The Book of Crows Read online

  Getting past the crowd wasn’t as easy as I thought. Those peasants may look scrawny, but they can be pretty vicious, even while they’re blubbering. I couldn’t keep track of the number of elbows that came smacking into my stomach as I attempted to shove my way between the throng of dirty, jabbering locals. Half of them were screaming to be let through so that they could get back to their homes or their families on the other side of the slope, as if they hadn’t noticed that half of the hill had gone tumbling into the gloom. Didn’t do much to disprove my theory that living in the countryside rots your brains.

  One of the women started tugging at my arm. ‘You’re one of them, aren’t you?’ Her spit sprayed across my cheeks as she spoke.

  ‘Yeah, he is as well. You’ve got some cheek, showing your face round here after what’s happened!’

  ‘Piss off. One of who?’

  More of them were turning to stare. I looked around and realised I was about as conspicuous as a eunuch in a brothel. Even though my suit was stained with mud and so soaked it now clung to my skin in soggy creases, it was still a damn sight classier than the old smocks and tatty Mao jackets the rest of the crowd was dressed in. I realised a couple of policemen were even looking at me.

  ‘… yeah, that one. Check him out, all right, Wuya?’ I heard one of them say, and the stocky one nearest me stepped out of the line towards me.

  ‘Is that right? You from the mining company?’

  ‘Mining company? No, I’m from the Public Safety Office. My colleague was investigating.’ I motioned to the expanse beyond the police tape.

  The cop stole a glance back at his partner. ‘Bit late for public safety. Fat lot of good you’ll be now.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever. Look, I just want to know if you’ve seen him round here anywhere. Maybe he talked to you lot after the accident. He’s about my height, got thick-framed black glasses and —’

  The cop sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I flinched at the pity in his voice. I realised how ridiculous I sounded, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  ‘Look, comrade, please, if I could just get through and take a look —’

  ‘No one’s coming through. Best thing you can do is go back home and get yourself out of those wet clothes.’

  For the few seconds the policemen had turned their attention towards me the pushing and hustling had stopped, and I had been able to squeeze to the front of the crowd. For a brief moment – before the shoving and jostling started back up and I was knocked sideways by a weeping old woman adamant that she would get through the barriers and dig through the fallen mud and brick and earth with her bare hands if she had to – I saw over the cops’ shoulders and down into the murky expanse. Only a few metres behind them the whole hillside seemed to suddenly slip into darkness, as if some great chisel had come down and hacked away half the slope. I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but it wasn’t this. I could see jagged, crumbling edges of rock teetering on the brink, and beyond them nothing but darkness. I could only guess at the wreckage that lay far-off at the bottom, down where the rain-sodden diggers and trucks and tractors were trying to work through the debris.

  Shit. I felt dizzy. I felt sick. I needed a drink. I had to get out of there.

  I unlocked the door and began scrabbling on the floor at the passenger side for a plastic bag to throw over my seat, though when I squelched down I knew the water would soak through anyway. The police and the army would be there all night, digging up all the mud and brick and fallen rock and trapped corpses and all the other shit down at the bottom of the landslide. What the hell had happened there? Not for the first time in my life, I didn’t have a clue what was going on.

  I’d spotted Fishlips again as I wandered back between the jeeps, but as he was still nattering away with the two guys in black suits, I decided to stay out of his way and start my journey back across the field to where I’d left my car. Last thing I needed right now was his pity as well. And it wasn’t as if Wei Shan ever had a good word to say about him either. I rifled through my glove compartment and managed to unearth an ancient bottle of rice wine. I downed the last of it – even though it tasted like rank old vinegar – before starting the engine.

