Dragon Bones (22 page)

“They promised me three thousand
yuan
a head for me to take my family to Xinjiang,” a man in the audience crackled indignantly. “But when I got there I was told I’d have to drill one hundred meters to get water. I don’t have a drill, and water is abundant here. I came home and I won’t leave again.”

“They talk about the good life that awaits us somewhere else, but why should we leave when this is our ancestral home?” Tang inquired.

The voice from the alcove thrummed forth. “Forbearance does not mean tolerating evil beings that no longer have human nature or righteous thoughts.”

“The fat rats will have to pay for their sins,” Tang interpreted.

“See how they smoke their expensive cigarettes, how they drive fast cars, how they drink foreign liquor,” Xiao Da intoned. “All of these things are an abomination to those who are reverent.”

This last caused a break in the sermonizing as the adherents took up the chant of “Be reverent, be reverent, be reverent.” The lieutenant joined in, letting his strong tenor reverberate through the cave. When his voice lowered, so did those of the followers, until finally there was quiet again.

“We have all heard of the corruption that spoils the purity of our river and its people,” Tang said. “What about the local officials who have added the names of
their
relatives to the lists of relocatees, making
their
families eligible for relocation funds? What about the exaggerated reports filed by fat rats to the government about arable land that is being lost? Bashan officials have inflated the size of the town by twenty-five percent. They’ve filled their pockets with the difference between the real value of the land and the reported value of the land. These atrocities are common in all towns to be inundated. The fat rats lie and steal from the government
…. and from you.
”

“Why don’t we petition the central government to make amends?” a man brayed out. “Let’s demonstrate so the government will remedy the situation.”

“What is a piece of paper but a way for the government to hunt you down?” the lieutenant asked. “What is a demonstration but a way for the government to say that you’re causing civil unrest? We all know what happens to troublemakers in our country.”

“Then what can we do?” For the first time the speaker was a woman.

Xiao Da answered, “Combine docility with boldness. It is the fifth of the Nine Virtues.”

“They’ve told us that the dam will be a monument to show the world China’s importance,” Tang Wenting picked up, “but we know it is only a way for a
yang guizi
with a hydrofoil to get rich and steal our heritage.”

So far the sermon had been about governmental corruption, but now Tang was bringing Stuart Miller into the equation. The people here may not have known his name, but who in Bashan didn’t know by sight the person who owned the gleaming white hydrofoil tied up at the dock?

“We do not care for concrete and steel when our hearts and souls are at stake,” Tang Wenting went on. “The fat rats hurt the river people. May we not throw rectitude at them? Should we not inquire about our leaders who show a pious face to the people but in private enjoy the rotten fruits of foreign decadence? And what about men like Stuart Miller who invade our land like so many ants—greedy, insistent, an army of nuisance that nibbles away at our pride?”

The crowd grumbled its reaction. The mood had shifted from spiritual to questioning to belligerent.

“I see tonight that we have visitors,” the lieutenant announced to the crowd. “You!” he called out, pointing to Hulan. “Tell them who you are.”

“Liu Hulan,” she answered.

“Inspector Liu Hulan of the Ministry of Public Security, who comes here to frighten us away from our beliefs,” Tang Wenting clarified for the followers.

The cave suddenly seemed far smaller, and David realized just how precarious a situation they were in.

“You bring a foreigner, I see.”

“This is David Stark,” came Hulan’s calm reply.

David felt a low, simmering hostility push in around him. He smelled human sweat and saw petulant faces staring at him.

The lieutenant tossed his head in disgust, but from within the darkness the enshrouded voice spoke tranquilly. “His name is of no concern to us. We need to know what kind of man he is. Is he reverent?”

“He’s a
yang guizi,
” the lieutenant said. “He’s a big-nose foreigner who has no right to be on our Chinese soil.”

“You’re wrong.” Hulan matched the even tone of the hidden voice. “Attorney Stark is a
Zhongguotong,
a friend to China.”

“Who says this?”

“Our leaders.”

“Waaa!”

An even louder “Waaa” from the crowd echoed the lieutenant’s response.

“You and I don’t share the same leaders,” the lieutenant said. “We follow Xiao Da.”

