Red Skies (The Tales of the Scavenger's Daughters) (12 page)

“No, not if you want to see the real thing. I could always take you down to the ones set up for foreigners to tour and make you pay a bundle. But you wouldn’t be seeing anything authentic. This one, I can promise you, leads to the real deal. But we have to go through some rough spots to get there.”

She felt bad that she hadn’t told him to wear something to keep his feet dry. But when she’d called him, she was already embarrassed to be asking for work, even though he’d offered to begin with. His attire hadn’t crossed her mind when he said he wanted to see the old tunnels beneath Beijing. Most of the accesses had been closed up over the years, in addition to a huge chunk being demolished to make way for subway routes. She’d had to make a lot of calls, but finally she’d gained information on where to go in to find an unbarred entrance. Ironically, this tunnel started in a small and tightly packed children’s clothing shop, and they’d moved several racks of winter coats to get to the door. The entrance was one of those city secrets—and another source of income for the old couple who owned the shop.

“I want to see the oldest part of this you can show me,” Max replied and splashed behind her. “My daughter did a school report on these tunnels and how Mao ordered the tangle of corridors and rooms to be built for a place of protection from the Cold War. It just boggles the mind to think of the money and manpower this endeavor took.”

That reminded Mari. A few of her precious bills had slid into another hand to get permission to go through the shop and the hidden closet to this specific tunnel, so Mari hoped the trek was worth it and Max would pay her well. She’d been too embarrassed on the phone to ask him what fee he would give her, but he’d been generous before, so she just had to hope he would be again, which meant she needed to give him his money’s worth. It also meant she was glad she’d paid attention to her mama’s history lessons around the table each night.

“
Dui
, they started it in 1969 and dug for almost a decade, making it big enough to hold thousands of evacuees. Back then, rooms were sectioned off and outfitted to be hospitals, school rooms, and even a few theaters.” She gave a small snort. “Old Mao loved to keep up culturally.”

Mari led him down a side tunnel, then up a small concrete stairway to a large door left ajar. She pushed it open and stepped aside, giving Max a look. It was dim but a bit of light from the larger tunnel filtered in, illuminating the room enough to see. Max snapped more photos.

“Most of the lights went out when the tunnels flooded.”

“It looks like this was meant to be some sort of laboratory,” he said, pointing at a few discarded overturned stools and the remains of long slabs of countertops against the wall.

“See the mold?” she asked, knowing he couldn’t miss it. It layered everything in the room, making it appear as if cottony greenish fuzz covered every surface.

Max whistled and stepped back. “Whoa. We shouldn’t get too close. I’ve never seen mold that big or ugly.”

“Actually, part of the plan for sustaining life down here was to cultivate fungus for the people to live off of, but you’re right. I can’t afford to get sick either.” She thought of Bolin, and who would be there to care for him, if not her? If they were both down and out, they’d be in more trouble than she could shake a stick at.

She backed up and wound the string back around the ball as they retreated to the main tunnel, then took another smaller one to the left. The light got dimmer the farther they traveled, but they could still see well enough. Mari pointed out a few dangling electrical wires, urging Max to avoid touching them. They passed a large room that appeared to be a bathroom, soiled muck-filled stalls cased with stained porcelain tiles. A few crates of tattered and dirty towels told Mari the room might have been used more recently than she had first believed.

“Fascinating,” Max said as the shutter on his camera flipped rapidly.

Mari nodded in agreement. “Years ago—before the Olympics came to China—you could get a tour down some of the older tunnels by guides dressed like soldiers. The tours took you by old busts of Mao and other relics from the Cultural Revolution days.”

Max followed close behind her, putting his hand on her shoulder to steady her once when she stepped in a deeper part of the floor and almost lost her balance.

“I can’t imagine living down here for months with no fresh food or water—no natural light,” he said.

