Skinner's Box (Fang Mu (Eastern Crimes)) (24 page)

"I tell ya, that lecture sure was a good one!" Lu Xu, face flushed, was stuffing peanut after peanut into his mouth. "Dr. Yang sure knows his stuff. He made that room full of uneducated hicks look pretty foolish!"

As he laughed he sprayed a few bits of peanut onto the table between them. Fang Mu didn't know what else to say, so he just nodded in agreement. "Sure did."

Lu Xu hung his head and chewed his peanuts as if mulling something over. Fang Mu saw a clear longing in the motorcycle cop's eyes to have a heart to heart talk, but no sooner did it seem he was about to say something meaningful than he raised his bottle.

"Cheers!"

As Fang Mu clinked bottles with him and took a gulp, he could not help but say what was on his mind. "Lu Xu, don't take it too hard. I bet all Dr. Yang was trying to do was to…explain things so people could better understand."

Eyelids drooping, Lu Xu did not respond right away. A moment later he sighed and said, "I know… It's nothing, really… If it can help solve some real issues for folks, then I don't care about a little humiliation." He raised his head, and as he smiled his face twitched a little. "It doesn't bother me."

This time Fang Mu was the one to lift his bottle in cheers. "That's right. What's a little humiliation compared to everything you've managed to overcome?"

Lu Xu guzzled down a huge gulp of beer. Some of the beer slopped from the corners of his mouth and dripped onto his shirt. He wiped at it casually and mumbled, "You're right; it's fine. Of course it's fine…"

Fang Mu could tell he was not convinced. He felt sorry for the man, but still could not find the right words to comfort him. So he just passed a cigarette to him wordlessly. Lu Xu lit it, took a drag, and hung his head, still mumbling quietly to himself.

When he lifted his head to speak again, his face had wilted into an apologetic smile. "In truth I don't really have anything to complain about. Dr. Yang did, after all, cure me. If he's able to use my experiences to help other people, I should feel grateful."

Rush hour was over, but sidewalk traffic showed no signs of dwindling. Lu Xu's eyes were reflected in the window glass as they followed the endless stream of pedestrians outside.

"It's just that he shouldn't have used my case as an example on this particular occasion.” Lu Xu was obviously still thinking about it. "Even an idiot would have figured out that Mr. X was a reference to me." He stamped out his cigarette butt and lit another. "And even if he had to use me as an example, he shouldn't have mentioned that stuff."

Fang Mu watched him.

"I felt..." Lu Xu shook his head and laughed. "I felt like I was walking across that stage with my ass hanging out of my pants, and Dr. Yang was pointing at me and saying, 'This guy's manhood is busted.' It was like he was using me to make himself look all wise and knowing."

"Let's not talk about it anymore." Fang Mu could not bear to listen anymore. He opened another beer for Lu Xu. "Here, drink up."

"Fang Mu," Lu Xu said, staring through blood-shot eyes. "Do you think I'm an ungrateful person?"

"No!" Fang Mu spoke without hesitating. "The way Dr. Yang handled this whole thing was absolutely over the top. But, Lu Xu, don't feel like you have to carry even more of a burden because of this—it's not worth it, not for anyone's sake!"

Maybe it was the smoke. Whatever it was, Lu Xu's eyes suddenly went a deeper shade of red, and in that moment he grasped Fang Mu's wrists and squeezed. "You're like a brother to me."

It was close to midnight when Fang Mu finally got Lu Xu home. The motorcycle cop was drunk as mud, and by the time Fang Mu maneuvered him all the way up the stairs to the sixth floor, they were both completely out of breath. He pressed the doorbell to Lu Xu's apartment for him, and the door opened to reveal an extremely worried girlfriend. She helped Fang Mu carry the now nearly unconscious Lu Xu over to the couch, and after they got him settled there she asked Fang Mu if he would like a cup of tea. Fang Mu politely declined and left.

He had descended only a couple of steps down the stairs when he heard a voice behind him calling his name out. When he turned to look, he saw Lu Xu, his uniform disheveled, standing erect in the doorway to the stairwell, staring at him.

"I…am def'nitely…gonna get that…gun...back!"

That evening Yang Jincheng got home quite a bit earlier than usual. He was in a good mood.

Yang Zhan was home. Yang Jincheng's early appearance seemed to make his son suddenly anxious; he had just come in the door and was still in the foyer taking his shoes off when he saw Yang Zhan was carrying a pile of things in both arms on his way to his bedroom.

