The Zither: A Novella and New Short Stories from China 9780824894238

Citation preview

the

Zither

M A N O A

3 3 : 1

U N I V E R S I T Y O F

H A W A I ‘ I

P R E S S

Louise Gong visiting her grandmother in Shanghai, 2007. A reproduction of the Tuileries Garden in Paris hangs in the livingroom. Robert van der Hilst commented that many of the interiors he photographed had reproductions depicting Paris.

H O N O L U L U

the

Zither A

N o v e l l a

S h ort

and

S tories

N e w f ro m

C h ina

Frank Stewart S E R I E S

E D I T O R

Karen Gernant Chen Zeping G U E S T

E D I T O R S

Mänoa: A Pacific Journal of International Writing

Editor Frank Stewart Managing Editor Pat Matsueda Associate Editor Noah Perales-Estoesta Designer and Art Editor Barbara Pope Consulting Editors Anna Badkhen, Robert Bringhurst, Barry Lopez (1946–2020), W. S. Merwin (1927–2019), Carol Moldaw, Michael Nye, Naomi Shihab Nye, Gary Snyder, Julia Steele, Arthur Sze, Michelle Yeh Corresponding Editors for Asia and the Pacific cambodia Sharon May china Chen Zeping, Karen Gernant, Ming Di hong kong Shirley Geok-lin Lim indonesia John H. McGlynn japan Leza Lowitz korea Bruce Fulton new zealand and south pacific Vilsoni Hereniko, Alexander Mawyer pacific latin america Noah Perales-Estoesta philippines Alfred A. Yuson south asia Alok Bhalla, Sukrita Paul Kumar western canada Trevor Carolan Advisors Laura E. Lyons, Robert Shapard Founded in 1988 by Robert Shapard and Frank Stewart Mānoa is published twice a year and is available in print and online for both individuals and institutions. Subscribe at https://www.uhpress.hawaii.edu/title/manoa/. Please visit http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/manoa to browse issues and tables of contents online. Claims for non-receipt of issues will be honored if claim is made within 180 days of the month of publication. Thereafter, the regular back-issue rate will be charged for replacement. Inquiries are received at [email protected] or by phone at 1-888-uhpress or 808-956-8833. Mānoa gratefully acknowledges the support of the University of Hawai‘i and the University of Hawai‘i College of Languages, Linguistics, and Literature; with additional support from the National Endowment for the Arts; Amazon Literary Partnership Literary Magazine Fund and the Community of Literary Magazines & Presses; and the Mānoa Foundation. manoa.hawaii.edu/manoajournal uhpress.hawaii.edu/title/manoa/ muse.jhu.edu jstor.org

C O N T E N T S

Editor’s Note

vii

novell a Zhang Yihe The Woman Zou

1

short f i c t i o n Zhu Wenying Mute

97

Yi Zhou Babel Did Not Leave Heavenly Garden The Freewheeling Garden Isobathic The Zither

109

About the Contributors

188

Editor’s Note

There was a moment in the Chinese Communist Party’s history when the citizens of the People’s Republic of China were invited to openly give their opinions of China’s advanced socialist culture. At the beginning of 1957, Chairman Mao spoke to the Supreme State Conference of the PRC and launched a campaign of freedom of speech in which he not only suggested, but also insisted that the country’s people—especially writers, lawyers, intellectuals, and students— boldly express their candid opinions and criticism of the Party and its policies. “Let a hundred flowers bloom / Let a hundred schools of thought contend.” He promised there would be no reprisals for speaking the truth. By summer, millions of letters had arrived criticizing the CCP and Mao himself. Thus, the Chairman discovered there were too many of what he called “poisonous weeds” among the flowers; taken aback at the outpouring of grievances, Mao called a halt to the Hundred Flowers Movement, declaring that “the snakes had been enticed out of their lairs.” In the Movement’s place, he initiated the Anti-Rightist Campaign to round up all the snakes. Half a million people or more were arrested, beaten, tortured, imprisoned in labor camps, or executed. Their families were also defamed and persecuted. One of many prominent figures caught up in the Anti-Rightist purge was Zhang Bojun, the minister of communications and chairman of the Chinese Peasants and Workers Democratic Party. Zhang was labeled the country’s Number One Rightist, stripped of his ministerial post, and publicly disgraced. His family, too, did not escape the Party’s wrath. Three years after Zhang Bojun was purged, his daughter, Zhang Yihe, was admitted to the Literature Department of the Chinese Opera Academy, on track for a career in the arts. In 1963, against her wishes, she was assigned to work in an opera troupe in Sichuan province. There, she wrote a passage in her diary that, when discovered, was reported as a criticism of Mao Zedong’s powerful wife, Jiang Qing. In part because of her diary entry, and because she was the daughter of Zhang Bojun, Zhang Yihe was arrested; she was convicted in 1970 of being a counterrevolutionary and sentenced to twenty years in a rural labor camp. She was released after serving ten years, following the downfall of Jiang Qing.

vii

Following her release, Zhang Yihe was allowed to work for the Sichuan Provincial Office of Culture. Later, she was hired as a researcher for the Opera Academy in Beijing, where she became a professor of theater arts. After she retired in 2001, she wrote two books of non-fiction dealing with the post1949 lives of some prominent persons, one about several family friends and the other about well-known opera actors who had lived like celebrities before 1949. She also wanted to tell the stories of the women she had met in prison. She cast this work about the prisoners as fiction, but her novellas are thinly disguised memoirs; the protagonist in the stories is named Zhang Yuhe. The third of her novellas, The Woman Zou, is translated here by Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping for the first time in English. Their translations of her previous novellas were published for the first time in English in Red Peonies, the winter 2016 issue of Mānoa. The Woman Zou is set in a women’s labor camp deep in the rural mountains. Some of the inmates, like Zhang Yuhe, are educated political prisoners, convicted of being “class enemies.” Most inmates, however, are illiterate peasant women. Zhang Yuhe learns to survive by gradually becoming hardened by prison life. But she also experiences a liberation from her former, naïve life, in which it was possible to trust people not to denounce their friends and coworkers to the police. Over the course of the story, she befriends fellow prisoner Zou Jintu, whom she comes to cherish for the rest of her life. The story of their binding relationship forms one strand of the novella. Another strand tells the story of Zou Jintu’s upbringing—her mother, father, and their devoted maid, Liu Jiu—and of her sentencing to twenty years in prison. In the novella, Zhang Yihe also describes the tragedy of China’s Great Famine, years in which, according to respected economists and academics, the forced collectivization of agriculture resulted in the starvation deaths of over thirty-six million Chinese people. When Zhang Yihe was given the 2004 award for independent writing by International PEN’s Independent Chinese Writers Association, the Board of Directors said: This kind of writing is not only an indictment of the age of darkness, but it is also an affirmation of the indefatigable human dignity and a negation of all attempts to destroy this dignity… Zhang Yihe’s work illustrates the rarely seen courage among contemporary Chinese writers to defend freedom, dignity and historical memories.

In this volume’s title story, “The Zither,” writer Yi Zhou also uses recent history as a background. The story portrays the parallel lives of two elderly men. One of them, Elder Zhang, is a scholar of the Tang Dynasty poet Li Shangyin. As a young man, Elder Zhang survived the horrors of the Great Famine, as he tells his confidant:

viii

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Starvation gripped everyone by the throat. Everyone was gasping to survive. You probably also experienced this. Starvation can make even breathing painful, as if the air has turned into knives. Inhaled deeply, their edges can slash and sever your entrails.

In his youth, famine drove Elder Zhang to commit an unspeakable act, the enduring shame of which haunts him and, he believes, shapes his tragic fate. The other stories by Yi Zhou in this volume—“Babel Did Not Leave Heavenly Garden,” “The Freewheeling Garden,” and “Isobathic”—involve young people in transition to adulthood and responsibility. Loneliness and nihilism propel them toward their encounters with self-knowledge, the elusiveness of dignity, and the challenge of leading honorable lives. Zhu Wenying is one of the leading representatives of post-seventies women writers in China. In her story “Mute,” two women who each face an existential crisis find it difficult to ask for help. One is a mother whose husband has abandoned her and their four-year-old autistic son. The other woman answers the mother’s ad for a nanny to help care for the boy. The relationship between the two starts off as mundane and practical but deepens when they recognize their shared despair and crushing loneliness. Without sentimentality, Zhu Wenying portrays the common fate of many women in modern society: enduring the disintegration of the family, bearing responsibility for abandoned children, and finding meaning in their isolation. Mānoa’s connection with translators Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping began in 2001, when the journal published their translations of the prominent Tibetan writer Alai. Since then, the two have contributed work to eleven issues and have guest-edited three, including The Zither. Mānoa is honored and grateful to have published their outstanding work over these many years. Photographer Robert van der Hilst was born in Amsterdam in 1940. He left the Netherlands at age twenty to travel and photograph, and has worked on five continents, with long stays in Cuba, Canada, Latin America, Japan, and China; he now lives in Paris. Since the seventies, his photographs have appeared in magazines such as Geo, Paris-Match, Stern, Vogue, and Zoom. He has been featured in many exhibitions worldwide, and his work is held by such major galleries as the Centre Pompidou, in Paris. Frank Stewart Honolulu, Hawai‘i



Editor’s Note

ix ix

Z H A N G

Y I H E

THE woman z ou A Novella

1

P A R T

O N E

Preface

Early one morning, Zhang Yuhe scooped leftover rice into a two-handled aluminum pot. Then she added water, chopped vegetables, and salt, covered the pot, and let it cook for ten minutes until it turned into the “vegetable rice” that southerners like so much. The greens should have been fried before being mixed with rice, but she no longer cared. After being on the lowest rung of society for so long, she had grown accustomed to humble food cooked in a slapdash way. She added a piece of fermented bean curd from a jar—and this was her breakfast. She downed it hurriedly, gargled, then ran a wooden comb through her hair. She didn’t bother to look in a mirror. She knew that even if she spent more time on her looks, she would still be a mess. She picked up her faux leather bag, locked the door, and walked out of the employees’ residence where she lived. The leaves of the wutong trees lining the road rustled in the wind. She had been away for ten years. Looking around, she felt that the only things that hadn’t changed in this provincial city were the old wutong trees. In the fall of 1978, Zhang Yuhe strode out of prison. Many people had expected this, because the worst part of her counterrevolutionary crime was her scathing verbal attack on Comrade Jiang Qing. In October 1976, the Gang of Four—which included Jiang Qing—had fallen from power, and Zhang Yuhe’s chance to get out of prison had come. A year later, S province’s court cleared her of any crimes and released her. And so she had returned to the provincial capital. At the meeting, the public security officer announced her rehabilitation, as well as that of other former prisoners. She was the last to speak at the event. Everyone had thought she would cry hot tears and fall all over herself with gratitude to the Party. But her speech consisted of only two sentences: “I’m lucky enough to walk again in the sunlight. I’m just thinking of so many others who died in a place without sunlight.” The face of the public security officer darkened at once. The personnel chief in charge of implementing the Culture Bureau’s policy toward Zhang Yuhe sought her out. She said to him, “I have two requests. The first is I don’t want to return to the opera troupe, because that’s where I was arrested ten years ago. The second is I want to live in the employees’ residence. A single room is just fine. I want to live there because it has a mess hall, and I don’t want to cook for myself.” He thought it over and said, “I’ll do my best.” 3

Zhang Yuhe said calmly, “If you don’t give me a place to live, I’ll move into your home.” “You wouldn’t dare.” “Just try me. Don’t forget—I’m an ex-convict!” The head of the Culture Bureau, Wu Bai, was the nephew of a nationally known woman writer. He also liked writing, and his essays about scenery design for the theater and his anecdotes about literary celebrities often appeared in the local newspapers. Because he knew that Zhang Yuhe was also a writer, as well as having worked for the opera troupe, he tried to console her. “Why don’t you take six months’ vacation—take trips to the places you’d like to visit! By the time you come back, the issues of your employment and housing will be mostly settled.” “Okay, I’ll do that.” And so Zhang Yuhe traveled to Nanjing, Suzhou, Shanghai, and Hangzhou. When she returned, she found that Wu Bai had done as he promised. She was given a job in the theater information office in the Culture Bureau, which was basically a sinecure. All day long at the office she did nothing but drink tea, read newspapers, and chat. When a new performance was put on in the city, she would spend the evening in the theater watching, along with her colleagues. The next day at the office meeting, the performance would be evaluated. Zhang Yuhe would just look down and read over the synopsis without participating. Whenever she was asked her opinion, she would say, “I’ve just been released from prison. I forgot everything I knew about theater there. All I’m capable of now is swearing, lying, and stealing.” This greatly annoyed the director of the office. He said to Wu Bai, “Transfer her out of my office. Please. She’s completely useless.” Wu Bai glanced at him. “She was imprisoned for ten years. It’s fortunate for her that she didn’t go crazy during that time. Wait until she’s recovered. She may do better than you think.” Zhang Yuhe had also been assigned a place to live. It was a small bungalow that no one else in the department wanted. It had no bathroom, no kitchen, and no sunlight. The last deficiency was the main reason no one wanted to live there. People called any place without sunlight for twenty-four hours a “tomb.” But Zhang Yuhe didn’t mind. Carrying her bedroll, she moved in. This was so much better than a prison cell. She didn’t buy furniture. She went to the bureau’s storeroom, where there were stacks of old, battered desks, tables, chairs, chests, and bookcases—everything she needed. She picked out several pieces and dragged them to the “tomb.” She boiled a large pot of water, added a little alkali, and washed all the old furniture with hot water, scrubbing each piece several times with a brush. After drying in the sun, they were ready to use. Old furniture was okay with her. After all, she had bathed corpses. She had even dared to use things that had belonged to the dead. Before her sentencing, when she was working in the opera theater troupe, Zhang Yuhe used to talk and laugh a lot. She had never imagined that what she said—the gossip, the jokes, the complaints—had all been repeated by her

4

Mānoa

n

The Zither

colleagues as evidence of the crime of attacking socialism and the Communist Party. In the opera troupe, her colleagues were mainly actors. They used their stage skills to distort and twist her harmless words and to misrepresent their meaning. After her release from prison, Zhang Yuhe resolved she would not make the same disastrous mistake ever again. Of all the dozens of people working at the provincial Culture Bureau, she had warm feelings for only two of them. One was Auntie Huang, who served food in the mess hall. At both lunchtime and dinnertime, Zhang Yuhe arrived a little early. She brought two large enamel bowls and waited at whichever window Auntie Huang was serving food. As soon as the small glass door opened, Zhang Yuhe called out with a smile, “Auntie Huang!” She smiled again as she looked at the piping hot rice and the savory fried meat Auntie Huang piled in her bowls. And she never forgot to say thank you with a big smile. Over time, she started talking more with Auntie Huang, consulting her about cooking. “How do you cook pork liver soup?” “How do you make ham fried with garlic sprouts?” On Sunday, the mess hall was closed, and Zhang Yuhe cooked for herself. On Monday, she would report to Auntie Huang what she had learned from doing her own cooking. The two of them grew very close. Auntie Huang gave her more food than she gave others. Actually, Zhang Yuhe was quite a good cook. She just played dumb to please her. This was a habit she had picked up in prison; all the prisoners had tried to please the cooks, hoping they would get a little extra food in return. The other person Zhang Yuhe talked with was Uncle Li, who ran the mail room in the Culture Bureau. The office she worked in made available only the boring People’s Daily newspaper, a publication she had read for ten years while in prison. She felt disgust—almost a Pavlovian reaction—whenever she looked at its masthead. Since middle school, she had loved browsing through newspapers and magazines. At home, her parents had subscribed to Guangming Daily, Culture News, and China Youth—until the family was forced to move out during the Cultural Revolution. The bureau also received newspapers and magazines that were a little more interesting, but only section chiefs and highlevel cadres were allowed to read them. Zhang Yuhe went to the mail room and called out warmly, “Uncle Li!” Then she said, “Could you let me read Culture News and Guangming Daily in the morning before you deliver them to the cinema chief and the arts head?” “How long would you want to look at these two newspapers?” “Half an hour at most.” Uncle Li nodded. Zhang Yuhe then plunked down a bag of Shanghai butter candy on top of the three-drawer table. At the office, Zhang Yuhe sometimes ran into Wu Bai in the corridor. Wu liked to engage in small talk with her. One afternoon near the end of the workday, they ran into each other on a concrete path that went through the courtyard. The Culture Bureau had built an exquisite courtyard where flowers bloomed all year and employees could stroll during their breaks.



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

5

“I hear you’re single now,” Wu Bai said “Yes, I am.” “You’re not young anymore. Maybe thirty-something?” “I’m not just ‘not young.’ I’m very old.” “You’d better hurry up, find a man, get married, and have a baby.” “That’s not my plan.” “Why? Can you tell me?” Zhang Yuhe looked up at the sky and said, “No reason. I like being single.” Wu Bai shook his head. “You’ll change your mind sooner or later.” He went on his way, leaving Zhang Yuhe alone on the path. The courtyard used to be lively and colorful, with a variety of flowers blossoming seasonally and the foliage of trees full of vigor. The pine grove, which was a little farther inside the courtyard, made people feel especially relaxed. But at this time of year, the leaves of the trees were sparse, their hues were darker, and the sunlight was glaring. The sun’s slanted rays were like a child playing hooky—slipping into the woods and quickly sliding away without a trace. Wasn’t it the same as her departed youth? Zhang Yuhe quickened her pace and left the courtyard, lest she be overcome by sentimentality. By the time she returned to the office, it was the end of the workday. She hurriedly put away her fountain pen, notebook, and the book she was reading, Hegel’s Aesthetics. When she reached the main entrance of the building, Uncle Li hailed her. “Zhang Yuhe, you have a letter. From the prison farm!” It must be she. Who else could it be? All at once, Zhang Yuhe’s heart tightened. The sender’s name was Zou Jintu—the woman for whom Zhang Yuhe had remained single up to now. Zhang Yuhe stood in the doorway and tore open the envelope. She was right: it was from Zou Jintu. The paper was flimsy, the letter short. It was written in the women’s prison, whose rules allowed prisoners to write just two or three hundred characters in each letter, and the letter could only be to one’s family. Zhang Yuhe, Forgive me for writing your name with no appellation, for I don’t know what’s proper between you and me. When I learned that you’d been released and had resumed working, I was so happy! How are you? We aren’t related, so I went through Guard Deng Mei for permission to write to you. What I want to tell you is that from now on, I will work even harder and more conscientiously to reform myself, and have confidence that the People’s Government will be merciful, commute my sentence, and release me ahead of schedule, so that you and I can meet again soon. I hope that all is well with you—your thought reform, your work, and your health! Zou Jintu

6

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Instead of going straight back to her room, Zhang Yuhe went to a movie theater and bought a ticket for an old Indian film, The Vagrants. In this way, she tried to drive her memories of prison out of her mind. But when she returned to her room and lay down on her bed, she could not stop thinking of Zou Jintu. Zhang Yuhe couldn’t sleep. Her thoughts were going round and round.



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

7

Chapter 1

Zhang Yuhe met Zou Jintu in the women prisoners’ unit at M prison. They were both in the Number 2 work section. Zou Jintu was impressive—as robust as a man and yet more delicate than other women. In fact, her nickname as a child was the more delicate sounding Jinjin. She moved quickly and confidently. Every day when the prisoners left for work, she walked in front. At the end of the workday, everyone else was exhausted, but she was still energetic. After returning to the cell, while most of the women prisoners were washing up, Zou Jintu had already tidied up and changed into clean clothes. She was sitting on her cot and stitching soles for shoes. Whether you looked at her from the front or in profile, her appearance was somewhat masculine: her face was square, her nose large, her mouth broad, her skin a little dark, her eyes grayish, her hair shockingly coarse, as if each strand were wire. Yet she was skilled at needlework. When she picked up needle and thread, her thick fingers became nimble at once. The multicolored threads in her embroidery needle shuttled magically back and forth, circling and creating beautiful patterns. She and another prisoner, Liu Yueying, had the best needlecraft in the entire squadron. The difference between them lay in the designs and colors of their embroidered pieces. Zhang Yuhe loved watching Zou Jintu embroider. So did the half-crazy woman Li Xuezhen, who had earned her Ph.D. in the U.S. When she was watching Zou Jintu, she had nothing crazy to say. It wasn’t long before the Number 2 work section monitor, Su Runjia, cautioned Zhang Yuhe, “Don’t get close to Zou Jintu. She’s like a needle. If you become the thread, you’ll get tangled up.” “What do you mean by getting tangled up?” Zhang Yuhe asked. “Huang Junshu got entangled with her and gets punished for it every year.” “Why? What did they do?” Su Runjia didn’t answer. “Come on—what did they do?” Zhang Yuhe prodded . In a low voice, Su Runjia spat out, “Grinding bean curd.” “What do you mean?” Then all of a sudden, Zhang Yuhe understood. She shouted, “You mean they’re gay?!” “Shut up!” Su Runjia glared at her fiercely.

8

Zhang Yuhe figured that she had guessed right, even though she didn’t know exactly what the expression meant. After Su Runjia clued her in, Zhang Yuhe watched Zou Jintu and Huang Junshu closely, but they didn’t seem to behave differently from the other women. She had a good impression of Huang Junshu: pretty, delicate, and quiet. She was gentle and never used dirty words—which was unusual among the women inmates. One Saturday evening at the beginning of summer, after hearing the weather forecast, Mess Officer Chen asked Zhang Yuhe to go to headquarters for her. She told her, “Go down the mountain tomorrow to the grain supply center at the county seat and bring back the provisions for our squadron for next month. I’m too busy.” “Yes, ma’am!” Zhang Yuhe stood up straight. She was overjoyed! Mess Officer Chen handed the official paperwork to Zhang Yuhe, then took two yuan from her shirt pocket and said, “Buy two bags of powdered milk for me. Taotao is waiting for it.” Taotao was Chen’s son, a little more than a year old. She added, “Take an oil cloth with you, and wrap the powdered milk in it. It’s going to rain tomorrow.” When Zhang Yuhe got back to the cell, Yi Fengzhu asked, “Which guard wanted to see you?” “Mess Officer Chen.” “Lucky you!” “Why?” She licked her dry lips. “She must want you to buy things to eat or wear—am I right? That’s different from when a guard in charge of production sends a prisoner to headquarters; then it’s usually to get pesticide or fertilizer. It’s even worse if the guard in charge of discipline calls you in—because that means someone must have reported you, and you’d for sure be in trouble.” Monitor Su Runjia interrupted Yi Fengzhu. “During the evening political study session, you talk nonstop when you’re sharing your prison experience, but you have nothing to say about the major political trends of these times.” When they heard that Zhang Yuhe would go to the county seat the next day, the prisoners who were sitting on their cots mending clothes, making soles for shoes, or just resting against their pillows crowded around her. One said, “Get half a pound of candy for me, okay? Here’s the money.” Another said, “Will you buy a bar of soap for me?” The one whose bed was farthest from Zhang Yuhe’s was Chen Huilian. She felt for a small wallet under her pillow, took out some money, and passed it to Zhang Yuhe. She said desperately, “Please buy half a pound of fruit candy for me. I want the kind from Shanghai. Sometimes I feel weak and nervous. Candy makes me feel a little better.” Chen Huilian was about seventy years old, a Catholic. She had a thin face and eyebrows curved like willow leaves. Her teeth were clean. She talked and joked frivolously. No matter how hot it was, she always wore a snow-white shirt.

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

9

With her pale skin, she would have been an unusual sight among old women even outside prison. As a child, Zhang Yuhe had attended a mission school, so she could imagine someone looking like this in former times—but how could Chen Huilian have ended up in prison? Jiang Qidan told her in private, “Her crime was ‘having illegal relations with a foreign country.’” “Was she a spy?” Jiang Qidan looked at her askance and said disdainfully, “Nonsense! I was also charged with the crime of ‘having illegal relations with foreign countries.’ It was only because I had talked with foreigners in church.” Usually, Zhang Yuhe and Jiang Qidan were on the same wavelength, and could communicate just through their expressions. When Zhang was confused in her interactions with the other prisoners, she would consult only two people, either Work Section Monitor Su Runjia or Jiang Qidan, who was kinder. Zhang Yuhe said to Chen Huilian, “Candy won’t make you well. You need to see the health worker.” “Do you mean Wu Yanlan?” She shook her head. “What’s wrong with her?” “She isn’t kind. She has never even considered treating me as a patient.” “Why not?” “She hates me because I’m in prison for being a capitalist and a running dog of imperialism—major crimes.” “But Wu Yanlan was also charged with being a counterrevolutionary. I think that’s worse than Catholicism. How could she discriminate against you?” These words made Chen Huilian, who hardly even smiled, burst out laughing. Zhang Yuhe studied the old woman: she was just skin and bones. She said to her, “Half a pound isn’t much. If I see some butter candy, I’ll buy a pound for you.” “Butter candy?” Chen Huilian brightened, and then she sighed. “You can’t buy too much. I’m not like you. I don’t have money.” Besides being old and sick, Chen Huilian had a serious heart ailment. Outside of prison it would have been curable, but inside, a prisoner could only wait to die. The administration had approved her exemption from work—an exceptional kindness. And Jiang Qidan secretly helped her deal with mundane matters. Jiang Qidan was criticized repeatedly for doing her favors. But Jiang didn’t care, and she wouldn’t stop. Once, she even washed Chen Huilian’s underwear for her and was of course reported for it. When she was singled out in the evening self-criticism session, she stood in the center while section guard Deng Mei interrogated her. “Did you do something wrong?” Jiang Qidan said, “Yes, I did.” “What did you do? Tell us.” “I violated prison regulations.” “Which ones?” “The one that says prisoners must not get personally close to one another.” “Next time Chen Huilian asks you to wash things, will you do it?”

10

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Jiang Qidan didn’t answer. “Would you still do it or not?” Jiang Qidan merely bowed her head. Deng Mei was irritated. She walked up to her and roared, “Would you still do it again?!” Jiang Qidan still said nothing. Deng Mei suddenly slapped her face hard. This was the first time Zhang Yuhe had seen Deng Mei hit someone. She wouldn’t have guessed that Jiang Qidan would be the person on the receiving end. Jiang Qidan just acted as if nothing had happened and only twisted her head away. In that instant, she and Zhang Yuhe made eye contact, and Zhang Yuhe thought of her as a hero. When Zhang Yuhe took Chen Huilian’s money, Jiang Qidan asked, “How much did she give you?” “Five mao.” “Wait a moment. I’ll add a little.” Even though prisoners wore the same clothing and ate the same food, there were some differences among them. Every season, Zhang Yuhe’s mother sent her some money. Although it wasn’t more than two or three yuan, it was enough to make Zhang Yuhe the most envied prisoner. On the other hand, her fellow prisoner, Wang Yang, saved a little from her monthly spending money allowance of just 2.50 yuan and every year at spring festival sent her savings to her four sons. She said over and over, “It’s better to be a prisoner than a commune member like them. Commune members only get work points; they don’t get money.” The difference was indeed quite significant. Being a prisoner was a hard life, but many of the prisoners who were from the countryside felt that—except for not being free—the life of a prisoner was better than that of an ordinary commune member! How strange. Even without the compulsory “reform and counterreform” struggles, there was unavoidable friction among the convicts. Interpersonal hostilities caused numerous squabbles, and sometimes the women even came to blows. But at mealtime, they were all equal. “Zhang Yuhe, buy a jar of pork meat for me. Don’t forget! Pick a jar that has the most fat in it,” Huang Junshu said. “How am I supposed to tell which jar contains more fat?” “Just look at the white part on top. If it’s thick, there’s a lot of fat; if it’s thin, there’s only a little fat.” Zhang Yuhe laughed. “That’s good to know.” Li Xuezhen, the crazy Ph.D., took a five-yuan note from her pocket and waved it. “I want ten pounds of candy!” she said loudly. She was in a great mood! Yi Fengzhu swatted her. “Do you think you’re in America? How ridiculous—ten pounds of candy!” Everyone in the cell was convulsed with laughter. Zhang Yuhe said, “I can’t buy that much.”

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

11

Li Xuezhen was upset. “How come you’ll buy it for Huang Junshu? And for Chen Huilian? Is that fair?” Zhang Yuhe hadn’t heard the word fair in a long time. She accepted her money and said, “I’ll do my best. I’ll buy however much I can.” When everyone had dispersed, Su Runjia said to Zhang Yuhe, “Buy half a pound of bean sauce for me tomorrow; sometimes I have no appetite. Here’s a jar. There’s two mao inside.” “Why did you put money in the jar? Money is the dirtiest thing,” Zhang Yuhe said. “It isn’t dirtier than the people here.” “I don’t think I’m so dirty,” Zhang Yuhe responded. Despite the regulations forbidding the prisoners to make noise, the prison was quiet only when they were all asleep. Once they had drifted off, the cell was filled with snoring. Zhang Yuhe used to suffer from insomnia, but had been cured in prison. She found that the best medicine for insomnia was called exhaustion. After finishing work and returning to the cell, she would be so tired she didn’t even want to talk. All she wanted to do was lie down—anyplace would do. On this particular night, though, Zhang Yuhe couldn’t sleep a wink. She kept imagining what she would eat when she went to town tomorrow. She would certainly buy some stir-fried meat—she planned to gulp it down in one bite, not leaving a single morsel. She would order fried pork liver, too, if it was available. Oh, she hadn’t eaten it for so long. She would consume two fragrant, brownish fried bread sticks. She also wanted a bowl of fried rice, a bowl of wontons, and a bowl of fermented glutinous rice with two eggs in it—at least two. Finally, she wanted to eat some sweets. Zhang Yuhe knew very well that the convicts came from all kinds of backgrounds. Some used to listen to phonograph records in their homes; some could only hear dogs barking in their yards; some had studied for half a lifetime, while others had never done anything but farm. Now they slept on the same wooden cots. And they were the same in many other ways, too, the most important of which was that they all wanted to eat good food, such as a bowl of white rice and a large piece of fatty meat. When she got up the next day, Zhang Yuhe was still in a great mood despite not having slept. The cadre on duty was the squadron chief. Noticing that Zhang Yuhe wasn’t dressed for work on the mountain, she asked, “What are you doing today?” “Yesterday, Mess Officer Chen told me to go to the county seat to get the form in triplicate for the prison rations.” “She’s sending you alone?” “Yes.” Mess Officer Chen must have heard them because she rushed out of her room to explain. “She’s going to the county seat to get the proper form in triplicate. It’s a task for a prisoner with some education.” The squadron chief nodded her head and didn’t ask any more questions.

12

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Zhang Yuhe was overjoyed: this time, no one would be supervising her. She could eat whatever and however much she wanted. Zhang Yuhe flew down the mountain, like a young girl leaping into the arms of the sweetheart she has long yearned for.



