Don’t Cry, Tai Lake

vacation here. A hard-working intellectual, reading English in a Wuxi eatery,” she said teasingly. “Are you an English teacher?”
    “Well, what else can I do?” he said, reluctant to reveal that he was a cop. Teaching was a career he had, in his college days, imagined for himself. And he felt an urge, at least for a while, to not be a cop. Or not be treated as a cop. Police work had become a bigger and bigger part of his identity, whether he liked it or not. So it was tantalizing to imagine a different self, one that wasn’t a chief inspector—like a snail that didn’t carry its shell.
    “Schoolteachers earn quite a lot, especially with the demand for private tutoring,” she said, casting a glance at the dishes on the table.
    He knew what she was driving at. Chinese parents spared no expense for their children’s education, since that education could make a huge difference in an increasingly competitive society. Detective Yu and his wife Peiqin, for instance, spent the bulk of their income on private lessons for their son. A schoolteacher could make a small fortune by giving private lessons after hours, sometimes squeezing ten students or more into a small living room.
    “No, not me. Instead, I’m debating whether or not to translate this book for a small sum.”
    “A mystery,” she said, glancing at the book cover in English.
    “Occasionally, I write poems too,” he responded impulsively. “But there is no audience for poetry today.”
    “I used to like poetry too—in middle school,” she commented. “In a polluted age like ours, poetry is too much of a luxury, like a breath of pure air or a drop of clear water. Poetry can’t make anything happen except in one’s self-indulgent imagination.”
    “No, I don’t—”
    Chen’s response was interrupted by the shrill ringing of a cell phone in her satchel.
    Taking out a pink phone and putting it to her ear, she listened for a moment. Then she stood up, her face quickly bleaching of color in the afternoon light.
    “Something wrong?” he said.
    “No, it was just a nasty message,” she said, turning off the phone.
    “What was the message?”
    “‘Say what you’re supposed to say, or you’ll pay a terrible price.’”
    “Oh, maybe it was a prank call. I get those calls too,” he said. But usually nothing that specific, he didn’t add.
    Her brows knitted again. She seemed to know the call was more than a practical joke. She looked at her watch.
    “I’ve got to go back to work,” she said. “It’s nice to have met you, Mr. Chen. I hope you will enjoy a wonderful vacation here.”
    “You have a good weekend—”
    He thought about asking for her phone number, but she was already walking away, her long hair swaying across her back.
    It was probably just as well. It was only a chance meeting, like two nameless clouds crossing each other in the sky, then continuing on with their respective journeys. That was probably not a metaphor of his invention, but he couldn’t recall where he’d read it, Chen mused as he watched her walk.
    She turned before crossing the street and said, waving her hand lightly, “Bye,” as if to apologize for her abrupt exit.
    “Another beer?” Uncle Wang said, coming back to the table. He noticed the platter had hardly been touched. “I can refry the tofu for you.”
    “No, thanks. Just a beer,” Chen said. “Do you know her well?”
    “I know her parents well, to be exact. She was assigned a job here upon graduation. She is alone in Wuxi, so she comes here for lunch. I just warm up the food she that brings by in the morning.”
    “What kind of work does she do?”
    “She’s an engineer. Something to do with environment. She works hard, even on weekends. She left rather suddenly. What did you two talk about?”
    “She got a phone call and she left. A nasty prank call.”
    “There are some people who don’t like her.”
    If that was the case, then, the phone message could be a warning, not a practical joke. Still, who was he to worry about it? He hardly knew her.
    He finished his second beer and was ready to leave. He decided to curb his cop’s curiosity. After all, he was on vacation.

TWO
    THE NEXT MORNING, CHEN woke with a start. He thought he heard first a knock on the door, then heard the doorknob turning. Still disoriented, he sat up in bed, thinking that he must have been dreaming.
    “Room service.”
    A young attendant came in bearing a sweet smile and a silver tray of coffee, toast,