The Middle Kingdom (90 page)

"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. "No, Father, it's her I want. I've known it since Han
Ch'in was killed. And she'll take me. I know that too."

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 tailpiece 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 toward 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.
"To
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. Not only that. It's . . . 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
among 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 achieve
their happiness.

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 colorful, 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 afterward, 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 afterward 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 harvesttime. 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.
Meifa tsu,
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 dike 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
toward 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. It's 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 among 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 among 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 partly 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 you? 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 earlier 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 afterward.

"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 for this. 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 across,
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, unpracticed. 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?"