‘His spirit no doubt hovers over the whole conference,’ said Birgitta. ‘Off you go now; work hard and think clever thoughts.’
Karin left, full of energy. Instead of giving in to envy, Birgitta leaped out of bed, did a few half-hearted press-ups, and prepared to spend a day in Beijing without any conspiracies or worried glances over her shoulder. She devoted the morning to exploring the mysterious labyrinth that made up the Forbidden City. Over the middle gate in the vividly pink-coloured wall, once used exclusively by emperors, hung a large portrait of Mao. Birgitta noticed that all the Chinese who passed through the red gates touched their gold mountings. She assumed it was some kind of superstition. Perhaps Karin could explain it.
She walked over the worn stones that paved the inner courtyard of the palace and recalled that when she had been a Red Rebel, she had read that the Forbidden City comprised 9,999 and a half rooms. As the Divine God had ten thousand rooms, naturally, the Divine Son could not have more. She doubted if that were true.
There were lots of visitors despite the cold wind. Most were Chinese, moving with reverence through the rooms to which their ancestors had been denied entrance for generations. What a gigantic revolution this was, Birgitta Roslin thought. When a people liberates itself, every individual acquires the right to dream his own dreams and has access to the forbidden rooms where oppression was created.
Every fifth person in the world is Chinese. When my family is gathered together, if we were the world, one of us would be Chinese. So we were right after all when we were young. Our Red revolutionary prophets, not least Moses, who was the most educated theoretically, reminded us over and over again that it was impossible to discuss the future without taking China into account.
Just as she was about to leave the Forbidden City, she discovered to her surprise a cafe from an American chain. The sign screeched at her from a red-brick wall. She watched to see how passing Chinese reacted. Some stopped and pointed, others even went inside, while most didn’t seem to take any notice of what Birgitta considered to be a disgraceful sacrilege. China had become a different kind of mystery since the first time she had tried to understand the Middle Kingdom. But that’s not right, she told herself. It must be possible to understand how there can be an American cafe in the Forbidden City given how the world moves on.
She had lunch at a little restaurant and was again surprised to see how expensive the bill was. Then she decided to try to find an English newspaper at the hotel and drink a cup of coffee in the bar in the huge reception area. She found a copy of the Guardian at the newspaper kiosk and sat down in a corner where an open fire was burning merrily. Some American tourists stood up and announced in very loud voices that they were now going to climb the Great Wall of China. She took an instant dislike to them.
When would she go to see the Wall? Perhaps Karin would have time on the last day before they had to fly home? How could one possibly visit China and not see the Wall that, according to modern legend, was one of the few human constructions that could be seen from space?
The Wall really is something I have to see, she thought. No doubt Karin has been there before. But she’ll have to do it for my sake.
A woman suddenly appeared in front of her table. She was about the same age as Birgitta, with sleeked-back hair. She smiled and gave the impression of great dignity. She addressed Birgitta Roslin in immaculate English.
‘Mrs Roslin?’
‘That’s me.’
‘Do you mind if I sit down and join you? I have an important errand.’
‘Please do.’
The woman was wearing a dark blue suit that must have been very expensive.
She sat down.
‘My name is Hong Qiu,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t dream of disturbing you if I didn’t have something very important to talk to you about.’
She gestured discreetly to a man hovering in the background. He came up to their table and placed upon it Birgitta’s bag, as if it were an exceedingly valuable gift, before bowing and withdrawing.
Birgitta looked at Hong Qiu in surprise.
‘The police found your bag,’ said Hong Qiu. ‘It is humiliating for us to accept that one of our guests has been exposed to an unfortunate incident, and so I was asked to return it to you.’
‘Are you a police officer?’
Hong Qiu continued to smile.
‘Certainly not. But I’m sometimes asked to perform certain services for our authorities. Is there anything missing?’
Birgitta opened her bag. Everything was still there apart from the money. To her surprise she also discovered that the box of matches she’d been unable to find was actually there in her bag.
‘The money is missing.’
‘We are confident of catching the criminals. They will be severely punished.’
‘But they won’t be condemned to death, I hope?’
There was an almost indiscernible reaction in Hong Qiu’s face, but Birgitta noticed it.
‘Our laws are strict. If they have committed serious crimes before, it’s possible that they might receive the death sentence. But if they show signs of having reformed, they may get away with prison.’
‘But what happens if they don’t express any regret?’
The response was evasive. ‘Our laws are clear and unambiguous. But nothing is certain. We make judgements according to the particulars of a case. Punishment doled out in accordance with routines can never be justified.’
‘I work in the law — I’m a judge. Only an extremely primitive legal system can ever resort to capital punishment, which seldom if ever has a preventative effect.’
Birgitta Roslin regretted the meddlesome tone of her comments. Hong Qiu listened attentively, but her smile had disappeared. A waitress approached them, but Hong Qiu dismissed her with a shake of the head. Birgitta Roslin had the distinct impression that a pattern was being repeated. Hong Qiu didn’t react to the news that Birgitta was a judge — she knew that already.
In this country they know all there is to know about me, she thought. Or am I imagining it?
‘Naturally I’m pleased to have my bag back. But you must realise that I’m surprised by the way this has happened. You bring it to me, but you are not a police officer — I don’t know what or who you are. Have the people who stole my bag been arrested, or did I misunderstand what you said? Did somebody find it after the muggers had thrown it away?’
‘Nobody has been arrested, but the police have their suspicions. The bag was found not far from where it was stolen.’
Hong Qiu started to stand up. Birgitta Roslin stopped her.
‘Tell me who you are. An unknown woman suddenly appears from nowhere and returns my bag.’
‘I work on security matters. As I speak both English and French, I am sometimes asked to perform certain tasks.’
‘Security? So you are in fact a police officer. Despite what you said.’
Hong Qiu shook her head.
‘Security goes beyond police responsibility. It goes deeper, down to the very roots of society. I’m sure that’s true in your country as well.’
‘Who asked you to look me up and return my bag?’
‘A duty officer at Beijing’s central lost property office.’
‘Lost property? Who had handed in my bag?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How could he know the bag belonged to me? It doesn’t contain any identity card or anything with my name.’
‘I assume he was informed by the relevant police authorities investigating the case.’