The Hua Shan Hospital Murders

CHAPTER FIVE

“This is not a play about a dumb nigger!” shouted the towering Afro-American actor playing Othello as he lifted the middle-aged English actor playing Iago by the throat and held him against the stage-left proscenium arch.

“The Iago Conundrum,” said Fong under his breath from his seat at the back of the Shanghai Theatre Academy’s decrepit old theatre. It had been his wife’s, Fu Tsong’s, favourite performance space and she had performed all over China and Japan.

The Caucasian playing Iago was unable to speak.“Good,” Fong thought, “every bad actor silenced was a move in the right direction.”

“You do that ‘I’m-a-bad-dude’ shit one more time Gummer and I’ll take your stupid British head off your wimpy British body – got it!"

” Gummer nodded and the massive black American released his single-handed grip. “Good,” he muttered and stomped away.

As soon as he was gone, Gummer turned to the auditorium, and shielding his eyes from the lights, shouted, “Roger, I was only doing what you directed me to do – wasn’t I?”

The Iago Conundrum, Fu Tsong, Fong’s deceased wife, had called it. It was a classic stage-acting problem. Shakespeare insists that Iago dupe Othello over a remarkably short period of time into murdering his own wife – and all on stage. The audience must know what Iago is doing to follow the plot but at the same time Othello must not. If Iago plays his part so that the audience can follow every twist and turn of his scheming then Othello is made to look like a fool – or as the Afro-American actor so charmingly put it – a dumb nigger. However, if Iago plays his cards too close to the chest, thus making his words totally believable to Othello, it is very possible that the audience will miss the joy of following the scheming – point by point. The Iago Conundrum.

The director wisely sidestepped Mr. Gummer’s question and called for a scene without his two male leads. The actresses playing Othello’s wife, Desdemona, and Iago’s wife, Emilia, were sent for.

Fong looked around the theatre. Its mustiness was familiar. Comforting. He’d spent many, many joyous hours here watching his brilliant wife rehearse and perform. Since her death, he’d haunted the theatre – finding it a good place to think. There was hub-bub and chaotic energy everywhere, but since none of it concerned him directly he found a profound stillness amidst the whirlwind. A deep peace to which he often retreated. Lily didn’t know. She wouldn’t have approved. He didn’t want to have to explain.

He fingered his copy of Othello. Fu Tsong had played Desdemona. She had used the very script that sat in his lap with its Mandarin on the left and its English translation on the facing page. On some pages she had written notes about the text – insights etched in her remarkably delicate hand. He treasured them as access points to her. To her privacy.

She’d loved Shakespeare’s plays and had made Fong read and discuss them with her as she developed her characters. It was during one of these discussions that she’d told him of the Iago conundrum. Like so many memorable conversations with Fu Tsong it’d taken place mid-coital. He was on his back, she straddling his legs.

“Inside hug,” she’d announced as she tightened her muscles around his member – and he’d gasped. Then he opened his eyes and saw her staring down at him.

“What?” he’d protested.

“You like it when I take control,” she said sliding her right foot forward so she could push off and rise up and down his length. “You like that.”

“So?” he’d croaked.

“So why do you resist me?” she’d asked and quickly rose and fell twice. “Don’t you want to be swept away, to be bowled over, to fall hopelessly in love?”

He nodded slowly.

“Then why do you resist? Give over!”

Fong slipped a foot over her bent knee and dragged himself to a sitting position. They were equal now. He rose when she did and fell as she fell.

She smiled.

“What?” he demanded again.

“In your head this feels better – less being swept away – but Fong, in your heart this feels like you’ve stopped a mighty river. And of course in your thing you feel nothing.” Then she’d smiled broadly and announced, “It’s the Iago Conundrum of Sex.”

“What?” he’d asked yet again.

“You have to work on your vocabulary husband – how many ‘what’s’ is that in one sex session?” Then she’d explained the conundrum. At the end she said, “However, in the Iago Conundrum of Sex there’s a way out.”

“How? I’m not backing down, Fu Tsong,” he announced through gritted teeth as he followed each of her rises and falls so that no one led and no one followed. Nor did anyone get much pleasure.

“How?”

Fu Tsong said, “Like this.” She tightened her muscles again and announced, “Inside hug.” He gasped and stopped his resistance. “A little something I’m sure Desdemona would know all about. Now Fong, let go. Have the faith that I will bring you safely home. Have a little faith, husband.”

As the image of Fu Tsong’s memorable inside hug faded, the actress playing Desdemona in this production stepped onstage. Fong’s jaw almost hit his chest.

Fong had never seen the famous Chinese film actress Tuan Li in the flesh. Although lovely in film, she was luminous in person.

At the far side of the theatre, Robert Cowens watched Tuan Li steal every eye. He had finally completed a particularly complicated bit of “antiquing” and was anxious to take his mind off what he had just learned about Shanghai in the early forties. And what better way to forget than to be with Tuan Li? For an instant he thought that despite her beauty she wasn’t worth all the trouble she’d caused him. Then he dismissed the thought as bullshit. Robert was many things – but a bullshitter was not one of them.

Tuan Li was well aware of her effect on both the men and women in the room. She was also deeply honoured to play the part of Desdemona in the same theatre where the great Fu Tsong had made the role famous. She allowed her eyes to scan the seats. Could the small, delicate-boned man at the back be Fu Tsong’s husband? It was rumoured that he was here on occasion.

Then her eye caught Robert and she smiled. Not at him – but definitely for him.