Yes, thought Tolonen. And Berdichev, too. But that would have to wait a day or two. Until after Karr had done his stuff. He looked down at the document in his hands, feeling a great sense of pride at being at the centre of things this night. He had foreseen this long ago, of course. Had known the day would come when the Seven could no longer sit on their hands and do nothing. Now they would shake Chung Kuo to its roots. Shake it hard, as it needed to be shaken.
Tolonen smiled and then bowed to his T’ang, acknowledging his dismissal; feeling a deep satisfaction at the way things had gone. The days of wuwei – of passive acceptance – were past. The dragon had woken and had bared its claws.
And now it would strike, its seven heads raised, magnificent, like tigers, making the hsiao jen – the little men – scuttle to their holes and hide, like the vermin that they were.
Yes. They would clean the world of them. And then? His smile broadened. Then summer would come again.
Li Shai Tung sat at his desk, brooding. What had he done? What was set in motion? He shuddered, disturbed by the implications of his actions.
What if it cracked Chung Kuo itself apart? It was possible. Things were balanced delicately now. Worse, what if it brought it all tumbling down – levelling the levels?
He laughed sourly, then turned at a sound. It was Li Yuan. He was standing in the doorway, his shoes removed, awaiting his father’s permission to enter. Li Shai Tung nodded and beckoned his son to him.
‘Bitter laughter, father. Is there something wrong?’
Too wise. Too young to be so old and knowing.
‘Nothing. Just a play of words.’
Li Yuan bowed, then turned away slightly: a gesture of indirectness his father could read perfectly. It was something difficult. A request of some kind. But awkward. Not easy to ask. Li Shai Tung waited, wondering how Li Yuan would breach the matter. It was an opportunity to study his son: to assess his strengths, his weaknesses.
‘I’ve been much troubled, father.’
Li Yuan had looked up before he spoke. A direct, almost defiant look. He had resolved the matter and chosen to present it with firmness and authority. Yes, the old man thought, Li Yuan would make a fine T’ang. When it was time.
‘Is it your dream again, Yuan?’
Li Yuan hesitated, then shook his head.
‘Then tell me what it is.’
He stood and went across to the pool, then stood there, looking down at the dim shapes moving in the depths of the water, waiting for his son to join him there.
Unexpectedly, Li Yuan came right up to him, then went down onto his knees at his feet, his eyes fixed upon the floor as he made his request.
‘I want to ask your permission to marry, father.’
Li Shai Tung turned sharply, surprised, then laughed and bent down, lifting Li Yuan’s face, his hand cupping his son’s chin, making him look up at him.
‘But you’re only twelve, Yuan! There’s more than enough time to think of such matters. A good four years or more. I never meant for you to…’
‘I know, father. But I already know what I want. Who I want.’
There was such certainty, such fierce certainty in the words, that the T’ang released his hold and stepped back, his hand stroking his plaited beard thoughtfully. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Tell me who it is.’
Li Yuan took a deep breath, then answered him. ‘Fei Yen. I want Fei Yen.’
Li Shai Tung stared at his son in disbelief. ‘Impossible! She was Han’s wife, Yuan. You know the law.’
The boy’s eyes stared back at him intently. ‘Yes, and by our law Fei Yen was never Han Ch’in’s wife.’
Li Shai Tung laughed, amazed. ‘How so, when the seals of Yin Tsu and I are on the marriage contract? Have you left your senses, Yuan? Of course she was Han’s wife!’
But Li Yuan was insistent. ‘The documents were nullified with Han’s death. Think, father! What does our law actually say? That a marriage is not a marriage until it has been consummated. Well, Han Ch’in and Fei Yen…’
‘Enough!’ The T’ang’s roar took Li Yuan by surprise. ‘This is wrong, Li Yuan. Even to talk of it like this…’
He shook his head sadly. It was not done. It simply was not done. Not only was she too old for him, she was his brother’s bride.
‘No, Yuan. She isn’t right for you.’
‘Fei Yen, father. I know who I want.’
Again that intensity of tone, that certainty. Such certainty impressed Li Shai Tung, despite himself. He looked down into the pool again.
