“No, don’t worry about it. I don’t need any secret passage. I’m just going there for the poetry. But what’s the dress code?”
“The dress code is either formal or fashionable, but it doesn’t really matter to the upstarts who hang out there. They’re just like monkeys, wearing and doing the same thing as all the others. Though I will say that there’s no such thing as ‘too expensive’ for that crowd.”
“Thank you. That helps. You know what? I thought about coming by to get a haircut at your place, but then I realized I wouldn’t have enough time. I have to prepare a talk about Eliot for tonight’s party.”
“Come by any time you like. We have a number of well-trained hairdressers. Or, if you prefer, I’ll take care of you myself.”
He thanked White Cloud again for her help and they said their good-byes.
While there wasn’t time for a cut today after all, it might not be a bad idea to pay her a visit someday, he thought, as he put down the phone. Certainly before he officially started his new job and put in an appearance at the new office.
He picked up the phone and called the convenience store again, this time asking them to deliver the printed photos to his mother. It was already five thirty, and he wouldn’t have the time to take them to her himself.
Chen stared out the window and watched a lone bat flipping by, flying erratically. The light outside was getting dim.
FIVE
SHORTLY AFTER SIX, CHEN was sitting in the backseat of a taxi crawling along Wuning Road. Neon lights began appearing against the city’s night sky like stamps on a huge somber-colored envelope. He couldn’t shake off an uneasy feeling about the party at the Heavenly World.
“You’re going to Wuning Road near the Inner Ring?” the taxi driver said, looking over his shoulder.
“Yes, I’m going to a nightclub there.”
“Wow, the Heavenly World.”
Chen didn’t respond immediately. The notoriety of the club was a given, and he didn’t have to justify going there to the cabdriver. Chen looked out the window instead. The streets seemed to be continuously rediscovered in the ever-changing fantasies of neon lights.
“The cover charge alone is more than what I make in a month. You’re a rich man, sir.”
Shanghai taxi drivers could be either garrulous or grumpy. This one obviously belonged to the former group.
“I have no idea. I’ve never been there before.”
“Spring warm, flowers blossom. It’s a different world, that Heavenly World,” the driver went on. “You’ll enjoy yourself to the fullest.”
“Oh, I’m going there for business,” Chen said.
“Business, you say. And you’re no ordinary businessman, I say.”
Perhaps it was sarcasm on the part of the taxi driver. But the ex-chief inspector wondered if his long immersion in the system had left something recognizable in his look or his manner.
“I’m going to a book launch party there this evening. I’m a translator.”
“A book launch party there?” The driver sounded incredulous. “What will the girls do tonight-demonstrate all the positions in the Inner Canon of the Yellow Emperor?”
“You’ve read some books,” Chen said, surprised. The Inner Canon of the Yellow Emperor was sometimes compared to Kama Sutra, though to do so was to take the work grossly out of context.
“Whatever kind of a party it is, the place is untouchable. It’s connected with both the police bureau and the city government.”
Chen thought back on what he’d learned from White Cloud. Under Chinese law, organized according to what the government called “Socialism with Chinese characteristics,” prostitution was still forbidden. But customers at the Heavenly World didn’t have be wary of police raids.
“Money-intoxicated, gold-dazzled,” Chen said, thinking of two Tang lines: “Those Shang girls know nothing about the doom of the country, / still singing about the flower blossoming in the backyard.”
“The flower blossoming in the backyard-that’s so vivid, so true to life.”
“So true to life?”
“Come on. Don’t play dumb with me.” The driver chuckled with great gusto. “They will do anything for you, from the front, to the back-”
“Oh that-”
“The club is expensive for a variety of reasons. Not just because of the service in the front or back. Some of the girls there are said to be highly qualified: college educated, fluent in English or French, able to cry out in whatever language you fancy when they come.”
The taxi driver brought his monologue to a reluctant stop at the sight of a tall building topped with an elaborate neon sign that read, “The Heavenly World,” which was just beginning to flash nocturnal conspiracies against the corner of the sky.
Chen got out and noted one thing immediately: the hustle and bustle of the valet parking. The attendants in red uniforms seemed to know their customers well, nodding and greeting each one by name. All the cars that pulled up were luxury models, and Chen alone arrived in a taxi.
Wuting was waiting near the front entrance, with another middle-aged man dressed in a black suit and a red bow. He was beaming at Chen.
The red-bowed man reached out his hand. “Director Chen, I’m Rong Pan, your loyal fan. It’s a great honor for us to have you here.”
“Thank you for your generous support of literature, Rong. Wuting told me all about it.”
“Wuting may not have told you one thing, Director Chen. I began reading your translations as early as the mid-eighties. Oh, those were truly the good, golden years for literature.”
Rong was apparently aware of Chen’s new position, though that didn’t seem to have damped his enthusiasm.
“Let’s move inside,” Wuting said with a smile.
The book launch party was being held in a large hall with a banner stretched across overhead, bearing the name and portrait of T. S. Eliot. Chen wondered about the original function of the room, noting a colored poster near a closed door to the left.
In the middle of the hall stood rows of leather chairs. In front of the first row, there were some marble coffee tables, and further up, a cordoned-off area with a dais in the middle. To the right of the dais was a long table with piles of books stacked on it.
It turned out that Rong did know something about Eliot. Not only were copies of the new volume displayed around the room, but there were also several girls dressed up like cats scampering around, just like in the musical.
The party started off with a fairly long introductory speech from Rong, one full of Eliotic lines. He did bring up one interesting detail about how the English poet was the catalyst for a crucial change in Rong’s life.
“In those years, I would bring a copy of Director Chen’s translation of Eliot to bed with me every night. I dreamed of becoming a poet myself, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that, as a young college graduate, I had neither the time nor the money for poetry. One night, I happened to reread a paragraph in Director Chen’s preface. It talked about Eliot’s early career as a banker. Eliot became a banker because there is no money in poetry, but making enough money as a banker made it possible for him to write. This hit me like a bolt of lightening across a black sky. If Eliot could do that, then so could I. I took a job in a state bank and worked my way up, until eventually I left to start a private bank of my own. That part is a boring business story, which I don’t need to tell here. But it all came about because of T. S. Eliot. And because of Director Chen too.”
Applause broke out across the room. People put down their drinks and their cigarettes so they could clap.
“Time flies. This all happened so many years ago,” Rong said. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t make my way back to poetry, but through Director Chen’s masterful translation, I might be able to relive my old dream tonight.”