“There would’ve been water. According to reports, almost a hundred wells were dug. And surely you know the Chinese people are made from strong stuff. They’ve been through and survived things that Americans can’t even imagine. Even my father was put through abuse and terror during the revolution. See there?” She pointed at some characters scrawled on the wall. “It says, ‘dig deep and don’t pass enemy secrets’.”

Max took a few photos of the sign but was silent. Mari led him deeper, and they passed other doors, closed off and bolted. A few open tunnels showed what appeared to be deeper water, urging them to continue on until finally she turned him around and headed back to where they’d began.

As they traveled closer to the surface, they passed a lot of discarded items. Mari saw old traffic signs, rusted bicycles, and even dead potted trees she was sure once dotted the streets during the Olympics.

Max finally broke the heavy silence. “You said your father experienced the Cultural Revolution?”

Mari nodded, forgetting for a moment that her baba’s past wasn’t something he discussed. He still harbored many scars from the period of time that cost him his dignity and even his family.

“How old was he when it all started?”

Mari could hear the curiosity in his voice and was sad she couldn’t fill in every detail. But some things were kept under their own family roof. “He was sixteen when the revolution started, but he was a few years older when Mao called people of every age and size to begin digging. He wasn’t anywhere near Beijing, but the story spread far and wide. It’s told that the people used anything they could find to dig—shovels, garden tools, and even pieces of wood torn from the city wall.”

“Everyone started at the same tunnel?”

Mari laughed. “No! They dug all over the place! Even in many courtyards in the hutongs, too. But mostly the biggest courtyards. In some of the tunnels, you can hear the families overhead having dinner, aware but not caring their homes sit over their country’s buried history in deep, dark tunnels.”

“Fascinating,” Max whispered behind her. “I’ll bet your father is full of stories.”

She finally got to the beginning of their string and untied it from the banister, then tucked the ball into her pocket. She led him up the stairs to the wooden door, then knocked for the shop owners to come open it.

When the door opened, she was startled to find the couple cowering behind a policeman, and he wore a thunderous look on his face. He gestured for them to come out.

“What’s this?” Max whispered behind her.

“Shh, let me handle it,” she said. She led the way out into the light, following the official to the street outside. He turned and pointed at the curb, telling them to sit down. Mari pulled Max along with her, doing as he said.

Max’s long legs looked ridiculously uncomfortable as he crouched on the curb. But Mari put her finger to her lip again, warning him to be quiet. The official paced in front of them, talking on a cell phone. Mari couldn’t understand his dialect and only picked up a few words, but she definitely caught on that he was discussing a foreigner being in the tunnels. Finally, he shoved the phone in his pocket and glared down at them.

Switching into the official language of Beijing, he asked to see their identification.

“Do you have your passport?” she asked Max.

He shook his head. “I keep it in the safe in my apartment. But I have my US driver’s license.” He leaned back and pulled a clip of money and cards from his pocket, then extracted a card with his photo on it and handed it to the policeman. Mari also handed over her identification.

The official looked at it, then waved Max’s driver’s license around and began shouting at her. He ranted for five minutes or so about foreigners not being allowed in the tunnels any longer. Then he pointed at Max’s camera and demanded the photo card.

Mari sighed. Max wasn’t going to like it. “He wants your memory card from your camera.”

Max looked at her and shook his head. “Hell no. Tell him I won’t publish the photos, but I’m keeping my card. I have other stuff on there I need.”

Mari tried negotiating with the officer, emphasizing that Max was just a tourist, that no photos would be put online. But the officer was adamant and refused to budge. Finally he gave her the ultimatum, then crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

“He says you can give him the card, or we can both go to the precinct office to talk to his commanding officer.”

Max hesitated, then threw his hands up and cursed. “Fine. I don’t want to make trouble for you, Mari, so I’ll give this sucker what he wants. But I’m not happy about it.”

He flipped the camera over and hit a button to release the card, then pulled it out and gave it to her. Mari handed it up to the officer. He slid it into his shirt pocket, then pointed his finger at them one more time, and walked away.

Mari turned to Max. “And that, Sir Max, ends your short tour of Beijing’s Underground City.”