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

13

Chapter 2

The county seat lay near the southwest border, between Golden Ingot Mountain in the north and White Sand River in the south. Just as its name suggests, from a distance the mountain appears to be shaped like a gold ingot. As for the river, at a glance you can see the white sand at the bottom of it. People said that girls who drank the water would grow up with a special charm and skin as white as the sand. Zou Kaiyuan was considered a prominent person in the county. He owned land in the countryside and ran a pharmacy in the county seat. In deciding to open the pharmacy, he had carefully weighed various factors. He knew that whether people were rich or poor, whether they fought for the Nationalists or the Communists, everyone got sick—even outlaws sometimes got sick. And so, the more chaotic and tumultuous the times, the more a pharmacy would prosper. Zou Kaiyuan was a good businessman and also knew a little about medicine—enough to make pills and ointments. He often said, “If you know nothing about illness, how can you know anything about life?” He worked hard and diligently, and before long he became wealthy. He didn’t socialize much, and yet he was quite popular. The county seat was, in fact, little more than a small town with one street and a few small alleys. Back then, the so-called main street was just a dirt road. The names of the alleys were all pleasant and easy to remember. Water Tower Alley was where a water tower was located. Magnolia Alley had a magnolia tree at each end of it. Water Pipe Alley was curved in the shape of a pipe. Zou Kaiyuan’s pharmacy was located in Blue-White Alley, named for the dye works. The dye makers produced batiks by using the ancient wax-resist method. Although using only two colors—blue and white—the designs were amazingly beautiful. The most famous patterns were the eight trigrams, butterfly in bamboo, and the calabash. In this locale, “Wax Dye Song” was popular. Its first two lines were “The blue sky with white clouds is like an umbrella. / Beneath it, all the creatures are joyful.” Zou Kaiyuan, who was intelligent and had gone to a private school, wasn’t interested in expanding his business; he was satisfied with having ample food and clothing and a little savings. He believed in Daoism, remaining calm in the

14

face of difficulties. He often said, “Living in these troubled times, one should be satisfied if one can still enjoy the moonlight in peace.” On the issue of life and death, he was a fatalist. He said, “People shouldn’t expect to live long. As I see it, the more one expects to live long, the faster death comes for him. The King of Hell has a list of names. When he thinks of you, he circles your name with red ink and you have to go with him.” Zou Kaiyuan’s tastes were simple. For his afternoon meal, which he ate at home most of the time, he had a plate of garlic-mashed pork—at least half a pound. On the table next to the plate was a small bowl of rice vinegar. He dipped the meat into the vinegar, one piece after another, and quickly finished the whole plate. His eyebrows were thin and his eyes narrow, thus making his features somewhat effeminate. Other than that, he was a decent-looking man. With his property and his good reputation, he was one of the most popular bachelors in town. Following traditional customs, his marriage was arranged. His wife was the lovely Ms. Jin, the only daughter of a tea company owner. The company dealt in red tea produced in the province, shipping and selling it to other provinces. The wedding went smoothly, and all the guests enjoyed it. But when Zou Kaiyuan removed his bride’s veil, he was nervous and accidentally pulled the artificial flower out of her hair. The women guests gasped, but the older generation said, “It doesn’t matter. Just pick it up and pin it back in place.” To everyone’s surprise, though, the bride spun around and refused to cooperate. She got up and left. It was a long time before she rejoined her husband. The festivities continued, but the happy atmosphere didn’t fully return. During the night, people could hear the conversation between the couple in their bridal chamber. “Why didn’t you let me put the flower back in your hair?” She said nothing. “Do you hate me?” “No.” “Then why?” “The flower was pure and dainty. When it fell to the ground, it was going to be trampled.” Zou Kaiyuan asked, “Would you allow me to trample you?” She was silent again. “Please answer me!” “I won’t!” Their lovemaking went beyond the usual, because, after all, the man had had medical training. At first, the woman was satisfied; then she started gasping for breath and begging for mercy. She felt she would die if he “trampled” her once again. To conquer a woman takes many skills. As time passed, Zou Kaiyuan deployed all of them, from psychological to physiological. In the daytime, he was a serious businessman; at night, he was a warrior in bed. He enjoyed sex,



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

15

and his libido was at full strength. But more than anything else, he wanted to make a baby. Zou Kaiyuan said affectionately, “Later on, you may eat and sleep whenever you want. You can do whatever you want to make yourself happy. But first you have to give me a child.” “Okay, I will,” his wife said as she bashfully buried her head in the quilt. Because his wife liked flowers and plants, Zou Kaiyuan told his clerk to plant a row of peonies and a row of camellias in the garden, alternating red and white. He also created a border of flowers, planting plums and chrysanthemums. He hoped that fragrant flowers would bloom all year round. He felt that only they could compare to his wife, who was like a flower in her appearance and like jade in her spirit. Ms. Jin never asked him anything about the pharmacy or his monthly income. Because she was literate, she read books all day long. She read Dream of the Red Chamber countless times. She also practiced calligraphy, writing two pages in small script every day. If an opera troupe came to town, she simply had to go to the theater. She never missed an opera. Many of the stories were classical romances she was familiar with, having read them before she was married. She especially liked seeing the characters played by good actors. The aria Du Shiniang sings before jumping into the river was especially touching. She enjoyed listening to it again and again. Zou Kaiyuan knew his wife was a cultured lady, so he didn’t mind her going to the theater. Once, when he had had too much to drink, he tapped a chopstick against the side of his wine cup, patted his wife’s shoulder, and said, “Can you sing ‘Missing My Man’ for me?” Ms. Jin said sharply, “I’m your wife, not a cheap opera singer.” After this, she still went to operas, but her enthusiasm was greatly diminished. This incident gave Zou Kaiyuan a glimpse into the calm side of his wife’s character. Ms. Jin was also very good at needlecraft, which she had learned as a child. She embroidered patterns on clothes, aprons, pouches, and the soles of shoes. The main designs were flowers, birds, animals, and geometric patterns. They were all lovely. She once embroidered a dark-blue door curtain with a pair of white phoenixes. Zou Kaiyuan thought that their wings rippled whenever a breeze passed. He sighed with emotion and said, “You must be an immortal who has come to earth.” Blossoms lead naturally to fruit. One day, Ms. Jin threw up. She felt very sick. She grew weak, and her pale skin turned sallow. Sometimes, she could hardly walk, as if she had no bones. The doctor told her that she was pregnant. When she told Zou Kaiyuan, he was overjoyed, excited as a little kid. He paced quickly around the yard and waved his arms. Then he began strolling around the small town. He went to the bars, the teahouses, the fabric stores, meat stalls, driedfruit shops, and barbershops. Finally, he headed to the crossroads in the center

16

Mānoa

n

The Zither

of the town. He stood there in the gentle breeze warmed by the autumn sun. When he got home, the first thing he said to his wife was, “I want to hire a maid to take good care of you.” It should be easy to get a young maid or an old nursemaid, shouldn’t it? But no, it was not—because the demanding and arrogant Ms. Jin found fault with each one. The first one was fine to begin with. Before she had worked even a month, though, she was sent on her way. She was clumsy. When she served a bowl of rice porridge, her thumb slipped into the porridge because of the way she held the bowl. The next one didn’t last long either. Her brain seemed kind of slow. When Ms. Jin asked her a question, she opened her mouth, looked up at the sky, and didn’t answer for a long time. And so, she was fired, too. The next one seemed okay. She wasn’t clumsy or stupid. But before long, they found out that she had a bad temper. One day, she salted the soup too much. When Ms. Jin complained, she stamped her feet and pouted. Ms. Jin had to back off. This one also had to be sent away. Maybe the best always appears last. Finally, a young woman named Liujiu showed up; she said she’d come from a faraway place. Ms. Jin hired her and soon began using two characters to represent her name, Liujiu, which means “stay long.” Liujiu was a pretty girl with beautiful eyes. Her eyebrows were long and curved. She was delicate, self-assured, and yet a little manly. She learned everything quickly. She had good bone structure, and she was light as a swallow. When she walked, she moved like a butterfly dancing in the breeze. Ms. Jin didn’t ask her to do hard work. She just kept her nearby to do her bidding and help pass the time. At first, Ms. Jin thought Liujiu would weary of the long days and would sneak out to enjoy herself. In fact, she never took any time off. She often massaged Ms. Jin’s legs and back. She could massage for an hour without even a drop of perspiration appearing on her forehead. Ms. Jin treasured her all the more. As Ms. Jin’s belly gradually grew larger, Liujiu offered to help her bathe. On summer evenings, Liujiu carried the large wooden bath basin into the bedroom. First, she poured a kettle of hot water into it, and then placed another kettle of hot water next to it to make it easier to add water as she bathed Ms. Jin. Then she drew the curtains. Ms. Jin said, “Isn’t it too dark?” Liujiu bent her head. “Yes, but it’s better that way.” With all of her clothes off, Ms. Jin felt rather embarrassed. But Liujiu didn’t mind. She gently helped Ms. Jin sit in the basin, and then used her delicate long fingers to sprinkle her with water. She kept asking, “Is it too hot?” Aromatic soap bubbles covered Ms. Jin’s upper body, and the fragrance spread as her chest, shoulders, neck, back, waist, stomach, arms, thighs, calves, and toes were



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

17

washed one by one. Ms. Jin sighed deeply and said, “Oh, this feels so good!” Liujiu grasped Ms. Jin’s pendulous breasts and carefully massaged them up and down, then slowly from left to right. Under the light, Liujiu looked so excited that her face reddened. The moment was too seductive, inspiring a nameless impulse that arose from the heart—even though it was triggered by a woman being with another woman. Liujiu held Ms. Jin’s arms and helped her stand in the basin. She said softly, “I’ll wash your lower parts.” Ms. Jin complied. Liujiu brought her soap-covered hand into the crack in Ms. Jin’s buttocks, as if scouting out a road. Unaccustomed to this, Ms. Jin said, “I’ll wash that part myself.” “I’ll do it! With such a big tummy, it isn’t easy to bend over, so it’s difficult to reach there,” Liujiu said without looking at Ms. Jin. Liujiu circled Ms. Jin’s clitoris with two fingers—back and forth, back and forth. Ms. Jin was shocked and pushed her hands away. “Stop!” she said. “This is the dirtiest place. I have to bathe it well.” Liujiu’s voice and expression were elusive. When she dried Ms. Jin with a towel, Liujiu said, “It’s almost summer. I’ll have to bathe you even more often. You have to do as I say. If you don’t like my fingers, then next time I’ll bathe you with my toes.” “What?!” Ms. Jin was wide eyed. “Yes. Bathing the lower body with the toes feels even better. You’ll never get enough of it.” Where in the world had this young woman come from? Was she an immortal from heaven? Or a demon from hell? Ms. Jin felt as if she were in a trance. In the midst of the heat, a breeze blew in from a gap in the curtains. How chilly it felt! Standing behind her, Liujiu wrapped her arms around Ms. Jin’s thick waist. Her pretty face pressed against Ms. Jin’s damp back, she said, “Ma’am, don’t worry. I’m here!” Ms. Jin reached for Liujiu’s hand. She hadn’t imagined her hands would be so smooth and soft. How could she be a maid? That night, Ms. Jin said to her husband, “For a young girl, Liujiu is quite something.” Zou Kaiyuan asked, “Huh? What do you mean?” “She helped me bathe today. Oh my! She washed me in that spot that you’ve entered, and she even put her fingers inside. It made me almost lose control.” Her husband laughed. “She’s a woman. I’m not worried.” “She is definitely not a simple maid. I think that in the future she will either be a blessing or a curse to our family.” “Nonsense.” With his chin propped up on his arm, Zou Kaiyuan looked at his beloved wife. Taking her breast in one of his hands, he said emotionally, “Give me a son. Soon. I can’t wait any longer.” “What is it that you can’t wait for?” Having been bathed by Liujiu, Ms. Jin was in a good mood and feeling flirtatious. All at once, Zou Kaiyuan slid his

18

Mānoa

n

The Zither

hand down to her private parts and said, “The maid just touched you on the outside; I want to go inside.” Ms. Jin felt pleased with herself. Even with a big belly, she was still alluring. The baby was born!



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

19

Chapter 3

When Zhang Yuhe stepped onto the main street of the county seat, she immediately felt better. If she had looked at herself in the mirror, she would have seen her nostrils flaring. She walked past a teahouse and smelled the tea; she passed a restaurant and smelled the aroma of the food; she passed a beauty salon and smelled the shampoo. When she walked past a woman who looked like a cadre, Zhang Yuhe could smell the scent of White Sparrow perfume. Even the raw meat smell from the food stand was pleasant. She hadn’t smelled any of this in a long time. Zhang Yuhe realized that from the day she was imprisoned, she had left the normal world and her soul had shrunk. She had felt that the days had grown longer and longer, and she was increasingly desolate. She was sad not only because of the hardships of prison, but also because she realized that the life she was used to was gone forever. The enjoyment of food, tea, poetry, and opera, along with dreams a young woman had about love—all were gone. In short, she was no longer herself. As she walked through the small county seat, the bamboo trees were a lovely green, the clouds a brilliant white—the world was so beautiful in the sunlight. Zhang Yuhe had grown up in a big city, yet this county seat—where there were few buildings—brought her back to life. Her resuscitation started from her heart and lungs, then spread to her arteries, veins, and nerves. Her joints relaxed and her muscles were no longer tense. Zhang Yuhe remembered something from a book she had once read: “the forlorn person who has committed a crime can find redemption through discipline, education, labor, reform, and so forth.” But she knew that was completely wrong. From her experience, eating was the best form of redemption. Once a person had eaten delicacies, the heart and emotions could return to normal. Sitting at a table of home-cooked food, even a furious boor would calm down. Sipping mellow wine or a cup of tea, a grumbling woman would let go of her resentments bit by bit. First, she went to the county commissariat to submit the form in triplicate for the prisoners’ rations. The clerk in charge looked up at her and said, “I didn’t imagine that you would speak Mandarin so well.” Zhang Yuhe said, “I’m from another province.” “How did someone from another province end up in prison here?” 20

Zhang Yuhe smiled and said, “One careless slip—and anyone may end up in prison.” The clerk nodded. Zhang Yuhe entered the town’s largest grocery store to buy jars of pork. She asked the salesman for three jars. She set them down next to each other and bent over to bring her eyes level with the countertop. As if aiming at a target, she closed one eye in order to estimate which ones contained the most fat. The salesman was impatient. “Don’t waste your time. They’re about the same.” Zhang Yihe said politely, “They all seem the same, but if you look closely, you’ll see some difference.” “The difference is simply the difference between one more bite and one less bite.” “One more bite can be important, don’t you think?” The salesman didn’t say anything else, and just let her choose. Next, she had to buy bean sauce for Su Runjia. The salesman took the cover off a pot of soy sauce, and the whole room was filled with an aroma that was both stinky and fragrant. Although the sauce didn’t smell very good, still it had been a long time since she had smelled it. Zhang Yuhe took Su Runjia’s jar out of her fake leather purse and asked the young shopkeeper to scoop up the sauce from the bottom of the pot with a long-handled spoon. “The sauce at the bottom is thicker. You’re really smart!” he said, laughing. “It isn’t easy for us to come here from the mountain.” “Where did you come from?” “The prison farm.” The young man was nice. He gave her the thickest sauce. Now she was ready to buy candy for Chen Huilian. Zhang Yuhe had already decided that if she found the Shanghai butter candy, besides buying half a pound for Chen Huilian, she would buy two ounces for Jiang Qidan—even though Jiang Qidan hadn’t asked for candy—with money that her mother had sent her. She went to three shops, but unfortunately none had Shanghai products. All she could buy was half a pound of fruit candy produced in the provincial capital. Next on the list was soap, so Zhang Yuhe went to the department store. To her surprise, she found colored embroidery thread made of silk! No wonder it was luminous. On an impulse, she bought six colors. She would give red, green, and yellow to Yang Fenfang, and blue, white, and pink to Zou Jintu. Only after leaving the shop did she remember that giving things to other prisoners was against the rules. Well then, she’d sneak the thread to them. Zhang Yuhe stuffed the thread into her purse. She had no idea why she wanted to buy them silk thread—maybe simply because it was pretty. Embroidering with colorful silk thread would make the patterns even lovelier. In prison, everything was harsh and gloomy. Pretty things were rare. She had finished all her tasks. Now the most important thing she had to do was eat. She wanted to eat, she wanted to eat a lot, she wanted to eat herself to death! The city’s several restaurants were concentrated in a fairly crowded part of

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

21

town. Zhang Yuhe wanted to eat so many things that she was afraid the smaller cafes wouldn’t have them all. She went into one of the larger restaurants and chose a seat in the corner. It was well past twelve o’clock, and there weren’t many customers. This suited her just fine. First she ordered a fried pork dish, a bowl of pork liver soup, a bowl of rice, and two fried dough sticks. As she waited for her order, she looked around the restaurant. It wasn’t a bad place: it had whitewashed brick walls and cement floors. At the entrance was a counter where you could buy liquor from large ceramic vats and locally brewed alcohol from smaller porcelain vats. Behind the dining room was a narrow wooden staircase. The second floor was probably where the employees lived. There was a door beside the stairs. All the hot air and delicious food smells came floating out from there, so she guessed it must be the kitchen. The plate of fried meat was mostly garlic. She polished it off quickly. The pork liver and spinach soup had tender spinach but old liver; she swallowed it down in a hurry. She wolfed down the rice, though a lot of barnyard millet was mixed in with it. Zhang Yuhe kept eating—chewing and swallowing like a hungry wolf. As she was waiting for the wontons and noodles with pork ribs, she began working on the fried dough sticks. It wasn’t until then that she noticed her chopsticks were greasy and the floor was filthy: melon-seed husks and cigarette stubs lay everywhere. The layer of dirt on the table was so thick she could write in it with her fingertip. But she had long ago stopped being concerned about sanitation. If this place had been even dirtier, it still would have been cleaner than the prison. By the time she finished eating the wontons and noodles with pork ribs, Zhang Yuhe had slowed down. She was much more relaxed, and she could taste her food again. She added a few drops of vinegar to the wonton soup and shook a little pepper on the noodles and pork ribs. “Miss, I’d also like a bowl of fermented glutinous rice with two eggs in it. And I’d like two more fried dough sticks.” The waitresses raised their eyebrows. This was Zhang Yuhe’s third helping. She swirled the poached eggs around in the bowl with her spoon and watched them spin in the broth. She felt full. In all these years, from her first day in prison until now, she had never eaten her fill. Nor had the other convicts. Looking at the soft, golden yolks, she remembered childhood moments when Mother had peeled the shell and fed the egg to her. All at once, tears tumbled from her eyes to her chest. Eat whatever you want. Zhang Yuhe had satisfied a primitive physical need. She didn’t know when the opportunity would roll around again, if ever. When she was young, she had cared only about her grades in school and the teacher’s comments; now all she cared about was filling her stomach. One egg could give her so much joy. Humans are so earthy! Anyhow, this might be her last meal. Being dainty was out of the question, and she had no interest in consulting her stomach about when to stop. And so . . . she obeyed the instinct to go on eating, eating, and eating, to shovel the food in and gulp it down. Never mind

22

Mānoa

n

The Zither

the flavor, and never mind the stomach’s reaction. When Zhang Yuhe ordered one more bowl of egg fried rice, all the waiters and waitresses came over to her table. They wanted to know who this woman was who was determined to eat herself to death. After paying for her meal and handing over some ration coupons, Zhang Yuhe tried to stand up. But she could hardly do that . . . She placed her palms on the table and pressed down hard. Only then was she able to struggle to rise. The waitresses burst out laughing. Zhang Yuhe joined in, but her laughter was mixed with regret and embarrassment.



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

23

Chapter 4

When she left the restaurant, the sun was hanging overhead—the worst time of day because of the humid, hot air rising from the narrow streets and lanes. It was the most intolerable hour of a summer day. In the distance, the mountains were bathed in gleaming white light. And insects—she couldn’t tell which ones—annoyed her with their buzzing. Irritated, Zhang Yuhe picked up her pace and left the county seat. Ahead of her, the glowing sun shone on the green countryside and everything was quiet. She watched hazy clouds floating leisurely in the sky. A warm wind blew against her face. Zhang Yuhe knew she would be protected from the sun’s heat only after she had walked deep into the mountains. Her legs were strong because of her forced labor and the active life she had led in the past. Even though she had to climb up and down the mountain several times a day, she was seldom exhausted by it. Today, after eating so much good food, she expected to have even more strength. But the opposite was true: her full stomach felt heavy, and there was pressure on her chest. Her pace was labored, and she gasped for breath. So this was what it meant to be “overstuffed”! She recalled a story that her father had told her about several Red Army soldiers who had fallen behind on the Long March and were cold and hungry for days. When they finally caught up with the rest of the troops, the kind cooks gave them plenty of freshly cooked food. The men gobbled it down as quickly as they could, eating one bowl after another. But because they had starved for days, their stomachs were too weak to handle all that food. Starvation hadn’t killed them, but one full meal had. When she recalled this, Zhang Yuhe began blaming herself: why did she eat so much? She must have known what would happen. It would be humiliating to die in prison from overeating—worse than being executed, as Wu Lixue had been. The more she thought about it, the more frightened she became. To fear death is a noble thing in some religions, because it makes people humble. But Zhang Yuhe’s terror was so cheap, so demeaning. Determined to stop thinking along these lines, she forced herself to keep walking, even if death was waiting for her. At dusk, the golden and violet sunlight reflected off the low clouds, creating dazzling, multicolored brocades. Zhang Yuhe knew that sometimes the most beautiful things in life—like this awe-inspiring scene—vanished the soonest.

24

Gradually, the afterglow disappeared from the horizon. The high plains turned dark green and blue, and the breeze cooled the air. Although her legs were weakening and her body was on the verge of giving out, she was certain about one thing: she had to get back to the prison! Surprisingly, in that moment the prison was a home that she longed to return to. Exhausted, Zhang Yuhe finally reached the entrance of the women’s prison at dinnertime. She had abhorred the place each day of her imprisonment, yet as she shouted “Reporting—Zhang Yuhe has returned,” it felt like a sanctuary. Mess Officer Chen noticed how exhausted she was. “It looks like you’re sick.” Zhang Yuhe didn’t dare admit that she wasn’t sick, but had just overeaten. She handed her the official papers and powdered milk, then went to the cell. Su Runjia was the first to question her. “What’s wrong? You don’t look so good.” “Nothing’s wrong. I just ate a little too much.” “You walked on so many mountain roads to get back here. How come you still haven’t digested your food? I guess you didn’t eat just a little too much. You ate way too much, didn’t you?” “Yes.” As she said this, Zhang Yuhe gave Su Runjia the jar of bean sauce. She twisted open the lid, and all at once an especially strong odor filled the room. The prisoners all smelled it. Yang Fenfang laughed and said, “Monitor Su, I’ll bet you’re going to sleep with that jar of stinky bean sauce all night, because you’re afraid someone will steal it!” Huang Junshu was satisfied with the jar of pork Zhang Yuhe had bought her. But Yi Fengzhu took it, looked closely, and said, “There isn’t much pork fat in this jar.” Zhang Yuhe thrust the jar back into Huang Junshu’s hands. “The store had only three jars. I squinted closely at all of them—just as a shooter does before pulling the trigger!” Chen Huilian was watching Zhang Yuhe anxiously to see if she’d gotten the candy for her. Apologetically, she told Chen Huilian that she had gone to several stores, and none of them had any Shanghai products. Her only option was to buy half a pound of locally produced fruit candy. Chen Huilian pouted a little. “You managed to get everything the others wanted, but you couldn’t do that for me.” “You should be happy,” Jiang Qidan said. “It doesn’t matter where it comes from. Candy is candy. It will taste sweet.” Chen Huilian didn’t say anything else. She accepted the bag of candy and took out one piece, carefully removed the paper, and slowly placed it in her mouth. “Is it sweet?” Jiang Qidan asked. The old woman smiled. Su Runjia squinted. “Old people can be disagreeable, especially old maids.” “I don’t agree,” Zhang Yuhe said. “We’ll all be old maids when we have done our time. Isn’t that true?” Actually, she hated the term “old maid” because it scared her to the depths of her being. After she had served her sentence, she would be an old maid, too. Not many dared to contradict Monitor Su Runjia, as

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

25

Zhang Yuhe had done just then. Yang Fenfang gave Zhang Yuhe a thumbs-up. Then Zhang Yuhe remembered the silk thread hidden in her pocket. Though she really wanted to take it out and show it to everyone, she knew she had to wait until no one was watching. Yang Fenfang climbed into the upper bunk, ready to go to sleep. Zhang Yuhe hurriedly slipped the red, green, and yellow silk thread into the folds of that day’s party newspaper and handed it to her. “Didn’t you say there was an article that you wanted to reread?” She winked. Yang Fenfang got the hint and nonchalantly took the newspaper. But Zhang Yuhe couldn’t find an opportunity to give Zou Jintu the thread she had bought for her. And so she went to the toilet and rolled the three lengths of silk thread in toilet paper to sneak them to her. It was really profane to take the beautiful, lustrous silk into a place filled with flies and stench, but she had no other choice. Everyone who had been imprisoned for a long time knew that the dark and filthy toilet was the site for secret activity. Zou Jintu pinched the toilet paper Zhang Yuhe had slipped to her. “What is this?” “Thread. Silk.” “Thank you.” Zhang Yuhe was happy: there was hardly ever a reason for anyone in the prison to say those words. “You won’t sleep well tonight,” Zou Jintu said. “Why not?” “Because you’ve been standing ever since you came back. You must have eaten so much that you can’t bend over to sit down.” Zou Jintu was right. After the lights were out, even Yi Fengzhu—the person who loved to talk—burrowed under the quilt and went to sleep right away. The cell was dark and quiet. When Zhang Yuhe undressed and got ready to lie down, she found that she really couldn’t sleep. Her limbs were heavy and stiff, and she could hardly breathe. A terrible storm was brewing inside her stomach. Her first concern was that if she threw up or had a stomachache, she mustn’t make a sound, and she certainly mustn’t let others know of it. If Yi Fengzhu found out, she would surely shout, “My god, Zhang Yuhe has died of eating too much!” It would be too humiliating! Being in prison was like living in a dark tunnel: you didn’t know if or when you would finally see a light at the end. Because of this darkness and uncertainty, many prisoners became unusually determined to survive, no matter what. They hardened, anticipating the day they would regain their freedom. Zhang Yuhe had sufficient resolve and toughness, yet she hadn’t imagined that her desire for food would be the cause of her death before she was released. Her life might end just because of one meal! It would be too humiliating. No wonder people said the stomach was the cause of all of life’s suffering. Luckily, in the summer the prisoners had mosquito nets. Some had been brought from home; some had been issued by the prison. One could tell the

26

Mānoa

n

The Zither

difference at a glance. Those brought from home were white and large, made of lightweight fabric. Those issued by the prison were yellow, coarse, and small. The worst thing about the prison-issued mosquito nets was that the breeze couldn’t pass through them; the best was that if you slept nude, no one could see you. The mosquito net that Zhang Yuhe had brought from home was so large, there was no way to hang it. Deng Mei asked someone who worked in the tailoring group to cut it down so that it was the same size as the cots. When Zhang Yuhe saw the small, ugly result, she wept. Late that night under her mosquito net, Zhang Yuhe tried to lie down and sleep, but she couldn’t even bend over. The delicious food filling her stomach was like magma about to gush out. There was no way to stop it. In fact, she felt that it was already in her throat and if she opened her mouth, she would throw up! Her stomach was swollen like an over-inflated football. People said that convicts lived one day at a time. Tonight, Zhang Yuhe was counting the seconds. Usually at this hour, one could hear the prisoners on night watch talking. But tonight, there was no sound. All of a sudden, a shadow flashed past, and the mosquito net moved slightly. Was this a breeze? Or was it a person? Or was it a demon from the underground that would carry her off to hell? By the dim lamplight, she saw a hand reach under the mosquito net. She thought of shouting. Was it really a ghost? Then she was amazed to see that the hand was holding a white, silk thread—the same one she had given Zou Jintu. So it was she announcing her visit. Zou Jintu was wearing an undershirt and underpants. Her lips were a thin line, her eyes bright. Hunched down, she crept under the mosquito net, as quiet and nimble as a stray cat, or a ghost. What was she doing here in the middle of the night? Suddenly, Zhang Yuhe remembered the “grinding bean curd” that Su Runjia had spoken of when she warned her about Zou Jintu. Tense and frightened, she was about to speak, but Zou Jintu covered her mouth with her palm. “Shhhh …” After stuffing the silk thread inside her undershirt, she touched Zhang Yuhe’s round belly, moving her palms gently clockwise. Zou Jintu blinked and her eyebrows arched. Zhang Yuhe realized that Zou Jintu wanted to massage her stomach. Why? Zhang Yuhe didn’t have time to think it through, nor did she want to. She was in great need—like an incurably ill person hoping for help from a savior angel. The robust Zou Jintu bent over and moved around to Zhang Yuhe’s back. Kneeling, she held Zhang Yuhe against her chest, giving her a firm support. Then Zou Jintu began moving her palms and her fingers over Zhang’s midsection, making circular motions around her navel. She massaged her lightly clockwise, then counterclockwise. Next, she massaged her lower abdomen, neck, and spine. Her hands were both gentle and strong. She began the pattern again, massaging her upper and lower body, running her hands left to right and then around. Zhang Yuhe had never experienced anything like this. She used to admire the elegant fingers of pianists; tonight, Zou Jintu’s magic fingers were



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

27

saving her life. After a while, Zhang Yuhe felt her body begin to relax. She could inhale and exhale again, and she could swallow. In a word, she wouldn’t die. Under Zou Jintu’s care, her exhaustion gradually fell away. Zou Jintu was like a comfortable bed she could simply lie on. In the past, “salvation” had been an abstract word to her. After this night, its meaning became concrete—a feeling related to life and death. Zhang Yuhe didn’t know how much time had passed before her muscles, bones, arteries, and veins were working normally again. Her first thought was to look over her shoulder at Zou Jintu. She wanted to touch her. She turned, but at first couldn’t see her face. It was hidden by thick, straight hair, dripping with perspiration. Zhang Yuhe couldn’t suppress the gratitude pouring from her heart. She brought her tear-covered face to Zou Jintu’s sweat-covered face. All was quiet, except for their heartbeats.

28

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Chapter 5

Zou Kaiyuan had been hoping for a son. When the pharmacist saw that his wife had given him a girl, he was mildly disappointed. Her formal name would be Zou Jintu, but this sounded a little masculine. So he chose to nickname her Jinjin, which was similar to his wife’s maiden name. Liujiu seemed even happier about the child than the parents. She swaddled baby Jinjin in soft cloth until all that showed was a little meatball-shaped head. She cuddled her and murmured “darling baby” all day long. Anyone who didn’t know the family would think Liujiu was the mother. Looking at the wrinkled little red face, Ms. Jin said, “She’s so ugly—like a monkey.” Liujiu shook her head. “She looks like a monkey now, but when she grows up, she’ll be like an angel. Ma’am, I’ll take care of this little girl!” The way she spoke, it seemed she was the boss. Ms. Jin didn’t have enough milk, so Liujiu searched all over for a wet nurse and finally found one. The wet nurse was strong and clean. Her large breasts produced so much milk that the front of her shirt was often wet. Every time she nursed, Liujiu stayed nearby. She watched the infant kick her little feet and pucker her little mouth as she sucked the nipple. Liujiu watched until the baby fell asleep, a little milk dribbling from the corners of her mouth. The wet nurse was buttoning her shirt when Liujiu said to her, “Wait. Let me take a look.” “What’s there to see? Don’t you have breasts, too?” “Sure, all women do. People say that the ugliest breasts are the ones that have nursed. Is that true? I want to see.” “Oh, Liujiu. You’re really evil.” The wet nurse giggled, and didn’t open her shirt. “Never mind. I know, even if you don’t let me see.” “You’re just a kid—what do you know?” “I do know!” With that, she suddenly pulled open her own shirt and grasped her small, pointed breasts. “Mine are like awls,” she said. “Yours are like balls. My nipples are pink, yours are dark.” “Oh! You’re not like a girl at all,” the wet nurse said.

29

Liujiu couldn’t contain her laughter. “It’s true. I’m not like a girl. I’ll never be like a girl.” She thrust her hands under the wet nurse’s shirt and pressed on her ample breasts. She swooned drunkenly and said, “This is a woman’s. They feel good to touch.” All at once, the milk flowed from between Liujiu’s fingers. Just then, Ms. Jin appeared. She would never have imagined that she would walk in on two women being inappropriately intimate in her bedroom. The wet nurse was terrified and Ms. Jin didn’t know what to say. Liujiu spoke up quickly. “I was giving her a massage. Her breasts were swollen and painful.” Ms. Jin sat down and looked at them dubiously. “Liujiu, go get a cup of tea for me,” she said. “I ate salty food for lunch and my mouth is dry.” Liujiu had barely left the room when Ms. Jin said to the wet nurse, “She’s been loyal and devoted to my family. And she considers Jinjin her own flesh and blood. Of course this is great, but it can’t go on forever. After a few more years, I want to find a husband for her.” “Mrs. Zou,” the wet nurse said, “all rich families want their maids to stay with them until they’re old. However, getting married is usually the maid’s first concern. The most you should do is give her some money when she’s ready to leave. But—” She stopped. “But what?” Ms. Jin pressed her. “But this Liujiu is different from other maids.” “What do you mean?” “She has a temper and she’s strong-willed. Besides, there’s something wrong with her.” “Yes, I know she has a temper and she’s strong-willed. But what do you mean when you say something’s wrong with her?” Afraid that Liujiu would be returning with the tea and overhear her, the wet nurse looked around, then whispered, “She doesn’t like men. She just likes women.” “Oh.” Ms. Jin couldn’t help remembering what Liujiu had done while helping her bathe. That evening, Ms. Jin told her husband what the wet nurse had said. Zou Kaiyuan muttered to himself and said, “One can never be sure about people. I’ve sold medicine for years and have seen a lot of sick people. Most of them are still around. Yet, some who were hardly sick at all died accidentally. Liujiu differs from other girls. But I think she’s okay, because she’s nice to you and nice to Jinjin. Times aren’t good right now—there are civil wars and the Japanese invasion. Who knows what will happen tomorrow? It’s a good thing that we have a maid like Liujiu, who is determined to stay with us. You’re very familiar with the opera Saving the Master, aren’t you? I don’t expect Liujiu to save us, but she certainly would help us. As long as she doesn’t ask to leave, let’s keep her. Let’s keep her as long as we can.” Ms. Jin thought this was a reasonable attitude. In fact, she, too, was satisfied with Liujiu. The only thing that made her uncomfortable was Liujiu’s excessive

30

Mānoa

n

The Zither

affection for Jinjin. When Liujiu kissed Jinjin, she kissed and licked her all over. Once, when Ms. Jin saw her doing this, she was so upset that she snatched the child up and carried her to her own room. Jinjin wailed and so did Liujiu. She could stop the baby from crying, but Liujiu cried until it seemed she would never catch her breath. Ms. Jin was frightened; her husband was just irritated. He swiftly picked Jinjin up and thrust her into Liujiu’s arms. Liujiu recovered her composure right away. Holding the child and wiping away her tears, she rushed to the kitchen and found two pieces of crispy rice in the pan and a bowl of cool water. When Ms. Jin entered the kitchen and saw her eating, Liujiu pretended not to notice. After Liujiu finished, she shouted to the child, “Jinjin, come over here!” Jinjin smiled at her. “Stick your stinky butt up here,” Liujiu commanded, “and let me smell it.” Jinjin turned around right away, stuck her little, round butt out, and giggled. “Jinjin knows who loves her,” Liujiu said. There was nothing Ms. Jin could do. Word by word, Liujiu taught Ms. Jin’s child to talk. Step by step, she taught her to walk. And she also taught her to kiss and to lick a person’s face. After lunch one day, as Liujiu was tidying up, Jinjin put her arms around her and wouldn’t let go. Liujiu dried her hands, bent down, and hugged the little girl. Jinjin stuck out her pink tongue and licked Liujiu’s neck. When Ms. Jin happened to see this, she felt disgusted. She was waiting to complain to her husband when all of a sudden, she heard a commotion outside. Everyone in the town was rushing into the street, fleeing toward the mountains. They were saying that Japanese aircraft had just bombed a city not far away and were probably going to attack the county seat, too. Zou Kaiyuan raced home from the pharmacy and said to his wife, “We have to hide somewhere outside the town. Liujiu, take care of my wife and daughter. I’ll put things in order in the pharmacy and then I’ll join you.” Ms. Jin was flustered. Liujiu acted like she was in charge. “Ma’am, don’t be scared! I know a small alleyway. We can take a shortcut to the foot of Golden Ingot Mountain. It’ll be all right. I’ll tie Jinjin onto my back and run on ahead. You follow us. I’ll pick up some things to eat from the kitchen and put some water in the wine gourd. You bring along the things from the small jewelry box—otherwise looters might steal them.” The clouds over the town grew darker, then lowered. The wind changed direction and blew toward Golden Ingot Mountain, carrying cold rain. At the foot of the mountain, the people hiding from bombs were trembling because their clothes were too light for the weather. Liujiu tucked Jinjin inside her own clothing to keep her warm. The Japanese aircraft bombed the city and roared over the county seat. Not until twilight did the frightened people feel it was safe enough to return to their homes. Zou Kaiyuan returned to Blue-White Alley



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

31

with his clerk and discovered that Liujiu had fallen down in the courtyard. When Ms. Jin touched her head, it felt feverish. Her daughter was still tied to Liujiu’s back, sleeping peacefully. They took Liujiu inside. Ms. Jin bent over her and began sobbing. Zou Kaiyuan prepared some herbal medicine for Liujiu and had his wife administer it to her. When Liujiu awakened late that night, the first thing she said was, “Where’s Jinjin?” Jinjin started school. On rainy days, Liujiu met her when classes let out and sheltered her with an umbrella on the way home. On very stormy days, she carried her on her back. When it was windy, Liujiu waited at the school door with a poncho for her. At home, Liujiu taught her two household skills: cooking and embroidery. Whenever the maid was going to prepare special dishes, she would take Jinjin to the kitchen and ask her to watch and learn. “Jinjin is still a child,” Ms. Jin said. “Why are you teaching her how to cook?” “Whether a girl lives at home or with her in-laws or remains single, she has to know how to cook. She has to eat.” As for teaching her embroidery, Liujiu said, “It’s good for a girl to learn how to embroider. With the two skills I’m teaching her, she’ll have food and clothing.” Zou Kaiyuan and his wife wondered where in the world such a capable, experienced, and knowledgeable maid had come from. Liujiu thought bright colors were garish; in general, she preferred muted tones for her embroidery. She embroidered a white butterfly on blue cloth, and a peach-colored peony on green cloth. Her designs came from nature, and to save time and labor her techniques were basic. Every day, she taught Jinjin how to sew. When the child gave her mother a purse she had made herself, Ms. Jin was so moved that she hugged Jinjin and thanked Liujiu with her eyes. Liujiu said to Ms. Jin, “Ma’am, I’m going to serve you the rest of my life.” “And after I’m no longer here?” Liujiu didn’t hesitate. “I’ll serve Jinjin.” “Aren’t you going to get married?” “No.” “You’re not being fair to yourself.” “No. I’m really lucky I have you and Jinjin in this life. I’m content with my lot.” Ms. Jin wasn’t sure that Liujiu understood. “We’re women. You should have a man and start your own family.” Liujiu shook her head. “That’s what usually happens, but some people are constitutionally different.” Ms. Jin was reminded of what the wet nurse had said. But after living with her for so long, Ms. Jin came to believe that there was nothing “wrong” with Liujiu. Actually, it was because of her “difference” that she wanted to live with the family and give such devoted service. Sometimes

32

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Ms. Jin felt confused by her own thoughts. What on earth was this all about? But she didn’t dwell on it too much; in any case, what her husband had said was reasonable. In troubled times, maybe the most reassuring thing was to have a maid who was “different.”



