Red Mandarin Dress (39 page)

Jia recoiled. It was the weird hour of the night when fantasies suddenly flipped like bats, and a vision like that startled him.

THIRTY-ONE

THE TRIAL FOR THE
West-Nine-Block housing development case appeared to be proceeding smoothly Friday morning.

It was in the court of Jin’an district, in which the West-Nine-Block was located. The building was a Catholic school in the twenties. In the early sixties, it was turned into a Children’s Palace, Chen remembered. Only two or three stained-glass windows in the courtroom reminded people of the earlier days.

According to the inside information Chen had just received, Peng was to be sentenced to three years. An assuring message to the people in a time when the gap between rich and poor was widening like an approaching earthquake. It was in the best interest of the government to bring the case to a quick and smooth conclusion, highlighting Peng’s punishment for his improper use of the state fund and for his gross negligence in the business operation.

Such a conclusion appeared to be understandable, and supposedly acceptable, to most of the public. It wouldn’t touch the corrupt Party officials involved behind the scene. At the same time, it would be an opportunity for the government to show its solidarity with the ordinary people. With the state fund reassigned for residential relocation and possibly some other remedies, the residents would be satisfied, and some of them might also choose to move back into the area. As for Peng, he should know better than to protest about three years. With his connections, he would be able to get out in a couple of months.

For all Chen knew, a sort of compromise had been reached between Shanghai and Beijing, and between Jia and the city government. Such a result seemed to be the best Jia could possibly strive for on the residents’ behalf.

So the trial was nothing but a formality.

Present in the courtroom was a group of residents from the West-Nine-Block. And an equally large group of journalists, including foreign ones, who must have obtained special permission from the city government to attend.

Jia sat among the residents in the front row, still in his black suit, his face taut and pale in the light of the courtroom.

Chen seated himself near the back of the room, rubbing his temples, which were throbbing like they did during acupuncture. He hadn’t even had time to change his clothes after the night-long dinner in the Old Mansion. It might be just as well. Wearing a pair of amber-tinted glasses, he hoped that people wouldn’t recognize him.

Yu sat beside him, also in plainclothes. He had likewise had a sleepless night. Having obtained the result of the fiber test earlier in the morning, Yu hurried through all the routine preparations for immediate action, but Chen wanted him to wait.

At Chen’s suggestion, the cops stationed both inside and outside were also in plainclothes. He insisted they take no action until his order. Yu hadn’t told them anything about the other case—the red mandarin dress case.

And Chen did not know what to tell Yu, either. He decided not to worry about it until after the trial was over. Even then, the practicability of immediate action was still debatable. It would be too dramatic. A possible storm of speculation about political retaliation wouldn’t be in the interest of the Party authorities.

He started wondering whether he should have come here. In spite of the horrendous crimes, he couldn’t help seeing things from Jia’s perspective. Justice could be a matter of perspectives, as discussed last night. Whatever wrongs Jia had suffered during the Cultural Revolution, however, the killing of the innocent today must be stopped.

Gang Hua, the defense lawyer for Peng, was standing up for closing statement.

Gang argued for leniency on the grounds of Peng’s cooperation with the government, his return of the fund, and his ignorance of his employees’ improper behavior. Specifically, Gang made a point about what he defined as the “historical circumstances.”

“It’s true that Peng got the land at a lower price and planned to sell the apartments at a higher one. But the value of real estate in Shanghai has since jumped. It didn’t happen in his project alone. As for the regulation about the land use, it wasn’t specified at the beginning of the development, nor was the compensation for the residents exactly formulated—there was only a range from the lower to the higher end. To ensure the timely completion of the project, Peng hired a relocation company, whose employees, perhaps too eager to do the job, pushed along without Peng’s knowledge.

“We understand that some of the residents in the West-Nine-Block suffered inconvenience, even injuries, but in the long run, the housing project is in the interest of the people. How can people live any longer like in the play
Seventy-Two Families Living in a Two-Storied Shikumen House
? China has been making tremendous progress in a reform unprecedented in its history. It’s new to everybody. So I am not saying that Peng shouldn’t be responsible for his mistakes in the housing development project, but we have to take into consideration the historical circumstances. In a larger perspective, you have to say that Peng’s business activity contributed to the prosperity of the city. If you go to the West-Nine-Block next year, you will see rows upon rows of new buildings.”

It was a clever speech, saying what could be said to represent Peng as a businessman who made mistakes, some of them well-meant mistakes, because of “historical circumstances.” The speech didn’t say, of course, what couldn’t be said: that all the corrupt practices occurred through Peng’s connections with Party officials.

The audience’s reaction seemed to be mixed. Some were whispering among themselves. Not all the residents were interested in anything more than the monetary compensation due them.

Then Jia rose, moving up to the front to make his closing statement.

As he took the stand, he let his glance sweep across the courtroom before acknowledging Chen in the back. Jia nodded almost imperceptibly, taking a drink from a plastic water bottle. He appeared to be full of confidence and conviction, his face taking on a strange transparency, as if another self were breaking out for the occasion.

But it could be a trick of the morning light streaming through the stained-glass windows, Chen thought.

“From my learned colleague’s speech, the result of the trial seems to be already predictable,” Jia started. “Peng will be punished for his business mismanagement, and the residents in the West-Nine-Block will receive compensation for their relocation. So I am visualizing the newspaper headlines, ‘The City Government Upholds Justice for the People.’ Or, ‘Number One Shanghai Big Buck Peng Punished.’ So that’s the end of it. Some will be satisfied with the compensation due them, some will move into the new apartment complex, some will talk about the downfall of the upstart, and some will be pleased to hear the last of the case.

“Still, such a ‘satisfactory’ outcome of the trial may leave a lot of things unexplained.

