The Winter Station Page 6

  Li Ju followed every stage of the moon, knew its schedule of brightness, half-light, and darkness. In Beijing, the buildings and streets were laid out so that the hour could be accurately told by the angle of the shadows they cast. Even a child had this skill. During his time in Manchuria, he had gradually become aware that he was surrounded by systems and information that were invisible to him.

  * * *

  The Baron crossed himself before an icon of Saint Xavier in the chapel. It was someone’s brilliant strategy to place the detained train passengers in the Hospital of Mercy attached to the Congrégation des Missionnaires de St. Xavier, an isolated building with the inwardness of a shell, countless rooms empty of everything but the focus of contemplation.

  Silence in the chapel was broken by the distant brush of footsteps. A sister emerged from a corridor in a white habit, the folds of her starched wimple angular as paper around her dark, severe face. A full habit curtained her body, hiding her posture and gestures. They had previously met at St. Sophia, and he remembered her unfavorably. The oldest sister at the convent, she had joined the order in Bombay and volunteered to establish the convent and its hospital in Manchuria, then sailed to China with the architectural plans.

  “Sister Agnes, a pleasant day to you. I am Dr. Budberg.”

  “We live in the grace of the Lord. Praise be to God.”

  “I’m here to inquire about a sick man who would have been admitted a few days ago. He was found near Churin’s store.” His voice was reassuring and official, not judgmental.

  “We have many patients.” A moment as the sister blinked. Her face was almost blank with serenity. “I have no information about where the patients were located before they arrived.”

  Her composure was exasperating. Another sister glided silently over to Sister Agnes. He turned his attention to this younger nun, an unsmiling girl no more than sixteen, Russian or Slav, with green eyes.

  “Sister Domenica, a doctor has come to visit.” Sister Agnes granted her a half-smile.

  He was patient. “The man is Chinese and probably unable to talk—”

  “It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t speak Chinese,” Sister Domenica said, interrupting.

  “You see? What can I do?” Sister Agnes calmly opened her hands in a gesture of helplessness, although Domenica had clearly angered her.

  He recollected a Chinese saying: The snare serves to catch the rabbit; let us take the rabbit and forget about the snare. Perhaps if he offered to pray with them they’d grant the information. He imagined sinking to his knees and their chill hands flattened against his bowed head in blessing. “Is the patient who was found by Churin’s with you now?”

  “No.”

  He struggled to twist her nonanswer. “But he was here at one time? That is correct?”

  “Yes, I believe so.” Sister Agnes’s mouth was a grim line.

  “And now he’s dead?”

  “There are no further details about him, I’m afraid.” Relieved, Sister Agnes crossed herself, believing she’d escaped the spear point of his questions.

  “Have any passengers from Central Station been brought here?”

  Sister Agnes slipped her hands into her pocket. “Baron le docteur, if you were meant to have this information, it would have been entrusted to you. I have no authority.”

  “Sister Agnes, there is no higher authority. I am the health commissioner for the city.”

  The younger sister pressed her fingers into the palms of her hands.

  He sensed Domenica would talk but Sister Agnes might dismiss her at any moment and he’d miss his chance. He moved back a step to block the corridor. Calmer, he spoke slowly, deliberately, as if folding a piece of paper. “If you help me, your answer will benefit others. I share your struggle to care for the sick. I also lack supplies and medicine. I have patients who do not appreciate my effort. Patients who are unhappy.”

  “Yes, the Chinese believe that we trick them. Or want to steal their bodies.”

  Sister Agnes silenced the other woman’s outburst with a simple shake of her robes. “I’m afraid Sister Domenica bears most of the unhappiness here, as she works directly with the patients.”

  The degree to which they—the sisters and the soldiers at Central Station—withheld information was a measure of its value. “Please, Sister Agnes, Sister Domenica. You obey holy orders. I’m a doctor. I have no wish to interfere.”

  “We simply care for the patients as best we are able. Our supplies are limited but we accommodate everyone as a compassionate gesture.”

  If she had been a government official, this would have indicated a bribe was expected, the usual gifts of goods, fresh meat, or boots.

