Read Online Whispering Shadows by Jan-Philipp Sendker - Free Book Online

daylight. Clouds of dust hung in the air, and a cement mixer almost ran him over when it turned into a construction site without paying any heed to pedestrians. This place had nothing in common with the town he remembered. When exactly was it that he had last visited Zhang? He had come with Justin then, before he fell ill, so it was four or five years ago. Even then he had noticed the effects of the economic boom in how quickly Shenzhen had changed. Now he barely recognized the place. A metro system, even wider streets, even more cars, even taller buildings, even more people. There had been fifty thousand on his first visit. How many were there now? Seven million? Ten? Twelve?
    The CITIC City Plaza was a modern gray block of steel, concrete, and glass, a sight Paul was familiar with from Hong Kong. Even the fountains in front of it had been copied by the architects. Paul and Zhang walked through the shopping mall and crossed the street behind it to the police detective’s apartment. Paul gradually began to recognize the place: On the corner was the small Muslim noodle-soup restaurant that he had eaten at so often. Just as before, a young man covered in flour was standing in front kneading a lump of dough and unhurriedly making fresh white noodles out of it. The cobbler on the other side of the road was also still there. Next to him, a new shop had opened. It was brightly lit and decorated with red lanterns. Two young women in long, dark-red evening dresses were standing at the entrance and a well-dressed man was standing at a rostrum in front of the door. At first, Paul thought it was the entrance to a restaurant, whose dining area was to the back, and the man was responsible for valet parking. But there was no area at the back, only a narrow marble staircase that led upstairs. The shop front was entirely made of glass; behind it sat at least two dozen heavily made-up young women in pink clothing, whose eyes all followed Paul. They reminded him of the big teddy bears displayed as fairground prizes that he had seen at Coney Island in his childhood.“Come on in, sir,” the man at the rostrum called. “They are yours, sir. You can choose anyone. Come on in, sir.”
    Zhang walked on without paying the least bit of attention to the man.
    â€œWhat was that?” Paul asked.
    â€œDo you still want to have a few wontons before?” Zhang asked, instead of giving a reply.
    â€œI’d love to,” Paul said, only half listening. He could not believe how much Zhang’s neighborhood had changed. Where were the many grocery shops? Where was the genius tailor who could sew a button on quicker than Paul could fetch a yuan note from his trouser pocket in payment? Where was the dentist who, at the entrance to his practice, had a display case of extracted teeth in front?
    They turned into one of the narrow side streets where they used to buy fruit and vegetables. Now it was full of hairdressers and beauty salons with scantily clad women squatting outside, smoking, eating, whining to each other, or painting their nails. The younger ones stretched themselves as soon as they saw Paul, or thrust their breasts out at him briefly. The others just looked on, bored. They were experienced enough, he thought, to see straightaway that he was not interested. On one of the buildings hung an advertisement for different breast implants that purported to come from America: Bless You, Glorified Beauty, and Always Number One. Next to it was a Shenzhen police placard with an emergency telephone number for the serious fraud office printed in extralarge type.
    Zhang was now deep in conversation with the owner of the last remaining greengrocer about the best recipe for a bitter gourd soup. Paul tugged at his sleeve. He felt like an impatient young boy pulling his father away from a conversation with a neighbor.
    â€œWhat on earth has happened here?” he asked in a whisper, as the vegetable woman disappeared back into her