As he pushed the door to his bedroom open, something toppled from his pile and clattered to the floor. In too much of a hurry to pick it up, the boy dashed into his room, locking the door behind him, and hid there as quietly as he could.

The object rolled to a stop in the center of the living room. As Yang Jincheng bent to look, he realized it was a can of Coca Cola. Swearing under his breath, he picked it up and was about to place it on the tea table when he noticed there were two entire cases of cola stacked against the side of the sofa. One of the cases had been opened and still contained 16 or so cans. A few empty cans had been placed near the leg of the table.

He shook his head in exasperation and yelled in the direction of the boy's room. "You shouldn't drink so much of that crap. It'll make your bones unable to absorb calcium!"

No reply came from the bedroom.

Yang Jincheng packed the Coke cans into the closet and stalked over to his study.

Two of the study's walls were lined with bookshelves. On one of them Yang Jincheng had arranged his various certificates, diplomas, and trophies. He reached into his briefcase for the letter of appointment issued him by the PSB, opened it, and stood it carefully in a spot on the shelf that he had prepared days ago for just this occasion. Taking a couple of steps backward, he inspected it for a moment, and then moved forward to straighten it some more. Satisfied at last, he nodded.

This was where Yang Jincheng kept his personal achievements. It would be apparent to anyone from the numerous certificates, letters of appointment, and trophies that his scientific research had enjoyed a great deal of success over the years. Some sections of the display shelves already seemed overcrowded, but still he had left a spot in the center empty, as if in anticipation of receiving an honor even greater than any he had been awarded before.

Yang Jincheng stared at the empty spot for a long time, a thin smile slowly climbing across his face.

The day it would be filled was coming, and soon.

Midnight.

Yang Zhan cautiously turned the doorknob, stuck his head out, and peered into the pitch black living room. After a moment's pause, he tiptoed over to the closet carrying a plastic bag.

A minute later he was hauling one of the heavy cases of Coke over to the bathroom. After he locked the bathroom door behind him, he tore the case open, pulled out a can, and sat on the toilet, sipping slowly.

He had been drinking all afternoon and part of the evening, and his belly was bloated. The can in his hands was still half full, but he could not drink any more. He threw a distressed glance at the 23 remaining cans of Coke in the box and suddenly jumped to his feet, as if remembering something. He poured the rest of the drink into the washbasin.

The next part was easy enough. The boy gingerly popped open another can of Coke, releasing the pressurized carbon dioxide as quietly as he could, and poured the dark liquid into the sink. He then carefully placed the cans into the plastic bag.

The sweet, slightly medicine-like odor soon filled the tiny bathroom, exciting the boy's senses. Calmly, one by one, he repeated his actions, all the while counting quietly: "Thirty-one... thirty-two..."

CHAPTER
21
Memory

"L
ook, I'll get a couple of guys to come down and give you a hand." Xing Zhisen glanced from Fang Mu's sweaty forehead back at the huge pile of quilts and pillows awaiting loading into his nearby jeep.

"No, it's fine, Deputy Chief Xing; you've already helped me plenty."

"It's no trouble at all, young man." Xing Zhisen rapped the headquarters reception window with his knuckles and the policeman on duty came over immediately. "Go and get a few guys to come out and help move some stuff."

Xing Zhisen was an old acquaintance of Fang Mu's. Before becoming a deputy police chief in the Changhong City PSB, he had served as director of the Economic and Cultural Defense Association. Fang Mu had gotten to know him while they were both investigating the serial killings that took place on the Changhong City Teacher's College campus. Afterward, Fang Mu had helped him out quite a bit on cases such as the Huang Yongxiao serial murders. After Fang Mu graduated and decided to become a cop, Xing Zhisen had made a special phone call to him with the express purpose of convincing him to join the Municipal Bureau's Criminal Police Division. Later it was Bian Ping who took the initiative to transfer Fang Mu's file over to the PSB. By way of apology, Bian Ping had treated Xing Zhisen to a very nice seafood dinner.

This time Fang Mu had come looking for a favor from him. Because Xing Zhisen had served as director of the Economic and Cultural Defense Association, he was quite familiar with bigwigs from every college and university in Changhong City. Fang Mu had asked for some secondhand bed quilts discarded by university graduates. When Xing Zhisen had asked what they were for, Fang Mu had explained that he wanted to give them to an orphanage. Upon hearing this the deputy chief had been eager to help out, and just a couple of days later he had obtained a huge pile of old bed quilts and pillows, and had even gotten his wife, who worked in a hospital, to wash every last one of them.