  Would she try to stop him if he suddenly raced past them into the patients’ ward? He would not lose his temper with a pair of nuns. “Other officials may not understand or appreciate your mission. The government likes to meddle. I will try to keep them from becoming involved in your work. But as a disciple of God and a trained nurse, you know secrets do not heal. The heart festers.”

  There was an almost physical aspect to their silence.

  Sister Domenica blurted out, “The Chinese man and the passengers are here. But they cannot leave.”

  “Enough.” A rebuke from Sister Agnes. Her glance was an arrow.

  The younger woman clasped her hands as if to protect herself. “Please, may I sit down? I’m not feeling well.” She closed her eyes and fell into his arms as he stepped forward, surprisingly light despite her heavy robes. He set her gently on a bench against the wall but Sister Agnes swiftly pushed him aside, stared at Domenica for a moment, then slapped her face. The young woman cried out, and her body jackknifed over.

  Sister Agnes swept around as if she intended to strike him. “You must leave.”

  “Sisters, God be with you.” His voice croaked and his heart pounded in his chest as he walked away.

  Was Sister Domenica truthful? What restraints or threats kept the passengers here, as no guards were posted outside the building? If the passengers were merely under observation, why were they kept hidden? Everything surrounding the situation blinded him to a pattern that was in place.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Li Ju surprised her husband by insisting on accompanying him to the reception for the grand opening of the Railway Club. He reluctantly agreed, puzzled by her unusual request. Then she asked for permission to hire a servant, a Manchu woman, to spend that entire day at the house, assisting with a traditional dressing ritual. The Baron welcomed the Manchu guest when she arrived, carrying a small satchel, and he ushered her behind the screen where Li Ju waited.

  First, the woman plucked fine short hairs around Li Ju’s forehead so her hairline was perfectly even. Soot was stroked over her eyebrows to shape each one like a willow leaf. Her waist-length hair was smoothed with a resin mixture, combed, and twisted around ivory rods into large curls, thin as strips of silk, extending from the sides and the top of her head, the liangbatou, two-fisted style. Long pins with tiny jade ornaments and a silver stick, the bian fang, held her hair in place. White perfumed powder was dusted on the center part of her hair. Li Ju dressed in a stiff embroidered jacket, skirt, loose trousers, and short square-toed boots.

  She stepped out from behind the screen and nervously stood before the Baron. Her thin white face and neck seemed hardly able to support the weight of her hair and the three dangling earrings in each ear.

  “My butterfly,” he said, hesitantly tracing her stiff curls with his finger. He touched the delicate quivering ornaments in her hair and on her ears.

  Later, thoroughly chilled, the Baron slowly escorted Li Ju up the steps into the Railway Club. His feet were numb after traveling in a freezing droshky across the city to Kitayskaya Street. He entered the club as if cracked from ice, his body still stiff, fingers ten lengths of unfeeling flesh, the cold threaded inside the fibers of his evening jacket.

  The club was lavishly furnished with leather armchairs, oriental carpets, bronze lamps. Wa
lking through the rooms for the first time, the Baron could have sworn he’d been transported to the English club on Dvortsovaya-Naberezhnaya in St. Petersburg. The ballroom was overwhelming, cloudy with smoke from Lopato cigarettes, the men sweating in their heavy wool uniforms, the women fanning themselves, gold and silver flickering around their necks and on their dresses. The sideboard was set with several types of caviar in crystal bowls. It was a fasting day, according to the church, and fish was forbidden but caviar was allowed. The Baron spread a spoonful of osetrova on thick brown bread, noticed it was preserved, not fresh, since the eggs had a dull surface.

  General Khorvat was the center of attention, surrounded by government officials and the men who had made fortunes in soybeans, timber, gold, smuggled goods, and weapons. He noticed Prince G. G. Kugusev, director of the Russo-Chinese Bank, the grain merchant Soskin, visiting Scottish dignitaries, German representatives from Krupp, and Americans from the International Harvester company. He didn’t enjoy their company but it was in his interest to associate with the powerful men who ran the city.

