Don't Cry, Tai Lake

TWELVE

Chen didn’t catch sight of Shanshan when he hit the street after hurrying out of the chemical company. She must have turned at the intersection, but in which direction, he had no idea. She had walked away fast, in a state of high dudgeon.

Her reaction wasn’t beyond comprehension. She’d asked him about his connection to the police officer who had released her, a question he’d parried, keeping his real identity a secret.

But he had his reasons for doing so, at least during the course of the investigation.

He turned onto a small road, which he thought might lead to the center. He was pondering what he had just learned from so many different sources. He had to sort out the information.

Then he saw her walking in front of him.

“Shanshan,” he said, breaking into a run. “Let me explain.”

“You’re horrible,” she said without slowing her steps. “Officer Huang listened to you so reverentially, nodding all the time like a puppet. Do you still want to tell me that you met him by chance in a barbershop?”

“I owe you an apology,” he said, deciding to reveal his connections, if not his identity. “I have connections with the police here. That’s not something I really want to show off, or talk to you about, but in today’s China, you can’t do anything without connections. You know that.”

“You don’t have to waste your breath explaining anything,” she said, walking on with her head down. “I’m surprised that a master of connections like you actually has time for me.”

“You don’t have to say that, Shanshan. As for Sergeant Huang, he happens to be a fan of the mysteries I’ve translated. That part is absolutely true, and that’s the reason he calls me a master. As a matter of fact, I didn’t know Huang before this vacation. After meeting you, however, I thought I had to establish and develop the connection here.”

“You’re full of connections, both old and new, as you’ve already told me,” she said, with a distrustful edge still in her voice. “What do you want from me?” She seemed to be gradually recovering from her initial shock.

“We need to talk, Shanshan. Let me tell you something I’ve just learned from Huang. According to him, things are getting uglier for Jiang.”

“How?”

“He’ll be convicted of murder in Liu’s case.” He resumed after a pause, “I don’t know Jiang from Adam. Whatever happens to him, it’s not my business. But it involves you. That was why I had to tell you that it was a chance meeting between me and Huang. Because it wouldn’t do anyone any good to reveal such a connection. Especially at this juncture.”

They must have walked for some distance without paying attention to the direction. At an intersection ahead, another turn brought them to the beginning of the small, quaint road that lead back to the center.

She slowed down before finally coming to a halt, hesitant as to whether to walk any further with him. This was the only road in the city of Wuxi that was familiar to him. He remembered some of the tourist attraction signs he had seen.

“There’s a pavilion, I think, halfway up the hill. It should be a quiet place to talk.”

She followed him without saying anything. They started up the steps, which were half-covered in moss and weeds.

To their left, the flat surface of the rock cliff had lines engraved in red- or black-painted characters left by people years earlier. Among them was a couplet by Qian Qianyi, a Qing-dynasty minister who had first served in the Ming dynasty. The couplet was partially blocked out by “Long March,” one of Mao’s poems, which had been carved by Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution. Beneath Mao’s poem, a young couple had recently chiseled out a romantic pledge, with their names carved under a red heart. Perhaps they believed their names would last forever this way.

The trail, winding between clumps of larches and ferns, became rugged, slippery, even treacherous in places, with the stone steps in bad repair. Fortunately, as they labored up the trail in the heat, a breeze occasionally found its way through the groves of small spruce.

An old, ramshackle pavilion came into view. It had a yellow-glazed tile roof supported by vermilion posts, and the posts were set into curved wooden benches with exquisite lattice railings above. Chen was momentarily confused by a sense of deja vu. Which was odd. It was nothing like the dilapidated pavilion overlooking the lake and its turtle-head rock in Yuantouzhu.

Shanshan sat down, leaning sideways against the post, fanning herself with a newspaper that she pulled out of her pocket. He sat down beside her, his arm stretched out onto the railing.

In the trees behind them, small birds chirped. Among the trees, there was an ancient stump surrounded by an abundance of yellowish weeds and a flattened white fungus across the top.

“I’m afraid Jiang will be charged and convicted,” Chen started, “in a couple of days.”

“How could that possibly be?” she demanded. “They don’t have a shred of evidence.”

“They think they have. And that’s what matters. They aren’t ordinary cops, you know. They are Internal Security.”

“But why?”

“It’s the politics behind the case, Shanshan,” he said carefully. “Jiang is a troublemaker, not only in Wuxi, but to the people high above in Beijing too.”

“Because of the environmental issues he brings up,” she said. “I guess you do know everything.”

“Once he is sentenced, it will be impossible for anyone to turn the situation around-whatever their connections. I know hardly anything about Jiang, so I’m in no position to speak for him. That’s why I really need to talk to you.”

“I understand, Chen. Sorry that I was too upset to listen.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

They didn’t speak for several minutes.

