by Qiu Xiaolong
It was like a recurring nightmare, except that it now was Internal Security, not Liu, who was accusing her of “giving away state secrets.” It was a deadly serious charge and even more so coming from Internal Security.
“How am I supposed to have obtained secret documents? The ‘inside information’ stamp is just something routinely printed on the front cover of the newsletter. It only means that it’s the newsletter for company employees.”
“Well, that’s your interpretation,” said Han.
“That’s a serious crime in itself,” Ji went on wildly. “Has Jiang discussed with you selling state secrets abroad?”
“How much has he made selling secrets?” Han pushed further.
“Jiang told me nothing. We only went out a couple of times and then we parted, as I’ve already told you.”
“I’ll tell you something! He’s going to be convicted and sentenced for the murderer of Liu. And you, too, will be punished as his accomplice.”
“What are you talking about, Officers?”
“Jiang blackmailed Liu using the state secrets you gave him, and then killed Liu when he refused to give in,” Ji said deliberately, each word pronounced in a serious, official way. “If you’re not an accomplice, then who the hell is?”
By such logic, she was unquestionably involved, guilty no matter what explanation she offered. There was no use arguing about it.
“And you called him after Liu’s murder,” Han chipped in. “Do you still claim that you had already broken up with him?”
Her heart sank. What Chen had told her was all true: she had been under surveillance and her phone bugged for a long time, including her phone call to Jiang just a few days ago-the call he had not picked up.
“Didn’t you tell Jiang about Liu’s schedule that night-that he was going to be at his home office?” Ji snarled. “You not only called him, you were also seen meeting with him near the company just the day before Liu’s murder.”
“No, I didn’t,” she said emphatically. That was definitely not true.
“You two met secretly in a small eatery close to the company. We know everything about you, Shanshan. The monkey cannot escape the palm of Buddha. You can be assured of that.”
It dawned on her that it was Chen they were talking about, the time she met him at Uncle Wang’s place. There was actually a slight resemblance between Jiang and Chen.
Whoever had been following her made a mistake. She decided, however, not to contradict them. Chen couldn’t be dragged into this mess, or she would never forgive herself.
“But we are still willing to give you one more chance. Work with us, Shanshan,” Han said, tapping his cigarette into a makeshift ashtray in the non-smoking room. “Tell us what Jiang has done.”
“But he’s confessed. You just told me he did,” she said, biting her lips. “Why do you need me?”
“Don’t think you have a wise head, young woman, or you’ll wash your face with rueful tears all the day long. All the year long,” Ji snapped again. “And I’ll see to it personally.”
“Now, you might think that you’ve got someone in the background who could help you out of this mess,” Han said in a more persuasive tone. “You’re wrong. In a murder case like this one, no one can possibly help you. If anything, you’ll make things worse by trying, and get him into trouble too, no matter how capable he might be. We are your only chance.”
With one playing the red face, and the other, the white face, the two Internal Security officers had set up a subtle division of labor in their efforts to intimidate her. Their talk about this “someone in the background,” however, worried her more than anything else, even if they seemed not to be sure who he really was. Chen had been justified in taking all the precautions he had. If it weren’t for the newly purchased cell phone, his identity might have been revealed. But did Chen know that Internal Security was already aware of his existence and possibly of his interference?
As for Jiang, she didn’t think they had anything solid on him. At least not yet. That was why they wanted her to cooperate.
“Everything depends upon your attitude,” Ji concluded. “Use your brains, young woman.”
“Attitude” meant whether or not she cooperated with Internal Security, and it was entirely up to their interpretation.
“This is my cell number,” Han said, writing the number down on his business card and handing it to her. He stood up to open the door for her. “But we won’t wait long. Jiang will be convicted, with or without your cooperation. Working with us is in your own interest.”
She hardly knew how she walked out of the hotel on her own.
She must have wandered, her legs moving mechanically, her mind a total blank, for a long while until she noticed that she was walking along a narrow, nameless trail that skirted the lake. The willow shoots looked long, tender, yet sorrowful. The hotel behind her wasn’t visible. She slowed down to a stop and stared out at the lake. Her reflection in the water rippled out in a soft sigh of breeze.
There was no point in struggling anymore, she decided.
A lone wild white goose flashed into flight. Where would be the end of its journey? There was nothing but factory chimneys, far and near, along the shore.
She then did something that surprised her. She sat down on a slab of rock overhanging the lake, kicked off her sandals, and put her feet into the water.
The cool touch of the water brought back memories of her childhood in Anhui. There was a gurgling brook behind their farmhouse. As a little girl in that rural village, she used to sit there alone, dabbling her feet in the clear, crystal stream, dreaming of a different future for herself when she grew up … Time flowed like the water between her toes. And then, after elementary school, after middle school, after college, a different life spread out ahead of her, far away from home, when she had first come to work at the chemical company in Wuxi. But soon, everything had changed.
