Shanghai Redemption

THIRTEEN

ON THE TRAIN BACK to Shanghai, Chen took out his regular cell phone and called Manager Hong at the office of the cemetery in Suzhou.

“I slept late this morning, Manager Hong. I’m going to have a bite at Cai’s Noodles and then I’ll come over in the afternoon.”

“No problem. Enjoy yourself. You’ve heard about the old, ideal Suzhou way of life, haven’t you? In the morning, warm noodle soup in your stomach, and then a bathtub filled with warm water as an aid for digestion and relaxation.”

“The Suzhou way of life indeed.”

“Don’t worry about the renovation. I’ll keep an eye on it for you, Director Chen.”

Their phone conversation was tapped. No doubt about it. Let others believe that he was in Suzhou, enjoying himself like an incorrigible gourmet, and supervising the reconstruction of his father’s grave like a filial son.

At the Shanghai Railway Station, Chen took out his special cell phone and dialed Old Hunter, who picked up at the first ring.

“Oh, where I am? I’m in Zhangjiang, Pudong, with an important client this morning. I’m quite a distance from you. Go ahead to the noodle restaurant by yourself. The place you call the Shanghai Number One, the one that serves the noodles mixed with scallion oil, peanut butter, and fried shrimp. It’s so tasty. There will be another real surprise for you there, and after you’re done, you can call me.”

“Another real surprise there!”

Old Hunter was speaking guardedly, possibly in the presence of a client. But Chen understood. Shanghai Number One meant Peiqin’s new restaurant. Peiqin made a point of using traditional recipes and ingredients, and the noodle dishes were popular among Shanghai’s budget diners.

Chen was heading over to the long line at the taxi stand when he caught sight of a subway sign. The number 2 line. It had a stop at the intersection of Nanjing and He’nan Roads, and he could walk to the restaurant from there. Given the invariable traffic jam that was in Shanghai, the subway was a more reliable alternative.

Thirty minutes later, he stepped into the restaurant. Looking around without seeing a familiar face, he chose a table in the corner.

An elderly waiter shuffled over to the table, clutching a mop in his hand. “What do you want?”

“I’m a friend of Peiqin’s. Can you tell her I’m here?”

It was common for customers to mention it if they knew someone who worked at the restaurant. Sometimes it was for the sake of saying hi, and sometimes in hopes of getting special treatment.

“Peiqin, you have a friend waiting for you,” the waiter called up the stairs.

When Chen was last there, Peiqin hadn’t introduced him to her colleagues-at least, she hadn’t mentioned his official position. She didn’t like to show off her connections.

Peiqin hurried down from her attic office. To his surprise, she extended her hand rather formally.

“Welcome to our restaurant.”

He took her hand in a similar manner and felt something in his palm. Without speaking a word, he clasped it-a small square object.

“It’s been a long time, Mr. Chen. I hope you enjoy your meal today.” She smiled and then looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “Please enjoy double toppings for China’s number one noodles. They are the best. And on the house.”

“Thank you,” Chen said, playing along.

“It’s now the number one dish in the noodle category on the Mass Review Web site. That’s very significant, because it reflects the genuine opinion of real customers. Our small restaurant couldn’t afford to simply hire people to vote for it online.”

“The dish absolutely deserves the honor. Congratulations!” he said. “By the way, I took the subway here this morning. It’s very convenient, and it might be the same for you too.”

“In fact, I always take the subway-the seven fifty-one train-and it arrives at this stop at eight fifteen. From the number 3 exit, it is only a ten-minute walk to the restaurant. The subway is very reliable.”

To anyone who happened to overhear their conversation, it would have sounded like a chat between two old acquaintances who hadn’t crossed paths in a while.

But Peiqin seemed to be trying to pass on a subtle tip. If he needed, he should be able to get catch her at that particular time and at that particular subway exit.

“Shanghai Number One has a truly authentic Shanghai flavor, which is so different from that of Suzhou. My mother likes it too. I brought a box of noodles to her place one time, and she finished all of them in less than ten minutes.”

“Sorry, I have been too busy to visit your mother lately. She doesn’t live very far from here. Do you want to bring a box to her today?”

