A Loyal Character Dancer

with you tonight,” he said. “After parting with you, I called Yu. Liu Qing’s poem is in that anthology, and Yu faxed me a copy of it. The poem was first published five years ago in a magazine called Stars. Liu worked as a reporter for Wenhui Daily then. Like the speaker in the poem, he wrote about a model commune factory in Changle County, Fujian Province. Here is a copy of the newspaper report.” He produced a newspaper out of his briefcase. “Propaganda stuff. I had no time to translate it.
     
    “Few bookstores—except in large cities—sell poetry now. It’s unimaginable that a poor peasant woman would go all the way from her village to buy a poetry collection.”
     
    “Do you believe the poem tells a true story?”
     
    “It’s difficult to say how much is true. The visit to Wen’s factory, as described in the poem, was coincidental. But Liu used the same metaphor in his newspaper story— a revolutionary grinder polishing up the spirit of the socialist society. It could have been part of the reason he quit his job.”
     
    “Why? Liu did nothing wrong.”
     
    “He should not have written such political baloney, but he did not have the guts to refuse. In addition, he must have felt guilty for having done nothing to help her.”
     
    “I think I see your point now.” She perched on the edge of the bed, facing him. “If the story in the poem is a true one, Liu did not reveal his identity to her at the time, let alone offer help to her. That’s the meaning of the image of the emerald snail crawling at the end. It’s Liu’s guilt, a symbol of Liu’s regret.”
     
    “Yes, a snail carries a burden forever. So the moment I finished translating the poem I hurried over.”
     
    “What do you intend to do now?” she said.
     
    “We must interview Liu. He may not have spoken to Wen then, but later he must have sent her a copy of the anthology, which she kept. And possibly there were other contacts between them, too.”
     
    “Yes, possibly.”
     
    “I’ve talked to people at the Wenhui Daily,” Chen said. “When Liu quit his job about five years ago and started a construction material company in Shanghai, he got several contracts from the Singapore government for the Suzhou New Industry Zone. Now he has two construction material factories and a timber yard in Suzhou, in addition to his company in Shanghai. I called Liu’s home this afternoon. His wife said that he was in Beijing negotiating a deal and would return to Suzhou tomorrow.”
     
    “Are we going to Suzhou?”
     
    “Yes. It’s a long shot. Party Secretary Li will have the train tickets delivered to the hotel tomorrow morning.”
     
    “Party Secretary Li can be so efficient,” she said. “How early do we leave?”
     
    “The train leaves at eight. We arrive in Suzhou about nine thirty. Li suggests that we spend a day or two there.”
     
    He proposed vacationing as camouflage for their investigation. Li had readily approved of the plan.
     
    “So we will be tourists,” she said. “Now, how did it occur to you to connect the poem with our investigation? I’ll make you a cup of coffee if you’ll tell me. Special coffee beans, from Brazil. A treat.”
     
    “You’re learning the Chinese way fast. To exchange favors. The very essence of guanxi. But it’s late. We are leaving early tomorrow.”
     
    “Don’t worry. We can nap on the train.” She took a coffee grinder with a small bag of coffee beans from the closet, and looked for an outlet. “I know you like strong coffee.”
     
    “Did you bring this coffee from America?”
     
    “No, I bought it in the hotel. They provide every convenience. Look at the grinder. Krups.”
     
    “Things are expensive in the hotel.”
     
    “I’ll let you in on a secret of mine,” she said “We have a traveling allowance, the amount of which depends on the location. For Shanghai, I get ninety dollars a day. I do not consider myself extravagant if I use half a day’s allowance to entertain my host.”
     
    She found an outlet behind the sofa. The cord was not long enough. She put the grinder on the carpet, plugged it in, and poured the beans into the grinder. Kneeling, she ground the coffee, revealing her shapely legs and feet.
     
    Soon, the room was full of a pleasant fragrance. She poured a cup for him, put a small spoon for sugar, and milk, on the coffee table, and produced a piece of cake out of the refrigerator.
     
    “What about yourself?” he said.
     
    “I