by Qiu Xiaolong
And she encountered no more curious glances than she would have in St. Louis. Nor did she meet with any accident except shoulder-bumping and elbow-pushing as she squeezed past a crowded department store. She had been disturbed by the accidents in the last two days, but perhaps she had been clumsy from jet lag. She was well rested that morning. Soon she came in view of the library. She gave small change to beggars on the steps as she would have done in St. Louis.
As she entered the Shanghai Library, an English-speaking librarian came over to help. She had two subjects, the Flying Axes and Chen. To her surprise, Catherine found practically nothing on triads in their literature. Perhaps writing about those criminal activities was forbidden in contemporary China.
She found several magazines containing Chen’s poems and translations. And a few translations of mysteries under Chen’s name, too. Some of them she had read in English. What fascinated her was the stereotyped “translator preface” for each of the books. It consisted of an introduction giving the author’s background, a brief analysis of the story, and an invariable conclusion using political clichés-due to the author’s ideological background, the decadent values of the Western capitalist society cannot but be reflected in the text, and Chinese readers should be alert against such influence…
Absurd, and hypocritical too, but such hypocrisy might have accounted for his rapid rise.
The librarian stepped into the reading room with a new magazine. “Here is a recent interview with Chen Cao.”
There was a color picture of him in a black suit with a conservative tie, looking like an academic. In the interview, using T. S. Eliot as an example, Chen claimed that poetry should be written without the pressure of having to be a poet. He mentioned Louis MacNeice, who had to earn a living at another job. Chen acknowledged their influence on his poetry and mentioned the title of a poem suffused with melancholy. She found “The Sunlight on the Garden,” read it, and made copies. The CIA’s purpose was political, but Chen’s essay might throw more light on her Chinese partner as a human being. Eliot and MacNeice, Chen used their stories to justify his own career. She returned the material to the librarian.
As she left the library, she saw Chen waiting in front of the restaurant. Less scholarly-looking than in the magazine picture, he wore a black blazer with khaki pants. He took several steps across the street, met her halfway at the safety island, and led her into the restaurant. There, a hostess ushered them into a private room on the second floor.
She examined the bilingual menu. After reading a few lines, she pushed it over to him. She understood each of the characters, but not their combination. The English translation, or rather the transliteration, did not help much.
A waiter carried over a long-billed brass kettle and poured a graceful arc of water into her cup. In addition to the green tea leaves, there were also tiny pieces of red and yellow herbs at the bottom of the cup.
“Eight Treasure Tea,” Chen said. “Supposed to be potent for boosting your energy.”
She listened in amusement as he discussed the house specials with the waiter. He turned to ask her approval at intervals. A perfect escort, this chosen representative of the Shanghai Police Bureau.
“The name of the restaurant comes from a line of a Song dynasty poem, There’s a home deep in the verdant willows. I’ve forgotten the author.”
“But you remember the name of the restaurant.”
“Yes, that’s more important. As Confucius tells us, ‘You cannot be too fastidious in choosing your food.’ That’s the first lesson for a sinologist.”
“I guess you are a regular customer here,” she said.
“I’ve been here two or three times.” He ordered a South Sea bird’s nest soup with tree ears, oysters fried in spiced egg batter, a duck stuffed with a mixture of sticky rice, dates, and lotus seeds, a fish steamed live with fresh ginger, green onions, and dried pepper, and an exotic-sounding special whose name she did not catch.
After the waiter had withdrawn, she rested her eyes on him. “I’m just wondering-”
“Yes?”
“Oh, nothing. Forget it.” Several cold dishes appeared on the table, which gave her an excuse not to continue. She was curious as to how he had acquired all his epicurean knowledge. An ordinary Chinese chief inspector could not have afforded it. She realized she was already carrying out the CIA’s task, yet this did not spoil her appetite.
“I’m just wondering,” she said, “if our interviews here can lead anywhere. Wen seems to have totally cut herself off from her past. I can hardly see any possibility of her coming back to Shanghai after so many years.”
“We have just started. In the meantime, my temporary assistant Qian has been checking hotels as well as neighborhood committees.” He picked up a piece of chicken with his chopsticks. “We may hear something soon.”
“Do you think Wen could have afforded to stay in a hotel?”
“No. I think you’re right, Inspector Rohn. Feng has not sent any money home. His wife does not even have a bank account. So I have had Old Hunter look into cheap, unlicensed hotels as well.”
“Isn’t Old Hunter engaged with another case?”
“Yes, but I asked him to help with this case, too.”
“Any breakthrough in the other case?”
“Not much progress there either. It involves a body found in the park. Old Hunter has just identified the dead man’s pajama brand by the V pattern woven into the fabric.”
