by the hair. Da Lin screamed in pain. The other man grabbed his back with two hands and lifted him up. Despairing, Da Lin flailed and kicked with all his might. One of his feet hit the man between his legs. The man groaned loudly and let him go. Da Lin struggled to get upright and ran off again. Now he knew the way to the exit.

  They caught up with him twenty meters short of it. They threw themselves at him as though there was a reward for his arrest.

  Da Lin fell. He threw his arms up around his head to protect it, thudded to the floor and heard something break.

  The weight of the men on him. He could not breathe. He could not even scream.

  The sweet taste of blood spilled into his mouth.

  XII

  It was her fault. She had wanted them to take him along. Despite all his warnings, despite his express wish against it. Paul had predicted that Da Lin would be an additional risk to their safety. Christine had not believed him. She had thought him hardhearted, and disliked him for thinking that way.

  She had not had a choice after Da Lin’s shot at the policeman, but she still felt responsible. That was why she did not want to wake Paul now and ask for help.

  Da Lin had disappeared. She had searched the whole flat for him. What on earth had he been thinking? Since they had left his village they had not spoken to each other much. He had been quiet and withdrawn and she did not know what he was thinking. Was he homesick? Did he want to go back to his grandfather? Or was he afraid of seeing his mother again?

  She thought about what to do. Simply wait until he returned of his own accord? Too dangerous. She had to go and search for him before the police picked him up. Maybe he was only taking the lift up and down. Or was playing in the foyer. She hoped to be back before Paul even noticed that she had gone at all. But she scribbled a note anyway and put it on the dining table.

  He was not in the lift, or in the foyer.

  She stood in front of the entrance to the building, feeling undecided. She had no idea where to look. She walked around the building. At the back of it she found a deserted pedestrian area. The empty shops had metal grilles drawn over them. The wind had blown a table umbrella and a couple of plastic chairs over, and they lay topsy-turvy outside the shops.

  She went back to the road and stared blankly in the other direction.

  A car was approaching in the distance. When she realized that it had a blue light on its roof, it was too late.

  The police car drove straight towards her, suddenly slowed down, braked and stopped next to her. There were two policemen in front and on the back seat was Da Lin, who stared at her imploringly before he looked away. He had a cut on his upper lip and his cheek was swollen. His face was red. She could tell from his eyes that he had been crying.

  The seconds ticked by. For a moment she wanted to faint. Simply collapse onto the ground. Hear no more. See no more. Let others take care of her. And him. And only wake up when everything was over.


  The two policemen got out of the car. They took their time. They looked intensely suspicious of her. Christine automatically took a step backward.

  “Security guards caught this brat in the shopping mall,” one of the men said. “We couldn’t get a word out of him. But when he saw you he suddenly blurted out that you were his mother. Are you?”

  She could say no, was the first thought that shot into her head. No, I don’t know this boy. He probably wouldn’t even protest. There was no reason not to believe her. Which mother would deny her own son? The policemen would take him away and leave her in peace.

  But a yes was an immeasurable risk. What had Da Lin done? What would she have to take responsibility for, as his mother? Would they hand Da Lin to her without any further ado or would she have to show some ID? She couldn’t do that. Her documents were in the flat and she did not want to lead the police to Gao Gao, Paul, and David. Not under any circumstances. If she said yes, she could only hope that they would hand Da Lin over to her with a few words of warning, without wanting to know anything more about him.

  What if they didn’t? What if they started asking questions?

  “Are you?” the policeman repeated impatiently.

  She had to reply. The longer she said nothing, the more suspicious she seemed.

  She had the choice. Yes or no?

  Christine looked at the policeman, and at the other man. Her gaze went to Da Lin, who was cowering on the back seat and no longer dared to look at her. He must know that his fate lay in her hands.

  “Yes.” And gathering all the courage she had, she added, “Look at the state of him! What have you done to my child?”

  “We’ll tell you about it at the police station.” The policeman opened the door and gripped her arm.

  “Get in.”

  XIII

  Paul was woken by loud cries from the next room. “Papa! Papa?”

  Next to him, Da Lin’s bed was empty. He hurried to his son. David was cowering under his blanket. “Where is Mama?”

  “I don’t know.”

  David sat up, looking worried. “Why don’t you know?”

  The wrong answer. “Because I’ve just got up. She’s in the kitchen making breakfast.”

  David scrambled out of bed and ran into the living room.

  A few seconds passed.

  “She’s not here.”

  _________

  Christine must have written her note in a great hurry. Her writing was normally neat and tidy, like a schoolgirl’s. But Paul could hardly make it out this time.

  Don’t worry, she had written. She would be back in an hour at most. Below it was the time: 6:50 a.m.

  It was now a quarter past nine.

  David had kept his eyes fixed on Paul. “Where is she?” The worry in his voice.

  I don’t know, he wanted to say, but instead he said, “She’s gone for a walk with Da Lin.”

  “That’s mean. Why didn’t she take us with her?”

  “Because . . . because she didn’t want to wake us up.”

  “When is she coming back?”

  “I don’t . . . soon.”

  “When is soon?”

  “Sweetheart,” he said, making an effort not to lose his patience, “soon can mean in ten minutes or in an hour.”

  David looked mutinous and said nothing, as though he understood that this unsatisfactory reply was the best he would get.

  How could she have done this to them?