She had done the same thing just a couple of days ago, she then recalled, dabbling her feet in the water in the sampan with Chen.
She was beginning to cool down, her mind no longer so confused. If anyone could help her at this stage, it had to be Chen.
He was a mysterious man, but well connected in his way. Even Internal Security, who might not know his name, reluctantly acknowledged his resourcefulness.
Thinking of him, she pulled her feet out the water and put on her sandals. She had a feeling that she could hardly understand, one that surged through her all of a sudden, like a swift spring tide. He had come into her life at a time when she was unprepared. Having just parted with a man who had caused her nothing but trouble, she was in no hurry to start another relationship. And the trouble in which she found herself made her even less inclined. Still, she was not unaware of something in Chen that attracted her, from their first encounter at the eatery. As for Chen, he had since made his feelings transparent to her, going out of his way to help, even putting himself at risk.
Among the scenarios he had laid out for her, one was particularly convincing. She had been thrown into the same boat with Jiang. His sinking would inevitably bring her down too. If he was convicted, she would surely be prosecuted and punished as an accomplice.
But she didn’t believe Jiang was the murderer. In fact, she couldn’t even believe that Jiang would have come to the offices to talk to Liu. Not in the beginning of March, not after the promise Jiang had made her. What she believed, however, didn’t matter. She had no proof.
She stood up, and an idea sprung up like a rabbit out of the tall, wild weeds. She stumbled, then collected herself, turned around, and made her way straight to the company offices. All the way, she kept thinking hard.
The security guard at the front gate was surprised to see her, but he didn’t ask any questions.
“It’s the weekend, Shanshan. You’re working too hard.”
“I need to check something. It won’t take long,” she said readily.
An engineer could choose to work in their lab over th
e weekend if, for one reason or another, they needed to. It was something she had done in the past-last weekend, in fact.
In her office, she started by checking the company calendar. The one on her desk had certain dates marked in red pencil, and occasionally, a few sloppy words understandable only to herself. Then she logged on to the company Web site and looked through the events listed for the month of March.
She was right. Heaving a sigh of relief, she stared at a Web page with the dates and events for March clearly marked.
At the beginning of March, she had planned to report to Liu about a new, cost-effective method of wastewater treatment, but Liu wasn’t in the office. He was at a meeting in Nanjing. The date marked on her calendar was March 7. It was crossed out with a note: “Liu out, till 8th.” Liu didn’t come back until late that night. The information on the company Web site confirmed that. Mi, who worked in the reception area, claimed to have overheard their argument in the inner office, but there was no possibility that Liu met with Jiang at the offices on March 7, the day before Women’s Day. She picked up the office phone and began making calls, to see what she could learn from other colleagues.
When Shanshan left the building, the dusk was already spreading out against the sky. It was a long walk from the company back to the dorm, but she was barely aware of the distance, absorbed as she was in her own thoughts.
When she reached her room, she was exhausted. She locked the door after her, let down the curtain, and flung herself across the bed. Never had she felt so helpless. She tossed the faded blanket aside and tried to drive the confusing thoughts from her mind. For several minutes, she stared up in bewilderment, waiting for the end of the day to reveal inscrutable images against the ceiling.
As the evening progressed, she gradually became aware of the noisy cooking along the corridor, particularly of a strong smell of salted fish coming from a neighbor’s sizzling wok.
She thought back to Chen’s visit the other day. Would there be another light knock at her door this evening? She didn’t think so. But she hoped there would be.
She got up, changed into her robe, and sat down on the chair Chen had used that evening, putting her feet on the bed. There was a red patch above her left ankle and another on the back of her right foot. Idly scratching, she wondered whether they were from her exposure to the lake water today, or earlier, when she was in the sampan beside him. The water was unfit for human touch, as she had told him.
The fragmented memories continued to resurface, undulating in the stillness of the evening in the small room. That evening, he was having a hard time taking his eyes off her, she recalled, fingering the belt of her robe.
What kind of a man he really was, however, she still had no clue. He surely wasn’t the bookish school teacher he claimed to be. On the contrary, he was more likely an emerging cadre with extraordinary connections, a “successful man” in today’s society. That was a far more plausible explanation for the mysteries about him. Whatever his true identity was, though, why had he concealed it from her?
But then, did she tell him everything about herself?
Whether he could do something to help or not, she wanted to see him that evening. He was, as the cliche put it, a solid shoulder to lean her head on.
She then turned her thoughts to Jiang, who didn’t fit the same cliche. She had been trying not to think about him, but she hadn’t always been successful. Not for one single moment could she bring herself to believe that he was a murderer. Especially after the research she had just done at the company.
More than ever, she was convinced that this conclusion was being pushed by Internal Security based solely on political considerations. Jiang must have been aware of this all along. In fact, he had told her about the perilous situation in which he had landed himself. Could that have been the reason he was so willing to break up with her? It wasn’t his fault, not exactly, that she had got into trouble, too. He had just been too eager to do the right thing for the environment, not for himself.
