A Loyal Character Dancer

cabinets sporting numerous tiny drawers, each of which had a small label on it.
     
    “What wind has brought you here, Chen?” Mr. Ma, a white-haired, white-bearded man wearing silver-rimmed spectacles and a long string of carved beads, rose from his armchair.
     
    “Today’s wind is my friend Catherine, a wind from across the oceans. How is your business, Mr. Ma?”
     
    “Not bad, thanks to you. How is your friend?”
     
    “She has sprained her ankle,” Chen said.
     
    “Let me take a look.”
     
    Catherine slipped off her shoes and had her ankle examined. It ached under his touch. She doubted whether the old man could tell anything without an x-ray.
     
    “Nothing on the surface, but you never know. Let me apply a paste to your foot. Better remove it after two or three hours. If the inner injury comes to the surface, you don’t have to worry.”
     
    It was a sticky yellow paste. Mr. Ma spread it around the injured part. It felt cool on her skin. Mrs. Ma helped to wrap her ankle in a roll of white gauze.
     
    “She also feels a little giddy,” Chen said. “She has had a long trip. And she’s been busy since her arrival. An herbal drink may boost her energy level.”
     
    “Let me take a look at your tongue.” Mr. Ma examined her tongue and felt her pulse for a couple of minutes with his eyes closed, as if lost in meditation. “Nothing seriously wrong. The yang is slightly high. Maybe you have too much on your mind. I’m writing you a prescription. Some herbs for balance, and some for blood circulation.”
     
    “That’ll be great,” Chen said.
     
    Mr. Ma flourished a skunk-tail-brush pen over a piece of bamboo paper and handed the prescription to Mrs. Ma. “Choose the freshest herbs for her.”
     
    “You don’t have to tell me that, old man. Chief Inspector Chen’s friend is our friend.” Mrs. Ma started measuring out a variety of herbs from the small drawers—one pinch of white stuff like frost, another of a different color, almost like dried petals, and also a pinch of purple grains like raisins. “Where are you staying, Catherine?”                              
    “The Peace Hotel.”                                
     
    “It’s not easy to prepare traditional Chinese medicine in a hotel. You need to have a special earthen pot and to watch over the process. Let us prepare the medicine and send it to you by messenger.”                                          
     
    “Yes, that’s better, old woman.” Mr. Ma stroked his beard approvingly.                                       
    “Thank you,” Catherine said. “It is so thoughtful of you.”
     
    “Thank you so much, Mr. Ma,” Chen said. “By the way, do you have any books about triads or secret societies in China?”                                      
     
    “Let me check.” Mr. Ma stood up, went into a back room, and came out presently with a thick volume. “I happen to have one. You can keep it. I no longer run a bookstore here.”
     
    “No, I’ll return it. You have saved me a trip to the Shanghai Library.”
     
    “I’m glad my dust-covered books can still be of some use, Chief Inspector Chen. Anything we can do for you, you know, after—”
     
    “Don’t say that, Mr. Ma,” Chen cut the old man short. “Or I dare not come here again.”
     
    “You have so many books—not just medical books, Mr. Ma.” Catherine was interested in the curtailed conversation between the two men.
     
    “Well, we used to run a used bookstore. Thanks to the Shanghai Police Bureau,” Mr. Ma said with undisguised sarcasm, twisting his beard between his fingers, “we’re running this herbal drugstore instead.”
     
    “Oh, our business is pretty good,” Mrs. Ma intervened in a hurry. “Sometimes more than fifty patients a day. From all walks of life. We have nothing to complain about.”
     
    “Fifty patients a day? That’s a lot for a herbal drugstore that does not accept state-issued medical insurance.” Chen turned to Mr. Ma with a renewed interest. “What kind of patients are they?”
     
    “People come here for various reasons. For some, because the state-run hospital cannot do anything about their problems, for some, because they cannot go there for their problems. For instance, injuries in a gang fight. The state-run hospital