A Case of Two Cities

off the green cabbage before placing it into her plastic bag, a familiar scene which reminded Chen of Aunt Qiang, who lived down the street from his mother. He came to a counter that displayed cell phones and calling cards. A prepaid cell phone caught his attention. It was expensive, but affordable with the advance from Gu. Chen also purchased a new phone card, one that was cheaper than the one he had bought in the university store. According to the instructions on the back, it cost only ten cents per minute to call China, a benefit of competition. In China, telecommunications was still a state-controlled industry.
     
    He stepped out of the store carrying the phone card. Before he discovered a public phone booth, he saw Pearl coming over with a cell phone in her hand.
     
    “Somebody has been looking for you everywhere,” she said with a smile.
     
    “Thank you,” he said, taking over the phone. “Hello, this is Chen Cao.”
     
    “I am Tian Baoguo. Still remember me, old friend? The same Little Tian who shared the dorm desk with you for four years in Beijing Foreign Language University.”
     
    “Of course. Old classmate. How can I forget those long nights, of talking about the night rain south of the Yangtze River, and of scrambling eggs over your little alcohol stove?”
     
    “I read the news. I saw your pictures. It had a biographical note about you: the distinguished poet and translator. Only one Chen Cao under the sun. I made so many calls. Now I have finally got hold of you. Where are you?
     
    “Chinatown. In front of a Chinese grocery store called Central Trading.”
     
    “Don’t move. I’m running over. Five to ten minutes. We’ll have lunch together.”
     
    “I would love to, Tian, but I’m here with my delegation.”
     
    “The delegation’s lunch is on me. A small way of showing my respect to you writers—on the behalf of my company. The best Chinese restaurant here. See you soon!”
     
    When Chen discussed Tian’s invitation with others, no one had any objection. They were intrigued at meeting a prosperous overseas Chinese still interested in the literature of his country. With no special activity arranged for that afternoon, Pearl, the American interpreter-escort, did not insist on their dining in the hotel.
     
    And in less than five minutes, Chen saw a tall man striding over and recognized him immediately as Tian, though they hadn’t seen each other for more than ten years.
     
    “As our ancient sage says, there are three wonderful moments in one’s life,” Tian said, grasping his hand. “When one’s name appears at the top of the civil service examination. No more civil service examination today, but your high-ranking position counts. When one gets married with the candle of happiness illuminating the wedding room. I have just married a second time. When one meets an old friend in a faraway place. All apply to us. Isn’t today a perfect day?”
     
    “You still talk like in the old days, Tian.”
     
    “Now I’ve come here in the name of my company too. You have to give me face by condescending to dine with me. Every one of you, my respected masters.”
     
    It was a banquet set in a magnificent Chinese restaurant. Tian had reserved a private room. At his insistence, the restaurant owner, too, came out to toast the “great Chinese writers.” To the pleasant surprise of everyone, Tian had also prepared his special present. Ten bottles of deep sea fish oil—each with a gold “Made in the U.S.A.” label pasted on top—for each member of the delegation. An offer that made not only him, but Chen as well, immediately popular.
     
    “It’s a popular product of our company. The best on the market. Please accept it as a token of our appreciation of your wonderful writings,” Tian said with undisguised pride. “I used to major in Chinese literature. I cannot express how I admire you. Deep sea fish oil will be good for hardworking intellectuals like you.”
     
    “Thank you for your present,” Zhong said. “The fish oil will be good for my older wife.”
     
    “You have to write a report about his pioneering business in the People’s Daily,” Shasha said with a giggle. “Good for his business.”
     
    It was an impressive feast by any standard. The host and guests kept raising their cups. The restaurant owner brought out a bottle of Maotai as house compliment. “Drink to your hearts’ content. I’ve had it for over ten years. No fake products those