Peter May - The Fourth Sacrifice

‘Everything would have been destroyed,’ Michael said, ‘if it hadn’t been for the courage of the museum’s caretaker. Li Yajuan was just a housewife. She had four children at home. But she defied the Red Guards and refused to give up any of the other relics. They beat her and kicked her until she bled, and finally she locked herself away in the warehouse with the relics, day and night for nearly three years.’ Margaret was shocked to see his eyes filling up. ‘She was a real heroine, Margaret. She had extraordinary courage.’ He paused. ‘It’s people like her that I believe in. That’s the spirit that I was talking about. Just an ordinary housewife. But her life had meaning, and she has her place in history. She died in 1985, anonymous and unsung. She should have been declared a Hero of the People.’

Margaret was uncertain whether it was the story he had told, or the effect it had had on him, but she too found herself deeply moved. She squeezed his hand. He blinked back his tears and smiled, embarrassed. ‘Stupid!’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’ He took a gulp of Coke. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

They left the Muslim Quarter through an elaborate gate over the entrance to the main hutong , and turned east to the bell tower, and then south down Nan Dajie to where a Kentucky Fried Chicken joint had insinuated itself between a supermarket and a department store. Michael put a strong arm round Margaret’s shoulders and drew her close to him. But they walked in silence. All the shops were still open, and the streets were full of families and young lovers, and teenagers of both sexes on the prowl for partners. The Colonel smiled past them as they entered the fried chicken shop, and Michael bought them a couple of ice creams to cool their still burning mouths. They sat at a table by the window. On the other side of it life streamed past in a never-ending blur.

‘How the hell did you ever get into all this?’ Margaret asked. ‘I mean, television.’

He shrugged. ‘Pure accident. It’s certainly not what I set out to do in life.’ He toyed with his plastic spoon, pushing the tasteless pink ice cream around in its carton. ‘I did a video project at university. A friend showed it to someone on a small cable network which had a few bucks to make a documentary on a local archaeological landmark. They asked me to do it.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t ask me why, but it got really good figures, and the cable company sold it on all over the States. They got more money, we made a couple more shows, then I got asked to do a series for the Discovery Channel. That was it. Someone did a piece on me in Cosmopolitan , a picture spread. Suddenly archaeology was sexy. Ratings went through the roof and I got offered a deal by NBC. The rest is history.’ He examined her face for a moment or two. ‘Now you know nearly everything about me, and I know virtually nothing about you.’

She smiled. ‘I wouldn’t want to disillusion you.’

‘You mean you don’t want to tell me.’

She cocked her head. ‘It amounts to the same thing.’

‘That’s not fair, Margaret.’

‘Maybe not. But that’s how it is.’

He pursed his lips. ‘Sometimes animals curl up to protect themselves when they’ve been hurt. Is that what you’re doing?’

‘What if I am?’ she said defiantly. ‘I’m not like you, Michael. You’re open and honest and … I don’t know, just you. Like you’ve never been hurt. Like you’ve no reason not to trust people. Me? Every time I open up someone puts the knife in. And turns it. You’re like the big friendly dog that comes running up to a stranger looking to get its ears tickled. I’m the dog that cowers in the corner if someone looks at it the wrong way.’

‘Or growls if anyone gets too close.’

She smiled reluctantly. ‘You got it.’

‘So if I get any closer, do you think the dog’ll bite?’

She met his gaze. ‘I’m not sure if the dog knows that yet, Michael.’

‘So … approach with caution.’

She nodded. ‘That would be the sensible course.’

He scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘You know, usually I’m pretty good with dogs. Never been bitten yet.’

She grinned. ‘There’s always a first time.’

*

A profusion of white and pastel green and pink flags hung down from the atrium-style glass roof seven floors above the sprawling marble foyer of the Ana Chengbao Hotel. A scattering of guests looked down from the Wisteria bar on the second floor, their desultory conversation a distant whisper. Margaret glanced at the full-size bronze reproductions of two Terracotta Warriors just inside the sliding doors, and remembered the sense of wonder she had experienced in the burial chambers earlier that day as she had slowly brushed away the dust of history to reveal the features of an ancient general. Had it really only been that morning? Already it seemed like a faraway, magical memory.

Michael steered her past the lifelike statues of a Silk Road trader and his Bactrian camel to the elevator, and they rode up to the top floor. From the open corridor, they could see down through the flags to the white marble below, the bronze warriors reduced to tiny, insignificant figures. At the far end they reached her room first and stopped at the door. They had said virtually nothing on the long walk down Nan Dajie, under the south gate and out to the vast circle that led them round to the hotel. Now the easy conversation of earlier seemed to have dried up. This was good night, awkward and stilted, nothing resolved. Let’s just wait and see , he had said earlier, still affected by the photograph of his friend’s headless body.

‘Well,’ Margaret said. ‘I guess it’s an early start tomorrow.’

He nodded. ‘Got to be at the airport for seven.’

‘I hope I don’t sleep in.’ But she thought it was highly unlikely that she would sleep at all.

‘Better set your alarm.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m hopeless with these things. They never go off at the right time.’

‘I’d better do it for you, then,’ he said. And he stood expectantly, and she realised he was waiting for her to open her door.

Her mouth was dry as they walked into her hotel room. The curtains were still open on French windows leading to the balcony. Below, they could see the yellow tracery of the city wall and the floodlit south gate, the reflected lights of Xi’an casting a soft glow around the room. Margaret went to switch on the light, but Michael put a hand out to stop her, and his hand held hers. ‘I want you, Margaret.’ His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

The wave of desire that washed over her almost made her buckle at the knees. ‘Aren’t you afraid I’ll bite?’ she said.

He smiled. ‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘I figure your bark’s much worse.’ And he kissed her. Slowly at first, gently. Then, as she responded, their passion and hunger took control, and their mouths and bodies pressed hard together. To her sudden surprise she found her feet swept away from under her, and he had her in his arms, carrying her across the room to the bed as if she were no more than a rag doll. No man had ever carried her like that before, and she felt as if all control had been taken from her. But, still, she felt completely safe.

He laid her on the bed and kissed her again and stripped off his shirt. She saw light reflecting on the curve of his pectoral muscles, the concave arch of his belly as he slipped out of his trousers. Then she felt his breath on her face, his hands on her breasts, and she fought to rid herself of her blouse and her jeans in her haste to feel his flesh on hers, warm and firm and smooth. And finally they were naked and he was poised over her, his face looking down into hers, a light in his eyes. She reached up and grabbed his buttocks and pulled him towards her. His mouth fell on hers again and then she felt his lips warm and wet on her neck, on her breast, sucking, biting, teasing the nipple. And the breath escaped from her in a long sigh as she felt him slip inside her and all memories and thoughts of Li were finally banished.