Skinner's Box (Fang Mu (Eastern Crimes)) (30 page)

The thugs hesitated and flicked a questioning look at their boss. Hou Guofu pointed at the baton in Fang Mu's hand.

"That's a standard police baton right there." Hou Guofu eyed the man in the leather jacket still rolling around in pain as he spoke to Fang Mu. "What precinct are you from, pal?"

Fang Mu did not answer. He pointed his chin over his shoulder at Sister Zhao, where she was standing with his cell phone in her hand. She had it aimed at them, apparently recording.

"Are you going to leave now or not?" Fang Mu asked in a cutting, no-nonsense tone.

Hou Guofu forced a laugh, and then signaled for his men to put away their weapons. He pointed a finger at Fang Mu.
"
I'll be seeing you again.
"
He gave his men a nod. " Let's go!"

The group of thugs stormed out of the compound, followed by the mob of neighborhood residents, nearly trampling Liao Yafan returning from school as they went. She watched the utterly discomfited group of real estate thugs as they climbed into their limousines and drove off. Then she surveyed the scene in the courtyard and sprinted over.

"What's going on?" Her eyes darted from Teacher Zhou's dusty clothes to Erbao's bloody lip, to the trampled garden, and back to the police baton still dangling from Fang Mu's hand. "What happened?"

No one answered. Fang Mu put the baton away and looked Teacher Zhou over for injuries. Sister Zhao was examining Erbao's lip, cursing softly. All of the children were huddled in a group, terror in their eyes.

Exasperated that no one had answered her, Liao Yafan raised her voice. "Someone tell me what happened!"

Sister Zhao blinked and looked at Liao Yafan as if she had not noticed her presence until that very moment. Without a word, she took the girl by the hand and led her into the building.

Fang Mu let Teacher Zhou lean on his shoulder as he took him back to his room. He had the old man sit on the bed and take his jacket and shirt off. On his back was an impressive welt that was already beginning to bruise.

The sight was worrying, so Fang Mu suggested that he take him to the hospital. Teacher Zhou was getting on in years, after all. But he was adamant that he did not need to go, so after trying to persuade him a few more times, Fang Mu gave up.

"I'll be fine…but is this thing going to get you in trouble?" Teacher Zhou asked in a voice full of concern.

"No, don't worry about it. I'm a member of the People's Police; whenever I encounter a situation like that, it's my duty to get involved." Fang Mu smirked. "I tell you what, though; I'm afraid that punk won't be able to eat ribs for dinner for quite some time."

Teacher Zhou laughed, but the sound deteriorated into a wave of violent coughs.

Fang Mu patted him on the back lightly. "Teacher Zhou, I had no idea you had such a temper."

"If he'd said anything else I would have stayed my hand." The old man sighed, and then was interrupted by another bout of coughing. "But when he said Erbao was retarded, and called Angel Hall was a nest of retards, I couldn't contain myself."

At the thought of Erbao, Teacher Zhou struggled to his feet and told Fang Mu they should go check on the little boy's wound.

No sooner had they walked into the hall than they saw a red-faced Liao Yafan storm out of Sister Zhao's room, straightening her pants as she stomped past them. Sister Zhao appeared in the doorway, muttering with indignation. "What in the world has gotten into this child…?"

Liao Yafan stopped and turned, her ears a crimson fury, and held her hand out toward Teacher Zhou, palm upward. "Give me my locket back!"

"Yafan," Teacher Zhou cooed. "I'm happy to give it back, but first you need to tell me who gave it to you."

Liao Yafan pursed her lips, rolled up her sleeves, and stubbornly extended her hand again, as if to say, ‘
Not on your life!
’

Sister Zhao chimed in. "That's
right!
If you're not going to explain yourself, then don't bother thinking you can get it back from me."

Liao Yafan's wild eyes suddenly filled with tears as she glanced frantically back and forth between Teacher Zhou and Sister Zhao. Finally she turned to Fang Mu with imploring eyes. Uncomfortable under her gaze, all Fang Mu could do was purse his lips in a gesture of helplessness.

The tears finally spilled forth as Liao Yafan screamed, "What gives you all the right to take my stuff?"

Then she stormed off.

Liao Yafan still had not reappeared by the time dinner rolled around. Because of the day's events, the atmosphere in the dining room was heavy, and the only cheerful one at the table was Erbao. His cut lip did nothing to interfere with his interest in eating, and he was stuffing his face with his usual gleeful voraciousness.

Teacher Zhou's injuries were more serious than he had let on; he had a limp, and he was not able to sit up straight in his chair without wincing in pain. All he could manage was a crooked slump, and after eating a few bites he returned to his room to rest. With Liao Yafan absent, Fang Mu volunteered to help Sister Zhao clear the table. Sister Zhao would not hear of it, however, so after a few heroic attempts Fang Mu gave up trying.

Fang Mu sat chatting with Teacher Zhou in his room for a while, and then stood and took his leave. On his way past Sister Zhao's room, he again glanced in at the portrait of the deceased child atop the chest of drawers. It occurred to him that Sister Zhao always left her door open. He hesitated a moment, and then entered the room.

The lighting in the room was very dim and a hazy scent of incense still lingered in the unmoving air. The walls were stained a sickly yellow from the altar lamp's having burned day and night for years. Fang Mu gazed at the boy in the black picture frame and suddenly remembered something Sister Zhao had once said:

"I know my son will come back to me."

