Death of a Red Heroine icc-1

by Qiu Xiaolong

  “What a generous tip! Put it on the nightstand. Let’s go to the bathroom.”

  “No.” He was still trying to draw a line somewhere. “I’ll take the shower by myself.”

  “As you please,” she said casually. “You’re so different.”

  She scrambled down, knelt at his feet, and began to unlace his shoes.

  “No,” he protested again in embarrassment.

  “You have to take your shoes off-that’s only civil.”

  Before he could say or do anything, she reached out to unbutton his shirt. Feeling the heat of her breath on his shoulder, he took a step back. She then took a bathrobe from behind the door and threw it to him. He hurried into the bathroom, still wearing his clothes, the robe draped over his shoulder, thinking to himself that he must resemble some character in a movie.

  The bathroom was no larger than the one at the Writers’ Home; it contained an oval tiled tub with a rotatable shower head and a large towel on a stainless-steel rack. A mirror hung over a cracked blue porcelain sink. A worn rug was spread out in front of it. There was no lack of hot water, though.

  He had agreed to her proposal because he needed time to think, but he knew he could not stay in the bathroom too long. With a few ideas, half-formed in the vapor of shower, he emerged wearing her scruffy flannel bathrobe, the frayed belt brushing against his bare legs.

  She was waiting, sitting cross-legged on the bed, painting her toenails a bright vermilion. The window filtered the light onto the plain white coverlet. Then she thrust her legs out in front of her, flexed her toes luxuriantly, lifted one foot above the other, waggled the toes at him, and giggled.

  “Ah,” she said, “much better.”

  There was a small bikini-girl poster above the sofa, and underneath it was a line in bold characters: TIME IS MONEY! a new political slogan he had seen in Guangzhou.

  “Take off your robe,” she said, putting a finishing touch on her toenails with a steady hand. She then capped the polish bottle tightly, and put it aside on the nightstand. To his surprise, she lay down on her back, and waved her feet in the air as if doing synchronized swimming. Her red toenails arced in the air.

  “Must I?”

  “Must I help you?”

  He was flabbergasted as she jumped up and helped him off with the bathrobe. Luckily, he had put his shorts back on. She guided him to the bed where he lay down, and then she turned him over. Lying on his stomach, he was very nervous as he became aware that she, too, had gotten onto the bed.

  She put both her hands on a stainless-steel bar suspended from the ceiling. With the bar bearing the weight of her body like a gymnast, she started massaging his back with her toes.

  It was a bizarre experience. The first two or three minutes, he was perspiring with trepidation. Any second, she could stamp down violently on his bare back, a complex of vertebrae, discs, ligaments, and nerves. But soon he started to have mixed feelings. Her bare toes and heels pressing upon him elicited sensations of ice and fire all over him. His pleasure was actually heightened by his trepidation.

  She must have had some professional training. Her toes concentrated on his trouble spots, working kinks out of his back, and reducing the tension in his body. He didn’t feel so bad anymore. Not about the case, nor the budget, nor the politics involved.

  “You make my feet warm.” She was finally finished, her face flushed with exertion, her brow beaded with sweat.

  “Marvelous,” he said.

  “It’s good exercise for me, too.”

  “It’s the first time for me.”

  “I know,” she said, her hand lightly touching the knot of her robe. “What about the full service now?”

  That was something he could not do. A line he must not cross. This was the time to flash his I.D. Chief Inspector Chen should now take her to the police bureau and charge her with prostitution. But what about Professor Xie? He had given her his promise. News of what had become of Xie Rong would be too terrible a blow to the old intellectual who had already suffered a lot. The arrest would also incriminate his new friend Ouyang. Also, once she was taken into custody here, he was not sure if his local colleagues would help with his investigation. He was not sure that he could work out a deal for Xie in exchange for her information about Wu Xiaoming.

