A Loyal Character Dancer

‘socialist expense,’ even if they are treating their families or friends.”
     
    The waitress brought in a bottle of wine in a basket and two small dishes of caviar on a silver tray. “Compliments of the house.”
     
    They watched the waitress go through the ceremony of uncorking the bottle, pouring a bit into Chen’s glass, and waiting expectantly. He handed it over to Catherine.
     
    She sampled it. “Good.”
     
    As the waitress withdrew, they raised their glasses in a toast.
     
    “I’m glad you told him that I’m your friend,” she said. “But let’s split the check.”
     
    “No. It’s on the bureau. I told him I was paying because I did not want to incur too much expense. It would be a serious matter of loss of face for a Chinese not to pay in the company of his girlfriend—let alone a beautiful American girlfriend.”
     
    “A beautiful American girlfriend!”
     
    “No, I did not tell him that, but that’s probably what he imagines.”
     
    “Life here is so complicated—’socialist expense’ and ‘face loss.’ “ She raised her cup again. “Do you think Gu came here on purpose?”
     
    “Gu did not mention his visit to me last night, but I think you are right.”
     
    “Oh, did you see him again last night?”
     
    “Yes, for a karaoke party. I took Meiling, the secretary of the Traffic Control Office.”
     
    “So you took another girl there!” She feigned shock.
     
    “To show how serious I am about the parking lot, Inspector Rohn.”
     
    “In exchange for information, I understand. Did you get anything new, Chief Inspector Chen?”
     
    “Not about Wen, but he promised he would try.” He drained his wine, remembering the Mao Tai mixed with the snake blood, choosing not to talk about the karaoke party in detail. “The party did not finish until two, with all the exotic foods you can imagine, plus two bottles of Mao Tai, and a splitting headache for me this morning.”
     
    “Oh, poor Comrade Chief Inspector Chen.”
     
    Their main course arrived. The food was excellent, the wine mellow, and his companion charming, Chen’s hangover almost vanished. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the window. A Russian folk song entitled “The Red Berry Blossom” played in the background.
     
    For a moment, he reflected that his assignment for the day was not that bad. He took another sip. Fragments of lines came to his mind.
     
    The sunlight burning gold,
    We cannot collect the day
    From the ancient garden
    Into an album of old,
    Let’s pick our play.
    Or time will not pardon —
     
    He was momentarily confused. These were not exactly his lines. Was he still drunk? Li Bai claimed that he wrote best when intoxicated. Chen had never experienced this.
     
    “What are you thinking about?” she said, carving into her fish.
     
    “Some lines. Not mine. Not all of them.”
     
    “Come on, you’re a well-known poet. The librarian in the Shanghai Library knows about you. How about reciting one of your poems?”
     
    “Well—” He felt tempted. Party Secretary Li had told him to keep her entertained. “Last year, I wrote a poem about Daifu, a modern Chinese poet. Remember the two lines on my folding fan?”
     
    “About whipping the horse and the beauty alike, right?” she said with a smile.
     
    “In the early forties, Daifu was caught in a tabloid typhoon over his divorce. He left for a Philippine island, where he started a new life, living anonymously. Like someone in your witness protection program. He changed his name, grew a big beard, opened a rice shop, and bought an ‘untouched’ native girl, about thirty years younger, who did not speak a single word of Chinese.”
     
    “Gauguin did something like that,” she said. “Sorry, please continue.”
     
    “It was during the war against Japan. The poet was involved in resistance activities. Allegedly he was killed by the Japanese. A myth has since evolved. Critics claim that he did everything— the girl, the rice shop, and his beard—as a cover for his anti-Japanese activities. My poem was a reaction to those claims. The first stanza is about the background. I’m skipping it. The second and third stanzas are about the poet’s life as a rice merchant in the company of the native girl.
     
    “A gigantic ledger opened him / in the morning, figures / moved him up and down / along a mahogany abacus / all day, until the curfew / closed him in her bare arms, / in a peaceful sack of darkness: / time was a