Death of a Red Heroine

bad?”
    “It’s booming, buddy. People come swarming in all day to look at our menu, at our vodka cabinet, and at our tall, buxom Russian girls in their see-through blouses and skirts.”
    “You really have an eye for business.”
    “Well, as Confucius said thousands of years ago, ‘Beauty makes you hungry .’”
    “No. ‘She is so beautiful that you could devour her ,’ ” Chen said. “That’s what Confucius said. How were you able to dig up these Russian girls?”
    “They just came to me. A friend of mine runs a network of international applicants. Nice girls. They earn four or five times more than at home. Nowadays China is doing much better than Russia.”
    “That is true.” Chen was impressed by the pride in Lu’s voice.
    “Remember the days when we used to call the Russians our Big Brothers? The wheel of fortune has turned. Now I call them my Little Sisters. In a way they really are. They depend on me for everything. For one thing, they’ve got nowhere to stay, and the hotels are way too expensive. I’ve bought several folding beds, so they can sleep in back of the restaurant and save a lot of money. For their convenience, I’ve also put in a hot water shower.”
    “So you are taking good care of them.”
    “Exactly. And I’ll let you into a secret, buddy. They have hairs on their legs, these Russian girls. Don’t fall for their smooth and shining appearance. A week without razor and soap, those terrific legs could be really hairy.”
    “You are being Eliotic, Overseas Chinese Lu.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Oh, nothing, it just reminds me of something by T. S. Eliot.”
    Something about bare, white, braceleted legs which suddenly appear in the light to be downy.
    Or was it by John Donne?
    “Eliot or not, that’s none of my business. But it’s true. I saw it with my own eyes—a bathtub full of golden and brown hair.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “Come and see for yourself. Not just the legs, the business, of course. This weekend, okay? I’ll assign you one of the blondes. The sexiest. Special service. So special that you want to devour her, too. Confucius’ satisfaction guaranteed.”
    “That will be too much for my wallet, I’m afraid.”
    “What do you mean? You’re my greatest friend, and part of my success, too. All on me, of course.”
    “I will come,” Chen said, “if I can spare one evening next week.”
    Chief Inspector Chen wondered if he would go there even if he could spare the time. He had read a report about the so-called special service in some notorious restaurants.
    He looked at his watch. Three thirty. There would probably be nothing left in the bureau canteen. The conversation with Overseas Chinese Lu had made him feel hungry.
    Then he thought of something he had almost forgotten. Dinner with Wang Feng. In his apartment.
    Suddenly everything else could wait until tomorrow. The thought of having her over for a candlelit dinner was making his pulse race. He left the bureau in a hurry, heading for a food market on Ninghai Road, which was about fifteen minutes’ walk from his apartment.
    As always, the market presented a scene of crowds milling about with bamboo baskets on their arms, plastic bags in their hands. He had consumed his ration of pork and eggs for the month. He hoped he could get some fish and vegetables. Wang liked seafood. A long line stretched back from a fish stall. Aside from the people standing there, there was also a collection of baskets, broken cardboard boxes, stools, and even bricks—all of them placed before or after the people in line. At every slow forward step, the people would move these objects a step farther. Placing an object in line was symbolic, he realized, of the owner’s presence. When a basket drew near to the stall, the owner would assume his or her position. Consequently, a line of fifteen people might really mean fifty people were ahead of him. At the speed the line was moving, he judged, it would probably take him more than an hour to be waited on.
    So he decided to try his luck at the free market, which was just one block beyond the state-run Ninghai food market. The free market remained nameless in the early nineties, but its existence was known to everybody. The service there was better; so was the quality. The only difference was the price, usually two or three times more than the Ninghai.
    A peaceful coexistence: the state-run and the private-run markets. Socialism and capitalism, side by side. Some