Wuhan by John Fletcher

Author:John Fletcher [Fletcher, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781800249851
Publisher: Head of Zeus

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Once they were outside Hu and Madame Chiang walked for about a hundred yards and then stopped. Madame Chiang ordered one of her bodyguards to get her car. Within seconds a Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost whispered up. Her two bodyguards got into the front. Madame Chiang got in the back.

‘Get in,’ she said to Hu.

‘But Madame,’ said Hu, ‘I have to attend my committee.’

‘I’ll deliver you there,’ said Madame Chiang.

Hu got in.

Once inside Madame Chiang drew all the curtains, including the ones across the glass partition, so neither the public nor her bodyguards or driver could see them. She then switched off the intercom system to the driver so no one could overhear them. She looked at Hu.

‘You are a good Christian.’

‘Well…’ said Hu.

‘You took the pledge?’

‘I did.’

‘So did I,’ said Madame Chiang, and took out a hip flask. She took three deep hits from it. She turned to Hu.

‘I have never seen anyone so good as that woman. That whore. She was so in control, so powerful, yet never once did she show any anger or irritation. With her child, with me, with that madman, she was in perfect control, yet never once did she use her strength to manipulate, threaten, dominate. She must be like the saints of old.’

‘I think she probably has to deal with problems quite often in a brothel – especially with men like that,’ said Hu.

‘No,’ said Madame. ‘Her first priority, her absolute priority, was that child. That child’s being and peace of mind. At every single second she knew exactly what the child was thinking, where it was. Yet, simultaneously, she could mentally deal with all my questions and her complex, informed answers to them, and then with the violence and hysteria of that animal. How could she do it? It was a miracle. Her calmness, her control.

As I said to her, she should be running China. I meant it. No one could run this shithole like she could.’

Hu remembered the conversation she’d had with Agnes only two hours before.

‘What I want to know is,’ said Madame Chiang, lighting a new Gold Flake and taking another swig from her hip flask, ‘what is this connection between soldiers and whores? I do not understand it. I mean, with the brains that woman has and the self-control she has she could be a powerful woman, a rich woman, running all sorts of things. But instead she lives penniless and devotes herself to caring for soldiers. Half the nurses in that “hospital” were whores.’

‘Soldiers and whores have a lot in common, Madame,’ said Hu. ‘Whores are helpless. But not as helpless as soldiers. If whores are in brothels they’ll survive for several years, til their looks wear out. If they are on the street they’ll only live a few months. But soldiers only live for days, seconds, moments. Soldiers, with their lives, protect whores, protect all of us. So whores, who know death, admire them. They work for soldiers to bring them comfort, give them joy. And when the soldiers are happy, the whores are happy.

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