The Lake Ching Murders - A Mystery of Fire and Ice (16 page)

This fisherman had discovered the artifact. One of his cormorants had returned to the boat with something caught in its throat. The fisherman had stuck his hand all the way down its lengthy gullet. What he came up with, after considerable tugging and much cursing, was a moss-encrusted object that he would have tossed back into the water, accompanied by the appropriate obscenity for wasted effort, had he not noted the dull sheen of metal. It was no doubt that hint of brightness that had first attracted the bird.

The old schemer pocketed the object and took it home. There he carefully chipped away the growth then polished the object which, after much attention, revealed itself to be a startlingly accurate depiction of a horse’s hindquarters and rear legs rendered in bronze. It was just over three inches in length and beautifully done — a fact that escaped the fisherman.

What didn’t escape him was the possibility that the thing might be worth something.

It took him several months of judicious asking around before he found out about Dr. Roung, the archeologist in Xian, and another few months before he made his way to the ancient capital. He’d never left the environs of the lake before. But profit was a powerful motivator.

One chilly morning, the smelly man was ushered through Dr. Roung’s office door. The archeologist had been examining the medieval Italian’s book about China that had so long puzzled him. He didn’t like puzzles he couldn’t solve. But he never considered conceding defeat. He took a last look at the book and returned it to the shelf. Without turning to face the fisherman he said, “My assistant tells me that you have something to show me?”

The fisherman looked around, not sure what to say or do.

The archeologist looked at the old man.

“Would you like a drink?”

The fisherman’s eyes widened. Dr. Roung never drank himself, but had found strong Chinese wine a useful enticement with the locals. He poured a glass. The man sat down.

Two glasses later, the man was ready to talk. “Excellency. Do you purchase ancient things? Small, ancient things?”

“From time to time I do.”

“It’s small, though,” the man said tentatively.

“Size is seldom an issue.”

The fisherman smiled then screwed up his face as if what he was about to say would cause him great pain. “What if it’s broken?” There was anxiety in the fisherman’s voice.

A brightness flashed for a moment across Dr. Roung’s face, then was gone. He took a breath. Then, with his anticipation concealed safely behind his eyes, he asked, “Cracked, you mean?”

“No, Excellency, broken — as if in half.”

The archeologist looked away from the fisherman. A few months earlier, he and his team had begun the third phase of the reclamation of the terra-cotta warriors. During the dig he had come across six small half-sculptures. All horses. All the front end — the emperor’s end. “Is it of a horse?” he asked as casually as he could manage.

The fisherman emitted a hiss.

“It is of a horse, isn’t it?”

The fisherman stumbled to his feet. “He thinks I’m a witch,” Dr. Roung thought. “Good.” He took a breath then said, “It’s worthless, old man.” He unlocked a drawer to his desk and took out the six half-horses and put them on the desk. “Worthless,” he repeated.

But the fisherman was canny. Over his many years he had done much bartering for fish and on occasion for cormorant chicks. “If they were worthless, why keep them under lock and key?” he thought. But he said nothing. Just bent his shoulders and turned toward the door.

“Show me your find, old man.”

“Why, Excellency?” The old fisherman locked eyes with the archeologist. “It has no value.”

“Show it to me.” Dr. Roung allowed a threatening tone into his voice. The fisherman heard it and backed off. Slowly he reached into his pocket and pulled out a dirty rag. Holding it in the palm of his left hand, he unwrapped the tiny thing.

The archeologist had to control his excitement. The perfect hindquarters were the first he had ever seen. His fingers itched to fit it together with one of the six frontquarters he had. His keen eye quickly eliminated the chance of a match with the first three of his horses. But horses four and six were real possibilities.

“Are there more where this came from, old man?”

The man scratched his neck, but didn’t answer.

“If you know where this came from, and are willing to show me, I’ll pay you handsomely.”

“How handsomely?” snapped back the old fisherman.

Dr. Roung stepped past the man and left the office. Moments later, he returned with a packet of kwais. He held out the bulging envelope and said, “More money than you’ll earn in ten years.”