  Li Ju stayed close to her husband, silently smiling, earrings trembling, ignoring everyone’s stares. None of the women spoke to her, the Baronin. The men barely nodded. Increasingly uncomfortable, the Baron took a glass of vodka from a waiter. Li Ju accepted no drink or food.

  Bakai, the president of the club, stood nearby, grinning, his teeth discolored behind pale lips, accepting congratulations on opening the club.

  The Baron made the introduction. “My wife, Li Ju, the Baronin.”

  Bakai nodded at her, his eyes on the Baron. “I understand you’re married, Baron. A Chinese wife.”

  “Actually, my wife is Manchu.” The Baron stiffened, helpless with anger over Bakai’s mockery, afraid to involve Li Ju. Two of the three valued virtues determined by Confucius concern control of the expression, the senan, as a mark of the civilized person.

  “Imagine.” Bakai didn’t lose his smile and moved closer with his drink, still ignoring Li Ju. “My own wife hasn’t been feeling well. Perhaps you’d have a consultation with her, Doctor?”

  Before he could speak, General Khorvat gripped his arm. A warning. “Certainly,” the Baron answered and paused. “At a time convenient for her.”

  Bakai nodded. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

  The Baron shook off Khorvat’s hand. “I want to be certain your wife wouldn’t object to the close contact I have with my Chinese patients?”

  “I’m certain you take every sanitary precaution. You are Kharbin’s most renowned doctor.”

  His heart pounded and it dried his mouth so that words barely moved off his tongue. “I can’t guarantee my sanitary precautions. But since he’s never met you, my colleague Dr. Messonier is a better doctor for your wife. I wish her a rapid recovery, although you both probably share the same unpleasant characteristics.”

  Bakai blinked as the insult slowly came into focus. He hesitated, then turned away.

  The Baron’s heart rate slowly dropped. He didn’t dare touch Li Ju or comfort her. To his relief, she was silent.

  “Generous of you to send a new patient to Dr. Messonier.” Khorvat’s expression was strained. “Please be my guest here at the club anytime.”

  “May I bring my wife?”

  Khorvat choked out a laugh and bowed to Li Ju. “Baronin, I am pleased to meet you. You bring grace to our evening.”

  Li Ju curtsied to General Khorvat since he was her elder. “Thank you.” She answered in Russian. “The weather is cold tonight.”

  “Yes, gracious lady, I anticipate the cold will be with us for months.”

  The Baron marveled at the Baronin’s armor. He finished the vodka in his glass in one burning swallow. He was pleased that Khorvat had been amused by his remark but uneasy he’d witnessed Bakai offending his wife.

  The dwarf Chang Huai made his way across the room, a current of movement below eye level as men stepped back, women swept skirts aside allowing him to pass. A smiling woman leaned forward, revealing her décolletage as he kissed her hands, then angled his head to look up at her, emphasizing his small stature and creating the impression of trustfulness. She playfully tapped him on the head with her fan.

  Chang Huai turned to address the Baron. “You’ve been set a task tonight.”

  “Myself and others. May I present my wife, the Baronin.”

  “Enchanted.” He bowed respectfully.

  She smiled in relief and the dwarf gave the Baron a thoughtful glance.

  The Baron spoke in Chinese. “You have an amusing story? Or advice? What can you tell me?” He was tired and wished to avoid uncomfortable conversation.

  “I couldn’t speak freely when we met with Andreev. I was distracted. And the man has a reputation. But now I can tell you the body by Churin’s store had been on the street all night. The watchman told me. I saw the men who took the body, but they were unrecognizable.”

  “How so?”

  “Their noses and mouths were covered with a white cloth.”

  “Protection from the cold?”

  “They also wore white clothing. Long white aprons. Gloves.”

  He gripped Chang’s shoulder. “You’re certain?”

  Chang nodded, taken aback by his reaction.

  “Please. I wish to go home,” Li Ju murmured in his ear.