“Well, I’m really supposed to be in Suzhou today.”

“I see-”

“Peiqin, you have a phone call from the Apricot Blossom Group CEO,” another waitress said in a loud voice.

“The Apricot Blossom Group is named after the restaurant on Fuzhou Road. I still have my state job there,” she said, by way of explanation. “I have to take this call.”

“Of course, you take the call. I, too, have to leave.”

Ten minutes later, he headed out of the restaurant without seeing Peiqin again. It might be just as well. The couldn’t really talk openly in the restaurant.

He pulled out the envelope she had passed him, which contained a mini cassette tape. Peiqin had taken great care to make sure no one saw her hand it over.

Around the corner, he saw an electronics store, where he bought a player and a headphone set. He then kept on walking, going several blocks before he saw a shabby café with a bohemian ambiance. There were old worn-out chairs and tables both inside and outside. A young girl in a white T-shirt and threadbare jeans sat at an outside table, seemingly totally absorbed in a music player, her eyes half closed, her bare foot beating on the sidewalk. Chen chose a corner table inside, ordered a tall cup of black coffee, pulled out the new tape player, and put on the headphones. Drumming his fingers on the table like the girl outside, he put in the tape Peiqin passed him and started listening to it.

It started off with the conversation between Old Hunter and Tang. Chen already knew the gist of it, but some of the details might be helpful. Chen listened carefully, gulping black coffee, and taking notes.

Then came another section: the discussion between Old Hunter, Yu, and Peiqin. It was quite long, as they jumped from one topic to another over dinner. Chen listened with uninterrupted concentration. Old Hunter’s account of the ernai café was hilarious, and their speculations as to Chen’s reasons for having Old Hunter check out the café were no less intriguing. Some of the details proved to be thought-provoking, perspectives he himself wouldn’t have considered. Yu’s brief account of the missing person case was helpful too. Chen hadn’t had the time to look into it yet.

He finished his second cup of coffee before he finished listening to the speculations of “the family of cops.”

A waiter walked over and looked at him. Chen took off his headphones and asked for the menu again.

“I’d like a wedge of lemon pie,” he said to the waiter, taking out his laptop and the CD from Qian.

“So few enjoy Suzhou opera nowadays. What a pity! I have to write something that will help people appreciate it,” Chen said to the waiter.

The waiter appeared indifferent to opera. But that didn’t matter. Chen just wanted him to see Chen as a bookish opera fan, working on an article in defense of it.

Taking another sip of coffee, Chen thought he might as well take a short break and listen to the opera CD. Roughly speaking, Suzhou opera consisted of two parts: singing and narration. The singing part could be blank verse sung in the middle of the narrative, performed to musical instruments such as the sanxian and pipa, but it could also be a song performed by itself. If it was the latter, the song was usually short, four or five minutes long, and was sung as the audience arrived at the theater, a kind of prelude to the narrative episode.

The CD was composed of songs adapted from classical poems. Qian was the singer, and her passion came out in her clear voice, but the choice of the poems also spoke to her own emotions. The pieces he listened to were quiet, sentimental ones. The first was a poem written by Liu Fangping:

The sun setting against the gauze curtain, / the dusk drawing nearer, / she sheds tears, alone, / in her magnificent room. / The courtyard appears so deserted, / the spring on the decline,/ pear petals fallen, all over the ground- / too much for her / to push open the door.

The last image was subtle yet striking. She’d had no visitors-the courtyard not swept, the door not opened-for a long time.

The next one, by Li Bai, had a similar ring to it.

Waiting, she finds her silk stockings / soaked with dewdrops / glistening on the marble palace steps. / Finally, she is moving / to let the crystal-woven curtain fall / when she casts one more glance / at the glamorous autumn moon.

The deserted beauty was a popular subject in classical Chinese poems. The person complains about-but doesn’t really speak out against-her lord. In traditional literary criticism, these poems were often interpreted as being politically symbolic, representing the intellectual complaining about being neglected by the ruler.

Was that the reason these poems appealed to him at this moment?

