Zhou opened one of the desk drawers and took out a pristine paperback copy of Jonathan Wace’s book. The image on the front was of a bursting bubble, with two hands making the heart shape around it.
‘Here,’ said Zhou. ‘Your own copy.’
‘Thank you so much!’ said Robin, feigning delight while wondering when on earth she was supposed to have time to read, in between the lectures, the work and the temple.
‘Read the chapter on materialist possession and egomotivity,’ Zhou instructed her. ‘Now…’
He extracted a second questionnaire, this one blank, and took a lacquered fountain pen out of his pocket.
‘I’m going to assess your fitness to fast – what we call purification.’
He took down Robin’s age, asked her to step onto scales, noted down her weight, then invited her to sit down again so he could take her blood pressure.
‘A little low,’ said Zhou, looking at the figures, ‘but it’s nearly lunchtime… nothing to worry about. I’m going to listen to your heart and lungs.’
While Zhou pressed the cold head of the stethoscope to her back, Robin could feel the tiny pebble she’d tucked inside her bra sticking into her.
‘Very good,’ said Zhou, putting the stethoscope away, sitting and making a note on the questionnaire before continuing his questions on pre-existing health conditions.
‘And where did you get that scar on your forearm?’ he asked.
Robin knew at once that the eight-inch scar, which was currently covered by the long sleeves of her sweatshirt, must have been reported by one of the women in the dormitory where she undressed at night.
‘I fell through a glass door,’ she said.
‘Really?’ said Zhou, for the first time showing some disbelief.
‘Yes,’ said Robin.
‘It wasn’t a suicide attempt?’
‘God, no,’ said Robin, with an incredulous laugh. ‘I tripped down some stairs and put my hand right through a glass panel in a door.’
‘Ah, I see… you were having regular sex with your fiancé?’
‘I – yes,’ said Robin.
‘Were you using birth control?’
‘Yes. The pill.’
‘But you’ve come off it?’
‘Yes, the instructions said—’
‘Good,’ said Zhou, still writing. ‘Synthetic hormones are exceptionally unhealthy. You should put nothing unnatural in your body, ever. The same goes for condoms, caps… all disrupt the flow of your qi. You understand qi?’
‘In our lecture, Taio said it’s a sort of life force?’
‘The vital energy, composed of Yin and Yang,’ said Zhou, nodding. ‘You have a slight imbalance already. Don’t worry,’ he said smoothly, still writing, ‘we’ll address it. Have you ever had an STD?’
‘No,’ lied Robin.
In fact, the rapist who’d ended her university career had given her chlamydia, for which she’d been given antibiotics.
‘Do you orgasm during sex?’
‘Yes,’ said Robin. She could feel a blush rising in her face.
‘Every time?’
‘Pretty much,’ said Robin.
‘Your typology test places you in the decant Fire-Earth, which is to say, Gift-Bearer-Warrior,’ went on Zhou, looking up at her. ‘That’s a very auspicious nature.’
Robin didn’t feel particularly flattered by this assessment, not least because she’d answered as the fictional Rowena, rather than herself. She also had a feeling ‘Gift-Bearer’ might be a synonym for financial target. However, she said with enthusiasm,
‘That’s so interesting.’
‘I devised the typology test myself,’ said Zhou, with a smile. ‘We find it very accurate.’
‘What type are you?’ asked Robin.
‘Healer-Mystic,’ said Zhou, evidently pleased to be asked, as had been Robin’s intention. ‘Each quintant corresponds to one of our prophets and one of the five Chinese elements. You may have noticed that we name our groups for the elements. However,’ said Zhou seriously, now sitting back in his chair, ‘you mustn’t think I subscribe to any one rigid tradition. I favour a synthesis of the best of world medicine. Ayurvedic practices have much to recommend them, but as you’ve seen, I don’t disdain the stethoscope or blood pressure gauge. However, I have no truck with Big Pharma. A global protection racket. Not a single cure to their names.’
Rather than challenging this statement, Robin settled for looking mildly confused.
‘True healing is only possible from the spirit,’ said Zhou, placing a hand on his chest. ‘There’s ample evidence of the fact, but of course, if the whole world subscribed to the UHC healing philosophy, those companies would lose billions in revenue.
‘Are your parents still together?’ he asked, with another swift change of subject.
‘Yes,’ said Robin.
‘You have siblings?’
‘Yes, a sister.’
‘Do they know you’re here?’
‘Yes,’ said Robin.
‘Are they supportive? Happy for you to explore your spiritual growth?’
