A Case of Two Cities

for me here. In the restaurant business, so many Chinese are struggling for one small bowl of rice in cutthroat competition. People work like dogs, seven days a week. Visitors from China marvel at my house, at my restaurant, and at my cars, but they don’t know everything here is on the loan. I am breaking under the burden.”
     
    “I know,” Bao said, wondering at Hong’s sudden change of subject. “Visitors from China” might have touched Hong for money, but Bao had never thought about doing that. “You earn every penny the hard way.”
     
    “Those good old days of the Workers’ Culture Palace. We were the backbone of the socialist China. Our songs were loud and clear. If I can manage to go back next year, I’ll revisit the palace.”
     
    “Don’t mention it again. It has been turned into an entertainment center. Karaoke, belly dance, massage, whatnot! I fought hard against it, but to no avail.”
     
    Their talk was once again interrupted by the chef, who put in a platter of steaming pork-and-cabbage dumplings with white garlic and red pepper sauce.
     
    “The socialist China is going to dogs,” Hong said with a sigh. “I still remember an old Beijing couplet: The most delicious is having dumplings — with garlic, and the most comfortable is lying on a bed — with a book. At least we are enjoying dumplings with garlic tonight, and then I’ll read your book on my bed.”
     
    The Erguotou was smooth, yet strong. Bao felt the liquid shooting all the way down like an arrow. It was not common for him to have such a devoted audience, and it seemed only to add to his frustration. Then the discussion came back around to the delegation again.
     
    “Has Chen done anything in secret—a cop in a writer’s clothing?” Hong resumed, twirling the cup in his fingers.
     
    “No, I don’t think he spies on the others. To be fair, he knows how to show off. He speaks a little English and tossed in a handful of new terms. I guess that’s why he was chosen. A new image.”
     
    “A new image? I don’t buy it. As you have said, we, the working-class people alone, are the revolutionary models for the socialist society.”
     
    “You are right. Chen does not even make a good model for the delegation. According to the regulation, no one should go out without having obtained the delegation approval. But Chen went out with his buddy this afternoon. What was he really up to? No one can tell.”
     
    “I can,” Hong said. “Topless or bottomless shows. A lot of Chinese visitors are drawn to them like flies drawn to blood. A friend of mine has a tourist business here. An expert for delegation activities, he always arranges such a show at the top of the activity list. These visitors do not have to worry about the expense—the receipts will declare it as decent business expense without giving them away.”
     
    “Really?” Bao said. “That’s a possibility.”
     
    “Let me do something for you. Tell me what you know about Chen, about his activities here. I may be able to find a queue or two of his. It’s so unfair. We need to do something about it.”
     
    In the Qing dynasty, a queue—a braid of hair worn at the back of the head—could be grasped by an opponent in a fight. In the Cultural Revolution, Deng Xiaoping had once described himself as “an Urgue girl with so many queues.” Later on, he got into trouble because of his queues being pulled by Mao.
     
    “Don’t go out of your way for me, Hong.”
     
    “Not just for you, Master Bao. People like Chen will be no good for our socialist literature. Believe me, my heart always remains a red, loyal Chinese heart.”
     
    “Well. . .” So far Bao did not really have anything to complain about regarding Chen. But Hong had his point. With people like Chen in power, the future of Chinese literature would be predictable. If evidence of Chen’s inappropriate behavior could be obtained . . . “Oh, I remember one thing. He made phone calls—not in the hotel room, but at a public phone booth. A couple of times.”
     
    “That’s very suspicious.”
     
    “Yes, the Americans are covering the hotel phone bill, I think. He doesn’t have to save a few pennies for them. He may be making contact for those shows.”
     
    “That’s important. I’ll check into this,” Hong said, not trying to hide his excitement as he raised the cup again. “To your greater success—with people like Chen out of the way.”
     
    To his dismay, Hong found the cup