A Loyal Character Dancer

5
     
     
    T
    he gate had finally opened.
     
    A group of first-class passengers emerged, most of them foreigners. Among them Chief Inspector Chen saw a young woman wearing a cream-colored blazer and matching pants. She was tall, slender, her blond hair fell to her shoulders, and she had blue eyes. He recognized her at once, though she looked slightly different from the image in the photograph, taken perhaps a few years earlier. She carried herself with grace, like a senior executive of a Shanghai joint venture.
     
    “Inspector Catherine Rohn?”
     
    “Yes?”
     
    “I’m Chen Cao, chief inspector of the Shanghai Police Bureau. I’m here to greet you on behalf of your Chinese colleagues. We will be working together.”
     
    “Chief Inspector Chen?” She added in Chinese, “Chen Tongzhi?”
     
    “Oh yes, you speak Chinese.”
     
    “No, not much.” She switched back into English. “I’m glad to have a partner who speaks English.”
     
    “Welcome to Shanghai.”
     
    “Thank you, Chief Inspector Chen.”
     
    “Let’s get your luggage.”
     
    There was a long line of people queuing up at customs, holding passports, forms, documents, and pens in their hands. The airport suddenly appeared overcrowded.
     
    “Don’t worry about customs formalities,” he said. “You’re our distinguished American guest.”
     
    He led her through another passage, nodding at several uniformed officers by a side door. One of them took a quick look at her passport, scribbled a few words on it, and waved her through.
     
    They walked out with her luggage on a cart and pushed it into the designated taxi area in front of a huge billboard advertising Coca-Cola in Chinese. There were not many people waiting there.
     
    “Let’s talk at your hotel, the Peace Hotel on the Bund. Sorry, we have to take a taxi instead of our bureau car. I sent it back because of the delay,” he said.
     
    “Great. Here comes one.”
     
    A small Xiali pulled up in front of them. He had intended to wait for a Dazhong, made by the joint venture of Shanghai Automobile and Volkswagen, which would be more roomy and comfortable, but she was already giving the hotel name in Chinese to the taxi driver.
     
    There was practically no trunk space in a Xiali. With her suitcase in the front seat beside the driver, and a bag beside her in the backseat, he felt squeezed. She could hardly stretch her long legs. The air conditioning did not work. He rolled down the window, but it did not help much. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she slipped her jacket off. She was wearing a tank top. The bumpy ride brought her shoulder into occasional contact with his. Their proximity made him uncomfortable.
     
    After they passed the Hongqiao area, traffic became congested. The taxi had to make frequent detours due to new construction underway. At the intersection of Yen’an and Jiangning roads, they came to a stop in heavy traffic.
     
    “How long was your flight?” he asked, out of the need to say something.
     
    “More than twenty-four hours.”
     
    “Oh, it’s a long trip.”
     
    “I had to change planes. From St. Louis to San Francisco, then to Tokyo, and finally to Shanghai.”
     
    “China’s Oriental Airline flies directly from San Francisco to Shanghai.”
     
    “Yes, it does, but my mother booked the ticket for me. Nothing but United Airlines for her. She insisted on it, for safety’s sake.”
     
    “I see. Everything—” he left the sentence unfinished— Everything American is preferable. “Don’t you work in Washington?”
     
    “Our headquarters is in D.C. but I am stationed in the St. Louis regional office. My parents also live there.”
     
    “St. Louis—the city where T. S. Eliot was born. And Washington University was founded by his grandfather.”
     
    “Why, yes. There’s an Eliot Hall at the university, too. You amaze me, Chief Inspector Chen.”
     
    “Well, I have translated some of Eliot’s poems,’ he said, not too surprised at her surprise. “Not all Chinese cops are like those in American movies, good for nothing but martial arts, broken English, and Gongbao chicken.”
     
    “Those are just Hollywood stereotypes. I majored in Chinese studies, Chief Inspector Chen.”
     
    “I was joking.” Why had he become so sensitive about the image of the Chinese police in her eyes, he wondered. Because of Party Secretary Li’s emphasis? He shrugged his shoulders, touching hers again. “Off the record, I’m quite good at