“Xiao Da, Xiao Da, Xiao Da.” The worshipful susurration reverberated through the cave.

“When a true leader gives repose to the people,” the hidden voice pronounced, “his kindness is felt and the black-haired race cherish him in their hearts.”

The construction of the sentence had an archaic sound that reminded David of the heightened language of the classical dramas sometimes shown on state television. Could this be a Confucian saying or perhaps a snippet of classical poetry?

Tang Wenting bowed his head piously, absorbing the sound. Then he raised his eyes and asked David in brittle Chinese, “What do you have hidden behind your smile?” Again the crowd parroted this two or three times before the man repeated it himself. “What do you have hidden behind your smile?”

This was the same question that had been posed to President Clinton when he’d come to China. Clinton didn’t know how to respond, and neither did David.

Hulan stepped forward and demanded, “If Xiao Da is so special, why does he not show
his
face?”

David wasn’t so sure that her question was a good idea, although it did divert attention away from him.

“And why don’t you ask Stuart Miller to show his true face?” Tang Wenting asked in response. “Is your government so greedy for this dam that they will look the other way while he steals China’s soul?”

“You are afraid to answer my questions!” she fired back. “Why doesn’t Xiao Da tell the people who follow him who he is? Why is he hiding behind you? Is he that afraid?”

The lieutenant put his hands on his hips and shouted back staunchly, “Xiao Da afraid? Not of you!”

“Is he afraid because he instructs his followers to kill and maim?”

“Waaa! You dare to speak this profanity? Only Xiao Da can punish the wicked!”

“So he hides because he kills and mutilates,” Hulan pressed.

Now David was convinced that this definitely wasn’t the right attitude to be taking in the midst of a crowd of worshipers in an isolated cave far from anything resembling police backup.

Then Tang Wenting pointed his finger at Hulan as he had that day on the square. “There is only one killer here, and that is you, Liu Hulan! Mother killer!”

Hulan recoiled from the impact of the denunciation. The followers, who were insulated in the Three Gorges not only from the outside world but from events in their own capital, did not know how to respond. The lieutenant proceeded to inflame them. “Mother killer! Mother killer! Mother killer!” The adherents picked up the chant even though they didn’t know the reasons behind it. “Mother killer! Mother killer! Mother killer!”

David felt hands on him, shoving, pushing. He couldn’t see beyond the faces twisted in loathing. Then he was tossed out of the cavern and back into the tunnel with the oil lamps. A moment later Hulan was thrown into his arms. The angry mob retreated. Hulan regained her balance and headed back to the room. “Hulan!” he called sharply. She didn’t even look his way but marched steadily forward. What could he do but follow? They edged to the opening into the large cavern. The lieutenant was on his hands and knees, touching his forehead to the stone floor of the ledge on which he perched, then lifting it again with an enraptured look on his face, then back down to the floor. The followers mimicked the obeisance in devout silence.

“As we go forward,” the disembodied voice lulled, still the epitome of harmony, still unfazed by the near violence of moments before, “we must all remember, if not for Yu, we all would be fishes, and if not for Xiao Da, we would become fishes.”

These words held the crowd in worshipful thrall until the lieutenant finally stood and spoke once again. “Now is the time to remember our tributes.”

About a dozen men emerged from the shadows holding baskets. “Remember the Nine Virtues, remember your grade, remember your tribute.” The voice floated out over the heads of the worshipers. “Nine Virtues, Nine Grades, Nine Tributes.”

People pulled out money and dropped it into the baskets as the low murmur of “Be reverent, be reverent” resounded off the limestone walls.

They left before the meeting concluded and hurried through driving rain up the pathway to the road that led back to town.

“My God, Hulan! What were you doing back there?”

“Trying to get Xiao Da to reveal himself!” Her delivery was fast, her words angry.

“We could have gotten hurt!” he volleyed back.

“So you finally admit that the group is dangerous!”

“Those people were dangerous because you provoked them!”

“What about the threat against Stuart?”

“What threat?”

“It was implied! First Brian, then Lily. Stuart’s next!”

“Stop!” When she didn’t, he grabbed her. “Stop! What are you talking about? What are you doing? Where are you going?”

