A Case of Two Cities

every high cadre’s child really wants to be an HCC—not me, not Ling. Now, what do you want to know?”
     
    “How were the people selected for the delegation? For instance, Peng doesn’t write anymore, and he hardly speaks at the conference. Considering what he suffered during all the political movements, some compensation is understandable—”
     
    “Who didn’t suffer those years?” Shasha said with a cynical smile. “But his daughter has married an HCCC
     
    “HCCC?”
     
    “High Cadre’s Children Cadre. In other words, those HCC themselves have become high cadres. Peng’s son-in-law has been rising fast—already a member of the Central Party Committee. So he put in a word for Peng with the Writers’ Association. ‘The old man has suffered enough. We have to think of a symbolic compensation for him. It’s also good for China’s image. Perhaps you may arrange a visit abroad for him.’ “
     
    “So he was chosen because of his son-in-law,” he said, “not because of his work.”
     
    “And Bao was chosen for symbolic considerations too, though different ones. He complained to everybody—as a representative of the working-class writers left out in the cold in the nineties. As for me, nobody put in a word for me. The people at the Writers’ Association know more about my connections than about my writings. Now Zhong might have come into the delegation on his own merits, but his mistress in Beijing, a well-connected writer, must have made phone calls for him too.”
     
    “Oh, I didn’t know that,” he said, but now he knew why Zhong kept calling back to Beijing. “Still, I’m not qualified to be the delegation head. Why would they choose me?”
     
    “You keep saying that you aren’t qualified. But who really is? Don’t be so hard on yourself. In China today, with everything turned upside down, make the best of the situation for yourself—as long as it isn’t at the cost of others. What else can you do?”
     
    “Thank you for telling me all this, Shasha.”
     
    “One more thing,” she said rising. “Because of Ling’s request, I have been observing things happening around you. All of a sudden, Bao has a cell phone. One evening, I overheard him talking on the cell phone, mentioning your name.”
     
    * * * *
     
    Shortly before lunchtime, Catherine proposed her new plan for the day: an evening of opera at the Fox Theater, and before that, shopping at Asian grocery stores on nearby Grand Avenue. Chen made a different suggestion. A visit to Eliot’s old home in the Central West End. No one else seemed to be interested, though.
     
    “T. S. Eliot is the guiren for you,” Zhong said with a smile.
     
    Chen smiled by way of response. In Chinese, guiren meant an unexpected helper, as if preordained. It was true that a large number of readers came to know Chen through Eliot.
     
    “Really!” Catherine feigned surprise.
     
    “Well, the success of the translation came more from Eliot’s status as a modernist. Some critics claimed—tongue-in-cheek—that it was necessary to understand modernism for the realization of ‘four modernizations’ for China.”
     
    “Yes,” Shasha cut in with a giggle, “a young girl put a Chinese copy of ‘The Waste Land’ as something symbolic of her modernist knowledge on top of her dowager in a tricycle, parading the book all the way through Nanjing Road.”
     
    “No wonder,” Catherine said. “Mr. Chen wouldn’t miss this opportunity for the world.”
     
    So they reached a compromise. As Peng wanted to take a nap after lunch, the delegation was going to the groceries in the late afternoon, and then to the theater as suggested by Catherine. Chen was going to the Central West End, alone, “like a pilgrim,” as Shasha commented.
     
    Not exactly alone, though.
     
    “I don’t think there’s a need for me to interpret at the Chinese groceries. Nor at the theater, people are not allowed to speak there. The minivan driver will take you there, and then bring you back after the opera. There are several Asian restaurants in the Grand area. Choose one you like.” Catherine went on, turning to Chen, “Let me drive you to the Central West End, Mr. Chen. We’ll discuss more about the schedule changes on the way.”
     
    “Yes, that’s so considerate of you, Catherine,” Shasha commented. “Our poet has been working hard. He deserves a break in his favorite area.”
     
    “Sounds like a plan,” Chen said. “Comrade Bao,