Old Liang was furious with Wan. The residence cop insisted that some charge should be pressed against him. “He should be sent to prison for at least three or four years. Wan deserves it. Deliberate false testimony! This ex-Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda Worker Team Member is crazy. He must believe he can do whatever he likes and get away with it, like in the days of the Cultural Revolution He’s simply lost in his spring-and-autumn dream! Our society is a legal society now.”
It was Party Secretary Li, however, who decided against prosecuting Wan. “Enough is enough. We have had so many stories about the Cultural Revolution. There is no point bringing Wan into troubled water, too. People have to move on. Let the old man alone.”
Politically, it was not a good idea to harp on the disastrous aftermath of the Cultural Revolution, or even to remind people of it. This was the very card Chen had played, though Li did not say this in so many words. Anyway, Wan’s case was not to be interpreted politically, so Yu did not have to say anything. Outraged as Old Liang might be, Party Secretary Li had the last word regarding Wan’s fate.
Still, the unsolved mystery of Wan’s confession kept intruding itself into Yu’s thoughts.
Stubbing out his cigarette, Yu got up and carried his phone into the kitchen area.
Peiqin was busy cooking, moving about in a maze of pots and pans. There was hardly enough space for the two of them.
She was genuinely pleased with the outcome of the investigation and with the part she had played. “So everything is finished,” she said, turning to him with a bright smile, her hands still stuffing tofu with ground pork.
“There is still a lot to do to wrap it all up.”
“Imagine I-imagine both of us-having done something for Yang,” she said. “Yin was his only comfort in his last days. Now her murderer has been caught. In heaven, if there is a heaven, Yang must be pleased.”
“Yes, the conclusion…” Yu found it hard to complete his sentence-that his grandnephew killed the woman he loved.
“Can you take out his poetry collection for me? It is in the second drawer of the chest.”
“Of course. But why?”
“I think I have just gained a new understanding of Yang’s poetry while I was busy cooking,” she said. “Sorry, my hands are not clean. But when you bring the book here, I have something to tell you that is related to the case.”
Yu came back with the poetry book in his hand.
“Please find the poem titled ‘A Cat of the Cultural Revolution,’” she said. “Can you read it to me?”
He started reading in a low voice, still totally mystified. At times, Peiqin could be too wrapped up in books, just like Chief Inspector Chen. Fortunately, she did not have too many idols like Yang. And there was no one else in the kitchen area just then.
My fantasy came true / with the Cultural Revolution / of being a cat, jumping / through the attic window, stalking / on the dark roof, staring / down into the rooms now peopled / with the strangers wearing / the armbands of “Red Guards.” / They had told me “Go away, / bastard, you hear!” I heard, / only too glad to come / to the roof, where I found, / for the first time, that starlight / could shine so long in solitude, / and that Mother had changed / beside the Red Guards, her neck / bent by a blackboard like / a zoological label. I couldn’t tell / the words written on it, but I knew / she’s in no position to stop / my leaping into the dark night.
Morning brought me down / brandishing a slate, Mother sprang back / at the sight, as if the slate too / were designed for her swollen neck. / I couldn’t help shouting / in a voice I had learned overnight, / “Go, and fetch a bowl of rice / for me, you hear!” Away she / scampered. A mouse scuttled / in the debris of a night’s “cultural revolution.” And / I decided, not being human enough / to be a Red Guard, to be / felinely ferocious. Back / from a visit to the dentist / one day, I caught her squealing, “No, / your teeth are sharp.” “Alas, / she was born under the star of the mouse,” a blind / fortune-teller said, sighing / by her deathbed. “It was / predestined, according / to the Chinese horoscope.” / I ran out wild. There were / nine lives to lose, and I jumped / into the jungle.
I see a paw-print / on this white paper.
“Yes, it’s about the Cultural Revolution,” Yu said, after reading the long poem aloud.
“Now that I have learned more about his life,” Peiqin said, “I’m sure the narrator must have been based on Hong, the child of a ‘black’ family. Her family was persecuted by the Red Guards. Those kids suffered terrible discrimination. They were regarded as ‘politically untrustworthy,’ with no future in socialist China. Some of them could not help seeing themselves as less than human because they could never become Red Guards.”
“Yes, that’s why she denounced her parents, I was told.”
“I can really relate, because I had a similar experience and harbored secret resentment against my parents,” she said in a trembling voice before she controlled herself. “What a poem! It represents the dehumanization of the Cultural Revolution from a child’s perspective.”
“Yes, the Cultural Revolution caused many tragedies. Even today, there are people who have not been able to move out of its shadow, including Hong, and perhaps Bao too.”
“Yang left a novel manuscript, didn’t he?”
“It’s in English. According to Chief Inspector Chen, it is a novel like Doctor Zhivago, about the life of a Chinese intellectual in Mao’s years, but Internal Security has already snatched it.”
“You could have made a copy.”
“We didn’t have time. The minute we entered the bureau, Internal Security was there. They already seemed to know about it. And Party Secretary Li was on their side, of course. Chen had read only several pages in the restaurant downstairs-”
“What?”
“He insisted that I conduct the questioning of Bao all by myself- since it was my case-while he read the book in a small restaurant on the first floor. He did not come back until the interrogation was over. I suppose he could have made a copy without my knowledge.”
“Has he mentioned anything about the manuscript?”
“No, he hasn’t said a word about it.”
“He must have his reasons. I am not sure whether you should ask him about it,” Peiqin said thoughtfully. “Chen is a clever man. He may try to do something that could be risky.”
“You mean he doesn’t want to involve me in some risky business-with Internal Security lurking in the background.”
“Possibly. I cannot really tell,” she said, and changed the subject abruptly. “Oh, we will have a wonderful dinner tonight!” She was mincing shrimp for the tofu stuffing now.
“You don’t have to prepare so many dishes. We have no guests today.”
“You have proven to the bureau what a capable cop you are. It’s an occasion for celebration.”
“In fact, I was thinking about quitting the job, Peiqin, that morning at Old Half Place,” Yu said. “All these years, I’ve brought so little home. And you have had to work so hard, at the restaurant and at home. I might earn more for the family, I thought, if I could start some small business like Geng, or like LI Dong.”
“Come on, my husband. You have done such a great job as a cop. I’m proud of you,” Peiqin said. “Money is something, but not everything. How could you ever have had such an idea?”
“Thank you,” he said, without going on to say, but you once suggested it to me.