He shook a cigarette out of his pack. For once, he didn’t ask for her permission, just lit it. The distant sky was dappled with white clouds like lost sails, purposelessly moving, torn at the edges.

“I’m trying to help, Shanshan,” he repeated. “Please tell me what you know about Jiang.”

She sat unresponsive, statuelike. The hills behind them were spread out like a traditional landscape scroll.

“Only by clearing Jiang,” he went on in earnest, “can I hope to help you and get you out of trouble.”

“I don’t know how you can help,” she said softly, but she started to tell him what she knew.

“Jiang had started as an entrepreneur in Wuxi in the late eighties. Having made a small fortune for himself in the early waves of China’s economic reform, he began to take note of the deteriorating environment in the area. A native of Wuxi, he had grown up by the lake, so he took it as his responsibility to draw attention to the issue. Initially, his efforts were not without support, and he had limited success. The media mentioned him as a fighter for the environment, and he even appeared on provincial TV and radio programs. With his firsthand knowledge about the problems with local industry, and by talking and writing about them, he was able to get several local factories to mend their ways-at least to some extent.

“Jiang then began taking the issue more seriously. He sold his business and devoted himself full time to environmental protection. He managed to make a modest living from the fees for talks and articles, but his efforts started to upset an increasing number of Big Bucks, especially those he mentioned unfavorably. So they launched a fierce counterattack, claiming that he was seeking publicity at the expense of law-abiding companies, and that his writings were amateur and half-baked, not based at all on scientific research.

“Then they took it even further by appealing to city authorities. After all, the success of Wuxi was dependent on its booming industry, and the city couldn’t afford for it to be discredited. The officials didn’t hesitate to put pressure on him.

“Jiang persisted, however, targeting factories that continued to dump pollutants into the lake. After doing extensive research, he sent detailed reports to many newspapers and magazines. To his dismay, though, his submissions were invariably returned. He was told that they had received specific instructions from above banning his work and that those companies were untouchable because they produced the majority of the local industrial revenue. Still, he kept on sending letters and reports to government authorities-higher and higher authorities-a persistence which eventually got him labeled a ‘political troublemaker.’

“According to his research, most of the companies in Wuxi were problematic. They were far from meeting the environmental standards, and the situation was aggravated by the acquiescence of the government.

“He started to reach out to foreign media, contacting Western correspondents, who sometimes paid him for his work and published it abroad. Ironically, it then found its way back into China, even into some ‘inside journals’ compiled for high-ranking leaders in Beijing. This made the local officials consider him even more troublesome, and he was consequently blacklisted. But those factories went on operating as before, at the expense of environment.

“So he modified his tactics. He started doing specific field studies, collecting pictures and data, undeniable evidence, before confronting the companies in question and demanding that they mend their ways. If they then didn’t do anything about it, he would post vivid pictures and concrete information on the Web. Those Web posts became quite influential, even more than his earlier articles in the newspapers and magazines, drawing thousands and thousands of responses. As the information spread to an ever-increasing number of people, it became a serious headache to the authorities.

“Then, out of the blue, the accusation came up that Jiang was making a mountain of money by blackmailing those companies. A local business tycoon even went so far as to produce a letter from Jiang which said: ‘If you don’t respond, you’ll have to pay for it.’ There was no question that it was a warning, but it was too vague for it to be read as blackmail.

“So for the last two years, he has been in trouble,” she concluded, “and there has been one attempt after another to bring him down. But I don’t think he would blackmail someone for his own benefit.”

Chen listened on attentively, without interrupting or commenting. Her narrative about Jiang had gone on fairly long. The afternoon light that silhouetted her against the quaint pavilion was gradually fading. In the distance, a light haze began softening the hills.

“But as you said, he had sold his business and had to make a living,” Chen said. “Nowadays, he doesn’t make any money from his speeches or articles.”

“I guess he made enough before he became an activist.”

“What kind of a man do you think he is?”

“He’s no murderer, I’ll say that.” Then, as if in afterthought, she said, “Of course, he has his flaws. For instance, he’s too fond of the limelight. And he’s self-important too. When a company offered to pay him a consulting fee, he never said no. He might have planned to use the money for his environmental work, but it wasn’t a good idea.”

“How did his activities affect you?”

“I got to know him about a year ago. Because of our common interests, we would meet up and talk from time to time. On one occasion, I talked to him about the problem at my company, citing a bunch of research data which he later put into a special report.”

“Do you know if he approached Liu with it?”

“He did. Liu was furious with me over my ‘betrayal,’ though there was nothing secret or confidential about the data. Anyone could accumulate the same information through their own research. But I, too, was upset with Jiang. He should have considered the consequences before confronting Liu with it. Jiang claimed that he never mentioned my name, but that didn’t change the fact that he got the data from me. I was so pissed off, I stopped seeing him.”

He noticed her choice of words-stopped seeing him. They carried a subtle hint as to the nature of their relationship.

