An Inch of Ashes (Chung Kuo)(61)

He turned his head, bringing it closer to hers, his voice dropping to a whisper.

‘I could have winded him. Could have held him off until the waiters came to break things up. But I didn't. I wanted to hurt him. Wanted to see what it was like. I engineered it, Meg. Do you understand? I set it up.'

She shuddered, then shook her head, staring at him intently now. ‘No.' But his eyes were fierce, assertive. What if he had?

‘So what did you learn? What was it like?'

He looked down at her hand where his own enclosed it.

‘If I close my eyes I can see it all. Can feel what it was like. How easily I led him. His weight and speed. How much pressure it took, bone against bone, to break it. And that knowledge is...' He shrugged, then looked up at her again, his hand exerting the gentlest of pressure on hers. ‘I don't know. It's power, I guess.'

‘And you enjoyed that?'

She was watching him closely now, forcing her revulsion down, trying to help him, to understand him.

‘Perhaps you're right,' he said, ignoring her question. ‘Perhaps I ought to go home.'

‘And yet something keeps you...'

He nodded, his eyes still focused on her hand. ‘That's right. I'm missing something. I know it. Something I can't see.'

‘But there's nothing here, Ben. Just look about you. Nothing.'

He looked away, shrugging, seeming to agree with her, but he was thinking of the Lu Nan Jen, the oven man, and about Catherine. He had been wrong about those things  –  surprised by them. So maybe there was more.

He turned, looking back at her. ‘Anyway, you'd better go. Your appointment's in an hour.'

She looked back at him, her disappointment clear. ‘I thought you were coming with me.'

He had told Catherine he would meet her at eleven  –  had promised he would show her more of the old paintings  –  but seeing the look on Meg's face, he knew he could not let her go alone.

‘All right,' he said, smiling, ‘I'll come to the clinic with you. But then I've things to do. Important things.'


Ben looked about him at the rich decor of the anteroom and frowned. Such luxury was unexpected at this low level. Added to the tightness of the security screening it made him think that there must be some darker reason than financial consideration for establishing the Melfi Clinic in such an unusual setting.

The walls and ceiling were an intense blue, while underfoot a matching carpet was decorated with a simple yellow border. To one side stood a plinth, on which rested a bronze of a pregnant woman  –  Hung Mao, not Han  –  her naked form the very archetype of fecundity. Across from it hung the only painting in the room  –  a huge canvas, its lightness standing out against the blue-black of the walls. It was an oak, a giant oak, standing in the plush green of an ancient English field.

In itself, the painting was unsurprising, yet in context it was, again, unexpected. Why this? he asked himself. Why here? He moved closer, then narrowed his eyes, looking at the tiny acorn that lay there in the left foreground of the composition, trying to make out the two tiny initials that were carved into it.

AS. As what? he thought, smiling, thinking of all those comparatives he had learned as a very young child. As strong as an ox. As wily as a fox. As proud as a peacock. As sturdy as an oak.

And as long-lived. He stared at it, trying to make out its significance in the scheme of things, then turned, looking back at Meg. ‘You've come here before?'

She nodded. ‘Every six months.'

‘And Mother? Does she come here, too?'

Meg laughed. ‘Of course. The first time I came, I came with her.'

He looked surprised. ‘I didn't know.'

‘Don't worry yourself, Ben. It's women's business, that's all. It&rs we whi Q It&rs wequo;s just easier for them to do it all here than for them to come into the Domain. Easier and less disruptive.'

He nodded, looking away, but he wasn't satisfied. There was something wrong with all this.

He turned as the panel slid back and a man came through: a tall, rather heavily built Han, his broad face strangely nondescript, his neat black hair swept back from a polished brow. His full-length russet gown was trimmed with a dark green band of silk. As he came into the room he smiled and rubbed his hands together nervously, giving a small bow of his head to Meg before turning towards Ben.

‘Forgive me, Shih Shepherd, but we were not expecting you. I am the Senior Consultant here, Tung T'an. If I had known that you planned to accompany your sister, I would have suggested...' He hesitated, then, not sure he should continue, smiled and bowed his head. ‘Anyway, now that you are here, you had better come through, neh?'

