Qiu Xiaolong - The Mao Case

“Can I ask you a favor?” Chen said to her. “All of these are fantastic, but can you serve the rest of them together? We are just beginning an important talk.”

“I’ll let our chef know,” she said, bowing low like a Manchurian girl before she headed to the door. “You go ahead.”

“NOW, BACK TO THE story,” Chen said. “You were just talking about the end of Shang’s life, about the fishmonger.”

“Oh yes, he was indeed a talkative monger, giving a vivid description of her death scene, though I wonder how he could remember those details after so many years.”

“Did Shang die instantly?”

“No, she didn’t. She said a few words before she lost consciousness.”

“What did she say?”

“She said she lived on the fifth floor.”

“What could that mean?”

“He had no clue,” Diao said reflectively, picking a tiny fishbone out from between his teeth. “Did she want to draw attention to her room on the fifth floor? She could have been tortured or pushed out of the window. Did she want people to call for an ambulance, using the phone in the room? In those days, there was only one public phone station in the neighborhood. What went through her mind in her last moments, no one can say.”

“What then?”

“Well, she was so ‘black,’ people avoided her like the plague while she lay there. No one did anything except for watching and finger-pointing. A couple of red-armbanded men then rushed out of the building, speaking in a Beijing accent -”

“Hold on, Mr. Diao. In your book, you mention a special team from Beijing. So those men were from that team?”

“The fishmonger had no idea who they were, but they stood around her, keeping others away from the scene. When an ambulance finally arrived, she was long dead.”

“Did the police come?”

“It took hours for a police car to arrive. What did they do? They tried to wash away the bloodstains on the curb. For that matter, they didn’t do it thoroughly. Flies swirled around the dark red spots for days.”

“What a tragic fate!”

“A fate full of twists and turns,” Diao said, finishing a duck-stuffed pancake and wiping the sauce stain on his fingers with the napkin, as though wiping away memories. “As you know, she first became well-known in the forties. She must have attracted a lot of men – rich and powerful ones – and that shadowed her after 1949. Things were different in the early fifties. Young lovers kissing in Bund Park then could have been detained for pursuing a ‘bourgeois lifestyle.’ But Shang continued to lead a ‘notorious bourgeois life.’ What’s worse, her husband got into political trouble, which spelled the end of her career.

“It was then that a guiren appeared in her life. Guiren – you know, an important man who brings about a change of luck into one’s life. One day, she got a handwritten note from the mayor of Shanghai, ‘Please come, Comrade Shang.’ So she hurried to the China-Russia Friendship Hall, where she was received by Mao. There was a grand dance party that evening. Swirling in Mao’s arms, she told him about her troubles. Shortly afterward, she was assigned new movie roles, one after another. In the fifties, the movie industry was state controlled and planned. Only a few movies were made each year. A lot of talented actors and actresses couldn’t get parts – whether or not they had political problems. Against all odds, in one movie she played a militia woman, for which she even won a major award. She visited several foreign countries as a member of a Chinese artists delegation. And at a convention, the Party leaders would receive the delegation members before or after those visits abroad. So she appeared in newspaper pictures together with Mao.”

“You have done a thorough study, Mr. Diao.”

“Let me say one thing about my research. Even in the official publications, Mao’s passion for dancing has been acknowledged. After 1949, social dancing was condemned and banned as part and parcel of the bourgeois lifestyle, but within the high walls of the Forbidden City, Mao still danced to his heart’s content. According to the interpretation given in the People’s Daily, Mao worked so hard for China that these parties were necessary to provide relaxation for our great leader. But that’s nonsense. As for what happened after he danced with Shang, I don’t think I have to go into graphic details.”

“No, you don’t,” Chen said. “But I have a question. During those years, perhaps there weren’t too many gifted partners in the Forbidden City. As a celebrated actress before 1949, Shang must have danced well. Could it be that Mao came to her for that reason?”

“It takes a couple of hours for a young girl to learn how to dance like a pro. Mao was no dancing master. There was no need for him to go to the trouble to look for a partner in another city. Mao wasn’t without rivals at the top, in those days. Even his special train was bugged. What would people say about his relationship with such a notorious actress?” Diao went on, putting a crispy duck tongue into his mouth. “But he couldn’t help it. When he first met her, she was in her mid-thirties, in the full bloom of a woman’s beauty, elegant, highly educated, and from a good family too. Her dancing was like waves rippling in the breeze, like clouds wafting in the sky. And he could have watched her movies as early as in Yan’an. Madam Mao was also an actress, we shouldn’t forget that.”

“Mao had an actress fetish, you mean?”

“whatever you want to call it, Shang’s fate changed dramatically.”

“But could it be some local officials contributed to the change in her life? Seeing her as Mao’s favorite partner, they tried to curry favor. Mao might not have been aware of it.”

“They wouldn’t have gone out of their way for one of his partners,” Diao said. “He had so many. They knew that. And the poems Mao wrote for her were unmistakable.”

“Poems – ‘The Militia Woman,’ right?”

“So you’ve also heard about that poem? Actually, there’s another one, ‘Ode to the Plum Blossom.’ ”

“Really!” Chen said, remembering what he had discussed with Long about the poems. “Are you sure? Did you see a scroll of that poem that Mao wrote for her?”

“No, I didn’t, but the meaning of the poem is obvious. ‘Pretty, she does not claim the spring for herself, / content to be a herald of spring. / When hills are ablaze with wildflowers, / in their midst she smiles.’ It’s really in the tradition of the Book of Poems. In the first poem of that collection, an emperor’s virtuous wife rejoices at his finding a new love. Shang would have known better than to exhibit such a scroll at home, I would think,” Diao said thoughtfully. “I interviewed some of her neighbors, and according to one, there was a scroll on the wall of the bedroom. But it was a poem by Wang Cangling, a Tang-dynasty poet, entitled ‘Deserted Imperial Concubine at Changxing Chamber.’ ”

“Yes, I know it. ‘At dawn, having swept the courtyard / with the broom, she has nothing else / to do, except to twirl, / and twirl the round silk fan / in her fingers. Exquisite as jade, / she cannot compete with the autumn crow flying / overhead, which still carries the warmth / from the Imperial Sun Palace.’ ”

“The meaning of the poem is unmistakable,” Daio said, nodding in approval. “Her complaining about the emperor’s neglect, feeling worse than an autumn crow that still carries the warmth, as it were, from the Imperial Sun Palace.”

“But Shang was no imperial concubine.”

“He might have made some promise to her. Then the choice of the poem in her bedroom would make perfect sense.”

“You have a point,” Chen said. “Was there anything else unusual about her that you found out but didn’t mention in your writing?”