Skinner's Box (Fang Mu (Eastern Crimes)) (15 page)

He sometimes heard about those corrupt officials fleeing abroad and how they all said the life of a fugitive was no joyride. Apparently there was some truth in that.

That night Luo Jiahai had a very late dinner. His meal consisted of a packet of frozen dumplings. After swallowing down just a few of them, he found he had no appetite, so he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and puffed on one listlessly. He had never really been a smoker, but there was nothing else to do. He sat there like that for hours trying to think, but his mind felt utterly empty; he had trouble holding on to even the simplest train of thought. The cigarette butts piled up in the half-eaten bowl of dumplings, and the air in the room became more and more choked with smoke. Luo Jiahai wanted to open the window, but he didn’t dare. He considered it for a moment, and then walked over to the kitchenette to turn on the range hood fan.

The route to the kitchenette took him past the door to the apartment. He had just cleared it when he heard the sound of a key in the lock. A sudden fear took hold of him, causing every muscle in his body to tense up. He peered at the doorknob, dreamlike, as it opened to reveal the man in the baseball cap.

"Wow, it's smoky in here," the man said, waving his hand through the air in front of him as he walked in. He seemed amused when he saw the alarm written all over Luo Jiahai's face. "Don't worry, it's just me. Have you eaten?"

"Yeah..." Luo Jiahai said, his voice trembling from fear or lack of use or both.

The man with the baseball cap snickered. "You must be bored to death from being cooped up in here these past few days, am I right?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go then. I'll take you out for a little walk."

Luo Jiahai opened the passenger-side window of the speeding car and felt the cool late autumn breeze hit his face. Now and then the man in the baseball cap would glance at the rearview mirror, after which he would return his inscrutable eyes to the road ahead.

"Where are we going?" Luo Jiahai finally asked.

"You'll know when we get there," the man answered, evidently not in the mood for chitchat.

Luo Jiahai decided he would not get any more answers out of him, so he settled into his seat and watched as suburb after suburb flew past the window.

Soon the lights of the city had faded behind them, and the warehouses and outlying residential zones had given way to darkening fields of vegetables and wheat that lined both sides of the highway as far as the eye could see. The car glided along the seemingly endless road like a wild ghost carrying a pair of lanterns.

A tiny light appeared abruptly in front of them. As it grew in size the man slowed the car, and Luo Jiahai knew they were nearing their destination.

As they drew closer, Luo Jiahai saw that it was one of the many roadside diners that dotted the countryside wherever one went. Judging by the several cars that were parked out front, business seemed pretty good for the time of night. After parking and locking the doors, the man in the baseball cap signaled for Luo Jiahai to follow him inside. They pushed open the diner’s door, and Luo Jiahai was surprised to find that the place was actually quite empty; there was not a single customer in sight. A single tall, powerfully-built man sat at the bar watching the television. When he saw them enter he stood up.

"Is everyone here?" The man in the baseball cap greeted him. They seemed to know each other quite well.

"They are, and Mr. J has just arrived."

The man in the baseball cap nodded and waved for Luo Jiahai to follow him upstairs.

The stairs led to a dimly lit room devoid of the tables and chairs typical of a restaurant; instead, several sturdy cushions and a couple of short foot stools were scattered about, and in the middle of a cream-colored rug was a small table on which an exquisite little tea set had been arranged. The elegant atmosphere of the room contrasted sharply with the greasy cliché that was the diner downstairs.

Three people sat around the little table, sipping tea. They all looked up when Luo Jiahai and his guide entered the room.

"This is Miss Q. This is Mr. Z," the man in the baseball cap introduced one by one.

Mr. Z appeared to be about 30, wore glasses, and had quite a bookish look about him. Miss Q was the only one sitting on one of the squat little stools. She was dressed casually, making it difficult for Luo Jiahai to guess her age.

"You know Attorney Jiang, of course. But here everyone calls him Mr. J."

Jiang Dexian smiled and waved Luo Jiahai over to take a seat.

While he was doing so, the lights downstairs went out and the big man from the bar came bounding up the stairs to join them, taking three steps in a stride. As he entered the room, he closed the double wooden doors behind him, completely sealing the room off from the stairwell.

The man with the baseball cap nodded to the man who had just joined them. "This is Mr. H."

Mr. H. smiled amicably at Luo Jiahai.

"And yourself?" Luo Jiahai could not help but ask.

"Me?" The man took off his baseball cap, revealing a head of multi-colored hair. "You can call me Mr. T."

