The Chinese Alchemist (15 page)

“Oh, it’s worse than tragic. It’s criminal. I laughed at him, at the way he carried his air purifier every place he went, at how he wiped down the chopsticks even though the restaurants had perfectly clean ones, at the way he disinfected every hotel room, his desk at the office. His staff made fun of the way he wouldn’t use the facilities at work, and went home for lunch every day. But he must have had a compulsive or obsessive disorder of some kind, a pathological fear of germs. He needed help, and I laughed.”

“It would be difficult for most of us not to laugh. We would see Burton as eccentric, not ill.”

“It wasn’t just his health he was obsessed with. He was obsessed with the Tang box. He came to Xi’an to try to find the box, you know. I’m certain he also went to Hua Shan for the same reason.”

“Did he?”

“I’m sure he did, even though I thought it was a ridiculous idea. He was looking for the box all over Beijing. He had this idea that if he showed antique dealers the photograph and then left his business card everywhere, someone would contact him, and he’d be able to purchase it. He was convinced he could get it out of the country, stolen or not. He hinted that he knew how to do that.”

“It can be done, I regret to say,” Dr. Xie said. “And why did you come to Xi’an, if this idea of Burton’s was so ridiculous?”

“The short answer would be that I lost my temper. I don’t mean that I was yelling at him or anything, but he kept lying to me, over and over, and it got to me. I thought we’d established some sort of rapport over dinner one evening. He told me he’d booked a flight home the morning after we went to Cherished Treasures House to watch the videotape. But he hadn’t.”

“You know, I believe he had,” Dr. Xie said. “I could not help but overhear him speaking on his mobile phone. His Mandarin was execrable, but he did ask for a reservation the next day, and certainly sounded as if he had one.”

“You’re saying he didn’t so much lie as change his mind?”

“Quite possibly. That is certainly the way it sounded to me.”

“I guess I was wrong. I wonder what made him do that? That wasn’t the only time, though. He told me he was just going to rest, visit the fitness room in the hotel before going to the auction, and instead he went to a hutong neighborhood and paid a visit to the man in black, the fellow in the army who didn’t feel the need to help the police with their enquiries. That still bugs me, by the way. If anyone could pull rank and get out of it, that would be you, Dr. Xie. You didn’t choose to do so.”

Dr. Xie ignored that last remark of mine. Suddenly he leaned forward and clasped both of my hands in his, a surprising gesture for a distinguished Chinese gentleman who would not tend to use physical contact to make a point. “Do not go there, Lara,” he said. “Please!”

“Burton did.”

“Burton is dead. Believe me, there is army and there is army. There is the real Chinese army, well-trained professionals, and there are those who set themselves up as rulers of their little fiefdoms, a town, for example, or a sector of Beijing. They are not real army, you understand. They may well be in the army, but that is not what gives them their power. What gives them their power is fear. They brook no opposition. Those who do oppose them often come to a bad end. I regret to say that the system here almost encourages such behavior on the part of those they abuse. It is drilled into us from a very early age. A man respects his father. The father respects the mayor. The mayor respects the governor, and so on, all the way up to the emperor, or for that matter, Mao Zedong, or whoever else is in charge at any given point in time. That is why things like the Cultural Revolution happen. This is a system where obedience to those in charge, whether they are there legitimately or not, is so deeply ingrained as to be almost impossible to change. It is for this reason I do not believe democracy can be achieved here, at least not in my lifetime.”

“I suppose a woman just respects everybody, is that right? What do you mean people come to a bad end? You make these people sound like the Mafia, or something.”

“Not a bad analogy, Lara. I do not know this man. I do not wish to do so. At my age I am just happy that, with the economic changes in the country, I have been able to benefit rather considerably. I can afford to live the good life. I don’t look for more than that. I hope that the system will change, but I am not optimistic. I live my life and that’s it.”

“Somebody knows who that man is. I’m sure Burton didn’t know him at first. There wasn’t the slightest hint of recognition when the man first came into the auction house, for either Burton or that man. So somebody told Burton who he is, and maybe he’s the one who gave Burton the idea of coming to Xi’an.”

