These events were the second starting point for her relationship with China. A large part of her life was embedded in the period between being a Rebel who invoked Mao Zedong to proclaim absurdly that the revolution had already begun among Swedish students in 1968 and the image of the young man standing in front of the tank in 1989. In just over twenty years she had developed from a young and idealistic student to a mother of four children and a district judge. The concept of China had always been a part of her. First as a dream, then as something she realised she didn’t really understand at all, as it was so big and full of contradictions. She discovered that her children had a very different idea of China. They associated it with enormous future possibilities, just as the dream of America had characterised her own generation and that of her parents. To her surprise, David had recently told her that when he had children he would try to hire a Chinese nanny so that they could learn the language from the very start.
She wandered around Tiananmen Square, watching people take photographs and the police who were a constant presence. In the background was the building where, in 1949, Mao had proclaimed the birth of the Republic. When she started to feel cold, she walked the long way back to her hotel. Karin had promised to skip the formal lunches and eat with her instead.
There was a restaurant on the top floor of the skyscraper in which they were staying. They were given a window table with views over the vast city. Birgitta told her about her long walk to the enormous square and her reflections on their youth.
They ate several small Chinese dishes and finished off the meal with tea. Birgitta produced the brochure with the handwritten Chinese characters Karin had deciphered as the name of the hospital Longfu.
‘I intend to devote my afternoon to visiting that hospital,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘It’s always a good idea to have something specific to do when you’re wandering around in a city you don’t know. Anything at all would do. If you don’t have a plan, your feet get tired. I don’t have anybody to visit, and nothing in particular that I want to see. But who knows, I might find a sign with these characters on it. I can come back here and tell you that you were right.’
They parted outside the lifts. Karin needed to hurry back to her conference. Birgitta went to their room on the nineteenth floor and lay down on the bed to rest.
She had started to sense it during her morning walk through the streets — a feeling of listlessness that she couldn’t quite pin down. Surrounded by people, or alone in this anonymous hotel in the gigantic city, she felt her identity starting to fade away. Who would miss her if she got lost? Who would even notice that she existed?
She had had a similar experience previously, when she was very young. Suddenly ceasing to exist, losing her grip on her identity.
She felt impatient and got up, then stood by the window. A long way down below was the city, all the people, each one with his or her dreams that Birgitta knew nothing about.
She gathered the clothes that were scattered around the room and locked the door behind her. All she was doing was whipping up feelings of unrest that were becoming increasingly difficult to handle. She needed to move about, get to know the city. Karin had promised to take her to a performance of the Peking Opera that evening.
According to the map, Longfu was quite a trek. But she had plenty of time. She walked along the straight and apparently endless streets until she finally came to the hospital, after having passed a large art gallery.
Longfu consisted of two buildings. She counted seven storeys, all in white and grey. The windows on the ground floor were barred. The blinds were closed, and old flowerboxes filled with withered leaves stood on the window ledges. The trees outside the hospital were bare; the brown, parched lawns were covered in dog dirt. Her first impression was that Longfu looked more like a prison than a hospital. She entered the grounds. An ambulance drove past, then another. Next to the main entrance was a notice in Chinese. She compared it with what was written in the brochure — she had come to the right place. A doctor in a white coat was standing outside the entrance, smoking and talking loudly into a mobile phone.
She went back out onto the street and wandered around the big residential area. Wherever she looked old men were sitting on the pavements playing board games.
It was when she came to the corner of the extensive hospital grounds that it dawned on her what she had seen without thinking about it. On the other side of the street was a new skyscraper. She took the Chinese brochure out of her pocket. There was the building. There was no doubt about it. On the very top floor was a terrace, the likes of which she had never seen before. It projected from the side of the building like the forecastle of a ship. The facade of the skyscraper was covered in dark-tinted glass panels. Armed guards stood outside the high entrance. Presumably the building contained offices rather than residences. She stood on the lee side of a tree where she was partly protected from the freezing cold wind. Some men came out of the tall doors, which seemed to be made of copper, and stepped into waiting black cars. A tempting thought struck her. She checked that she still had the photograph of Wang Min Hao in her pocket. If he was somehow connected with this building, perhaps one of the guards might recognise him. But what would she say if they nodded and said he was indeed in there?
She couldn’t make up her mind what to do. Before she showed anybody the photograph, she must think up a reason for wanting to see him. Obviously, she couldn’t mention the murders in Hesjövallen. But whatever she said would need to be plausible.
A young man stopped by her side. He said something that she couldn’t make out. Then she realised that he was speaking English to her.
‘Are you lost? Can I help you?’
‘I’m just looking at that handsome building over there. Do you know who owns it?’
He shook his head in surprise.
‘I study to be vet. I know nothing of tall buildings. Can I help you? I try to teach me speak better English.’
‘Your English is very good.’ She pointed up at the projecting terrace. ‘I wonder who lives there?’
‘Somebody who is very rich.’
‘Can you help me?’ she said. She took out the photograph of Wang Min Hao. ‘Can you go over to the guards and ask them if they know this man? If they ask why you want to know, just say somebody asked you to give him a message.’
‘What message?’
‘Tell them you’ll fetch it. Come back here. I shall wait by the hospital entrance.’
‘Why not ask them yourself?’ he said.
‘I’m too shy. I don’t think a Western woman on her own should ask about a Chinese man.’
‘Do you know him?’
‘Yes.’
She tried to look as casual as possible, but was beginning to regret her ploy. However, he took the photograph and was about to leave.
‘One more thing,’ she said. ‘Ask them who lives up there, on the top floor. It looks like an apartment with a big terrace.’
‘My name is Huo,’ he said. ‘I will ask.’
‘My name’s Birgitta. Just pretend to be interested.’
‘Where you from? USA?’
‘Sweden. Ruidian, I think it’s called in Chinese.’
‘I do not know where that is.’
‘It’s almost impossible to explain.’
As he started to cross the road, she turned and hurried back to the hospital entrance.
An old man on crutches came slowly out of the open entrance door. She suddenly had the feeling that she was exposing herself to danger. She calmed herself down by noting that the street was full of people. A man who had killed a lot of people in the north of Sweden might get away with it. But not someone who murdered a Western tourist in a busy street. In broad daylight. China couldn’t afford that.