The oddly named people watched Luo Jiahai as he sat down among them, and their silence was oppressive. Miss Q poured him a cup of tea. After thanking her, he raised the cup to his lips, hesitated a moment, and then took a sip. They all broke into a loud guffaw.

"Go ahead and give him the materials," Mr. Z said to Jiang Dexian.

Jiang Dexian took out a large manila envelope and handed it to Luo Jiahai.

Luo Jiahai found that inside were several photographs with text printed on them. He looked through them slowly at first, and then faster and faster as his brow crunched into a knot. When he was finished, he again picked up the first photo and stared intently at it for a while. After a long minute, he lifted his head and opened his trembling lips to speak.

"A Skinner's Box?"

CHAPTER
12
Mark

Y
ang Jincheng leaned against the broad leather chair back, his eyes focused on the pages of a volume so thick and heavy that he needed to hold it with both hands. On the cover were the words,
A Collection of
Essays from the International Symposium on Expressive Psychotherapy and Psychodrama
. The calm afternoon sunlight spilled in through the window, warming the room with a soft light that reflected off the polished mahogany floorboards.

There was a light knock at the door. Yang Jincheng swiveled his chair around and took his glasses off. "Come in."

His assistant, Chen Zhe, walked in and carefully placed a ring of keys on the desk.

"Your car has been repaired, Director Yang."

"Ah. Thank you." Yang Jincheng stood to fetch his suit jacket from the coat hanger on the wall behind him. "How much was it?"

"No need, sir." Hands at his sides, Chen Zhe assumed an overly deferential posture. "I've already forwarded the invoice to accounting; the Institute will foot the bill."

"No, that won't do; it had nothing to do with work." Yang Jincheng frowned. "I'll speak to accounting about it and clear it up."

Chen Zhe’s face reddened with embarrassment. "Director Yang, you really are as honest as they come."

Yang Jincheng shook his head. "As I should be, in my position."

Chen Zhe's face turned even redder.

Yang Jincheng laughed. "I appreciate your good intentions, but that sort of thing won't be necessary in future."

Chen Zhe was opening his mouth to reply when the desk phone rang.

"Hello?” Yang Jincheng held the receiver to his ear. “...Yes... Oh, hello, Principal Shi...." He eyed his assistant.

Chen Zhe nodded immediately. "I'll be going then, Director Yang." With that he walked out of the office and carefully closed the door behind him.

Five minutes later, having changed out of his white lab coat and into the freshly pressed suit jacket, Yang Jincheng strode out of his office, left some simple instructions at the front desk, and made his way to the underground parking garage. Everyone he passed either bowed or said something in greeting. Yang Jincheng continued on his way, unhurried, and with a subtle smile on his lips.

He examined the car door as he unlocked it, but only saw his face reflecting back at him from its glossy surface; the ugly scratch mark that had blemished it before was now gone without a trace. Satisfied, he nodded at himself and got in the car.

Half an hour later he was sitting in an office at Changsheng Elementary School across from the fat woman who was its principal. Yang Zhan stood in the corner facing the wall, now and then reaching out to pick at a loose wall tile.

"Here's the situation, Mr. Yang," the principal began. "The other student was not hurt very badly, so his parents have decided not to take any further action. However, it is our responsibility to keep you informed, which is why we asked you to come. It is our hope that when you get home, you can come up with an appropriate plan of discipline for Yang Zhan so that this sort of thing does not happen again." She seemed rather reserved in the face of Yang Jincheng's imposing figure, and did not speak with the strict commanding tone she usually used when meeting with other parents.

"You're right; I am the one who should be held accountable for my son's bad behavior. I will do what is necessary, " Yang Jincheng said. "You need to stop all this devious nonsense!"

The principal straightened in alarm.

Yang Jincheng explained hastily, "Sorry, I wasn't talking to you. Yang Zhan! Get your fingers off that wall!"

Yang Zhan did not stop immediately; instead he picked at the wall even faster a few more times until a large piece of the wall tile dropped to the floor with a dull
thunk
.

Yang Jincheng seethed with anger.

The principal made a quick attempt to ease the tension in the room. "He's not a
bad
child at all; he's just a bit…stubborn, that's all."

Yang Zhan sat in the backseat with his knees drawn up and looked out quietly at the passing shop fronts. The car window seemed to give everything a strange gray-blue tint, like an old black-and-white movie.

"Why did you hit him?" Yang Jincheng said.

