Poets and Murder

The judge shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

'To tell you the truth, sir, I wrote it more than ten years ago. I am afraid I don't recall a single couplet, at the moment. But I'll send you a copy, if I may, for ...'

'Don't trouble, Dee! Let me tell you frankly that it must have been bad poetry. If there had been a few good lines in it, you'd never have forgotten those. Tell me, did you ever read the "Imperial Rescript to the Officers and Men of the Seventh Army"?'

'I know it by heart, sir!’ the judge exclaimed. 'That inspir­ing message to a retreating army turned the tide of battle, sir! Those stately opening lines ...'

'Exactly, Dee! You'll never forget that text, because it was good prose, the rhythm of which pulsated in the blood of every man at arms, from the generals to the foot-soldiers. Therefore people still recite it now, all over our Empire. I drafted it for His Majesty, by the way. Well, Dee, you must give me your views on local administration. I always enjoy talking with young officials, you know. Always consider it one of the many drawbacks of a high position at Court that we get out of touch with provincial officials. And I am espe­cially interested in district problems, Dee. It's the lowest administrative level, of course, but of basic importance.' He slowly emptied his cup under the envious eyes of Judge Dee, carefully wiped his moustache and resumed with a reminiscent smile:

'I started as a district magistrate myself, you know! Served in only one post, though, for then I wrote my memorial on judicial reform, and I was promoted to Prefect in the south, then transferred here to this very region! Hectic times those were, when the Ninth Prince rebelled, twenty years ago. And now we are in his old mansion! Yes, time flies, Dee. Well, then I published my critical notes on the Classics, and I was appointed Reader in the Imperial Academy. Was allowed to accompany His Majesty on the August Inspection Tour of the western regions. On that journey I composed my "Odes on the Szuchuan Mountains". Still consider that my best poetry, Dee.' He loosened the collar of his robe, baring his thick, mus­cular neck. The judge remembered that the Academician had also been a well-known wrestler and swordsman in his youn­ger years. His host took up the book that was lying open on the desk.

'Found this on Lo's shelves, Counsellor Hwang's collected poems on Szuchuan scenery. Visited the same places as I did. Very interesting to compare our impressions. This verse is quite good, but ...' He bent over the page, then shook his head. 'No, this metaphor doesn't ring quite true ...' Sud­denly remembering his guest he looked up and said with a smile, 'Shouldn't bother you with all this, Dee! You've doubt­less many things to attend to before dinner.'

Judge Dee rose. The Academician got up too, and despite his guest's protests insisted on seeing him to the door.

'Thoroughly enjoyed our talk, Dee! Always keen on hear­ing the views of young officials. Makes one look at things with a fresh eye, so to speak. See you tonight!’

Judge Dee walked hurriedly over to the right wing, for his parched throat was making him really long for a cup of tea. There were many doors along the open gallery, but he looked in vain for a servant to tell him which was the Court Poet's room. Then his eye fell on a thin man in a faded grey robe who was feeding the goldfish in the granite basin at the end of the gallery. He wore a flat black cap with a thin red seam. Apparently one of his colleague's stewards. The judge walked up to him and asked:

'Could you tell me where I can find the Honourable Chang Lan-po?'

The other raised his head and looked him up and down with his heavy-lidded, strangely still eyes. Then a shy smile curved his lips, thin above the sparse, greying chinbeard. He said in a colourless voice:

'He is here. I am Chang Lan-po, as a matter of fact.'

'A thousand pardons, sir!' Judge Dee quickly took his visiting-card from his sleeve and offered it to the poet with a low bow. 'I came to pay you my respects, sir.'

The poet stared absent-mindedly at the card, holding it in his thin, blue-veined hand. 'Most considerate of you, Dee,' he said mechanically. Pointing at the basin, he resumed in a more animated voice, 'Look at that small fish under the water­weeds in the corner! Do you notice the perplexed look in its large, bulging eyes? It forcibly reminds me of ourselves ... bewildered observers.' Then he lifted his hooded eyes. 'Excuse me, please. Raising goldfish is one of my hobbies, you see. Makes me forget my manners. How long have you been stay­ing here, Dee?'

'I arrived the day before yesterday, sir.'

'Oh yes, the Prefect held a conference of magistrates here, I heard. I do hope you are enjoying your stay in Chin-hwa, Dee. I am a native of this district, you know.'

'It's a beautiful city, sir. And I feel most honoured that now I have an opportunity of meeting its most distinguished and brilliant ...'

The poet shook his head.

'No, not brilliant, Dee. Not any more, unfortunately.' He put the small ivory box with goldfish food back in his sleeve. 'I apologize, Dee, but I feel a bit out of sorts today. The visit to my ancestral shrine made me dwell on the past ...' He broke off and darted a shy glance at his visitor. 'Tonight, at dinner, I'll brighten up a little. Have to, for my friend the Academician always draws me into involved literary argu­ments. He has a truly encyclopaedic knowledge of literature, Dee, and an unrivalled command of the language. A bit high and mighty, but ...' Suddenly he asked anxiously, 'You have visited him before coming to me, I hope?'