“How could Peng, a dumpling peddler along Chapu Road five or six years ago, have turned into Number One Shanghai Big Buck? He’s no magician, with no golden touch, but as we know, he has his connections. How could Peng have secured the land for the housing development project when there were several more qualified developers bidding for it? He has only his elementary school education, but as we know, he has his connections. How could Peng, having obtained the state approval for ‘housing improvement,’ have denied the original residents the right to move back? That was black and white in his business proposal, but as we know, he has his connections. How could Peng have secured government authorization to force out the residents ‘by whatever means necessary’? In spite of residential relocation being new to the city, people understood ‘whatever means necessary,’ but as we know, he has his connections.

“And what connections?

“Perhaps I don’t even have to elaborate on these here. Whatever I may say, some people will declare they are irrelevant.

“After all, anything can be explained and justified. Someone, who happens to be sitting in the courtroom, has told me that this is an age of perspectives. Things depend on the perspective, but he forgot to add that whoever is in power gains control of the perspective.”

It was an unmistakable reference to him, Chen knew. He rubbed his temple again.

“Now, my learned colleague has made one specific point,” Jia went on. “Historical circumstances. It is not a term invented by him. We have read and heard about it, especially with regard to the Cultural Revolution, haven’t we?”

“Shall we stop him?” Yu whispered to Chen. “Where is his speech leading?”

“No, I don’t think he will go too far. Let’s wait just a little longer.”

The trial was an unprecedented one in that a Chinese attorney was emerging triumphant, single-handedly against all the Party officials standing behind Peng. Jia deserved his moment, which might be the last cold comfort to his battered ego. Besides, Chen didn’t want the trial to be affected by the red mandarin dress case. They were two separate cases, unrelated.

“We aren’t here, of course, to talk about all the social and political issues involved,” Jia continued. “But what about the people who have suffered loss, irrecoverable losses, in the case? Zhang Pei’s parents, for instance, who died because of the horrible conditions after being driven out of their home. Or Lang Tianping, for another, who became paralyzed after being savagely beaten in the ‘demolishing campaign’ by the relocation company. Or Li Guoqing, whose girlfriend left him when he was detained for his skirmish with those Triad thugs hired by Peng.

“So do you think that singling out Peng for his mismanaged business operation brings justice?”

The question disturbed Chen. Where was Jia going with all this? It could be a show Jia was putting on. Anticorruption was a popular stance in the nineties. His speech would surely win him another round of applause. But would that be so important to him?

Was Jia pushing for a disastrous end for everyone? Such an option would be understandable for a man in his position. Possibly the last revenge, and the ultimate revenge too. In his mind, the Party authorities should have been held responsible for the Cultural Revolution. And for the government that was so anxious to wrap up this case with minimum political impact, having all the corrupt officials exposed, all the dirty politics examined, as Jia had threatened last night, would be disastrous.

In the interest of the Party, Chen should try to stop Jia, but it was a closing statement, saying what should be said. So what should Chief Inspector Chen do?

But Chen somehow didn’t believe Jia was really going to head far down that route. It was in their tacit understanding last night that nothing too dramatic would happen at the trial. Nothing like that from either side. If Jia wanted Chen to abide by his bargain, he himself had to do so. After all, Chen had those pictures. Jia must have taken the presence of Chen as a warning. Anything out of the way on Jia’s part would have its consequences. It involved her, not just him. Jia knew, Chen knew.

It was like having swallowed a fly for the chief inspector to think that he had actually helped with the housing development case.

And Chen couldn’t get rid of a sense of foreboding. Something wasn’t moving in the right direction. But what could that possibly be? He found his mind momentarily blank as he tried to put himself in Jia’s position.

Jia must be thinking about what would happen after the trial. There was no exit for him; Jia knew that better than anybody else.

How would Jia be able to face his fall? One of the most successful attorneys in the city, talking about justice all the time, and he had to face a trial in which he himself would be tried and convicted as a criminal, with a full confession signed in his own hand. Whatever defense he might be able to put up for himself, the result would be the same. Death, plus the worst humiliation imaginable.

What’s more, it could still involve her. Even without those pictures, people would eventually dig out some details, if not all of them.

But what different outcome could Jia strive for?

Chen stopped himself from thinking further along those lines.
You are no fish, so how can you know the way it thinks?
Jia’s sick. That was what Chen had told Yu, and that was true.

All of a sudden, Jia started coughing, his chest heaving in a spasm, a stained pallor masking his face.

“Are you okay?” the judge said, anxious for Jia to finish his speech.

“I am fine. Just an old problem,” Jia said.

The judge hesitated before asking Jia to continue. It was too important a trial to be interrupted.

“So I’m tempted to tell you a story in parallel to our case,” Jia resumed with renewed strength in his voice. “A story about what happened to a little boy during the Cultural Revolution. He lost his father, lost his home, and then in a most humiliating way, lost his mother he deeply loved. The experience totally traumatized him, like a small tree so stunted that it survives only in a twisted way. As the proverb says, ‘With a whole nest overturned, not a single egg will be left unbroken, though the crack may not be so visible.’ He grew up with the one and only purpose of seeking justice for his family. But when the Cultural Revolution was declared a well-meant mistake by Mao, a mistake understandable in the historical circumstances—he realized that it was a hopeless mission. So finally he decided to take justice into his own hands.

“Of course, people are supposed to uphold justice not in their own hands but in a courtroom like this, we all understand. However, is there a court that prosecutes the crimes of the Cultural Revolution? Or will there ever be one?”

Chen was about to stand up when Jia was seized with another outbreak of coughing, more violent this time, his face first purple, then ghastly white. His body began reeling.

The courtroom was sunk deeply in silence.