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

33

Chapter 6

In 1949, the People’s Army entered the county seat and announced, “Liberation!” “Liberation” turned out to be a knife that would cut the Zou family’s life in two. The past was gone forever; the future was unfathomable. People on the street were wearing Lenin jackets instead of long gowns. They shook hands with each other instead of bowing. “Mr.” and “Mrs.” were replaced by “Comrade,” and husband and wife called each other “lover.” Zou Kaiyuan was baffled by these changes. Because they undermined his position as head of the household, he didn’t adapt well. The first major change that confronted Zou Kaiyuan was land reform. The family was allowed to occupy just three rooms in their own house and tend a small plot of poor land in front and back; the rest of their property was confiscated. Luckily, he wasn’t classified as a landlord—partly because his main source of income was his pharmacy, he was classified instead as a business owner. He was also treated leniently because he had been kind to people from his home village. When they had gone to his pharmacy to buy medicine, he had always given them a big discount. And so in return, the villagers had been gentle with him. The second major change was the movement to suppress “counterrevolutionaries.” Zou Kaiyuan read the entire law on this subject and felt it didn’t apply to him. But then, almost all of the secret society members whom he’d known in the past were arrested. Also caught up in this sweep was an old woman who lived next door to the pharmacy; her “crime” was having joined the sect called Yiguandao. Zou Kaiyuan was puzzled: how could someone who seemed absolutely harmless be a criminal? The third major movement targeted the Three Evils. It was this raging fire that finally reached his door. The first of the Three Evils was corruption. Zou Kaiyuan couldn’t figure out how someone could be suspected of corruption just because he had earned a little money. One afternoon, he was summoned to a meeting. By evening, he still hadn’t returned home. The sun had set. White smoke from kitchen chimneys blended with the gray evening mist. Treetops, roof ridges, and walls were all shrouded in shadows. Barking dogs and hoofbeats reminded everyone that it was time to hurry home. Looking out the window, Ms. Jin—trembling with apprehen-

34

sion—asked Liujiu to go to the alley and wait for Zou Kaiyuan. Liujiu said, “I can go directly to the meeting place and look for him.” “Do you think that’s okay?” Ms. Jin asked nervously. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Without waiting for Ms. Jin to respond, Liujiu went into the kitchen and picked up two rice cakes and hid them in her clothing. “You’re taking food for him, too?” “Not for him. For myself. I’m hungry.” Actually, Liujiu was taking the food for Zou Kaiyuan. Ms. Jin waited and waited. It was already dark and quiet all around. She tried her best to be calm for Jinjin’s sake. The child was hungry, and Ms. Jin asked someone in the kitchen to cook some noodles for her. “Where did Daddy go? And where is Liujiu?” Jinjin asked. “Daddy had to take care of something,” Ms. Jin told her. “He had too much to do, so Liujiu went to help him.” At bedtime, Jinjin wouldn’t go to sleep. She said she wanted to wait up for them. They waited and waited. Finally Liujiu came back home, alone. Ms. Jin was frantic. “Where is he?” Liujiu whispered, “He’s been detained. They say he’s a ‘tiger.’” “What is a ‘tiger’?” “Someone who steals from a company.” “What?! He owns the pharmacy. How can he steal from himself?” Terrified, Ms. Jin felt a great pressure building up in her head. She slid weakly from the chair to the floor. Liujiu helped her up. “Ma’am, take it easy, you’ll scare Jinjin. Try to carry on as usual. I thought about it on the way back. We’ll go to see him in prison every day.” “Was he arrested? What crime did he commit?” “He wasn’t exactly arrested. No one with money was allowed to leave. They’re all locked up in the dining room of the commercial office. Someone said that they have to make a confession before going home.” As the two women talked, the child stood next to them. Her eyes darted back and forth between her mother and Liujiu. “Mommy,” she asked, “Daddy won’t come home, will he?” “Of course Daddy will come back—in a couple of days.” Ms. Jin made an effort to smile. They hurried through dinner. Liujiu said to Jinjin, “Sweetheart, we’ll all sleep with Mommy tonight. Okay?” Leaning against her mother’s breast, Jinjin fell asleep quickly. Ms. Jin hugged her daughter’s warm, round body. She wept. The Milky Way moved slowly across the sky, and all was quiet. The next afternoon, Liujiu returned to the county’s commercial office. This time, she took two cooked eggs. Jinjin made a fuss, wanting to go with her to see her father. Ms. Jin grasped her daughter’s little hand and said, “We’ll walk to the corner with Liujiu.” Holding her mother’s hand, Jinjin struggled to catch up with Liujiu by taking

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

35

big steps. It used to be the mother who helped her daughter learn to walk. Now it was the daughter leading her mother. After that, Liujiu went to see Zou Kaiyuan every afternoon. She would take a paper bag containing biscuits, or dumplings, or a piece of cooked meat. The man guarding the “tiger” told her to put the package down and leave; he said that after a while someone would take it to him. But she wouldn’t listen and remained in the courtyard. And so everyone learned that a maidservant named Liujiu worked for the Zou family. After a long time, a notice came from the county telling the family to go to the commercial office to escort Zou Kaiyuan home. Ms. Jin said she would go; she wanted to see what was happening and what kind of place her husband had been detained in. What sort of person had locked up her husband? She had barely entered the office when she saw Zou Kaiyuan waiting on a long bench in the reception room. Several people, all former businessmen, were sitting with him. They were all “tigers,” waiting for their families to come for them. And indeed they needed people to meet them. Zou Kaiyuan hadn’t been imprisoned more than a few months, yet he had aged ten years. His eyes were dull, his beard long, his cheeks sunken, his hair gray. When he stood up, his legs shook. Ms. Jin couldn’t say anything. She hurriedly drew him outside. On the way home, Zou Kaiyuan said to his wife, “Thank you so much for sending Liujiu to see me and bring me food.” Ms. Jin told him that Liujiu herself had suggested going to see him, and that she was the one who had prepared the food. When he entered the house, Zou Kaiyuan saw Liujiu. Tears ran down his face, and he bowed to her. “Your loyalty saved my life. You’ve saved my whole family.” Zou Kaiyuan was frail. Liujiu rushed over and offered him her arm. She said, “I’m not a stranger. I’m part of the Zou family!” The whole family embraced and wept. At noon, Liujiu cooked a large plate of pork. “Oh! Pork dipped in rice vinegar.” This was Zou Kaiyuan’s favorite dish. She also warmed a flask of alcohol “to help him get over the shock.” Jinjin picked up a piece of meat with chopsticks, dipped it in the vinegar, and then held it up to her father’s mouth. “Jinjin is feeding Daddy!” she said. Staring at Zou Kaiyuan’s wizened face, she asked, “Daddy, who hurt you?” Zou Kaiyuan stroked his daughter’s head. “Daddy’s just fine! I was too busy to think about eating or sleeping.” Looking out at the trees in the courtyard, he sighed deeply. “They’re taller—time is passing too fast. Isn’t that so?” No one knew whom he was asking. Maybe he was just talking to himself. Zou Kaiyuan ate a few pieces of meat and then put his chopsticks down. “Why did you stop eating? You used to be able to eat a whole plateful,” his wife said. “Oh, darling. While I was being detained, I looked back over my life. I never sought a long life, but I did wish to live in peace. It seems that peace is hard to attain now. People say that disaster descends without warning. That’s very true.

36

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Just look at what we’ve been through. Though I finally got out of detention, my dignity was destroyed. The good life we used to have is probably gone forever. I’m afraid to think of the future.” Ms. Jin comforted him. “Don’t think about that. Take it a day at a time.” “And what about Jinjin? She’ll have a rough future, yet she used to be treated like a princess. Will she be okay?” “Yes. Doesn’t she still have me?” Liujiu broke in. “With me here, Zou Jintu will always be a princess—no matter what.” With that, Liujiu raised a glass of wine and drank it in one gulp. She showed the empty glass to Zou Kaiyuan and his wife and said, “It’s a promise!” Disaster brought them closer than ever before. At night, husband and wife disrobed quickly and embraced tightly. Their lovemaking was even more intense than on their wedding night. Zou Kaiyuan altered positions, and Ms. Jin kept up as best she could. They were glued together, lively and uninhibited. Afterward, Zou Kaiyuan buried his head in his wife’s breasts for a long time. Ms. Jin ran her fingers through her husband’s gray hair and asked gently, “You’re completely different tonight. Who did you learn from?” Zou Kaiyuan held his wife. “Just think about it. So many men were locked up together. Except for writing our confessions, we weren’t allowed to do anything. We weren’t even allowed to read. And so we chatted, and the topic inevitably turned to women. This is the only topic that men never get tired of. And so the men exchanged and shared their sexual experiences and techniques. After several months, even an idiot would become an expert in sex.” “Pah! Men are shameless when they get together,” Ms. Jin chided. While he was detained, Zou Kaiyuan learned that loneliness was the most intolerable thing to bear. From that experience, he realized how deeply he cherished his family. And from his bone-deep yearning, he understood the meaning of love. It went far beyond being married and having children. At this moment, though he was very tired, he didn’t want to sleep. He propped his head up, and looking into Ms. Jin’s eyes, he said, “I want to take very good care of you and Jinjin. Nothing is more important than family.” Ms. Jin reached out her arms and hugged him tightly. Husband and wife were aroused again … People didn’t get the peaceful, untroubled lives they had hoped for. Before long, the storm of the socialist reform campaign swept the country. Firecrackers were lit as privately run pharmacies became jointly owned by the state, which meant that Zou Kaiyuan was paid a small amount of money and his business became state-run. He was called a cadre now and received wages each month. His decades of hard work were snatched away from him, and yet he was expected to be grateful to the government for letting him be a worker and earn his own living. Relying on wages to get by meant the family’s quality of life changed a lot. Zou Kaiyuan and his wife had to let their servant go, as well as their cook. The

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

37

only one they could keep was Liujiu. Ms. Jin told her, “This family has been designated members of the exploiting class. You’re a member of the exploited working class, which is considered the best class status. It would be easy for you to find a new job. Maybe you should leave us and start your own family.” Staring, Liujiu said, “Didn’t I say that I’m part of the Zou family? Don’t bring up the subject of marriage again.” “You have to know that the future will be much different from the past.” “I know that.” The times grew rougher for Zou Kaiyuan. During the day, he put on a smiling face for his customers, as well as for the cadres assigned to his pharmacy. In the evening, he was often dazed. Tears spilled out without his being aware of them. The cruelest thing in life wasn’t so much the realization that his youth was over, but that he was an old man facing an immensely complicated world in which he had become a humiliated captive, as helpless and ineffective as an infant. He didn’t dare think of the future, and it seemed there was no future. He could only scrape by in the present. He felt faint-hearted from being accused of harming society, yet he knew he had done nothing wrong. Unfortunately, his fears overwhelmed him. It seemed that his life now had a fixed trajectory beyond his control. Ms. Jin noticed that her husband was eating much less. He was no longer interested in even his favorite foods. He was still the same person, but without much energy. He was becoming more frail and decrepit by the day. One day, he looked at a plate of the pork he liked so much and said, “I have no appetite for it. Please don’t cook it for me anymore.” “What’s wrong with you, Kaiyuan?” Ms. Jin asked fearfully. “Nothing. I’m fine.” The most important and the happiest thing in a home is family meals. You could say that the essence of home is the dining table. The four of them—adults and the child—had always enjoyed sitting together with good food before them, talking and laughing. But after Zou Kaiyuan lost his appetite, this was a mere memory. The thing that Ms. Jin feared most finally happened: Zou Kaiyuan fell ill and was confined to bed. He took a lot of medicine, but it had no effect. One beautiful early-summer day, after Jinjin had gone to school, Zou Kaiyuan called his wife and Liujiu to his bedside. “I’m dying, and I need to say something to you both. After I die, you three females will be alone in our home. However, without a man you won’t be a family. We’re lucky to have Liujiu; she’s more capable than I am! The pharmacy now belongs to the state. I have a little money set aside—enough to support you for a few years, but not for a lifetime. I think you should all move to the countryside. We have a house there, and land. At least food won’t be a problem. After Jinjin finishes middle school, she should get married right away. It doesn’t matter if the man has money as long as he’s a good person. At least there will be a man in this family.” He tugged at Ms. Jin’s sleeve. “You’re still young, and you have a lot of life

38

Mānoa

n

The Zither

ahead of you. I would understand if you remarried. It’s a new society, and there’s a new marriage law now, too.” Listening to him, Ms. Jin dissolved into tears. Then Zou Kaiyuan got out of bed. He prostrated himself in front of Liujiu and murmured, “I know who you are. My family is your family. After this, I beg you to continue taking good care of my wife and Jinjin. I promise to repay you in the next life by being your servant.” He had nothing more to say. The three of them knelt on the floor together and sobbed. This was a farewell rite. “I’m tired. I want to sleep for a while.” Zou Kaiyuan told Liujiu to help him change into his white silk traditional clothing. Dressed all in snow white, he fell asleep—forever.



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

39

Chapter 7

Misfortune often marks an ending, but it can also be a beginning. The three women of the Zou household moved to the countryside. Ms. Jin lost half of her vitality when her husband died and was panicky about the future. She said to Liujiu, “Now that we’ve left behind the life we had in BlueWhite Alley and moved to the countryside, how will we manage?” “Don’t be afraid. Other people manage and so can we,” Liujiu consoled her. When they packed to move, they made sure to take some Chinese herbal medicines. If someone in the home village was ill, they might be able to help, if only a little. The folkways were simple there, and the rural folk would treat their family well. Now and then, people who had been long-term hired hands for the Zou family came by to help, doing such tasks as repairing water buckets and building racks for planting melons. The village officials knew that these women would be unable to farm, and so after some discussion, they assigned them the duty of tending an old ox belonging to the cooperative. Life slipped by like a flowing river, never turning back. In the countryside, Ms. Jin was okay during the day, but didn’t know how to get through the nights. She couldn’t quench her sorrow. When you’ve lived a long time with someone, and then that person abruptly vanishes from your life, naturally you are desperately lonely. Ms. Jin now had no choice but to depend entirely on Liujiu. Before long, they were sleeping together. Who could blame her? This delicate, aging widow needed a guardian and a companion day and night. The first night they slept facing each other, Liujiu traced her finger over Ms. Jin’s forehead, eyebrows, nose, and lips, and pressed her body close. Ms. Jin liked how this felt—as good as a man’s caresses and flirtation, and even more elaborate. Holding back hot tears, she flung herself onto Liujiu’s bosom. Liujiu affectionately watched Ms. Jin, who was shy and tense. She held Ms. Jin’s face in her hands and licked the tears from her face. Their lips met. Liujiu hooked her feet around Ms. Jin’s buttocks, and tugged at her breasts with one palm while pressing against Ms. Jin’s private parts with the other. . . The plump body, the moist breath, and the excited trembling threw Ms. Jin’s values and morals into chaos. She came to realize that she could also taste the joy of life and the beauty of affection by being intimate with a person who had the same anatomy. Liujiu embraced Ms. Jin tightly, and Ms. Jin cuddled up against her. Their passion lasted the whole night. 40

When Ms. Jin awakened early in the morning, Liujiu was no longer beside her. Hugging the quilt, she closed her eyes and thought back to the night before, when two beings had enfolded each other. Was this love? What else could it be? Could it have only been neediness—like needing to fasten a coat around oneself in the freezing winter? She couldn’t bear to continue questioning herself; there was too much sorrow, too much hurt. Sometimes it made her felt dirty, as if her very soul was degenerating. But in the real world, beauty and ugliness are often neighbors. People who understand this are often the most big-hearted. Although Zou Kaiyuan had been in his grave for several years, Ms. Jin didn’t forget him for a second. Even when she was in bed with Liujiu, he would be her husband, her man, forever! Before long, the Production Cooperatives came to an end and were replaced by the People’s Communes, which were comprehensive, militarized social units. The status of all workers was adjusted to fit this system. The ordinary peasants were now called commune members. They earned work points rather than food. And no one knew exactly what these work points were worth. Or how many pounds of rations they could be exchanged for. So no one worked hard anymore, and everyone started loafing. A full day’s work for a man was worth ten work points, yet most commune members were satisfied with only two or three. The new commune head rushed from place to place urging political mobilization. He said in the mass meeting, “We are now in the great historical stage of the People’s Commune. Next, we will step into the paradise of communism.” One commune member in the field asked, “What’s communism?” The commune leader said, “In a communist society, everyone enjoys a comfortable life. They work just half-days; the rest of the time is for study and recreation. Supplies are unbelievably plentiful. You can have whatever you want. All you have to do is take it! This is called ‘to each according to his needs.’” “Then if I need your wife, may I have her?” Everyone guffawed. The laughter didn’t last. As time passed, people discovered the hardships— especially eating in a huge mess hall. Everyone received less and less to eat. Meat disappeared, and more and more water was added to the rice. Morals also changed. Stealing was prevalent. Clothes drying under the eaves mysteriously disappeared. Vegetables growing in the backyard vanished overnight. The family formed by the three women—Ms. Jin, Zou Jintu, and Liujiu—began running out of food. Their stomachs were always growling. They were often too weak to stand up. Some men could go out and do a little something, including begging. But these women couldn’t bear the humiliation. And even if they wanted to go out to beg or scavenge for scraps, they would have to get written approval from the Commune. The duty of tending the ox was a favor they’d been granted; now an ox was one too many mouths to feed. Zou Jintu had gotten old enough to go with Liujiu to search all over for grass to feed the animal—on hills, pastures, and roadsides. In the winter, it was hopeless. People had nothing to eat, so neither did the ox. Everywhere, the land was bare. Ms. Jin’s hair fell out in clumps. She

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

41

didn’t dare show herself in public. Similarly, Liujiu’s hair was going prematurely gray. She was weary. She had to take care of Ms. Jin and tend the old ox as well. The young daughter, Jinjin, still had luxuriant hair. She cut off her braids and wore her hair short, not because she liked the style, but to save on the soap needed to wash it. The women lacked not only food, but everything else, too. One day, Liujiu said, “I’ll go to the city and see if we can get some food from our old neighbors and friends.” Struggling to get her bony body in motion, she went, but was disappointed, for there were food shortages in the city as well. Several restaurants had hung small wooden signs saying closed. Grocery stores were empty. The trees on Golden Ingot Mountain behind the city had all been chopped down and hauled to the county committee for fuel for the backyard furnaces. Because of the drought, you could see the dry bottom of the White Sand River. No one was on the streets. No birds chirped in the sky. Liujiu didn’t see any girls leaning against doorframes and knitting, nor any old men playing cards or chess beneath the trees. Those familiar old scenes were all gone. In the past, the most beautiful time of the day was twilight, when mist would gradually descend on the village streets and courtyards, and the smoke from kitchen chimneys wreathed the neighborhood. Accompanying this scene were the sounds of chickens, dogs, and hoof beats blended together. Now this beauty no longer existed. Everything was stagnant and dreary. Liujiu went home in despair. When she arrived, Ms. Jin saw that her hands were empty and realized that Liujiu had found nothing to eat. “Didn’t I say this wasn’t a good idea?” Ms. Jin grumbled. “In the first place, I knew you wouldn’t find anything. And in the second place, I was afraid you would be exhausted by the trip. If you had collapsed on the road, what would I have done?” Liujiu smiled broadly, leaning against the doorframe and gasping for breath. She said, “It’s only when I’m here that I feel alive.” They waited for Jinjin to get home from tending the ox. But when it grew dark, she still hadn’t returned. She turned up at midnight, smiling at her mother and Liujiu. The old ox, which trailed behind her, was so starved that it was only bones; its hair was matted, its head drooped almost to the ground, and its eyes were bloodshot. Liujiu noticed the dirt and mud on Jinjin’s face and hands. “What happened to you?” she asked. Jinjin didn’t answer. She merely smiled. Liujiu saw that she had tied up her pant legs. “Why on earth have you done that?” she asked. Zou Jintu still didn’t answer, and instead turned to Liujiu. “Did you go to the city? Did you find food for us?” “There was no food!” Liujiu told her. “There weren’t even people around.” “Well, I managed to get something,” Jinjin said proudly. Jinjin bent down and unfastened the ties around her pant legs. When she straightened up and stamped her feet, a few small, red potatoes rolled one by one onto the floor. Shocked and pale, Ms. Jin exclaimed, “Jinjin, where did you get these?!” 42

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Jinjin answered firmly, “I stole them.” “What! You went to school and you’ve learned to steal? Now we have a thief in the Zou family.” Ms. Jin was too angry and flustered to say more. “But isn’t that because we’re starving?” Liujiu interjected, clearly on Jinjin’s side. “Ma, everyone steals! Commune members all steal. Our family is the only one that doesn’t. These days, if you want to eat, you have to steal. It’s true—I’m a thief. So what?” The girl burst into tears. Ms. Jin drew her daughter into her arms. There’s a time to struggle, a time to despair, and a time to become degenerate. There’s a time for everything because people have to find a way to go on living. After this, Zou Jintu spent more and more time tending the ox, often until dark. The time she spent with the ox was also time for stealing. There was no place for a heart, no place for the spirit. Everything was meaningless. She felt entitled to steal; somehow, one had to get through the days. Anyway, since all the commune members were stealing, she could do the same to survive. Her eyes were sharp, her hands quick, her movements deft. Though she had reached the age for marriage, she didn’t have an ounce of interest in it. She clung to her family and loved only her mother and Liujiu. Hardships had stripped her of everything except her most inner self. But she also worried about the old ox. It stumbled along behind her like a ghost. Hardly a handful of weeds could be found to feed it. When a little could be gathered, the old ox stood stoically, refusing to open its mouth. “Eat it. Please!” Jinjin pleaded. But the old animal was too weak. Jinjin stroked the ox’s back, “Don’t get sick. You must not be sick. Let me be sick instead.” As though it understood Jinjin’s distress, the ox managed to squeeze a heavy groan from its throat. Tears ran from its big eyes. Jinjin hugged the animal and cried along with it. The family tried everything to restore the ox’s health, but to no avail. Everyone knew its condition was caused by starvation. Many people were dying of starvation, so the symptoms were easy to recognize. Jinjin began to sleep in the ox’s pen at night. At the slightest sound, she got up to see if it was all right. And when there was no sound, she also got up to look. She looked to see if it was still alive or if it had died. The ox slipped away quietly—quietly died, showing consideration for its attendant. The next day, she hurried over to the production brigade to report the ox’s death. The color drained from the young brigade leader’s face, and he roared, “Why now?! Why did it pick now to die?! Couldn’t it have died either sooner or later?” “I don’t understand what you mean.” The production brigade leader’s father used to be a long-term hired worker for the Zou family. He had been very sick once and had been carried to the city for treatment. Zou Kaiyuan had taken care of almost all the expenses, from engaging a doctor to providing the medicines. When Ms. Jin moved to the countryside, the brigade leader’s father had urged his son to treat the Zou

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

43

family well. “There are only women in the Zou household. They’re too weak to work. Give them a little more of whatever the brigade distributes. If you can’t do it publicly, then do it in private.” That’s what the son had been doing for the Zou family, because he knew that only after his father had gotten well had his mother become pregnant and given birth to him. But circumstances were different now. The county had just held a meeting for cadres from all levels. In the meeting, the county Party secretary had announced Party Central’s New Guidelines and Chairman Mao’s New Directions: “Class struggle must go on—every day, every month, every year. Class struggle is the key link; everything else hinges on it.” Every commune and every production brigade had to take up ruthless class struggle and carry it out vigorously and speedily. In addition, in order to conduct class struggle, some peasants would have to be reclassified. The brigade that the Zou family lived in had been peaceful all along, and the villagers were on good terms with each other. But this brigade’s output was only average. The superiors at the county level therefore chose it to demonstrate the principle that class struggle was the key to everything. The county Party secretary took personal command of this directive. Upon entering the village, the first thing he did was to review everyone’s class category. Pointing to the Zou family in the list of households, he found a target. “Isn’t this the wife of the pharmacy owner in the county seat?” The production brigade head replied, “Yes.” “How is she classified now?” “The same as Zou Kaiyuan: small business owner.” The production brigade head deliberately understated this. “How can a village have any small business? Their category should be ‘rich peasant.’ Besides, Zou Kaiyuan’s family also owned farmland in the countryside.” “Can the classification be changed now?” The Party secretary glanced at him. “Of course. Absolutely. What do you think I came here for?” A change in a family’s classification had to be announced at a mass meeting of the commune members. The production brigade head felt reluctant to make this change and kept delaying. Before there was time to call a meeting, Jinjin reported that the ox had died. This news was like a lightning bolt on a clear day! In villages, the life of a draft animal was valued almost the same as a person’s life—sometimes even more—because people’s lives were their own, but a draft animal was public property. Now, standing before the production brigade leader, who stared straight ahead, Jinjin asked nervously, “Why aren’t you saying anything?” “This is very serious,” he said. “Why?” “I should have told you sooner. Your family’s classification has been changed. Your mother is now a rich peasant, and you’re the daughter of a rich peasant.” She was shocked. “Who did this?”

44

Mānoa

n

The Zither

“Not me.” “Then who?” “The county Party secretary.” “Can the county Party secretary change my family’s classification just because he chooses to?” As she said this, Jinjin’s tone change, and she became indignant. She knew very well that the rich peasant designation altered everything. From now on, her mother would be labeled a class enemy, and she, too, would enter the darkness. Nothing would ever be the same again. The production brigade leader explained the whole thing to her. Jinjin buried her head in her hands; her tears flowed through her fingers. “Don’t cry. We also have to talk about the ox.” “Why don’t you just report it to the commune?” Jinjin continued crying. “In the past, yes, I could have done it that way. But now your family’s classification has been changed. I’m afraid it won’t be so simple now.” Jinjin suddenly became wary. “What do you mean by ‘it won’t be so simple’?” The production brigade leader lowered his voice. “It can be very ugly.” “How bad?” “Now, your family are rich peasants. We’re at the height of the class struggle in the county. I’m afraid that the death of the ox will most likely not be considered a natural death.” “In other words, the ox didn’t die of starvation, but was deliberately slaughtered?” Jinjin suddenly grabbed his sleeve and shouted, “I did it! I did it!” Shortly afterward, the commune members were assembled for a mass meeting. At the meeting, the leaders explained the excellent national situation and the new direction in class struggle. They announced the new class status of a few commune members. Finally, in view of everyone, Jinjin was arrested and, for killing the ox, was accused of class vengeance. Ms. Jin said, “It isn’t Jinjin who did this. I’m the one who did it.” Then she collapsed. Liujiu rushed to her. “Help. Someone please help.” A huge commotion arose in the meeting place. Six months later, the county court held a mass meeting to announce Jinjin’s sentence. Extremely frail, Ms. Jin struggled to get out of bed in order to attend the meeting. Liujiu tried to keep her from going. Ms. Jin wept. “I want to go to the meeting in order to see Jinjin.” Liujiu couldn’t say anything more. They changed their clothes and left early so that they would be able to stand in the first row. The meeting was held in an auditorium in the commune that could accommodate more than two hundred people. Hanging on the wall was a banner that read: the public trial meeting. On the platform in front was a long table where members of the court were seated. The commune members didn’t recognize any of them. “Bring the criminal in!” Her hands bound behind her and her head down,

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

45

Jinjin was escorted to the platform by two policewomen. She stood on a stool made of wooden boards that had been prepared in advance. “Jinjin!” her mother shouted. Jinjin raised her head. She immediately saw her mother with Liujiu supporting her. Jinjin turned pale. Voices clamored in the auditorium, and the judges rapped the table. “Quiet! This is a trial!” It was all straightforward. Basically, there was just the reading of the verdict. The convicted class criminal, Zou Jintu, listened carefully to every word. The judge said that she had been concealing her family background of rich peasant and that she was critical of socialism and the Party line, the Great Leap Forward, and the commune movement. And that she was indolent. In all respects, she was an enemy of the revolution. Finally, for class vengeance, she had killed the ox that the production brigade had assigned her to tend. In order to carry on the class struggle and defeat class enemies, Zou Jintu was sentenced to ten years in prison as a counterrevolutionary. After reading the verdict aloud, the judge handed her a copy. Ten years! Ten years! She had never imagined that she would be sentenced to such a long term. She had thought perhaps a year or maybe six months, because everyone knew very well that the ox had died of old age and starvation. Zou Jintu, who had always been calm, couldn’t control the fury that she felt rising from the bottom of her heart. She gnashed her teeth and said, “Ten years? Why not just make it twenty years?” Perhaps she was holding the copy of the verdict too tightly, or perhaps the judge was slow in letting go as he handed it to her. In any case, the paper was torn. Half remained in Zou Jintu’s hand, and the other in the judge’s. Everyone in the room gasped, and the hall was suddenly filled with angry shouting. The judge’s face turned red, and he immediately announced a recess in the proceedings. Ten minutes later, a new verdict was read. The first part was the same. But the length of the sentence was now twenty years in prison. There was nothing more to be said. Zou Jintu was clearly a counterrevolutionary and her sentence had been doubled. In the detention cell, she ate and drank nothing for a day and a night; she just lay on the floor. Three days later, the detention officer told her to stand up. “Someone from your family has come to see you and brought you some things.” It had to be Liujiu, and maybe also Ms. Jin. Zou Jintu washed her face and went to meet them. When she saw the two women, she was shocked. Seemingly overnight, her mother had become bald. She was wearing a long, gray robe, apparently one of her husband’s. Liujiu’s hair was gray, too, and hung loosely below her shoulders. She was wearing dark trousers and a jacket. On one arm, she was carrying a cloth bundle; with the other she was supporting Ms. Jin. The three of them wailed. What could they say? Their hearts were broken. Liujiu spoke first. “We brought some of your better clothes for warm and cold weather.” “Um.”

46

Mānoa

n

The Zither

“And three pairs of new shoes.” “Um.” “Also a little sugar and a little money and some ration coupons.” “Um.” Each time Jinjin said “Um,” Ms. Jin felt as if a knife were being twisted into her heart. She shouted, “Jinjin! You took all the blame to save me . . .” Upon saying that, she broke down. The officer wanted Zou Jintu to hurry up and talk if she had something to say. The women were told that all the convicted prisoners would be sent away soon and serve their sentences in a faraway reform prison. It wouldn’t be easy for them to see each other again. When she heard this, Ms. Jin stopped weeping and said to her daughter, “Don’t worry about me. Liujiu will take care of me! And you’re literate, so you can write us letters. We brought twenty envelopes for you, and Liujiu put stamps on them.” “To write one letter a year?” Ms. Jin began crying again. Glancing at the officer, she said, “If you do a good job of reforming, your sentence might be reduced. You probably won’t have to serve twenty years.” Liujiu was feeling the strain of the meeting. She said, “We’ll wait for you until you come back, no matter how many years it takes.” After Zou Jintu was sent to the prison farm, she worked extremely hard to reform in order to have her sentence reduced. She was a very capable person; she learned quickly and did everything well. She wrote her family a letter every three months. She couldn’t understand why her mother never answered. It made her increasingly apprehensive. Later, a new prisoner arrived from her hometown. Jinjin asked her about her family, and the new convict told her that a local commune member had seen a bald old woman, who was wearing a long, gray robe and being supported by a gray-haired woman wearing dark trousers and a jacket. The two of them moved like ghosts. They prayed at the Zou family tomb, walked through Blue-White Alley, then disappeared as they waded across White Sand River. Someone said they had gone to Liujiu’s hometown; someone else said they were begging in another province. Still another person said that they had starved to death at the roadside on the way to the big city, and were found clutched in each other’s embrace, their corpses inseparable. The family was shattered. Some were in heaven, or hell. Some were still in this world, suffering.



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

47

part

two

Chapter 1

Summer’s end was the time for cutting the weedy cogon grass that covered the mountain. This was the kind of prison farm work that Zhang Yuhe dreaded the most. She used to love grass for its velvety softness: the grass of parks, backyards, riverbanks, and, best of all, lawns. But at the prison farm, only cogon grass grew on the plateau. After thriving in the summer, each weed was almost three feet high and very coarse. The straight stems were like swords, the bent ones like reaping hooks. Savage brambles growing amid the weeds were also coarse and strong; their spiky stems made it impossible for the prisoners to cut them without their hands being lacerated. Zhang Yuhe remembered the first time she cut the cogon grass here. On a foggy, overcast day, she went after the weeds with a sickle, and the brambles with a chopper. She traded off using the two tools. Her arms were in constant motion, and it wasn’t long before her palms, the backs of her hands, and her arms were covered with cuts, crisscrossed with traces of blood. She had at least a hundred lacerations, caused by the sharp edges of the weeds. The ground was damp, the air misty. When the wind blew, the thick cogon grass swayed like waves and made a hissing sound. The air was bone-chilling. Zhang Yuhe looked up, and her tears merged with the rain and ran down her cheeks. She was drenched, and her heart was drenched, heavy with the thought that there was nothing important in life. The only thing she could look forward to was hearing the bell signaling the end of the workday. Zhang Yuhe threw herself into the task of cutting the weeds. Her mother had sent her several pairs of heavy gloves, but they only prevented her hands from moving nimbly when she wore them. What’s more, the sickle and chopper she was given were blunt. All this made the work even more strenuous. Suddenly, a sickle landed not far from her. Zhang Yuhe picked it up, and to her surprise it had a sharp blade that was just the right length, as well as a smooth handle. Whose sickle was this? How could it be in such good shape? She compared it to her dull, ugly tool that had been assigned to her by Su Runjia, the work section monitor, when she first arrived. Zhang Yuhe knew nothing about tools, but she could tell hers was poorly made and ineffective. Even though she worked hard to sharpen it, it remained dull. Yi Fengzhu later told her in private, “Newly arrived convicts are never given good tools. Just deal with it.” Nevertheless, Yang Fenfang felt sorry for her. 48

She secretly helped Zhang Yuhe grind the sickle’s blade, but it quickly turned blunt again. “What’s wrong with this sickle?” Zhang Yuhe asked her. “It doesn’t have enough steel in it. It’s easy to sharpen, but it dulls easily.” “No wonder I’m so tired. What should I do?” “Exchange it for another one.” “Should I ask Su Runjia?” “Yes,” answered Yang Fenfang. “Does she have a good sickle?” “Hers isn’t great either. Only senior convicts have the good ones.” “Who has the best one?” “Zou Jintu.” “How did she get a good sickle?” “There are three ways to get a good one,” Yang Fenfang said. “One way is to be assigned to go down the mountain to carry back new tools—that way, you’ll get first choice. The second is to persuade a male prisoner to get you one; they have good sickles. Of course, you first have to somehow get on good terms with him: he won’t do it for nothing and will take advantage of you. The third way is to spend money and ration coupons and buy one from a local commune member.” “How did Zou Jintu get hers?” “I don’t know,” Yang Fenfang said. “That’s the kind of secret that convicts have.” Zhang Yuhe immediately dropped the sickle that had landed close to her on the ground. Then she heard Zou Jintu’s voice behind her. “The sickle is mine. You can use it.” Zhang Yuhe was stunned and turned around. “You’re giving it to me?” “No, I’m lending it to you. When you go out to work, take this sickle from the tool shed; when you finish for the day, put it back where you found it. It will be okay even if Su Runjia notices you.” “All right,” Zhang Yuhe said happily. To get hold of a good sickle, she was willing to break the prison rules. “Don’t forget: if this sickle gets dull, you must not grind it yourself.” Zou Jintu said as she walked away. A good sickle made cutting weeds a lot easier. When it was almost quitting time, Yi Fengzhu—who was working under Monitor Su—began measuring and calculating everyone’s output for the day. “You did quite well,” Su Runjia said to Zhang Yuhe. Two days later at bedtime, Su Runjia abruptly asked her, “Are you using Zou Jintu’s sickle to cut the weeds?” “Yes.” “Did she give you her good sickle?” “She said she was lending it to me.”