‘You could not marry her for four years at the least, Yuan. You’ll change your mind. See if you don’t! No, find some other girl to be your bride. Don’t rush into this foolishness!’
Li Yuan shook his head. ‘It’s her I want. I’ve known it since Han Ch’in was killed. And she’ll take me. I know she will.’
Li Shai Tung smiled bitterly. What use was such knowledge? In four years Chung Kuo would have changed. Perhaps beyond recognition. Li Yuan did not know what was to be: what had been decided. Even so, he saw how determined his son was in this matter and relented.
‘All right. I will talk to her parents, Yuan. But I promise you no more than that for now.’
It seemed enough. Li Yuan smiled broadly and reached out to take and kiss his father’s hand. ‘Thank you, father. Thank you. I shall make her a good husband.’
When Yuan had gone, he stood there, staring down into the darkness of the water, watching the carp move slowly in the depths, like thought itself. Then, when he felt himself at rest again, he went back into his study, relaxed, resigned almost to what was to come.
Let the sky fall, he thought: What can I, a single man, do against fate?
Nothing, came the answer. For the die had been cast. Already it was out of their hands.
Bamboo. A three-quarter moon. Bright water. The sweet, high notes of an erhu. Chen looked about himself, at ease, enjoying the warmth of the evening. Pavel brought him a beer and he took a sip from it, then looked across at the dancers, seeing how their faces shone, their dark eyes laughed brightly in the fire’s light. At a bench to one side sat the bride and groom, red-faced and laughing, listening to the friendly banter of their fellow peasants.
Two great fires had been built in the grassy square formed by the three long dormitory huts. Benches had been set up on all sides and, at one end, a temporary kitchen. Close by, a four-piece band had set up their instruments on the tail-piece of an electric hay wagon: yueh ch’in, ti tsu, erhu and p’i p’a – the ancient mix of strings and flutes enchanting on the warm night air.
There were people everywhere, young and old, packing the benches, crowded about the kitchen, dancing or simply standing about in groups, smoking clay pipes and talking. Hundreds of people, maybe a thousand or more in all.
He turned, looking at Pavel. ‘Is it true, Pavel? Have you no girl?’
Pavel looked down, then drained his jug. ‘No one here, Kao Chen,’ he answered softly, leaning towards him as he spoke.
‘Then why not come back with me? There are girls in the levels would jump at you.’
Pavel shivered, then shook his head. ‘You are kind, my friend. But…’ He tilted his shoulder slightly, indicating his bent back. ‘T’o they call me here. What girl would want such a man?’
‘T’o?’
Pavel laughed, for a moment his twisted face attractive. ‘Camel-backed.’
Chen frowned, not understanding.
‘It was an animal, so I’m told. Before the City.’
‘Ah…’ Chen looked past the young man, watching the dancers a moment. Then he looked back. ‘You could buy a bride. I would give you the means…’
Pavel’s voice cut into his words. ‘I thank you, Kao Chen, but…’ He looked up, his dark eyes strangely pained. ‘It’s not that, you see. Or not only that. It’s just… well, I think I would die in there. No fields. No open air. No wind. No running water. No sun. No moon. No changing seasons. Nothing. Nothing but walls.’
; The young man’s unconscious echo of DeVore’s words made Chen shiver and look away. Yet perhaps the boy was right. He looked back at the dancers circling the fires and nodded to himself. For the first time since he had been amongst them, Chen had seen the shadow lift from them and knew how different they were from his first conception of them. He saw how happy they could be. So simple it was. It took so little to make them happy.
He stared about him, fascinated. When they danced, they danced with such fiery abandon, as if released from themselves – no longer drab and brown and faceless, but huge and colourful, overbrimming with their own vitality, their coal dark eyes burning in their round, peasant faces, their feet pounding the bare earth carelessly, their arms waving wildly, their bodies twirling lightly through the air as they made their way about the fire.
As if they were enchanted.
He shivered, wishing that Wang Ti were there with him, partnering him in the dance; then with him in the darkness afterwards, her breath sweet with wine, her body opening to him.