“Lara! You are not listening to me. Leave this alone. The T’ang box is but one historical treasure in a country that has several millennia’s worth of treasures. Either the police will recover it, or they will not. If they recover it and it goes back on the market, then you get another chance. If it doesn’t, you don’t. I agree with you that it was a particularly beautiful object, but only one of many beautiful objects to be found here.”

I sighed. “You’re right, Dr. Xie. I am a foreigner, someone who does not understand what is happening around me. I got into a competitive situation with regard to the T’ang box, and neither Burton nor I looked good competing for it. It’s just that I had a client who wanted it, and I guess I wanted to prove something. I will drop this. I’d really like to go to Taiwan to see my stepdaughter and my partner. May I impose on you once again to continue to urge them to let me leave soon?”

“Of course,” he said. We sat quietly for a minute or two, and then he said, “Is it possible your client was Dory Matthews?”

“I’m not supposed to say,” I replied.

“I will take that as a yes. That is indeed very interesting. She is dead, remember that. I realize that a request from the deceased is a difficult one to give up, but there is no reason to pursue this. Dory would have no way of knowing the box would be stolen. Surely that absolves you of further responsibility. It does explain something, though.”

“Which is?”

“George Matthews called me in Beijing and asked me to keep an eye on you. That posed no difficulty, you understand. I was going to the auction anyway.”

“That’s nice of him, I suppose, but why would he do that?”

“I think that is a very good question. I thought at first you must be someone very young and perhaps a very inexperienced traveler, or had never visited China, but you are none of these things. Forgive me! You are young, of course, but hardly inexperienced. You seem to be able to manage all by yourself quite well.”

“You were right the first time, Dr. Xie. I am not that young anymore, but yes, I travel all over the world, usually by myself. I did express some reservations when I met with him in Eva Reti’s office about not speaking any Chinese, and not being entirely sure how the auction system worked here, but arrangements had already been made for Mira to help me with that.”

“Perhaps he was just being neighborly.”

“I’m sure that’s right, and I am grateful to him, because as it turns out, I rather desperately needed your help. It’s funny you should mention this, though. I was dreading phoning George to tell him that Dory’s silver box had been stolen. I felt I should be the one to do that, and not leave it to Mira and her partner in Toronto. The call went much better than I thought it would. If anything he sounded a bit relieved.”

“I got the distinct impression that he thought this was— how to put this politely?—that it was not the best idea she ever had,” Dr. Xie said. “But he felt he had to respect her wishes under these sad circumstances.”

“That’s exactly what my partner Rob says.”

“Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter now,” Dr. Xie said. “You need to go back to the hotel and get some rest. Doctor’s orders! Promise me you will forget all about this wretched silver box, that you will no longer pursue it.”

“I am no longer pursuing this,” I said. “I have had enough.”

But life is rarely that simple. I did stop pursuing the T’ang silver box, for a while anyway, but though I did not yet know this, by now the evil presence that swirled around the silver box was in fact pursuing me.

I tried to sleep. I really did. My legs just ached from tension, though, and when I drifted off for a moment, they twitched. More serious, I also saw Burton’s blue-gray face hovering in the corners of the room as I sank into sleep. After an hour or so of this, I decided the only thing I could do was try to walk the tension off.

As always seemed to happen whenever I left the hotel, a man rushed up to ask me if I needed a taxi. As usual, I told him no. He was a good-natured fellow who always seemed to be there. I suppose business wasn’t that good. He told me his name was Peter. I told him mine was Lara. I took his card and promised if I ever needed a cab, to the airport or anywhere else, he’d be the first person I’d call. He beamed. That hurdle overcome, I then had to bypass the woman who swept the street in front of the hotel. The streets of Xi’an were very clean, actually, surprisingly so, perhaps because of this small army of women who sweep away all day and into the evening.

