Shi Chongming was surprised to see me. He opened his door with chilly civility and let me into his office. He clicked on a three-bar heater, pulling it nearer to the low, battered sofa that sat under the window, and filled a teapot from the Thermos on his desk. I watched distantly, thinking how odd – the last time we spoke he had put the phone down on me.
‘Well, now,’ he said, when I was seated. He was looking at me curiously because I had come straight from the temple and my skirt was still wet from the grass. ‘Does this imply we are on speaking terms again?’
I didn’t answer. I pulled off my coat, my gloves and my hat and bunched them all up on my knees.
‘Have you some news? Are you here to tell me that you’ve seen Fuyuki?’
‘No.’
‘Then you’ve remembered something? Something about the glass box you saw?’
‘No.’
‘Is it possible that Fuyuki is preserving something in the box? Because that’s how it sounded when you described it.’
‘Did it?’
‘Yes. Whatever it is that Mr Fuyuki is drinking, he believes it’s saving him from death.’ Shi Chongming swirled the teapot. ‘He’d have to be careful how much he took. Especially if it was dangerous or difficult to replace his supply. From what I suspect, I am sure the tank is how he preserves it.’ He poured the tea, his eyes not leaving my face, studying me for a reaction. ‘Tell me more about the impression you had.’
I shook my head. I was too numb to pretend. I took the cup he gave me and held it tightly, in both hands, looking down through the steaming water at the greyish streak of sediment in the bottom. A long, awkward silence filled the room, until eventually I put down the cup.
‘In China,’ I said, although I knew it wasn’t what he wanted to hear, ‘what happens if someone isn’t buried properly? What happens to their spirit?’
He had been about to sit down with his own cup, but my words stopped him. He checked himself, bent, half in, half out of the chair, digesting my question. When at last he spoke his voice had changed: ‘What an odd thing to ask. What made you think of that?’
‘What happens to their spirit?’
‘What happens to their spirit?’ He sat, taking some time to settle, straightening his tunic, moving his cup back and forward. At length he rubbed his mouth and looked up at me. There was a blush of red round his nostrils. ‘The unburied? In China? Let me see. The simple answer is that we believe a ghost is produced. A mischievous spirit is released to come back and cause trouble. And so we bury our dead carefully. We give them money to pass into the next world. It was…’ He cleared his throat, tapping his fingers distractedly. ‘It was what always worried me about Nanking. I was always afraid of the thousands of mischievous spirits left in Nanking.’
I put down the cup and looked at him, my head on one side. He’d never talked about Nanking like this.
‘Yes,’ he said, running his fingers round the rim of his cup. ‘It used to worry me. There wasn’t enough land in Nanking for marked graves. Most people waited months to be buried. Some had already disappeared into the earth or into… into one another, before there was a chance to…’ He hesitated, looking into his tea, and suddenly he seemed very old. I could see the blue veins under his loose skin. I could sense his bones, waiting under the surface. ‘I saw a small child once,’ he said, in a quiet voice. ‘She’d had some – some flesh removed by the Japanese, here, under her ribs. Everyone thought she was dead, but no one had buried her. She lay there for days, in full view of the houses, but no one came out to bury her. I still don’t understand why they didn’t. In Nanking it was the lucky ones who were left with a body to bury…’ He trailed off into silence, watching his fingers moving round the cup.
When it seemed that he wasn’t going to speak again, I sat forward and lowered my voice to a whisper: ‘Shi Chongming. Tell me what happens on the film.’
He shook his head.
‘Please.’
‘No.’
‘I need to know, I need to know so much.’
‘I’m sorry. If you need to know so much you’ll help me with my research.’ He looked up at me. ‘That is why you’re here, isn’t it?’
I sighed and sat back in the chair. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, it is.’
He smiled sadly. ‘I thought I had lost you. For a long time I thought you had drifted.’ He gave me a look then that was sad and sweet and quite unlike any look he had ever given me before. For the first time since we’d met I had the feeling he liked me. I supposed I’ll never know what journey he’d been on during those few weeks when we didn’t speak. ‘What made you come back?’
When I got up to go I should have just opened the door and left. But I couldn’t help myself. I stopped at the door and turned back to where he sat at the desk. ‘Shi Chongming?’ I said.
‘Hmmm?’ He looked up, as if I’d interrupted his thoughts. ‘Yes.’
‘You told me that ignorance and evil are not the same thing. Do you remember?’
‘Yes. I remember.’
‘Is it true? Do you think it’s true? That ignorance isn’t evil?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Of course it’s true.’
‘You really mean it?’
‘Of course I mean it. Ignorance you can forgive. Ignorance is never the same as evil. Why do you ask?’
‘Because… because…’ A feeling was racing through me, coming from nowhere, making me feel strangely powerful and lightheaded. ‘Because it’s one of the most important questions in the world.’