  The road wound back down the slope and soon enough I’d joined the highway heading back towards the city. It was half an hour’s drive back to Lanzhou, but I hardly noticed it. I couldn’t shake the image of the edge of the cliff from my mind. Could Wei Shan have survived that? Could he have been somewhere else at the time? There was no way of knowing. My tongue was fuzzy from the drink. The windscreen wipers droned on, sloshing back and forth in front of me. I spotted the skyscrapers rearing up ahead and when I crossed the bridge over the river I thanked old Steelguts Mao that I was back. It wasn’t long before I was driving through familiar streets, my head lolling forward as my mind reeled. I felt dazed. The street lamps were a mess of orange light. If it hadn’t been for the wet suit sticking uncomfortably to my skin, I could have fallen asleep.

  Something flashed out and I swerved suddenly, my hands slower than my panic. A dog? My head thumped against the wheel as I hit the brakes and skidded onto the pavement. I pulled myself back and brought my hand to my brow, then my mouth, tasting the sour tang of blood. I was shivering, thirsty. I looked around. The rain had washed the colours from the street. There was a cigarette vendor’s kiosk poking out from one of the houses. I tripped on the curb when I got out of the car, but fortunately there was no one around to see it. Everywhere was deserted. Even the dog had disappeared. I banged on the vendor’s window. Nothing. I kept banging.

  ‘Fuck off!’ someone shouted from inside.

  ‘Fuck you. Open your window, you piece of shit, or I’ll send the police around to check your vending license. Then you can see firsthand how much they like being disturbed in the night.’

  The window opened and a reluctant old face peered out. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Packet of Double Happiness. And a bottle of baiju.’

  He sighed and nodded. ‘Any particular brand?’

  ‘Cheapest’ll be just fine.’

  I paid him and he shut the window without another word. In the car I opened the little glass bottle and dabbed some liquor on my forehead. It burned, but in a good way. I took a deep swig. Then another. My fingers toyed with the keys as I contemplated turning the engine back on. I ought to go home. My hand fell back to my lap. I would go home – but not while I still had the best part of a bottle left.

  That night I dreamt of splintered timber being dragged by rushing water. Rubble, mud, rust. Broken bones. A dark mouth opening and inside nothing but jagged, broken teeth. My eyes were on fire – I could feel them burning through my eyelids. There was a storm in my skull and a terrible ache in my side. I opened my eyes, and the brown checks of the old sofa beneath me struggled to come into focus. My daughter was standing at the hob, stirring millet. Was I dribbling? I wiped my mouth and turned over, letting the broken springs pierce my back.

  What time is it? I croaked. My mouth was a desert.

  My daughter ignored me. Her hair was knotted back in a ponytail and she was wearing the blue and white tracksuit her school insisted on. Not eight o’clock yet, I guessed. Then I couldn’t have slept for more than a few hours. I felt my shirt, my trousers. Still damp. My jacket was crumpled on the floor. Shit, I’d have to change. I stumbled to my feet and found that I was still wearing my shoes.

  My daughter shook her head as I made my way to the kitchen. She was fourteen, and looked more like her mother every day. Like her mother did before she got plump and bitter, anyway; like her mother before she gave up smiling. She was going to be beautiful, once her spots cleared up and she stopped hunching her shoulders. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. Sure, it’s hard to nab a decent husband and get ahead in life if you’re dog-ugly. But then again I’ve seen the kind of looks men give beautiful women, heard the kind of things they say. Hell, I’ve given those kind of looks before, and I’ve made my fair share of dirty jokes designe
d to make a woman blush. I thought about asking her how school was going, how things were with her best friend – what was her name? Wei Ling? Mei Ling? Lei Ming? Oh, fuck it. She’d probably just ignore me anyway.

  I looked through the cupboards and cursed myself. My wife had thrown out all the drink last month. Poured it down the sink. I’d have to make do with beer. I fought through the collection of teas. How many teas does one woman need? Oolong tea, green tea, barley tea, white tea, red tea, flower tea, lemon tea, lapsang tea, teas to help you sleep, teas to wake you up, teas to help you shit, teas to block you up. All this tea and I can’t remember the last time I saw her drink a cup. The clay teapot wrapped in old newspaper at the back, saved for when guests come round. As if. Then I found them. Two bottles of beer coated in dust at the back of the cupboard. The cheapest local brand of horse piss. A woman’s drink. It would have to do.

