Red Mandarin Dress

peace.”
    “It’s a great picture,” he went on imperturbably, taking out another business card—that of the Chinese Writers Association. “I am a poet. To me, it’s a masterpiece. A poem in a picture.”
    “A poem in a picture” had been the highest praise in traditional Chinese criticism, but Chen thought he was sincere in applying the cliché.
    “It may or may not be so. But so what? Look at me. Left all alone here like a dirty, worn-out mop.” She pointed to the propane gas tank. “I can’t even cook in the common kitchen here. Everybody bullies me. Tell them about the so-called masterpiece. What difference will it make?”
    She rose and shuffled to the stove and stirred the food boiling in the can with a chopstick. Abruptly, she turned toward the straw rice pot warmer, cooing as if there was no one else in the room.
    “Black. Lunch is ready.”
    The lid of the warmer lifted and a cat jumped out, rubbing its head against the old woman’s leg.
    Chen rose to leave, reluctantly. She didn’t ask him to stay.
    As he pushed open the door, he cast one more look into the kitchen. There were two ramshackle tables packed in there, littered with unprepared vegetables and leftover dishes and fermented bean curd and unwashed chopsticks and spoons.
    Stepping out of the building, he saw the wooden sign of the neighborhood committee across the lane. He strode over to the office. It was almost a routine practice for a cop.
    In the office, he produced his business card, which, to his surprise, made little impression on a gaunt, gray-haired man surnamed Fei, the head of the committee. Chen talked to him about Auntie Kong, emphasizing that her husband had been an award-winning artist and that the committee should try to help with her living condition.
    “Is Auntie Kong your relative?” Fei said curtly, combing through his hair with his frostbitten fingers.
    “No. I just met her today, but she should have access to the common kitchen.”
    “Let me tell you something, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen. The squabbles among neighbors over the common area can be a tough issue for us. As far as I know, the resident in that room before her didn’t have any space in the common kitchen—he was a Party cadre who had practically worked and lived in his factory. Besides, her neighbors still use coal briquette stoves. It’s dangerous for her to move the propane gas tank into the same kitchen.”
    “Well,” Chen said after a thoughtful pause, “can I use your phone?”
    He called the head of the district police station, which functioned like the security boss for the neighborhood committee. After getting through to the director, Chen handed the phone to Fei, who listened with surprise registered on his face.
    “Now I remember you, Chief Inspector Chen,” Fei said in a changed tone. “You’ll have to excuse a man of my age. As a proverb goes, an old man has his eyes only not to recognize Mountain Tai. Sure, I’ve seen you on TV, and heard stories of you, too.”
    “You may have heard stories of me,” Chen said. “According to one of them, I always repay a debt.”
    “You don’t have to say that, Chief Inspector Chen. It’s difficult to deal with disputes among neighbors, but we should try our best. You are right about that. Let’s go there.”
    Chen didn’t bother to guess what the director had said to Fei. They went back together to Auntie Kong’s building.
    All the residents in the unit came out, standing in their doorways, and Fei and Chen stood in the narrow corridor. Fei announced that a decision had been made jointly by the neighborhood committee and the district police station. A small space was to be cleared for Auntie Kong in the common kitchen. Not large, but enough for a propane gas tank. Out of safety considerations, the committee would put up a partition between the gas tank and coal stoves. No one argued or protested.
    After the decision was announced, Chen was about to leave when Auntie Kong sidled up and said, “Comrade Chief Inspector Chen.”
    “Yes, Auntie Kong?”
    “May I have a word with you?”
    “Of course.” He turned to Fei and said, “You may go back first. Thanks for your great help.”
    “So you are somebody,” she said, closing the door when they were back in her room. “For more than ten years, I’ve had to cook in this room, and you’ve solved the problem for me in half an hour.”
    “That’s nothing. I admire Mr. Kong’s work,” he said. “The neighborhood