Qiu Xiaolong - A Loyal Character Dancer

Yu said, “Well, it may not matter that much. She’s studied Chinese. And you know, there may be something between Inspector Rohn and Chief Inspector Chen.”

“Really!” Peiqin’s voice registered instant interest. “But Chen has an HCC girlfriend in Beijing, hasn’t he?”

“I’m not so sure about it-not after Baoshen’s case. Remember Chen’s trip to the Yellow Mountains?”

“You haven’t told me about it. Is it finished between them?”

“It’s complicated. Politics. The conclusion of that case was not pleasant for her father. Chen’s relationship with her is strained, so I’ve heard. Not to mention the fact they live in two different cities.”

“That’s not good. You have been away for a week, and it’s been so hard for me. I don’t see how they can remain in a relationship, separated like that.” Peiqin took the towel from him and touched his unshaved chin. “Why hasn’t Chen been transferred to Beijing?”

“He can be stubborn. About the HCC influence, you know.”

“I don’t know what to say about your boss, but an HCC connection, and all that goes with it, may not be good for him,” she said quietly. “Do you think Inspector Rohn has a soft spot for him? It’s time for him to settle down.”

“Come on, Peiqin. An American? It’s like in the Hollywood movies. A week’s fling in China. No, Chief Inspector Chen can settle down with anybody but her.”

“You never know, Guangming. So what shall we have for tonight?”

“An ordinary Chinese meal will be great,” Yu said. “According to Chen, Inspector Rohn has a passion for everything Chinese. What about a dumpling dinner?”

“A good idea. It’s the season for spring bamboo shoots. We will have dumplings with three fresh stuffings: fresh bamboo shoots, fresh meat, and fresh shrimp. I’ll fry some dumplings, steam some, and serve the rest in an old duck soup with black tree ears. I’ll leave work early and bring some special dishes from the restaurant. Our room may be as small as a piece of dried tofu, but we cannot lose face before an American guest.”

Yu stretched. “I don’t have to go to the office today,” he said. “So I’ll go to the market to buy a basket of really fresh bamboo shoots.”

“Choose the tender ones. Not thicker than two fingers. We’d better mince the meat ourselves; the ground pork you can buy is not fresh. When will they arrive?”

“Around four thirty.”

“Let’s start right now. It takes time to make the dumpling skin.”

Chen and Catherine arrived more than an hour early. Chen was dressed in a gray suit. Catherine, wearing a red sleeveless cheongsam with high slits, looked like an actress in a Shanghai movie of the thirties. Chen held a bottle of wine, and Catherine carried a large plastic bag.

“You have finally brought a girl here, Chief Inspector Chen,” Peiqin smiled.

“Finally,” Catherine said, taking Chen’s arm with mock seriousness.

Peiqin was intrigued by Catherine’s reaction, for as soon as she had made the offhand joke she had regretted it. Apparently, Catherine was not displeased.

“This is Inspector Rohn, of the United States Marshals Service,” Chen introduced her formally. “She’s also very interested in Chinese culture. Since her arrival, she has been talking about visiting a Shanghai family.”

“Nice to meet you, Inspector Rohn.” Peiqin wiped her flour-covered hand before taking Catherine’s.

“Good to meet you, Peiqin. Chief Inspector Chen has spoken frequently about your excellent cooking.”

“A poetic exaggeration,” Peiqin said.

Yu tried to speak more formally, like a host, apologizing, “Sorry about the mess. May I introduce our son to you? He is called Qinqin.”

The room had space only for one table. The early arrival of the guests put the hosts in an embarrassing situation. The table was still littered with dumpling skins, minced meat, and vegetables. There was no room on the surface for even a teacup. Catherine had to put her bag down on the bed.

“The chief inspector is always busy. He has to go back to the bureau later.” Catherine took a couple of boxes out of the bag. “They are just some small things I’ve chosen at the hotel. I hope you like them.”

One was a food processor, and the other, a coffee maker.

“How wonderful, Inspector Rohn,” Peiqin exclaimed. “It is so thoughtful of you. For his next visit, we can serve Chief Inspector Chen fresh coffee.”

“You can also use it to make hot water for tea,” Chen said. “For this visit, we can use the food processor to mince and mix the meat and vegetable.”

“And bamboo shoots too,” Yu said proudly, beginning to experiment with the machine.

“I have something for you, too.” Chen produced several glass-and-brocade boxes of ink sticks-fantastically shaped as turtles, tigers, dragons. A special product of the Tai Mountains, made of the pine resin, they were supposedly inspirational.

But impractical, Peiqin thought, compared with Catherine’s choice.

Chen busied himself with translating the English directions on the box for Yu. Catherine insisted on doing something, too. “Don’t treat me as an outsider, Peiqin. That’s not why I am here today.”

“So she can boast about her Shanghai experience afterward,” Chen said.

Peiqin handed Catherine a plastic apron to put on over her dress. Soon Catherine’s hands were covered with the flour, and her face was speckled too. She did not give up. A couple of dumplings jumped out of her hands, large and irregular in shape.

“Marvelous!” Yu applauded.

“Great big dumplings for the chief inspector.” Catherine had a playful twinkle in her blue eyes. “The big guy in your bureau.”

Then it was time to cook. Peiqin made for the kitchen. Catherine followed her. Peiqin felt embarrassed. It was not exactly a kitchen, merely a common cooking and storage area of the original hallway, now crowded with the coal stoves of the seven families on the first floor. The dish she had brought back from the restaurant had to be steamed on a neighbor’s stove. Catherine seemed to be cheerful, however, moving about in the cramped area, watching Peiqin put dumplings into water, arrange some in the bamboo steamer, fry some in the wok, and add various seasonings to the duck soup.

“When will Old Hunter come home?” Chen asked Yu as they started to clear the table.

“I don’t know. He left early this morning. I have not had a chance to speak to him. Do you have to return to the bureau?”

“Yes, there’s something-”

Their talk was interrupted by the appearance of the various dumplings on the table. Catherine carried bowls in both hands. Yu mixed dishes of red pepper sauce with peeled garlic. Chen opened a small urn of Shaoxing yellow wine. Yu also moved the table a few inches toward the bed. Chen sat on one side, Catherine on the other, and Yu and his son, on the edge of the bed. The side close to the kitchen was left for Peiqin, who had to cook fresh dumplings from time to time.

“Fantastic,” Catherine said between bites, “I have never tasted anything like this in Chinatown in New York.”

“You have to make the dumpling skin yourself,” Peiqin explained.

“Thank you, Peiqin,” Chen said with half a dumpling in his mouth. “You always give your guests a special treat.”

“I’ve never had fresh bamboo shoots before,” Catherine said.

“Fresh bamboo shoots make a world of difference,” Chen said. “Su Dongpo once said, It’s more important to have fresh bamboo shoots than to have meat. It’s a delicacy for a highly civilized taste.”

“Was he the same Su Dongpo you mentioned at the crab meal, Uncle Chen?” Qinqin asked.