I rambled for awhile, looking into the shops, and just watching the people. I climbed the stairs to the balcony of the Bell Tower, which afforded me a view of the traffic and not much else. I tried to imagine what Xi’an would have looked like in the days of Illustrious August. The current city walls are Ming dynasty, not T’ang, although the Ming walls follow some of the ramparts of the older city, and the Bell Tower is not in quite the same spot. In T’ang times, the city would have been larger, hugely populous, and it would have been a city of walled neighborhoods or wards. To the north would be the Imperial Palace and just south of it the Imperial City where the mandarins and others worked. The wealthy by and large lived in palatial estates on the east side of the city. There would have been markets, east and west, pubs, temples, shops of all kinds, just like now, except there’d be no neon. At the moment I was standing there, the sun was low in the sky. Soon the city would be awash in neon. At sunset in T’ang times, the palace drums would have sounded to announce the palace was closing. Then the drums of the Drum Tower would beat, and when they had finished, it was required that the gates of the wards be locked.

It was a beautiful sight, but I was very much laboring under the weight of Burton’s death, and felt that it required some kind of appropriate recognition. I could not think what that might be, but I knew I wasn’t going to rest until I’d done it. It was then I had the idea that I should go to the Baxian Gong, the Taoist temple, to light some incense for him in the hall of Sun Simiao, the physician and alchemist. If ever there was someone who would look after Burton in the afterlife, it was Sun Simiao. He might even have understood, as I could not, why Burton drank silver.

I took the same route I’d taken the previous time I’d gone there, through the eastern gate at the end of Dong Dajie, and thence along the narrow park that ran along the city walls. It was dusk now with the remains of one of those brilliant orange skies that seem to exist only in winter. The tai chi practitioners, the practicing musicians, the men with their birds were all gone. There were only a few young couples wandering along in a languid way, holding hands.

Waiting to cross at the light where a smaller road led into the area around the Baxian Gong, I caught sight of a familiar form, at least I thought I did. I decided it was Mr. Knockoff, this time with a bicycle with a wicker carrier basket that contained something wrapped in brown paper. To my mind that package was exactly the right size. I tried edging my way through the throng of cyclists and pedestrians, but he saw me before I could get to him. In what looked to be a suicidal gesture, he’d pedaled straight into traffic, jumping the median in the busy street running parallel to the eastern city wall, and heading into the old area behind the apartment towers.

I hailed a pedicab at the corner, and tried to tell him to follow the man on the bicycle. He had no clue what I was say-mg. Consequently I told him I wanted to go to the Baxian Gong, which he did understand, given that was roughly in the direction that Mr. Knockoff was going. I hoped I would see him on the way.

I didn’t, but when I got to the temple, there was a bicycle that I was almost certain was his parked in the entrance courtyard. The wicker basket was now empty. Either the package was deemed sufficiently valuable that it couldn’t be left at the entrance to a temple, which seemed to say a lot about its contents, or the man was doing something with it in the temple. I paid the driver and followed, but by the time I’d purchased my ticket, there was no sign of the young man.

I was reasonably sure there was only one way in and out, but then when I thought about it, I remembered—at least I thought I did—a back gate. The question was, would he leave his bicycle? When there was no sign of him for several minutes, I entered, crossing a lovely arched stone bridge in the first courtyard, before systematically checking every hall that was open and crossing the next courtyard to another hall. The place was absolutely silent. I seemed to be the only person who did not belong there. There were the faithful few lighting incense sticks and kneeling in prayer, and from time to time a priest in black hat and tunic, short black pants, and white socks hove into view before disappearing again. There was no sign of my prey.

It was in the hall devoted to Sun Simiao, the physician and alchemist, that I found him. He was kneeling, hands clasped around burning incense sticks, bowing and murmuring as he rocked back and forth, and I still couldn’t see his face well enough to positively identify him. The package was at his side. On the inside of the wooden railing that separated the worshippers from the worshipped, a priest was sitting on a low chair, chopsticks in hand, slurping a bowl of noodles. I suppose that, given we were in a Taoist temple in Xi’an, it was all perfectly normal, but I found it disconcerting, the idea of interrupting a man at prayer. I hung back, uncertain what to do, just long enough for him to see me. He leapt up, dropping his incense sticks as he picked up the package and, roughly pushing past me, made for the entrance and his bicycle. I followed as quickly as I could.