With the help of his colleagues, all the quilts and pillows were promptly crammed into Fang Mu's jeep. As Fang Mu wiped the sweat off his brow, Xing Zhisen tossed him a cigarette and then lit one for himself as well.

"So Sun Mei's daughter is over there?"

Fang Mu lit the cigarette. "Uh-huh."

Xing Zhisen fell silent and leaned against the jeep, smoking alongside Fang Mu. When they were finished with their cigarettes, Fang Mu clapped the dust off his hands and said, "Deputy Chief Xing, thanks for your help. I'd better head off now."

"Wait a second," Xing Zhisen said as he retrieved an envelope full of cash from his inside pocket. He counted out ten 100-yuan notes and stuffed them into Fang Mu's hand. "For the children."

"No, that's way too generous," Fang Mu said as he tried to hand the money back.

"I'm asking you to take it, so take it." Xing Zhisen forcibly held Fang Mu's hands at bay and shoved the cash into his jacket pocket. "In the future, if there's ever anything else I can do, always feel free to give me a call."

Fang Mu had no choice but to accept the gift. He nodded goodbye to old Xing, turned, and got into his jeep.

The weather was getting colder. Though it was already early afternoon, thin patches of ice could still be seen here and there on the streets. In this climate, the threadbare quilts at Angel Hall would certainly not be enough to get them through the winter. As Fang Mu glanced at the load of bed quilts and pillows in the rearview mirror, he felt pleased.

In the little bungalow attached to the right side of Angel Hall's main two-story building, Teacher Zhou and Sister Zhao were supervising some of the older children as they cleaned out the boiler. The boiler was connected to the crude warming vents throughout the bedrooms of the orphanage; this was the only system they had with which to heat the place during winter. Next to the boiler room was a medium-sized pile of coal. A few children were working at it excitedly, their bodies covered from nose to toe in soot.

When Teacher Zhou saw the vehicle full of bedding, he appeared both surprised and grateful. Clapping his hands on Fang Mu's shoulders, he said, "How can I ever thank you…"

Fang Mu felt a little embarrassed. "No need to thank me, Teacher Zhou. They're just a bunch of secondhand ones, that's all."

Sister Zhao was all smiles as she called the children over to help carry the bed quilts and pillows inside. Erbao, grimy black from the coal pile, charged over with a shout that he wanted to help, too. Sister Zhao swatted his butt and moved him aside to keep him from touching the clean quilts.

Once the vehicle was unloaded, Fang Mu offered to help clean out the boiler. The job took more than two hours, and by the time they were finished it was after four o'clock. He washed his hands and face, dusted the black soot off his clothes as well as he could, and joined Teacher Zhou in the courtyard for a chat.

Sister Zhao yelled at the kids still playing in the coal pile to hurry inside and wash up.

Fang Mu nodded at the coal and asked, "Did you just buy that?"

"Sure did."

"Will it be enough?" Fang Mu made a quick calculation. "It'll need to last until March, at least."

"We'll see." Teacher Zhou knitted his brow. "Besides, there's no telling how long we'll be able to keep this little building of ours."

Fang Mu was about to ask what he meant when he heard someone calling for Teacher Zhou at the other end of the courtyard.

It was an old man, and by his clothing Fang Mu guessed him to be one of the neighbors. Teacher Zhou trotted over to have a few words with him. When he came back, the creases in his brow had tightened.

"What's wrong?" Fang Mu asked.

"He was reminding me about tomorrow's meeting." Teacher Zhou sighed.

"Meeting? What meeting?"

"A demolition and relocation meeting," Teacher Zhou said, shaking his head. "This neighborhood's local residents think I'm relatively educated, so they want me to negotiate the terms with the developers."

"What?" Fang Mu widened his eyes. "This neighborhood's getting demolished?"

Teacher Zhou grimaced and nodded his head, but said nothing more.

Fang Mu's heart sank. Seeing the glum look on Teacher Zhou's face, he searched for words of comfort. "Don't worry about it. You'll get a big compensation payment, and then we can rebuild Angel Hall."

"It's not that simple, unfortunately. What shall I do with the children while the orphanage is being demolished?" Teacher Zhou turned to gaze at the little courtyard and two-story building that made up Angel Hall. "Not to mention, now we have to buy a plot of land and build a new orphanage. There's no telling how much that will cost."

"If you can't afford a plot in the city you might have to head to the countryside and buy there."

"Rural properties aren't all that affordable these days, either." Teacher Zhou shook his head. "And if we're too far outside the city, it becomes inconvenient for the children to get to school. It would have a big impact on their education."