  ‘Where’s your mum?’

  She raised her eyebrows and turned off the gas at the canister. After filling a single bowl with millet and washing a spoon from the pile of crap in the sink she turned to look at me.

  ‘At work. You stink, did you know that?’

  ‘You know, my dad never would have let any of his children talk to him like that.’

  She didn’t respond.

  Did we have a bottle opener? I wasn’t sure. I took the top off with my teeth and drank from the bottle. Shit. I’d forgotten how bubbly it was. I burped and coughed and my daughter shook her head in disgust. I finished the bottle and the storm in my skull began to dull down. The previous night slowly drifted back to me. The restaurant. The news report. The peasants and the police. The end of the world. The baiju.

  My daughter was doing up her school bag.

  ‘Need a lift?’

  She turned and looked me up and down. Her mouth opened, as if she was about to make some sarcastic comment, but she obviously thought better of it. She shook her head. I shrugged. She left.

  I’d just showered and was finishing off the second beer, when the phone rang.

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘It’s me – Chun Xiao. Is he there?’

  Wei Shan’s wife. Shit. She always called me if he didn’t make it back. Not that he was ever here. But whenever he stayed with his mistress he relied on me to tell his wife that he’d crashed on our sofa and couldn’t get to the phone right now, but would be back home soon. He did the same for me when I stayed with Li Yang. Not that my wife ever bothered phoning around to find me anymore.

  ‘Uh, he’s not here.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Let me guess. Puking his guts up in your toilet, is he? Too drunk to find his way back home? Tell him Cheung has got the recital tonight, so he’d better not be late.’

  Cheung – his son. Shit. Double shit.

  ‘I’m serious. He’s not here. Did you see the news last night?’

  ‘No. You think I’ve got time to sit round watching television while you and my husband are off drinking away his wages? I was on the night shift, you imbecile. Stop mucking about and put Wei Shan on.’

  ‘I can’t. He’s really not here. I never saw him last night. Listen, around four he got a call to go out and investigate over some safety concerns at Jawbone Hills. He never came back. There was a landslide there, took the whole hillside down. I don’t know if he was there at the time or —’

  I stopped talking when I heard the dull drone of the dial tone. She’d hung up. Crap. What the hell was I supposed to do now? I could feel my hands shaking. That was all I needed now – to turn into a little girl. I was going to kill Wei Shan if he ever turned up.

  I made my way down the five flights of stairs to find the car stretched across two spaces. It was still raining, though now it was more like a light drizzle. I’d left my sodden suit crumpled up on the double bed where my wife slept. I fished my only other good suit out of the wardrobe. It was a little tight these days, but I would rather have gone naked than wear my old blue peasant suit like the saps out in the fields. Just thinking about the countryside made me feel sick, and the events of the last twelve hours hit me with such a force that I had to lean against the car and take a deep breath. I already knew that it was going to be a day from hell.

  The city was shrugging off its shadows. Dumplings were steaming on pavement stalls, and businessmen on bicycles slipped between the taxi jams. Storefronts were being unshuttered. Workers trailed muddy footprints across the bridge in yesterday’s soggy overalls. A tatty flag was being raised in the town square, and a statue of old Mr Mao pointed above it all to some scrag of dishrag clouds. I went over it all in my mind. Wei Shan got the call. Who called? And why? And how did the hillside collapse? Twenty metres of shit because of a bit of rain? No way. Why did the policeman mention a mining company? I’d be damned if I knew. And the chances were I wouldn’t find out now, unless Wei Shan somehow managed to crawl into work with a really good explanation. I clung to that thought, even though I knew it was absurd, because I had to believe there was a possibility that I’d turn up at the office to find him sitting at his desk with that same old scowl on his face.

  I flicked through the radio channels as the traffic slowed and shunted together. Snippets of a speech by Deng Xiaoping … some half-warbled western ballad … double-talk routines from the old days … some dull news item about the opening of a school … traffic reports … weather … adverts. I turned it off. Nothing at all about the landslide. No surprise there. As if it had never happened at all.