She fought against his grip. “I’m going to the Public Security Bureau to get Captain Hom. He’s got to come back here and arrest these people.”

“By the time you get to Hom’s office, everyone in that cave will be gone.”

The truth of that sank in, and she stopped struggling. They were standing on a deserted road in a storm in the dark at the end of what had already been an emotionally grueling day. They still had a twenty-minute walk back into town. Maybe he could calm her down and get her to think clearly.

“You once trained as a lawyer. Try to look at this logically.” He attempted a smile. “Come on, let’s walk.” He took a couple of steps, and when she started walking beside him, he said, “We’ll take it one accusation at a time. First, the All-Patriotic Society—”

“It’s why I’m here. I know it! Zai didn’t send me here to protect me from the media or from internal MPS scrutiny. He sent me here to find Xiao Da.”

“Honey, if he’d known Xiao Da was here,” he reasoned evenly, “why didn’t he just have the man arrested?”

“What if he sent me here because he knew that foreigners were joining the group? It would be a huge embarrassment if the All-Patriotic Society spread abroad as the Falun Gong has.”

“That’s a valid point, but you have no evidence whatsoever that any of the foreigners here are members.”

“Stuart Miller—”

“Is clearly
not
a member.”

“He’s the next target—”

“I don’t think so. I think this Tang Wenting may want the followers to believe something about Miller. But I’m suspicious of that too. Was he talking about Stuart Miller for their benefit or ours? He let the meeting go on for a long time before he acknowledged us, even though he had to know we were there. He used that time to try to convince us—”

“That Miller’s the one stealing China’s heritage,” Hulan finished. “Still, one of the foreigners from Site 518 could be a member of the group.”

“I doubt it. They’re all academics. They’re too cerebral for that mumbo jumbo.”

“Since when? Americans are always getting caught up in that stuff. Madonna with Cabala. That kid who joined the Taliban. Every housewife who ever took a yoga class….”

“That’s simplistic and condescending. And besides, not everyone at the site is American.”

Hulan shrugged, and rain poured off her clothes.

David could be obdurate too, if that was what she wanted. “All right then, could the All-Patriotic Society be involved in either the thefts or the murders? Most crimes are motivated by greed, but those people back there say they don’t care for material things, and I never heard them advocate stealing. And I certainly didn’t hear anything to suggest that they were interested in killing people. Just the opposite. They talked about the sanctity of life.”

“The hidden voice talked about the sanctity of life—”

“Brian’s and Lily’s murders were ritualistic in nature,” David continued right over her. “They were
branded.
Didn’t you hear what they said? They don’t practice rituals.”

“Everything they did was a ritual—”

“That takes advantage of the gullible. Their only rituals had to do with ‘honoring the spirit within,’ or something along those lines. Besides, you just saw those people. Do they really seem like they’d get together to torture and brand someone? A good part of the residents of Bashan Village would have to be aiders and abettors.”

“This country is made up of aiders and abettors. The Cultural Revolution….” Hulan’s voice trailed off. When she next spoke it was with renewed indignation. “Time and again human history has shown that fervent nationalism can lead to domestic instability, international conflicts, even war.”

“This isn’t the Cultural Revolution,” he reminded her, “and Xiao Da hardly has the power of the Gang of Four.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes as the rain pelted them.

She tried another tack. “Captain Hom is getting rich off of the people who live here.”

“Five minutes ago you wanted his help.” Knowing that had to sting, he added, “But we aren’t here to investigate local corruption.”

“I have larger obligations that you can’t possibly understand—”

“Like finding and arresting Xiao Da? I’m married to you, Hulan. I know what it would mean to you to shut down his operation.”

“Could that really have been Xiao Da back there?” she asked, and for the first time he thought he heard doubt in her voice.

“Why would he come here to meet with a hundred supporters when he could have gone to Beijing and addressed thousands?” David asked. “The All-Patriotic Society probably uses this system to make people believe they’re ‘seeing’ the real Xiao Da. It’s very clever and would explain how the group has grown so quickly, because everyone has a personal experience to share. Not only is it good advertising but it allows the Society to link politics and spirituality by presenting two faces: the first and more practical in the form of a real man, the other and more ethereal in the form of a disembodied voice.”