He sighed and looked down into his jug, seeing the moon reflected there in the dark, sour liquid. In an hour it would begin. And afterwards he would be gone from here. Maybe forever.
The thought sobered him. He took a large swallow of the beer, then wiped his mouth and turned to face Pavel again. ‘You’re right. Stay here, Pavel. Find yourself a girl. Work hard and get on.’ He smiled, liking the young man. ‘Things will be much better here when Bergson is gone.’
Yes, he thought, and maybe one day I’ll come back, and bring Wang Ti with me, and Jyan and the new child. They’d like it here. I know they would.
He saw Pavel was watching him and laughed. ‘What is it, boy?’
Pavel looked down. ‘You think life’s simple here, don’t you? But let me tell you about my birth.’
‘Go on,’ said Chen softly, noting the sudden change in him. It was as if Pavel had shed a mask. As if the experience they had shared, beneath the fourth west bridge, had pared a skin from the young man, making him suddenly more vulnerable, more open.
‘I had a hard childhood,’ he began. ‘I was born the fifth child of two casual workers. Hirelings – like yourself – who come on the land only at harvest time. During the harvest things were fine. They could feed me. But when it was time to go back to the City, they left me here in the fields to die. Back in the levels they could not afford me, you understand. It is often so, even today. People here accept it as the way. Some say the new seed must be fertilized with the bones of young children. I, however, did not die.’
Pavel licked at his lips, then carried on, his downcast eyes staring back into the past.
‘Oh, I had nothing to do with it. Mei fa tzu, they say. It is fate. And my fate was to be found by a childless woman and taken in. I was lucky. She was a good woman. A Han. Chang Lu was her name. For a time things were good. Her man, Wen, never took to me, but at least he didn’t beat me or mistreat me, and she loved me as her own. But when I was seven they died. A dyke collapsed on top of them while they were repairing it. And I was left alone.’
Pavel was silent a moment, then he looked up, a sad smile lighting his face briefly.
‘I missed her bitterly. But bitterness does not fill the belly. I had to work, and work hard. There is never quite enough, you see. Each family takes care of its own. But I had no family. And so I strove from dawn until dusk each day, carrying heavy loads out into the fields, the long, thick carrying pole pressing down on my shoulders, bending my back until I became as you see me now.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘It was necessity that shaped me thus, you might say, Kao Chen. Necessity and the dark earth of Chung Kuo.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Chen began. ‘I didn’t know…’ But Pavel interrupted him once more.
‘There’s something else.’ The young man hesitated, then shivered and went on. ‘It’s the way you look at us, Kao Chen. I noticed it before. But now I think I understand. It’s like we’re a dream to you, isn’t it? Not quite real. Something picturesque…’
Chen was about to say no, to tell the boy that it was just the opposite – that all of this was real, and all the rest, inside, no more than a hideous dream to which he must return – but Pavel was looking at him strangely, shaking his head; denying him before he had begun.
‘Maybe,’ he said finally, setting his jug down. But he still meant no. He had only to close his eyes and feel the movement of the air on his cheeks…
‘You came at the best time,’ Pavel said, looking away from him, back towards the dancers. ‘Just now the air smells sweet and the evenings are warm. But the winters are hard here. And the stench sometimes…’
He glanced back at Chen then laughed, seeing incomprehension there.
‘What do you think the City does with all its waste?’
Chen sipped at his beer, then shrugged. ‘I’d never thought…’
Pavel turned, facing him again. ‘No. No one ever does. But think of it. Over thirty billion, they say. So much shit. What do they do with it?’
Chen saw what he was saying and began to laugh. ‘You mean… ?’
Pavel nodded. ‘They waste none of it. Its stored in vast wells and used on the fields. You should see it, Kao Chen. Vast, lake-like reservoirs of it, there are. Imagine!’ He laughed strangely, then looked away. ‘In a week from now the fields will be dotted with honey-carts, each with its load of sweet dark liquid to deposit on the land. Black gold, they call it. Without it the crop would fail and Chung Kuo itself would fall.’