‘Er – they’re a bit – I think,’ said Robin, with another little laugh, ‘they think I’m doing it because I’m depressed. Because of the wedding being cancelled. My sister thinks it’s a bit weird.’
‘And you, do you think it’s weird?’
‘Not at all,’ said Robin defiantly.
‘Good,’ said Zhou. ‘Your parents and sister currently regard you as their flesh object. It will take time to reorientate yourself to a healthier pattern of bonding.
‘Now,’ he said briskly, ‘you are fit to undergo a twenty-four-hour fast, but we need to address this qi imbalance. These tinctures,’ he said, getting to his feet, ‘are very effective. All natural. I mix them myself.’
He chose three small brown bottles from the shelf, poured Robin a glass of water, added two drops from each bottle, swilled the glass then handed it over to her. Wondering whether it was reckless to drink something of which she didn’t know the ingredients, though reassured by the tiny quantities, Robin finished it all.
‘Good,’ said Zhou, smiling down at her. ‘Now, if you have negative thoughts, you know what to do, yes? You have your chanting meditation and your joyful meditation.’
‘Yes,’ said Robin, smiling as she set the empty glass back on the desk.
‘All right then, you’re fit to fast,’ he said, in a tone that was a clear dismissal.
‘Thanks so much,’ said Robin, getting up. ‘Can I ask –’ she pointed at the timber cabins visible through the study window ‘– what are those? We didn’t see them on our tour.’
‘Retreat Rooms,’ said Zhou. ‘But they’re for use only by full church members.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Robin.
Zhou showed her to the door. Robin was unsurprised to find Jiang waiting for her in the corridor. She’d already learned that the only permissible reason to be left unattended was to visit the bathroom.
‘It’s lunchtime,’ said Jiang, as they walked back through the farmhouse.
‘Good,’ said Robin. ‘I’m fasting tomorrow, better build up my strength.’
‘Don’t say that,’ said Jiang severely. ‘You shouldn’t prepare for fasting, except spiritually.’
‘Sorry,’ said Robin, intentionally sounding cowed. ‘I didn’t mean – I’m still learning.’
When they stepped out into the courtyard they found it full of church members heading towards the dining hall. There was something of a crowd around the pool of the Drowned Prophet as people waited to ask for her blessing.
‘Actually,’ Robin said to Jiang, ‘I might just nip to the bathroom before lunch.’
She left before he could protest, heading into the women’s dormitory, which was deserted. Having used the bathroom, she hurried to her bed. To her surprise, a second object lay on her pillow beside her nightly journal: a very old, dog-eared copy of the same paperback she held in her hands. Opening it, she saw a flamboyant handwritten inscription inside.
To Danny, Martyr-Mystic,
my hope, my inspiration, my son.
With love always, Papa J
Robin remembered Danny Brockles’ insistence that she return the book to him, so she placed her own copy of The Answer on the bed and picked up his to take it to lunch. She then dropped to her knees, extracted the tiny pebble from the yard from her bra and placed it carefully beside three others, which she’d hidden between the bedframe and mattress. She’d have known it was Tuesday without this method of counting the passing days, but she also knew that if her fatigue and hunger worsened, checking the number of pebbles she’d collected might be her only recourse for keeping track of the passing days.
32
The superior man is on his guard against what is not yet in sight and on the alert for what is not yet within hearing…
The I Ching or Book of Changes
Clive Littlejohn returned to work on Wednesday. Strike texted him at nine to say he wanted a face-to-face talk at one o’clock at the office, once both had handed over their separate surveillance jobs to other subcontractors.
Unfortunately, this plan went awry. At ten past nine, shortly after Strike had taken up position outside the Frank brothers’ block of flats in Bexleyheath, Barclay called him.
‘Ye on the Franks?’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike.
‘Aye, well, I thought ye should know: it’s both o’ them,’ said Barclay. ‘Not jus’ the younger one. I’ve been looking at the pictures I took outside her house last night an’ it was the older one who was skulkin’ around there at midnight. They’re in it taegether. Pair o’ fuckin’ freaks.’
‘Shit,’ said Strike.
They’d just taken on another case of possible marital infidelity, so the news that they’d need double the manpower on the Franks was unwelcome.
‘You’re off today, right?’ said Strike.
‘Aye,’ said Barclay. ‘Dev’s on the new cheatin’ wife an’ Midge is tryin’ tae talk tae that sex worker you photographed talking tae Bigfoot.’
‘All right,’ said Strike, briefly considering but rejecting the idea of asking Barclay to forgo his day off, ‘thanks for letting me know. I’ll look at the rota, see how we can keep both under surveillance going forwards.’