Year after year she prayed before her son's effigy, never closing the door, as if she really were waiting for him to return. Buried beneath the thick layer of ashes in the incense burner was a mother's heart.

Fang Mu grasped a pair of incense sticks and whispered, "If you can hear me, wherever you are, then how 'bout you come on home?"

"He will."

It was Sister Zhao. Fang Mu turned to see her trudge on heavy feet over to the side of her bed. She sat and unrolled her sleeves slowly, methodically, and then dusted off the knees of her pants.

"Sit for a while, Little Fang. I'm sorry my room is such a mess."

He muttered his compliance and took a seat in the little chair by her desk. "Sister Zhao, how long have you worked here with Teacher Zhou?"

"About six years, I'd say." She counted on her fingers. "Six years and seven months."

"And if you'll pardon the rudeness, how old are you?"

"Forty-one this year," she replied frankly. "An old woman."

"Not at all, not at all." Fang Mu chose his words carefully. "Why, if you don't mind my asking, did you decide not to start another family? Maybe you could even have had another child..."

"No." Sister Zhao shook her head resolutely. "I am waiting for my son. I know he will come home some day."

"Sister Zhao," Fang Mu began, and then paused. At length the words came despite his better judgment. "No one can come back to life..."

"Of course they can't!" she interrupted. "But after a person dies, he becomes a ghost, and ghosts
can
come back!"

Fang Mu had nothing to say to this. Sister Zhao seemed to notice the skepticism on his face, and she narrowed her eyes. "You don't believe in ghosts, do you?"

He hesitated a moment before shaking his head.

"Well, I do!" Her eyes flashed. "I believe it in my bones. Seven years ago I
didn't
believe, and that's exactly why I lost my child!"

Without warning, she burst into tears.

Fang Mu half stood, feeling awkward, unsure of how best to console her. At length he sat back down and murmured what he hoped were some words of comfort.

The mother's sobs echoed through the quiet corridors of Angel Hall, sending many of the children hiding under their bed quilts. In the other room, an old man hung his head and sighed softly.

In that room where she mourned her son, Sister Zhao cried for a long time. Finally her sobs slowed, and Fang Mu went over to take her hand in his. He handed her a tissue and said, "How exactly did it happen, Sister? Would you tell me?"

Wiping at the tears on her face, Sister Zhao began to speak, slowly and in a choked voice.

"I used to be very happy, you see. I was part of a wonderful family of three, and everything was perfect. Weiwei was not the smartest child on earth, but he was a good boy, and more sensible than most. When he was eight, he came running home in a fright one day. He hid himself in his room and wouldn't come out. When his father asked him what was wrong, Weiwei answered very timidly, saying he had seen a ghost in the bathroom at school. My husband and I figured it was just his imagination running wild and didn't think anything more of it. But then the next morning Weiwei refused to go to school; he said he was afraid of seeing the ghost again. His father had words with him then, but nothing he said would convince Weiwei to go. In the end his father gave him a smack on the cheek and sent him to school in tears. From then on, Weiwei's grades started to plummet, and so did his energy levels; he became depressed and lethargic. I got a phone call from his teacher, who said Weiwei was falling asleep in class a lot. That afternoon I asked Weiwei about it and he said he was too afraid to sleep at night because every time he closed his eyes he saw the ghost. There was nothing for it; my husband and I had to take turns lying in bed with him to help him get to sleep. But then things got worse..."

Sister Zhao covered her mouth with the tissue and broke into a fresh bout of sobs.

"A few days later, the boy stopped eating, and wouldn't drink anything, either. After trying for a long time to talk to him, he finally opened up and told me he didn't dare use the toilet at school for fear of seeing the ghost. After that he became too afraid to use the toilet at home, too, and he started wetting his bed and pooing his pants. Neither his father nor I were very educated, so we didn't think to take him to see a psychologist. We just thought the boy was being too squeamish. One time my husband lost his temper and forced him to drink down two big glasses of water. That night we awoke to the sounds of our son crying. He said he needed to use the toilet, so his father took him, but no matter how he tried, the boy was unable to pee even a drop. When my husband took a closer look, he saw that Weiwei had tied a wire around his pee-pee. We rushed him to the hospital, but even after the doctor removed the wire he was unable to urinate. The doctor said the boy was intentionally blocking himself from peeing, and advised us to take him to the toilet and wait patiently while he urinated. My husband dragged him to the toilet while I went downstairs to pay the hospital fee. I found I didn't have enough money on me, so I went back upstairs to find my husband. He came out of the bathroom to give me some cash, and then when he went back inside, the boy was gone. My husband and I suddenly had a bad feeling, so we rushed over and looked out the bathroom window. There was Weiwei, lying on the ground, and in his desperation, his father jumped out the window after him..."

Sister Zhao buried her face in the half-soaked tissue and started crying again.

"...My son died on the spot. My husband hung on in the hospital, fighting for his life, but after a month he died, too. I spent all our meager savings on the funerals, and without my husband's income, I eventually had to sell the house. At that point I was desperate, with no place to go. That was when Teacher Zhou found me..."

Sister Zhao's sobs gradually quieted. "Old Zhou gave me a job and a place to live. I don't know what I might have done in a former life to deserve such kindness… He is such a kind man."