  Paul went to wake Gao Gao up. He had barely told her that they didn’t know where Christine and Da Lin were before she jumped out of bed, threw on a dressing gown, went straight to the television and turned it on. A few seconds later, a pin-sharp black and white image of the corridor outside the flat door appeared on the screen.

  “I have a small CCTV camera above the door. It records the previous six hours.” Gao Gao rewound the recording until they saw the door opening slowly and Da Lin stepping out. The time on the image was 6:25 a.m. Exactly half an hour later, Christine left the flat, walked to the lift, and disappeared.

  The image froze on screen. David started to say something but then fell silent.

  Gao Gao looked at her watch with concern. “I really don’t know what it’s possible to do in Hongyang for such a long time,” she said, as if to herself.

  “Is there a café or teahouse nearby?” Paula asked.

  “No.”

  “A restaurant?”

  “No.”

  Paul thought for a moment.

  “A shopping mall?”

  “Yes, but the shops are empty.”

  “Maybe they went to see Pastor Lee?”

  “Not likely. But I’ll phone him.”

  They were not there either.

  Sitting on Paul’s lap, David grew more and more quiet.

  “Where is Mama?” he whispered.

  Paul ignored his question. “Shall we play a game?”

  “No.”

  “Shall I read you a book?”

  “No. I want to know where Mama is.”

  “I told you already. She’s gone for a walk.”

  “For such a long time?”

  He could not bear to look at his son. David knew that his father was not telling the truth. Paul found it difficult to lie to him, and, even more so, to be caught doing it.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “No,” he said sulkily. His chin wrinkled and his upper lip disappeared, as always happened when he was trying to stop himself from crying.

  Paul stood up, carrying David in his arms, and started dancing. Gao Gao put on a recording by Teresa Teng, mimed to it and started dancing too. She looked like a drunken bear. Even David laughed when he saw her.

  Suddenly the doorbell buzzed. They ran to the door and into the corridor. They waited impatiently for Christine and Da Lin in front of the lift.

  The door opened slowly. Out stepped Zhang.

  XIV

  The two policemen kept their eyes on her every movement. The one in the passenger seat turned halfway in his seat to keep watch on her and the one driving kept his eyes on her in the rear view mirror while driving.

  Christine was so frightened that she could barely move.

  Da Lin had shrunk away from her. His T-shirt was torn at the neckline, as though someone had grabbed him there. She noticed a damp patch the size of a palm between his legs. Christine took Da Lin in her arms and immediately felt his body stiffening. She slid closer to him and pulled him to her. He hesitated briefly and stopped resisting. He sank into her lap, buried his face in his hands and started crying quietly. She looked out of the window at the empty streets and stroked his head.

  At the police station, they had to remove their shoes. They took Da Lin’s belt from him, as though there was a danger that one of them would hang themselves with it. A woman brought them to a windowless room and told them to wait.

  There were four chairs in the room. Nothing else. The bare walls were painted white. There were several fluorescent strip lights on the ceiling. The door had no handle on the inside.

  She crouched down in front of Da Lin and looked more carefully at his face. The swelling on his upper lip and around his left eye had grown worse. His chin was badly grazed. When he opened his mouth, she saw that two of his front teeth were missing. She cupped his face gently in her hands. She did not even have any water to wash his wounds.

  “Poor boy. Does it hurt very badly?”

  The hint of a nod.

  “What did they do to you?”

  Silence.

  “Did they beat you?”

  “. . .”

  “Will you tell me what happened?”

  No reply. When she tried to read his gaze he lowered his eyes.

  “Are you thirsty? Should I ask for some water?”

  It was pointless.

  She sat down next to him and took his hand. She could feel him trembling.

  He needed a doctor. She got up, went to the door and gathered her courage.

  She kn
ocked. Hesitantly at first, then harder. She kicked the door with her foot and shouted. After five or six kicks she heard noises in the corridor. A policeman opened the door.

  “Stop that at once,” he ordered.

  She flinched and stepped back. “We need a doctor,” she said in a flat voice.

  “A doctor?” He looked contemptuous. “What for?”

  She pointed at Da Lin’s bruised face. “My son is not well. Someone has beaten him.”

  The policeman simply shrugged.

  “We. Need. A doctor.” She surprised herself with the sudden decisiveness of her voice. Her firm tone astonished the policeman too. “We don’t have a doctor here,” he said, suddenly becoming a little friendlier.

  “Do you have painkillers at least? And a damp cloth?”

  He disappeared and returned with a bottle of water, two pills, and a wet cloth.

  Da Lin took the medicine and drained the bottle in one mighty gulp. Christine dabbed the cloth carefully at his chin to clean the wound. It was deeper than it had seemed at first. Christine stroked his hair away from his face, sat down and took him in her arms. He allowed her to do this.

  She waited without knowing what she was waiting for. Maybe they only wanted to establish their identities. Why were they here? Where did they live? When were they leaving? But she did not have convincing answers for even the simplest of questions. She was no good at telling stories and even worse at lying.

  She grew more anxious with every passing minute. Any moment now, someone could come in and arrest her. Or Da Lin.

  Christine thought about Paul and about his son who had died.

  Waiting for the results of the medical tests had been almost unbearable, he had told her. The hours passed in the doctors’ waiting rooms or in the hospital corridors, until a door finally opened and you were told to enter. Hoping for improvements. Helpless in the face of bad news. Everything turned on one simple sentence: “I’m sorry to have to tell you . . .” A few words were all that was needed to make life take a completely different direction. The blood cell counts were worse. Or they were fine again.