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

49

Su Runjia said, “Be careful. Don’t become another Huang Junshu.” Zhang Yuhe felt insulted. She left the cell and sat down on a stool under the eaves. Jiang Qidan happened to be sitting there, too. Zhang Yuhe told her about the sickle incident and what Monitor Su had said. “Su Runjia meant well by warning you,” Jiang Qidan said. It was hard for the prisoners to finish cutting the weeds on the mountain and plateau. It was used as fodder for the oxen, or burned for ash to use as fertilizer. With the cogon grass gone, the mountain was gray. The lack of green signaled that summer had passed. Praise Buddha! No more weeds to cut! Zhang Yuhe returned the sickle to Zou Jintu and said, “Thank you so much.” As she took the sickle, Zou Jintu brushed the back of Zhang Yuhe’s hand and said, “Next year, I’ll get a good sickle for you.” Whether it was deliberate or not, this light contact was like an acupuncture needle inserted into a pressure point. An intense sensation spread through all the intimate parts of Zhang Yuhe’s body. From massaging her belly to giving her a good sickle, why was Zou Jintu being so nice to her? Zhang Yuhe couldn’t help but think of Huang Junshu. The female prisoners had Sunday off. Huang Junshu picked up her basin and asked the guard on duty if she could go to the stream to wash her clothes. Seeing her, Zhang Yuhe threw some of her own clothes into her basin, and then they were allowed to go together. At the side entrance of the prison wall, they took the stone steps down about a hundred meters to the stream, which descended steeply through a mountain gully and created a cool, clear pond. Huang Junshu put her clothing on the grass, then scooped some water into her basin and began washing her clothing in it. She was pretty in profile; her nose was like a classic stone carving. “Why are you so quiet?” Zhang Yuhe asked. “I’m waiting for you to speak first,” Huang Junshu replied indifferently. “Do you know what I want to talk about?” “Yes.” “What?” “Don’t you want to ask me about Zou Jintu?” They laughed at the same time. Zhang Yuhe came right to the point. “Are the two of you close?” “Yes, very close. Bloody close. Literally bloody.” Zhang Yuhe knew that Huang Junshu, who was usually quiet and dainty, could also be big-hearted. Zhang Yuhe liked this. The prisoners, locked up for a long time in close quarters, quarreled incessantly about things like a piece of pork or the consistency of a bowl of porridge, and few had Huang Junshu’s kindness. “Is it because of loneliness?” Huang Junshu corrected her. “No, it’s because of need.” “Can you explain a little more? I’m interested.” “Are you interested in my feelings? Or is it because she’s interested in you?”

50

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Huang Junshu replied, teasing. “I know she massaged your tummy in the middle of the night and lent you a good sickle.” “Aiya!” Zhang Yuhe exclaimed. “How do you know that?” “I know everything she does. We’re on the same wavelength.” Zhang Yuhe opened her eyes wide. “This is fascinating. I don’t think that even married couples are that close.” “I don’t know. But I can tell you—in this environment, I need her very much. How can I explain? I just know that when you need her, she always materializes in front of you.” Zhang Yuhe thought to herself, That’s exactly what happened to me. Zou Jintu had come to me in my moment of greatest need. Huang Junshu told Zhang Yuhe that she and Zou Jintu had similar backgrounds. They both came from families that were politically out of favor, had finished middle school, and had had maidservants when they were growing up. They had both been charged with minor crimes at first, and then convicted of being counterrevolutionaries. Furthermore, neither of them had parents now, so when they were released, they would have no home to return to. After washing her clothes, Huang Junshu dried her hands and gazed at the clear sky. She sighed deeply and said, “Fish die on the shore yearning for a drop of water. That’s the nature of our relationship.” “You’re so romantic.” Huang Junshu corrected her again. “It isn’t romance. It’s need.”



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

51

Chapter 2

Chen Huilian was sick again, which wasn’t unusual. By now, everyone was used to it. Even Su Runjia didn’t question her. Chen Huilian implored Jiang Qidan to stay with her and not go to work. “Can you keep me company? I’m dying.” “Stay with you? That isn’t allowed.” Nevertheless, Jiang Qidan began scurrying around. Next to Chen Huilian’s pillow, she placed a glass of water, a small damp towel, some toilet paper, and two pieces of candy that Zhang Yuhe had helped her buy. She removed the paper from the candy and put it next to the glass of water. Finally, she found a piece of dirty cardboard, rolled it into a small, horn-shaped tube, and rested it on the pillow. Chen Huilian pushed the cardboard tube away and gasped, “Why are you giving me such a dirty thing?” “If you can’t hold up any longer, you can shout for help through it!” “Whom would I call?” Jiang Qidan’s eyes were red at the edges. “Just shout, ‘Chen Huilian is dying!’ Someone will hear you and come to help.” “And if no one hears me?” “Then shout again. Give it everything you’ve got.” Jiang Qidan hurried out, afraid she was going to cry. Chen Huilian had been held at the provincial jail for many years and investigated repeatedly. People said that because she was a Catholic, she was accused of spying for foreign countries—and because she had come back from Macao, she was suspected of being a spy for Portugal. Chen Huilian had left China in 1949 with her second husband, who was quite wealthy. Her daughter by her first husband was left behind. After graduating from high school, the daughter became a cadre in a large factory and an active member of the Communist Youth League. To establish a political boundary between herself and her mother—who was accused of “betraying the motherland”—she seldom wrote letters to Chen Huilian. During the famine of the late 1950s, the daughter changed her attitude and began to write to her mother more frequently, asking for everything from rice to MSG. Because she wanted her mother to mail these things, Chen Huilian went to the post office nearly every other day, sending larger and larger packages. As the cost

52

of postage increased, Chen Huilian became annoyed and decided to put a load of things in a large trunk—rice, flour, oil, and seasonings—and carry them to the city where her daughter lived, avoiding the shipping fees. She decided to stay for a visit, as she hadn’t seen her daughter in a long time, and had never met her son-in-law. They hadn’t seen each other for so long that the atmosphere was strained, and mother and daughter could think of nothing to talk about. In any case, the daughter and son-in-law were at work most of the day, leaving early and returning home late. Years ago when Chen Huilian had lived in this city, there had been plenty of things to do: take walks, play cards, attend the opera, and go to teahouses. But you couldn’t do these things any longer. She remembered the city’s robust night life, with good restaurants and delicious local foods. But now, the streetlights were dim and you couldn’t find much to eat anywhere. Everyone subsisted on woefully small grain rations. On her third day, Chen Huilian stopped going out altogether and busied herself in the kitchen instead. One evening, her daughter and son-in-law came home from work and saw white rice, brown pork shreds, and square soda crackers, all of which Chen Huilan had brought from Macao. They shouted, “Ma, Ma!” and hugged Chen Huilian tightly. To them, the food on the table was a banquet. They all crowded around the table, looking at each other, smiling, and talking happily. The mother found great spiritual satisfaction and psychological redemption in her daughter’s warm gaze and melting smiles. With this meal, they truly became a family. Chen Huilian wrote to her husband in Macao every other day, telling him her thoughts and describing everything she saw and heard. She told him that when she returned to Macao, she would cherish what she had, because having seen the situation in China, she realized how precious life was. By mid-autumn, they had almost run out of the goods she had brought, so Chen Huilian made plans to return to Macao. She would take a ferry to Shanghai and then catch a flight home. While she was packing, her daughter looked at her mother’s warm woolen coat and sighed. “This is a wonderful coat. I’ve never seen such a fine one before!” Chen Huilian removed it and placed the coat in her daughter’s arms. At first she refused to accept it. “Just take it,” Chen Huilian told her. “I can buy another one in Hong Kong.” Her daughter accompanied Chen Huilian to the wharf to see her off. Chen Huilian didn’t want to leave. She decided to return the following year and bring even more food. By the time the ferry pulled away, Chen Huilian felt exhausted. She had practically been a kitchen maid during her visit. She was heading to her cabin, intending to nap, when three burly men blocked her way. In harsh, low voices they said, “Police! You’re under arrest!” When the ferry made its next stop, she was escorted ashore. A drab-green army jeep was waiting for her at the dock and drove her to the police detention building. As the iron gate clanged shut behind her, Chen Huilian became dizzy,



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

53

as though she were being pitched from the world she knew into the darkest hell. At first, she was able to keep her composure. She looked forward to explaining everything to the authorities so she could continue on to Macao. However, when the Cultural Revolution began in 1966, she was still in detention, and apparently the file dealing with her case was forgotten in someone’s drawer. Chen Huilian had heard that it could be a good thing to be forgotten. People were saying, “It’s better to squat in detention for a year than to spend a day in a reform squadron.” The former meant you were a suspect, while the latter meant that you were a convicted criminal. She stayed locked up for seven years. Though Chen Huilian wept from the injustice done to her, she maintained her religious faith and a strong sense of self. She wasn’t like those inmates who complained and wailed when they entered prison. And because she did not quarrel with her captors, she did not suffer violent beatings. Nonetheless, Chen Huilian could not quiet the turmoil in her heart, mainly because of her daughter. In the several years she spent in detention, her husband had not been able to come and visit from Macao; she could excuse this. But her daughter, who lived in the same city, never visited her either—not once. Nor did her daughter send her a single note. After several years, Chen Huilian gazed out the narrow window through the iron grating as another Lunar New Year began. She could see only a sliver of the sky and clouds. In her hands, she held the prisoners’ New Year’s Eve dinner—a bowl of Sichuan fried pork—and she thought once more about her daughter. This time, however, she realized that she had stopped missing her; suddenly she despised her. She had suddenly begun to hate. The more she thought, the more she hated. She recalled the day her daughter had seen her off at the ferry wharf. Her daughter had wanted her wool coat: she must have already known that her mother was headed for prison, where she would be allowed to wear only prison clothing! Chen Huilian started to blame herself. Why on earth had she come back to China to visit her daughter? Because her daughter was hungry? So what? Weren’t all six hundred million Chinese hungry? Now she missed her faraway husband more and more. She regretted that she had been selfish in their marriage and hadn’t taken very good care of him. Then she changed her mind. It seemed to her that men were all the same, and a man who was apart from his wife long enough would find another woman—especially a wealthy man like her husband. As soon as a prisoner stopped worrying about her family, she would become calm and resigned. That’s how it was for Chen Huilian. Day in and day out, she looked at her own shadow and listened to her own breathing. Zhang Yuhe sympathized with Chen Huilian: to be imprisoned in one’s old age was no doubt the worst thing that could happen to a person. In private, she told Chen Huilian, “In the past, my whole family lived in Hong Kong.” Chen Huilian was delighted. “Really? Where did you live?”

54

Mānoa

n

The Zither

“Yau Ma Tei.” “Oh, oh!” It was as if Chen Huilian were seeing an old friend, and for a moment her face flushed with color. After that, Zhang Yuhe became aware that Chen Huilian was silently watching her. Once at dinner, everyone was lined up for food. Each person received a corn biscuit and a bowl of boiled pumpkin. Chen Huilian handed her bowl to Jiang Qidan, who was serving, and said, “I’m not feeling well. Could you fill my bowl, but please give the corn biscuit to Zhang Yuhe?” Jiang Qidan knew that favoring another prisoner was against the rules. Nevertheless, she quietly did what Chen Huilian asked. Zhang Yuhe didn’t dare accept the extra corn biscuit, even though she really wanted it. She walked over to Chen Huilian and said, “Even if you don’t want it, you can’t give it to me.” “I’d like you to have enough to eat.” “Why?” “Because hanging myself is one way out, and your having enough to eat is another.” “What do you mean?” Chen Huilian looked around and lowered her voice. “After you get out of prison, will you go back to Hong Kong?” “Yes, but I want to see my mother first. If I find her, she and I will go together.” Chen Huilian gazed warmly at Zhang Yuhe. “After you get out, can you do me a favor?” “Go to Macao and look for your husband?” “Yes.” “You trust me with this request—aren’t you afraid I’ll report you?” Chen Huilian shook her head. “Do you know what part of a person changes the most after she enters prison?” “No. I’ve never given it any thought.” “The expression in the eyes.” “Really?” That evening, before lights out, Zhang Yuhe burrowed under her quilt, took out a small mirror from under her pillow, and scrutinized her eyes. It was true that her eyes were about the same size as before, but their expression wasn’t quite right: they weren’t as clear as they used to be. She thought this must be because she was locked up in prison. She admired Chen Huilian’s insight. After this, she liked to sit beside Chen Huilian’s cot and talk with her. “You’d better stay away from Chen Huilian. She has a politically suspicious background,” Su Runjia told her. Zhang Yuhe flared up. “Why do you always stop me whenever I have a little contact with someone?” “Because you’re a prisoner.” In prison, any human relationship could be dangerous.

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

55

Chapter 3

Section guard Deng Mei took a bath, then threw her clothes into the large wooden basin. With soap in one hand and a washboard in the other, she started washing her clothes. A glance at the sky told her that it was going to rain soon, so she rolled up her sleeves and worked faster. Little Siren, who worked in the prison kitchen, walked into the courtyard. She said obsequiously, “I’ll heat a pot of water for you.” Without looking up, Deng Mei said, “Okay. Just leave it on the stove. I’ll get to it after a while.” “Let me help you with your washing,” Little Siren said. “Your laundry isn’t dirty at all. It won’t take long.” “It isn’t necessary—” She had barely gotten these words out when Yi Fengzhu rushed in like a whirlwind. “Guard Deng, Zhang Yuhe is fighting! There’s blood.” Deng Mei frowned. “Why would Zhang Yuhe fight? With whom?” “Luo Anxiu.” “Are they still fighting? Why isn’t Su Runjia dealing with this?” “She can’t. They’re still fighting—they’re covered in blood. It’s Monitor Su who sent me to fetch you. Hurry up! Please!” Deng Mei concluded this was quite serious and she should take care of it right away. She dried her hands. Little Siren quickly moved the wooden basin into the kitchen and started washing the rest of her laundry. Deng Mei hurried along behind Yi Fengzhu. They were heading for the work site on the mountain slope, where the women prisoners were repairing the dirt road. Every winter, when there wasn’t much farm work to do, they worked on “infrastructure”: repairing the dirt road, digging cisterns, reinforcing sheds, and repairing tools. The road under repair was the only one connecting the women’s prison and the headquarters at the foot of the mountain. Because it was a dirt road, repairs were needed every winter. A storm had caused the road to wash away in several places this year, so the guards had assembled women prisoners from several work sections to chisel rocks, dig up the earth that had fallen across the road, and haul it away. When Deng Mei and Yi Fengzhu got to the work site, they saw Luo Anxiu screaming abuse at Zhang Yuhe. She said “fuck” with every other word, and

56

she cursed eight generations of Zhang Yuhe’s ancestors. Her shirt was open at the neck, revealing skin covered with ringworm. Blood ran from her gums and along the corners of her mouth. Furious, Zhang Yuhe was shouting back at her. Her eyes were red and her mouth trembled. Each time Luo Anxiu swore, Zhang Yuhe pounced on her like a wild animal. At the start, Luo Anxiu hadn’t been prepared for a physical attack, so Zhang Yuhe got in a few hits. But soon the tables turned, and Zhang Yuhe was the one being pounded. Luo Anxiu pulled out a lock of Zhang Yuhe’s hair, and blood flowed from her scalp. Zhang Yuhe was kicked to the ground and one of her shoes came off. Worst of all, Luo Anxiu tore off all the buttons on Zhang Yuhe’s jacket, and the jacket itself was ripped open, leaving her torso bare. Her thin undershirt couldn’t cover her breasts. Zhang Yuhe fought hard. She bit and scratched Luo Anxiu. Finally, tangled together, they rolled around on the ground, which was covered in mud and sewage. Luo Anxiu sat on top of Zhang Yuhe, beating and bashing Zhang Yuhe’s breasts with her fists. As she hit her, she yelled, “Fuck you. Fuck you!” No one tried to stop them. To the other convicts, this was entertainment—a rarity in prison. “Stop it!” Deng Mei yelled, kicking Luo Anxiu in the butt. At that moment, Luo Anxiu was bending over Zhang Yuhe, and rubbing her ringworm-covered face all over Zhang Yuhe’s face, neck, and bare chest. They stopped fighting and got up. Zhang Yuhe could scarcely stand and tried to find her missing shoe, which had landed in the weeds. Zou Jintu retrieved it for her. “Why were you two fighting? Tell me,” Deng Mei commanded. Zhang Yuhe was crying. Luo Anxiu said nothing. Deng Mei turned to Monitor Su Runjia. “Then you tell me,” she ordered. “Guard Deng, this is what happened: the work today was to pave the road with gravel. At first, everything was fine, and then for some reason Zhang Yuhe and Luo Anxiu started fighting. Zhang Yuhe started it by saying, ‘Don’t be mean to Li Xuezhen.’ Luo Anxiu said, ‘I wasn’t.’ Zhang Yuhe said, ‘You were.’ Luo Anxiu said, ‘What did I do?’ Zhang Yuhe said, ‘You always put the heaviest stones in the basket she’s carrying. Isn’t this being mean to her?’ Luo Anxiu said, ‘If you say that’s mean, fine! I did. So what? She’s a fucking counterreformist.’ Zhang Yuhe said, ‘You’re evil.’ At this, Luo Anxiu started cursing: ‘Fuck your mother. Your mother is the evil one.’ Then Zhang Yuhe pounced on her. They began to fight, and no one stopped them.” After listening to the explanation, Deng Mei told Luo Anxiu she shouldn’t curse people and then she told Zhang Yuhe she shouldn’t hit people. She blamed both of them. Luo Anxiu apologized to Deng at once. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please forgive me.” Zhang Yuhe bent over and said nothing. “Zhang Yuhe, why aren’t you admitting you were wrong? Do you think it was right to hit her?”



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

57

Zhang Yuhe still said nothing. Deng Mei was angry. She turned on the women convicts who were watching. “What are you looking at? Don’t just stand there! Go back to work, all of you. Zhang Yuhe, you stand where you are until you admit you’re wrong. It’s going to rain. Even after you go back to the cell, continue to stand until I hear you apologize.” Zhang Yuhe watched as a strong wind blew across the valley, bringing storm clouds that rolled in lower and lower. From a distance came a whistling sound and the branches swayed. Since Zhang Yuhe’s buttons had been ripped off her jacket, all she could do was hold it closed as rain fell in large drops. She was a little afraid that she would be drenched and get sick. She lived by one principle: she must survive until she could get out of here! She couldn’t fall apart. She couldn’t get sick. And she definitely refused to die. When she thought of this, she was ready to talk. “Guard Deng, I fought because I cannot allow anyone to insult my mother—.” She began to wail and sob. She had to stop to catch her breath. She felt as if she would throw up. Deng Mei’s tone softened. “We’ll go easy on you this time.” Zhang Yuhe bowed her head and continued to sob. Ever since she was a child, she had been proud and cherished her dignity. But after losing her freedom, these things had become utterly meaningless. Zou Jintu walked up to Deng Mei. “Guard Deng, Zhang Yuhe is almost naked. Please send her back to change. Please!” Looking up, Zhang Yuhe saw Zou Jintu through her tears. Her emotions surged within her. Even if the walls were high and the windows had iron grates, there would always be warmth and understanding between women. A few days later, Zhang Yuhe realized that her neck was constantly itching. At first, she didn’t pay much attention, thinking that it was caused by bites from mosquitoes or some other insect. She scratched it, and still it itched. It itched more and more, and scratching made it worse. If she perspired, it not only itched but also hurt. She went to see Wu Yanlan, the health worker. “Please take a look. What’s wrong with my neck?” “Aiya, it’s ringworm!” “Ringworm?” Zhang Yuhe shuddered. “Yes, it’s unusual,” Wu Yanlan said. “How would you have gotten ringworm?” At once Zhang Yuhe recalled her fight with Luo Anxiu, who had purposely rubbed her ringworm-covered face all over Zhang Yuhe’s exposed skin. Zhang Yuhe had never imagined that woman could be so evil. But what would be accomplished by confronting Luo Anxiu and yelling at her? Zhang Yuhe thought that ringworm wasn’t so very important. What she hated most was that anyone here could curse and insult someone else’s parents. Since entering prison, she had yearned for her parents from the depths of her being. No matter how long her sentence lasted, she knew that—far away—there was still a home where she belonged, where tearful eyes longed to see her, where a place would

58

Mānoa

n

The Zither

be waiting for her at the dinner table. She had been feeling guilty for causing her parents added pain. It was a heavy burden that she couldn’t easily bear. In prison, she would endure almost anything she had to, but she would guard this sacred love for her parents with her life. When Luo Anxiu had said “fuck your mother,” the insult had broken through her emotional defenses. Zhang Yuhe asked Wu Yanlan for a bottle of ringworm medicine. Wu Yanlan said, “The only kind we have is for rubbing on the feet. It can’t be used on the face.” “Then what should I do?” “Wasn’t your mother a doctor in the provincial capital? Ask her to send you two bottles of medicine.” Zhang Yuhe endured the disease for a month. At first, the red pimples had been just a light rash. Then they turned scaly. Her face became a rugged map of the mountainous work site. First in a small area, over half her face, then at last the ringworm crossed over her nose. Zhang Yuhe looked in her small mirror and forced a smile. She said to Su Runjia, “If the nose is the Himalayas, then my ringworm has gone from Tibet, crossed the world’s highest peak, and reached Bhutan.” Her voice was loud, and everyone in the cell heard her. Silly Li Xuezhen commented, “Write to your mother right away and ask her to send you medicine. Otherwise, your ringworm will race to India.” That was exactly right! Zhang Yuhe’s neck began itching, too. This couldn’t go on. She would write to her mother, but of course wouldn’t tell her where this ringworm had come from. She also asked Zou Jintu, who was going down the mountain to get pesticide, to buy her a larger mirror. “You mustn’t look at your face. It’s a mess.” “I don’t care. I want to look at the ringworm with a large mirror.” Zou Jintu came back from her errand in town with a big mirror. It was decorated in each corner with red lacquer flowers. At the top was written fight against selfishness and criticize revisionism. Zhang Yuhe said in dismay, “You embroider elegant designs, yet you bought a mirror in such poor taste.” Zou Jintu smiled. “All the mirrors are like this now. An ugly mirror for an ugly face. It suits you just fine.” Zhang Yuhe raised the mirror, ready to break it, but Zou Jintu grabbed her arm. “Don’t. Let this ugly mirror take all the ugliness from you.” A person’s greatest vulnerabilities are often revealed to them when they look in a mirror. Zhang Yuhe sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t ever a beauty, and now I simply look worse. And I’m also a counterrevolutionary. No one will ever want me.” Zou Jintu said in a small voice, “I do. I want you.” These words were really shocking! Zhang Yuhe took the large mirror and



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

59

turned away. Zou Jintu followed her and gave her a small package. Inside were six brand-new plastic buttons. On the wrapping was written in pencil: sew these buttons on to replace the ones that were yanked off your jacket.

At this moment, Zhang Yuhe couldn’t help but remember what Huang Junshu had said: “when you need her, she always materializes.” Soon, Zhang Yuhe received her mother’s letter and a package. The letter said: My dearest Yuhe, I received your letter telling me that you have ringworm on your face. This isn’t something to be taken lightly. You should be patient and treat it very carefully. The medical treatment there is inadequate, so I’ll help you to the best of my ability! Don’t worry. You must have been indirectly exposed. You have to keep in mind that from now on you’re a carrier of ringworm. You have to keep your towels, basin, and clothes away from others. You mustn’t spread this through carelessness. Ringworm is a fungal infection; it won’t affect your general health. You mustn’t worry too much. You’ll get better over time. Of course your skin will itch a lot, but you mustn’t scratch it. If you do, it will get worse. You have to pay particular attention to your hygiene: wash your face with warm water, and don’t use too much soap. Clip your fingernails often. Don’t eat spicy food. You’ll get well, my dear. I’m sending two tubes of ointment to rub on your skin. Apply it to the affected parts twice a day. Don’t spread it beyond the affected areas and don’t get it into your eyes. There’s also a box of petroleum jelly; use this to protect the surrounding, unaffected skin. I’ve added some towels, handkerchiefs, sanitary napkins, and a bar of low-alkaline soap. If these things are against the prison rules, please explain to the supervisors why you need them. You have been strong and steadfast. You must work hard and study hard, and strengthen your reform efforts. You have to accept the prison supervision. Aim for leniency from the government so that you can come home soon. I’m waiting for you! Mother

Wu Yanlan looked closely at the ointment and said enviously, “You’re so lucky to have a family out there.” Zhang Yuhe held up the letter with both hands and pressed it against her ringworm-covered face. Her tears ran along the edges of the letter. A convict couldn’t afford to think of family, of life, of anything.

60

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Chapter 4

It was early Sunday morning. What a beautiful day! Floating over the mountaintop were flimsy white clouds, which in minutes turned rose-colored, then purple, and finally golden. It was also a beautiful day because prisoners didn’t have to work on Sundays. Zhang Yuhe was in a rare good mood. She finished washing, then picked up a small wooden box from beside her pillow and took out the ointment her mother had sent. She squeezed the yellowish cream onto her fingertip and applied it as she looked into the mirror. In the opera troupe, she had often observed actresses applying makeup; this usually took more than an hour. The most common praise for an actress was that she “had both good looks and talent,” but everyone knew that looks were more important than talent. At this moment, Zhang Yuhe fantasized that she was applying a form of makeup. Usually she felt rushed at mealtimes; even though she shoveled the food into her mouth as fast as she could, she was always the last to finish, and for this she was endlessly criticized by Su Runjia. At breakfast on a Sunday, however, she could be as relaxed as she used to be at home. If she wanted to, she could take half an hour to eat a bowl of porridge, one spoonful at a time. She had something important to do today: after the fight with Luo Anxiu, she told herself she would talk to someone about a matter she had never discussed with anyone, not even the brainy Jiang Qidan. So after breakfast, she sat on her cot, watching Yi Fengzhu. When she saw her headed toward the toilet, she followed her. Zhang Yuhe said to her, “Let’s go out to the wall behind the cell. I want to ask you something.” “Can’t you ask it here?” “No.” Seeing Zhang Yuhe’s serious expression, Yi Fengzhu followed her. The wall was beside a vegetable plot that was tended by some of the women prisoners. The vegetables were the ordinary kinds—pumpkins, beans, cabbage, a type of lettuce, hot peppers, eggplant, carrots, and turnips—and the women prisoners were allowed to eat whatever they grew there. They also tended a vegetable plot for the guards that was more varied; they didn’t use chemical fertilizers on them but night soil from the women prisoners. The turnips grown for the guards were small, crispy, and savory; those for the prisoners were bigger but



61

coarse and watery, and didn’t taste at all like turnips. Zhang Yuhe learned in prison that the kind of fertilizer affected the quality of the vegetables. Yi Fengzhu watched the group of prisoners who were assigned to tending the garden as they carried baskets of large turnips to the convicts’ kitchen. She couldn’t hold back from cursing. “This kind of turnip is good only for fucking the cunts of the garden group.” When the women prisoners in the garden group heard this, they burst out laughing. Not knowing what was so funny, Zhang Yuhe turned to Su Runjia. “Yi Fengzhu shouted abuse at them, and yet they’re happy. What’s going on?” Su Runjia said scornfully, “What’s going on? It’s because they’re enjoying being fucked.” She knew that most of the prisoners in the garden group had been convicted of fraud, and the target of their fraud was their own bodies. Even so, could a person say that she was “enjoying being fucked”? Zhang Yuhe disliked Monitor Su’s ridicule and her disdainful looks. When someone reported Yi Fengzhu’s dirty language to Chen, the mess officer who was in charge of the garden group, she also burst out laughing. It seemed that prison had its own ideas about what was funny. In fact, Zhang Yuhe’s meeting with Yi Fengzhu today was connected with dirty words. She said to her, “I want you to teach me some dirty swear words.” “Hey, hey,” Yi Fengzhu said, drawing back and sneering. “Are you trying to get me into trouble?” She turned to leave, but Zhang Yuhe caught her by the sleeve. “Don’t go. I mean it,” she pleaded. “Really?” Zhang Yuhe’s eyes were moist. “Yi Fengzhu, I’ll be in here for twenty years. Please help me. I can’t take being abused for twenty years.” Then she bowed and said earnestly, “You’re the expert. Please accept me as your pupil.” Yi Fengzhu hadn’t expected Zhang Yuhe to be so sincere. She was happily surprised. “In my whole life, no one has ever called me an expert. Now in prison, I’m an expert, and my pupil is a university graduate!” The tutoring began at once. Staring directly into Zhang Yuhe’s eyes, she said, “Fuck! Repeat after me, fuck.” Zhang Yuhe opened her mouth, but no sound came out. “Say it!” Yi Fengzhu urged. She moved her lips slowly in order to show her how to form the word. Zhang Yuhe opened her mouth wide and brought the word fuck to her throat, but she couldn’t get it out. She blushed bright red. Yi Fengzhu stood behind Zhang Yuhe and cursed again. “Fuck.” She smacked Zhang Yuhe on the back as if to force the word out of her. Zhang Yuhe was so unnerved that she cried. Yi Fengzhu ran out of patience. Staring at her, she said, “Forget about decency. If you can be shameless in other ways, you can curse with dirty words. Also, you don’t have to take the dirty words too seriously. When you say fuck, do you really fuck? Of course not. The dirty words are said simply to express anger and hatred!”

62

Mānoa

n

The Zither

The word fuck burst out of Zhang Yuhe’s mouth. “Great!” Yi Fengzhu applauded enthusiastically. Like a stern teacher, she commanded her student, “Say I fuck.” “I fuck.” “I fuck your mother!” Zhang Yuhe repeated, “I fuck your mother.” Yi Fengzhu started teaching her other sentences. “I fuck your grandma! I fuck eight generations of your ancestors! I fuck all the virgins in your family! I fuck . . .” After she finished going through the fuck word, Yi Fengzhu started teaching Zhang Yuhe the screw variations. And after that, she began on the various dirty words for sex organs. She said, “This is also a powerful weapon for abuse.” “It’s too obscene. I won’t learn it.” “You need to learn at least a little. Otherwise, when someone says these words, you won’t know what they’re saying.” “Really?” “Okay, I’ll test you. Do you know what ‘straight mouth’ is? What is ‘cross mouth’? When someone says ‘sell your straight mouth to feed your cross mouth,’ what does she mean?” “I don’t understand. Please say it again.” She repeated it, and Zhang Yuhe shook her head. “I can’t guess. Why don’t you tell me?” “The cross mouth is the mouth on your face; the straight mouth refers to the vagina. Don’t you get it? Weren’t those bitches in the garden group once prostitutes? Doesn’t a whore sell her ‘straight mouth’ to feed her ‘cross mouth’?” Zhang Yuhe was dumbstruck. She sighed, “Nothing I ever learned before is useful here, and I still know hardly anything.” A sadness fell over Yi Fengzhu’s face. Speaking to herself as well as to Zhang Yuhe, she said, “Serving a prison sentence is simply a matter of getting through the days. I’m not sure one can become a better person here, but it’s easy to become worse.” “I’ll fuck you until your flower blossoms in all four seasons.” This was the last curse she learned from Yi Fengzhu. The expression was vivid and powerful. Zhang Yuhe really admired Yi Fengzhu’s expertise in cursing. When she returned to the prison yard, Zhang Yuhe saw Luo Anxiu and beckoned to her. “Come,” she said, smiling, “I have something to say to you.” Luo Anxiu walked over innocently. Zhang Yuhe held her by the shoulders and whispered in her ear, “I fuck your mother!”



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

63

Chapter 5

Mess Officer Chen’s husband lived in another county seat. Every year after the tea leaves were harvested, she took her little boy to visit him and they went on a long vacation together. This year, she returned to the squadron wearing a new scarlet coat. She had also cut her braids and now wore her hair short. She still curled her bangs, and now they looked like sausages hanging across her forehead. She didn’t look any prettier with the new hairstyle, but she definitely looked younger. The women prisoners were always interested in any changes in the guards’ appearances. For days on end, the scarlet coat and the sausage-like bangs were constant topics of conversation. For example, they debated whether bangs on the forehead were pretty or not. Anything that was unrelated to “labor reform,” no matter how trivial, was entertainment for the women prisoners. When Zhang Yuhe first arrived in the prison, she thought the women were shallow. But before a year passed, she was no different from them. Yi Fengzhu was the first to notice that, after coming back from her home visit, Mess Officer Chen spent more time with Deng Mei, the work section guard. They usually went to the guards’ dining room for their meals and often stood on the balcony chatting, eating melon seeds, enjoying the sunshine, and knitting sweaters. In good weather, Mess Officer Chen sometimes went with Deng Mei to the section’s work site. They watched the women prisoners work and sometimes chatted with them. The ones they chose to talk with were always the strong, capable prisoners, like Yang Fenfang, Zou Jintu, and Liu Yueying. And there was always just one topic: trees. That subject led to a discussion of timber in general, which in turn led to the best wood for making furniture. After talking about ordinary furniture, they went on to talk about high-quality furniture. Although they weren’t speaking loudly, they couldn’t avoid being overheard by the other women prisoners. Zhang Yuhe liked listening to them. Anything they said was more interesting than the boring work she was forced to do. Once she interjected. “I know that the best woods for furniture are camphor, nanmu, and rosewood. Camphor is good for making trunks, while rosewood makes good tables and chairs.” Su Runjia glared at her. “Mess Officer Chen didn’t ask you.”

64

Over dinner that evening, Zhang Yuhe asked Monitor Su, “Did Mess Officer Chen ever study botany? Why is she so interested in wood?” “Don’t be nosy, Zhang Yuhe,” Su Runjia replied angrily. “Mind your own business.” “I was just asking. Why are you blowing up at me? I’ll ask someone else tomorrow.” “Don’t do that. I mean it.” Zhang Yuhe was so annoyed that she picked up her bowl and found a table far away from Monitor Su. Saturday evening was the most relaxing time for the women prisoners because they had Sundays off. On those evenings, Zhang Yuhe would take out her mother’s letters, reread them, and think about what to write in her letter home the next day. From outside, she heard Deng Mei’s voice calling out, “Su Runjia, come to the squadron’s office!” When Su Runjia returned, she said to Yang Fenfang and Zou Jintu, “Guard Deng wants to see you in the squadron’s office.” When the two came back from the meeting, Yi Fengzhu asked them, “What did Guard Deng want?” “We have to do something for her tomorrow.” “What?” “I can’t tell you.” “What time will you go out?” “We’ll be gone before you’re up,” Yang Fenfang said. When they heard this, the other prisoners knew that the two were being sent to the county seat. One after another, they asked them to buy daily necessities and food for them. Nobody would have thought that Yang Fenfang, who was always kindly, would refuse. “We won’t have time,” she said. Zhang Yuhe asked Zou Jintu in a low voice, “What is this mission—that you don’t even have time for some shopping?” Zou Jintu winked, but didn’t answer. The next day, Sunday, Zhang Yuhe washed her clothes, then took out paper and pen to write a letter home. She told her mother of her progress in curing ringworm: since she started using the ointment, her face was much better; the ringworm was at least confined to one place and hadn’t spread. After she finished the letter, she asked Deng Mei to inspect it and seal it. Deng Mei asked, “Is your mother a medical doctor or a surgeon?” “Guard Deng,” Zhang Yuhe said, “my mother says that hospitals have done away with the distinction between medicine and surgery. Now they combine the two in 6–26 treatment rooms.” “Oh,” Deng Mei said, “okay, leave the letter here. You may go back to the cell.” Zhang Yuhe wanted to ask her where Yang Fenfang and Zou Jintu had gone and why they hadn’t returned. But lacking the nerve, she obediently went back to the cell.