  “You are sweating all over.” He sounded more like a client so that she would not grow suspicious. “Take a good shower yourself. I’ll stay here and close my eyes for five minutes.”

  “Yes, there is nothing like taking a short nap,” she said. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

  The moment she disappeared, he took a mini-recorder out of his briefcase and put it under the pillow. He put his shirt back on and buttoned several buttons before he closed his eyes for just a minute. In spite of himself, he dozed off. When he was awakened by the slamming of the bathroom door, it took him a few seconds to realize where he was.

  She stepped out of the bathroom, naked except for a large bath towel draped around her shoulders. Fine-limbed and thin, she looked more like a high-school girl waiting for a regular checkup-except for a broad patch of black hair spreading over the lower part of her abdomen. She examined herself in the mirror, the water beading on her skin under the fluorescent light, which turned her face opalescent. Then she caught him gazing at her in the mirror. Startled, she pulled the towel down to cover her hips, but then she shook her wet hair, and gave him a long, steady look.

  She started slowly toward the bed. He smelled the soap on her skin, still wet from the shower. Clean, fresh. Her body glowed.

  “You are special,” she said.

  He was so acutely aware of her, it took all his willpower to stop her from touching him.

  “Let’s talk,” he said.

  “No,” she touched a finger to his mouth, “you don’t have to say anything.”

  “We don’t know each other yet.”

  “Haven’t we talked enough?” she said. “Unless you want to talk about money.”

  “Well-”

  “Mr. Ouyang has paid for a whole day’s service, and you’ve given me a handsome tip,” she said. “So you can have the whole day, and the night, too. You don’t have to worry about it. If you want to buy me a dinner afterward-”

  “No.” He sat up resolutely. It was not just all the years studying the People’s Police Morals Manual that had made Chen immune to such provocation. “I want to talk to you about something else.”

  “What?”

  “I’m a cop.” He produced his official I.D. “I’m here to ask you some questions.”

  “You S.O. B!” She put one hand over her breasts and the other over her pubic hair.

  It struck him as an absurd attempt at modesty, as if his being a cop had suddenly changed her identity, too.

  “You won’t get into trouble if you cooperate with me,” he said. “I give you my word.”

  “Then why didn’t you say so from start?”

  “When I came to you, I was not prepared to see you like this. Ouyang had just told me that you were the one I’ve been looking for. I was surprised, and you did not give me a chance to say anything.” He handed the bathrobe over to her. “Put it on before you get cold.”

  “I don’t trust you,” she said, taking the bathrobe. “Why should I cooperate with you?”

  “I can have you arrested,” he said, taking out the recorder from under the pillow. “Once you are put in jail, you’ll have to talk anyway, but that’s not what I want to do.”

  “What a treacherous sneak!”

  “I’m a police officer.”

  “So why don’t you go ahead and put me there?”

  “Ouyang is my friend. Besides-”

  “Why did you lie to Ouyang about being a poet?”

  “No, I didn’t. I am a poet.”

  It took him some time to ferret out his Writers’ Association membership card from his wallet.

  “Then what the hell do you want with me?”

  “Just a few questions.”


  “You are so horrible.” She broke down, sobbing with fear and humiliation. “When I was ready-”

  He had attained authority over her with his surprise revelation of his official identity. But they were still involved in a highly dramatic scene. He, in his half-buttoned shirt and underpants; she, in a bathrobe. The knowledge of her nakedness under the robe, soft and bulging in the right places, was disturbing. He poured her a cup of tea to calm them both.

  Sipping at the tea, her painted toes like fallen petals on the carpet, she regained some control.

  The touch of her toes was still fresh in his memory.

  “Let’s go to a restaurant,” he suggested. “I’m hungry.”

  “What?”

  “You mentioned dinner afterwards.”

  “Why? More of your dirty tricks?”

  “No. I Just want to buy you a meal. What about the White Swan Hotel? It is quiet there, Ouyang’s told me. As for your time-”

  “Don’t worry about that. Ouyang has paid for the whole day.”