Fang Mu fell silent. He was racking his brain to come up with some ideas for Teacher Zhou. After a long moment, he ventured, "Teacher Zhou, you should petition for charitable donations from the public and from the government. I'm afraid you won't be able to get through this just on your own resources."

"No." Teacher Zhou chortled, taking in the grounds with a sweeping gaze. "If I were willing, I would have taken that route long ago. As I've said before, I cannot allow my children to grow up with feelings of inferiority." He turned to Fang Mu and said in earnest, "Poverty of the soul is much more terrible than any material poverty could ever be."

"Okay, but wouldn't you consider me a donor of charity?" Fang Mu asked, hoping to persuade Teacher Zhou to see it in a different light. "There's no difference between me and anyone else."

"No, that's not the same." Teacher Zhou smiled at him. "You merely represent yourself, and you would never ask for anything in return."

The thought of charity suddenly reminded Fang Mu of the task with which Xing Zhisen had entrusted him. He took the envelope full of 1000 yuan from his inside pocket and handed it to Teacher Zhou.

"What are you doing?" Teacher Zhou exclaimed. "You've already given me money this month, not to mention all the bedding you just brought."

"It's not from me." Fang Mu told him of Xing Zhisen, and explained the sincerity of his intention.

Teacher Zhou weighed the cash in his hand, deep in thought. At length he glanced around and lowered his voice. "Fang, my lad, there's something I've never quite understood that's been bothering me lately."

"Yeah?"

"Why is it exactly that you want to help Liao Yafan?"

Fang Mu looked into Teacher Zhou's eyes. They stared back with that familiar gentleness and unselfish warmth, and he knew the old man could be trusted.

"Because I knew her mother." Fang Mu struggled a moment, and then continued. "While I was still at university, her mother was our dorm's RA. In 1999, when I was a junior, I...I met with a sudden tragedy, and she sacrificed her life to save mine."

Fang Mu had no intention of giving Teacher Zhou a blow by blow description, and the old man apparently had chosen not to ask about it further. After brooding a while, Teacher Zhou patted his shoulder and said, "You understand your debt, and are repaying it. I've always known you were a man of high moral character."

"
It's the least I can do. Liao Yafan's mother paid with her life, and the girl lost her childhood as a result. Compared to that, what I'm doing for her is nothing." Fang Mu glanced back at Teacher Zhou. "If anyone here is of high moral character, it's you."

Teacher Zhou's eyes went suddenly and inexplicably dark. "No, I'm different." He gazed westward to the setting sun and muttered quietly, "I'm different from you."

Memory can be a very strange thing. Out of the blue, it can cause a person to leap straight into a river that has already flown its course; and once in, it can be very difficult to get back out. Fang Mu had no idea what sort of recollection Teacher Zhou was lost in at the moment, and he knew, too, that the old man could guess just as little about Fang Mu's own memories. Perhaps they both had experienced things that were hard to talk about, and recalling them had put the two men into depressed state of mind.

After dinner Teacher Zhou's gloomy mood had not lightened, and Fang Mu's followed him all the way home.

The jeep sped along the flat streets of Changhong City past neighborhoods and clusters of buildings that were at once familiar and strange. For Fang Mu, this city had far too many memories: a carefree childhood, a befuddled adolescence, a university tenure that was fraught with a mixture of loneliness and joy, happiness and fear. In 1999, soon after he turned 21, a lifetime of innocent bliss had come to a screeching halt. And this tragedy had continued after he left home to pursue his studies in Jiangbin City.

Fang Mu recalled the first time he had met Lu Xu. In his eyes had been a look of despair mixed with panic. That was it; that was the same look Fang Mu used to carry around with him. And that led directly to the question that Fang Mu had never been willing to face: Ever since the series of murder cases that happened at the Teacher's College, had he himself been a sufferer of PTSD?

Had he closed himself off? Had he been unable to tear himself away from that knife for even a moment, dreaming nightmares over and over? Had he been unable to face the scent of burnt flesh? Was his guilt over those people's deaths still tearing his heart and wrenching at his guts…?

As he passed through the early evening city, lights from shop signs lit up the inside of the jeep. Fang Mu saw his eyes in the rearview mirror. The fear, anxiety, and self-denial had disappeared from them long ago to be replaced by a cool tenacity. Without the help of Stages I, II, III, or IV, and without the help of a psychodrama, Fang Mu was still able to live quietly and fall into a deep sleep every night.