Qiu Xiaolong - A Loyal Character Dancer

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.

“Well, the local cadres may have overdone it,” he tried to break the silence, “but our government has no choice. The population control policy is a necessary one.”

“Whatever problem your government may have, a woman must be able to choose to have her baby-and at her own home.”

“You can hardly imagine how serious the problem is here, Inspector Rohn. Take Qiao’s family for example. They already have two daughters, and they will go on having more-until they finally have a son. The continuation of the family name, as you probably know from your Chinese studies, is the most important thing to these people.”

“It’s their choice.”

“But in what context?” he retorted. Last night Li had warned him not to go out of his way for the American. And here he was, being lectured to by an American about China ’s human rights problem. “ China does not have a lot of arable land. Less than ninety million hectares, to be exact. Do you think poor farmers like the Qiaos can afford to take good care of five or six kids in an impoverished province like Guangxi?”

“You’re using the numbers from the People’s Daily.”

“Those are facts. If you had lived as an ordinary Chinese for more than thirty years, you might view the situation from a different perspective.”

“How, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen?” For the first time since they had returned to the car she looked up at him.

“You would have seen a few things for yourself. Three generations squeezed under one roof, and that a single room, buses packed with people like sardines in a can, and newly married couples obliged to sleep on their office desks as a protest to the housing committee. Detective Yu, for example, does not have a room of his own-the one his family now lives in used to be Old Hunter’s dining room. Yu’s nine-year-old son, Qinqin, still sleeps in the same room as his parents. Why? Because of overpopulation. Not enough housing or even space for the people. How can the government afford not to do something about it?”

“Whatever excuses you may have, basic human rights cannot be denied.”

“Such as the right of people to pursue happiness?” He found himself getting heated.

“Yes,” she said. “If you don’t acknowledge that, there’s nothing we can discuss.”

“Fine, then what about illegal immigration? According to your Constitution, there’s nothing wrong with people seeking a better life. America should welcome all immigrants with open arms. Then why are you pursuing this investigation? Why must people pay to be smuggled into your country?”

“That’s different. There must be international law and order.”

“That’s exactly my point. There are no absolute principles. They are always being modified by time and circumstances. Two or three hundred years ago, no one was complaining about illegal immigration to North America.”

“When did you become an historian?”

“I’m not.” He tried to control himself as he turned onto a road lined with new industrial buildings.

She did not try to conceal the sarcasm in her voice. “Perhaps that’s what you want to be, a celebrated mouthpiece for the People’s Daily. Still, you cannot deny the fact that poor women are deprived of their right to have babies.”

“I’m not saying that the local cadres should have gone that far, but China must do something about overpopulation.”

“I’m not surprised to hear this brilliant defense from you. In your position, Chief Inspector Chen, you must identify with the system.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, somberly. “I cannot help it, just as you cannot help seeing things here from a perspective formed by your system.”

“Whatever. I’ve had enough of your political lectures.” Her blue eyes were ocean-deep, unfathomable, antagonistic.

It bothered Chen, who was still aware of her attractiveness despite her being so critical of China.

A couplet from an anonymous Western Han dynasty poem came to his mind.

The Tartar horse rejoices in the north wind.

The bird of Yueh nestles on the south branch.

Different attachments. Different places. Perhaps Party Secretary Li was right. There was no point in his going out of his way to pursue this investigation.

Two thousand years ago, what was now the United States of America might have been called the Land of Tartars.

It never rains but it pours.

Chief Inspector Chen’s phone started ringing.

It was Mr. Ma. “Where are you, Chief Inspector Chen?”

“On the road back from Qingpu.”

“Are you alone?”

“No, with Catherine Rohn.”

“How is she?”

“Much better. Your paste is miraculous. Thank you.”

“I’m calling about the information you wanted yesterday.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Ma.”

“I’ve got a man for you. He may know something about the woman you are looking for.”

“Who is it?”

“I have one request, Chief Inspector Chen.”

“Yes?”

“If you get what you need, will you leave him alone?”

“I give you my word. And I’ll never mention your name.”

“I do not want to be a stool pigeon. It’s against my principles to provide information to the government,” Mr. Ma said earnestly. “His name is Gu Haiguang, a Mr. Big Bucks, the owner of the Dynasty Karaoke Club on Shanxi Road. He has his connections in the triad world, but I don’t think he is a member. In his business, he has to be on good terms with the black way.”

“You’ve taken a lot of trouble for me. I appreciate it, Mr. Ma.”

He turned off the phone. Chen didn’t want to discuss Ma’s information with Catherine immediately though he knew she must have overheard some of the conversation. He took a deep breath. “Let’s stop here, Inspector Rohn. I’m thirsty. What about you?”

She said, “A fruit juice would be fine.”

He pulled up at a convenience store, where he bought some drinks, together with a paper bag of fried mini buns. As he entered, another car drove by slowly, then reversed and pulled into the lot.

“Please help yourself,” he said when he returned, holding out the buns covered with minced green onion, colorful, but greasy.

She took only the drink.

“The call was from Mr. Ma.” He opened his cola can with a pop. “He asked about you.”

“It’s very kind of him. I heard you thank him a couple of limes.”

“Not just that. He has found someone connected with the gang who will speak to us.”

“A Flying Axes member?”

“No, probably not, but we should interview him, if you’re no longer mad.”

“Of course we will interview him. It’s our job.”

“That’s the spirit, Inspector Rohn. Please eat some buns. I don’t know long it will take. Afterward, I will buy you a better meal-one fit for a distinguished American guest.”

“There you go again.” She picked up a bun with a paper napkin.

“Whatever I say during the interview, Inspector Rohn, please don’t jump to conclusions.”

“What do you mean?”

“For one thing, the tip came from Mr. Ma. I do not want to bring any trouble down on him.”