When Red is Black

White Cloud.”
     
    “I have photocopies of Yang’s poetry translations. You may read them for yourself.” Still carrying the other bag, she added, “I’ll fix something for you in the kitchen.”
     
    “What do you have in your hand?”
     
    “A surprise.”
     
    He had no clue as to what the plastic bag contained. It was large and black, and there seemed to be a faint, indistinct sound coming out of it.
     
    He started reading the photocopied pages. Yang’s poetry translations had been published in a number of English study journals, mostly in the last few years. Such journals had an enormous circulation in China, where so many people were now engaged in learning English.
     
    In most cases, to Chen’s surprise, the editors had put in a few words as to why people should read Yang’s poetry today. According to one magazine editor, it would be a good way to impress Americans. According to another, it would become fashionable, especially among lovers, to quote these translated poems on Valentine’s Day, which was being introduced into China. There were also several short introductions by Yin, about the techniques employed in the translation of these poems, which might be helpful to beginners. However, he failed to find any clue to the mysterious abbreviations.
     
    White Cloud was making noises in the kitchen area. She must be cooking, even though it was still a bit early for dinner.
     
    She finally emerged, carrying a large tray with a broad smile. “From the Dynasty Club,” she announced, placing on the folding table an impressive dinner that included some delicacies he had never seen before. One was a small dish of fried sparrow gizzards, golden crisp. How many sparrows had gone into the making of that dish, he wondered. The other dish, of duck, was also original—it was duck heads with the skulls removed, so people could easily reach the tongues, or suck out the brains. It was the sauna shrimp, however, that really impressed him. River shrimp were brought to the table in a glass bowl, live, still jumping and wriggling. She also provided a small wooden pail whose bottom was covered with red hot stones. She poured some wine into the bowl of shrimp, then took the drunken shrimp from the bowl and put them into the pail. There was a shrill hiss, and, in two or three minutes, a plate of sauna shrimp appeared.
     
    Gu must have given her many instructions, including how to prepare the sauna shrimp. She might not be an excellent cook, but she knew how to procure delicious food, and that was good enough for him.
     
    “Is that what you wanted?” she said, picking up one copied page of the poetry translation.
     
    “It may be a piece of the puzzle. I will have to try to fit it in.”
     
    “You will,” she said. “I hope you like the shrimp too.”
     
    “Thanks. You are spoiling me.”
     
    “Not at all. It’s a great honor to work with you, as Mr. Gu tells me.”
     
    To Chen, however, it sounded somewhat like a reminder to concentrate on the translation lying on the desk, and to remember that theirs was a business relationship.
     
    He recalled their first meeting in a private room in the Dynasty Club. She, too, had been quite professional—as a K girl. The least he could do now was to show his appreciation. He picked up another shrimp with his fingers.
     
    * * * *
     

Chapter 10
     
     
    D
    etective Yu arrived at the neighborhood committee office early. He wanted to do some reading, even after Peiqin had told him the story of Yin’s novel. Peiqin had also underlined some parts for him to study more closely. The first few pages he turned to described Yang reading to Yin at night behind the pigsty, with piglets grunting off and on as a chorus.
     
    The cloud seems to be changing its shape. / Insubstantial, soft, wrapping itself against the other, / curling up. Then comes the rain. ... It took Yu a minute to figure out the metaphor. It was clever of Yin to write in such highly suggestive language, without being explicit. He wondered, however, if Yin and Yang could have really done anything while they were at the cadre school. They both lived in the dorm, with many roommates in their respective rooms. Even if their roommates were out of the way for an hour or two, it would have been too risky for the two to attempt anything. In those years, if people were caught having extramarital sex, they could be sentenced to years of imprisonment. He read the lines one more time. After close study, it was