“Commissioner Wu,” Lo replied, “is not a random man.”
“But he is a vicious one. What other explanation can there be for this cruelty?”
“Well, of course I’m just a policeman. The ways of power are mysterious to me, as to you, Sadiq. But you understand, in the course of my daily work I come into contact with many who know more than I. I’ve heard it said — just a rumor, mind you — that though the land where the home of Aliqqi the Hero stands may be worthless for housing, it could be valuable for the building of a road.”
“A road.” Sadiq looked up from the board. “The new road into the mountains? For the convenience of the mining companies?”
Lo nodded. “The same. But you don’t sound pleased, Sadiq. Are the Uighurs not rejoicing at the efforts of the mining companies? Do your people not stand to profit handsomely? At least, those who own land in the mountains?”
“Every Uighur family in Turpan owns land in the mountains. We’ve lived here since before the time of Genghis. If some fools from Beijing believe there is more in the mountains than the Uighurs know, why should we not profit from their arrogance?”
“You, also, Sadiq? Are you a landowner?”
“My land is along the south slopes.”
“Is that so?”
“Of course. But I haven’t visited it in years. It’s useless: too dry for grazing, too cold for melons.”
“The mining companies might disagree. I assume that, like other families, you’ve granted one or another of them permission to prospect there?”
“They paid a few yuan for the privilege. There’s nothing to be found. They will eventually get bored and go elsewhere, and I’ll have a few yuan I didn’t have formerly.”
“To add to your daughters’ dowries.” The detective brightened. “Then perhaps you’ll be able to take more leisure.”
“If only it were enough for that. No, from the mining companies, there’s little to be had. A man of my station can only work and grow haggard, I’m afraid.” He shook his head. “But speaking about that road, Detective Lo. That road is planned for the other side of the ravine.”
“That’s true. But consider: If the road is built on the other side of the ravine, the Roads Commission will be obliged to purchase the land from Uighur families. Beyond the city’s borders, none of the commissioners’ powers of condemnation apply. But,” he reached to the board and advanced a soldier, “if the Housing Commission condemns the home of Aliqqi the Hero, and the Roads Commission changes the route of the road...” Lo trailed off, eyes fixed on the board as if in thought.
“Ah!” Sadiq drew the syllable out, and continued slowly, “Then the Roads Commission will be in a position to purchase the land it needs not from Uighurs but from the Housing Commission. Am I correct?”
Without looking up, Lo nodded.
“And no doubt Housing Commissioner Wu will then express, in a tangible way, his appreciation for Roads Commissioner Ying’s flexibility.”
“Mustafa Sadiq!” Now Lo glanced up from the chessboard. “You cannot be accusing Commissioner Wu and Commissioner Ying of corruption? You cannot think the commissioners would line their own pockets at the cost of a cultural landmark of your people? Of the Uighurs, the largest of China’s treasured cultural minorities?”
Lo looked over his teacup at Sadiq. Sadiq returned his gaze, and they drank. Replacing his cup, Sadiq said, “It does not matter what I think. But perhaps you can understand why our young men’s hearts are aflame.”
“Young men’s hearts are always aflame.”
“That may be so. But more than hearts may be aflame in Turpan, if the home of Aliqqi the Hero is lost.” Sadiq’s hand moved to the chessboard, where it hovered over an elephant but didn’t touch it.
“I have heard this said, Sadiq. You are a man of wisdom and experience. Do you really believe it?”
“I do. I believe serious trouble cannot but result, if Commissioner Wu is not stopped.” Both men were silent for a time, considering Sadiq’s words. Sadiq sighed. “If only the housing commissioner were not beloved of the mayor, perhaps he could be stopped.”
“He is not beloved,” Lo corrected Sadiq.
“Excuse me, Detective, but how can that be? The home of Aliqqi the Hero is owned by the city. Mayor Din could simply refuse the condemnation proceedings, and yet he has not.”
Lo took a contemplative sip of tea. “Mayor Din is a political man, with great ambition. He does not dare refuse Commissioner Wu. The commissioner’s connections among the provincial bureaus are too strong. But I have heard it said — in the course of my daily work, you understand — that Mayor Din would not mind if the commissioner were, in fact, stopped.”
“Would he not?” Sadiq blinked.
“The Mayor would prefer — so it is said — that the civil servants in Turpan, persons such as myself, understand they have one master only.”
“As long as that master is himself.”
“Of course.” Lo watched Sadiq finally move the elephant. “To the list of Uighur virtues I would add respect for elders. A virtue among my people, also. The fiery young men of Turpan respect you, Sadiq.”
“If they do, I am honored.”
“If the fire in these young men’s hearts flares in the streets of Turpan, the Public Security Bureau will be forced to respond. It would be a shame if these young men’s futures, and possibly their lives, went up in that same smoke.”
“It would indeed.”
“Also, speaking personally, you understand, I should be sorry to see the streets of Turpan suffer any such damage. Despite the heat, I’ve grown to quite like it here. Perhaps it’s the tea.” He held out his cup, and nodded his thanks as Sadiq refilled it. “The, as you call them, miscreants who caused last night’s damage,” Lo said. “I think perhaps I should speak with them.”
Sadiq replaced the teapot on its stand. “Is that why you’re here, Detective Lo?”
“I’m here, Mustafa Sadiq, to play Xiangqi.”
“Of course. Yet I know you to be a man who plans carefully. There is little you do without looking ahead.”
“True enough,” Lo admitted.
“In that case, let me ask you something. Why, when we play Xiangqi, do I always win?”
“Ah.” Lo shook his head. “For that, I can see only two possible explanations. One: Perhaps my plans, though carefully made, do not always succeed.”
“And the other?”
Lo looked up, smiling. “Perhaps,” he said as he advanced a second soldier to the river, “it is part of my plan that you should win.”
Out of the respect they bore Mustafa Sadiq, seven young Uighur men drifted into the spice shop later that evening. They were given tea and dried apricots by Sadiq, and, by Detective Lo of the Public Security Bureau, a calm but compelling explanation of why the path they were on would have no effect on the Housing Commission’s plans for the destruction of the home of Aliqqi the Hero, but might well have implications for the destruction of themselves. Detective Lo suggested other possible paths for such promising youths. The fire in the young men’s hearts glittered in their dark eyes and glowed on the tips of their cigarettes as they sprawled in sullen and insolent postures. Their leader, addressed directly by Lo on one or two occasions, nodded and grunted to indicate he had understood the policeman’s point. Aside from that, they did not speak.
At the conclusion of Detective Lo’s lecture, the young men filed out, mumbling thanks to Mustafa Sadiq for his hospitality and avoiding the eyes of Detective Lo. When they were gone, Sadiq, looking at the door, spoke to the policeman. “I wonder what the result of your words will be.”
“I do also.”
“I hope it is enough.” Sadiq sighed. “Such a wicked world. Really, I’m just a poor shopkeeper. What is one small man to do?”