Red Mandarin Dress

chided himself for the image. Shen was an original poet and an original scholar. Perhaps his academic success came from his Imagist poetics. He didn’t see a dress merely as a piece of clothing but as an image with meanings and associations.
    An organic image full of life in itself, which may speak more than pages of words.
    Chen recalled one such image of clothing in Random Harvest , the novel he’d read many years ago, in Bund Park. It was an image from the heroine’s first appearance—“a little fur hat, like a fez.” It was symbolic in the text because the protagonist’s niece also wore a fur hat like a fez on another occasion. A subtle suggestion, as Chen interpreted it, about something similar between the two. When he had read it the first time, fez was an English word he didn’t know. So he looked it up in a dictionary, which defined it as a “red felt headdress, shaped like an inverted flowerpot.”
    With his sentimental partiality, it would be hard for a movie to do justice to the original, and he tried not to expect too much from the one Peiqin had sent him. Still, he couldn’t help being disappointed. The film was in black and white and such a headdress didn’t stand out at all.
    But what about the red mandarin dress as an image?
    He stood transfixed by the question, still waving his hand at the street with the taxi long out of sight.
    A good image may have a specific meaning to the author, and to the readers too. In Shen’s poem, passion for his home came out vividly in the “mutilated earthworm.” On the other hand, a bad image may be so specific to the writer that it is incomprehensible to the readers.
    The murderer was no author, who worried about his readers’ comprehension. The more puzzling to others, the more satisfactory to himself, and the more successful his performance.
    Chen suddenly became aware of something vibrating in his pant pocket. The cell phone. This time, the caller’s ID showed Party Secretary Li.
    “I want you to cut short your leave. Don’t worry about your paper, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen. The murderer must be found before he strikes again. You don’t need me to tell you that.”
    “I’m paying close attention to the case, Party Secretary Li.”
    That much was true, though Chen didn’t acknowledge his effort on the side. He had a feeling that the murderer was not only highly intelligent but also well-connected. For once, Chen had the advantage of staying behind the scene, and he wanted to keep it.
    “The city government is concerned about the case. A leading comrade has mentioned your name again this morning.”
    “I know. I’ll discuss it with Detective Yu.”
    “So come back to the bureau this afternoon.”
    “This afternoon. . . .” He was not pleased with Li’s ordering him around, nor ready to go back. “You may not know that I’ve been looking into the West-Nine-Block housing development case. Director Zhong of the Shanghai Legal System Reform Committee wants me to—”
    “So your Chinese literature paper is only an excuse,” Li snapped. “You could have told me earlier.”
    Another imprudent slip. Chen had assumed that the excuse would put Li off for the moment, but he forgot that Li’s not knowing about Chen’s involvement was too much a loss of face for the Party boss.
    “No, it’s not an excuse. I mean the paper. I do have to turn in the paper on time. As for the housing development case, you may have heard of its political sensitivity. As yet, I have done nothing about it—there was nothing to report.”
    Indeed, a power struggle was being staged at the very top, Chen had learned, in the Forbidden City. Now that several high-ranking Shanghai cadres were implicated in the scandal, someone in Beijing wanted to exploit it for ulterior motives.
    “You are too big a clay image for our small temple, Chief Inspector Chen.”
    “No, you don’t have to say that, Secretary Li. I’m going to discuss the red mandarin dress case with Detective Yu. I give you my word.”
    So instead of going back to the library after finishing his talk with Li, Chen called Yu.
    “Sorry, Chief. I had to run out this morning. I missed Mr. Shen.”
    “Don’t worry about that. We just had lunch together and Shen gave me quite a lecture about the mandarin dress.”
    “Where are you?”
    “Close to the Shanghai Library.”
    “Do you have some time this afternoon? I’d like to talk.”
    “Yes, so would I.”
    “Great. Where shall we