Page 6 of Last Violent Call
“Something doesn’t seem right,” Juliette muttered to Roma.
His arm, already over her shoulder, tightened around her. “Hear anything?”
“Not yet.” They exchanged a glance. Silently, with only a nod passed between them, they agreed to be wary.
The address that Yulun had provided was deep in the township, number 280 on Liyi Street. They had already found Liyi Street—which was actually a long, squiggly pathway rather than a street per se—but they were only passing number 34. Juliette observed the mailboxes as they walked, the little green containers propped up on the exterior walls. Each door was closed firmly. Each shop front had pulled their gate down, shuttered and padlocked.
She didn’t like this one bit. As quiet as Zhouzhuang was, the sense of solitude she treasured there came from its unhurried deliberateness: one boat bobbing down the canal, one tree overgrowing for years without pruning.
Yulun’s township, on the other hand, felt haunted. It was an unnatural quiet instead of a peaceful quiet, as if every chattering neighbor had turned their backs on one another.
Somewhere around number 90, Juliette stopped to glance upward.A teahouse sat to her left, because if there was one thing that rural townships could be entrusted to have in abundance, it was teahouses. Its second level had an open structure, a balcony protruding from its main building to offer patrons their choice of seating in fresh air. A flash of movement receded from the balcony. All the tables were empty, but Juliette was pretty sure the owner was watching the street from above, hurrying back into the shadows as soon as Juliette looked.
“Anyone there?” she called up.
No response.
Roma pulled her hand to continue along Liyi Street. Another clap of low thunder rumbled from afar.
They passed bicycles chained outside residences, shopping baskets that had been stacked neatly on front stoops, discarded bags of roasted chestnut shells. At number 200, Juliette crouched beside a large ceramic pot, where a plant that resembled a miniature tree was growing. She pressed her finger to the soil. It was damp.
It wasn’t that this township had cleared out. There were certainly people here, or at least someone who continued watering their plants out front.
“I see someone,” Roma said suddenly.
Juliette immediately pulled her attention away from the plant. Some distance ahead, with the pathway curving downhill, a man stood in front of one of the doors, sifting through envelopes in his hand—the postman, gauging by his uniform and the bulging bag hanging from his shoulder.
“Let’s go ask him where everyone is,” Juliette suggested, already hurrying forward. Under usual circumstances, people who lived in these parts had no filter. They would tell state secrets if asked nicely enough.
She slowed her pace as she got nearer, feigning nonchalance. Close on her tail, Roma put his hands in his pockets, mimicking her casual air. The postman in front of number 213 didn’t look familiar, so his workterritory probably didn’t extend over to Zhouzhuang. Still, Juliette greeted him as if he were an old friend, and the postman turned to her happily, tipping his hat.
She took the opportunity to stop.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, “but do you usually deliver around here?”
“I absolutely do,” the postman replied. A tag on his uniform gave his surname as Liao. Under his cap, his hair was entirely white. He seemed to give Juliette and Roma a closer appraisal before asking: “The two of you come in from the city?”
“No,” Roma answered immediately. “Only from Zhouzhuang. We’re visiting family.”
“We think they might have gone elsewhere for the week, because no one was home when we knocked,” Juliette added.
“It’s as empty as the new year, isn’t it?” Mr. Liao agreed.
Terribly so. Juliette might have been inclined to believe a holiday had turned the whole place hush, if only it weren’t months away from the new year. Besides, that would usually clear out the cities and larger towns where civilians immigrated to work, not the smaller townships. The new year made these parts louder and livelier than ever, if anything, because everyone in the city came home to their rural origins.
“Rather strange,” Juliette commented. “What’s the cause?”
Mr. Liao immediately looked over his shoulder. He scanned their premises thoroughly before turning back.
“I don’t live here, so I wasn’t certain either until I heard from Mrs. Chang on Tianneng Street. Lots of foreign men lurking around the area. They claim to be searching for someone and want to make no trouble, but anyone who runs into them is questioned aggressively.” The postman sifted through his envelopes as he spoke, trying to find what he was delivering next. “Mrs. Chang was followed all the way home. Said they banged on her door for half an hour when she couldn’t give ananswer.”
Juliette grimaced. At her side, Roma looked uneasy as well. Yulun had mentioned his fiancée being threatened. He also said she had fled from Vladivostok, which was on the easternmost coast of the Soviet Union. This could be the threat Yulun was talking about.
“When you say foreign men…,” Juliette clarified anyway. “Western foreign or Russian foreign?”
Mr. Liao shrugged. “Could be Russian. Apparently they speak bendì huà fine, so that’s my guess.”
“I suppose we ought to clear out soon too.” Roma nudged her with his elbow. Juliette nudged him back. “Thank you.”