The fisherman reached for the packet, but the archeologist pulled it away. He extracted ten 100-kwai notes and dangled them from his fingers.

The fisherman held out the small statuette.

The exchange was made.

“Now show me where you found this, old man, and the rest of the money is yours.”

* * *

The fisherman guided Dr. Roung to the lake. The archeologist had never been there before. He didn’t even know there was a large lake so close to Xian. The water was clear, and there, just off the side of the fisherman’s tippy boat, not four feet down, was a large mound. Clearly it had been man-made. The formation of the stones was very similar to those he’d unearthed with the terra-cotta warriors. It was possible that the shoal was in fact the tip of another tomb. He took out the hindquarters that the fisherman had given him. Qin period for sure. Could this be the tomb of one of the first emperor’s generals? That was who had the back end of the horses. The emperor Qin Shi Huang had kept control of the movement of troops by having these split horses made. The emperor kept the front half of each. The hindquarters were given to various generals. When a messenger arrived bearing the emperor’s part of the horse that completed theirs, the general supplied troops. Troops were power. Control of power was everything.

The archeologist saw that the fisherman was clearly uncomfortable. “Ah, he wants his money,” he thought. But he was wrong.

The obligation of hospitality is real in rural China. Despite not wanting anything to do with the archeologist, the fisherman was duty-bound to offer him a meal. Grudgingly he asked, “Would your Excellency honour my humble home by taking some food?” The archeologist was duty-bound to accept the offer.

Dr. Roung noted the landmarks to be sure he could find the shoal again, then nodded.

It was on landing that first time on the Island of the Half-wits that he saw her. Chu Shi — Jiajia’s intended. She was stooping to fill her wooden pails with water from the lake. With square shoulders and weathered skin, she was far from the elegant Han Chinese women that he’d known. Her hands were big and rough. But there was depth in her eyes.

Then she smiled at him.

He felt himself falling, somehow the ground beneath him had suddenly shifted and he was plummeting down a great chasm.

The old fisherman stared at him, a faraway look in his eyes. A knowing, no, an understanding look.

“Who is she, old lecher?”

For a moment the old man seemed openly offended and then he softened, “Not one of us. One of the farmers. One of the half-wits. They keep to themselves, Excellency.” His voice was off-centre. He took a step forward and said as casually as he could, “Perhaps Excellency would like to meet . . .”

“I will double your fee if you arrange it.”

The fisherman’s face creased with a slow, oddly sad smile that exposed his rotted teeth. “Give her this,” said Dr. Roung, holding out the small statue that he’d just bought from the fisherman.

* * *

That’s how it had begun. He requested and received permission from Beijing’s powerful minister of the interior to start excavating the sunken shoal to cover his approaches to the island — to Chu Shi. The fisherman arranged the meetings with Chu Shi but each time he seemed a little sadder, a little more wistful.

The love between Dr. Roung and Chu Shi had been fast, secret and more important to him than anything that had happened before. With her he seemed to understand things. He felt part of the great flow of the blackhaired people. He felt her connect him to the past and the future. He began to dream of their child — somehow living forever.

He had kept the ministry in Beijing abreast of his progress at the shoal, which he had intentionally slowed. Then, in the sixth month of his work, he was surprised to receive a personal communication from the minister of the interior herself asking to be kept strictly up-to-date with his work and a request that he find out what he could about . . . the farmers on the island.

He didn’t know what to make of the request, but he didn’t care. It offered him an official reason to visit the island regularly.

It was on one of these sanctioned visits that he found himself alone with Chu Shi in her family house.

“This is my room, but this is my father’s home.” Her eyes twinkled.

“It could be ours when he passes on.”

Chu Shi turned away from him, the dim light of the hut somehow making her even more alluring.

“I meant no offence.”

“I know,” she said still looking away from him. Then she turned back and smiled.

“What?”

“It’s odd to be alone in this place. Usually there are so many others.”