“That was several months ago?” Chen asked.

“Yes. What he’s been doing since, I have no idea.”

“About two months ago, in March, I believe, he contacted Liu again. They met at the chemical company office and had a heated argument.”

“What? That’s not possible! Jiang promised me that he would target other companies instead. He said that it wouldn’t be a problem since there are so many of them around.”

“Well, maybe he did it because of the timing. With the coming IPO of the Wuxi Number One Chemical Company, Liu would have been more likely to compromise at that critical juncture. At least, that is how Internal Security has it figured.”

“But I still don’t think Jiang would have come to the office.”

“Mi says she heard him arguing with Liu in his office.”

“When was that?”

“At the beginning of March-the day before Women’s Day. She was positive about it.”

Shanshan made no response, instead staring first at him, then seemingly at something beyond him, in the distance. The air on the hill became slightly chilly for the time of year.

There was something suddenly vulnerable about her, he noticed. She sat up against the post, her arms hanging at her sides, hands slightly open, as if in supplication. She hadn’t yet said anything explicit about her relationship with Jiang. Chen decided not to push. What she would tell him, eventually, she would.

The personal factors aside, a clear picture was forming of the economic background behind the case against Jiang. For the local government, environmental protection efforts were made only to the extent that they wouldn’t jeopardize the appearance of “a harmonious society.” The local authorities depended on the ever-increasing production and profits contributed by the factories, which cut costs by dumping industrial waste into the lake. Exposing this to the Western media, as well as on the Web, made Jiang politically intolerable, and Internal Security must have been following him for quite a while. Which would explain how they came to intervene so quickly in the case.

“It’s difficult,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “Isn’t it?”

It was difficult because he couldn’t rule out the possibility of Jiang’s being a criminal, even though political persecution appeared to be a far more likely scenario.

“Who else did you talk to at the company?” she said, with an alert look in her eyes, suddenly changing the subject. “You didn’t meet Officer Huang just for lunch in the canteen, did you?”

“You’re right. We went and inteviewed Mi and Fu. But I’m not the one who’s a cop here, so Huang did most of the talking. We didn’t learn anything new or useful from them. Huang and I also spoke to Mrs. Liu at her home.”

“You’ve been doing some investigating, like a cop.”

“There’s something strange about Mrs. Liu, but I’m not sure what it is,” he said, ignoring the question in her remark. “She travels back to Shanghai frequently-almost weekly-to play mahjong. How could she afford it?”

“Money is nothing to her. Liu earned a lot-he got as a bonus ten percent of the company’s annual profit. And that’s only his legitimate income, not including what he got in gray-area money.”

“She must have known about his little secretary, so how could she have left him on his own so much in Wuxi?”

“She did know about his little secretaries. But I’ve heard that they had a deal. He gave her a lot of money, and she provided the secure, stable home environment that was a necessity for his position.”

“Hold on, Shanshan. Little secretaries? Plural? Liu had someone else in addition to Mi?”

“There was at least one before Mi-that I know of.”

“What happened to her?”

“Dumped liked a worn-out mop.”

“Can you find out more about her?”

“I could try. Somebody told me she had been a karaoke girl. Mi used to work in a foot massage parlor,” she said. “As a Party cadre in charge of a large state-run company, it was very shrewd of him to maintain a quiet, stable home life by providing generously for his wife. At the same time, he had Mi serving him hand and foot like a concubine at his home office.”

“Yes, I see.”

“But tell me, Chen, what did you hear from Mi and Fu?”

“Mi described a most unhappy family life for Liu, which I think was an effort to justify her role as a little secretary. Fu said little. He’s also from Shanghai and mentioned going there-to Shanghai-this evening.”

“Fu goes back quite often. Now, as the boss, he can travel there whenever he likes.” She paused, then said suddenly, “Oh, I don’t know what will happen to the company or to China.”

It reminded Chen of something written by Fan Zhongyan, a Song-dynasty poet-statesman who described people “joyful with the joy of the country and sorrowful with the sorrow of the country. Alas, in whom can I find such a companion?”

Shanshan, herself besieged by troubles, was sorrowful with the sorrow of the country. She was so different from many of her contemporaries, standing out from the crowd in this acquisitive age by fighting for things beyond her own materialistic considerations. He couldn’t help but be reminded of himself from his long-forgotten years at college, when he, too, had cherished idealistic, passionate dreams.

Their eyes met, and they beheld each other. The air was abruptly filled with the sound of birds chirping, and a fitful breeze blew through the trees like a lost song.

A couple of lines he had written earlier came to mind-when you no longer belonged / to a place, nor a time, nor yourself. It was a poem about her, he realized.

At that moment, however, he didn’t know what to say, so he repeated the words he, as a cop, had said so many times.

“Thank you for telling me all this, Shanshan. If you think of anything else, anything unusual, let me know.”