Jody Shields - The Winter Station

The zakuski course was finished and the guests slowly moved, in a haze of intense conversation, to dinner tables in the next room.

The Baron spoke quietly to Messonier. “The situation is more serious than Khorvat admits. He does nothing but make a bloodless speech. And he ignores two crucial points.”

“Which are?”

His voice was low so as not to be overheard. “First, how contagious is the plague? Second, look at the numbers. The new medical personnel outnumber the patients.”

“You say we’re overstaffed?” Messonier joked, his words a moat to keep fear away.

“Obviously, they anticipate an explosive increase in the number of patients. Numerous doctors and nurses will be needed.”

At the table, the Baron switched place cards so he was seated next to Messonier. “Judging by the extravagance of the banquet, we are in crisis. All the years I’ve lived in Manchuria, I’ve never seen Russians and Chinese share a table.”

For the first course, the waiters offered a choice of hot or cold soups, botvinia, okroshka, with tiny dumplings, or pirozhki.

Messonier’s eyebrows lifted. “I believe my appetite has been diminished by your speculations.”

“Enjoy yourself. This feast is unlikely to be repeated.”

Noting Boguchi’s quizzical expression, Messonier avoided his eyes and slowly dredged his spoon through the thick okroshka in the bowl.

A yellow wine, huang-jiu from Shaoxing, was poured as a concession to the Chinese, but the Russians ignored it for quantities of vodka. The entrées were elegant and substantial: sturgeon in champagne sauce, partridge fattened on juniper berries, roast saddle of goat, suckling pig with cream and horseradish. Strong punch marked the introduction of lighter fare, cucumber salad and cauliflower with sauce Polonaise. Dessert was a towering babka yablochnaya.

The Baron murmured praise for the dinner and introduced himself to the translator Zhu Youjing and Dr. Iasienski.

The waiter inserted a tray of fruit ices between them. The hours-long dinner was nearly finished.

Afterward, the Baron waited patiently with other officials for an introduction to Dr. Wu. Up close, the doctor was very boyish in a collared jacket and trousers tucked into high leather boots. Vodka had made the Baron careless and he automatically addressed Dr. Wu in Chinese, a standard pleasantry of welcome. The translator Zhu Youjing quickly answered but Wu had lost face in front of officials and his cheeks flushed. The Baron hastily apologized in Chinese and then awkwardly in English.

Cold-eyed, Wu accepted his apology. “We can speak in English, German, or French, as you wish, Baron.” They agreed to meet again the following week.

The Baron joined his hands in front of his chest and bowed slightly, making the gongshou courtesy.

“I will make arrangements for your meeting, as Dr. Wu is very busy.” His translator’s Russian was excellent, his r sonorous.

The Baron noticed Messonier edging his way toward a blond woman in the group gathered around two polite young men, medical students from Peking Union Medical College, a missionary institute.

Wang, the tallest junior doctor, was clearly excited to discuss his first assignment in Kharbin. “We’ll monitor arriving and departing passengers at Central Station, where we’re most useful. We watch for those who seem uneasy or sick, check their symptoms, and take their temperature.”

Several men praised their sacrifice.

“Sacrifice?” The second young man’s face creased with worry until a waiter approached with glasses of vodka on a tray.

Someone asked him about the sanitary measures in the train station.

He looked blank until Wang broke in. “Thermometers will be sterilized in alcohol after each use.”

“You’ll need rubber gloves and hot water. A mask. Memorize shidan suan, the word for carbolic disinfectant.” The Baron’s voice was gentle. “You’ll be at risk, exposing yourself to so many people day after day.”

“Especially the many foreigners at the station. The dirty Chinese.” A Russian drunk spoke from the crowd.

Dr. Wu didn’t change expression at this insult and Messonier looked at him in surprise.

“Anyone can carry an illness. Anyone can be infected.” The Baron challenged the speaker, who was drunker than the others. “No weapon or shield can protect you.”

“Not true. Imperial Russia protects you. Every measure is taken to safeguard your health. No need to be concerned.” Dr. Iasienski addressed the two young Chinese doctors but his eyes were on the Baron. A warning.

“You see? Your safety is guaranteed by one of Kharbin’s highest medical authorities.” The Baron’s gesture was expansive and mocking. Possibly at this point, some of his colleagues marked him as insufficiently loyal.

The blond woman addressed Dr. Iasienski. “I’m Dr. Maria Lebedev. Is there a report about the exact dates and the pattern of contagion, since the train stations are under surveillance?” The pale braids circling her head were harshly sculpted by electric light from the sconce.

“Only vigilance and caution will subdue the beast,” said Dr. Iasienski, then added, “God willing.”

Messonier cleared his throat but Dr. Maria Lebedev ignored him. “I assume an official report will be distributed at our first general meeting?”

“Let’s not review medical issues here. It’s inefficient gossip after a banquet,” interrupted Khorvat.

“The most accurate information sometimes comes from unofficial sources.” Dr. Maria Lebedev smiled at Khorvat. Because women’s opinions were generally ignored, only a woman would dare challenge the general.

The Baron resisted the urge to kiss her hand.

An awkward silence as they waited for Khorvat’s response until Messonier spun a comment. “Dr. Lebedev just arrived from Switzerland. A volunteer.”

Khorvat’s voice boomed. “Welcome, Dr. Lebedev. Impressive that you wish to immediately begin work.”

“The situation seems to require immediacy.” She didn’t back down.

“We are absolutely ready if a crisis should arise.” Khorvat’s eyes flickered over their faces to see who dared disagree. They were silent and only the slightest movements, a hand in a pocket, an exchange of glances, betrayed their unease.

Messonier’s thin laugh. “I’d best go home and prepare for battle.”

“Or prepare a last will and testament. Depending on your faith,” Iasienski joked.

“No. That would be bad luck.” Dr. Maria Lebedev touched Messonier’s arm.

When Khorvat was alone, waiting for a servant to bring his coat, the Baron approached him. “Dr. Wu is very young. But spirited.”

Khorvat was benevolent after vodka and his favorite caviar. “Wu has Alfred Sze from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs as a supporter. Sze has Grand Councillor Na Dong as his patron. They can speak directly to the throne in Beijing. Although we’ll see if it’s an aid or a hindrance. The Chinese dream that they can battle an outbreak of plague alone. They don’t recognize the peril of their position. If they don’t stop the plague, Russia and Japan will help them.”

“With their armies?”

“There are many kinds of help. But the important thing is that Dr. Wu cooperates with us.”

“He will be embraced by the hospital. We’ve always been understaffed.” Not the correct answer but vodka would smooth over the general’s memory.

The Baron heard indistinct voices, a pattern of orders and acknowledgments, as he entered the magistrate’s audience hall. The dao tai, who represented the Qing imperial government, was a hunched silhouette in an elaborately carved chair, his jacket stiffly embroidered with waves and twisting figures of beasts, their intricate rainbow colors diminished in the hall’s light. Attendants stood beside his chair.