A Death in China Read Online Free PDF Page B

Aren’t you sure?”
    “Of course. I use that word as a reflex,” Powell said uneasily. “This information comes from the Chinese government. I can’t vouch for it a hundred percent, but on a matter like this, I see no reason to challenge the facts. It is, as I said before, fairly routine. Tragic, to be sure, but still routine.”
    “This is a maddening place,” Stratton said. “The people at the hotel might at least have told me which hospital he went to.”
    “They probably didn’t know,” Powell responded. “It took me five phone calls to find out. It was a small but very modern clinic on Wan Fu Jing Street. It has everything most hospitals in Peking don’t have—the machines, I mean. I’m sorry for the confusion, but if you’ve spent much time in Asia, you come to expect it.”
    Stratton nodded. He knew something of Asian confusion.
    “Why,” he asked, “was there such a delay in reporting the death to the embassy? Is that routine, too?”
    The delay, Powell explained, was another matter. He opened a desk drawer and withdrew a new file; he put the first file away. Professor Wang’s death was not treated as those of other American visitors, the consul continued, because of Wang’s relation to a high-ranking Chinese official.
    “It was a homecoming for Professor Wang, and apparently was a very moving reunion with his brother. In this file I have a note from the deputy minister himself—a rare communication, believe me—and it describes Professor Wang’s visit to Xian, and his return to Peking with his brother. That night, unfortunately, he suffered his fatal heart attack.”
    “The deputy minister was notified before the U.S. Embassy was?”
    “He was Professor Wang’s brother, after all. And in his position, Wang Bin certainly would be entitled to all the information regarding his brother’s death. Once that information was delivered to the deputy minister, we were officially notified. Please don’t make more of this than is warranted.” Powell sighed. He took off his glasses and put them on the desk. “I was up half the night trying to reach David Wang’s relatives back in Ohio.”
    “There are none,” Stratton said emptily.
    “So I learned. No wife, no kids, just a roomful of books and paintings.”
    “And a garden.”
    Powell glanced at his wristwatch. “I asked you to come this morning because Wang Bin requested it. Apparently the professor told his brother of your friendship and of your mutual interest in Chinese art and culture. For obvious reasons, Wang Bin will not be able to attend his brother’s funeral in Pittsville. But he would like someone to accompany the body back to the United States.”
    Stratton rubbed his temples with both hands.
    “In his note here,” Powell said, “Wang Bin suggests that you would be the perfect escort. Let me read you this one part: ‘It would mean a great honor for the memory of my brother if Mr. Thomas Stratton could accompany David’s body to his homeland for burial in the manner so requested by my brother. I realize that this would be an inconvenience and a hardship, but it would advance the friendship between our great peoples. Please convey this humble request to Mr. Stratton, and please assure him that he will be able to complete his visit to China at any other suitable time, as a welcomed guest.’
    “The deputy minister wrote that himself, in English,” Powell said.
    Stratton stood to leave. “Tell the deputy minister I’ll be happy to accompany David’s casket to the United States.”
    “Excellent!” Powell was pleased with himself.
    Stratton asked about the body.
    “It won’t be ready for transport for a few days.”
    “Where is it?” Stratton asked.
    “One of the city hospitals. Capital Hospital, I believe.”
    “You’re not sure?”
    “I can find out.” Powell was defensive again. “I’ll leave word at your hotel. But, as I said, I’m fairly sure it’s at Capital. That’s where it was sent for the