The Black Isle Read Online Free PDF Page A

Behind the hut was a stone wall about ten feet high. If anything went wrong, there’d be no escape.
    The dank, fecal odor of fertilizer hung in the air, much like the sewer, only denser and more beastly. I scanned the area. Nobody else was around. The laughter of children sounded as tinny as mosquitoes, and incredibly far away. My stomach tightened and again I reached for Li’s hand.
    “We should go back,” I whispered, hoping the old man wouldn’t hear.
    But of course he heard me. Sighing, he shook his head, then addressed Li and Li alone: “Young man, you seem like a leader. Don’t let the girl fill your mind with fear. I need you to be brave and strong. You must not disappoint me.”
    It was then that we heard the baby’s cries. They were coming distinctly from the dark hollow between the hut and the wall, a space of uncommon darkness. The man lifted a finger—wait here—and went toward the source. We stood still, exchanging anxious glances.
    After a while, the man called, “Young man…”
    Instantly, Li went.
    I had no choice but to follow. As much as I dreaded seeing the baby, being left all by myself seemed even more frightening. Out of the sun and into the shadows, the temperature dropped.
    Our eyes took a moment to adapt to the lack of light. At our feet was a shallow rain gutter, lined with velvety black moss. It felt like we were suddenly in a cave. The baby’s wails increased in pitch and intensity, as if it could sense our approach and wanted us to hurry.
    The hairs on my arms stood up and my pulse quickened. In the drain lay a quivering gray puddle. I saw its watery blue eyes and froze.
    It was a kitten, not much bigger than a ball of yarn. Its fur was frayed, exposing snatches of baldness, and its hind legs were bent in such a way that I could tell they had been broken in several places.
    “The handiwork of neighborhood thugs,” the man said, sighing again. “Boys from the countryside with nothing better to do.” For a moment I felt his grief. He said that the kitten belonged to him and that its name was Xiao Huangdi, or Little Emperor . “My heart aches to see it in such obscene agony. I want nothing more than to end its suffering. To bring it the peace it deserves. It’s only right. But you see, young man”—he turned to Li—“this is a job for a child’s hands.”
    Like a soldier reporting to his general, Li pulled away from me and took three steps toward the trench. In that moment, I felt the lifelong connection between us, our bond of blood that I’d always taken for granted, not merely slip away but snap . A clammy uncertainty was left in its wake. For the first time in my life, I felt completely, horribly alone. The nausea came at me in waves and was suffocating, endless. I choked back the urge to throw up.
    Calmly—too calmly—Li got on his haunches and examined the kitten. Just as casually, he placed his hands on the creature’s head, caressed its tiny ears, and then lifted it by the loose flap of skin on the back of its neck. The pitiful thing sensed peril and swiped at the air, swaying like a ragged pendulum. It mewed for its life; it was begging, desperate. How could Li not see this? How could he not hear this? Instead he gave the old man a quiet smile, as if posing for one last photograph with his beloved pet.
    “Please, sir, tell me what to do,” Li said. His eagerness to please sickened me even more. His voice was as sweet as treacle.
    The kitten looked toward me. Tears fell from its eyes. If someone had told me then that it had a human soul, I would have believed him absolutely. These were not the eyes of a dumb animal but the pleading eyes of a sentient, intelligent creature tragically aware of what was happening and yet unable to stop it. It was an accident of size, of species, that the kitten could not fight back. But the feelings were no different. I would see those eyes time and time again during the course of my career. The eyes of someone dying alone and