  The Baron barely reacted to her words, lost in the scenario created by the dwarf’s information. Men wore white uniforms for disguise or protection. He built the case for protection. They were most likely from the Russian hospital and had retrieved the body. He grasped Li Ju’s hand. “You wish to leave? But it’s early.”

  “I’ll take the Baronin home. You should continue a conversation with General Khorvat.”

  A sharper look at Chang, his face impossible to read since it was only partially visible. “Thank you. I won’t be long. It’s a business matter.”

  From across the room, Andreev caught his eye, obviously drunk, gesturing excitedly at an officer, closing a deal or promising a favor. How was this man admitted to the club?

  Aware that he was being watched, Andreev immediately became calmer. The man wasn’t drunk but shamming for some scheme. The Baron sometimes felt clumsy around Andreev, earthbound, a slowness that came from a sense of duty and order. But this gave him an advantage. Andreev recognized only the type of behavior that was familiar to him. He must have read something in the Baron’s expression and maneuvered his way over to speak with him.

  “Good evening, Baron. You seem worried.”

  “Snow and cold conquers everything.”

  “Not everything. Tonight I’ve won.” Andreev opened his hand to reveal a ring with a large red stone. “It belonged to an Englishman. Until he had a gambling loss.”

  The Baron had little patience for people who boasted about trinkets. “What pleasure to own such a fine thing,” he said. His words had the effect of a dismissal, for Andreev swiftly put the ring away. “You’ve heard about the death of Dmitry Vasilevich? Yes? How did his widow, Sinotchka Vasilevna, escape Kharbin so easily?”

  Andreev shrugged. “She escaped because no one pursued her. Or she crouched in an oxcart with her trunks all the way to Vladivostok. Or perhaps she caught a freighter to Canada.”

  “Could she have taken a ferry downriver?”

  “Ice on the Sungari. Dangerous and slow. The roads are no better, nearly snowbound. Even a private carriage is too risky for a Russian woman traveling alone. There are Hutzul bandits. And criminal carriage drivers.”

  The Baron shook his head. “The train is the only way to escape Kharbin in winter. But our soldiers are garrisoned at all train stations.”

  “Unsupervised drunkards waiting for the Chinese army. As if they could stop an invasion. Or stop anyone.” Andreev was humoring him. “Maybe the daughter, Sonya, killed her father and stepmother. Two dead Russians. Or perhaps the murderer followed Dmitry Vasilevich home from Central Station. See? There’s your link to the train.”

 
“Doubtful.”

  “You must be under General Khorvat’s orders to even speculate about finding the widow. Curious, since a dead civilian matters very little to a general.”

  “Khorvat did ask for my aid. I believe it was a meaningless gesture, this searching for lost sheep, as the prophets say.” The Baron nearly confessed his confusion. A simpleton’s response. Andreev was not the person with whom to share the wavering-edged circle of his doubt. He spoke quickly to mask his anxiety. “Never mind. Tonight we drink with the highest society.”

  Andreev was quiet for a moment. Sometimes he pretended not to listen as the Baron spoke, or he yawned to show he wasn’t impressed by the other man’s title or position. He was free to be rude. The Baron could usually ignore this behavior. “High society? I prefer the people of Diagonalnaya Street to the Railway Club members. I go to the Fantasia cabaret. The Japanese bordellos. People know me.” He grinned. “Sometimes I gamble. Or watch.”

  “Whom do you watch? The gamblers?”

  The question amused Andreev. “Ah, my dear Baron. Here we are, two men of the world in the most godforsaken corner of the world. You can see things that are unimaginable anywhere else.”

  “I’m a doctor. I’ve seen everything.” He tried to match Andreev’s authority.

  Andreev’s laugh was brief, a dry bark. “Yes, but your patients show their bodies to you willingly.”

  He struggled away from the cruel images raised by the other man’s words. He turned and glimpsed Sonya Vasilevna speaking with an elderly man. No. He had mistaken another young woman for Sonya. Then Khorvat’s deputy Diakonov waved at him.

  The Baron walked over to join Diakonov and Khorvat. The deputy grudgingly stepped aside when the general indicated that he wished to speak with the Baron alone.