Jody Shields - The Winter Station

“The dead Japanese woman at the inn was a warning. More deaths will follow.”

“If there are any additional deaths, we will manage. A warning serves to keep us on guard. A window was opened but it will be closed.”

The Baron was a stone.

After a few moments of silence, Khorvat asked the Baron what he was proposing.

He toyed with the fountain pen. “The Chinese trust me. I speak the language. I can go into Fuchiatien. Check the rooming houses and inns. Visit the eating places. Count the sick. Note their symptoms.”

“Very well. Meet with this dao tai and request permission to inspect Fuchiatien. Be discreet. I don’t want this information shared with other medical staff or doctors. Russians ask too many questions. Avoid them.”

“Until?”

“Until a better time.” Khorvat kept his finger on the scale. “In future, stay out of Wu’s laboratory.”

The Baron’s grimace signaled his acknowledgment.

“Now. Enough of this miserable business.” Khorvat pulled a bottle from under his desk. He nodded at the glass-fronted cabinet and the Baron retrieved two glasses behind the six thick volumes of the CER Annual Report 1909.

A generous pour of zubrovka , vodka steeped with stalks of buffalo grass. The fresh scent wafted into the room over their words of death and unknown death. He inhaled deeply and drank. One gulp. A tiny rim of heat around his lips. “What news of your villa in Crimea?”

“The last letter from my wife took five weeks to be delivered. She reported sultry weather. The workmen have completed the terrace. I picture myself sitting there. At a table. On the table is dinner. Roast veal with caviar sauce.”

He could tell Khorvat was on the verge of inviting him to visit, his courtesy as host automatic. He couldn’t imagine the general as genial host, wearing a thin shirt in the heat, his long beard blown by wind off the Black Sea.

“The blue sky over Crimea. I hope you’ll be privileged to see it someday.”

“Seems that more than distance separates us from that sky, General.” The Baron signed the document with a flourish.

Khorvat poured vodka. “ Pust’ angely tebia privet stvuyut. May the angels greet you.”

After another drink, the Baron left the CER building and walked into fresh snowfall. It was a dusting, not enough to hold the imprint of a boot on the ground.

In the Chinese Eastern Railway Club, a table the length of the grand assembly room was draped in white linen and set with over a hundred large and small plates of zakuski to welcome the new medical workers. The banquet was in the Russian style, so guests served themselves from huge cut-glass bowls of black and gray beluga, sevruga, and osetrova caviars, cold salmon, raw herring, anchovy paste, smoked eel and sturgeon, goose en croute, wild-fowl sausages, pashto made with boar, roast pheasant, suckling pig, and huge crabs from Vladivostok, their two-foot-long legs thicker than a man’s thumb. Dishes of pickled mushrooms, preserved fruits, freshly grated horseradish, and mustards were arranged near twenty kinds of flavored vodka and two sherries for the women.

Most of the men, except for the newly arrived student doctors and nurses, wore dark Russian uniforms. The few women doctors and medical workers were in sober-colored civilian dress. It was a gathering of foreigners, nearly all strangers to one another, and there was an edge of tension that vodka didn’t ease. Only the young volunteers at the far end of the table were lively, joking about the weather and the inadequate housing in the local hotels. The room was hot, humid, and smelled of roast meat and wet wool.

At the main table, Dr. Wu Lien-Teh, in a sky-blue Chinese uniform, had the place of honor between his young translator, Zhu Youjing from Soochow, and General Khorvat. Dr. Boguchi, the CER hospital supervisor, Mr. Kokcharoff, a government official, and Lin Chia-Swee, a tall Cantonese, were seated across the table.

The Baron arrived late and slipped into a seat next to Messonier, nodding to Dr. Iasienski, a Pole from the medical service of the CER. He surveyed the table and whispered, “I see General Khorvat has assembled the ark here.”

A spoon chimed against a wineglass and General Khorvat stood up, towering over the table. He saluted the czar, “our Little Father,” welcomed the medical staff as Kharbinskiis, praised future cooperation between Russia and China. Dr. Wu Lien-Teh was introduced as the chief medical officer, a position created for him.

Unsmiling and pale, Dr. Wu spoke a few halting Russian phrases thanking General Khorvat for his hospitality and assistance, then switched to labored Chinese, acknowledging Councillor Alfred Sze, representing the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; the dao tai; the superintendent of customs; and the waiwubu , head of the Foreign Affairs Bureau. He abruptly sat down.

The Baron exchanged a look with Messonier. “Dr. Wu isn’t fluent in either language? Russian or Chinese?”

“He was born in Malay. Fluent in English, French, and German. Wu’s assistant, Dr. Lin Chia-Swee, was his student at the Imperial Army Medical College in Tientsin.”

“Dr. Wu is accomplished but he can’t be more than thirty years old. How much experience does he have? But with the obstinacy of youth, he’ll serve tirelessly as chief medical officer. General Khorvat can’t be pleased that the Chinese sent their own man with an entourage.”

Messonier frowned and flicked a finger over his glass to stop the waiter’s pour of vodka. “I would wager that the Imperial Throne calculated that a Western-educated doctor would be acceptable to Russians. And who benefits?”

“We do. China maintains their illusion that Dr. Wu controls the situation for them. Who could criticize Khorvat for cooperating with a Chinese doctor at Beijing’s request?”

“And our General Khorvat stands back, allowing the Chinese to make the errors.”

“Clearly it’s political. Not medical.”

Messonier’s chuckle was muffled by his napkin.

General Khorvat called for their attention. “Gentlemen and ladies. You may be aware of the recent unexplained deaths at Manchouli station, the intersection of the two great rail systems, the CER and the Trans-Siberian Railway. One week later, there was a second death at Chalainor, the station closest to Manchouli. Bodies were then found at Hailar, Puhudu, and Mukden, less than an hour away by train. Three, possibly four deaths here in Kharbin. We suspect an outbreak of plague caused the deaths but this isn’t confirmed. Plague has occurred in this region over the years. But Kharbin will be spared this misfortune because of our timely vigilance.” Applause stopped his speech briefly before he continued. “Three patients are currently in the Russian hospital under treatment by”—he consulted a paper—“Dr. Wu, Dr. Mesny, and Dr. Lebedev. The patients are recovering under the doctors’ excellent care. I myself have visited the ward. I would never hesitate to put myself in danger for the benefit of our citizens.” He bowed slightly and stroked the length of his beard during the prolonged applause.

“Thank you. You’re here in Kharbin, sent by your respective governments. In the unlikely event there are additional infections, everyone will be informed immediately. There’s nothing to fear. Kharbin will continue to prosper with the blessing of the czar and the Imperial Throne in Beijing.” Everyone at the long tables stood up to cheer.

The Baron observed there was no sense of menace at the mention of plague but a pleasurable swell of excitement, as if a plan to explore new territory had been announced. A plan of conquest. An opportunity to perform heroic work. The risk of failure or death was distant lightning.