The Mao Case

his aquiline nose, saying not a single
     word in response. He continued talking to a chubby old man in the group.
    Chen was not one of them, apparently. None of them seemed interested in him. Still, he managed to introduce himself around,
     trying to fit in. The Old Dicks were invariably nostalgic, looking backward at the past as if it were the only real life.
     They kept exchanging anecdotes of the “good families,” out of which they came, as a means of criticizing the present-day upstarts
     who possessed neither history nor taste. They remained indifferent to the presence of a stranger with apparently neither an
     illustrious family background nor knowledge of those glittering years.
    It was not until fifteen minutes later that a man came striding out of the other room, extending his hand even at a distance.
     An ordinary-looking man in his early sixties, fairly short, slightly overweight, with thinning hair and an angular face, he
     wore a gray jacket and black dress pants. He spoke with a strong Shanghai accent.

    “I’m Xie. I didn’t know you had arrived, Mr. Chen. So sorry about that. I’m holding a class inside.”
    Xie led Chen to the other room — possibly a large dining room originally, now it was a studio being used for his painting class.
     There were six or seven girls there, including the two he had seen arrive earlier from window of the café, all of them busy
     working on their in-class assignments. They were each dressed quite differently. One girl was in a paint-covered overall,
     another was in a summer dress with something like a turban tied around her hair, and still another was in an extra-large T-shirt
     and frayed jean shorts. Possibly it was a common scene for a painting class, but Chen hadn’t been to one before.
    He then recognized Jiao, a tall girl in a white blouse and a jean skirt by the window. She had large eyes and a straight nose,
     her melon-seed-shaped face bearing a faint resemblance to Shang. She appeared younger than in the picture from the file and,
     working on a sketch, was vivacious and animated with a glowing radiance.
    Xie didn’t introduce him to the girls, who appeared to be absorbed in their work. Gesturing him to a corner sofa, Xie pulled
     a chair over for himself.
    “It’s quieter here,” Xie said in a low voice. “Mr. Shen speaks highly of you.”
    “I talked to him about my book project and he recommended you to me,” Chen said. “I know how busy you are, but it would greatly
     benefit the writing project for me to come over from time to time.”
    “Come anytime you like, Chen. Shen’s a good old friend of my father’s, he’s like an uncle to me. He has also given me a lot
     of information about the clothes in the thirties. Whoever he introduces is a welcome guest here. You also speak good English,
     I’m told, and we occasionally have foreign guests.”
    “I hope I won’t be any inconvenience to either your class or your party.”
    “I teach students two or three times a week. If you’re interested in painting, you can sit in. It is not a formal class. As
     for the parties, the more people, the more fun.”

    The young girl in the overalls came over with a large watercolor in her hands. Xie took it from her and studied it for a minute
     before he pointed to a corner of it and said, “There is too much light here, Yang.”
    “Thanks,” she said, patting his shoulder with a familiarity not usually shown to a teacher.
    Xie appeared to mix well with his students. Nodding, he said to Chen, “Girls are really made of water.”
    It sounded like an echo from the
Dream of the Red Chamber
. Xie might really fancy himself as Baoyu, the charming, irresistible protagonist of the classic novel, except that Baoyu
     was young, born with a piece of precious jade in his mouth.
    A stout, middle-aged man pulled open the door and burst in, leading a willowy model-like girl to Xie.
    “Oh, let me introduce you,” Xie said to Chen. “This is Mr. Gong Luhao. His grandfather was the white fox king.”
    “White fox king?” Chen’s voice rose in puzzlement.
    “Oh, my grandfather was in the fur business before 1949, especially known
     for his unrivaled supply of white fox,” Mr. Gong said, turning to the girl. “Her grandfather was connected to the Weng family.
     She wants to study with you.”
    “She may submit her sample work to me,” Xie said. “This is Mr. Chen. A successful entrepreneur, and now a writer as well.
     Mr. Shen, of the Industry Bank