Death of a Red Heroine

Yu arrived home for dinner.
    Peiqin had already finished cooking several main dishes in the public kitchen area.
    “Can I help?”
    “No, just go inside. Qinqin is much better today, so you may assist him with his homework.”
    “Yes, it’s been two days since I took him to the hospital. He must have missed a number of classes.”
    But Yu did not move immediately. He felt guilty at the sight of Peiqin busy working there, her white short-sleeved shirt molded to her sweating body. Squatting at the foot of a concrete sink, she was binding a live crab with a straw. Several Yangchen crabs were crawling noisily on the sesame-covered bottom of a wooden pail.
    “You have to bind them, or the crab will shed its legs in the steaming pot,” Peiqin explained, noticing his puzzled look.
    “Then why is all the sesame in the pail?”
    “To keep the crabs from losing weight. Nutritious food for them. We got the crabs early in the morning.”
    “So special nowadays.”
    “Yes, Chief Inspector Chen is your special guest.”
    The decision to invite Chen over for dinner had been Peiqin’s, but Yu had seconded it, of course. She had made it for his sake, since it was she who had to prepare everything in their single room of eleven square meters. Still, she had insisted.
    Last night, he had told Peiqin about the bureau Party Committee meeting the previous day. Commissar Zhang had grumbled about his lackluster attitude, which was not something new. At the meeting, however, Zhang went so far as to suggest to the Party Committee that Yu be replaced. Zhang’s suggestion was discussed in earnest. Yu was not a committee member, so not in the position to defend himself. With the investigation bogged down, switching horses might help, or at least shift responsibility. Party Secretary Li seemed ready to agree. Yu did not have his heart in the case, but his removal would have caused a domino effect. His fate would have been sealed— according to Lieutenant Lao, who had attended the meeting— but for Chief Inspector Chen’s intervention. Chen surprised the committee members by making a speech on Yu’s behalf, arguing that different opinions regarding a case were normal, reflecting the democracy of our Party, and that it did not detract at all from Detective Yu’s worth as a capable police officer. “If people are not happy with the way the investigation is going,” Chen had concluded, “I’m the one to take responsibility. Fire me.” So it had been due to Chen’s emotional plea that Yu remained in the special case group.
    Lao’s information came as a surprise to Yu, who had not expected such staunch support from his superior.
    “Your chief inspector knows how to speak the Party language,” Peiqin said quietly.
    “Yes, he does. Luckily, this time on my behalf,” he said.
    “What about inviting him to dinner? The restaurant is going to have two bushels of live crabs, Yangchen Lake crabs, at the state price. I can bring a dozen home, and I will just need to add several side dishes.”
    “That’s a good idea. But it will be too much work for you.”
    “No. It’s fun to have a guest once in a while. I’ll make a meal that your chief inspector won’t forget.”
    And more or less to his surprise, Chen had accepted his invitation readily, adding that he would like to discuss something with Yu afterward.
    It was really turning out to be too much work for Peiqin, Yu stood there thinking somberly, watching her moving busily around in the confined space. Their portion of the public kitchen area contained no more than a coal stove and a small table with a makeshift bamboo cabinet hung on the wall. There was hardly room for her to put down all the bowls and plates.
    “Go into our room,” she repeated. “Don’t stand here watching me.”
    The table in their room, set for dinner, presented an impressive sight. Chopsticks, spoons, and small plates were aligned with folded paper napkins. A tiny brass hammer and a glass bowl of water stood in the middle. It was not exactly a dining table though, for it was also the table on which Peiqin made clothes for the family, where Qinqin did his homework, and where Yu examined bureau files.
    He made himself a cup of green tea, perched on the arm of the sofa, and took a small sip.
    They lived in an old-fashioned two storied shikumen house—an architectural style popular in the early thirties, when such a house had been built for one family. Now, sixty years later, it was inhabited by more