  “So the least I can do is pay for the lunch.”

  He had saved enough to be able to afford this gesture, thanks to Ouyang, who had bought him so many morning teas and dinners.

  “Why can’t we stay here?”

  “Listen, I’m a cop,” he said, “but I’m a man too. If I stay here with you, just the two of us, I won’t be able to help feeling distracted.”

  “So I’m not repulsive to you?”

  “We need to have a good talk.”

  “Fine, if that’s what you want.”

  She got up and went into the bathroom without closing the door. Her robe fell to the floor in a heap around her feet, her bare breasts and hips were vivid in the mirror. He turned to the window.

  When she came back, she had put on a white summer dress and slung a small purse over her shoulder. She did not wear a bra, so her nipples were almost imprinted on the dress. He considered asking her to put on something else, but he held the door open for her.

  On the street, he noticed she kept looking back over her shoulder, as if anxious to make sure there was no one following them. There was actually a man walking behind them at a distance, but Chief Inspector Chen did not see why they would be followed.

  The White Swan Hotel was a new building on the southeastern coast of Shamian Island. It was an immense white tower, like a transplant from Hong Kong across the water. There was a dazzling waterfall in the lobby. Several Western-style restaurants were located in the eastern wing of the building, and the Chinese restaurant was tucked behind the waterfall. There was a slender hostess standing at its entrance, smiling.

  He was not going to indulge himself, but he felt obliged to spend some money. He did not like the idea of having Ouyang pay for everything, even for Xie Rong’s “service.” And he had to admit the so-called foot massage had been an exciting experience,.

  They selected a private room-the Sampan Chamber. It proved to be a cozy room shaped like the cabin of a sampan on the Pearl River and decorated like one, too. The table and chairs were made of cedar-rough, unpolished, like those he’d seen in early black-and-white movies. The soft scarlet carpet on the floor was the only difference, but it was a necessary one, to give the customer a feeling of luxury. They could talk here without fear of being overheard.

  A young waitress came in. She was wearing an indigo blue homespun top and a miniskirt, barefoot, with silver bangles jingling around her ankles, exactly like a fishing girl in the southern provinces-except for the menu in her hand.

  He turned the menu over to Xie. She surprised him by choosing several inexpensive dishes, and shaking her head at one of the chef’s specials-fish-fragrance-sauced pigeon-recommended by the waitress.

  “No, it’s too expensive.”

  “Anything to drink?”

  “Just a cup of water for me.”

  “Well, we’ll have two iced beers then.”

  “You shouldn’t. They charge three or four times more than they should for drinks,” she added after the waitress had left, almost like a virtuous wife who wanted to save every penny. Good. Chief Inspector Chen was starting to worry about the expense.

  “I thought you’d take me to the police station,” she said.

  “Why should I?”

  “Maybe you will.” She reached into the leather handbag, took out a cigarette, but did not light it immediately. “Sooner or later.”

  “No, whatever you do, it’s not my business-not here. But I don’t think it a good idea for you to stay… in that profession.”

  “You are being genteel,” she said. “I do not like what you do either, but it is not so bad that I won’t have lunch with you.”

  Smiling, she raised her glass toward him, relaxing as more dishes arrived on the table. The restaurant was known among Guangdong people for its excellent cooking.

  At one point, their chopsticks crossed each other in an attempt to get hold of a large scallop on a bed of green snow beans.

  “Please, you have it,” she said.

  “It’s yours,” he said, “after all your work.”

  The scallop looked like her big toe. White, soft, round.

  She ate with relish, finishing four pancakes rolled up with roast duck and green onion, a bowl of shrimp dumplings, and almost the entire serving of beef tripe. He himself did not eat much but he put morsels in her saucer and sipped at his cup of Qingdao beer.

  “Do you always eat this little?” she asked.

  “I’m not hungry,” he said, afraid there would not be enough food for both of them.

