Qiu Xiaolong - A Loyal Character Dancer

The garden was quiet. There were hardly any other visitors. Their footsteps made the only sound.

“Such a beautiful garden,” she said, “but it’s almost deserted.”

“It’s the time of the day.”

Dusk was beginning to envelop the garden path; the sun hung above the tilted eaves of the ancient stone pavilion like a stamp. They strolled through a gourd-shaped stone gate to a bamboo bridge where they saw several golden carp swimming in the clear, tranquil water.

“Your heart’s not in sightseeing, Chief Inspector Chen.”

“No. I’m enjoying every minute of it-in your company.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“You’re not a fish,” he said. “How do you know what a fish feels?”

They came to another small bridge, across which they saw a teahouse with vermilion posts, and with a large black Chinese character for “Tea” embroidered on a yellow silk pennant streaming in the breeze. There was an arrangement of strange-shaped rocks in front of the teahouse.

“Shall we go there?” she suggested.

The teahouse might have served as an official reception hall in the original architect’s design, spacious, elegant, yet gloomy. The light filtered through the stained-glass windows. High on the wall was a horizontal board inscribed with Chinese characters: Return of Spring. By a lacquer screen in the corner, an old woman standing at a glass counter gave them a bamboo-covered thermos bottle, two cups with green tea leaves, a box of dried tofu braised in soy sauce, and a box of greenish cakes. “If you need more water, you can refill the bottle here.”

There were no other customers. Nor any service after they seated themselves at a mahogany table. The old woman disappeared behind the screen.

The tea was excellent. Perhaps because of the tea leaves, perhaps because of the water, or perhaps because of the peaceful atmosphere. The dried tofu, rich in a spicy brown sauce, also tasted good, but the green cake was more palatable, sweet with an unusual flavor she had never tasted before.

“This is a wonderful dinner for me,” she said, a tiny tea leaf between her lips.

“For me too,” he said, adding water into her cup. “In the Chinese way of drinking tea, the first cup is not supposed to be the best. Its taste comes out in a natural way in the second or the third cup. That’s why the teahouse gives you the thermos bottle, so you can enjoy the tea at your leisure while you view the garden.”

“Yes, the view is fantastic.”

“The Hui Emperor of the Song dynasty liked oddly shaped rocks. He ordered a national rock search- Huashigang -but he was captured by the Jin invaders before the chosen rocks were transported to the capital. Some of them are said to have been left in Suzhou,” Chen said. “Look at this one. It is called Heaven’s Gate.”

“Really! I don’t see the resemblance.” Its name seemed a misnomer to her. The rock was shaped more like a spring bamboo shoot, angular, and sharp-pointed. It was in no way suggestive of a magnificent gate to the heavens.

“You have to see it from the right perspective,” he said. “It may resemble a lot of things-a cone swaying in the wind, or an old man fishing in the snow, or a dog barking at the moon, or a deserted woman waiting for her lover’s return. It all depends on your perspective.”

“Yes, it all depends on your point of view,” she said, failing to see any of those resemblances. She was pleased that he had recovered enough to play the guide again, though at the same time irritated by her enforced return to the role of tourist.

The sight of the rocks also served as a reminder of reality. Despite all her Chinese studies, a American marshal would never see things exactly the same way as her Chinese partner. That was a sobering realization. “I have some questions for you, Chief Inspector Chen.”

“Go ahead, Inspector Rohn.”

“Since you phoned the Suzhou Police Bureau from Liu’s place, why not call in the local cops to do the job? They could have forced Liu to cooperate.”

“They could, but I did not like that idea. Liu was not holding her against her will,” Chen said. “Besides, I had a number of unanswered questions. So I wanted to talk to them first.”

“Have you got your answers?”

“Some,” Chen said, piercing a cube of tofu with a toothpick. “I was also worried about Liu’s possible reaction. He’s such a romantic. According to Bertrand Russell, romantic passion reaches its height when lovers are fighting against the whole world.”

“You have made a study of it, Chief Inspector Chen. What if you had failed to persuade them?”

“As a police officer, I would have to make an objective report to the bureau.”

“Then the bureau would make them cooperate, right?”

“Yes, so you see, my effort is just pathetic, isn’t it?”

“Well, you succeeded in convincing them. She’s willing to leave,” she said. “Now for the relationship between Liu and Wen. Can you tell me more about it? It’s still hazy to me. You may have given your word to Liu-promised confidentiality perhaps. Tell me what you can.”

She was sipping at her tea as he began, but soon she was so absorbed that the tea turned cold in the cup. He included what he considered to be the important details. In addition, he added things from Yu’s interview tapes, which focused more on the miseries Wen had suffered with Feng.

Catherine had gathered some of the information but now the various pieces were forming a whole. At the end of his account, she gazed into her cup for several minutes. When she raised her head again, the hall appeared to be even more gloomy. She saw why he had been so depressed.

“One more question, Chief Inspector Chen,” she said. “About the connection between the Fujian police and the Flying Axes-is that true?”

“It’s very probable. I had to tell her that,” Chen said evasively. “I might be able to shield her for a week or two, but more than that, I doubt. She has no choice but to go to the United States.”

“You should have discussed this with me earlier.”

“It’s not pleasant, you know, for a Chinese cop to admit this.”

She grasped his hand.

The moment of silence was broken by the sound of the old woman cracking water melon seeds behind the screen.

“Let’s go outside,” Chen said.

They stepped out, carrying their tea and cakes. Walking across the bridge, they entered the pavilion with the yellow glazed tile roof and vermilion posts. The posts were set into a surrounding bench with a flat marble top and lattice railings. They placed the thermos bottle on the ground and sat with the cups and cakes between them. Small birds chirped in the grotto behind them.

“The Suzhou garden landscape was designed,” he said, “to inspire people to feel poetic.”

She did not feel so, though she relished the moment. Someday in the future, she knew she would look back on this early evening in Suzhou as special. Leaning sideways against the post, she went through a sudden shift of mood, as if they had undergone another role reversal. Chen was almost his usual self again. And she was becoming sentimental.

What were Wen and Liu doing at this moment?

“Soon Liu and Wen are going to part,” she said wistfully.

“Liu may go to the United States someday-”

“No, he will never be able to find her.” She shook her head. “That’s the way our program works.”

“Wen may come back-for a visit-” he cut himself short. “No, that would be too risky for her.”

“It’s out of the question.”

“It’s difficult to meet, and to part, too. / The east wind languid, the flowers fallen,” he murmured, “Sorry, I’m quoting poetry again.”