‘I always thought…’
Chen stopped and looked across. The dull murmur of talk had fallen off abruptly; the music faltered and then died. He searched among the figures, suddenly alert, then saw them. Guards! The Overseer’s guards were in the square!
Pavel had turned and was staring at him, fear blazing in his eyes. ‘It’s Teng!’ he said softly. ‘They must have found Teng!’
‘No…’ Chen shook his head and reached out to touch the young man’s arm to calm him. No, not Teng. But maybe something worse.
The guards came through, then stood there in a rough line behind their leader, a tall Hung Mao.
‘Who’s that?’ whispered Chen.
‘That’s Peskova. He’s Bergson’s lieutenant.’
‘Gods… I wonder what he wants?’
It was quiet now. Only the crackle of the fires broke the silence. Peskova looked about him, then took a handset from his tunic pocket, pressed for display and began to read from it.
‘By the order of Overseer Bergson, I have a warrant for the arrest of the following men…’
Chen saw the guards begin to fan out amongst the peasants, pushing through the crowd roughly, their guns in front of them, searching for the faces of those Peskova was naming, and wondered whether he should run, taking his chance. But as the list of names went on, he realized Tong Chou was not amongst them.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked Pavel.
‘I don’t know. But they all seem to be friends of Field Supervisor Sung and his wife. Maybe they forced him to make a list before they killed him.’
Chen watched the guards gather the fifteen named men together and begin to lead them away, then looked about him, realizing how quickly the shadow had fallen once again.
‘An hour,’ he said softly, more to himself than to Pavel. ‘If they can only wait an hour.’
The bodies lay heaped up against the wall. They were naked and lay as they had fallen. Some still seemed to climb the barrier of stone, their bodies stretched and twisted, their limbs contorted. Others had knelt, bowing to their murderers, facing the inevitability of death. Chen looked about him, sickened by the sight. Pavel stood beside him, breathing noisily. ‘Why?’ he asked after a moment. ‘In the gods’ names, why? What had they done?’
Chen turned and looked to his left. The moon was high, a half-moon part obscured by cloud. Beneath it, like the jagged shadow of a knife, the Overseer’s House rose from the great plain. Where are you? thought Chen, searching the sky. Where the fuck are y
ou? It was so unlike Karr.
It was two hours since the arrests. Two hours and still no sign of them. But even if they had come a half hour early it would have been too late to save these men. All fifteen were dead. They had all heard it, standing there about the guttering fires. Heard the shots ring out across the fields. Heard the screams and then the awful silence afterwards.
‘Peskova,’ Pavel said, bending down and gently touching the arm of one of the dead men. ‘It was Peskova. He always hated us.’
Chen turned back, staring down at the boy, surprised, realizing what he was saying. Pavel thought of himself as Han. When he said ‘us’ he didn’t mean the peasants, the ko who worked the great ten thousand mou squares, but the Han. Yes, he thought, but DeVore is the hand behind this. It was he who gave permission. And I will kill him. T’ang’s orders or no, I will kill him now for what he’s done.
He looked back. There was a shadow against the moon. As he watched it passed, followed a moment later by a second.
‘Quickly, Pavel,’ he said, hurrying forward. ‘They’ve come.’
The four big Security transporters set down almost silently in the fields surrounding the Overseer’s House. Chen ran to greet the nearest of them, expecting Karr, but it wasn’t the big man who jumped down from the strut, it was Hans Ebert.
‘Captain Ebert,’ he said, bowing, bringing his hand up to his chest in salute, the movement awkward, unpractised. Ebert, the ‘Hero of Hammerfest’ and heir to the giant GenSyn corporation, was the last officer Chen had expected.
‘Kao Chen,’ Ebert answered him in a crisp, businesslike fashion, ignoring the fact of Chen’s rank. ‘Are they all inside the house?’
Chen nodded, letting the insult pass. ‘As far as I know, sir. The Overseer’s craft is still on the landing pad, so I assume DeVore is in there.’
Ebert stared across the fields towards the house, then turned back to him, looking him up and down. He gave a short, mocking laugh. ‘The costume suits you, Kao Chen. You should become a peasant!’
Ice and Fire: Chung Kuo Series Page 30