  “You are so romantic,“ she said.

  “Really?” That was a strange compliment, he thought, to a police officer.

  There was something touching his knee under the table. As it slowly traveled up, he knew it was her bare foot. She had removed her shoes. He clasped her leg where it was thinnest, and his hand became an ankle bracelet, slipping down. The shape of her smallest toe, bending with the adjoining ones, was distracting him in a way beyond his comprehension. Gently, he put her foot down.

  Confucius said, “To eat and to mate is human nature.”

  “What about a special dessert?” he asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  They shared segments of a Mandarin orange and sipped at the jasmine tea-compliments of the restaurant.

  “Now I’m full,” she said. “You can start your questioning. But tell me first, how did you find me here?”

  “Well, I had met your mother. She has no idea what you’re doing in Guangzhou. She’s so worried.”

  “She’s always worried-all her life-about one thing or another.”

  “She’s disappointed, I believe, that you did not take her path.”

  “Her path, indeed?” she said. “Dear Comrade Chief Inspector, how can you go about investigating people without seeing the change in society? Who’s interested in literature anymore?”

  “I, for one. In fact, I’ve read a collection of her essays.”

  “I do not mean you. You’re so different, as Old Ouyang said.”

  “Another of your bogus compliments?”

  “No, I think so, too,” she said. “As for my mother, I love her. Her life’s not been easy. She got her Ph. D. in the United States. What happened to her when she came back in the early fifties? She was declared to be a rightist, and then a counterrevolutionary in the sixties. Not until after the Cultural Revolution was she allowed to teach again.”

  “But she is teaching at a prestigious university.”

  “Well, as a full professor at Fudan University, how much can she earn in a month? Less than what I made as a tourist guide for a week.”

  “Money is not everything. But for a joke of fate, I might have studied comparative literature.”

  “Thank heaven for that joke-whatever it was.”

  “Life can be unfair to people-especially so for your mother’s generation-but we have reasons to believe that things won’t be so bad in the future.”

  “For you, m
aybe not, Comrade Chief Inspector. And thank you for your political lecture, too,” she said. “I think it’s time that you start asking your questions.”

  “Well, some may be difficult. But whatever you say will be kept confidential, I give you my word.”

  “I’ll tell you whatever I know-after such a meal as you’ve just given me.”

  “You had worked as a tourist guide before coming to Guangzhou.”

  “Yes, I quit that job a couple of months ago.”

  “On one of the Yellow Mountain trips, you met a man named Wu Xiaoming?”

  “Wu Xiaoming? Oh yes, I remember him.”

  “He had a girlfriend with him during the trip, hadn’t he?”

  “Yes,” she said, “but at first I did not know it.”

  “When did you come to know this?”

  “The second or the third day of the trip. But why, Comrade Chief Inspector? What makes me worth your trip to Guangzhou?”

  “She was murdered last month.”

  “What?”

  He produced a picture out of his briefcase. She took it over, and her fingers holding the picture trembled.

  “That’s her.”

  “She was Guan Hongying, a national model worker, and Wu Xiaoming’s our suspect. So what you know about the two of them may be very important.”

  “Before I say anything,” she said, looking into the glass in her hand, and then up at him, “I want you to answer a question.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Are you aware of his family background?”

  “Of course, I’m aware of that.”

  “Then why do you want to pursue the investigation?”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Come on, there are so many cops in China. You’re not the only one. Why are you so dedicated?”

  “I’m… a romantic cop, as you have said. I believe in justice. Poetic justice if you want to call it that.”

  “You think you can bring him down.”

  “We have a good chance. That’s why I need your cooperation.”

  “Oh,” she said softly, “you really are special. No wonder Old Ouyang likes you so much. Now that you have answered my questions, I will answer yours.”

  “What was your first impression of them?”

  “I cannot remember exactly, but one of the first things I noticed about them was their assumed names.”