Qian could have fallen for S. because of their apparent shared love of Suzhou opera. In this materialistic age, in which money was paramount and culture was frequently ignored, nobody seemed to be able to make a real difference in the declining fortunes of traditional opera. S.’s earlier help in bringing attention and audiences to her performances turned out not to be motivated by his love of Suzhou opera but by his lust for her. Once his objective was achieved, he didn’t have to make any more efforts on behalf of opera.

Only an idealist like her, who saw only what she wanted to see, would go forward on blind faith alone. Even her plan to go abroad seemed too unrealistic. With her experience, she might be able to get into a university and earn a degree in opera, but the idea that she could earn a living from it was just another fantasy.

Chen couldn’t help feeling sympathetic.

He forked up a bite of the lemon pie. Before he could eat it, though, his cell phone buzzed, sliding across the table as if it had a life of its own.

In a surprising coincidence, it was Qian calling him from Suzhou.

“I’ve made a couple of calls for you, Cao. About the nightclub in Suzhou-its main connection to the Heavenly World in Shanghai seems to be the law firm that represents it. S. once mentioned that law firm, though in a different context. Some of the Western companies that the law firm represented made things difficult for his office. Needless to say, someone in the firm is very powerful. Perhaps someone high up in the Party or government who is some sort of special advisor to the law firm. Someone powerful enough that S. couldn’t do anything but throw in the towel.”

“A law firm that represents the nightclub-”

“What’s so surprising about that? The club pays a large retainer to the law firm because of the firm’s connection to the people at the top of the city government. That way, no one can touch it.” She then added, “Also, I’ve talked to him.”

“Him? Oh, you mean Sima,” he blurted out. Chen had guessed who it was that morning at Cai’s Noodles. Sima, the head of the Shanghai Foreign Liaison Office, was someone Chen had known for years and had visited just a few days earlier.

“You moved fast, Cao.”

He sort of regretted blurting out Sima’s name, but it was probably just as well. She had confirmed his assumption.

“What did you say to him?”

“Not a single word about you, of course. But things can’t go on like this, so I put a little pressure on him, hinting at the consequences if he doesn’t let me go. He got it, I think.”

“Be patient, Qian,” Chen said. “In a couple of days, I may be able give you a progress report along with some evidence, and then we can talk about the next step. It’ll be more effective if you have something substantial in your hands.”

“Fine, I will wait for your report.”

“In the meantime, if you learn anything else about the nightclub, let me know.” He added in a hurry, “Don’t put any more pressure on Sima. I’ll definitely call you tomorrow.”

Afterward, he had a bad feeling about having said so much on the phone, even though it was the cell phone he’d recently purchased, its number known to only a few people.

The coffee had gone cold, he discovered, as he sipped it with distaste.

He turned off the laptop and turned his attention back to the tape.

Next came the section of the tape that had been recorded by Old Hunter at the ernai café. It was mainly small talk among the regular customers there, who kept stirring up ripples of their bored lives in their cups of coffee.

Chen started to make notes again. Gossip seemed to be the primary characteristic of the ernai’s conversation. Someone was buying a villa in Xiaoshan even more expensive than the one they owned in Binjiang; a vice mayor’s son drove his Porsche so recklessly that he wrecked it after one month; a laowai met his end suspiciously in a hotel despite the official announcement proclaiming that he died of natural causes; and dead pigs were reappearing, this time on a different river to Shanghai.

All of this chatter didn’t amount to much. If anything, it spoke to the increasingly widespread corruption in society. Several of the ernai’s men were officials, so a recurring topic was “naked officials”-officials whose families had emigrated, taking huge bank accounts along with them, while the officials themselves remained behind, in that sense “naked.” The rationale behind shipping one’s family abroad was simple. The officials were worried. They didn’t know what would happen to them in the near future. For today, they would just use their positions to embezzle and steal as much as possible. The ernai, however, complained that their men gave “so much” to their families, leaving only little crumbs for them. Some of them actually hoped that their men would take them abroad too.

According to the ernai, about ninety percent of the officials were “naked.” Chen did a quick calculation. That was probably about right, despite those red songs extolling the virtues of the great and glorious Party. Some Party officials might not have sent their entire families abroad, but at least their children were there, studying or working.

