Jack Higgins - Year Of The Tiger

For a brief moment they registered puzzlement and there was a slight frown, and then Hoffner smiled and held out his hand. “This is a great pleasure, Comrade Kurbsky. A very great pleasure. We don’t often see visitors in Changu.”

“I’ve looked forward to this meeting for some time,” Chavasse said. “May I compliment you on the excellence of your Russian?”

“You must praise Katya for that, not me.” Hoffner glanced at her affectionately. “When she first came here a year ago, I knew no Russian at all.”

She kissed his cheek. “Come and eat. Comrade Kurbsky must be hungry. Afterwards, there will be time to talk.”

She had obviously gone to considerable trouble to make the meal into something of an occasion. There were candles burning on the table and the food was surprisingly good. They had a clear chicken soup, mutton, boiled rice and chopped vegetables, Chinese style, and the dessert was tinned pears. There was even a bottle of very passable wine.

As he rose from the table, Hoffner sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know how she does it, Kurbsky. I really don’t.”

“What a hypocrite he is,” Katya said to Chavasse. “Each week he allows poor Colonel Li to win one game of chess, which puts him in such a good mood that he willingly gives me anything I ask for.”

“Colonel Li is one of the finest chess players I’ve ever known,” Hoffner said. “He needs no assistance from me when it comes to winning. But I must say he’s very good to us.”

They went and sat by the fire, and Katya made coffee over a small spirit lamp. She looked very attractive with the firelight gleaming in her fair hair, and Chavasse suddenly felt relaxed and completely at ease.

He lit one of his Russian cigarettes and as he blew out a long plume of smoke, Katya wrinkled her nose and sighed. “That smell. There’s nothing quite like it. It reminds me of home more vividly than anything else ever could.”

“Would you care for one?”

She shook her head. “I’d better not. What would I do when you’ve gone?” She poured coffee into delicate porcelain cups and handed him one. “How is Moscow these days?”

He shrugged. “There’s a lot of new building going on in the suburbs, but otherwise just the same. To tell you the truth, I see very little of the old town. I spend most of my time abroad.”

“A foreign correspondent’s life must be veryinteresting,” he said. “Always new places, new faces.”

“It has its moments. Unfortunately, I never seem to stay anywhere long enough to really get to know the place.”

“What brought you to Tibet exactly?”

He shrugged. “There’s a lot of interest in Russia about what’s going on here. Besides, a good newspaperman goes where there’s news and the prospect of a worthwhile story.”

“And have you found one?”

“My experience of yesterday will do for a start,” he said. “But I’m really hoping to get something out of the doctor here.”

Hoffner, who had been listening to their conversation as he lit his pipe, raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised anyone is still interested in me.”

“You’re too modest,” Katya said, and turned to Chavasse. “Seventy-four and he still supervises his clinic every day. Did they tell you that in Lhasa? He’s given his whole life to this country, and he could have had a professor’s chair in my university in Europe at any time he wanted.”

“Come now, my dear,” Hoffner said. “You mustn’t try to make me into some sort of plaster saint. I’m anything but that.”

“But that’s the way some people see you,” Chavasse said. “As a great missionary.”

Hoffner sighed. “I’m afraid I gave up that side of my activities years ago.”

“May I ask why?” Chavasse said.

“It’s quite simple really.” Hoffner leaned forward and gazed into the heart of the fire. “I came here as a medical missionary. I wanted to save souls as well as lives. But I found myself amongst a people already deeply religious, who believed in the way of gentleness to an extent almost incomprehensible to the Western mind. What could I offer these people spiritually?”

“I see your point,” Chavasse said. “What was the solution?”

“To give them medical aid when they needed it,” Hoffner said. “Apart from that, to try to understand them and to be their friend.”

“Forgive me for asking a question which might possibly embarrass you, but I’d like to get as complete a picture as possible. Have the Chinese interfered with your work in any way?”

“As a matter of fact they’ve encouraged me wonderfully,” Hoffner said. “My clinic is more crowded than ever. Mind you, I’m not allowed outside the city walls, but that’s only for my own protection. The country’s still in rather an unsettled state, as you’ve found out for yourself.”

“You would say then that any change of government has been for the better?”

“Most decidedly. Take medical supplies, for example. In the old days, everything I needed had to come in from India by caravan.”

“And now?”

“Colonel Li gets me what I want with no difficulty. You know, before the Chinese came this country was still medieval, its people backward and ignorant. All that is changing now.”

Chavasse kept a smile on his face, but inside he was worried, because the old man sounded as if he really meant it. Before he could continue the conversation, Katya stood up and smiled. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to get on with your talk. I must visit the kitchen.”

The door closed behind her and Chavasse said, “A remarkable young woman.”

Hoffner nodded. “Her father was a Russian archaeologist. He was working for the Chinese government in Peking in charge of the excavations at the old Imperial Palace. He was given permission to visit Lhasa before returning home, but died on the way there. Katya came through here with the caravan a week after burying him.”

“And she decided to stay?”

“Colonel Li could have made arrangements to send her through to Yarkand,” Hoffner told him, “but then I was taken ill with serious heart trouble. For six months, she nursed me back to health. Since then, the question of her leaving has simply never arisen.”

“This all makes most interesting material,” Chavasse said. “On the whole, then, you would say that you lead a contented life?”

“Certainly!” Hoffner waved his hand round the room. “I have my books and my piano, and there’s always the clinic.”

“The piano interests me particularly,” Chavasse said. “Rather an unusual item to find in so isolated a region. I’ve been told that your playing is quite remarkable.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Hoffner said, “but it would be a great blow to me if I ever had to do without music. I had this piano carried in by caravan from India before the war. The lamplight flatters its appearance, mind you, but the tone is still quite good.”

He moved across to the piano, lifted the lid and sat down. He played a few chords, a snatch of a Chopin polonaise, and looked up. “Is there anything you would particularly like to hear?”

Chavasse was still standing at the fire, taking his time in lighting another cigarette. He blew out a long tracer of smoke and said casually in English, “Oh I don’t know. What about some music suitable for a May evening in Cambridge?”

Every wrinkle seemed to disappear from the old man’s face, and for a moment, it was so quiet that Chavasse could hear the wind whispering against the wooden shutters outside the window.

“I knew there was something wrong about you,” Hoffner said calmly, also in English. “From the first moment you stepped into this room, I knew.”

“You sent a letter to an old friend some time ago,” Chavasse said. “You might say I’m his answer.”