Jake Maroc - Shan Part 15

Huaishan Han said, "You are as good with words as is your G.o.d, Mao."

"My G.o.d is Buddha," Zilin said. "I would have thought that self-evident." He had picked up several slender shoots of bamboo. Now he pulled a folding knife from his pocket and commenced to make cuts here and there, bending the supple shoots in a complex pattern.

Davies, eating a triangle of sandwich, said, "What are you doing?"

"I am hungry." Zilin said. "I am doing something about it." He rose and, reaching up, brought down a handful of hemplike vines. His hands moved in a blur, then he went off, disappearing into the underbrush.

Several minutes later he reappeared and came back to where he had been seated before. "I think." he said, "that I will have a bit of this wine now." He sipped it with slow deliberation, savoring it on his tongue and in his throat. "One does not often find such excellent wine in China these days."

"Listen to him," Huaishan Han said. "Does he sound the Communist now?"

"Politics follows the force of conviction," Zilin said. "It is those who are dogmatically righteous in life who are most often struck down."

"Conviction by its very nature is unbending," Huaishan Han pointed out.

"I speak of the conviction of purpose," Zilin said. "In maintaining the good of the people one discerns the elasticity of means. If we are dogmatic only, then we shall surely fail in our goal of protecting the people from poverty, ill health, foreign intervention."

Huaishan Han downed the last of his wine, asked for a refill. "My belly grows empty," he growled.

"There at least," Zilin said, "a Nationalist and a Communist may agree." He rose again and disappeared. When he returned from the underbrush, he was carrying a hare which had been caught in his homemade snare. "Lunch," he proclaimed, and, as he set about killing and skinning the creature, he said, "You see, Mr. Davies, the land must support its people. It is a universal law."

Davies brushed crumbs off his lap. "Didn't Buddha preach that killingany killingis wrong?" He opened his silver case, took out a cigarette. Huaishan Han took one as well. Davies put a match to both. "I have heard that priests will not even put a spade into the earth for fear of killing an insect or a worm," he said, drawing smoke into his lungs. "Is this true, s.h.i.+ tong zhi?"

"It is," Zilin said, gutting the hare, "but I am not a priest. We all have our various functions on earth, Mr. Davies. Perhaps I am more like the fox than I would prefer to be. But the world, you will find, is an imperfect place at best. One must learn to accept what one is. Don't you agree?"

Without being asked to do so, Huaishan Han made a fire, first clearing a bare spot in the ground. In time, the two Chinese were roasting the beast on a rough-cut spit made of green branches. The fat crackled and hissed as it dropped into the fire and the aroma of roasting meat perfumed the air.

Davies could not find it in himself to indulgehe saw only the head with the dull glazed eyes staring blankly at him. He much preferred his tobacco.

Zilin and Huaishan Han shared the fragrant flesh, seeming totally absorbed in eating. Nothing more was said until they were done. Davies was astounded to see that nothing whatsoever was left over. Even the innards, wrapped and slow cooked in the embers while the flesh was consumed, were devoured at meal's end.

"Perhaps you've been wondering why I invited Huaishan Han along this afternoon," Ross Davies said.

Zilin said nothing. He had found that gratuitous responses were the province of the foolish.

"What wethat is he and Iwould like to enquire is whether you would consider"Davies cleared his throat; he seemed to be staring at the s.h.i.+ny tips of his boots"coming over to, ah, our side."

Another man might have leapt up in indignation. An ideologue, a righteous man. Zilin contemplated these two men and wondered what about this situation was wrong. There was an inconsistency, a sense that whatever strategy was on display here was subtly out of kilter.

"By *our side/ " Zilin said carefully, "I take it you mean the Nationalist cause."

"It is the American cause as well," Davies said.

Zilin nodded. "Yes, Mr. Davies, we have already been made abundantly aware of your patriotism."

Davies looked sheepish. "It shows that much, huh?"

"Like a s.h.i.+ning beacon in the darkest night," Zilin said with more than a trace of humor. "But there is something refres.h.i.+ng in your transparency. I hope that, at least, will not be ravaged by war and time."

"All this banter may be very amusing," Huaishan Han said, "but you have not answered our question, Comrade."

Zilin looked directly into Huaishan Han's dark eyes. "That is because I did not take it seriously. Besides, I do not for a moment believe that it was *our' question at all. Mr. Davies would know better than to ask something so fatuous of me." But already Zilin was aware of the tension that had come into Huaishan Han's frame, the intensity building, and he thought, What is it that I am missing here?

"This is not a joke, Comrade," the other Chinese said, switching to Mandarin. "It is a matter of some urgency for us to elicit a true response from you."