She decided not to think about her relationship with Jiang anymore tonight. Her head had started aching from the circular thoughts. Besides, she had another idea for this evening.
FIFTEEN
Late Saturday afternoon, Chen decided to take a break. He got up and opened the windows. As the leaves rustled in a low pitch and the lake stretched out against the horizon, Chen saw a lone silver fish jumping up, in the distance, over the darkening water.
He shook out a cigarette from a new pack.
Chen had spent most of the day inside the villa, shutting himself off from the world as he pondered the information he had gathered so far, speculating over its meaning without any interruption except for breakfast and the herbal medicine delivered early that morning. But his efforts yielded little. Turning, he stared at the ashtray on the windowsill, the shell-shaped tray full of cigarette butts, which stared back at him, like a pile of dead fish eyes.
He couldn’t rule out the possibility that Jiang was the murderer. Internal Security had political considerations, but they also had circumstantial evidence, witnesses, and a plausible motive with the story of blackmail gone wrong. In contrast, Chen had only unsupported theories.
Of course, he could tell himself that it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t have any authority here, and his hands were bound; consequently, his information pointed to possibilities, but only to unsubstantial possibilities.
Whistling absentmindedly, he poured himself a glass of red wine. The bottle was compliments of the center, and the label said Bordeaux. All these nice extras were provided in recognition of his special status.
As he gazed into the red wine rippling in the glass, he realized that he missed her.
She cared about him without knowing his status. Not that he had intended to keep his identity a secret. His situation was not like the one in an English novel he had read years ago, where a rich and powerful nobleman had disguised himself as a poor vagrant to try to find true love, someone who would love him for the man he was, not for things like wealth or status.
Shanshan hadn’t told him that much about herself, either. Considering the circumstances in which they’d met, she had her reasons.
A young, attractive, bright woman like her must have had men pursuing her, presumably many of them, including Jiang. That was not suprising. But when they first met at Uncle Wang’s eatery, he was sure there wasn’t anyone in her life. Like there wasn’t anyone in his.
He stopped himself from thinking further along those lines. At this moment, there were so many more important things for him to do. It wouldn’t be a good idea for Chief Inspector Chen to lose himself in a burgeoning affair. If Internal Security happened to find out about their relationship while they were in the middle of the investigation, he might not be able to wash himself clean, as the proverb says, even if he jumped into the Yellow River.
It was late in the afternoon, and he was beginning to feel slightly hungry. He had skipped lunch; after the interruption of breakfast delivery, he had instructed the front desk that he wanted no disturbances whatsoever.
It would be only a matter of minutes for him to walk over to the canteen and have them prepare something, but he didn’t like the idea of being treated as a “special guest.” Instead, he boiled a pot of water and put in a package of shrimp dumplings he had bought at the center’s convenience store as an instant snack.
He ate the meal without really tasting it. When he thought about it, though, there was still an agreeable aftertaste lingering on his tongue. Afterward, he dumped the bowl and pot into the sink without bothering to wash them. Out the kitchen window, he noticed a fitful wind dispelling the languid clouds in the distance.
Chen changed into an old T-shirt and short pants, then picked up the phone. But he hesitated. He’d already left her a message, which she hadn’t yet returned. Putting down the phone, he wondered what she’d been doing all day. It was tempting to make another surprise visit to her room, but he decided not to go out. There wasn’t anyt
hing new to tell her, and besides, the dorm might be under surveillance.
Instead, he opened up the laptop on the table. He had an unexpected impulse to continue on with the fragments he had written earlier in the week. Thinking of her, he opened the file. The earlier lines remained unpolished, but they could develop into a long poem, perhaps even something as ambitious as “The Waste Land.”
Again, images sprang forth. Random ones, clustering around the lake, and with her in the middle of every line. The moment she was sitting with him in the sampan, the lake water murmuring after her, as she was telling him about all the environmental problems …
The morning comes to the lake
in waves of toxic waste, waves
of poisonous air, surging to smother
the smile in the waking boughs.
She walks in a red jacket
like a bright sail through the dust
under the network of pipes, long
in disrepair, spreading cobweblike,
dripping with contaminated water.
A mud-covered toad jumps up
at the dew-bespangled report in her hand
opens its sleepy eyes, seeing
all around still murky, slumps back into sleep.
There was something contagious about her youthful idealism. For a long while, he’d thought he was no longer capable of being genuinely lyrical. But it might not be too late for him to start all over again. He thought of her, and kept pounding at the keys.
The broken metal-blue fingernails
of the leaves clutching
the barren bank of the lake,
the dead fish afloat, shining
with the mercury bellies trembling,
their glassy eyes still flashing
with the last horror and fascination,
still gazing up at the apparition
of a witch dancing in a black bikini,
her raven hair long, streaming
