“It is a very unjust thing and very sad! Four! Four! Alas!”
“Only three,” said Ch’en.
“Four, alas!”
Ch’en looked again: there were only three corpses- one on its side as though casuaUy thrown there, two an their bellies-between the two rows of houses, dead too, under the heavy sky.
“I’m talking about the horses,” said the old man, with contempt and fear: Ch'en was holding his revolver.
“I was talking of the men. One of the horses belonged to you?”
No doubt they had been requisitioned that morning.
“No. But I used to be a coachman. I know animals. Four killed! And for nothing!”
The driver of the truck stepped up:
“For nothing?”
“Let’s not waste time,” said Ch’en.
With the help of two men he dragged the horses to one side. The truck went on. At the end of the street Ch’en, seated on one of the running-boards, looked back: the old coachman was still among the corpses, moaning, no doubt, a black figure in the gray street".
Five o’clock in the afternoon
“The South Station has fallen.”
Ferral hung up the receiver. While he was keeping appointments (the International Chamber of Commerce was hostile to all intervention, but he controlled the greatest newspaper in Shanghai) the progress of the insurrection was striking him blow after blow. He had wanted to be alone at the telephone. He came back into his studio, where Martial, who had just arrived, was arguing with Chiang Kai-shek’s envoy: the latter had been unwilling to meet the Chief of Police either at police headquarters or at his home. Even before opening the door, Ferral overheard, in spite of the gun-fire:
“Now what do 1 represent here? — French interests. ”
“But what support can I promise?” answered the Chinaman in a tone of nonchalant insistence. “The Consul-General himself tells me to await de-tails from you.
104
Because you know our country, and its people, very well.”
The studio telephone rang.
“The Municipal Council has fallen,” said Martial.
And, changing his tone:
“I’m not saying that I don’t have a certain psychological understanding of this country, and of men in general. Psychology and action, that’s my job; and on the basis. ”
“But if persons who are as dangerous to your country as they are to ours, dangerous to the peace of civiliza- ti-on, seek refuge, as they always do, in the concession? The internati-onal police.
“That’s what he’s after,” thought Ferral, who was entering. “He wants to know if Martial, in case of a breaking-off of relations, would allow the Communist leaders to find refuge with us.”
“. have promised us their unqualified goodwill. What will the French police do?”
“We’ll take care of it. But watch out for this: no monkey-business with white women, except Russian ones. I have strict orders about that. But, as I told you: nothing official. Nothing official.”
In the modern studio-on the walls, Picassos of the rose period, and an erotic Fragonard sketch-the two men were standing on either side of a very large Kuan Yin in black stone of the T’ang dynasty, bought on Clappique’s advice and which Gisors believed to be false. The Chinaman, a young colonel with a curved nose, in civilian clothes, buttoned up to the neck, was looking at Martial and smiling, his head bent back.
“I thank you in the name of my party. The Communists are very treacherous-they are betray-ing us, their faithful allies. It was understood that we would collaborate together, and that the soci-al questi-on would be put forward only when China was united. And already they are putting it forward. They do not respect our contract. They do not want to build up China, but the Soviets. The army’s dead did not die for the Soviets, but for China. The Communists are capable of anything. And that is why I must ask you, Monsieur le Directeur, if the French police would have any objecti-on to thinking of the personal safety of the General.”
It was clear that he had asked the same service of the international police.
“Gladly,” answered Martial. “Send the chief of your police to me. Is it still Konig?”
“Still. Tell me, Monsieur le Directeur: have you studied Roman history?”
“Naturally.”
“At night-school,” thought Ferral.
The. telephone again. Martial took the receiver.
“The bridges have been taken" he said as he put it back. “In a quarter of an hour the insurrection will be occupying the city.”
“My opinion,” the Chinaman went on as if he had not heard, “is that the Roman Empire was destroyed through moral corrupti-on. Don’t you believe that a technical organizati-on of prostituti-on, an occidental organization, like that of the police, would make it possible to get the better of the Hankow chiefs, who are not comparable to those of the Roman Empire?”
“It’s an idea. but I don’t think it’s practical. It requires a good deal of thought. ”
“Europeans never understand anything of China that does not resemble themselves.”
A silence. Ferral was amused. The Chinaman intrigued him: that head thrown back, almost disdainful, and at 106
the same time, that embarrassment. “Hankow flooded by streams of prostitutes. ” he thought. “And he knows the Communists. And the possibility that he may have some knowledge of political economy is not excluded. Astonishing!” While soviets were perhaps being organized in the city, this fellow was dreaming of the artful precepts of the Roman Empire. “Gisors is right, they’re always trying to find tricks.”
Again the telephone:
“The barracks are surrounded” said Martial. “The reenforcements from the government have stopped coming.”
“The North Station?” asked Ferral.
“Not yet taken.”
“Then the government can recall troops from the front?”
“Perhaps, sir,” said the Chinaman; “its troops and tanks are falling back on Nanking. It may send some here. The armored train can still give serious battle.”
“Yes, it will hold its own in the vicinity of the train and the station,” Martial went on. “Everything they have taken is immediately organized; the insurrection surely has Russian or European cadres; the revolutionary employees of each administration guide the insurgents. There is a military committee directing the whole thing. The entire police is disarmed now. The Reds have rallying points, from which the troops are directed against the barracks.”
“The Chinese have a great sense of organization,” said the officer.
“How is Chiang Kai-shek protected?”
“His car is always preceded by that of his personal guard. And we have our secret agents.”
Ferral at last understood the reason for the disdainful angle of the Chinaman’s head, which was beginning to annoy him (at first it had seemed to him that the officer was continually looking over Martial's head at his erotic sketch): a white spot on his right eye obliged the officer to look downward.
“Not enough,” answered Martial. “Have to do something about that. The sooner the better. Now, I have to run along: there's the matter of electing the Executive Committee which will take the government in hand. I may be able to do something there. Also the matter of the election of the prefect, which is not to be overlooked. ”
Ferral and the officer remained alone.
“So, Monsieur,” said the Chinaman, his head back, “from now on we can count on you?”
“Liu Ti Yu is waiting,” he answered.
Chief of the Shanghai Bankers’ Association, honorary president of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce, linked with all the guild-masters, this man was in a position to act in the Chinese city, which the insurgent sections were no doubt beginning to occupy-to act even more effectively than Ferral in the concessions. The officer bowed and took his leave. Ferral went up to the second story. In one corner of a modern office everywhere adorned with sculptures of the best periods of Chinese an, Liu Ti Yu was waiting. He wore a white linen suit over a collarless sweater that was as white as his bristling hair. His hands seemed glued to the nickeled tubes of his armchair. His face was al mouth and jaw-an energetic old frog.