  I spent half the morning lost in my thoughts. Whenever I thought I’d got a handle on one of the blueprints I was supposed to be reviewing, I’d catch a glimpse of Wei Shan’s empty desk out of the corner of my eye and after that I’d forget where I was. I wanted to call Li Yang, but it seemed a bit risky from the office phone, what with all the nosy creeps who call themselves my colleagues listening in. I needed a drink.

  Fishlips came in late. One of the perks of being the boss, I guess – if any of the rest of us tried it he’d go nuts. Not that he wasn’t half deranged most of the time anyway. I crept up on him while he was unlocking the door to his office.

  ‘I saw the news last night.’

  Fishlips sighed. ‘Have you told anyone?’

  ‘Not yet. Should I?’

  ‘No. I’ll talk to everyone later. Just keep it quiet for now, all right?’

  ‘Then you think he was definitely there?’

  ‘According to the logbook, he went to Jawbone Hills late yesterday afternoon. Poor sod. The police found his car up there. It was empty.’

  ‘There must be something we can do. If he’s still out there …’

  ‘It’s out of our hands now. Beside, they’re still digging bodies out of the wreckage. It could be days before we know anything.’

  ‘So we just sit around and wait?’

  His face scrunched up into a scowl. ‘What do you want me to do? Get out my bucket and spade and drive down to the site? Get a grip. Listen, I’m worried too, but there’s no point getting everyone worked up till we find out exactly what’s happened. He could still be all right.’

  ‘What about the call?’

  ‘The call?’

  ‘Yesterday. The one that Wei Shan went to investigate.’

  ‘Forget it. There’s nothing left to investigate.’

  ‘What about the landslide?’

  ‘What about it? You saw the weather yesterday. Worst storm we’ve had in years.’

  ‘So it had nothing to do with the mine?’

  He stared at me. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  I decided to bluff. ‘Wei Shan mentioned something about a mining company before he left.’

  ‘Really? Sure you’re not mistaken? Let me guess, you had a few drinks last night and everything’s a little foggy? There’s no mine up there. Not much of anything. I hate to say it, but it was probably just a prank call.’

  ‘Doubt it. Why would someone do something like that?’

  He shrugged. ‘I haven’t got time to play guessing games. We’ve got
to try to go on as normal. I know that word isn’t in your vocabulary, so just do your best to keep it together, all right? I’ll let you know when I hear anything. Until then, try not to go blabbing about it to anyone.’

  He shut the office door in my face. He’d let me know. Yeah, right.

  He was acting like it didn’t matter that he’d just lost one of his men. Sure, not one of the best. And pretty easy to replace. But still. I stood outside his office for a minute and clenched and unclenched my fists. None of it made sense. He was being even more shifty than usual. I was glad I hadn’t told him I’d gone up there to take a look for myself. Though it would have been nice to see him squirm a bit more.

  I made my way back to my desk, but I couldn’t get much done. Apart from a few cigarette-breaks, and a trip out at lunch for a bowl of wonton and a little something to take the edge off, it passed much like any other day. The same grey sky mired above. The same clouds of dust and smog swirling up from the factories opposite the office. The same blueprints and planning applications to check through, the same notices to send, inspections to schedule, meetings to arrange. All the usual crap. And when I finally grew tired of pretending to work while I waited for the office phone to ring and bring some news, I left my desk and found the same gang of old women picking through the bins at the bottom of the building for glass or plastic to sell back to the factories, like crows picking through a carcass for the tastiest scraps.

  Life likes to trick you like that. You think you’re moving forward, but really you’re stuck in limbo, living the same day over and over again. And so I did what I usually did, and made my way to the Golden Dragon Seafood Palace, where I sat in the same old table and ordered the same cheap brand of baiju, and – even though I felt like a chump when the words came out of my mouth – I even found myself ordering the same old dishes, enough for two, just in case.