Then Chen heard something, one sentence that had almost slipped his attention. He pressed the stop button and rewound the tape.

“Lai’s son studies at an Ivy League college, with several luxury condos purchased in his name in Boston and New York.”

It wasn’t entirely news. In a meeting, Lai had declared that his son was studying abroad because he’d won a scholarship. But what about the condos? For the moment, Chen decided not to give too much credence to the gossip of the ernai.

Sima was just such a “naked official.” With his son studying at a private school in the States, and his wife staying there to keep her son company, Sima was free to find one woman after another for himself. He was also quite cautious, placing Qian in Suzhou and keeping Jin busy with her café.

Chen smiled at the part of Old Hunter approaching Jin. It was so funny, he couldn’t help listening to it again.

OLD HUNTER: I used to be tea drinker. My nephew wants me to drink coffee, saying it’s good for preventing Alzheimer’s. I don’t know if that’s true, but I don’t want to disappoint him. Still, I know far more about tea. In some fancy cafés in Western countries, they also serve excellent tea. It speaks for the sophistication of the establishment.

JIN: Yes, that’s interesting. I’ve heard about that.

OLD HUNTER: I can have my nephew e-mail some pictures to you. He travels a lot.

JIN: That would be great. Here is my card, and I’ll put my e-mail address as well as my cell phone number on the back of it.

Chen wasn’t sure whether there was a real nephew at all, one who might feel avuncular toward the ex-inspector.

He was having his third cup of coffee when his cell phone rang again. It was Peiqin.

“I went to visit your mother during my lunch break. She had a bad scare this morning, I’m sorry to say.”

“What!”

“She left to do her routine shopping at the food market this morning-you know, buying fresh vegetables for the day. When she got back home, she found that her room had been broken into and was completely ransacked. She collapsed in fright. When I got there, she was still sitting on the floor. I went with her to East China Hospital. You know a doctor there, Yu had said. Dr. Hou examined her thoroughly, saying there was nothing wrong, but for a woman of her age, it would be advisable for her to stay overnight at the hospital.”

“You should have called me earlier, Peiqin.”

“She didn’t want me to call at all. I’ve just managed to step outside for a moment.”

“I’m sorry, Peiqin. I really should be thanking you for your help.”

“The doctor said there’s nothing to worry about. He promised me she’ll have a nurse in her room overnight. And I’ll keep you posted.”

Fury gripped him. After saying farewell to Peiqin, he closed the phone forcefully. What could a burglar have tried to steal from an old woman like her? It was hard to imagine why anyone would break in during the morning, not to mention into an old shikumen house with all the neighbors moving about. Unless it had been done by professionals, and for something not related to her at all, but to her son.

If that was the case, then someone seemed to be desperate, for reasons not yet known to Chen.

Or it could have been meant as a warning to him.

For years, he’d been telling himself that, although he wasn’t a good son, he could see to it that his mother enjoyed a comfortable old age. Ironically, the very thing that made the plan feasible-his position in the Party system-was now threatening it. He would never forgive himself if she was hurt because of his problems with the system.

He had to do something-anything-to make sure that it wouldn’t happen again.

But what?

His cell phone rang again with the sound of a wounded bird, startling him. This time it was Old Hunter.

“How did you like the noodles?”

“They were really delicious. Oh, I got the tape, and I’ve been listening to it for the last several hours. Is there anything new?”

“Well, the identity of the car owner was established.”

“Who?”

“Sima.”

That wasn’t news. Qian had already confirmed that Sima was the official in question.

“I have something else for you. But it’ll be at least an hour before I can leave Zhangjiang. And then I’d face all the traffic coming back from Pudong. How about we meet tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow morning?”

“You’re still in Shanghai, aren’t you?”

“Yes-” Chen hesitated, thought about his plan to return to Suzhou, and then decided against it. It wouldn’t be a good idea for him to go back to his apartment under the circumstances. Because of his earlier subterfuge about being in Suzhou, if his enemies learned that he was in Shanghai, it would only add to their suspicions.

“Yes, let’s meet tomorrow morning. At the People’s Park as soon as the gate opens. The bird corner.”

“I’ll see you then, at the bird corner.”