The Skull Mantra by Eliot Pattison Page B

days you would look for hidden books. Books in English. Western music. Today you look for the opposite. Old boots and threadbare clothes, hidden away with a book of the chairman’s sayings. In case of a new resurgence of Party enforcement. Either way it shows reactionary doubts about socialist progress.
    â€œThen you check the Party’s central files. Class background. Find out that the suspect previously required reeducation or that his grandfather was an oppressor in themerchant class. Maybe his uncle was a Stinking Ninth.” Shan’s father had been in the Stinking Ninth, the lowest rank on Mao’s list of bad elements. Intellectuals. “Or maybe the murderer is a model worker. If so, look at the victim,” he continued. He realized with a shudder that he was repeating words he had last spoken to a seminar in Beijing. “It’s the socialist context that’s important. Find the reactionary thread and build from there. A murder investigation is pointless unless it can become a parable for the people.”
    Tan paced in front of the window. “But to get this behind us, all I really need is a head.”
    Something icy seemed to touch Shan’s spine. “Not just any head.
The
head.”
    Tan laughed without smiling. “A saboteur. Zhong warned me.” He sat and studied Shan in silence. “Why do you want so badly to return to the 404th?”
    â€œIt is where I belong. There’s going to be trouble. Because of the body. Maybe I can help.”
    Tan’s eyes narrowed. “What trouble?”
    â€œThe
jungpo,”
Shan said very quietly.
    â€œJungpo?”
    â€œIt translates as
hungry ghost.
A soul released by a violent action, unprepared for death. Unless death rites can be conducted on the mountain, the ghost will haunt the scene of the death. It will be angry. It will bring bad luck. The devout will not go near the place.”
    â€œWhat trouble?” Tan repeated sharply.
    â€œThe 404th will not work at such a site. It is unholy now. They are praying for the release of the spirit. Prayers for cleansing.”
    Anger was building in Tan’s eyes. “No strike was reported.”
    â€œThe warden would never tell you so soon. He will try to end it on his own. There will have been stoppages by the crews at the top first. There will have been accidents. Guns have been issued.”
    Tan abruptly moved to his door and called for Madame Ko to dial Warden Zhong’s office. He took the call in the conference room, watching Shan through the open door.
    His eyes flared when he returned. “A man broke a leg.A wagon of supplies fell off the cliff. The brigade refused to move after the noon break.”
    â€œThe priests must be permitted to perform the ceremonies.”
    â€œImpossible,” Tan snapped, and strode back to the window. He pulled the binoculars from the sill, futilely looking through the gathering grayness for the worksite on the distant slope. When he turned, the hardness was back in his eyes. “You have a context now. What did you call it? A reactionary thread.”
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œSmells like class struggle to me. Capitalist egoism. Cultists. Acting to relieve their revisionist friends.”
    â€œThe 404th?” Shan said, horrified. “The 404th was not involved.”
    â€œBut you have convinced me. Class struggle has once again impeded socialist progress. They are on strike.”
    Shan’s heart lurched at the words. “Not a strike. It’s just a religious matter.”
    Tan sneered. “When prisoners refuse to work, it is a strike. The Public Security Bureau will have to be notified. It’s out of my hands.”
    Shan stared helplessly. A death in the mountains might be overlooked by the Ministry. But never a strike at a labor camp. Suddenly the stakes were far higher.
    â€œYou will compile a new file,” Tan explained. ‘Tell me about class struggle.