"But my dear sir," Zilin said in the same dialect, "you have already gotten it. I would no more contemplate joining the Nationalist forces than I would think about taking my own life. All of China hangs in the balance. Her future and her well-being is of the utmost importance to me. You are not asking me to betray Mao tong zhi but rather China itself."

Huaishan Han, who had been studying Zilin during all of this, gave a quick decisive nod. But, oddly, it was directed at Ross Davies.

"Well," Davies said, beginning to gather up the leavings of their lunch, "I believe it is time we returned to Chungking."

Deep in the night, Zilin was caught in a dream. The spirits of those Chinese who had died at the hands of the faan gwai loh wailed, speaking to him in tongues long lost. A rhythmic tattoo.

Rain beating against the window of his room. The same sound as the gossamer sheets of his dream, shredding. The bamboo shutters rattled. A shadow beside them. Long, angular, rising along the edge of the closed door. A shadow that should not have been there.

Zilin set his breathing, deepening it, returning to the crystal path, shuijing ban de xiao-lu, in order to determine the ident.i.ty of the anomaly in the room.

Now he could hear the breathing, his and another's, through the other sound of nature: the storm. Another brief flicker and then the thunder cras.h.i.+ng heavily, rolling across the heavens.

He had been looking at the right place at the right time. The crystal path had shown him the way. Huaishan Han was in his room!

Zilin remembered the Nationalist's tension, the intensity in his eyes. This is not a joke, Comrade. It is a matter of some urgency for us to elicit a true response from you. He remembered, too, the pistol that Davies, this man's ally, had leveled at him.

Slipped out of bed, his mind prepared for battle. He had no intention of attacking; but he knew that he would defend himself to the death.

"s.h.i.+ tong zhi,"

Rain like a mailed fist.

"s.h.i.+ tong zhi!"

Rattling the shutters angrily.

"I am here." After he spoke, he moved to another place in the room, but the Nationalist made no aggressive move.

"I must speak with you."

"You choose an odd and mannerless method."

"No more mannerless than the war within which we find ourselves."

"True," Zilin acknowledged. "Speak your piece. I will turn on the lamp."

"No!"

Zilin was stopped by the urgency of the voice.

"I beg you make no light here. There must be no hint at all that I have made this visit."

"Huaishan Han," Zilin said carefully, "you will pardon my skepticism, but you are a rabid Nationalist; you made that absolutely clear yesterday afternoon. Further, you have sought to recruit me, to turn me into a traitor to the cause for which I have sacrificed everything in life. In short, you are my enemy. Tell me, then, if you can, why I should not report your actions at once, to my superiors and yours."

"Because," Huaishan Han said in his reedy whisper, "my superiors have you marked for death."

In the eerie silence that followed, thunder rumbled, at some distance to them.

"Explain yourself."

"As best I can," Huaishan Han said. "But you must promise to keep the lights off."

"All right."

"Somehow Chiang caught a glimpse of you."

Zilin's heart picked up, his pulse thrumming.

"He still remembers the murders of his men by a man who was married to Sun Zhongshan's a.s.sistant. He still remembers the manhunt he directed; he still remembers its fruitless end. Now he has marked you. He will kill you here."

"Nonsense," Zilin said with a good deal more confidence than he felt. "This is politics. The whole of China is at stake. If Chiang and Mao can come to terms, the coalition"

"There will be no coalition," Huaishan Han hissed. "That I can guarantee you."

"Then what is the reason for this summit meeting?"

"From the Generalissimo's point of view, it is merely to placate the Americans and the Russians who have been pressuring him to negotiate. The Chinese people as well, if it comes to that. They are weary of war. But I can guarantee you, s.h.i.+ tong zhi, that Chiang's mind was made up before you and your contingent ever set foot in Chungking. It is a victory for him to have the *great Mao' come humbly into his domain to sue for peace." Huaishan Han shook his head. "But a coalition is out of the question. Chiang plans to procrastinate here, then blame the breakdown of talks on the intractability of the Communist position. Then he will take his army and smash you."

Zilin was stunned, because this was what he had believed Chiang would do all along. Mao knew this but still he refused to believe it. Zilin did not believe in this mythical coalition and now, it seemed, neither did Chiang. If Huaishan Han was telling the truth.

"There is no reason why I should believe any of this," Zilin said. "You are my enemy. After what happened yesterday.""

"That's just it," the Nationalist said. "You are not yet aware of what really transpired at lunch. I had no intention of recruiting you, s.h.i.+ tong zhi, merely of getting to the heart of youof your conviction. I wanted to know beyond all doubt whom I was dealing with.

"Davies had told me that I could trust you but I didn't fully believe him. He is a faan gwai loh, after all, no? And what do barbarians know of Chinese?"

