Jody Shields - The Winter Station

As a mark of respect for the dao tai, the Baron had pulled his sleeves down over his hands and made the courteous gongshou bow. The dao tai, unblinking, registered no surprise as the Russian made the usual courtesies in Chinese. He was allowed to continue.

“Your Honor, a mysterious illness has taken the lives of several Chinese. I beg permission to inspect inns, homes, and eating places in Fuchiatien to find others suffering from the sickness.”

The dao tai nodded and slumped forward. His attendants glared at the Baron as if this discourtesy were his fault. The dao tai abruptly jerked his head up again. “Will the sick receive treatment?”

“Yes. They will be taken to the Russian hospital.” If the dao tai refused the request or asked for time to consider it, Russian soldiers would probably conduct an inspection without permission. The dao tai would be foolish to risk losing face for the sake of a few poor laborers. Possibly he expected a bribe.

The Baron continued his role as a supplicant. “The situation needs your strength and wisdom.” He believed these words at the moment they were spoken. “We also ask for doctors to monitor passengers departing and arriving at Central Station. We must be vigilant.” This request was purely a courtesy, as CER trains were owned by Russia and their soldiers would enforce inspection at the station.

Unfocused, the dao tai blinked and slumped deeper in his chair. The Baron realized he was an addict. Opium. The wait for his reply could be lengthy. He shuffled his feet.

What was he doing in this role? Standing between two corrupt systems, a negotiator like his father, the diplomat. No escape from family or the past, even here in Manchuria. He’d sworn to avoid situations where he would represent the government, the instrument of empire.

The dao tai ’s soft voice offered an agreement. With the slightest motion of his hand, he granted the Baron and those he represented power over his most vulnerable subjects. Letters of agreement would be exchanged with Russian officials to permit inspection of Fuchiatien. Men could disappear in the space between the two countries.

Perhaps this agreement would allow the Baron to save a few unfortunates. He was the worm in the bud, a broken thread in the official fabric. Perhaps his father had also recognized his own helplessness.

Afterward, the Baron met Chang in a teahouse on Kitayskaya Street in the Pristan quarter. The place was crowded and its smell of damp shearling, sweat, and burning wood was familiar.

“Yes, better now.” Chang rubbed his jaw, a gesture to soothe his nerves. His fur hat leaked moisture from its dusting of snow onto the table next to the Baron’s cup. “My droshky got stuck. Tipped at an angle in the snow. I was dumped out. I walked from Novotorgovaya Street here to the chaynaya teahouse. The snow wasn’t cleared away even in front of the stores. Would have been easier for longer legs.”

“I’ll order tea for you.” The Baron gently waved in a waiter’s direction and turned back to Chang, his face displaying his concern.

Chang continued talking as if he hadn’t heard the Baron’s offer. “Sunlight glared off the ice in the harbor, so the street was blinding white. Then I see a hand sticking up from the snow. Right in front of me. This close.” His arm stretched across the table. He spoke quickly, an exorcism to free himself of the experience. “I started shaking. The hand was so white I could hardly see it against the snow except for its shadow. And blue fingernails.”

A waiter shoved the teapot on the table between them and hurried away.

“Doctor, do you have anything to help me sleep tonight?”

“Perhaps.” The Baron automatically checked the teapot, stalling for time while his thoughts raced. He imagined locating the buried corpse, testing it for plague, presenting his discovery to doctors in the hospital. “You didn’t touch the hand? The corpse?”

“I wouldn’t have touched the hand even with a shovel.”

“I’ll file a report. Can you remember the location of the body?”

Chang was gratified by the Baron’s serious attention to his story. “Between Kommercheskaya and Kitayskaya Streets. Tell me what you’ll report.”

“A body was found.” The wooden table was so rough that the teapot scraped as the Baron pushed it across to Chang.

The dwarf was puzzled. “That’s your report?”

“It’s enough to launch a search for the body. Once it’s found, the cause of death can be determined.”

“The mysterious sickness?”

The Baron was careful. How to warn without alarm. “A meeting has been called tomorrow for the entire medical staff. I’ll have more information. What steps will be taken. What I can do.”

“I’m not a fool.”

The Baron’s nervousness stopped words in his throat. “I’m told there’s no need for alarm. I’ve told my wife the same thing. Has anything changed at Churin’s?”

Chang frowned. “Churin’s store wishes everything to appear the same during this crisis so shoppers have confidence to spend money. So I remain at the door.”

“I hope they’ve increased your pay.”

“I’ll probably die before I’m paid. But what are my chances of meeting someone with plague? I hear gossip. Terrible rumors about unexplained deaths.”

The Baron tightened his grip on the cup. “Ask your fortune-teller.”

“I may start to cross myself each time I open the door for someone at Churin’s. Ask for a blessing. But I’m lucky to work. I wait inside the warm store, step outside only to open the door for a shopper. I keep my distance. There’s plenty of fresh Manchurian air between me and the customers. But the rich are probably healthy.”

“Anyone could be infected. Beggars, officials, newspaper sellers, the elegant Polish woman who sells fur coats. They’re all dangerous.”

“You’re dangerous.”

The Baron felt Chang’s words had the weight of stone. “God have mercy, yes. I know. I’m afraid to leave Li Ju alone or send her away.”

“Li Ju knows your indecision. Chinese women are superior judges of character. They gossip and observe, since they’re mostly restricted to the home.”

The dwarf had wild tales and a wealth of superstitions from his patchwork life. The Baron had once dismissed him as an exaggerator but now eagerly sought his opinion. He laid the template of Chang’s words against his knowledge of his wife like transparent paper to see if it was true. Li Ju grew up under care of the sisters at the Scottish mission. Perhaps they had instilled in her shyness, a sense of not-belonging, a lack of place that was like homesickness. She usually deferred to his decisions. Surely plague wouldn’t choose her as a victim. She’d achieved happiness after a struggle.

“Tomorrow at noon I’ll burn mugwort in my courtyard. Mugwort drives away devils that bring misfortune.” A belief gathered on Chang’s travels.

“Devils may need something stronger than a burning herb.”

“No.” Chang lifted the teapot lid and inhaled. “What’s in here? Silver Needle tea. Possibly baohao yinzhen ? Needs another minute to brew. Listen to me. I’m proof that these charms work. If I had been born a girl, with my short legs, I would have been drowned. I was nearly drowned anyway. Fortune rescued me. And now I’m in uniform at Churin’s every day. A gentleman’s job. My hands are clean.”

“Truly good fortune. But have you noticed anything unusual?”

“People seem cautious these days. A woman told me that her husband told her to avoid crowds. No shopping. But she does as she pleases when he’s away. She likes to spend his money. She knows her value.”