“Mmm, Valentino.” she said. “Now in our case, there’s another thing that troubles me. As far as we can tell, Wen has not yet made any effort to contact her husband. This does not make sense. Feng wanted her to run for her life, but not out of his life. She knows about the trial date, so if she didn’t know how to contact him she should have gotten in touch with the police. With each passing day, the possibility of her rejoining Feng before the trial becomes fainter. It’s the seventh day that she’s been missing.”
“That’s true. Things may be more complicated than we originally imagined.”
“What else can we do here?”
“This afternoon, we are going to interview another schoolmate of Wen’s, Su Shengyi.”
“The secret admirer in high school. A red guard cadre, now down and out, right?” She could not help being suspicious. This seemed a total waste of time.
“Yes, you’re right. One never forgets his first love. Su may know something.”
“After the visit, what? Am I supposed to remain at the hotel as a distinguished guest, shopping, sightseeing, and sharing these fantastic meals with you?”
“I’ll discuss it with Party Secretary Li.”
“Another straightforward answer?”
“Cheers.” He raised his teacup in a toast.
“Cheers,” Catherine said, raising her teacup. The tiny dried fruit, Chinese wolfberry, rose to the surface like a scarlet period. There was not much she could do with this Chinese partner, who responded to her sarcasm with an unruffled air. It amused her to toast with tea, though.
Another course arrived, bubbling in an earthenware pot. It looked different from American Chinatown specials. Its creamy gravy tasted like chicken broth, but the meat was unlike chicken. It had a jellied texture.
“What’s that?”
“Soft shell turtle.”
“I’m glad I didn’t ask first.” She caught the spark of amusement in his eyes. “Not bad.”
“Not bad? It’s the most expensive item on the menu.”
“And is a turtle also a fabled aphrodisiac in China?”
“That depends.” Chen helped himself to a substantial portion.
“Chief Inspector Chen!” She feigned shock.
“Today’s special.” The waiter was back with a white bowl containing what seemed to be large snails immersed in brownish juice, and a glass bowl of water.
Chen put his fingers into the bowl of water, wiped them with a napkin, and picked up one of the shells. She watched him sucking the meat out with an effort.
“It is luscious,” he said. “River spiral shells. Often translated as river snail. You eat it like a snail.”
“I have never had snails.”
“Really!” He took a bamboo toothpick, picked the meat out, and offered it to her on the end of the toothpick.
She should have refused. Instead, she leaned over the table and let him put it into her mouth. It tasted good, but the experience was slightly disquieting.
The Chinese cop was turning into a challenge. He seemed to fancy himself as a charmer.
“It tastes better if you suck the meat out yourself,” he said.
So she did. The meat came out together with the juice. It did taste better that way.
When the bill came, she tried to pay it, or at least her share. He refused. She protested, “I cannot let the Shanghai Police Bureau pay all the time.”
“Don’t worry about that.” He crumpled the receipt. “Can’t I buy a lunch for an attractive American partner?”
He seemed to be a man to whom compliments came easily. Perhaps it was cultural. Perhaps he had his orders.
He was pulling out the chair for her when his phone started to ring. He turned it on, and his face became serious as he listened. At the end of the call, he said, “I’ll be there.”
“What’s up?”
“We have a change in plans,” he said. “The call was from Qian Jun at the bureau. We’ve had a response to the missing person notice. A pregnant provincial woman has been reported working in a restaurant in Qingpu County, Shanghai. Apparently she’s from the south, speaking with a strong southern accent. “
“Could it be Wen?”
“If Wen boarded a train for Shanghai, it’s possible she changed her mind and got off there, one or two stops before Shanghai. Perhaps she did not want to bring trouble down on her people. So she found a job there instead of moving into a local hotel.”
“That makes sense to me.”
“I’m going to Qingpu,” Chen said. “It’s a long shot. Many people are pouring into Shanghai for jobs-even into the counties. So quite possibly it’s a false lead. There may be a lot of things that would be more interesting for you to do here, Inspector Rohn.”
“I wish I had something more interesting to do.” She put down her chopsticks. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll get a car at the bureau. Do you mind waiting for me here?”
“Not at all.” Still, she wondered: was he trying to keep her away from his office for some reason? She wished she could trust him, but knew she’d be a fool to do so.
***
She was surprised when Chen pulled up in a medium-size Shanghai. “So you’re driving today?”
“Little Zhou was not on the bureau car service rota. The other drivers were busy.”
“A high-ranking cadre like you,” she said, stepping into the car, “I thought you would always have a chauffeur at your service.”
“I’m not a high-ranking cadre. But thanks for the compliment.”
Chapter 13
Chen had not told Catherine Rohn the real reason why he had chosen to drive. He trusted Little Zhou but others could easily learn his movements through the bureau car service. So he had taken the car without telling anybody.
It was a long drive to Qingpu County. A pleasant breeze came through the windows. As if by a tacit understanding, they did not talk about their work. Looking at the varying countryside, she started questioning him about language exchange programs at Chinese universities.