"So you decided to see for yourself." The pieces were beginning to fit together.

"That's right," Huaishan Han said. "That is why I baited you, why I tried to recruit you. Now I know that your heart is pure. Now I am certain that I can trust you."

"Trust me? What for?"

"It is I who wishes to be recruited, s.h.i.+ tong zhi. I cannot stand Chiang or his militaristic ideas. His mind is filled with the glories of warthe supposed glories. He believes only in the army. For him it is the end and the beginning. About the people he cares scarcely at all."

"So you wish to be a Communist."

"I wish the best future for my country. I know that Chiang will not be able to deliver it."

"Of course you told Ross Davies all this when you approached him to be the go-between."

"Absolutely not," Huaishan Han said indignantly. "Do you take me for a fool? What I told him was that I wished by informal means to advance the prospects of the coalition. *Perhaps,' I told him, *if I approach one of Mao's advisers and we begin negotiations on a sub-rosa level, we can speed up the process/ "

"And he believed that?"

"Why not? You know Davies as well as I do. That notion is one that has great appeal to him. He had to comply, you see. It was the patriotic thing to do."

Zilin laughed. "Yes, yes. The patriotic thing."

"The best quality of the n.o.ble savage," Huaishan Han said.

"He's not a bad sort, Davies," Zilin said. "For a faan gwai loh."

Huaishan Han moved into the room. "I shall help you pack," he said. "Together we shall flee northward, out of the stronghold of the Generalissimo."

"No," Zilin said. "That will solve nothing. And your defection will create a major problem for Mao. We must think of a better solution."

"Solution?" Huaishan Han echoed. "How can you think of such a thing when you may be killed at any moment!"

"Calm yourself, Comrade," Zilin said. "Chiang will not have someone creep into my room at night and slit my throat. He could ill afford such a scandal. If what you have just told me is true he desperately needs to emerge from this stalemate with clean hands. The Americans, at least, will insist on it as a stipulation for their continued support. And without the Americans, Chiang is lost. So, Chiang will take his time. He knows that as long as Mao is here I'm not going anywhere. It must be made to look like an accident. No culpability must be able to be traced back to the Nationalist camp."

"Yes, yes, I see that," Huaishan Han said. "But still a"

"Patience, my new comrade. Patience. We will find a way."

In the morning Zilin did not feel quite so confident. For one thing, Ross Davies did not show up for his tai chi lesson. This was the first time that had happened since he and Zilin had made their pact and it was a potentially ominous sign. Though Zilin did not relish jumping to conclusions it was no secret that he did his exercises every morning at this spot at this time. Further, if Chiang wished to a.s.sa.s.sinate Zilin he certainly would not want an American as a witness. Some reason could easily be found to keep Davies away from the killing ground.

To add to his anxiety, Zilin had found upon arising that Mao and his negotiating contingent had already left for their daily session, though it was barely six o'clock. Zilin could not even report the information he had received from Huaishan Han. On Zilin's suggestion, Han would remain in place until he received an appropriate signal. Zilin had a.s.sured Han that he would be of more use to Mao for the moment right where he was inside Chiang's camp.

The dawning day was still. The ground of the courtyard was wet from the night's drenching. No c.o.c.k crowed, no dog barked. The heavens were obscured by a thick and unremitting layer of zinc clouds.

Zilin began his exercises with only half his mind attuned to the moves. His senses were questing outward, beyond the walls of the courtyard, for any alien sound. He kept one eye on the arched doorway to the street.

As he worked, he felt the short hairs at the back of his neck rise. His skin felt charged with electricity. He could almost feel the barrel of a long gun swinging in his direction, the sniperscope zeroing in on the back of his head. The steel-jacketed bullet whirring toward him, the tiny sound increasing to a buzz just before the point buried itself in his skull.

Movement!

With an effort, Zilin restrained himself from turning his head. He continued with his exercises, trying to calm his tautened nerves.

Used his eyes to discern if the movement he had picked up at the periphery of his vision was real or imagined, an actual threat or a bird flitting off a branch.

A small movement, yes.

The door!

It began, after a moment's hesitation, to swing inward. Zilin ran silently on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet from his position in the center of the courtyard to a spot just behind the door.

All was still, as if whoever was on the other side of the door was taking a long look into the courtyard to determine his whereabouts. His breathing was controlled but he found himself sweating, and he recalled Davies's remark to him, With tai chi we can work at it for over an hour and I'm still comfortable.

The sweat scrolled off Zilin; he realized that he was afraid. He did not want to die. The urge to live rose up inside him like a kite, and he found the anger that would keep him alivethe anger at someone who would seek to destroy him. Without that anger, Zilin knew that he could not take another human being's life.