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

65

When the sun went down, the mountain range became all but invisible in the darkness and stars twinkled in the sky. Dinner was over with. As usual, it had been a bowl of pumpkin soup with cabbage in it and one corn biscuit. Because Sunday wasn’t a working day, Zhang Yuhe took even more time over the meal. She broke the corn biscuit into pieces and ate one small bite at a time. She mashed the large piece of pumpkin with her spoon, turning the soup orange. She imagined that she had a bowl of borscht before her. She kept thinking about Yang Fenfang and Zou Jintu. They didn’t return until well past dark, looking very tired. When she slipped her coat off, Zou Jintu took three leaves out of her pocket and hastily handed them to Zhang Yuhe. Before there was time to say anything, Mess Officer Chen called Zou Jintu and Yang Fenfang into the squadron’s office. Zhang Yuhe looked closely at the leaves: they were oval, thick, and ten centimeters long. The veins were clear. One side was glossy green, the other side dull gray. The fragrant leaves had such a familiar scent! And in her imagination, the scent carried Zhang Yuhe back to her old home. There had been two old-style trunks for clothes there. When they were opened, their scent was exactly like this one. Camphor. It had to be camphor! She wondered what Zou Jintu and Yang Fenfang had been doing. Had they merely gone to look at trees in the forest? Half an hour later, the two returned to the cell. The prisoners peppered them with questions. “Where on earth did you go today?” “Did you go to the city?” “What did you do?” “Did you buy anything?” The two women didn’t say anything. Just then, Little Siren walked in. She said to Yang Fenfang and Zou Jintu, “Mess Officer Chen told me to heat a pot of water. The government is being generous—letting you enjoy a bath.” After they bathed, the two picked up dinner from the convicts’ kitchen. Each got one corn biscuit. How strange: neither Yang Fenfang nor Zou Jintu ate it. Yi Fengzhu cursed them. “You tarts! Did you run into some guy on the trip? You two must have gotten laid and fed well. No wonder you didn’t want any supper.” Yang Fenfang and Zou Jintu asked Little Siren for more hot water to wash their clothing. Yi Fengzhu commented, again using her trademark dirty language, “The government was already generous enough, letting you heat water for bathing. You want still more? You even want hot water for washing clothes? Oh, I get it. You need hot water to clean out the fucking juice from your john’s dick!” They ignored her and kept washing their clothes. Yi Fengzhu wouldn’t stop assaulting them with dirty words. Suddenly, Zou Jintu pulled her clothes out of the basin, and splashed Yi Fengzhu in the face with the muddy water, drenching her hair and soaking her from head to toe. Yi Fengzhu stamped her feet, screamed, and rubbed the soap out of her eyes.

66

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Zhang Yuhe thought the incident was a little weird. Usually when the prisoners made a commotion, Su Runjia reported it. At the least, she would put a stop to it. But this time she just sat on her cot and watched. Yang Fenfang could stand it no longer. She shouted in the direction of the office. “Mess Officer Chen! Yi Fengzhu is assaulting people again.” Mess Officer Chen emerged from her room. “Who?” “Cursing Zou Jintu and me—saying that we went out today to have sex.” “I see.” In a few minutes, Mess Officer Chen and Deng Mei arrived. Mess Officer Chen said to Yi Fengzhu furiously, “Tell me what you just said.” “I was wrong. I was wrong! Mess Officer Chen and Guard Deng, please forgive me. Please.” She kept repeating these words while the soapy water dripped from her clothes. She looked wretched. Noticing that the women prisoners both in and out of the cell were watching the commotion, Mess Officer Chen raised her voice. “Although this is Sunday, I didn’t let Yang Fenfang and Zou Jintu rest today. I told them to climb up the mountain and inspect the wood. Okay? Is that all right with the rest of you? And Yi Fengzhu, you’ve done so well in reforming that I guess now you’ve become a better person than I am. Now you’ve started supervising me. Fine! I’ll give you a great opportunity to show how virtuous you are. Tomorrow, you’ll go down the mountain to headquarters to report me: tell them that Mess Officer Chen made use of the prisoners’ rest time to do things for her selfish interests.” Yi Fengzhu begged for mercy. She kept slapping herself in the face. Mess Officer Chen said, “Write a self-criticism, and I’ll look at it tomorrow. If you do a good job, I’ll be lenient.” “Guard Deng, I’m illiterate.” “Ask Zhang Yuhe to help you write it,” Deng Mei said. The whistle blew for lights out, and the cell quieted down. Yi Fengzhu asked Little Siren for a ladle of cold water to wash her face. She changed her clothes and sat opposite Zhang Yuhe. Looking forlorn, she said nothing. Zhang Yuhe said, “You speak, and I’ll write it down.” Yi Fengzhu began crying. “Say something, will you?” She continued to cry. Zhang Yuhe grew impatient. “Hurry up. We’d better finish this quickly. We still have to work tomorrow.” Sobbing, Yi Fengzhu said, “I don’t know how to talk. I can only curse and swear. Please help me!” “Then I’d be the one doing the self-criticism, wouldn’t I?” “I owe you, okay? I promise I’ll never curse you even if I curse everyone else.” Zhang Yuhe was amused. As soon as she picked up the pen, Yi Fengzhu stopped crying. She tapped Zhang Yuhe on the shoulder and said in a low voice, “Look, Zou Jintu is coming.” “She’s going to the toilet,” Zhang Yuhe said without looking up.

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

67

“She’s not. She’s up to something.” Yi Fengzhu was right. Zou Jintu didn’t go to the toilet. Instead, she headed toward the wooden rack where the prisoners kept their basins, bowls, and chopsticks. This rack stood against the wall at one end of the courtyard. Each work section had a similar four-tiered wooden rack. Everything was arranged according to the location of a person’s cot. Since Zhang Yuhe slept next to Su Runjia, their basins, bowls, crocks, spoons, and chopsticks were next to each other. “Look!” Yi Fengzhu tapped Zhang Yuhe’s shoulder again. Zhang Yuhe stopped writing and watched Zou Jintu walk to the side of the wooden rack. “She just wants to get some water to drink.” They saw Zou Jintu look furtively around, take something out of her pocket, then quickly put it into the enameled crock. Then she left in a hurry. Yi Fengzhu got very excited. She squinted with curiosity and said to Zhang Yuhe, “That isn’t Zou Jintu’s place. It’s Huang Junshu’s! What’s that white thing? It must be something to eat! I’m going over there to find out.” She bounded to the rack like a monkey before Zhang Yuhe was able to stop her, then bounded back, as if she had discovered a new continent. She whispered to Zhang Yuhe. “It’s steamed bread! Steamed bread!” Zhang Yuhe’s eyes sparkled. She looked up at the starry sky. As if reciting poetry she said, “Steamed bread, steamed bread. How long has it been since I’ve seen you? Steamed bread, steamed bread. I want so much to hold you and put you in my mouth.” Yi Fengzhu laughed out loud. “It’s got to be part of the lunch that Mess Officer Chen gave Yang Fenfang and Zou Jintu in exchange for their errand. Zou Jintu saved hers for Huang Junshu. Knowing what a glutton you are, I’m going to steal it for you. It’s my thanks to you for writing my self-criticism for me.” “Yi Fengzhu! You mustn’t take the steamed bread. That would also implicate Mess Officer Chen.” At the mention of Mess Officer Chen’s name, Yi Fengzhu sat down obediently. Before long, Huang Junshu’s thin figure appeared. She walked over to the rack and retrieved the steamed bread.

68

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Chapter 6

On the plateau, a chill wind heralded the arrival of autumn, when the sunlight would be less intense, birds would prepare to migrate, and the green of the mountain range would give way to shadows of low clouds and falling leaves. Autumn always fills the heart with melancholy. The broiling summer had been unbearable. Everyone was exhausted, and the cell was so hot that no one could sleep well. The coolness of autumn was taking forever to arrive. But when it came, and the last tea leaves had been harvested, the women prisoners began catching up on their sleep. Even the ones who loved to do needlework under the lights in the evening would fall asleep early. Zhang Yuhe began getting ready for bed before the study session started. Impatient for the meeting to end, she couldn’t stop yawning. As soon as the session was over, she immediately crawled under her quilt and slept soundly. Suddenly at midnight, a whistle pierced the silence. All the lights went on. Su Runjia, who was already dressed, shouted, “Get up! Get dressed. Assemble in the courtyard. Now!” The prisoners were baffled and looked at each other in panic, expecting that something terrible had happened. “What’s going on?” Zhang Yuhe whispered. “Why are they waking us up in the middle of the night?” When she had reluctantly left the cell and reached the courtyard, she was stunned. Zou Jintu and Huang Junshu, wearing only their underclothes, were standing in the center with their heads bowed. Zou Jintu was slouching, her thick hair covering her forehead and eyes. Huang Junshu’s face was flushed. The wind had stilled; silvery moonlight filled the sky, creating a dreamlike scene; everything was wrapped in a soft, bright gauze. The prisoners were now fully awake. They stood woodenly, not knowing what to think. Zhang Yuhe asked Monitor Su, “What did they do?” “Don’t ask me.” Yi Fengzhu, with her loose tongue, said, “Fuck. The two of them were grinding bean curd under the quilt, and they were caught with their pants down by Monitor Su as she was passing by on her way to the toilet. She reported them to Guard Deng.” “Oh no!” Zhang Yuhe exclaimed.



69

The women prisoners lined up to be counted. Su Runjia rushed to the squadron’s office to report. “Guard Deng Mei, everyone is here. Only Chen Huilian is still in bed.” Deng Mei walked slowly down the steps, her face expressionless. She said to Su Runjia, “Chen Huilian isn’t very sick, is she?” “She doesn’t seem to be.” “Then set up a wooden stool, bring her out, and have her sit and be educated.” Chen Huilian was shaking from the cold as Luo Anxiu dragged her out. Jiang Qidan caught up with them and draped a small padded jacket over Chen Huilian’s shoulders. Zhang Yuhe didn’t understand. What was wrong with Deng Mei? She was usually fair minded and kind. Deng Mei said to Little Siren, “Bring me a chair. I need to investigate what went on tonight.” The corners of Jiang Qidan’s mouth turned up a little and she said to herself, This kind of thing needs to be investigated. Will any of us get any sleep tonight? Zou Jintu had a strong constitution; she could bear up. But poor Huang Junshu—her thin legs were already quivering. Seeing her miserable expression, Zhang Yuhe felt dread and grief. The bright moon illuminated everything in the courtyard with unusual clarity. But Zhang Yuhe felt as if she had been dragged into the depths of a gloomy forest, where darkness pressed in on her. The interrogation and struggle session began! Deng Mei asked sarcastically, “Zou Jintu, someone told me that you didn’t rest tonight after working all day long. Is that true? What on earth were you doing in Huang Junshu’s bed?” Zou Jintu said nothing. “Answer me!” Zou Jintu still said nothing. Deng Mei turned to Huang Junshu, “Then you tell me: what did Zou Jintu do under your quilt?” Huang Junshu’s voice was barely audible. “She came to see me.” “Bullshit!” Deng Mei laughed. “Why did she have to see you at midnight? Why did she have to lie in your bed to see you? Tell me, what did she see under your quilt?” Huang Junshu didn’t answer. It was deathly quiet. Playing with the ends of her braids, Deng Mei kept going. “All right, neither of you is talking. I can wait while everyone here keeps you company. We’ll do this all night long. Anyhow, I’m not the one who has to get up and go to work early tomorrow morning.” Deng Mei looked around at the women prisoners. “But every one of you does!” This got the prisoners’ attention. “Talk, you two!” “Hurry up and talk!”

70

Mānoa

n

The Zither

“Hurry up and confess, so we can all go back to sleep.” “You did it, but you can’t talk about it?” Zou Jintu still said nothing. Huang Junshu bowed her head lower. The prisoners grew more impatient. Little Siren shouted, “Guard Deng, strip their pants off and see if that’ll make them talk.” Luo Anxiu chimed in. “If she won’t take them off, I’ll do it.” Yi Fengzhu was also getting excited. “Let’s take a good look at these women’s smelly cunts, see if they got callused from grinding.” Now that some were speaking out, others chimed in. “Yes, take off their pants!” “Both of them!” “Do it! Now!” The courtyard was filled with shouts of “Take them off !” Zhang Yuhe’s heart constricted. She closed her eyes. She didn’t have the strength to continue watching. She thought this was no different from the time in a struggle session when Commissar Li smashed his fist into Wu Lixue’s beautiful eyes and kicked her delicate waist. Actually, this was more barbaric. Just then, a voice came from the line of prisoners. “What are you all doing? What’s happening is uncivilized. Every woman has a vagina. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” The one speaking was Li Xuezhen, the prisoner who had earned a Ph.D. in the U.S. After she spoke, she proudly tossed back her shoulder-length, jet-black hair. She didn’t sound one bit crazy. This unexpected objection caught Deng Mei off guard. But Monitor Su and some others counterattacked. “What do you mean by uncivilized?!” “Is grinding bean curd civilized?” “Fuck her! Kill this counterreformist.” “Down with American imperialism!” The prisoners began fighting with Li Xuezhen. They pulled her out of the line and pushed her into the center next to Huang Junshu, denouncing them all. Luo Anxiu dashed over to Li Xuezhen and kicked her ankles hard. The woman with the doctorate fell to the ground, and no one helped her up. Once you’ve become a convict, you’re a plank in the floor of a public toilet: anyone can step on you or pee on you. Zhang Yuhe was furious. She couldn’t stand what was happening any longer. She yelled at Luo Anxiu. “How dare you kick people!” “I did—so what? Anyone is allowed to attack counterreformists!” “Does the prison have such a rule?” Zhang Yuhe wasn’t backing down. Deng Mei jumped in and stopped the argument between Zhang Yuhe and Luo Anxiu. “Shut up! Both of you!” Then she turned back to Zou Jintu. “Talk. What did you do under her quilt?” Zou Jintu still said nothing. “Are you playing deaf?” Deng Mei decided her authority was being challenged. Angrily she shouted, “Yang Fenfang, get a rope. Tie her up.”



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

71

The threat of torture can shake the foundation of even someone as strong as Zou Jintu. Alarmed by Deng Mei’s words, she dropped to her knees with a thump and begged. “Guard Deng, I was wrong. Please go easy on me!” Deng Mei turned away, her chin high. Yang Fenfang brought a rope from the cell and handed it to her. Deng Mei looked at it. “Why did you bring just one rope? Go back and get another!” Everyone fell silent. No one even coughed. The courtyard was so quiet they could hear the chirping of insects. Yang Fenfang reluctantly got another rope. “Liu Yueying,” Deng Mei ordered “you tie up one of them, and Yang Fenfang, you tie up the other.” “Guard Deng,” Liu Yueying said, “my sentence will soon be over. Can’t you ask someone who’s serving a long sentence to do this?” “I ordered you to do it.” Reluctantly, Liu Yueying gave in and walked over to Huang Junshu. Zou Jintu and Huang Junshu were forced to stand back-to-back, then were tied together with their arms twisted behind them. As the rope was tightened more and more, it wasn’t ten minutes before their arms and hands turned purple. Zhang Yuhe had never seen anything like this; she felt a chill, as if a cold wind were sweeping past. This torture had a clever name—mandarin duck binding—and was typically used to punish homosexual behavior in prison. The pain of mandarin duck binding is many times worse than being tied up individually: if either prisoner moves even slightly, the body of the other one is yanked. In this way, each one’s pain causes the other to suffer greater pain. The two prisoners continue torturing each other for as long as they are tied up together. Huang Junshu was too frail to endure any form of restraint, much less mandarin duck binding. She bent over from the waist, looked up, twisted her arms, and kicked her feet. The shouts that came out of her—someone who ordinarily spoke softly—were like nails scraping over glass. Zou Jintu tried to endure silently. No matter how violently Huang Junshu twisted around, she did her best to stand firmly in one place and grit her teeth. Finally, Huang Junshu couldn’t bear it any longer. She dropped to her knees, wrenching Zou Jintu off balance and making her cry out in pain. Her screeching voice “Aiya, Aiya!” was no longer human. She spat a broken tooth from her mouth. All of a sudden, the health worker, Wu Yanlan, ran up to Deng Mei and said in a low voice, “Guard Deng, Chen Huilian isn’t doing well. It’s her heart.” Deng Mei was alarmed. “Su Runjia, Jiang Qidan—carry Chen Huilian to the clinic. Wu Yanlan, examine her right away.” Wu Yanlan frowned. “She’s very old, and has a poor constitution. Treating her at the squadron’s clinic probably won’t do any good.” Normally a guard could abuse a prisoner in whatever way they wanted, but when it was a matter of life and death, the guards had to exercise caution. For the moment, Deng Mei turned away from the suffering of Zou Jintu and Huang Junshu. She ran to the office and phoned the infirmary located at the foot of

72

Mānoa

n

The Zither

the mountain. In the infirmary, prisoners were treated by other prisoners, but some had been physicians before they were locked up and so were better qualified than the doctors at the county hospital. Once, Zhang Yuhe had had an unbearable toothache. Deng Mei authorized her to go to the infirmary to have the tooth extracted. She didn’t know that the prisoner who pulled her tooth was actually a doctor from the oral surgery department of the prestigious Western China Medical College. When Zhang Yuhe told Deng Mei about this, Deng Mei said, “In the labor reform squadron, there are two places where capable people can be found. One is in the infirmary; the other is in the opera troupe.” “The opera troupe?” Zhang Yuhe said in surprise. “Yes,” Deng Mei said smugly, “all the roles are played by professionals. New shows are performed every year. Even the provincial police officers travel long distances to attend these events.” Meanwhile, Zou Jintu and Huang Junshu writhed on the ground, their cries becoming moans. Deng Mei hurried over and squatted next to them. She shouted at Huang Junshu, “Speak up—what did Zou Jintu do under the quilt?” “Guard Deng, if I tell you, please be lenient with me—” “Tell me, and I’ll loosen the ropes.” “She touched me.” Deng Mei curled her lip. “What do you mean she ‘touched’ you? She fucked you?!” The prisoners erupted into gales of laughter. “Go on, speak. What did she really do to you?” Deng Mei’s harsh interrogation raised the struggle to a higher level. Like plants that had just been fertilized, everyone quivered with new energy. Huang Junshu spat out the words with difficulty. “She . . . she touched me down there with her fingers.” “How far did she go? Tell us!” “Her hand went inside.” “How many fingers did she put inside? Speak up!” “At first it was one.” “And then?” “Another. . .” Deng Mei pressed Huang Junshu further. “Did she use any other implement?” Huang Junshu just shook her head, and then she fainted. Deng Mei was satisfied with this confession and announced, “Untie them. You’re all dismissed. Go back to sleep. Lights out.” Zhang Yuhe was paralyzed by what she’d seen. She went back to the cell, covered herself with her quilt, and wept.



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

73

Chapter 7

The officials in the squadron decided that Chen Huilian’s health had deteriorated so much that she should be taken down the mountain to the infirmary. Chen Huilian accepted this calmly. She didn’t express gratitude to the government; she just said to Su Runjia, “Please ask Jiang Qidan to come and help me pack.” Su Runjia checked to see if this was permissible before she agreed. But Jiang Qidan wasn’t happy about it and complained. “Isn’t she just going to see a doctor? What does she have to pack?” “I need to get a few things together,” Chen Huilian said. “If Jiang Qidan doesn’t want to help me, could you ask Zhang Yuhe?” “I’d like to help!” Zhang Yuhe said at once. Staying behind in the cell a little longer meant less time working on the mountain. The women prisoners lined up to go out and begin their workday. Zou Jintu, who used to walk at the front of the group, dragged along at the back. Zhang Yuhe saw that Zou Jintu and Huang Junshu had not recovered from their torture. Couldn’t the two women be given a half-day off? She felt that Deng Mei was being hardhearted. When the others had gone, Zhang Yuhe and Chen Huilian were the only ones left in the cell. “I think you only need to take a few articles of clothing and some money,” Zhang Yuhe told her. “You’ll probably come back soon, after the doctor examines you. Don’t forget to ask the doctor to write a note saying that you need to rest.” “Even if I come back to the squadron, I still need to put my things in order,” Chen Huilian said firmly. She pulled out the white shirt, white trousers, white towel, and white handkerchief that she’d been keeping under her pillow. Once a month, the guards inspected the cell, including everyone’s clothing. Chen Huilian’s clothes were mostly white and always extremely clean—in contrast to the other prisoners’ clothing. “Are you going to take all of those?” Zhang Yuhe asked. “No, but I have to tidy up anyhow.” She also had a beautiful, light-gray cardigan that was almost new and had silver-colored metal buttons. Zhang Yuhe looked at the label and said in surprise, “It’s cashmere, from England! My mother has one like this.” “Take it. It’s yours now,” Chen Huilian said listlessly.

74

“But when you get out of prison, you’ll be so pretty when you wear this.” “Really?” she answered casually. She smiled bleakly. Behind each prisoner’s pillow was a space two feet square where the women stored all their belongings. Behind Chen Huilian’s pillow, she’d also kept a rectangular, green-and-white cracker tin. It was quite old. On the lid was written in English cream crackers. Chen Huilian said, “Open this, and see what’s inside.” The lid was tight, and it took a lot of strength for Zhang Yuhe to pry it open. Oh, it was full of corn biscuits! Each one had been sliced into thin strips and roasted until they were crisp. They were lined up in perfect order. It was really surprising that Chen Huilian had stored so much food in the tin; most of the prisoners were hungry all the time. Zhang Yuhe asked, “Why didn’t you eat them? What are you saving them for?” “I’m old. I don’t eat much. Sometimes, I eat only vegetables, so my corn bread is left over. I ask the two women on night duty to help me slice the biscuits and roast them on the charcoal brazier. Of course, first I tell them that they may each have one.” “Are you going to take the cracker tin to the clinic? The food at the clinic should be better than the food here.” “I’m leaving soon. I’ll give this to you, too.” Zhang Yuhe shook her head in annoyance. “No, no! It’s against the prison rules. And even if it weren’t, I couldn’t take it.” Chen Huilian was a little upset. “At a time like this, how can you still talk of prison rules? Hurry up and take the corn biscuits. Don’t let anyone see you. Hide them. When you’re hungry, eat some. There are just a few anyway.” In prison, one corn biscuit was worth more than gold and silver. Zhang Yuhe hesitated before accepting such a wonderful gift. Pointing at the cashmere sweater, Chen Huilian said, “If you won’t take this, please find an opportunity to give it to Jiang Qidan.” Zhang Yuhe couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She reached out and felt Chen Huilian’s forehead, as if checking to see if she had a fever. “What’s wrong with you? That’s nonsense. You won’t be able to take your things back after you’ve given them away.” “I know what I’m doing. I’m not crazy,” Chen Huilian said. Someone outside the door was shouting for Chen Huilian to hurry. It sounded like Little Siren. Flustered, Chen Huilian pulled out a piece of cloth from an inner pocket and solemnly handed it to Zhang Yuhe. Written on it was an address in Macao, along with a man’s name. “Is this your husband’s name and address?” “Yes. You’ll get out of prison at some point, and when you do, if you’re willing, please write him a letter at this address. Just tell him I love him.” I love him. It had been a very, very long time since Zhang Yuhe had heard those words spoken. Hot tears welled up in her eyes, and all at once she hugged Chen Huilian and said, “You’ll get better.”

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

75

Chen Huilian stretched out her shriveled hands and patted Zhang Yuhe’s arm. “I’m not sick,” she said. “I’m just weary. I’ve already turned all of my fortune and misfortune over to God. I have nothing of importance left.” Suddenly, Zhang Yuhe remembered something. “Don’t you have a daughter here in China?” she asked. “If it’s possible, I’ll get in touch with her first! Even if your husband has left you, you could still live out your old age with your daughter. That would be nice.” Chen Huilian’s expression changed, and the corners of her mouth quivered. She seemed to be doing her best to hold her emotions in check. Zhang Yuhe realized that her words had hurt the older woman in some way. She said quickly, “I’m so sorry I mentioned your daughter and made you feel bad.” “No, I don’t feel bad. Don’t you know? My daughter is the one who informed on me. That’s why I’m in prison.” Zhang Yuhe was shocked. She couldn’t believe it. “Why? Why did she do that?” “Because a person who doesn’t believe in God is capable of any evil.” Little Siren came in, lifted Chen Huilian onto her back, and strode out the gate with her. Zhang Yuhe did her best to smile. Goodbye! In that moment, she felt that the decrepit Chen Huilian was incredibly beautiful. The remaining luster of her life shone on her face. Zhang Yuhe held the strip of cloth with the address on it and had the sense that she was in the presence of something sacred. Before the sun set behind the mountain, the wasteland already felt chilly. Today, as the prisoners worked, they felt less tired because they had something to talk about: Chen Huilian. Someone said she was seriously ill and would surely be hospitalized. Another said that the infirmary wouldn’t admit anyone who was going to die soon, so she would surely be carried back here to the prison clinic. Someone else said that either way Little Siren would be worn out carrying her. Zhang Yuhe, who usually loved to talk, didn’t say much. The smile that had been on Chen Huilian’s face lingered in Zhang Yuhe’s heart. And the daughter’s betrayal troubled her, creating a whirlpool of feelings. Jiang Qidan didn’t take part in this discussion either. When she had secretly accepted the cashmere sweater that Zhang Yuhe held out to her, she couldn’t help but look up at heaven and pray. “Be quiet—all of you!” Su Runjia shouted. “Listen, is someone in the forest calling my name?” Yi Fengzhu had good eyes and sharp hearing. She listened for a while and then said, “It’s Little Siren shouting!” The prisoners looked at each other in alarm. What was there for Little Siren to be shouting about? Either she had taken Chen Huilian to the hospital and left her, or she was carrying her back. So why would she be shouting for Su Runjia? Monitor Su said to Yi Fengzhu, “Go over to the mountain path and check on her. Perhaps she fell.”

76

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Yi Fengzhu dashed like the wind. No one had the heart to keep working while they waited. Nor did they feel like talking. The atmosphere was tense, and they were all fretting. Chen Huilian had been sentenced to prison for “spying for foreign countries,” the worst of the political crimes. Even though most of the prisoners didn’t associate with Chen Huilian, nonetheless, those who were serving long sentences were all sensitive to “the unexpected” and “death”—because death could befall anyone in the same plight. Su Runjia’s face clouded over; years of prison life gave her a premonition. From far away came the faint sound of weeping. All the prisoners stopped where they were and scanned the twisting mountain path. At last they saw Little Siren and Yi Fengzhu. They were crying and supporting each other. Chen Huilian was not with them. Little Siren was crying herself hoarse. Staggering along the path, she no longer had the air of a kitchen worker. When they arrived, Su Runjia asked, “Where’s Chen Huilian?” “She’s dead,” said Yi Fengzhu. Dead? The prisoners all stared, tongue-tied. Jiang Qidan rushed over to Little Siren in shock and pulled at her sleeve. “Dead?!” she shouted. “How can she be dead? What did you do to her?” Little Siren collapsed to her knees. She spoke through her tears, sobbing and incoherent. It was a long time before she was able to tell them what had happened. Carrying Chen Huilian down the mountain on her back, Little Siren had hurried all the way to the infirmary at headquarters. But the officials refused to admit her and only prescribed a little medicine. She was told to take the old woman away. Little Siren pleaded with them. Chen Huilian, however, said, “All right, all right. Save your breath. I give up. Let’s find a place to eat before we start back. I’d like a bowl of rice.” Sitting at a table in a restaurant, Chen Huilian kept urging Little Siren to eat her fill: one bowl wasn’t enough; she should have another. After they finished their lunch, the two didn’t linger; they would have to cross over at least five hills to get back. Little Siren wasn’t like the workers who were used to climbing up and down the mountains every day. Carrying Chen Huilian on her back, she felt the old woman getting heavier and heavier. Exhausted, she tried her best to keep going. When they reached the steep forested slope at Tercel Peak, Chen Huilian said, “Put me down. I need to relieve myself. And you need to rest.” Little Siren put her down. “Why don’t you just piddle at the side of the path?” Chen Huilian told her she had to defecate and walked into the undergrowth near the edge of the cliff. When she hadn’t come back after several minutes, Little Siren worried that something was wrong and ran to search for her. Not seeing any trace, she became confused and walked back and forth. Little Siren was so frightened that she peed in her pants. She shouted Chen Huilian’s name over and over. There was no response. Only the ominous echo of her own cries.

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

77

For her part, Zhang Yuhe believed Chen Huilian had planned this. She had been determined to end her life. The old woman had been transformed into a breeze and was flying over the mountains to the east, returning to Macao. A few days later, when the prisoners returned from work, they weren’t allowed to wash up and eat supper right away. Instead, the whistle blew for them to assemble. All the guards were standing on the high platform. Everyone thought there would be an official announcement about Chen Huilian’s disappearance. But her name wasn’t even mentioned, as though she had never existed. The urgent and serious gathering was for the purpose of reading a supreme directive from Chairman Mao himself. This was strange because the prisoners usually learned of high-level instructions only from the newspapers that were read at the evening meetings. This was an exception because the supreme directive concerned all prisoners. The squadron guards formed a line, and the squadron chief spoke loudly in a resonant voice: “Listen up! Our great leader, Chairman Mao, has issued a new instruction aimed at prison supervision.” Zhang Yuhe was excited. Will there be a general pardon? There should be, as each prison cell is full to overflowing. Who would have thought that the highest directive announced by the squadron chief would contain only one sentence: prisoners should be treated like human beings. Someone said that this had to be just a comment Chairman Mao had jotted in the margin of a report about prison management. Zhang Yuhe wanted to hear more, but there was nothing beyond this one sentence. The squadron chief continued: “When the directive was sent down to us, the superiors requested that it be transmitted to all the prisons, detention centers, and reform farms. All the prisoners were to be informed. And so, we’ve done this immediately. We won’t be reading the newspaper in tonight’s study session. Instead, you’ll discuss Chairman Mao’s newest, supreme instruction.” At the study session that night, everyone was eager to speak. They unanimously expressed the view that the People’s Government had always treated prisoners like human beings. At the very end, Deng Mei noticed that Jiang Qidan hadn’t said anything during the meeting; instead, she sat hugging her knees and looking at the ceiling. Deng Mei called to her. “Jiang Qidan, tell us what your feelings are about this new, highest directive.” “Guard Deng, my feeling is that if prisoners were treated like human beings, Chen Huilian wouldn’t have died.” Her statement sent a chill through the room. The prisoners’ hearts seemed to hesitate, waiting for Deng Mei to explode in anger. But Deng Mei said nothing. She just glanced over at Su Runjia, who understood what she was thinking. “All right,” Su Runjia said. “If no one has anything else to say, I’ll explain what has to be done tomorrow. . .”

78

Mānoa

n

The Zither

The study session ended. Deng Mei hadn’t yet left the cell when she heard someone weeping. Then others joined in. Soon, the sound of crying came from every corner of the cell. Even Monitor Su—the model prisoner—was grieving, her face an image of desolation. Prison was a cold place, and the end of their sentences was far in the future. It was the same for all of them, whether they worked hard to reform themselves or refused to do so.



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

79

Chapter 8

Chen Huilian was presumed dead, but where was the body? The women convicts were deeply concerned and continued to speculate. The guards were worried and argued about it all the time. Whether a convict’s death was labeled natural or accidental, the family had to be informed, the circumstances had to be explained, and then the family could come and pick up the deceased’s belongings. Of course, how accurate the explanation was or whether the belongings included everything, only heaven knew. In any case, someone had to be sent to Tercel Peak to descend the cliff and retrieve Chen Huilian’s body. Organizing the search should have been Deng Mei’s job, but Mess Officer Chen seemed to be more enthusiastic about planning the mission. Early one morning, Deng Mei dispatched Yang Fenfang and Zou Jintu to Tercel Peak, and Little Siren was sent along to be their guide. Watching them leave, Jiang Qidan said to Zhang Yuhe, “Do you know what I’m hoping?” “You’re hoping that they find her quickly, whether she’s dead or alive.” “No. I’m hoping that they won’t find her,” Jiang Qidan said firmly. Zhang Yuhe was stunned. “Why?” “It would be wonderful to sleep forever in the arms of Mother Earth!” “What do you mean—just let the corpse be exposed to the elements?” “No, just let it return to nature.” Jiang Qidan squinted up at the sky. “Actually, I’m only trying to console myself. Last night, I couldn’t close my eyes the whole night. I was thinking of her. And I was thinking of myself—wondering about my future as a convict. I thought that if one really had reached the point of having no hope of getting out, doing what Chen Huilian did could be a rational option. God would forgive her.” Because of the uncertainty surrounding Chen Huilian’s fate, the work site was much drearier. Everyone was waiting for Yang Fenfang and Zou Jintu to come back. At a little after four o’clock in the afternoon, the search crew walked into the camp, their clothing drenched in sweat and their faces and arms covered with scratches. They were so tired that they could hardly talk. Jiang Qidan ran up to them. “Did you find her?” she asked tensely. They wearily shook their heads.

80

Su Runjia couldn’t believe it. Frowning, she said, “I’ve been to Tercel Peak more than once to cut firewood. It isn’t steep next to the main path. Chen Huilian was old and sick. Even if she jumped or slipped, she couldn’t have fallen very far. How could you not have found her?” Zou Jintu snapped back. “Well, maybe we’re just idiots. Tomorrow, why don’t you go and search for her yourself, Monitor Su.” “In order to find her,” Yang Fenfang interjected, “we tramped through that dark, flat, charcoal-burning area that you told us about. From there, we headed downslope. The path became steeper and steeper—in fact, we were at the edge of a big cliff. Large, old-growth pine trees, camphor, and nanmu made it hard to search. The trunks were thick and the branches intertwined. We had to swing like monkeys from one tree to another to descend. After several dozen meters, we came to a huge rock jutting toward the edge. We leaned against this rock and craned our necks to see over. God—the cliff was absolutely vertical. We couldn’t see to the bottom. Where was Chen Huilian?” “Is it possible that she fell and then either rolled down the cliff or jumped?” Su Runjia asked Jiang Qidan chimed in. “Is there any chance that Chen Huilian got caught in the fork of a tree, and didn’t die?” Zou Jintu was angry. “Yang Fenfang and I couldn’t find her alive or dead. That’s what I’m going to report to Guard Deng. Any of you who think you can do better, go to Tercel Peak tomorrow and try it yourselves.” With that, she stomped away. “Fine. That’s just what I will do,” said Jiang Qidan, pretending to be strong. In fact, she knew very well that even if she wanted to go, the guards wouldn’t send her—for fear she would do the same thing Chen Huilian had done. Everybody was talking excitedly. They now believed that Chen Huilian had committed suicide. But because her body hadn’t been found, there was no way to confirm it or to explain her disappearance. In the midst of the prisoners’ chatter, Deng Mei and Mess Officer Chen called Yang Fenfang and Zou Jintu to the office, along with Su Runjia. When Monitor Su returned to the cell, she announced that they had two important tasks. First, Yang Fenfang and Zou Jintu were to go Tercel Peak to search more thoroughly for proof of Chen Huilian’s death. And when they got there, they were to fell some trees. Second, Su Runjia and Zhang Yuhe were also being sent to Tercel Peak, to make charcoal for the coming winter. “Fell trees—why?” Zhang Yuhe was really curious. When no one answered, she quietly asked Yang Fenfang. “It has to do with something Mess Officer Chen has going on the side,” she said. “When Mess Officer Chen went home last spring, she saw that her family needed more furniture. She heard us say that when we were searching for Chen Huilian on Tercel Peak, we saw a lot of camphor trees and nanmu. She plotted with Guard Deng to send us there to cut some down for her private use.”



