Qiu Xiaolong - Death of a Red Heroine

“As busy as you are. He, too, says it’s difficult to reach you.”

“Yes, it can be difficult. If necessary, he-or you, perhaps, if convenient-may contact a friend of mine. His name is Lu Tonghao. He runs a new restaurant called Moscow Suburb on Shanxi Road. Or he will contact you.”

“That’s fine. Moscow Suburb, I know where it is. It’s been open for a couple of weeks, and it has made a stir already.” She added, “By the way, will you be at Xishuang Garden this evening?”

“Yes, but how-” Chen cut himself short.

“It’s a fantastic place,” Peiqin said. “and you deserve to take a break at the karaoke party.”

“Thank you.”

“So take care of yourself. See you.”

“The same with you. Bye.”

He became suddenly alert. The way Peiqin mentioned the karaoke party disturbed him. Also, why was she anxious to end the conversation? Was her office bugged, too?

That was not likely. But the hotel might well be. That was why he had not called from there. Peiqin must have wondered. He should have mentioned that he was calling from a pay phone in the City God’s Temple Market.

Then he dialed Overseas Chinese Lu.

Lu had called the office upon Chen’s return from Guangzhou. In order not to drag Lu into his trouble, he had cut Lu short on the grounds of having to leave immediately. They could not speak safely on the bureau phone.

“Moscow Suburb.”

“It’s me, Chen Cao.”

“Oh, old pal, you’ve really got me worried to death. I know why you hung up on me the other day.”

“Don’t worry. I’m still chief inspector. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Where are you now? What’s the noise in the background?”

“I’m calling from a pay phone in the City God’s Temple Market.”

“Wang has called me about your trouble. It’s serious, she said.”

“Wang called you?” he said. “Well, whatever she may have told you, it’s not that serious. I’ve just had a wonderful brunch with the Americans, and we’re going to enjoy a cruise on the river. First-class cabin, of course, with the American guests. But I do need to ask you a favor.”

“What is it?”

“Somebody, actually my partner’s wife, her name is Jin Peiqin, may contact you. She works at the Four Seas Restaurant.”

“I know the place. Their shrimp noodles are excellent.”

“Don’t call me, either at my office or at the hotel. If there is anything urgent, call her or go to her place. You may as well have a bowl of noodles while you are there.”

“Don’t worry,” Lu said. “I’m a well-known connoisseur. No one would say anything if I had my noodles there every day.”

“One cannot be too careful.”

“I understand.” Lu then added, “But can you come over to my place? I want to discuss something with you. Something important.”

“Really? I’ve been so busy the last few days,” he said. “I’ll check my schedule and see what I can do.”

The scheduled afternoon activity was the Huangpu River cruise.

Chen was familiar with the cruise, having served as an escort on a number of occasions. He had no objection to reciting passages from official guidebooks, which he saw as an opportunity for practicing his English. It was just that the activities on the schedule became increasingly boring with repetition. He had no complaint, however, about his escort status at the booking station, where people were standing in a long line. His cruise tickets were reserved at a small ticket window marked FOR FOREIGN TOURISTS.

As they stood on the dock, breathing in the polluted air, he overheard Rosenthal muttering to Vicky about chronic carbon monoxide poisoning in the city. Another serious problem, he admitted to himself, though Shanghai had been making earnest efforts in environmental improvement. In deference to the official guidebook, he remained silent.

As always, a special room on the upper deck of the boat was assigned to foreign visitors. Their room was equipped with air conditioning and satellite TV. There was a Hong Kong kung fu movie starring Bruce Lee-another supposed privilege since Bruce Lee was not available in Shanghai movie theaters. The Rosenthals were not in the mood for the movie. It took Chen quite a long time to find the switch to turn it off.

The waiter and waitress seemed to make a point of bursting into the room, bringing drinks and fruits and snacks, smiling. Some tourists, passing by their door, also looked in curiously. Chen felt as if he were in a glass cage.

In the not-too-far distance, the Bund was alive with a colorful variety of riverfront activities. The eastern shore was catching up, changing even more rapidly with all the new construction going on.

“I’m thinking of some lines about another river,” Rosenthal said. “In ‘East Coker,’ Eliot compares the river to a brown god.” “An ancient Chinese philosopher compared the people to river water,” Chen said, “‘Water can carry a boat, but it can also overturn a boat.’”

“Lost in ‘The Waste Land’ again?” Vicky said with mock irritation. “It would be a shame to lose the sight of the wonderful river.”

They could not enjoy their conversation for long. Another knock came at the door, then a few more, persistently. “Magic show. First-class performance.” A waiter was waving several tickets in his hand. “On the first floor.”

Like the movie, the magic show was just another intrusion. Well meant, of course. It would not be polite for them to remain in the cabin.

There was no stage on the first floor. Just an open space partitioned off by several stanchions connected by a plastic cord, one end at the long window opening out to the deck, the other leading a small door beneath the staircase. There were already quite a number of people gathering. In the center, a magician was poking his wand vigorously into the air.

A young woman, apparently the magician’s assistant, came out of the small door. A touch of the magician’s wand on her shoulder, and she was immobilized, seemingly frozen in the cold blue light. As the magician approached, she collapsed into his arms. Holding her with one arm, he slowly raised her up. She lay stretched out across his forearms, her long black hair trailing to the floor, accentuating her slender neck, almost as white as a lotus root. And as lifeless. The magician then closed his eyes in concentration. To the sound of a muted drum roll, he slid his hand from beneath her, leaving her body floating in the air for a still second. Applause rose from the audience.

So that’s the hypnosis of love. A metaphor for it. Spellbound. Helpless. Had Guan Hongying also been like this? Weightless, substance-less, nothing but a prop, being played with at will in Wu’s hands.

And he thought of Wang.

Everything was possible to a lover. Had he been such a lover?

He could not give himself an answer. The willow looming through the mist, I find my hair disheveled, and the cicada-shaped pin fallen on the bed. What care have I about my days afterward, As long as you enjoy me to the full tonight?

Another stanza by Wei Zhuang. In traditional literary criticism, it was viewed as a political analogy, but to Chen, it was simply a female’s sacrifice for the magic of passion. Like Wang, who had been the more courageous, more self-sacrificing one, that night in his apartment, and then again the night in the phone booth.

And years earlier, it had been the same for Guan, who had given herself to Engineer Lai before she parted with him…

When the magic show was over, he could not locate the Rosenthals among the dispersing crowd. He went upstairs to find them leaning over the rail, gazing at the white waves breaking against the boat. They were not aware of him. It would be better to leave them alone. He walked downstairs to buy a pack of cigarettes.