A Loyal Character Dancer

after he finished his laundry, Pan arrived at the hotel. A man in his early forties, extraordinarily tall and thin, like a bamboo stick, Pan had an intelligent face, adorned by a pair of frameless glasses. He talked intelligently, too. Always to the point, specific, not losing his way in details.
     
    The interview did not provide any new information, but it gave a clear picture of Wen’s life during her factory years. Wen had been one of the best workers. There, too, she made a point of keeping to herself. As it seemed to Pan, however, it was not because she was an outsider, or because the other workers were prejudiced against her. She had been too proud.
     
    “That’s interesting,” Yu said. The difficulty of reconciling the past to the present. Sometimes people retreat into a shell. “Did she try to better her circumstances?”
     
    “She had no luck. She was so young when she fell into Feng’s hands, and then it was too late by the time Feng met his downfall, “ Pan said, stroking his chin. “ ‘Heaven is too high, and the emperor is too far away.’ Who cared for an ex-educated youth in a backward village? But you should have seen her when she first arrived here. What a knockout!”
     
    “You liked her.”
     
    “No, not I. My father had been a landlord. In the early seventies, I would not have dreamed of it.”
     
    “Yes, I know all about the family background policy during the Cultural Revolution,” Yu said, nodding contemplatively.
     
    Yu knew that perhaps he alone had reasons to be grateful for that notorious policy. He had always been ordinary—an ordinary student, an ordinary educated youth, and an ordinary cop, but Peiqin was different. Gifted, pretty, like those characters in The Dream of the Red Chamber, she might never have crossed his path but for her black family background, which had pulled her down, so to speak, to his level. He had once broached the topic to her, but she cut him short, declaring she could not have asked for a better husband.
     
    “When I became factory manager in 1979,” Pan went on, “Wen was literally a poor lower-middle-class peasant. Not only in her class status, but in her appearance. No one took pity on Feng. I took pity on her. I suggested that she come to work here.”
     
    “So you alone did something for her. That’s good. Did she talk to you about her life?”
     
    “Not if she could help it. Some people like to talk about their misfortunes all the time, like Sister Qiangling in Lu Xun’s story ‘Blessing.’ Not Wen. She preferred to lick her wounds in secret.”
     
    “Did you try to do anything else for her?”
     
    “I don’t know what you are driving at, Detective Yu.”
     
    “I’m not driving at anything. What about the work she took home?”
     
    “Theoretically, the parts and chemicals are not allowed to be taken home, but she was so poor. A few extra Yuan made a difference to her. Since she was the best in the workshop, I made an exception for her.”
     
    “When did you learn about her plan to join her husband in the United States.”
     
    “About a month ago. She wanted me to write a statement about her marital status for her passport application. When I asked about her plans for the future, she broke down. Only then did I learn about her pregnancy.” Pan said after a pause, “I was curious about Feng’s efficiency. It normally takes years before people can begin the process of getting their families out. So I asked some other villagers. And I learned he had a deal there—”
     
    There was a light tap on the door.
     
    Detective Yu rose to open it. There was no one outside. He saw a tray of covered dishes on the ground, with a card saying, “Enjoy our special.”
     
    “What great timing! This hotel is not bad. Have lunch with me here, Manager Pan. We can continue our talk over the meal.”
     
    “Well, I owe you one then,” Pan said. “Let me buy you Fujian wok noodles before you leave.”
     
    Yu took away the covering paper disclosing a large bowl of stir-fried rice, fresh and colorful, with scrambled egg and Chinese barbecued pork, a covered urn, and two side dishes, one of salted peanuts, one of tofu mixed with sesame oil and green onion. He was surprised to smell something like liquor as he pulled the paper lid off the urn.
     
    “Crab marinated in wine,” Pan said.
     
    There was only one pair of plastic chopsticks on the tray. Luckily, Peiqin had packed several pair of disposable chopsticks in his bag,