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

81

“Is she shipping the timber all the way to her home?” Zhang Yuhe asked. “Of course not! There are plenty of good carpenters and lacquerers among the male prisoners. The furniture will be made here and then transported by truck.” “Will she pay for it?” “Are you kidding?” Fell trees, make charcoal—it still sounded great to Zhang Yuhe. For 365 days a year, she did repetitious, boring farm work. Now suddenly there was a chance to do something new. This was great! Yang Fenfang, however, was very unhappy and Zou Jintu’s face was red with anger. She sat on her cot lecturing Yang Fenfang. “When you reported, you didn’t have to say that we saw nanmu. Why did you have to show off?! Even if we had found rosewood, they wouldn’t reduce our sentences! One of us might die over there, just like Chen Huilian.” Alarmed by what she was hearing, Zhang Yuhe asked Su Runjia, “Do people die felling trees?” “Felling trees won’t kill people, but carrying trees on their backs might.” “What do you mean?” Su Runjia ignored her. She just looked away. Oak is the best wood for making charcoal. You chop a tree down, cut off the branches, break off the twigs and leaves, then stack the wood on the ground. After a day or two, it dries out and you put it in a kiln. Inside the kiln, the wood is packed densely, layer on layer. Zhang Yuhe liked doing this kind of work, surrounded by high cliffs, amid ancient trees in a shaded forest. She could imagine she had become a small figure in a European oil painting. After all the felling and chopping was finished, it was finally time to light the kiln. Zhang Yuhe was eager to be the one to do this, but Su Runjia insisted on doing it herself. “Wait until the fire catches and you see flames rise,” she said, “then seal the opening of the stove with the mud you’ve prepared. Fill in all the cracks on the top, too.” Zhang Yuhe daubed mud all over, not stopping until Monitor Su was satisfied. Everything was exactly right! Black wisps of smoke gradually drifted from the top of the kiln. Su Runjia took a cigarette out of her pocket and inhaled. She said to Zhang Yuhe, “This will be great charcoal! Now we can eat.” Zhang Yuhe had been hungry for a long time. “What will we eat?” “We’ll roast potatoes!” “Oh!” This was another new experience for Zhang Yuhe. They dug a hole, tossed potatoes into it, covered it with mud, placed some branches on top, lit a fire, and sat on the ground, watching and waiting! Before the fire burned out, the aroma reached their noses. The potatoes were done! Zhang Yuhe closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “It smells so good!” As Zhang Yuhe peeled the cooked potatoes, Su Runjia walked to the edge of the cliff and shouted, “Time to eat!” She was calling Yang Fenfang and Zou Jintu, and Zhang Yuhe joined in the shouting. After a while, Yang Fenfang and Zou Jintu climbed up, carrying oak

82

Mānoa

n

The Zither

branches. Sweat was running down their faces. They must have been very tired, because neither of them had much to say. “We brought some steamed bread!” Yang Fenfang said. Su Runjia took eight steamed buns out of her backpack. Zhang Yuhe thought they looked a lot like the ones that Zou Jintu had secretly given Huang Junshu one night—round and white, wrapped in a towel. She smiled happily. Eating roast potatoes and buns, drinking the spring water gushing from the rocks—Zhang Yuhe was elated. She sat back and hummed part of an opera. She said, “I wish we could do this kind of work every day.” Yang Fenfang sneered. “You’re singing now. In a couple of days, you’ll be crying.” She was right. After the trees were cut down, the timber had to be hauled back to the prison camp. With a cloth belt three inches wide, Zou Jintu tied a nanmu log—heavier than her own body weight—onto Zhang Yuhe’s back. Zhang Yuhe was scared out of her wits. “Is this how I have to carry it up the mountain?” “Yes,” Yang Fenfang said. “I can hardly move. How can I climb?” “Slowly, and you absolutely must not lose your footing.” “And what if I do?” “You’ll be dragged over the cliff by the weight of the log.” Zhang Yuhe wailed. Yang Fenfang said sarcastically, “Didn’t I warn you? Now it’s time for you to cry.” Zou Jintu glared at Yang Fenfang. “Don’t scare her! If you do, she’ll go weak in the legs and there could be an accident. Zhang Yuhe, you need to be careful. I’ll follow you and support your heels with the palms of my hands as we climb. But you have to remember! You cannot let your body wobble and lose your footing.” Zhang Yuhe dried her tears. “I’ll remember, but I’m still afraid!” “Don’t be afraid. I won’t let you die, I promise.” Zhang Yuhe felt that her life would end in this bitter, cold place and her body would turn into earth and ashes. She was frantic! She couldn’t die now. She wanted to live longer. No matter what, she needed to delay her death for a while. She said, “Su Runjia, I have to defecate. Maybe I ate too much. Please let Zou Jintu untie the cloth belt and go with me to relieve myself. Then I’ll feel a little better.” Seeing her tears, Su Runjia agreed. Zou Jintu and Zhang Yuhe walked together into the dense forest. When they were out of sight of the others, Zhang Yuhe threw herself onto Zou Jintu’s breast. Only now, with death so near, did she realize that, while she still could, she needed to have something more from life. She had a reckless impulse to throw caution away and satisfy her deepest desires. Who was this person standing next to her? In that moment, Zou Jintu wasn’t merely a female convict. She was

Zhang

n

Woman Zou

83

an Earth Mother. She was not a woman but a man—sturdy and strong. Once Zhang Yuhe was aware of what she was longing for, nothing else mattered. In desperation, she let herself be caught up in her intense passion. Zhang Yuhe’s behavior ignited Zou Jintu’s passion. The forest floor was covered with dried leaves, weeds, twigs, and mud; acrid smoke from the burning charcoal hung in the air. But the two women didn’t notice. They were accustomed to a rough world, barbaric and squalid. They embraced tightly, feverishly kissing. Zou Jintu took the lead, as gently as a flowing creek. Zhang Yuhe was trembling all over. Her breasts swelled and reddened under the other woman’s caresses, and there was a dampness between her legs. She gasped for breath. After a while, they realized that they had been away from the group for too long and it was getting late; they would have to stop. The damn time. It was like setting out to view the beautiful full moon on the mid-autumn festival, but after lingering a few minutes, having to go home. Risking serious punishment for their actions, they tried to put the dangers out of their minds a little longer. Since entering prison, Zhang Yuhe had let her heart dry up. Now, this desperate embracing and passionate caressing brought her back to life. An electricity from out of this world coursed through her. The two women were neither ignorant teenagers nor experienced lovers; their desire came from long years of loneliness and repressed sexuality. They were surrendering to natural human impulses—which can be both rational and perverse—letting their exhausted bodies and dazed souls temporarily come to rest in each other’s arms. For once, let go, let the waning sun sweep over the body. Never mind the past brushing the edges of the heart. If she followed the rules and mores, she would miss the vitality and pleasure associated with youth. Zhang Yuhe felt as though she had been awaiting execution all along. Only this experience with Zou Jintu was an exception. It turned her life over. Her shame and regret vanished. The worst thing that can happen to a person is to be without love.

84

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Chapter 9

It was almost time for lights out when Deng Mei shouted harshly from the high watchtower, “Zhang Yuhe, come to see me right now!” “Yes, ma’am!” Zhang Yuhe was so alarmed that her legs went weak. This had to be about what had happened at Tercel Peak. Her heart pounded violently. She recalled that awful scene of mandarin duck binding. She cast a swift glance at Zou Jintu, who was looking absolutely unperturbed, slowly combing through her hair with a wooden comb, one stroke at a time. Zhang Yuhe collapsed on her bed. A cold feeling started in her toes and gradually moved up from the soles of her feet. “Why are you lying down?” Su Runjia said. “Didn’t you hear Guard Deng calling you?” “I’m on my way.” Her teeth chattered. It was only ninety meters from the cell to the squadron office. But it seemed like a long, long journey. When she reached Deng Mei’s dormitory door, she shouted, “Reporting!” “Come in.” “Yes, ma’am.” Zhang Yuhe stepped into the room. She felt so weak that she braced her back against the door to keep from collapsing. Perspiration ran down her forehead. “Are you sick?” Deng Mei asked, surprised to see her looking so pale. “No, I’m not sick. Not at all.” Deng Mei gestured toward a small wooden stool and said, “Have a seat.” Sit down? She was telling her to sit down! Zhang Yuhe recovered her composure but did not sit. She rapidly scanned the room and noticed a bowl of soup noodles on the wooden table. Bits of eggs and tomatoes were floating in the broth. Before she could look away, a man walked in. He was thirty-something, tall and slender, with a dark complexion. His eyes were hooded under thick eyebrows. And he had the air of someone quite cultured. His light-blue shirt was tucked into long khaki trousers. A black belt was fastened loosely around his waist. It surprised Zhang Yuhe to run into such an impressive man in Deng Mei’s room. “I’m Shen Hongfei, Deng Mei’s husband,” the man said. “This bowl of noodles is for you. Eat them now, right here.” The words made Zhang Yuhe lightheaded. His voice sounded as if it came from outer space.

85

Such a kind offer was too good to be true. Zhang Yuhe didn’t know what to do or say. “Guard Deng, I—” Deng Mei smiled. “He’s been supervising army prisoners in the most remote place. He’s used to speaking in a harsh, military way. Relax. Go ahead and eat the noodles. You can’t stay here too long. He has something to say to you.” Maybe it was her self-respect, or maybe her natural sense of formality, or a woman’s reserve before a stranger. In any case, the usually ravenous Zhang Yuhe didn’t touch the bowl of noodles. Shen Hongfei pointed to the wooden stool. Zhang Yuhe sat down obediently and Deng Mei handed her a pair of chopsticks. Shen Hongfei and Deng Mei had been classmates at school and had been assigned together to the prison farm. Conditions had been right for them to marry. Shen Hongfei read a lot of the time, thought analytically, and spoke clearly. His job was to supervise military prisoners, the hardest convicts to deal with. The military-prisoner reform squadrons were mostly located in remote, inhospitable places. Shen Hongfei didn’t mind the hardship. He was ambitious and able. He was also fair. Before long, without using torture, he gained a good reputation and the respect of the military prisoners. Soon, he was promoted to political commissar. But he paid for his ambition and success with his health; he had pain in his abdomen and felt tired all day; his eyelids were swollen and he looked much older than he was. At the infirmary and then at the county hospital, they told him something was wrong with his intestines; then they diagnosed him with a liver and spleen disease. Though he was prescribed many medications and took everything conscientiously, he didn’t get better. Zhang Yuhe finished the noodles and drank all of the broth. Then Shen Hongfei came straight to the point. “Zhang Yuhe, I hear that your mother is a well-known internist assigned to the provincial hospital. Is that true?” “She graduated from Beijing University’s Medical School. And she has decades of experience.” “I’d like to make an appointment with her.” “But she was forced to step down. Now she does only odds and ends in the mess hall,” Zhang Yuhe answered. “Many capable people have been forced out. It doesn’t matter. I still need to see her.” Zhang Yuhe was a little bewildered. “In one of her letters, Mother said that hospitals have been reformed, and now medicine and surgery are not separated. All the workers are called 6–26 medical officers.” “I know what 6–26 is. It refers to the directive about medical workers that Chairman Mao issued on June 26, 1965.” “So you know about the hospital situation?” “It’s public knowledge, Zhang Yuhe. To tell you the truth, it’s precisely because we no longer know who the real doctors are that I need to see your mother.”

86

Mānoa

n

The Zither

“There’s a problem, though, because my mother isn’t allowed to treat people and prescribe medicines.” “I don’t need treatment or prescriptions. What I need from her is a diagnosis—to tell me what’s wrong with me.” Zhang Yuhe wanted to help Shen Hongfei, not because of the bowl of noodles, but because it might give her a chance to secretly communicate with her mother. Maybe he could tell her mother what she was going through, and he could bring back news from her. When she thought of this, tears ran down her face. “Missing your mother, aren’t you?” Shen Hongfei asked. “Yes.” “Don’t worry. I can comfort her. You’re a political prisoner. Even if you work hard, the most your sentence might be reduced is six months or a year. The political prisoner’s chances for release depend on policies at the top. When the top level changes, even those on death row could go free. Therefore, what you must do now is lie low and wait patiently.” His honest and bold words astonished Zhang Yuhe. No wonder the military prisoners respected and obeyed him. Shen Hongfei changed the subject. “Zhang Yuhe, you must abide by the prison rules! Otherwise, even if circumstances change for the better, it will still be hard for you to be released. Recently, you’ve been close to Zou Jintu. You were felling trees at Tercel Peak, and the two of you made love in the woods. Isn’t that right?” “No, we just made out a little.” Zhang Yuhe’s face and neck were flushed. “Don’t argue. Making out is sex, too.” “How did you find out?” Zhang Yuhe asked nervously. Deng Mei chimed in. “When Su Runjia turned over the lumber that you brought back to Mess Officer Chen, she also gave me a report about you. I told Hongfei about it, and he suggested that I inform Mess Officer Chen right away.” “Why would you tell her first?” “Because an investigation would certainly uncover her misdeed of having trees cut down without permission. In prison, it’s very serious if a guard’s bad conduct is tangled up with a prisoner’s offenses.” “What did she say?” “Mess Officer Chen was alarmed, of course. She begged me not to pass the report on to the higher-ups—to just forget that your lesbian behavior and the tree cutting ever happened.” Zhang Yuhe breathed a sigh of relief. Then Shen Hongfei began educating Zhang Yuhe about the way things worked. “Your fooling around with Zou Jintu is called homosexuality. This is common among male prisoners, too—some of them even have sex with animals. I know more about this than you do. It’s not that bizarre—people have needs! But you have to understand that it is a crime in our country. It is severely punished.”



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

87

Zhang Yuhe tried to make an excuse. “This isn’t at all what you two imagine. And I’m not like Huang Junshu either.” “Maybe you didn’t go that far,” Deng Mei said wearily, “but what you did was not much different. I’m letting it go this time, so stop arguing.” Maybe because Shen Hongfei seemed to be on her side, Zhang Yuhe argued more boldly. “No, it is different!” Shen Hongfei stopped her. “Don’t say anything more. You have to be grateful to Deng Mei. She covered up for you—she didn’t report you to the higher-ups. I’ll say it again: after this, you need to keep your distance from Zou Jintu. This is for your own good, and your mother’s as well.” His last words left Zhang Yuhe speechless. “Write your mother a note now,” Shen Hongfei went on, “and briefly explain how we know each other. I’ll take your note to the provincial hospital when I go there to find her.” Zhang Yuhe wrote the note quickly. Shen Hongfei read it and said, “Now go back to the cell, but before you go, wipe the grease off your mouth.” Zhang Yuhe was embarrassed. She didn’t sleep that night. Across time and distance, Zhang Yuhe’s aloof, proud father and her hard-working mother seemed to be standing in front of her. They were so strong and so kind. In a world filled with savagery and callousness, the thought of her dear parents rekindled her connection to a world outside prison and kept her from drowning in despair. Her parents had given her life and would be her refuge at the end. Who else could she turn to? Even if she were freed from prison, she could depend only on them. No one else. Like a migratory bird, even after a century she would find her way back to her home. When she thought of this, she regretted deeply what she had done with Zou Jintu. It was reckless and crazy. It might have met her emotional needs of the moment, but in the future—when she had finished serving her sentence and was reunited with her family—would she still have the same desires? She had created one emotional storm in response to another and made a mess of her personal life. She hated herself for being so selfish as to take advantage of Zou Jintu’s sincerity. Zhang Yuhe was wallowing in painful self-reproach. On the tea plantations, it was now time to treat the plants against diseases and insect pests. The entire plantation had to be sprayed with a mixture of copper sulfate and quicklime. The autumn sky was icy and crystal clear. The shadows of migrating geese passed over the land, and little birds were chirping everywhere. The prisoners hadn’t been in the fields for very long when Shen Hongfei appeared at the work site. He carried an army-green satchel and was accompanied by Deng Mei. Some prisoners hailed Shen Hongfei. “Thank you for coming to see us.” But they quickly realized that he had come to see only Zhang Yuhe.

88

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Deng Mei went off to supervise the mixing of the pesticide while Zhang Yuhe followed Shen Hongfei to one side, where they stood together under a fir tree. “You don’t have a recent photo, do you?” Shen Hongfei asked. “The photo taken at my trial is the most recent one I have.” “I’ll take a picture of you now to show your mother.” Zhang Yuhe shook her head. “No. I’m wearing a prison uniform—it’s impossibly ugly. She’d feel sad if she saw me in it.” “Let’s take a photo anyway.” Shen Hongfei didn’t allow any discussion. Zhang Yuhe said nothing as he took a camera out of his satchel. Despite what she’d said, she found that she did want to be photographed. She hastily tidied her hair and hoped it would be a good picture. “Stand closer to this lovely tree, with the blue sky at your back. Good. Don’t move. This will make your mother happy.” After snapping the photo, Shen Hongfei nodded in satisfaction. “Go back to work,” he said. “When I return from the provincial city, we’ll see each other again.” This brief conversation and the click of the camera made Zhang Yuhe feel almost normal, as if she had been returned to the outside world. She was overjoyed. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright. She was imagining Shen Hongfei and her mother meeting—perhaps in the hospital or on the street, or perhaps even at home! At work that day, Zhang Yuhe and Zou Jintu were sharing a single sprayer. They both wore masks and gloves, but this didn’t prevent them from talking. Zou Jintu noticed that Zhang Yuhe seemed far away, and she thought she knew the reason. It didn’t entirely have to do with Shen Hongfei. She had a hunch and kept it to herself for a while. Finally she said tentatively, “I’m thinking about the night Guard Deng called you to her dormitory room; I suppose her husband was there with her.” “Yes, he was.” “Did he say something to you?” Zou Jintu asked. “No.” “Then why did you stay there so long?” “Is that any of your business?” Zhang Yuhe turned the sprayer on as high as it would go, and the mist created a blue cloud around them. “It was just a harmless question,” Zou Jintu said. “Why are you so upset? What’s going on with you?” “What’s going on?!” Zhang Yuhe heard Zou Jintu’s questions as a hostile interrogation, spoken out of jealousy and possessiveness. She angrily slapped the tops of the tea plants with the sprayer in order to vent her anger. When Zhang Yuhe didn’t answer, Zou Jintu became even more unhappy. “Just now, didn’t Guard Shen talk with you again in private?” What did she mean by “in private”? Did she think Shen Hongfei was a



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

89

seducer and Zhang Yuhe a whore? This evil woman had deliberately shattered the beautiful image in her mind of Shen Hongfei meeting her mother. She tore off her mask and glared at Zou Jintu. “Is this any of your business?” Zou Jintu didn’t back down. “Yes, it is!” Zhang Yuhe shouted fiercely. “What makes you think you can interfere in my life?! Just because we rolled around on the ground together and felt each other up? You cunt!” She was shocked by her own words. She didn’t recognize herself. When had she become like Yi Fengzhu? Zou Jintu’s face darkened. She slowly pulled off her gloves and raised her palms to Zhang Yuhe’s face. She said sternly, “This is why.” Zhang Yuhe saw that her palms were swollen, red, and covered with bloody scratches, only partially bandaged. She was startled. “What happened to your hands?” “Why do you need to ask? Don’t you know? This is because of you!” “Because of me?” “Yes, because of you. When you were carrying timber in the mountains, with each step you took I steadied your heels with my palms. The hemp coverings over your shoes ripped open these gashes. The cloth I put on my hands for protection didn’t do any good. Now, I can’t hold a needle to sew, and at night they hurt so much I can’t sleep.” Carrying logs in the mountains was so strenuous that the women could manage only a few at a time; it took many days to transport all the wood that Mess Officer Chen wanted. The soles of Zhang Yuhe’s shoes were extremely coarse, to prevent her from slipping, but Zou Jintu had gripped them tightly with her bare hands to keep Zhang Yuhe from falling. How could Zhang Yuhe not have noticed this, and how could she now destroy their close relationship so callously? The intimacy between the two women had joined their bodies and hearts. How could she bear to speak to her this way? Remorse overwhelmed Zhang Yuhe. What an idiot I am! she thought. How could Shen Hongfei matter more than Zou Jintu? He was asking for a favor; but this woman had risked her life for her. Maybe what they had done together had been foolhardy and wrong, but it was more moral than her despicable behavior now. When a person is powerless in such a totally repressive environment, her feelings become distorted, abnormal, and extreme. Looking at the expression on Zou Jintu’s face, Zhang Yuhe was deeply ashamed. She was in such debt to her that her obligation would last forever. It had started with the sharp-edged sickle Zou Jintu had lent her, the massage of her belly when she was in pain, the buttons . . . They were kindnesses she had desperately needed at the time. Zhang Yuhe had always had moral integrity. She could think of no way to repay her. Was this her predestined fate? Looking at Zou Jintu’s bloody palms, Zhang Yuhe wanted to find a way to make it up to her. And yes, the blood she had drawn had to be repaid with blood. When the two women finished work, Zhang Yuhe was the first to get back to the tool shed. She quickly took out Zou Jintu’s sickle. It was sharp and

90

Mānoa

n

The Zither

shiny, and the blade glinted. It had been important at their first contact and was a physical reminder of her obligations. Standing in the entrance to the tool shed, Zhang Yuhe rolled up one sleeve. She looked at the clear sky and shouted, “Don’t come in, any of you. I’m waiting for Zou Jintu!” The other prisoners stopped in their tracks. They were confused and shocked. Su Runjia lost her usual composure and shouted, “Zhang Yuhe, what are you doing?” “You just stay away!” When Zou Jintu appeared, Zhang Yuhe raised the sickle in her right hand, then sliced down on her left arm. Blood streamed out. She plunged the sickle into the wound again, twisting it as though wanting to gouge out a piece of flesh for everyone to see. Jiang Qidan grabbed the sickle. “You’re crazy!” Zhang Yuhe burst out crying and shouted, “Zou Jintu, look! I’m paying you back with my blood.” Whether love or hatred, at its extreme, it’s covered in blood.



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

91

Epilogue

A couple of small packets of medicine stamped with the provincial hospital’s logo, along with a fashionable new shirt, were evidence that Shen Hongfei had been in the capital and visited the provincial hospital without permission. The one who reported him to headquarters was none other than Deng Mei’s close friend, Mess Officer Chen. Shen Hongfei was forced to endure a struggle session. Zhang Yuhe’s mother wasn’t involved in his confession, though his colleagues and supervisors suspected that she was. Because of this incident, he failed to be promoted to an administrative position at headquarters. In any case, however, he received the definitive diagnosis from Zhang Yuhe’s mother that he had wanted, and it had ruled out liver cancer. For him, that made it worthwhile. The bitter cold was over, but spring had yet to arrive. One day, two guards came from headquarters and told Zhang Yuhe to pack her things. She was being transferred to the squadron of convicts with short prison terms, where she would finish serving her sentence. Tears were in her eyes as she packed. She didn’t know for whom she was crying. Yi Fengzhu consoled her. “Don’t cry. Where you’re going is still prison.” Zhang Yuhe looked anxiously at Zou Jintu and suddenly ran over to her. She showed her the arm that still had scars from the sickle injury and said, agitated, “I have no way to repay you. But I will never forget you.” “That’s the best repayment.” She showed Zhang Yuhe her hands. The wounds had healed, but superficial scars remained. There’s a saying: “Humans are animals you can’t avoid being around, but you should not get too close.” This kind of extraordinary love—you could only take it into your heart and chew on it for a lifetime. This was painful. Zou Jintu was indeed a story—beginning from legend, ending in legend. She served her full twenty-year sentence and was released. Although she no longer had a family, she wanted to return to her home village. When her application to go was approved, the squadron head said to her, “If you can still find your old house and some relatives and friends, then going home is the best thing for you.”

92

She crossed Golden Ingot Mountain and waded across White Sand River, passed through Blue-White Alley, and reached the Zou family tomb. “Jinjin has come back. I am Jinjin,” she said to no one. Tears coursed down her cheeks, and she knelt there for a long time. As she offered incense, candles, and paper money, she discovered that the tomb held not only her father’s remains, but also her mother’s. Surprised, she wondered how her mother’s remains had gotten there. Was Liujiu still alive? Or had someone else shown mercy? Overhead, the sky was blue. Mother Earth was silent. Trees stood in the distant haze. Translation by Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping



Zhang

n

Woman Zou

93

Z hu

W enying

Mute 1 In the sporadic autumn rain, Cai walked back and forth three times along the bluish-gray flagstone road. Setbacks are unavoidable in life. Everyone knows that. But when a woman with an ashen face, an umbrella in her left hand and a black suitcase in her right paces back and forth along the same dreary road three times on a rainy November day, things might be more serious. The rain, though intermittent, had never really stopped. The woman wore a light beige jacket with an upturned collar and black shoes caked with mud. This suggested that she had probably been walking more than just the three round trips on this road. What kind of trouble had she encountered? It must have been serious. If this was the case, several deductions could be reasonably made. For example, the black suitcase she was carrying in her right hand wasn’t bulky, and it rustled on the slate road. In its lining, there might well be solutions to her problems: sleeping pills, rat poison, insecticide, and perhaps a sharp knife that could easily open an artery. And there was a reservation for a trip to an island a week from now: a place with dense mountain forests and a black-sand beach with billowing waves—good places to settle things secretly, poetically, mysteriously, especially for such a young and dignified woman. Though her decision had been made, the time between making it and carrying it out was dreary and sad. The dying swan dances with melancholy movements, the boatman on an ancient journey sings a sorrowful song, women in love shed tears when putting on their bridal gowns. She felt that something had to be done. Anything. Her eyes came to rest on a power pole to the west of the town’s Food Square. Several poles like it lined the flagstone road, and she approached this one for no particular reason. Notices had been tacked to the pole. Some were drenched by the rain, and only one was readable. She leaned forward for a closer look. It said: seeking a temporary nanny for a four-year-old boy. salary negotiable. contact: ms. lu dongdong.

97

2 When she knocked, a pale woman opened the door; her lips were dry and cracked. Leaning against the doorframe, the woman looked blankly at the intruder. “May I help you?” “I’m looking for Ms. Lu Dongdong. Does she live here?” “I am Lu Dongdong.” “Oh, sorry, I found this notice …” The young woman put her umbrella and suitcase to the side, and took a piece of paper out of her pocket—the notice that had been tacked on the power pole. As she presented the paper, she introduced herself. “My name is Cai.” “Oh … Come on in, please.” Lu Dongdong—hers was the name that had been on the notice, and now here she was in the flesh. She gestured for Cai to take a seat and closed the door behind her. Cai saw two other people in the room. A man was sitting on the couch. Beside him lay medical instruments: stethoscope, tweezers, pliers, a machine with red and green lights, and a small silver mirror. Cai presumed he was a doctor. It was obvious that Lu had been talking to the doctor and their conversation had been interrupted by Cai’s knock on the door. So now they picked it up again. “You mean to say… he is deaf?” Lu Dongdong asked. “No, he isn’t. But he can’t hear,” replied the doctor. “He’s mute then?” “He’s not mute either—” The doctor bit his lower lip and gave a dry cough. The doctor was finding it difficult to get his point across. Continuing to search for a way to explain, he said, “Your son—his auditory system is fine, but he can’t hear. He’s not mute, but he can’t speak either. It’s like … like …” When his eyes fell on Cai sitting in the corner, he suddenly seemed inspired. “Let me put it this way. Suppose we are outdoors, and there are a meadow, a market, and a hospital. We understand the things out there. If we want to play football, we go to the meadow. If we want to buy tomatoes, green peppers, or cabbages, we go to the market. If we have a headache, the hospital is not far away. But not this boy, not this boy… He is locked inside himself. He stays there alone and can’t get out.” To expand on his explanation, the doctor stood up from his seat among the tweezers, pliers, small mirror, and other instruments and walked to the door. At this point, Cai saw that the doctor was crippled. After five or six steps, the doctor opened the door, and left it a little ajar. He indicated the difference between “outside” and “inside,” then gestured toward Lu Dongdong. “Do you understand now? See, I’m coming through the door, as that young lady did just now”—he indicated Cai with his eyes and quickly turned to Lu again—“but he, your son, he isn’t willing to go through the door.” 98

Mānoa

n

The Zither

The doctor limped back to the couch. To be fair, apart from his limp, the doctor was quite handsome. He was muscular with broad shoulders, and his eyes were clear and gentle. When he sat down, you’d never know he was a cripple. But as soon as he got up, everyone could see that his left leg was several inches shorter than the right. Fate is so strange. The other person in the room—namely, the four-year-old boy who had been the subject of the notice, Lu Dongdong’s son, the crippled doctor’s patient—was sitting on a chair by the window. He was a good-looking boy. A poet might have said he was like the scent of summer roses, the first dew of morning, and a whisper in the breeze. The boy was slightly heavier than other children his age. His arms, legs, and face were fleshy. He leaned his rather large head against the window sill as if it needed a little support. Today his mother had dressed him in a beautiful navy-blue jacket, which emphasized the paleness of his skin. It was only when someone talked to him that you would notice he was a little different from other kids his age. For example, Lu Dongdong spoke to him as she walked toward the window. “Honey,” she said. The boy was still looking vaguely out the window: the sky, the dark clouds, the bare flagpoles at the distant primary school. “Kang Lele, did you hear Mommy speaking to you?” She moved closer, and slowly bent toward him. The doctor sighed and packed up the equipment strewn on the couch. Just over an hour earlier, he had seen another boy in his small clinic who had the same diagnosis—autism. The cause of this disease is unknown, and there is no known cure. After such a diagnosis, all a doctor can do is shake his head and sigh. The biggest difference between the two boys was that the one in the clinic had been accompanied by both his parents. When they were told the diagnosis, the mother started crying and the father put his arm around her shoulders. The doctor patted the man’s shoulder and said, “He will be fine if he gets a suitable education.” The doctor felt guilty as he said this because he knew what the child’s future would be like, just as he knew the feeling in his lame leg. The faces of the two boys passed through his mind: timid, timorous, and shy. Later on, their condition would get worse. “Doc,” Lu Dongdong said as she turned to the man. Women tend to be like this when they hear bad news: they cannot accept it; they have to ask again and again. “He … will he be an imbecile?” “There is nothing wrong with his intelligence,” said the doctor, speaking slowly and carefully. “And there is nothing physically wrong …” “But he doesn’t talk, and he doesn’t want to hear me,” Lu murmured to herself. The doctor couldn’t help sighing again. He looked at the mother in front of him. She was not pretty, and she was no longer young. This child would be a heavy burden until the end of her life. The situation was very cruel. Doctors usually deal with cruel facts by hiding behind professional disinterest. But this doctor was a cripple. In his best dreams, the streets where he walked were always flat, the meadows flat, even the stairs were flat. He knew what despair was. So, as he spoke to this woman, he imagined himself walking on a muddy

Zhu

n

Mute

99

road in the rain. He tried to be as gentle with her as he could. He straightened up and spoke with a confidence that he did not feel. “You’ll see, he’ll be fine … one of these days, right? He is so young; he’s just a little slower than the other children. Yes, just a little slower in learning. You know, there are always some kids who are slower… They are more timid, but they’re also kinder than other children.” The lame doctor walked toward the door again, this time not to illustrate an analogy—he was simply leaving. He stepped slowly, and so, Lu Dongdong following him, also moved slowly. She was carrying his patent-leather medicine bag for him. Inside the bag were gleaming stethoscopes, tweezers, pliers, thermometers, bottles of disinfecting alcohol, and instruments with red and green lights. He’d used almost none of these things in the diagnosis. Cai was watching them—the boy, Lu Dongdong, and the doctor. During the entire conversation, she had sat quietly, like a moth in the dark, seeming to ponder what she heard. Now, little thoughts flickered in her mind like fireflies in the night. Cai felt she had understood a little bit about the boy’s illness, but not all of it. In short, the boy had a strange disease. It wasn’t a fever or a toothache. If you asked him to stretch out his arms, he could stretch them out. If you asked him to move his legs, he could move them easily. Right now, his bare little legs were hanging over the chair. Actually, he looked healthier than the lame doctor. After a while, Cai heard Lu Dongdong coming upstairs. When the door opened, the mother stumbled in and sat down. She clutched her head with both hands before abruptly remembering there was another person in the room. “Do you really want this job? You can see that he’s a sick boy.” Lu raised her head, and looked questioningly at Cai. “Of course, of course I see—he’s a sick boy.” Lu Dongdong began to look at Cai more intently: this young woman certainly didn’t look like a nanny. “So, what salary do you expect?” “Whatever.” “Whatever?” Lu looked a little incredulous. “Yes, it doesn’t matter.” Lu Dongdong found this very unlikely. She was silent for a moment. Cai seemed to read her mind, so she added calmly, “I’m a woman, too … I can’t say a lot for myself, but at least I love children. You may rest assured that I’ll take good care of him.” 3 Cai changed the boy’s clothes and shoes. Cai poured the boy a cup of hot milk. Cai helped the boy sit on a square stool while she sat on a round stool across from him.

100

Mānoa

n

The Zither

“Come on, repeat after me: a tree,” Cai said as she pointed to an old tree outside the window, “A trrreeee—. What is standing on the tree? It’s a bird, a birrrddd—. And what is it that blows through the leaves? It’s the wind, the wiinnnddd—.” But her efforts were fruitless. The boy sat on the square stool looking bewildered. He didn’t even make eye contact. There was no way to get him interested in anything. When Cai said “tree,” he just pointed to his own nose with a dazed expression. “Bird,” she said, but the boy laughed for no reason. When she said “wind,” the boy suddenly threw himself into her arms, like a spoiled puppy. There was no way to communicate with this child; he wouldn’t look at you even when you looked directly into his eyes. You could try pointing out the world to him, take him by the hand, and slowly lead him there, to the place where the rest of humanity lived. But he didn’t even want to look—such was the boy’s relationship with the world. Cai was frustrated. Lu Dongdong was a middle-school teacher who also worked as a private tutor on her noontime break and in the evening. So Cai was charged with preparing the boy’s lunch. When she finished cooking and put the dishes on the table, she automatically shouted to the boy, “Lunch is ready!” As soon as she said that, she knew it was a mistake. The boy was sitting where he had been for a long time, sucking his thumb. Cai sighed. She walked over to the child and picked him up from the chair. “Let’s eat, okay?” she said softly. After she’d been taking care of this chubby little fellow for a while, with his dull eyes that didn’t see anything and his ears that didn’t listen—a boy who didn’t care about anything—she gradually began to like him. And this was the main reason that she agreed to stay. She also liked the quietness of being alone with the boy. She could hear the branches creaking in the autumn wind outside the window. A stray dog lay lazily nearby, squinting at the sun. She occupied a small room facing north, next to the boy’s room. She kept her black suitcase under the bed and would occasionally bring it out and look vaguely at the things inside. Then she would close the suitcase and shove it back under the bed. Today the boy had finished his meal and was sitting on the couch in the living room. He began to put his fingers in his mouth again. This time, instead of the thumb of his left hand, he concentrated on the index finger of his right. Cai frowned at him. The boy was not really interested in his fingers, of course. He was not interested in anything—not the trees, not the birds, not the wind. So Cai assumed he wasn’t interested in her either. The boy’s detachment and passivity allowed Cai almost unlimited freedom to move about the home as she pleased, and that sense of freedom was what she needed most. During the first few days, she began sleeping better, and her intense headaches subsided.



