The Mao Case

the bed. “I’ll get the broom and clean it up.”
    In the closet, hiding behind the door, Chen caught a partial glimpse of her naked body padding over. He might be able to break
     away, he calculated, at the instant she pulled open the door. She would be too shocked to react or recognize him, considering
     the poor light. “Mao,” still sprawling on the bed, wouldn’t be able to catch him in time to detain him.
    He put his hands on the groove of the door, listening closely to her steps, which approached softly on the floor …

TWENTY-NINE
    A NIGHT-LIGHT POPPED ON in the closet, as if in response to her bare feet moving closer.
    It was a tiny light that shed only a faint ring on the floor. Possibly it was on an automatic timer.
    Holding his breath, Chen tensed his muscles, and prepared to spring out.
    But the closet door didn’t slide open.
    To his surprise, the footsteps actually started fading away.
    She must be heading toward the kitchen, from what he was able to make out, sweating in shock and relief.
    A minute or so later, he heard her coming back, most likely with the broom from the kitchen.
    It was nothing short of a miracle that she chose to get the broom from the kitchen instead —
    “Mao” turned the lamp on the nightstand on upon her return.
    Chen was finally able to catch a glimpse of her dazzling white
     body — the delicate tension of her curved back and buttocks as she
bent over to clean up the mess on the floor, carrying a broom and a dustpan.
    It was but a fleeting peek. She cleaned up the splintered glass and walked back to the kitchen with the broom and dustpan.
    When she returned, she turned off the light the moment she slid back into bed.
    But why should she have taken the trouble to walk, naked, all the way to the kitchen for a broom when there was one in the
     bedroom closet? Maybe she didn’t want to use the soft broom for the spilled tea. In Shanghai, a broom of bamboo slices would
     be common for a
shikumen
courtyard or concrete-floored kitchen. For a bedroom, however, a broom made of
Luhua
reed, or better quality, made of coir —
    “At first you said you went there for the painting lessons,” “Mao” resumed his interrupted speech. “It might be good for you, I thought, but you spend more and more time there. Lessons,
     parties, and sometimes with no excuse at all. Why?”
    “What am I supposed to do here? You’re always busy. You only come in for your cloud and rain.”
    “And that’s not all. You have been taking such good care of Xie, cooking and cleaning and washing for him, while you have
     a maid helping at home. When he was sick at the hospital, you stayed by his bedside for hours.”
    “Xie has suffered a lot. Now he’s an old man, living by himself, and I try to do something to help, just like his other students.”
    “Like his other students? Don’t try to pull my leg anymore. You went so far as to provide a false alibi for him. That night
     you came home quite early as I recall. Why?”
    “He is incapable of harming people — incapable of killing a fly. He was being set up. I had to help.”
    “Help? Help by posing naked for him and risking perjury for him?” “Mao” raised his voice. “You told me you never knew him before going to him as a student. That’s another lie. He went out
     of his way to help you — as early as back in your orphanage days.”
    “I didn’t really know.”

    “Now he’s a legend in Shanghai, with a mansion worth a fortune, and a fabulous collection too.”
    “What do you take me for?”
    “How can you care for such a pathetic guy?”
    Was that possible? While Chen had observed something between Xie and Jiao, he had never really contemplated that possibility?
    Still, Jiao could have been drawn to Xie. Not necessarily because of anything material, but because of something spiritual
     in her mind. An imagined continuation of Shang’s world, which was shattered by Mao. It might also have lent meaning to the
     tragic life of the young girl, symbolically, for her world, too, was being shattered by Mao’s shadow.
    “Do you care for me as a human being? No, I’m nothing but an object of your fantasy — like a vase, a decoration, a Mercedes,
     a piece of property.”
    “Are you out of your mind? It’s for your sake that I purchased that scroll. It cost enough for five Mercedes.”
    “No, you bought it for your sake. For your fantasy of being Mao.”
    “I proposed that buyout to Xie for your sake as well. He would