“Little privacy, huh?”

“We islanders are not prudish.” Her smile broadened. “You may have noticed that.”

He smiled. “I have.”

“Good,” she said. “Now take off your pants — Excellency.” Her voice danced around the final word but her eyes devoured him.

Their bodies fit together as if they had been made from one piece that had been separated by the Maker.

Later, lying naked and enwrapped, he ran his fingers along the rise of her hip. “Do you have the gift I first gave you?” She nodded and reached across him. His fingers traced the strong muscles of her back as she extracted the small statue of the horse’s hindquarters from her clothing on the floor. She lay back and, smiling, placed it on her left breast. Then looked at him.

He rose from the bed, naked, and crossed to his pants on the far side of the room. He put on his delicate French glasses then knelt and dug into his pockets. She loved to watch him. He was so different from the islanders. So different from Iman’s favourite, Jiajia, to whom she’d been promised, and who constantly sought her attention.

He returned, knelt over her and repositioned her statue. Then he opened his hand and showed her his matching statue of the horse’s frontquarters.

She bent her head forward to get a closer look, but he held her still and placed his bronze figure on her right breast.

She shivered. She’d never seen anyone look at anything the way her lover looked at her now. Finally, after what seemed forever, he gently moved her breasts together. The figures slid toward each other. They touched, then interlocked — perfectly — every plane of one fitted to every plane of the other.

She was about to giggle when she looked up. He was staring deep into her eyes. “Do you see how they lock together.”

She nodded, a little lost.

“I want us to marry. To have children.”

She moved so quickly that he was lucky to catch the bronze pieces before they crashed to the ground.

As she shoved a leg into her pants she said, “It’s not possible.”

“Why?” he demanded.

She turned to him and held his eyes. “Because, here, on this island, we marry our own.”

Then she was gone.

He held the completed bronze horse in his fingers for a longish moment. Then he detached the hindquarters and left them beneath her pillow.

As he put on his clothing he wondered what he would do next. What life would be like without Chu Shi.

He did his best to wrap up the excavation of the shoal. It was proving much more difficult than he had originally thought. He faced little resistance from the ministry.

Then the foreigners arrived. Foreigners from several countries. Elderly men asking questions. Asking about the family backgrounds of the islanders. Not from the fishermen; only from the farmers.

He dutifully followed the foreigners to the island and then reported their activity to the interior ministry. He was surprised to get an urgent message ordering him to continue excavating the shoal and to go to the island and report back everything that he could find about the interaction between the foreigners and the farmers of the island.

Despite Chu Shi’s rejection, he obeyed the orders from Beijing and went to the island. He talked to as many of the islanders as he could. On his way back to his boat he saw Chu Shi in the darkness down by the beach. He was about to approach when a young man broke from the nearby thicket and ran into her arms.

Jiajia, Iman’s chosen. Her betrothed.

The weather turned suddenly cold as he returned from the island. Early for it. He bundled up as he sat in his room and wrote to the Ministry of the Interior.

MADAME MINISTER:

Two weeks ago, the Islanders, after an initial resistance,
accepted sizeable sums of money from the foreigners in
return for which, Iman, their leader, agreed to give the foreigners
the family histories they wanted.

Why the foreigners would want the islander’s family
histories is a mystery to me.

Now the foreigners want to take blood samples from the
islanders. Iman categorically refused and violence was only narrowly avoided as the foreigners had to be escorted off the
island by local police.

Work on the shoal is proving almost impossible. Could I
request, with all respect, a return to my work in Xian?

C.

Madame Wu received the communiqué just as she was finishing another long day in her office. Her old eyes read the words and sensed their meaning. The man’s love affair was over and now he wanted to go home. He may be exceptionally talented, this one, but he acts just like every other male.

Madame Wu felt her assistant’s steely eyes on her. Had she spoken aloud? No. Absolutely not. She returned the stare and the man backed off. “Perhaps it’s time to get myself a younger, prettier assistant. It had been a long while since someone young and pretty had been her companion.