Zhu

n

Mute

101

4 Something happened that night. As she had done on the previous few evenings after putting the boy to bed, she made sure everything was in order, then retired to her own small bedroom and went to sleep. Then, half asleep, she heard a knock on the door. When she opened it, Lu Dongdong stood there. She wore a blue-and-whitestriped velvet nightgown with the belt fastened loosely. Her hair was a little messy. Apparently she had just gotten out of bed. “Sorry. Did I wake you?” Lu said. Maybe it was because she wasn’t fully awake, or because of the light shining on Lu’s face, Cai felt Lu’s expression was a little odd. Cai asked sleepily, “What time is it?” “A little past one, I think,” Lu said. “I … May I come in?” Lu stayed in Cai’s room for about an hour. She asked about the boy’s diet, his temperature, sleep, defecation and urination, and whether he was concentrating better, whether the cut on his left arm had healed, and so forth. Cai answered all the questions. But at the same time, she couldn’t help wondering why Lu was asking all these questions at one o’clock in the morning. She looked up at her. In the light of the bedside lamp, Lu’s face appeared a little bluish and she had dark circles under her eyes. She looked gaunt. Cai thought to herself, She looks so tired, why is she still up? Just then, Lu stood, looked at Cai’s bed, and asked, “Are you warm enough at night?” Then she went to the north-facing window. “This window isn’t very tight. It leaks when it rains hard.” For a second or two, her eyes rested on the black suitcase, which was standing against the wall. Cai had taken it out before she went to bed. “If there’s anything valuable in it, put it in the drawer and lock it. I’ll give you the keys tomorrow.” So, in the middle of the night, the boy’s mother clearly wanted to talk, and when she finally left the room, she seemed to have wanted to stay longer. The woman walked through the dark house and returned to her own bedroom. For some reason, she had appeared particularly weak, thin, and unsteady, as if she could fall down any minute. Cai closed the door and lay back in bed. She was now completely awake. She tossed and turned and felt a dull pain in her temples again. I’ll just have to get more sleep tomorrow night, she thought. 5 Cai had not expected Lu Dongdong to knock on her door the next night. But again, near midnight, she arrived wearing the same blue-and-white-striped velvet nightgown. One end of the belt hung down to the floor. Her hair was combed, though, so it was hard to tell if she had awakened from a dream or if she hadn’t gone to bed at all.

102

Mānoa

n

The Zither

This time Lu just walked straight in without a word. Cai rubbed her eyes, hesitated, then said, “I checked on him just now, and he was sleeping well.” With two fingers, she pressed her aching temples a few times. But Lu had no intention of leaving. Steadying herself with one hand on the back of the chair, she sat down with some difficulty. She looked terrible. Her nightgown was wrinkled, and her hand started trembling as she reached for the glass of water that Cai had poured for her. She couldn’t stop shaking, as if she had a high fever. She wasn’t wearing socks, and she had her left slipper on her right foot; on her left foot was a slipper that belonged to another pair. “You … Are you all right?” Cai asked softly as she stared at Lu’s footwear. “I’m okay, I just can’t sleep, so I came to talk to you.” Lu put down the glass, then immediately picked it up again and drank from it. Cai sat down on the edge of the bed. Her heel touched something beneath the bed and she unconsciously kicked it farther back. The object was square and hard—her suitcase. She kicked it more forcefully with her heel a few more times. Lu didn’t notice. “It’s very hard for you to take care of my boy,” she said, looking at the water glass in her hand. Cai stopped massaging her temples. The pleasant but idiotic face of the boy appeared before her eyes. The boy found his fingers endlessly fascinating. He chewed and sucked them, and drooled all the time. His nose was always running, too. Sometimes when he refused to eat, Cai would hit him lightly a couple of times; but he just grinned at her. Once as she was dressing him, she suddenly started crying. Unable to control herself, she cried and cried. Although he had always been indifferent to her, the boy reached out a chubby finger and hesitantly touched the salty streaks on her face. He must have known what they tasted like, for he put his finger into his mouth and sucked on it. He looked at her with twinkling eyes. He was a really strange and messed-up little kid. “No, it’s not so hard to take care of him; he’s a good boy,” Cai blurted out. “Besides, the doctor said the other day that he’ll get better. It takes time, but he will get better.” Cai knew this was a complete lie, but she said it to comfort Lu. “The doctor?” Lu shook her head. “That’s the way all the doctors talk.” “The doctors?” “I’ve tried everything with this child.” Lu looked up and stared almost viciously at Cai. “The doctor you met the other day was the twenty-third to examine him.” As if angry, she drank the rest of the water in one gulp. “I know them, I know they all lie to me. They’re all liars.” Lu Dongdong asked Cai to get some wine out of the refrigerator. When Cai came back with a bottle and two glasses, some words popped into her mind from nowhere: the twenty-third is a cripple. She couldn’t shake these words off until she’d had two drinks. Lu’s face gradually reddened, and she became more talkative. She took Cai’s hand and said, “You know, after I recognized his problem, I saw mostly two kinds of people …” “Two kinds of people?”

Zhu

n

Mute

103

“Yes: doctors and monks.” “Monks?” Cai raised her eyebrows. “Yes, the monks, because I went to the temple to ask for a portent. Once, when I was walking with Lele, a monk in a gray robe stopped us on a busy street. He was a tall, dark man. He squatted down in front of Lele, then reached out and touched his head. He had a really big hand, more than one and a half times the size of mine. Then he stood up and said to me, ‘This child of yours, he is a god’…” Cai thought she had misheard. She opened her mouth wide in surprise and asked Lu to repeat it. “What did he say?” “Well,” Lu’s eyes were a little uncertain. “The monk said that Lele had a halo above his head. That was nonsense, of course. He also said that Lele would talk by the time he was eight. Who knows, no one could be sure about that, not even the doctors. But the monk sighed deeply and said, ‘After he starts talking, his halo will disappear.’ The monk crouched down and touched Lele’s head again. Then he left without looking back … Wasn’t that strange? Whenever I think of this incident, I feel it was very strange. Don’t you think it’s strange?” Lu Dongdong asked suddenly. Cai was taken aback and didn’t know what to say. “On another occasion,” Lu went on without waiting for an answer, “I took Lele to see a doctor, and there happened to be a temple next to the hospital. After consulting the doctor, I went into the temple for another divination. The doctor had said Lele’s illness was gravely serious, so I was in a dark state of mind. But I drew a divination stick that was a very good omen: heaven is kind to good people. It made me very emotional. I broke into sobs in front of Lele. Then I asked the monk, ‘I’ve been so pious, I’ve come here so many times, but I’ve never received the thing I asked for. Why?’ And what do you think his answer was?” Cai shook her head. Her lips tightened and her hands trembled. “The monk looked at me and said flatly, ‘Because you have not been pious enough.’” Lu paused, as if she were considering his answer again. “Would you believe any of this if you were in my shoes?” “Believe what?” “Believe that … that one day my Lele will suddenly start talking.” Lu Dongdong stared at Cai’s mouth, as if out of that tightly closed mouth, anything might come popping out—flowers and herbs, or a clothed white cat, a bald monk, or a Lele who was talking. 6 Lu’s midnight visits continued for several days in a row. She would stay in Cai’s room for about an hour—sometimes less, sometimes more. One night, after making sure the boy was fast asleep, the two women went out for a walk. Cai wore a thin, beige wool coat. That was all the clothing she had in her suitcase

104

Mānoa

n

The Zither

except for a sweater and a wrinkled blouse. Her black shoes were drenched and looked a size too big for her. Lu again wore her nightgown, throwing an old-fashioned coat over it. The nightgown was much longer than the coat. One end of the belt hung down from the open front of the coat, while the other slapped against her legs as she walked. A dull barking came to them from the side of the road. A neighborhood vigilante suddenly shone a flashlight on them for a few seconds. Then he directed the light to the camphor trees next to them, as if a thief, a robber, or an arsonist might be hiding there. When Cai had first walked along this street carrying her umbrella and towing her black suitcase, she had barely noticed the dense stand of trees. Since then, an autistic boy had come into her life, and his desperate mother, Lu Dongdong, needed her. With a woman’s intuition, Cai had quickly understood the mother’s emotional state. But why was she so needy? Was it only because the boy had to be looked after? Cai recalled another thing. This morning, as she was tidying the house, she noticed several medicine bottles in the open drawer of Lu Dongdong’s nightstand. Out of curiosity, Cai looked at the bottles and recognized the names of some of the medicines, while the others were unfamiliar to her. She was shocked because the drugs she recognized were exactly the same as the ones she kept in the lining of her black suitcase. Cai stood holding the medicine bottles, hesitating. Finally she put them back and closed the drawer. The coincidence could have meant something, or nothing. In any case, out of her sense of responsibility for the boy, Cai felt that she should say something to Lu about finding the drawer unlocked. “Lele is young,” Cai said, clearing her throat and lowering her voice at the same time. “Some of the things in the house are better left out of his reach.” Lu Dongdong didn’t respond right away, but she must have thought of something, for she looked at Cai in astonishment. “For example,” Cai went on, “knives, cigarette lighters, medicine bottles …” Cai paused, but decided to finish what she’d meant to say. “Some drawers have to be locked … Just lock them up.” Cai saw Lu’s face redden and then turn pale. In the moonlight, it was hard to see her face clearly. If it was flushed, that would mean Lu felt ashamed of her negligence. But if it was pale, Cai might be correct in associating the purpose of Lu’s medicines with the purpose of the ones in her suitcase. 7 In the next few days—besides dressing the boy and cooking for him, teaching him to talk, and tidying the rooms—Cai as usual found time to be alone. She pulled her black suitcase out from under the bed, opened it, examined the things inside, then closed it and put it back.



Zhu

n

Mute

105

Then she checked the drawer of Lu Dongdong’s nightstand. She knew she shouldn’t. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help herself. It was a combination of curiosity, guilt, and responsibility. Once, she had found the drawer secured with a small, copper lock. The edge of the lock was discolored with rust. Another time, Cai had gently opened the drawer and found it empty. Today, while Lele was studying his fingers in the living room, Cai went into Lu Dongdong’s room again to check the drawer. It was unlocked but there were no medicine bottles inside. In their place were five or six photographs, large and small. On top was a photo of a baby boy in a red undershirt, giggling at the camera. In the second photo, the baby boy was being held in Lu Dongdong’s arms. Sitting next to them was a man wearing black-framed glasses, a white shirt, and a striped tie. Lu was so young and beautiful—not at all like the haggard and wrinkled woman knocking on Cai’s door at midnight … She was looking at the third photo when the door suddenly opened. Lele stood in the doorway. “Lele—” Cai heard an insect buzzing, and then the boy snorting. He had a cold, and his nose was red from wiping it. But what Cai remembered later was how her voice had come out weak—and … ashamed. The boy’s eyes were blank as usual. Then, just as he often cried for no reason, today he grinned at her for no reason. She squatted next to Lele and pointed to the boy in the photo. “Look at this. Is this you, honey?” Lele smiled, then retreated a little sheepishly. Cai pointed at the man with black-framed glasses, white shirt, and striped tie and asked, “Mommy’s holding Lele, isn’t she? What about this man? Is this Daddy?” Lele was still smiling as he squirmed away. Quiet sleep at night was now once more an unattainable luxury for Cai—first because Lu Dongdong might still suddenly knock on her door in the middle of the night. And also, after discovering the secret in Lu’s drawer, Cai worried what Lu might be doing if she did not come to knock at the door… One night, Cai imagined she heard strange noises in the house. She sprang out of bed, opened her door, and listened intently. All was quiet. There was only the rustle of the wind through the leaves. When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed she left her room and went outside into a foggy morning light. She was dragging her black suitcase through a forest of camphor trees. The milky, cold mist was like steam rising, and drops of water were hanging from the branches. The mist clung to her hair, face, neck, and arms, and slowly turned into ice. She felt cold, frightened. She turned and tried to go back to her room. Suddenly, her outstretched hand touched a nearby tree. Holding tightly, she scrambled up the tree using her hands and

106

Mānoa

n

The Zither

feet. Near the top was her north-facing window. When she reached out toward it, she slipped and fell. This nightmare haunted her all night. The next morning, she saw Lu Dongdong in the kitchen. Surprisingly, Lu was as pale and distracted as Cai, as if she too had lain awake all night frightened and worried. During breakfast, Lu said, “Today is Lele’s birthday.” She said that in the afternoon she was going to take the boy out to buy something and to get a birthday photo taken. “Would you like to go along?” Cai paused a second. “So, he is five years old.” “Yes, he is five.” 8 That night, when Lu Dongdong knocked on Cai’s door, she found it ajar. Cai was sitting on the bedside chair, a jacket over her shoulders, waiting. “Come on in,” Cai said. The two women sat across from one another, looking at each other. They opened their mouths to speak at almost the same instant. Lu Dongdong smiled in embarrassment. “You go first …” “You go first …” That afternoon, they had taken the boy to a photo studio. The photographer chose to dress him in a child-size military uniform, a pair of shiny little boots, and an army helmet. With a great deal of effort, including tempting the boy with candy, soda, and chocolate, they managed to get him to sit in a toy tank. Cai stood next to the photographer to see the effect from the perspective of the camera. Then Lu joined her. She could see that Lu was shaking. “He is really a good-looking boy.” Cai heard her sigh. Now, sitting across from her in the bedroom, Lu looked very serious when she spoke. “How long can you stay with us?” she asked. “How long? I don’t know.” “Will you leave us soon?” Lu’s strange tone made her sound as if she was running a high fever. “That’s hard to say… I really don’t know.” “What I want to say is,” she said, looking directly into Cai’s eyes, “I hope you’ll stay. Please don’t go.” “I never said I was going …” “But I know—I saw it the first day you came here. I know you’re going to leave us soon, although I don’t know why… You’re going to leave me and Lele … as his father did.” Cai did not speak. This was very different from the conversation she had expected. For a moment, she couldn’t follow what Lu was saying, but an image



Zhu

n

Mute

107

became clear: the man with black-framed glasses, white shirt, striped tie, and the immovable silence that was frozen in the photo. “You must think it’s strange that I often knock on your door at night,” Lu Dongdong continued. “The fact is, I’m desperate. I’m so terribly frightened. I’m afraid that I’ll find myself alone with Lele in this home …” “Why should that frighten you?” Cai sensed the conversation getting more and more bizarre. Lu bit her lip and paused. “Lele’s still young. He’s not suffering at all right now. But he will grow up. When he does, and I’m old, too old to do anything for him …” Lu paused again. It was as if the word “old” had entered through the cracks around the window and formally entered this room. “And when that happens, when I get old, and after I die, what will happen to Lele?” Lu Dongdong’s voice turned shrill and harsh. Cai had not expected this question, nor the panic in Lu’s voice. She looked at Lu nervously, worried that something more shocking would come next. Lu went on. “By that time, he will suffer very much … It will be very, very hard for him, even if he isn’t aware of it. Whenever I think of this, there’s one difficult thing that I believe I must do.” “What?” Cai could hear her own heart beating loudly. “Kill him.” Cai’s eyes grew wide. She was too stunned to speak. “This afternoon, as I was looking at him through the camera … He was so small, so good-looking, so lonely… I suddenly felt intensely afraid of losing him … Do you have children? Do you know how that feels?” Cai shook her head, then nodded vigorously. “Please don’t leave. Help me,” Lu Dongdong pleaded. Her eyes filled with the fear, sadness, and desperation that Cai knew so well. 9 A few days later, on another rainy autumn day, a girl in a sweater and wool hat skipped through the town’s Food Square. She nibbled on an ear of corn as she walked, apparently enjoying herself. She stopped at a power pole west of the square and looked around, as if she were waiting for someone. After a while, she noticed a note tacked on the pole. She whispered as she read aloud the message on it: seeking a temporary nanny for a five-year-old boy. salary negotiable. contact: ms. lu and ms. cai.

Translation by Chen Zeping and Karen Gernant

108

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Y i

Z hou

Babel Did Not Leave Heavenly Garden When I was twelve years old, one of my mother’s friends—a famous female photographer—took advantage of the government’s affordable housing program and bought an apartment in Heavenly Garden through her connections. She encouraged Mother to do the same. The price was very reasonable: 2,680 yuan per square meter. Facing such a huge decision without knowing the consequences, Mother hesitated. She didn’t plan to ask anyone for advice; she seldom had, ever since my father walked out on her. Instead, she would ask the air for advice. For example, every day before starting to cook, she would ask the air what she should make. Though no answer came, she cooked anyway. But the question of buying an apartment was obviously bigger than whether to have porridge or noodles for supper. It was almost as serious as “To be or not to be.” Trying to help her a little, I said offhandedly, “You should buy it. It’s a big apartment, more than one hundred and seventy square meters, and it costs only about four hundred thousand. It’s a bargain.” Today, Heavenly Garden is the largest residential complex in Asia, with dozens of bus stops and three subway stations. Property prices have soared in Beijing, so my casual advice turned out to be the wisest thing I’ve ever said. Meanwhile, my feelings for the woman photographer, who prompted my mother to buy in the first place, have always been complicated. She was like a godmother to me—almost my personal angel on Earth. This apartment is mine because of her, and I love it and I love Heavenly Garden. This love was like a religious thing, and I had it because God had given me special treatment, which I didn’t deserve. I was a fortunate person. But now, I was actually about to leave this place of happiness, all because Xiao Shao, my girlfriend, had stolen a cat. One morning I was walking her to the subway. It began raining, so I wrapped my thin hoodie around her. When she returned that evening after work, she was carrying the hoodie and I saw a little cat’s face peeking out of it. “Is this something you picked up?” I asked her. “Don’t you think its face looks so much like yours that it could be your son? Get a picture of yourself as a baby and compare it. You looked exactly the same. Weren’t your irises yellow, too?” she asked, pushing the cat into my arms. 109

Partly covered by the hoodie, the cat’s face looked only slightly bigger than my fist. It wore a disdainful frown. And the yellow eyes—a human infant with eyes like that would be considered jaundiced. But the cat was as clean as the nails of people who get a manicure every day. Clearly, it was not a stray cat. I refused to hold it and gave it back to Xiao Shao. “Don’t be pushy,” I told her. “Wayward, eh?” Xiao Shao said to the cat, scratching its head. “Its name is Rushdie. Isn’t Midnight’s Children one of your favorite books?” I did love Rushdie, the author of Midnight’s Children, but I didn’t want to have anything to do with the midnight child in Xiao Shao’s arms. “Stop it,” I said. “My surname is Wang, not Rushdie, and it’s definitely not my son. You’d better take it back to where you found it.” “Don’t even think about it. I’m not going to do that. We need it. It’s a gift from Heaven,” Xiao Shao murmured into the air—just as my mother used to. Back in our apartment, Xiao Shao put the cat on the floor and took it out of the hoodie. Around its neck was a leather collar, which confirmed my judgment that it wasn’t a stray, or at least I had never seen a stray cat with a leather collar. I wasn’t sure how old it was, but I guessed about five or six human years. I might have been wrong, but what did it matter? The important thing was Xiao Shao saying the cat was my son. The cat crouched timidly on the floor. It actually looked a little like Salman Rushdie without a beard. I took a picture of it with my phone for no particular reason; that’s just what everyone does these days. The cat’s short fur looked silvery in the glow of the setting sun. Normally at this hour, Xiao Shao would still be in a white apron wrapping cakes behind the counter at the Cheery Bakery. Instead, she had come home early today, which made what was happening seem as if it had been planned. I paced back and forth in the spacious living room. That’s what I would usually do when I felt ill at ease. In Beijing, owning an apartment of more than one hundred seventy square meters calms a person’s nerves. There are a lot of stray cats and dogs in Heavenly Garden, and I occasionally toss a couple of sausages to them in passing. But that didn’t mean I’d like to adopt one. To be honest, I didn’t like animals. They pawed through the garbage. They were dirty and annoying. In this neighborhood, many cat and dog owners would walk their animals in groups, morning and evening. They organized themselves into WeChat groups, where they exchanged experiences and feelings about their pets, comparing them and showing off. If I had wanted to get a cat, I wondered whether it would be better to pick up a stray from the dump, or steal one with a leather collar. I was confusing myself, as though I had decided to get a cat to be my son. Feeling mixed up, I thought, okay, I’d rather have a stolen one. Then, after the third round of pacing, I started to think more clearly and change my mind. Even though a filthy cat from the dump was disgusting, it was better than having a sleek cat that had been stolen. This thought was based on an ethical principle called legitimacy—which is when you suppress your 110

Mānoa

n

The Zither

instinctive preferences in order to do what’s ethically right—in other words, this reasoning was causing me to ignore the stench of garbage. Well then, I should give the cat back to its owner—that was what I wanted to do. Who said I had to adopt a cat anyway? However, although it would be “legitimate” for me to return the cat—and would make me a rational and honorable person—I hesitated. Xiao Shao had said that the cat was my son and that it had the same yellow eyes as I did. Could I shatter her fantasy with an abstraction like legitimacy? What would happen after that? Wouldn’t it be even more legitimate to give her a real baby? I was horrified by the prospect. Xiao Shao must have been using the same logic in order to trick me. We should have a son—that’s a natural part of life—but in reality it was just as legitimate to not steal a cat as it was to not want to take on the heavy burden of bringing up a child. I had a feeling that my personal good fortune had run out when I was twelve when my mother bought this apartment. And I shouldn’t expect more favors from God. I paced back and forth again. I had to talk to Xiao Shao, though I was not sure I could reason with her. “Sweetheart, it’s not right. If we really want a cat, we can buy one. It wasn’t a good idea to just wrap one up in a hoodie and bring it home.” I tried to convince her that I really didn’t want a cat. The most I wanted to do for a cat was to throw some stray a sausage. But now it seemed the subject of our conversation had become acquiring a cat. “It’s a gift from God,” Xiao Shao said, crouching down to stroke the cat’s belly. “Do you think you can buy gifts from God? Can’t you see? It’s Rushdie. You like Rushdie, don’t you? It’s our son—do you think you can buy a son?” Squatting next to her, I looked squarely at this “gift from God.” Its eyes were large and wide open. Its upper lids were curved like an almond cut in half lengthwise, and its lower lids were round. Its eyes were bright and alert. Well, I had to admit, it was perfect—like a gift from God. But why were its eyes blue now? “See?” I said, “its eyes aren’t yellow,” as if this would be a convincing argument. “That’s because the changing light makes pupils change color. When we first met, your eyes weren’t as yellow as they are now. The cat’s a gift from God, and now we’re a complete family.” Xiao Shao looked at me vaguely, as if confused by her own words. Her bangs were wet. It was probably still raining, and so she’d taken off the hoodie and wrapped it around the cat. The cat raised a front paw and patted her hand. I noticed the animal tremble slightly. I had to admit Xiao Shao’s words were somewhat persuasive. She insisted, “It’s a gift from God,” and as a gift from God, stealing it seemed more miraculous than buying it. In one of his songs, Bob Dylan says, “Yes, I am a thief of thought/ not, I pray, a stealer of souls.” I wasn’t going to give Xiao Shao a real baby, so she had come up with a solution—stealing a cat as a substitute. The logic was complicated. I stared silently at the trembling cat on the floor.

Yi

n

Babel

111

Xiao Shao picked up the cat and sat down on the sofa, holding the animal the way a woman holds a baby. I sat on the floor and out of habit looked at them through my phone’s camera. Framed in the lens, I saw a sad mother and her son. The light was dim, but the two of them radiated a sacred, serene glow. I asked Xiao Shao what she would like for supper. It’s an idle question we ask a million times in our lives. No one answered me, just as no one had ever answered my mother. I picked up the hoodie from the floor, put it on, and walked outside. The light rain still falling through the air looked like shiny droplets of oil, each with its own rainbow. I went to the adjoining apartment building and knocked on Su Wei’s door. She was eating her dinner: a cup of instant noodles. I told her about the cat and showed her the picture on my phone. Su Wei, the daughter of my “godmother,” concentrated on eating her noodles, occasionally glancing up at me. “American Shorthair,” she said casually. “With silver stripes. It’s pretty.” “Hey, I didn’t come here to show you how pretty it is. And anyway, what does American Shorthair mean?” Rubbing her wrist, she dropped the empty noodle cup on the table and said, “It’s the cat’s breed: the American Shorthair.” I imagined I saw a cat with a leather collar sailing toward me over the ocean from America. “That’s not what I came to ask you,” I said. As the daughter of my godmother, Su Wei was, in my eyes, a divine character in my life. Sometimes I thought that it couldn’t have been coincidental that the affordable housing program that had brought me to Heavenly Garden had also made her my neighbor. “Then what do you want to know?” she asked. She was wearing a loose white blouse knotted at the bottom. “Oh yes, and it’s probably not cheap,” she added. “A cat of this breed might easily be worth seven or eight thousand yuan.” As she began to understand the situation, she remembered that she was a lawyer and started to talk like one. “It’s larceny for sure,” she said. “Considering the cat’s value, you’ll get two or three years in jail if you’re caught and convicted.” I was astonished. I’d had no intention of asking her for legal advice. She offered me a cigarette and lit one herself. She leaned back and rubbed her wrist, as if the cup of instant noodles had been too heavy for her. “Don’t take any chances. Find a way to get it back to its owner. Do you know how pet owners think? They’re all like Xiao Shao. They think pets are their children. I’m sure the owner will call the police. Who wouldn’t call the police when their child is missing? If the police start investigating, it’ll turn ugly. It’s not too late—you saw this baby alone and wet in the rain, so you took it home to keep it warm until you could locate its owner. That’s the story. Maybe the owner will give you a reward. Are you all right?”

112

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Maybe I didn’t look well. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I haven’t forgotten that Aunt Yang told me to look after you. Don’t go on and on about ‘God’s gift.’ A lot of the time, we don’t know if we’ve been fortunate or if we’ve stepped in dog poop. Anyway, I’m not optimistic about this. You’ve evidently stepped in dog poop!” “Aunt Yang,” my mother, had never told me what she’d said to Su Wei about me. When Mother died three years ago and left me her apartment, Su Wei was still hanging around Japan with her ex-husband. “Get on with it.” She opened the door and pushed me out. “By the way, there’s a pet shop downstairs on the right. You should buy some cat food. That’s what an animal lover would do. Besides, you have to take good care of that thing before you give it back. You mustn’t make any mistake, or you’ll blow it! Do you understand what I’m saying?” She kept rubbing her wrist. “I think I do.” I said, “By the way, what’s wrong with your wrist?” “My wrist? Oh, tenosynovitis, from typing on my phone too much.” Distracted for a moment, she continued, “That cat’s like a human baby now, and everyone is obligated to protect a baby. I’m not kidding: if someone picks up a baby and the baby dies, he will be held responsible. Besides, you haven’t just picked it up; you’ve stolen it.” “Thanks a lot!” She slammed the door after me, not at all something Mother would have told her to do. I didn’t find the store Su Wei called a pet shop. But I didn’t think she had meant to mislead me, and I didn’t think she had brushed me off. She was simply exaggerating to emphasize how serious the situation was. In a nearby supermarket, I bought a few cups of instant noodles and some bottles of soda. At the checkout, I saw several shelves of cat food behind the cashier. Had they always been there? A beautiful cat’s face was printed on the fancy labels. I must have passed the display countless times, but I suppose we only see what we want to see. I chose two cans of New Zealand beef—93% fresh meat from the same animal, according to the label. I selected the cat food like a father choosing food for his son. I wasn’t so picky when I chose the instant noodles for myself. When I got home, the food was met with an incredibly warm reception. Xiao Shao had never looked so amorous. Bringing her two cans of cat food made her so happy that I could feel her love for me had grown enormously. She kissed me on the cheek—like a girlfriend, a daughter, a mother, and, of course, like a cat. We put the canned beef in a bowl that we used for rice every day, and watched the cat anxiously. When it disdainfully sniffed the edge of the bowl twice, Xiao Shao burst into tears. I didn’t think this was an overreaction, however; if I hadn’t had more self-control, I probably would have cried, too. “When it gets a little older and its face is a little fuller, and there’s more space between the eyes, it will totally look like you,” she said. When Xiao Shao lay on the couch with the cat sleeping on her chest,

Yi

n

Babel

113

everything was very different than it used to be. “We’re now a complete family,” she said. As the two slept peacefully together, I felt a little pang of jealousy. But I couldn’t bear to wake her up, so I got a bottle of soda and went outside on the balcony. I realized that, since I had joined a few WeChat pet groups in Heavenly Garden, I could post a notice: “Found an American Shorthair cat. Contact me if you’ve lost one.” This way, no one would think Xiao Shao and I had stolen the cat. This was a very legitimate way out if we were accused of a crime. I browsed the WeChat groups, which I normally blocked. Photos of the American Shorthair Rushdie were everywhere; he was the only topic in Heavenly Garden, the largest residential complex in Asia. Of course, nobody called him Rushdie. His real name was Babel! Can you imagine how astonished I was? This blew my mind—even more than the flood of public condemnation of whoever took the cat. All the residents in Heavenly Garden were angry and collectively cursing the cat thief. But it was still the cat’s real name that shocked me the most—I almost dropped my phone. Where did the name Babel come from? It must be Isaac Babel, the author of Red Cavalry. Neither Babel nor Rushdie is a popular fiction writer, and I was guessing that there had to be only a small number of people on Earth who were interested in the works of both of them. I don’t mean to judge people by what they read; I’m not an arrogant person. I just think that humans are always split into fractions, and there’s no way to communicate between them. For example, I bet you can’t imagine there would be a small fraction of people whose lifetime hobby is collecting dirty underwear from the garbage. Likewise, I thought the fraction of people who shared my reading interests had to be extremely small. It had never crossed my mind that I didn’t have to go far: right here in Heavenly Garden, there was another one of my kind. According to the WeChat information, a man in the community who worked in the Ministry of Agriculture—he couldn’t have been high ranking since no one important would live here among the common people—had posted two short videos. In the first, he was playing with Babel on the carpet. A woman with a gentle expression—his wife, of course—was sitting in a wheelchair and watching them. In the second video, she was crying, “Babel slipped out when we opened the door for a delivery man.” Yeah! Babel slipped out by itself, so we weren’t responsible for that. She continued to say that Babel often slipped out, but never left. He was just naughty, and he would wait in the doorway for a while and come back in when the door opened. He liked this game. This cat was so clever, I thought. If I let it out now, would it find its way back home? It would just need to go along a few streets, follow someone into the elevator, signal which button to press for his floor, politely say thanks and goodbye, then walk to his door and knock. Hello. Game over. “Someone stole my baby!” The woman in the video was sobbing. “Someone

114

Mānoa

n

The Zither

sneaked up to my door while he was out and snatched him! The damn thief must have planned this for a long time!” Uh oh, “the damn thief ” was my Xiao Shao! Was it true? That’s really impressive! How long were you planning this? A year? Six months? You got off work early from the bakery on this rainy evening and crept over to their apartment building, and you wore a hoodie that you could use to hide the cat. You waited for it to come out the door, and then you pounced and rushed away with it. This was too evil—just like a human trafficker kidnapping a child in daylight! Could people still feel safe in Heavenly Garden? Some people in the WeChat group suggested that the owner go to the property management office and check the surveillance tapes. I had to admit that was a very good idea. I couldn’t continue reading the WeChat posts. It was as if Xiao Shao were not here, and as if Rushdie were not lying on her chest as they slept on the couch, but instead existed only in a grainy video. “Let’s go—now!” I had never spoken so decisively. Usually I spoke as my mother had: indifferently to the air. With the cat lying in her arms, Xiao Shao had miraculously become passive, like a breastfeeding woman at peace with the world—as long as you kept away from her baby. She got up and followed me without asking any more questions. I thrust the hoodie into her arms, and she silently wrapped up the cat. We didn’t take the elevator, figuring we would probably have run into the cat’s owner and some security guards. If we were caught with the cat, it would have been catastrophic. Xiao Shao and I were in love, and our love, like all real love, was too fragile to withstand such a blow. Xiao Shao followed me quietly down the stairs. On several floors, the corridor’s motion-sensor lights were broken. Tiptoeing down in the darkness, I felt desolate. Unexpectedly, the cat meowed. I was caught offguard. It was so scary. When we got outside, the surrounding area was completely dark, but Heavenly Garden was ablaze with lights. Though it was still drizzling, crowds bustled about. We kept to the shadows as much as we could, hardly aware that we were still walking on tiptoe. As we got into a taxi, even the cat let out a deep sigh of relief, as if it had been holding its breath inside the hoodie the whole time. I should talk with Xiao Shao to get the whole story out of her. Had she in fact planned this for a long time? Or could it have happened innocently: the cat had run to her feet and lured her with yellow eyes like mine, so that she couldn’t help but pick it up and wrap it in her hoodie. But as we drove along, I felt weak and didn’t want to talk. And I didn’t want to disturb Xiao Shao, who was now very quiet. Ever since she came to me with the cat in her arms, I had felt that our relationship had suddenly become more nurturing and understanding. I felt that we belonged to each other more than we ever had before. I knew what Su Wei had said—that Xiao Shao would go to jail—was only

Yi

n

Babel

115

true hypothetically, and I wasn’t worried, because I simply didn’t believe that people lose their freedom for stealing a cat. But I was also afraid: what if the hypothetical spun crazily out of control and miraculously became reality? Up to now, I hadn’t seen hypothetical things become real. For example, I majored in mechanical engineering in college, but my being a mechanical engineer was hypothetical. In reality, I had only worked as an editor, a tour guide, and a restaurant manager. I’d never made a penny in mechanical engineering. It was similar with my mother: she had been self-disciplined and self-sufficient all her life. Even when she was abandoned by her husband, she just kept to herself and talked to the air. Hypothetically, a person like her should live to be more than a hundred years old, but in fact she died in her early sixties. And so, as a result of my experiences, I didn’t much trust hypothetical possibilities. But I loved Xiao Shao so much that I didn’t want to take any chances. Even if she wouldn’t be imprisoned as a cat thief, I couldn’t bear to imagine her losing her dignity. Of course, you could also say that we had little dignity to worry about. Xiao Shao was just a salesgirl in a bakery and I’d been unemployed for nearly six months. But we loved each other, which entitled us to some humble but precious self-esteem. So, it was better to get away from Heavenly Garden. Now. When the taxi driver asked where we were going, I paused before telling him to go to Yukou town. I paused not because I needed to think about it, but because pausing seemed the appropriate thing to do under the circumstances. I began to calculate how much money we had with us. If I remembered correctly, I had tens of thousands of yuan that I could access with my ATM card. But I was not sure about the amount. I should find an ATM and check. “Aren’t I going to work tomorrow?” Xiao Shao whispered. “No. Take a few days off.” I spoke as if this were an ordinary vacation. By now, the surveillance tape would have been reviewed, and property management would soon identify her as the cat thief. If the owner had called the police, and if Xiao Shao went to work tomorrow morning as usual, the police would be waiting for her outside the Cheery Bakery. The taxi turned onto the freeway. I felt oddly at peace. I hadn’t felt like this during the more than five months I’d been unemployed. But it wasn’t just what was happening now that made me feel as if something was finally changing. On the third of next month, Xiao Shao and I would have been together for two years. I was ten years older than she, but in the past two years I had never had the chance to be her protector—or had never felt capable of protecting her. Now, as she sat next to me holding in her arms a feline surrogate for my son, I felt that I was taking on a responsibility. It was unexpected. I was even a little grateful to Xiao Shao. Without overburdening me, she was giving me a sense of self-esteem that I had never felt before. I realized that it was merely a stolen cat, but that was about the most I could handle. What if she had killed someone? Oh my God, I’d better stop thinking like this. Xiao Shao was feeding the cat a can of cat food she had remembered to

116

Mānoa

n

The Zither

bring. She stuffed a lump of meat into its mouth, then licked the tip of her finger. Rushdie or Babel was very cooperative. It was a good cat, worthy of these two superior names. I was a little bored, so I took out my phone and Googled American Shorthair. I learned a lot about this breed: The American Shorthair is a cat native to the United States. Its ancestor is a feline species brought to North America by early European settlers. It is related to the British Shorthair and the European Shorthair. This breed is cross-bred with imported breeds such as English Shorthair, Burmese, and Persian cats.

