Read Online The Shanghai Murders - A Mystery of Love and Ivory by David Rotenberg - Free Book Online
Authors: David Rotenberg
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Asian voice chimed in, “These traders have had their way for a long time here, they will not easily be scared off.”
There was a murmur of assent around the room.
There had been no murmurs of assent five years ago when the old man had set all of this into motion. There had been just him and his thoughts.
It was a delicate time, a time when nations rose or fell on the decisions of their leaders. He knew that doing nothing would lead to inevitable ruin. The West had invested heavily in China and in Shanghai particularly. But now the big stick of the West, the renewal of most-favoured-nation trade status with the United States, an $8-billion-a-year trading partner, was meeting resistance in the American Senate. The loss of MFN status would effectively end the run of growth in China and possibly plunge it into a savage depression.
The old man with the hoarse voice knew this. He also knew that his beloved Shanghai would be hit hardest. After being ignored by Beijing for almost forty years, the city had finally begun to flourish after Deng’s famous cat remark: “ A red cat, a black cat, both are cats.” This remark was interpreted as meaning money from the East, money from the West, money is money. When four months later Deng casually remarked, “What’s so bad about being rich?” the race toward a market economy was on. The five years since had been years of startling growth in Shanghai. Growth and revitalization crowned by the new Pudong Free Trade Region. But now all this was in danger. As quickly as it began it could falter. The old man had seen it happen too many times before. If he had believed in the gods, he would have said that they were fickle and on occasion needed a good laugh. So they played around with our lives—they fully understood the idea of irony. But he didn’t believe in gods. He believed in planning and thought. He knew what the Americans wanted from China in exchange for MFN status. They wanted what they called progress on what they called human rights.
That they would not get. Ever. China would be governed by Chinese. Never again would a foreign power dictate to China how she was to run her own affairs. This was not 1840 and the shameful Treaty of Nanking where China sold her sovereignty to the English in exchange for opium. And yet, the old man chuckled, he much liked his house in the English Concession and that would not have existed had the English not run Shanghai from the Treaty of Nanking until the Liberation.
He remembered taking up his old writing brush and dabbing it in the ink that had pooled in the well of the stone. He had twisted and feathered the brush on the ancient stone’s flattened surface. Then, drawing out a piece of rice paper, he had started his list. On one side he drew the characters for WHAT THEY WANT. On the other: WHAT WE WILL DO.
The list went this way: They want action on, what they call, human rights in China. We will do nothing about this. They want the cessation of export of all goods made by the Red Army. We will stop some but put new labels on most and continue to export them. They want us to stop producing automatic weapons for export. We will protest vigorously and then give in on this point. They want us to stop exporting goods made by political prisoners. We will move the political prisoners to prisons for common criminals and continue their work. They want a cessation of trade in the products of endangered species.
For a moment he had gulped air and sorted his thoughts. Then with a deft flick of his wrist he had slashed characters that read: We will go to any length to stop the trade in ivory in our country.
Rhino horn was not mentioned. Only the old knew the true value of the miracle elixir made from that rare product. He was old. He knew. Knew and would not be denied its benefits.
The cracked-voiced man had been lost in thought. He saw that they were waiting for him. He finally asked wearily, “And this is important, we still agree?”
“If
There was a murmur of assent around the room.
There had been no murmurs of assent five years ago when the old man had set all of this into motion. There had been just him and his thoughts.
It was a delicate time, a time when nations rose or fell on the decisions of their leaders. He knew that doing nothing would lead to inevitable ruin. The West had invested heavily in China and in Shanghai particularly. But now the big stick of the West, the renewal of most-favoured-nation trade status with the United States, an $8-billion-a-year trading partner, was meeting resistance in the American Senate. The loss of MFN status would effectively end the run of growth in China and possibly plunge it into a savage depression.
The old man with the hoarse voice knew this. He also knew that his beloved Shanghai would be hit hardest. After being ignored by Beijing for almost forty years, the city had finally begun to flourish after Deng’s famous cat remark: “ A red cat, a black cat, both are cats.” This remark was interpreted as meaning money from the East, money from the West, money is money. When four months later Deng casually remarked, “What’s so bad about being rich?” the race toward a market economy was on. The five years since had been years of startling growth in Shanghai. Growth and revitalization crowned by the new Pudong Free Trade Region. But now all this was in danger. As quickly as it began it could falter. The old man had seen it happen too many times before. If he had believed in the gods, he would have said that they were fickle and on occasion needed a good laugh. So they played around with our lives—they fully understood the idea of irony. But he didn’t believe in gods. He believed in planning and thought. He knew what the Americans wanted from China in exchange for MFN status. They wanted what they called progress on what they called human rights.
That they would not get. Ever. China would be governed by Chinese. Never again would a foreign power dictate to China how she was to run her own affairs. This was not 1840 and the shameful Treaty of Nanking where China sold her sovereignty to the English in exchange for opium. And yet, the old man chuckled, he much liked his house in the English Concession and that would not have existed had the English not run Shanghai from the Treaty of Nanking until the Liberation.
He remembered taking up his old writing brush and dabbing it in the ink that had pooled in the well of the stone. He had twisted and feathered the brush on the ancient stone’s flattened surface. Then, drawing out a piece of rice paper, he had started his list. On one side he drew the characters for WHAT THEY WANT. On the other: WHAT WE WILL DO.
The list went this way: They want action on, what they call, human rights in China. We will do nothing about this. They want the cessation of export of all goods made by the Red Army. We will stop some but put new labels on most and continue to export them. They want us to stop producing automatic weapons for export. We will protest vigorously and then give in on this point. They want us to stop exporting goods made by political prisoners. We will move the political prisoners to prisons for common criminals and continue their work. They want a cessation of trade in the products of endangered species.
For a moment he had gulped air and sorted his thoughts. Then with a deft flick of his wrist he had slashed characters that read: We will go to any length to stop the trade in ivory in our country.
Rhino horn was not mentioned. Only the old knew the true value of the miracle elixir made from that rare product. He was old. He knew. Knew and would not be denied its benefits.
The cracked-voiced man had been lost in thought. He saw that they were waiting for him. He finally asked wearily, “And this is important, we still agree?”
“If
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