Qiu Xiaolong - The Mao Case

“What a great pine! A broken one, sapless, lifeless.”

“Come on,” “Mao” said, “I’ve just overworked myself of late. There are so many things on my hands, you know.”

“So many things on your mind, I know. You’ve been acting differently.”

“Don’t worry. No matter how winds blow and waves beat, / I’m at leisure, like strolling at a courtyard.”

“Don’t quote him all the time. I’m so sick and tired of it. Tonight, you’re not even as good as the old man!”

“What old man are you talking about?”

“Aren’t you talking about him, acting like him, and being him all the time?”

It dawned on Chen that a fiasco had been playing out in the bedroom. “Mao” kept reciting the poem as sexual stimulation so that he could come in cloud and rain with Jiao, but he failed.

“Let’s take a short break,” “Mao” said. “I need to close my eyes for a minute.”

“I told you not to hurry,” she said.

Another short spell of silence engulfed the room.

“Oh, have you met with Chen of late?” “Mao” said abruptly.

“I heard that he’s just come back to Shanghai. Where he’s been, I have no idea. Why?”

“This afternoon he sort of approached me at the cocktail party.”

“He has business connections. Don’t worry about him. I’ve told you that he’s a nice man.”

“He’s very nice to you, of course.”

“He has a book project on the thirties, so he asked me some questions.”

“So you had a candlelight dinner with him the other night.”

“What? How do you know about that?”

“And you’re nice to him too.”

“Mao” said sarcastically, “He’s so different, as you’ve said, talented, and capable of buying you an expensive dinner too.”

“No, that’s not true. He’s nothing but a would-be writer, I assure you.”

“He is anything but what he claims to be. He is one who might have high connections. I just got a tip about him, and his appearance at the cocktail party was no coincidence. I’ll find out. The damned monkey won’t get away from the palm of Buddha.”

The “monkey” he referred to was the one in the Journey to the West. In the classic novel, Monkey tried to challenge the power of Buddha, who turned his palm into the five-peaked mountains and crushed the monkey underneath. Chen hadn’t “approached” a Hunan-accented man, however, at the cocktail party that afternoon.

“What are you going to do about him?”

“See, you are concerned about him even when lying naked in my arms.”

“You’re being so unreasonably jealous. If that’s what you want, I’ll stop seeing him. I accepted his invitation because he was helping Xie. There’s nothing going on between us.”

“Well, let’s not talk about him now.”

“Mao” didn’t seem to want to pursue the subject too far. Whoever “Mao” could possibly be, he was possessive, taking Chen as a threat.

Again, the old familiar sound surfaced, bubbling up from the stillness of the room. This time, “Mao” didn’t recite any lines. Chen heard only his labored breathing and the screeching of the wooden-board mattress.

But “Mao” failed again. “I’m too tired today,” he mumbled.

Sliding open the closet door a bit, in the semi-darkness Chen could make out only the silhouettes of two white bodies on the bed, both partially sitting up, propped up against pillows.

“You’re beat today,” she said, “what with your worries about Chen, what with -”

“What are you talking about?” “Mao” snarled in exasperation. “You think Chen could beat me? Tell you what! He won’t get away so easily the next time.”

“I have nothing to do with him. Really. I swear by my grandma’s soul.” Jiao took it seriously, whatever he meant by “the next time.” “He goes to Xie’s place only for his book project.”

“Why the hell can’t you stop going there? Neither Chen nor Xie is your damned business.”

“I’ve been studying painting there because of you. You wanted me to be educated and cultured – to be worthy of you.”

“I wanted you to dabble a little, like Shang – to be like her in every way.”

“But I have been learning a lot of things there. Xie’s really knowledgeable.”

“So you really care for Xie, I see…”

“Oh, how can you say that?” she exclaimed. Then something fell to the floor, like a glass, breaking and splintering.

She might have knocked a cup from the nightstand with a sudden motion. In the Romance of Three Kingdoms, Liu Bei, too, dropped his cup when Cao Cao made an unexpected comment about Liu’s secret ambition.

“Don’t move,” she said, springing up from the bed. “I’ll get the broom and clean it up.”

In the closet, hiding behind the door, Chen caught a partial glimpse of her naked body padding over. He might be able to break away, he calculated, at the instant she pulled open the door. She would be too shocked to react or recognize him, considering the poor light. “Mao,” still sprawling on the bed, wouldn’t be able to catch him in time to detain him.

He put his hands on the groove of the door, listening closely to her steps, which approached softly on the floor…

A NIGHT-LIGHT POPPED ON in the closet, as if in response to her bare feet moving closer.

It was a tiny light that shed only a faint ring on the floor. Possibly it was on an automatic timer.

Holding his breath, Chen tensed his muscles, and prepared to spring out.

But the closet door didn’t slide open.

To his surprise, the footsteps actually started fading away.

She must be heading toward the kitchen, from what he was able to make out, sweating in shock and relief.

A minute or so later, he heard her coming back, most likely with the broom from the kitchen.

It was nothing short of a miracle that she chose to get the broom from the kitchen instead -

“Mao” turned the lamp on the nightstand on upon her return.

Chen was finally able to catch a glimpse of her dazzling white body – the delicate tension of her curved back and buttocks as she bent over to clean up the mess on the floor, carrying a broom and a dustpan.

It was but a fleeting peek. She cleaned up the splintered glass and walked back to the kitchen with the broom and dustpan.

When she returned, she turned off the light the moment she slid back into bed.

But why should she have taken the trouble to walk, naked, all the way to the kitchen for a broom when there was one in the bedroom closet? Maybe she didn’t want to use the soft broom for the spilled tea. In Shanghai, a broom of bamboo slices would be common for a shikumen courtyard or concrete-floored kitchen. For a bedroom, however, a broom made of Luhua reed, or better quality, made of coir -

“At first you said you went there for the painting lessons,” “Mao” resumed his interrupted speech. “It might be good for you, I thought, but you spend more and more time there. Lessons, parties, and sometimes with no excuse at all. Why?”

“What am I supposed to do here? You’re always busy. You only come in for your cloud and rain.”

“And that’s not all. You have been taking such good care of Xie, cooking and cleaning and washing for him, while you have a maid helping at home. When he was sick at the hospital, you stayed by his bedside for hours.”

“Xie has suffered a lot. Now he’s an old man, living by himself, and I try to do something to help, just like his other students.”

“Like his other students? Don’t try to pull my leg anymore. You went so far as to provide a false alibi for him. That night you came home quite early as I recall. Why?”

“He is incapable of harming people – incapable of killing a fly. He was being set up. I had to help.”