Jody Shields - The Winter Station

Li Ju was unfailingly solicitous and the Baron sensed Xiansheng’s quiet appreciation for her attention to their comfort, refilling the cups, requesting hot water, adjusting the chair cushions. He dared to broach an intimacy and ask his teacher a personal question. “Have you ever seen a fox spirit?” Then instant regret for his foolishness, the question irreversible as a brushstroke.

Unfazed, Xiansheng answered in a slow voice, as if he’d dipped a finger in ink and spelled out the story.

“Manchurians sacrifice to fox spirits in special shrines to court their goodwill. But these spirits must always be approached with caution. Even the character for fox spirit is never written on paper, as it would offend the animal. A character with the same spoken sound is used in its place. I will write it for you one day.”

“Why do the fox spirits cause trouble?” Li Ju leaned forward for his answer, a lock of hair falling in front of her ear.

“The fox spirit can transform itself into human form, often as a beautiful young woman who leads mortals astray or causes misfortune.” Xiansheng’s expression was distant. “One night, when I was a young man, a fox spirit came into my chamber. It had glowing golden fur and an immense tail that was as full and waving as grasses. The fox spirit rested its head near my hand on the blanket. Its tail moved slowly back and forth like a woman’s fan. I saw its green eyes, tiny pointed teeth, long silky whiskers, and knew the fox spirit meant no harm. The fox spirit’s jaws didn’t move, but it gently asked if I had a question. My mind whirled. I was too shy to answer. In an instant, the fox spirit vanished into a chink in the lattice. Sometimes I imagine the questions I should have asked and the fox spirit’s possible answers. I could have had wisdom.”

“You really saw the fox spirit? How do you know it wasn’t a dream?”

“The fox spirit brought a gift.”

“A gift?”

“The fox spirit allowed me to pluck one of its long whiskers. It was wrapped around my finger when I woke. It was not a dream. I kept the whisker folded in a gold paper until I had enough money to have it set into a special brush. I always carry it.”

“Do you have it with you?”

Xiansheng nodded. “I brought incense, a carved tablet, and meat to the fox spirit’s shrine. But the fox spirit never appeared again. Years later, in Tsingtao, I saw a woman on the street with fiery gold hair the same color as the fox spirit’s. I hurried after her. She had green eyes but cruelly pretended not to recognize me. I couldn’t speak. I lost my second chance to question the fox spirit. I later learned that the woman was the wife of a missionary. I knew where she worshipped. But you cannot provoke fox spirits or they will ruin your life.”

Xiansheng looked deep into the tea remaining in his cup. The lesson had ended.

“A tiger?” Dr. Wu Lien-Teh stood in the doorway, his stoic expression changed to transparent wonder as he saw the taxidermied animal head hung on the wall. The Baron noticed Wu’s momentary loss of composure.

“Siberian tiger. Rare. Shot at fifty paces.” Alexeievich Nikolaevich Nestorov, the CER stationmaster, was flattered by the doctor’s attention. “Extraordinarily difficult to travel with the creature’s skin from the wilds of Manchuria. Over there, my bird collection.” His heavy arm rose in the direction of a corner cabinet, the neat silhouettes of mounted birds faintly visible inside. The CER stationmaster welcomed General Khorvat and Dr. Zabolotny, keeping his distance, obviously uneasy with several chumore plague workers crowding his office. His expression faltered when he encountered the Baron, but he didn’t acknowledge their previous meeting. The Baron wondered if Nestorov still had a hoard of medical supplies in his desk drawer.

Khorvat ignored the taxidermy and casually took the chair closest to Nestorov’s desk. Wu hesitated. It seemed he would refuse the seat near the window because of Khorvat’s deliberate lack of protocol. As a Chinese government official, he should have been seated first. The Baron watched to see if Wu’s expression, his yanse, would show his anger, but the doctor’s face was implacable. A superior man doesn’t betray his emotions.

Behind his desk, Nestorov inched his chair back from the visitors. “These days, with the sickness, you wish for another way to meet. Speak from a distance rather than the same room. Could be safer.”

Zabolotny dismissed the idea. “We’ve been thoroughly disinfected, I assure you.”

“There’s always a chance.” Nestorov cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, how can I help you?”

Wu took charge. “There’s concern about the effectiveness of the passenger inspection at the train station.”

“Passenger inspection? Death is a passenger. Many die on the train. Bodies are thrown off between stations. It is strictly forbidden, of course,” Nestorov snapped. “A few of my experienced train conductors have quit. Brave men, but afraid of Kharbin, city of the dead. That’s what they call it. Trouble everywhere. You’re aware of the huge quarantine wards built at the Chalainor, Manchouli, Tsitsihar, and Taolaicha train stations? A ward was even constructed at Imienpo for the timber workers. Hot water was poured on the frozen ground for half a day before the building posts could be driven in.” He turned his attention back to Wu just as the increasingly impatient man prepared to interrupt.

“No inspection is completely effective. It’s the nature of the epidemic.” Wu shrugged off his concerns.

Nestorov opened his hands to indicate he was waiting.

“We will correct the situation,” Zabolotny assured him.

“Nestorov, what’s the passenger count on the CER trains? An average day?” Khorvat acted as if the others hadn’t spoken.

“Several hundred passengers. Busiest railroad station in China. It’s the gateway to Europe and the Americas. Everyone from China and Japan traveling to Vladivostok, Vancouver, Paris, Berlin, St. Petersburg, all major cities, stops at Kharbin’s station. The greatest number of passengers is in January.”

“January?”

Nestorov forced a thick book from the shelf and thumbed through the pages. “All Chinese travel home to celebrate New Year, even to the most distant villages. They take trains to Mukden, Shuangchengfu, Ashihoh, Kuanchengtze and then go by mule or wagon to remoter villages.” He looked up. “Within two weeks, several thousand people will leave Kharbin on the train.”

The doctors exchanged alarmed looks.

“The trains must be stopped.” It pleased Khorvat to deliver this edict.

Nestorov gaped. “Impossible.”

“You don’t understand the danger. Plague is a bomb the travelers take into the world.”

Nestorov sat back heavily in his chair. “A bomb? It’s diabolical. Reminds me of Kuschei the Immortal, the sorcerer in the fairy tales. His secret power, a needle, was hidden inside an egg.”

The Baron recognized that Nestorov was talking around the subject. He’s probably afraid that I’ll say he was exposed to the plague while traveling with the Jesuit. He caught Nestorov’s eye to reassure him. “The plague has a brilliant strategy,” he said. “It hides so those who are infected spread the bacilli to others without suspicion. It’s a Trojan horse.”

“Yes, it’s a Trojan horse.” Zabolotny nodded. “I heard a woman got it in a droshky, rode across town to the theater, and was dead on arrival, dressed in an evening gown.”

Nestorov now allowed himself to acknowledge their alarm. “But I believed this plague was under control. Your doctors inspect all passengers at the station.”

“We know more about this epidemic than anyone on earth.” Wu’s voice was barely civil. “But none of us have encountered anything like this plague. Once you’re infected, you have a few symptoms until just before death. An elevated temperature, rapid heartbeat. You talk, eat, drink as if nothing is wrong. Until you cough blood. Your face turns blue from cyanosis. A few hours later, or the next day, you’re dead.”