Yang Zhan stared up into the rearview mirror. His father's eyes stared right back at him, stern and unyielding. Yang Zhan turned away and did not say a word.

Yang Jincheng let out a long sigh and returned his focus to driving the car.

They passed a KFC and Yang Jincheng slowed down. "Hungry for lunch?"

Yang Zhan just continued to stare out the window, his bottom lip protruding slightly and tears beginning to spill down his cheeks.

Yang Jincheng pulled over and parked against the curb. Moments later he returned grim-faced with a large paper bag. He got back in and tossed it to Yang Zhan, who tore it open and began to devour the food, leaving crumbs all over the backseat. Yang Jincheng watched his son in the mirror and cursed under his breath.

"You have no goddamned respect, do you?" He took a few sheets from the tissue box and threw them back between the seats. "Wipe your goddamned mouth and hands, god-dammit!"

Yang Zhan was soon full. He carefully folded the paper bag, and the sullen look returned to his grease- and sauce-smeared face.

Instead of driving straight home, Yang Jincheng made a stop at Wisdom Park District's local precinct. He came back out 15 minutes later, followed by the obsequious little man who was the captain in charge of public security for the district.

"Relax, Mr. Yang; you can rest assured that we'll catch the culprit who scratched your car." He had put extra stress on the word "culprit," and his face had the expression of one bent on eliminating a common enemy.

Yang Jincheng and his son drove the rest of the way home. As soon as they entered the door, Yang Zhan kicked off his shoes and scurried into his room.

Yang Jincheng had originally planned to resume lecturing his son as soon as they got home, but when he heard the click of Yang Zhan locking the door behind him, all he could do was stand where he was, stunned, a fiery rage building deep within his chest.

Soon he could not contain it any longer, and he bellowed at the top of his lungs: "I'm going back to work! Stay out of trouble while I'm gone, and don't even think about going anywhere!"

His schoolbag still draped over one shoulder, Yang Zhan sat on the edge of his bed in his room and smirked at the sound of his father yelling. As soon as he was sure he was gone, he put his school bag down and crawled under the bed until he could reach the little iron box. He opened it and put in the pieces of leftover food he had confiscated from the paper bag and clutched in his palm the whole time. When he was done, he stood, patted the dust off his clothes, and went out into the living room to watch television.

By the time Yang Jincheng returned home it was the middle of the night. The living room was pitch-black, and the crack under the door to his son's room was just as dark. Yang Jincheng tried the door handle, but it was locked. He crept over to his study and turned on the computer, then changed into a tracksuit and brewed himself a strong cup of coffee. The wall clock read 11:30. He sat in front of the computer and logged into his email. When he saw that his inbox contained an unread message, his face lit up.

About an hour later, Yang Jincheng turned off the computer, took a shower, and went to bed.

Yang Zhan did not take his ear from the wood of his bedroom door until he could hear soft snoring sounds coming from his father's bedroom. He was still dressed in his school clothes, as if he had no plans to go to bed any time soon.

With his shoulder touching the door, he undid the lock as cautiously as he could. The sharp click almost made him jump. Instead of opening the door right away, he just stood still and listened for a while, until he was sure his father had not woken up.

He tiptoed across the living room and put on his shoes without a sound. Shoulders tense, breathing as shallowly as possible, by the time he was finished his head was spinning from lack of oxygen. He slowly pushed the door open and slipped out. 

The air in corridor was colder than it had been inside the apartment, but to Yang Zhan it felt good. He slowly made his way down the steps until he was two floors below his apartment, at which point he quickened his pace. As he descended past floor after floor, the sound-activated lights turned on at the approach of his now cheerful footsteps, making the gloomy building seem to spring into life.

The boy kept going down until he reached the underground parking garage level. A cool, damp breeze wafted across his face and neck. In the darkness, the parking garage exit looked like the jaws of a giant cave, stretching upwards to open wide onto a dim yellow world of eerie street lights. The boy ignored the surveillance cameras as he continued down to the lowest level. Yang Jincheng's complaints had done nothing to increase the number of security guards patrolling the premises, and the guard shack was totally dark; the guard on duty must have gone off to bed. Yang Zhan walked past cars of all different colors and models until he came to a silver Honda. Kneeling next to one of its doors, he reached his fingers out to touch the bright, shiny surface. A trace of a smile danced across his features, but it soon evaporated. Moments later the boy had a key in his hand.

Pinching the key firmly between his thumb and forefinger, he pressed it against the paint of the door as hard as he could and drew diagonally downward, leaving a long, deep mark.