The Stone Monkey

hearing?” she asked.
    “Next month.”
    Sachs watched his hands as he took two cups from the cupboard and carefully washed, dried and arranged them on a tray. There was something ceremonial about the way he did this. He tore open the bags of tea and put them in a ceramic pot and poured the hot water over them then whisked the brew with a spoon.
    All for a cup of mass-market Lipton . . .
    He carried the pot and cups into the living room, sat stiffly. He poured two cups and offered one to her. She rose to help him. She took the cup from his hands, which she found to be soft but very strong.
    “Is there any word on the others?” he asked.
    “They’re in Manhattan somewhere, we think. We found a truck they stole abandoned not far from here. I’d like to ask you about them.”
    “Of course. What can I tell you?”
    “Anything that you know. Names, descriptions . . .anything.”
    Sung brought the tea to his lips and took a very small sip. “There were two families—the Changs and the Wus—and a few other people who escaped. I don’t remember their names. Some crewmen got off the ship too. Chang tried to save them—he was steering our raft—but the Ghost shot them.”
    Sachs tried her tea. It seemed to taste very different from the grocery-store beverage she was used to. My imagination, she told herself.
    Sung continued. “The crew was decent to us. Before we left I heard bad rumors about the crews on the smuggling ships. But on the Dragon they treated us okay, gave us fresh water and food.”
    “Have you remembered anything about where the Changs or the Wus might’ve gone?”
    “Nothing other than what I told you on the beach. All we heard was that we were going to be dropped at a beach on Long Island. And then trucks were going to take us to someplace in New York.”
    “And the Ghost? Can you tell me anything that might help us find him?”
    He shook his head. “The little snakeheads in China—they were the Ghost’s representatives—said that once we landed, we’d never see him again. And they warned us not to try to contact him.”
    “We think he had an assistant on board, pretending to be one of the immigrants,” Sachs said. “The Ghost generally does that. Do you know who that might’ve been?”
    “No,” Sung replied. “There were several men in the hold who stayed by themselves. They didn’t say much toanyone. It might’ve been one of them. But I never paid any attention. I don’t know their names.”
    “Did the crew say anything about what the Ghost would do when he got to the country?”
    Sung grew grave and seemed to be considering something. He said, “Nothing specific—they were afraid of him too, I think. But one thing . . . I don’t know if it will help you but it’s something I heard. The captain of the ship was talking about the Ghost and used the expression ‘ Po fu chen zhou’ about him. It translates literally as ‘break the cauldrons and sink the boats.’ You’d say, I suppose, ‘There is no turning back.’ It refers to a warrior from the Qin dynasty. After his troops had crossed a river to attack some enemy, that’s what he ordered his men to do—break the cauldrons and sink the boats. So there’d be no possibility of either encamping or retreating. If they wanted to survive, they had to push forward and destroy the other side. The Ghost is that kind of enemy.”
    So he won’t stop until he finds and kills the families, Sachs reflected uneasily.
    Silence fell between them, interrupted by the grating sounds of traffic on Canal Street. On impulse Sachs asked, “Your wife is in China?”
    Sung looked into her eyes and said evenly, “She died last year.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “In a reeducation camp. The officials said that she got sick. But they never told me what her illness was. And there was no autopsy. I hope that she did get sick, though. Rather that, than to think she was tortured to death.”
    Sachs felt a chill surge through her at these words. “She was a dissident too?”
    He nodded. “That’s how we met. At a protest in Beijingten years ago. On the anniversary of Tiananmen Square. Over the years she became more outspoken than me. Before she was arrested we were going to come here together, with the children . . . . ” Sung’s voice faded and he let the ellipses following his words explain the essential sorrow of his present life.
    Finally he said, “I decided I couldn’t stay in the country any longer. Politically it was