Qiu Xiaolong - A Case of Two Cities

Whatever the reason was, she was someone he thought he could trust. But then again was he really so sure-after all the silence?

“You must have heard of the situation,” Bao started sternly. Because of the linguistic barrier, he had been unable to say anything as the Party secretary of the delegation. A barrage of questions came from Bao, but they were neither here nor there. It was hard for her to answer them-or not to answer them.

“I’ve heard there was an accident,” she said, handing over her business card to Bao. “ Washington University called me early this morning to provide interpretation service, but they did not tell me anything else. You will have to speak to Detective Lenich about it.”

“She is a temporary interpreter,” Chen said to Bao, glancing at the bilingual business card, which declared her as a senior interpreter from a local translation agency. “We don’t have to discuss the case with her.”

Catherine translated his remark to the detective.

“I’m in charge of the case,” Lenich said. “You can discuss it with me.”

But Bao’s questions sounded too official, as if echoing from his office in Beijing. Talking about responsibility did not help at this stage, Chen thought. With Bao occupied with his official talk, however, he stole another glance at Catherine. She looked hardly changed from his memory-tall, slender, her face animated with an inner glow, and her hair cascading halfway to her shoulders. But in that instant, he thought he also saw one tiny difference. The color of her eyes appeared to be brown instead of blue, though as serene, vivid as he had remembered. Because of the sunlight in the hotel lobby?

It is difficult to meet. A line from Li Shangyin came to assume a different meaning. Difficult not so much in terms of distance, but what to say to each other at the moment of their meeting? Perhaps just like in that Tang dynasty poem: what is not said speaks much more than what is said.

She was busy translating for Bao and Lenich, occasionally looking back at him with a familiar yet not so familiar smile.

Other writers came down. They, too, started questioning the Americans. She had a hard time interpreting for all of them.

“I like China. Not too long ago, I made a trip to your wonderful country. I had a memorable experience with an excellent escort. So I will do my best. Trust me.”

She made the statement for him, he knew. It was also a reassuring one for the other writers, who now had to depend on an American instead of Little Huang.

“An unlucky trip from the very beginning. Doomed,” Zhong commented. “Remember the unexpected health problem of Yang? Problems even before the beginning of the trip.”

Chen tried to talk more with Detective Lenich, but it was difficult for them with others continuously cutting in. The hotel manager approached them. A group of agitated Chinese talking in the lobby did not present a pleasant scene, especially with the prospect of journalists coming over soon. So the manager offered to provide them a conference room with a small enclave attached to it.

“You have a lot to do, Miss Rohn, with so many Chinese writers on your hands,” Chen said before moving into the cubicle with his American counterpart. “I’m glad you are here. We appreciate all you are doing for us.”

“Call me Catherine. I’d love to help, Mr. Chen.”

The discussion with Detective Lenich did not produce anything new. The American cop held onto his earlier assumption: it was a street homicide case, in which the victim happened to be a Chinese delegation member. He had his assistant checking the alibis of the possible suspects in the area, and he wanted to start interviewing the writers in the hotel.

So the writers had to come in, one by one, to give a statement. Zhong was the first interviewee and Catherine followed him in. Chen and the rest of the delegation remained in the larger room. They did not talk much. Chen made several more phone calls. Eventually, Zhong emerged with a livid face. Then it was Bao’s turn. Presently Chen heard loud voices from the smaller room. Catherine must have had a hard time interpreting so, after a while, Chen went in too. For Detective Lenich, it might be a matter of formality, but Bao fought back by talking about the Americans’ responsibility all the time. Chen’s effort to intervene was far from successful.

Unable to break the impasse between the two, Chen recommended a pause.

“Well, it’s time to have a lunch break,” he suggested.

“Let’s eat here,” Bao said. “It’s not safe outside the hotel, is it? There is a Chinese carry-out down at the mall. They’ll deliver.”

With a sideways look at Chen, Catherine translated Bao’s suggestion selectively. Chen and Lenich agreed to the idea of having Chinese food delivered to the conference room. When Chen spoke to the writers, however, Shasha asked if they could have lunch in their respective rooms instead and take a short break afterward.

After briefly conferring with Lenich, Chen agreed. “You can all head back to your rooms,” Chen said. “I’ll stay here with the Americans.”

When the food was delivered, Detective Lenich decided to take his back to his office, promising to return in an hour. Catherine and Chen were left alone in the room, the long conference table between them. He sat with a portion of sweet and sour shrimp with walnuts, and she, a portion of Chinese barbequed pork. Their moment alone overwhelmed them in awkward silence.

“How did you come to be an interpreter today?” Chen asked, disposable chopsticks in his hand.

“I’ve been studying Chinese for years,” Catherine said. She sounded not so pleased with his question-the first of their reunion. “You didn’t tell me about your visit.”

“I tried-several times-but either your line was busy, or others interrupted. There are delegation regulations, you know. Yesterday afternoon I called you again, but I got your machine. I didn’t leave a message because I forgot my room number.”

“You weren’t calling from your hotel room?” she asked sharply. Without waiting for an answer, she went on, “I thought you must have forgotten about me.”

“No. Of course not, but I did wonder if it was a good idea for me to contact you, being what I am.”

“That’s so considerate of you,” she said, taking a drink from her cup. “Anyway, they approached me for information about you-being what you are.

“Oh, they… I should have realized that.”

“As the delegation head, you must have a lot of responsibilities-special responsibilities, since you were appointed on such short notice.”

“Oh? You heard about that? You know a lot-” Chen stopped midsentence.

They were certainly being mistrustful of each other again, he thought, just as they were the first time they met in Shanghai. It wasn’t difficult for him to pick up that much.

Still, how would he react in her position?

But there was something she hadn’t told him either. Surely, she wasn’t assigned to the Chinese delegation just because of the homicide case.

“I’ve missed you,” he resumed on a different note. “You remember Mr. Gu of the Dynasty Karaoke Club, where you were introduced as my girlfriend?”

“Yes, I remember. That sly businessman.”

“I talked to him about you, and he wanted me to bring you something- to my ‘beautiful American girlfriend.’ It’s in my room upstairs.”

“What did you say to him about me?”

But before he could respond, they were interrupted by Bao, who returned carrying a large portion of fried dumplings, declaring he had more questions for her.