“Universities such as Fudan, East China Normal, and Shanghai Foreign Language may offer some teaching positions to native English speakers in exchange for their tuition in Chinese studies,” Chen said. “Preferably to those with English degrees.”
“I have a double major. One’s in English.”
“The exchange programs do not pay much. Not bad according to the Chinese standards, but you would not be able to afford to stay at the Peace Hotel.”
“I don’t have to stay at a luxurious hotel.” She pushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “Don’t worry, Chief Inspector Chen. I’m just curious.”
Soon the scene changed to a more rural one: rice paddies, vegetable plots, with some new, colorful houses here and there. Under Deng Xiaoping’s policy of “Letting some people get rich first,” prosperous peasant entrepreneurs were springing up like mushrooms. As they drove past a small lush green field, he exclaimed, “Qicai. Spring has made a late start here!”
“What?”
“Qicai. Called shepherd’s purse in English. I don’t know why it was given such a name. It is delicious.”
“Interesting. You’re a botanist too.”
“No, I am not. But once I tried to translate a Song dynasty poem, in which the poet finds himself gathered, deliriously, together with this greenish blossom on his lover’s tongue, and then on his tongue.”
“What a pity! You don’t have the time to gather any today.”
It was about two o’clock when they reached the site in Qingpu County where their quarry had been reported. It was a shabby restaurant in a village market. The door was ajar, and a wooden bench stood in the doorway. There were no customers at this time of the day.
Chen raised his voice. “Anybody here?”
A woman came out of the kitchen in the rear, wiping her hands on an oily apron. She had a thin face with deep-set eyes, high cheekbones, and wore her gray-streaked hair in a bun at the nape of her neck. She appeared to be in her late thirties, The roundness of her belly was slightly visible.
She looked very different from the woman in the passport picture. The disappointment in Catherine’s eyes mirrored his.
He handed his card to the woman mechanically. “We need to ask you a few questions.”
“Me?” She looked frightened. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“If you’ve done nothing wrong, you don’t have to worry. What’s your name?”
“Qiao Guozhen.”
“Do you have your I.D.?”
“Yes, here it is.”
Chen examined it closely. It had been issued in Guangxi Province. The picture on the I.D. card was of this woman. “So your family is still there?”
“Yes, my husband and my daughters are there.”
“Why are you here by yourself-in your pregnancy? They must be worried about you.”
“No, they are not worried. They know I’m here.”
“Do you have some family problem?”
“No, no problem at all.”
“You’d better tell me the truth,” he bluffed. It was not really his business, but he felt the need to do something in front of Inspector Rohn. “Or you will get into serious trouble.”
“Don’t send me back home, Comrade Chief Inspector. They will force me to have an abortion!”
Catherine cut in for the first time. “What? Who will do that to you?”
“The village cadres. They have birth control quotas to meet.”
“Tell us everything,” Catherine said. “We won’t get you into any trouble.”
Chief Inspector Chen looked at the two women, Qiao sobbing, Catherine fuming, himself standing by helplessly like an idiot. “What is the story, Comrade Qiao?”
“We have two daughters. My husband wanted to have a son. Now I’m pregnant again. We were fined heavily for the birth of our second daughter. The village committee said a heavy fine would not be enough this time, I would have to have an abortion. So I ran away.”
“You’re from Guangxi,” Chen said, aware of Catherine’s close attention. “Why have you come all the way here?”
“My husband wanted me to stay here with his cousin, but she had moved away. Fortunately, I met Mrs. Yang, the owner of the restaurant. She hired me.”
“So you work for your room and board?”
“Yang also gives me two hundred Yuan a month, in addition to tips,” Qiao said, putting a hand on her belly. “Soon I will not be able to work out front. I have to earn as much as I can.”
“What’s your pl
an?” Catherine asked.
“I’ll give birth to my baby here. When my son is two or three months old, I’ll go back.”
“What will your village cadres do to you?”
“After a baby has been born, they cannot really do anything. A heavy fine, probably. We’re not worried about that.” She turned to Chen, pleading in a trembling voice. “So you’re not going to send me back home?”
“No. Your problem is with your village cadres, not with me. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for a pregnant woman like you to be so far from home.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Catherine said sarcastically.
A man entered the restaurant, but at the sight of the chief inspector and his American partner, he left immediately without saying a single word.
“You have my card. Take good care of yourself,” Chen said, standing up. “If you need help, let me know.”
They walked out of the restaurant in silence. The tension between them did not improve as they got into the car. He started the engine with a screeching sound.
The air inside the car felt stuffy.
It was a shame, he admitted to himself, that the local cadres had put so much pressure on Qiao, and that Inspector Rohn happened to be a witness. It was not the first time that he had heard stories about pregnant women going into hiding until after their deliveries. It was nonetheless unpleasant to hear it from somebody’s own mouth.
His American partner must have been thinking about China ’s violation of human rights. The world in a drop of water. She did not say a single word. His hand accidentally hit the horn.