The Chinese Alchemist by Lyn Hamilton Page B

the country if it has been reported stolen.”
    “I could probably get it out.”
    “They definitely don’t want stolen antiquities taken out of the country. If you got caught, they’d assume you were the one who stole it. Even if you legally purchased it at the auction, China probably doesn’t want you to take it out.”
    “That’s ridiculous. I mean, yes, the Chinese government is asking the U.S. to ban imports of Chinese antiques and antiquities over ninety-five years old. Hypocritical if you ask me.”
    “What’s hypocritical about wanting to protect your heritage for your own citizens?”
    “Protect your heritage? Surely you know that during the Cultural Revolution people were encouraged to destroy much of the country’s heritage—antiques, temples, tombs, you name it. It was state-sponsored hooliganism, if you ask me. Almost everything of value from an historical perspective was a target.”
    “That was then, this is now. Now they want to protect it.”
    “They have a funny way of doing it. You wait until tonight at the auction. You’ll see. There’ll be dozens of Chinese collectors paying large sums for the merchandise. The biggest market for Chinese antiquities is the Chinese themselves.”
    “So?”
    “So these bidders will by and large be private citizens, the new wealthy class, young and aggressive. These objects are not going to museums where they can be shared with the proletariat, I can assure you. They are going to people like Xie Jinghe, who, elegant gentleman though he may be, will be the only viewer, unless of course he lets some of his equally wealthy friends have a peek at his treasures every now and again. So why shouldn’t we, as North Americans, either individual collectors or dealers or museum curators, have the same access?”
    “What about—?”
    “Please don’t give me the argument about buyers and collectors encouraging looting. The Chinese government urges its citizens to get out there and collect Chinese art and antiquities. If anything is encouraging looting, that is it.”
    “Okay,” I said. “Let me put my feelings on this subject another way. If I found out you were trying to smuggle something out of the country, I would report you in a flash. Despite what you say, I believe the penalties here have become quite harsh for exporting something of real cultural significance, which this arguably is, particularly when it’s been stolen. The death penalty, isn’t it?”
    He paled. He should have, too, because people have in fact been executed for smuggling fossils out of China. “How do I know you won’t find it and not tell me?” he said, after he managed to compose himself.
    “You don’t. I’m just giving you my word that I will play fair here. Personally, I think I’m the one taking the greater risk.”
    He thought about it all for a minute. “Okay,” he said. “Deal. Let’s shake on it.”
    We shook, my bare hands to his surgical gloves. “Do you want some tea?” he said, gesturing toward a rather complicated bit of tea paraphernalia and a box of some kind of tea that I didn’t recognize. “I’ve brewed a pot. This one helps remove blockages of the qi.”
    Once again, it smelled like drain cleaner. I declined. “What is that thing?” I asked, pointing at a small cylindrically shaped machine of some kind that was humming away rather noisily.
    “It’s an air filter,” he said.
    “You travel with an air filter?” I asked incredulously.
    “I do,” he said. “Dual voltage, of course, with a set of international plugs so I can use it anywhere. The same goes for my tea kettle. You can’t count on a hotel to have them in the rooms, and anyway, who knows who’s used them and what they put in them.”
    “You travel with an air filter,” I repeated.
    “What’s your point?” he asked in a peevish tone.
    “No point, I guess.”
    “It’s flu season. Everyone is coming back from Asia with these horrible bronchial conditions.”
    “I see. I’ll