Ben stared back at the Consultant, making him avert his eyes. The man was clearly put out that he was there. But why should that be if this were a routine matter? Why should his presence disturb things, even if this were ‘women's business'?

‘Meg,' the Consultant said, turning to her, ‘it's good to see you again. We expected you next week, of course, but no matter. It will take us but a moment to prepare everything.'

Ben frowned. But she had said... He looked at her, his eyes demanding to know why she hadn't told him that her appointment was not for another week, but her look told him to be patient.

They followed Tung T'an into a suite of rooms every bit as luxurious as the first. Big, spacious rooms, decorated as if this were First Level, not the Mids. Tung T'an tapped out a combination on a doorlock, then turned, facing Ben again, more composed now.

‘If you would be kind enough to wait here, Shih Shepherd, we'll try not to keep you too long. The tests are quite routine, but they take a little time. In the meantime, is there anything one of my assistants can bring you?'

‘You want me to wait out here?'

‘Ben...' Meg's eyes pleaded with him not to make trouble.

He smiled. ‘All right. Perhaps you'd ask them to bring me a pot of coffee and a newsfax.'

The Consultant smiled and turned to do as Ben asked, but Meg was looking at him strangely now. She knew her brother well. Well enough to know he never touched a newsfax.

‘What are you up to?' she whispered, as soon as Tung T'an was out of the room.

He smiled; the kind of innocuous-seeming smile that was enough to make alarm bells start ringing in her head. ‘Nothing. I'm just looking after my kid sister, that's all. Making sure she gets to the Clinic on time.'

She looked down, the evasiveness of the gesture not lost on Ben.

‘I'll explain it all, Ben. I promise I will. But not now.' She glanced up at him, then shook her head. ‘Look, I promise. Later. But behave yourself while you're here. Please, Ben. I'll only be an hour or so.'

He relented, smiling back at her. ‘Okay. I'll try to be good.'

A young girl brought him coffee and a pile of newsfax, then took Meg through to get changed. Ben sat there for a time, pretending to look at the nonsense on the page before him, all the while surreptitiously looking about him. As far as he could see he was not being observed. At the outer gates security was tight, but here there was nothing. Why was that? It was almost standard for companies to keep a tight watch on their premisest lng m Qemisest l.

He stood up, stretching, miming tiredness, then went across, looking closer at the walls, the vents, making sure. No. There was nothing. It was almost certain that he wasn't being observed.

Good. Then he'd delve a little deeper. Would answer a few of the questions that were stacking up in his head.

He went out into the corridor and made his way back to the junction. Doors led off to either side. He stopped, listening. There was the faintest buzz of voices to his right, but to his left there was nothing. He tried the left-hand door, drawing the sliding door back in a single silent movement. If challenged he would say he was looking for a toilet.

The tiny room was empty. He slid the door closed behind him, then looked about. Again there seemed to be no cameras. As if they had no need for them. And yet they must, surely, if they had a regular clientele?

He crossed the room and tried the door on the far side. It too was open. Beyond was a long, narrow room, brightly lit, the left-hand wall filled with filing cabinets.

Eureka! he thought, allowing himself a tiny smile. And yet it seemed strange, very strange, that he should be able to gain access to their files so easily.

As if they weren't expecting anyone to try.

His brow wrinkled, trying to work it out, then he released the thought, moving down the line of cabinets quickly, looking for the number he had glimpsed on the card Meg had shown at the gates. He found it without difficulty and tried the drawer. It opened at a touch.

Meg's file was missing. Of course... they would have taken it through. Like a lot of private clinics most of the work was of a delicate nature, and so records were kept in this old-fashioned manner, the reports handwritten by the consultants, no computer copy kept. Because it would not do...

He stopped, astonished, noting the name on the file that lay beneath his fingertips. A file that had a tiny acorn on the label next to the familiar name.

Women's business...

And then he laughed, softly, quietly, knowing now why Tung T'an had been so flustered earlier. They were here! They were all here! He flicked through quickly and found it. His file, handwritten like all the rest, and containing his full medical record  –  including a copy of his genetic chart.