See? Its history is complicated. This information about its lineage basically eliminated all the breeding paths I possibly could have been involved in. There was no way that I could have had a son like this. The American Shorthair is famous for being tall, brawny, muscular, intelligent, and docile. It is one of the larger shorthair cats. The fur is thick, and there are more than thirty varieties of hair color. Among them, the silvery stripe breed is particularly precious.

Hey look, it turned out that this cat with silver stripes was an aristocrat. In the autumn of 1620, the Mayflower left port and sailed for the open ocean. In fact, when leaving England, many of the old sailors doubted whether the wooden vessel, only twenty-seven meters long, would ever make it to its destination. There were a hundred and two men onboard, some necessary supplies, and a dozen cats. After struggling on the ocean for more than three months, they came to a quiet bay, where there were abundant fish and shrimp. Not far from the coast was a hill with spring water. It was as if God had arranged it for them. From then on, the people of the Mayflower began to live and work in peace where they had landed. Later, it became the United States. Used for catching rats on the ship, the cats began to breed in North America—the New World. The cats were the founding fathers of the United States, and they witnessed the historic events of the country. After many generations of breeding, they established the North American Shorthair cat species. No, it wasn’t an illusion. At that moment, I really thought I was on a wooden sailing ship twenty-seven meters long, and a peaceful harbor was indeed waiting for us. More than two hours later, we checked into a small hotel in the town of Yukou. I found a local business guidebook in our room and read that a nearby company produced refueling equipment. I then realized why I told the driver to come here: my ex-girlfriend worked for this company and was now a wellpaid executive. But I certainly wouldn’t go looking for her. When the Mayflower was drifting on the ocean, did the people onboard think of visiting relatives

Yi

n

Babel

117

and friends? I was a little surprised at the unconscious motivation behind my split-second decision to come to this town. Looking out the window, I saw an Industrial and Commercial Bank with ATMs across from the hotel. Fortunately, when I checked my account balance, I saw that I had a little more money than I remembered. I estimated we could live as fugitives for about half a year. As I left the ATM, my attention was drawn to a frantic man standing on the side of the road. His car, a 2012 Audi, had broken down, and like many people whose cars break down, he was kicking it over and over. Strangely his behavior seemed to me almost too stereotypical. I watched for a moment before deciding to help him. My decision could have had something to do with my state of mind: I had just confirmed that I had more money than I had expected, and although the money was unquestionably mine, I felt it was somehow heaven sent, and more than I deserved. So I thought I ought to do a good deed. The distraught man was suspicious of my approach. He had a watchful face and his left eye looked artificial. He seemed to be a man like me, someone who didn’t accept favors easily. In this case, I was at ease approaching him because I was doing a favor instead of asking for one—and also because my college major was mechanical engineering. He didn’t have to kick the car. There was nothing really wrong with it except that carbon had built up on the spark plugs. He had carburetor cleaner in the car, and a simple cleaning would at least get him home. Thirty minutes later, his car started. The man got out and thrust two hundred yuan into my hand. This was not what I expected. It wasn’t until the car disappeared down the road that I realized that on this night, on the side of the road in Yukou town, I had actually made real-world money with my professional training. I was a little rattled and a little inspired. I went over to a nearby food stall and ordered two bottles of beer, along with chicken wings, potatoes, and spicy tofu. It was like rewarding myself, but I knew I hadn’t done anything worthy of a reward. Thoughts were floating vaguely in my mind as I ate and drank to relax. The night in this town hardly one hundred kilometers from the center of Beijing felt desolate. The food-stall owner, a middle-aged woman with a world-weary expression, wore a sweater rolled up from the bottom, revealing the lower parts of her drooping breasts. Business was slow, so she sat down next to me. I poured her a glass of beer. She took it without looking up and downed it in one gulp. She seemed to be dealing with some sort of inner turmoil. When I asked her where to rent a car in this town, she shook her head and said, “I don’t know shit.” Back in the hotel room, Xiao Shao was already asleep. The cat, too, seemed to be asleep, resting on her arm. For a moment I thought of picking it up and throwing it out the window. I didn’t intend to hurt it; I just thought it might trot back to Heavenly Garden by itself. Didn’t people say that dogs and cats

118

Mānoa

n

The Zither

know their way home? But I immediately dismissed the idea. I wasn’t sure this cute little thing was that smart, even if it was called Rushdie or Babel, and even though Google said the breed was good-natured and lively and had a “curiosity and desire to explore the outside world.” I lay down on the other bed and fell asleep, imagining that I was lying on the deck of the Mayflower. The update from Heavenly Garden’s WeChat pet group was not what I expected. They had checked the surveillance tape and the result was reasonable but unexpected—or, you could say, it was within expectation but beyond reason: the camera was broken. Public opinion had turned to blaming the property management. The management promised that within two days it would repair all the broken surveillance cameras in this, the largest residential complex in Asia, and review every bit of footage that might have captured the cat thieves. Neither project was easy to do. I felt sorry about that. I had been resisting looking at the phone, because I was afraid that there would be a slew of images of my dear Xiao Shao stealing the cat. I imagined a creepy series of disjointed, shaky clips taken from the perspective of the elevator ceilings, the doors closing soundlessly, and a ghostly female cradling stolen goods. Someone on WeChat suggested calling the police, but soon this message was forgotten in a flood of other, attention-getting posts, such as “seaweed can purify your blood vessels” and so on. People posted messages as if they were dumping their garbage. The largest residential complex in Asia was essentially no different from Yukou town. Some people stole cats, some people purified their blood vessels with seaweed, some people got tenosynovitis because they used their phone too much, some people died of heartbreak—but in general they cared mainly about themselves. It was kind of sad. I couldn’t think badly of my Xiao Shao anymore. Early in the morning Xiao Shao was on the bed tending her darling, feeding it, and holding up its forelimbs to teach it to walk upright. I remembered that Xiao Shao had always been a cheerful girl. Of course she was; otherwise I wouldn’t have been attracted to her the first time I saw her at the Cheery Bakery. What attracted her to me? I didn’t know. Maybe it was the Midnight’s Children I carried under my arm. I went out to buy breakfast, and thinking of Midnight’s Children led me to think of the cat’s owner. He named his cat Babel, which made me regard him as one of my species. Like two solitary soldiers, he and I had taken cover in Heavenly Garden. Now, in the morning air of Yukou town, for the first time I felt a little guilty about the whole situation. I tried to imagine what it would be like if someone had stolen something precious from me. But this line of thinking was impossible to develop, because I couldn’t immediately think of any of my possessions as precious. I realized that I had very little. Aside from possessions, was Xiao Shao precious to me? She was, of course! But to compare Xiao Shao with a cat was quite inappropriate.

Yi

n

Babel

119

It began to rain. As in the city, the rain was almost invisible, like shiny droplets of oil, each with its own rainbow. When I got back to the hotel carrying the soybean milk and fried dough sticks, I looked up at the windows on the second floor and saw Xiao Shao and the cat at the glass. She held up one of the cat’s front paws to wave a greeting to me. Both of their faces were pressed against the glass, and they looked more alike than ever before. Rain streaked the window, and through the distortion they looked like a single crying cat face. Yes, Xiao Shao was crazy: she stole a cat, which she named Rushdie—a ridiculous name for a cat—and she made the stolen cat my son. But I couldn’t bring her back to the “legitimacy” of human reason, and in any case I didn’t want to do that right away. What did it mean to return to “legitimacy”? Well, it meant that every morning I had to get out of bed to walk her to the subway station. If it rained, I would take off my hoodie and put it on her. Then I would come home to sleep some more, since I was unemployed. In the evening, she would bring me some cookies, and I would prepare some noodles and soda for her. I wasn’t missing any of these things very much. Xiao Shao tied a hotel towel around the cat’s head like a turban, making Rushdie look even more like an infant. When I looked at him from the side, I noticed the curve from the bridge of his nose. This curve softened the hard edges of the world and touched me deeply. Xiao Shao held the cat out to me, and this time I didn’t refuse. It felt like I was holding a healthy human baby in my arms. Robust and high-spirited, he seemed to tenderly connect the three of us. I went downstairs again and asked the proprietor where to rent a car. He was fat and looked oddly like the food-stall lady from the night before. That woman looked like a guy, and this guy looked like a woman. His face looked world-weary too. “I don’t know, dear,” he said coyly. I smoked a cigarette under the hotel’s eaves and pondered what to do. I decided to call my ex-girlfriend. I needed a car. Of course, I could take a taxi, but I preferred to drive myself. It didn’t make much sense, but under the circumstances, it just seemed more appropriate to drive myself: the road, the distance, and the fugitive. Yeah, it fit my inner playbook. Having slept during the day, every day, for more than five months in Heavenly Garden, I now needed to do something active. My phone call got through to my ex-girlfriend. Once again, I was treated well by God, and still undeservedly, because I hadn’t dialed that number for at least five years. My ex-girlfriend, Wang Li, couldn’t get away, she said, because she was in a meeting, but she would send someone with a car for me. I stood under the eaves smoking. The wind blew the heavy rain onto my face. A new Peugeot 3008 pulled up to the curb. The driver was a young woman with a fantastic figure, wearing the kind of outfit usually worn by professional women who worked for large companies. In a customer-service tone, she told me that her boss, Ms. Wang, sent her apologies. I felt a little disappointed, as

120

Mānoa

n

The Zither

if I actually had the desire to see my ex-girlfriend. But what for? To show her Rushdie? “Hi, look, this is my son.” “Please tell Ms. Wang that I’d like to use this car for a while, and I’ll contact her again before returning it.” “Anything you say.” Her manner and tone stunned me for a moment. In my memory, Wang Li used to say the same thing—“Anything you say”—in exactly the same way. The thought crossed my mind that the woman in front of me was in fact Wang Li herself—the ex-girlfriend with whom I had had a stormy love affair. Or at the very least, this could have been Wang Li after having had cosmetic surgery so that she would look young like this forever. The gas tank was full and the car was exactly what I needed. I mean, the new SUV matched the plot of my unspoken playbook. It seemed that Wang Li understood me. I picked up Xiao Shao, and we put the cat in the back seat. As I gripped the steering wheel and pressed on the gas pedal, I finally had the feeling that I was a person taking on responsibility. “Ooh! Beef, beef gravy, beef liver, beef tripe, beef lungs, beef kidney, brewer’s yeast, tetrasodium pyrophosphate, fish liver oil, cinnamon…” Instead of asking me where I’d gotten the car, Xiao Shao was reading the label on the cat-food can out loud. “Ooh! Remember that a cat’s nutritional needs vary according to its activities, metabolism, health, and environment. Ooh! Small amounts are recommended if your cat is obese, and large amounts if your cat is too thin. Ooh!” The exclamation ooh! indicated that Xiao Shao too was acting responsibly. “Ooh! If the cat weighs between four and six kilograms, it must be fed one or two cans a day. Hey! We didn’t feed it enough!” she exclaimed. “We didn’t feed it enough! You didn’t buy enough!” “It’s all right. You can feed it some sausages,” I said to appease her. At the freeway entrance, I didn’t have a definite destination in mind and just headed toward Tangshan. Maybe I had some vague idea, but it didn’t matter. In the autumn nearly four hundred years ago, when the Mayflower left an English port for the open ocean, it wasn’t going in a definite direction either. But then, wasn’t a dream all about creating something out of nothing? Tangshan—at least we could buy fancy cat food there. In the back seat, the cat kept meowing. At first it meowed in response to each ooh from Xiao Shao, but when the oohs stopped, it continued. I could tell it was happy, and perhaps this was its way of singing. Apparently, it had overcome the anxiety of having new owners and was showing the intelligent, docile nature of the breed. We were no longer strangers to it, and we were all getting along well inside the Peugeot 3008. Its previous master, the other reader of Red Cavalry, might have given it more professional care, but we could give it the rare experience of traveling a long way by car. In other words, it would never have experienced pressing its nose against a rainy window in a small hotel,

Yi

n

Babel

121

or eating sausages instead of imported beef, or being wrapped in a hoodie and sharing the excitement of being a fugitive. In the rearview mirror, I saw it resting its forelimbs on the car window and gazing wistfully at the scenery flashing by. I was a bit spellbound by the scenery, too. Although we were driving through an ordinary northern countryside in an early autumn rain, I was overcome by the feeling that the road was straight, my heart was straight, and the world ahead was wide open. When we pulled in to a service station, Xiao Shao took the cat inside with her to buy sausages. I sat alone in the car and scrolled through my phone. As I expected, there was a message posted on WeChat in the form of a letter: the cat owner making an appeal for help. The message began dear new owner of babel. That was me, I knew. The gentleman who had read Red Cavalry begged for the cat to be returned by the “dear new owner of Babel,” who, he believed, “must also be a soft-hearted and well-meaning cat lover.” Yeah, yeah, he got that right, though I wasn’t a cat person. “But please give Babel back! Its mother can’t manage without it. Since it was taken, she has lost the will to live.” I read the message twice, convinced that Babel’s mother was the lady in the wheelchair. “Just now, she was taken to the hospital—early this morning she attempted suicide by slashing her wrist.” No, it couldn’t be true. No, it was true! Had I not been in the middle of this situation, I would have considered this cat’s mother’s behavior insane. But now all I could think of was a home in Heavenly Garden—the largest residential complex in Asia—where the husband was a civil servant who read Red Cavalry and the wife was confined to a wheelchair. They had a cat. Now the cat had been stolen, and the wife had lost the will to live. I could understand that because that’s pretty much the way I had thought about my life until yesterday. At the end, the man begged everyone to forward his letter to as many people as possible. He said he believed that “Babel hasn’t left Heavenly Garden.” Babel did not leave Heavenly Garden. But Babel was now in a service station of the Jin-Ji Highway, and I suddenly felt terrible about it. But though my mother passed away three years ago and had been cremated, I often felt that she had not left Heavenly Garden either. When Xiao Shao got back into the car, the first thing I said was, “Sweetheart, we need to return the cat.” She was silent. I looked in the back seat and saw that the cat was also looking at Xiao Shao. Then it turned to look at me. I handed my phone to Xiao Shao to show her the message, and the cat stretched out a forepaw. After she read it, Xiao Shao began sobbing. The cat licked her face. “He said in his message that although Babel generally knew it shouldn’t eat too much, we needed to watch the amount of food we gave it, and give it some

122

Mānoa

n

The Zither

toys to play with for exercise. He also said that we needed to prepare clean drinking water for it so that it wouldn’t drink from the toilet . . .” Xiao Shao kept reading the message on the phone, interpreting it to mean that the cat’s owner had given us permission to keep the stolen animal. The cat looked at her in a melancholy way, recognizing that Xiao Shao was melancholy, too, and then nodded. It looked troubled. I took my phone back and searched it for the information I needed. Then I started the car. More than an hour later, we took the exit to downtown Tangshan, and I spotted a pet store. From the outside, it looked like a castle from a fairytale, with yellow walls and floor-to-ceiling windows divided into grids, each painted with the face of a cat or dog. Oh, and a few rabbits and hamsters. I stopped in front of the store and lit a cigarette. Xiao Shao said nothing, but she knew what was on my mind. She could read the sign pet foster care on the storefront. “But how will it get back home?” I felt relieved that she was now concerned about something practical. I said, “No problem. I‘ll take care of it. See? I’m adding the owner as a friend on my WeChat. I’ll send him the address and the route.” “I love you so much!” Xiao Shao said abruptly. My heart was filling up. In this moment, I realized that I loved Xiao Shao, and not only for her sweet temperament. This sweet girl had stepped out of the elevator from under the surveillance camera and with unspeakable mystery and passion walked directly into my heart. She stole a cat and brought it home, launching our exhilarating escape from our dull, daily routine. And now, without any of the philosophical reasoning about “legitimacy”—which I hadn’t been able to figure out for myself—she deliberately slowed down her life’s tumultuous journey, like releasing a soft sigh after lovemaking. I was almost certain that years from now, Xiao Shao would reveal to me that she had planned all this in advance. Xiao Shao got out with the cat in her arms. I got out of the car, too, in the drizzling rain and wrapped my hoodie around her shoulders, just as I had done when I walked her to the subway entrance a few days ago. As I had watched her merge into the crowd, my heart had swollen, as if it were being stuffed with the whole of Heavenly Garden, the largest residential complex in Asia. “Leave some extra money for the shopkeeper,” I told her. She nodded, lifting the cat up to my face, its yellow eyes looking into my yellow eyes, its nose touching my nose. I felt that something significant had collided with me, and I closed my eyes quietly to immerse myself in the sensation. When I opened my eyes, Xiao Shao was already on the other side of the road. The cat was on her shoulder, raising its front paw and waving goodbye to me. I checked my phone. Overnight the cat owner must have joined every WeChat group in Heavenly Garden. His personal image was a cat. I sent him a friend message: babel did not leave heavenly garden.



Yi

n

Babel

123

He answered my message almost immediately. I sent him a photo of the cat, a picture of the front of the pet shop, and its address. Then I transferred 1000 yuan to him. I didn’t write a message. I longed to say something to him about Babel, about Rushdie, about human suffering, and the almost religious feeling that comes from suffering—about the agony of being a prisoner while also being grateful for the pain of enduring captivity. But I didn’t write a single word. As soon as I was finished, I deleted him from my phone, as if a solitary soldier were silently leaving another lonely soldier behind on the battlefield. When Xiao Shao returned, the hoodie was no longer on her shoulders. She got into the car and said, “Maybe Babel will use the hoodie again.” Babel did not leave Heavenly Garden. But we were leaving Heavenly Garden. We continued heading east. That was the most direct way I could think of to reach the ocean. The Mayflower was still sailing across the sea—minus one American Shorthair. As I drove, a formerly vague idea came into focus. The arrival of the idea or ideas was so indescribable that I could only say it was inspirational. I didn’t even know if it was singular or plural, like trying to imagine two angels standing on the head of a pin, or a bunch of angels popping up all at once. But that’s exactly how it came into my mind. Last month, Su Wei had come to see me. Her business partners wanted to open a branch office. She asked me if I would rent her my apartment in Heavenly Garden for 20,000 yuan a month. “It’s a decent price,” she said. “You don’t need such a big place. Find a smaller one near Xiao Shao’s work. You’ll get more than its cost from renting your place, and we’ll both get convenience.” I turned her down, not because it hurt my pride to accept a favor, but because I felt an unwarranted fear when I imagined leaving Heavenly Garden. God gave me this home as a special favor. I was afraid that if I ever left it, I would fall through the cracks of life. But now—on the highway—a bunch of thoughts like little angels crowded into my head, and slowly freed me from my heavy, self-imposed sense of destiny. The angels said to me, In everything one sees God’s mercy. And now God’s favor was falling on me once again. Because I had been living some kind of fundamental falsehood, Xiao Shao had stolen a cat and we had been forced to leave home. And then the cat led us to board our own Mayflower, sailing toward another Promised Land. On the way, an attentive angel arranged for an Audi to break down and disguised himself as a man with an artificial eye. And so I was inspired to believe that I could live by what I’d been trained to do. Okay then. Since I now had new blueprints for my life, I would open a garage on the beach, and then with the money on my bank card, I would open a bakery for Xiao Shao. I would rent the apartment in Heavenly Garden to Su Wei, and the rent would be enough for us to live a simple life at the seaside. Maybe this was why God had given me the apartment when I was twelve years old. Xiao

124

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Shao and I would escape from the largest residential complex in Asia. In the big city, you had to always be both grateful to and afraid of fate, always feeling like a thief, as if your days of living in gratitude and fear had been stolen from some monstrous force and you felt yourself indebted to someone. In the big city, people with degrees in mechanical engineering were working in restaurants; cat food and instant noodles were set side by side on the supermarket shelves; people satisfied their vanity through social media, fiddling with their phones until they got tenosynovitis; and people who didn’t dare to have children had pets instead; and the unemployed went back to bed after breakfast to continue the nightmare of defeat. Okay then, everything should be put on pause at least once in a person’s life. Xiao Shao didn’t have to steal another cat to be my son; we would have a son of our own. We could live simple lives, as we should. I would like to believe that a quiet harbor was ahead of us, where fish and shrimp were abundant. Not far from the coast there would be a hill with bubbling spring water. If such a shore did exist, it would still be a favor from God. If such an existence could be realized, I would still devoutly believe that I did not deserve to be treated so well. Whatever. Babel did not leave Heavenly Garden, and by this time I had already smelled the sea on the breeze. Translated by Chen Zeping and Karen Gernant



Yi

n

Babel

125

Y i

Z hou

The Freewheeling Garden

He was my teacher, yet once in a moment of ecstasy he had pressed his face against my breasts and said that I had enlightened him. At the time, the word enlightened sounded to me like the sheer rocky peaks of the Danxia landform nearby, which had been sculpted by eons of weathering and erosion. The cliffs were strangely shaped, colorful, and imposing. Not long after I enrolled in the teachers’ college, I began skipping classes. I often went to the nearby Gobi Desert, lying at the foot of the snow-capped mountains. My professor never accompanied me there, but it was he who told me that Gobi was originally a Mongolian word. He also showed me a small piece of human bone the size of a disposable cigarette lighter. It was hard to tell which part of the skeleton the piece had come from, but I had no doubt it was a real bone. It was pure white and cracked on either end, as if it had been broken off from a dried poplar branch. He showed me this as his main excuse for not going with me to the Gobi Desert: he said his father had died in the desert. He didn’t pretend that the fragment of bone belonged to his father—he said he had just found it there. Supposedly there was a place in the Gobi Desert where white bones were scattered everywhere on the stony ground. I’d searched for the fabled corpse-dumping site, but never found it. Reluctant to admit failure, I broke off a small piece of a dried poplar branch and showed it to my professor. I said, “Look, I got a bone.” He took out his treasured piece and compared it with what I showed him. He had to admit that they were very similar. Later, the two objects got mixed up. Either of them could well have been from the dead poplar branch or a skeleton, but we preferred to think that both were human bones. I used one of them to make a necklace. Soon other girls at school were copying me. They were smart enough to recognize the high quality of the jewelry I made. The boys, like me, were knowit-alls. They believed that I was wearing a piece of genuine human bone and that the other girls were wearing fakes. When I was making out with the boys, I pulled their hands up to my neck and let them touch the treasured bone. In that way, I created for each of them a powerful psychological impression that made them think that making out with me was unique and even sacred. 126

Only a piece of human bone could give them this experience. It was so easy to manipulate them, because boys are always full of themselves. Later, more boys hung around me. Their groping was all the same, bending their necks to reach my lips while exploring my body with their hands, each boy enthralled in his own fantasy. If we did this in the Gobi Desert, I always adjusted my position so I could look south toward the Qilian Mountains. The snowy peaks were glowing at noon; the snowy peaks were glowing at dusk. Noon or dusk, the peaks were always glowing. Looking at them, I thought I could see the hopefulness in life. One boy who was more self-important than the others was a Yugur boy who tackled me to the ground in the Gobi Desert. He was bold and lionhearted like his ancestors—good at horseback riding and archery. He told me that his people used to call themselves Yaohur. All of this seemed to entitle him to be even more self-confident. Anyway, he could have fabricated everything as the result of my egging him on. The place where I usually lay had been formed by great floods originating in the Qilian Mountains. In those deluges hundreds of millions of years ago, the rocks were swept down the mountains, the larger ones piling up in the passes. Rocks as big as a fist rolled farther down, and the smaller ones were spread out across the desert. Thus, the Gobi Desert was formed like the conclusion of a symphony: gradually fading out. Pebbles that had traveled over eons were now pressed beneath me as I lay there. Although the stones where I was lying were smooth, they still hurt my back. But this eternal landscape gave some meaning to my first time. After that first time, a young unemployed local did the same thing with me. He let me be on top, so I had to crane my neck to look at the snow-capped peaks. They glowed day and night. Back then, I didn’t think I was pretty—actually, I never did—and the only beautiful person I could think of was a movie actress named Xiao Xiong. Even though she had never been very popular, I knew I would never be like her. She had strong features, and I was just an average-looking woman. Once, a boy took me by bike to see the wetlands. A romantic, he wove a simple but elegant garland of cattails for me. I picked a handful of the reeds and chewed on them like a sheep to relieve my menstrual cramps. When we returned to campus after dark, we saw a big crowd celebrating on the athletic field. We were told that Qian Yuping had defeated Takemiya Masaki in the Sino-Japanese Go challenge match. Hearing the news, the boy left me and ran toward the crowd, as if he had never woven a garland for me. Later he told me that he had gone to hear the game analysis. Touching my bone necklace, he said, “Black won by five moku and a half.” I thought the phrase “black won by five moku and a half ” was very catchy. It strongly underscored the winner’s triumph. When you said it, it was as if you had also won a victory in life. So when I learned that my aunt had died in a sandstorm, I blurted out, “black won by five moku and a half.” On the other



Yi

n

Freewheeling

127

end of the telephone line, Mother obviously didn’t understand. In addition to telling me of the death, she had called because she was worried about me. Mother had been warned by my college that I was close to “being persuaded to drop out.” I thought this threat was weak and ineffective. “Being persuaded to drop out” sounded at best like a plaintive song—nothing like “black won by five moku and a half,” which was a stirring aria. Mother often phoned me, and if I was at school, I would have to answer her call in the dean’s office. Once, while I was glaring with hatred at the dean, I heard Mother sobbing on the other end. Professor Xue Ziyi taught a class in the classical literature of the Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties. He practiced meditation every day. He told me that “licking the palate” was a key to meditation: “the tip of the tongue touches the roof of the mouth slightly, like a toothless baby sound asleep.” His description was precise and vivid. As we kissed, the tip of his tongue touched the roof of my mouth slightly, and together we became toothless sleeping babies. Sometimes I would sit watching him in meditation: he was as lifeless as a cicada in late autumn, just like a clothes hanger. If he were to be eroded by the wind and become a skeleton in front of me, I’d have plenty of raw material for necklaces. Professor Xue knew where the bones were in the desert, but he wouldn’t take me. He told me that one day he would build a cemetery there, bury all the bones, and erect a monument to comfort the souls. He said that the owners of those bones were not very far removed from us: men and women of a few decades ago whose decaying clothes were still visible. You might even see a solitary leg bone poking out of some worn trousers and pointing into the distance. Being with me seemed to torment him. He probably thought that it had to be a solemn secret in his heart, that he wasn’t supposed to be playing the “palate licking” game with a student. When I was under him and being transported by joy, I thought that I’d better not think of a leg bone sticking out from worn trousers. He said nothing when I ran around with boys. He was indifferent and despondent all day, as if he were in the midst of an inescapable failure, or had been sentenced to life imprisonment. “The essence of classical Chinese literature is all in the Tang and Song dynasties and before,” he said. “So to teach the literature of the Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties doesn’t require any talent.” That’s what he told me, but I didn’t think it was the whole reason for his depression. One night, after our intimate moment was over, he turned off the light and lit a candle in the dark. He held his left hand over the flame. With the candle covered, the room became heavy with darkness. It must have hurt a lot, for I could smell his skin burning. But I didn’t have the faintest intention of stopping him. What was happening before me was beyond comprehension. I had never seen such a thing; it looked like a trick. I just gawked and waited to see how long he could hold out. Naturally, it wasn’t long, but his left hand was bandaged for weeks. In the first few days after I got over the shock, I was

128

Mānoa

n

The Zither

focused on this question: why did he hurt his left hand as punishment for fooling around with me? I almost forgot that snow mountains had been on the earth for a long time. In fact, when I was wrapped in a blanket, curled up on the passenger seat, not many lovely scenes were floating in my mind. But the faint smell of burnt skin from that night still lingered in my nostrils. On both sides of the road were rolling meadows. Although the car was moving fast, the scenery outside the window seemed motionless. I could see a lonely horse munching grass faraway, standing in an unchanging background. Everything was so quiet that I imagined I could hear the horse grazing. Old Wang was driving me from Gansu into Qinghai province. He said that we would turn west after crossing the Qilian Mountains. I didn’t know if this was the only route, but I wouldn’t have minded if he had detoured to Russia. I fell asleep for a while and was startled when I woke up and the car had stopped. Instead of the lonely horse, I saw Old Wang’s lonely back outside the window. He was peeing. For a second I thought the horse had suddenly reared up, wearing a red blazer and transforming itself into Old Wang. It was when I asked Old Wang to take me to my hometown that he suggested we drive. He had a Jeep and seemed proud of it. Driving from Beijing to Gansu wasn’t easy for someone like me, who had just had a breast removed, but I didn’t fully understand that until we were underway. Like a person who has just lost a tooth and is instinctively licking the empty hole, I kept hugging my shoulders and rubbing the scar on my chest. I felt a confusing pressure from the prosthetic breast. It reminded me of my situation: defective and broken. After graduation, I was assigned to be a middle-school teacher in a county town. Xue Ziyi, my classical literature professor, remained in the classroom, lecturing listlessly about the Qing dynasty poet Yuan Mei. Mother was overjoyed that I had a decent job, and she came to visit me every week. But before long, she was again told—this time by the middle-school administration—that I was about “to be persuaded to drop out.” If my life were a TV series, “being persuaded to drop out” would be the pathetic theme song. The ditty kept haunting me, until I couldn’t take it any longer. I wanted to get out, even if it meant I would have merely a supporting role in some other play. Like a talent scout, Old Wang had spotted me soon after my graduation from college. He was very young when we met, but he was already introducing himself as “Old Wang.” He had an old-looking face that matched his name: each pore on his face was big enough to hold a grain of sand. Since he was a wandering poet, he was unshaven and wore dirty jeans and worn-out sneakers. We first got together when he traveled from afar to the small town where I was teaching: he had been invited to attend a party thrown by the local poetry society. I was also invited to the party. That night, without a word, Old Wang bit

Yi

n

Freewheeling

129

the necklace I was wearing. Waking up the next morning, I instinctively looked out the window at the snow-capped mountains. When I lowered my eyes, I saw Old Wang curled up beside me. My necklace was pulled to one side, and the piece of bone was in his mouth. I thought this was significant because—at that moment—I was having an out-of-body experience. I decided to let Old Wang take me away with him. Before leaving, I went home to say goodbye to Mother. My family lived in an apartment complex for staff. Old Wang squatted by the courtyard gate, waiting for me while I went in. When I came out, he hadn’t yet finished smoking a cigarette. Surprised that my farewell to my family was so simple and efficient, he looked at me with new eyes—as if I had acquired the credentials necessary to be a wandering poet like him. I didn’t realize at that time that I wasn’t good enough for a part in any play. Even in The Wandering Poets, I couldn’t manage a supporting role. I was just a walk-on. It took six months for us to travel to his hometown. I lived for many years there, a place where the air was very dry but smelled of the sea. Old Wang and his friends would recite: “Everyone knows that life is a parody, and life has no explanation. Lead is a parody of gold. Air is a parody of water. The brain is a parody of the equator. Having sex is a parody of a crime.”

But if you asked his friends if they knew anything about the history of the area, they could only tell you about Swallow Lisan, a legendary bandit. Old Wang often left home to wander about. At first I went with him, but later I was less willing to go. I was very tired. And since life was but a parody, lying in bed could just as well be a parody of wandering. Although I couldn’t see the snowy mountains from his hometown, I could pretend that I did—the plains being a parody of the snowy mountains. At the turn of the millennium, I was “persuaded to drop out” again—this time from the life of a wandering poet. In that moment, when I chose to leave Old Wang for Beijing, I felt as if we’d been together for a thousand years. Old Wang drove me back to my hometown. In the car, as he drank water from a bottle, it reminded me that it was time to take my medicine. So when he finished drinking, I took the bottle and gulped down a handful of tablets. Old Wang didn’t ask about my health. After all, as a wandering poet, he wasn’t supposed to care too much about such things. For example, I had said goodbye to my mother in less time than it takes to smoke a cigarette. Over the noise of the engine, Old Wang began to sing: I see my dear far off on the tamarisk slope. There are many tamarisk trees on the slope. The red leaves of the tamarisk are falling down, and my red silk panties are dropping too.

130

Mānoa

n

The Zither

It was a folk song from my hometown that he had learned when he was there. The world was nothing but a parody. Huge billboards appeared on the hillsides, announcing that we had entered Gansu province. The Gobi Desert was at last in sight. In the desert were dense arrays of wind turbines. Their white blades, like the wings of large birds, were turning slowly in a dignified, reserved, and graceful manner. As I lowered the window, my face felt the fine sand carried by the wind. Old Wang was singing, in high spirits. I had rarely seen him so happy, but this new demeanor didn’t make him a stranger to me. We had driven together almost two thousand kilometers. Our initial feelings of having become strangers had vanished completely. Actually, when I saw him three days earlier for the first time in many years, he looked unchanged. His face was pretty much the same, though it seemed to match his name even better. I had thought my appearance—after all these years—would frighten him, but he was still the same Old Wang with a wandering poet’s nature. When I took off my wig, he paid little attention to my bald head. Instead, he handled the wig with curiosity and turned it from side to side as if he were going to try it on. That night we slept in the same hotel room, but in separate beds. I was relieved, for I still had some psychological issues to overcome before exposing my body, which had one breast missing. The next morning, we came to a toll booth. While paying the fee, Old Wang asked for directions in the local dialect, which he had learned from me. The toll collector replied that our destination was still seventy kilometers from the next exit. He spoke in Mandarin with a local accent. I hadn’t heard the local dialect in a long time. Old Wang’s lame imitation didn’t count, not even approaching a parody. I hadn’t spoken my hometown dialect for years. I had sworn not to speak dialect ever again when this new century began. “Wang, I have something to tell you,” I said as if talking to myself. “The truth is, back then, I left without telling my mother goodbye. I stood at the door for a while, but didn’t have the nerve to knock.” Was I making a confession? If Old Wang had known that I had simply run away like a coward, would he still have taken me away with him? He just glanced at me—it didn’t matter to him. On the eve of the new millennium, I was working as a bar hostess in a small county seat in Hebei province. Old Wang owned the bar. It had only a few tables and a dozen chairs, mainly for entertaining wandering poets. That day, the local poets had waited in the bar all day for two well-known poets to arrive from far away, but the guests didn’t show up. Later, Old Wang got a phone call and was told that the guests had bypassed the county seat and gone directly to the countryside, thinking it would be more poetic to welcome the new millennium in the wild. Old Wang thought that made sense, so he left the bar to join them. Only two lovers remained. They seemed to be in the midst of a painful separation, weeping, hugging, and kissing in silence. I didn’t have



Yi

n

Freewheeling

131

the heart to tell them to leave. After the couple finally left, I closed the bar and rode my bicycle to find the poets. At the moment the new millennium began, there wasn’t much of a holiday atmosphere in this county town. Occasionally, a few scattered firecrackers went off in the winter night, but that was it. The road I took into the dark outskirts of town was rough, but luckily the moon was bright enough. It was cold, and every time I went over a bump, the bone on my necklace bounced against my chest. The bone gleamed in the dark like a jack o’ lantern, as if to deliberately lead me astray. I tried to ignore it so that I could keep my eyes on the road while following the directions Old Wang had given me. The poets’ dying bonfire was still visible in the open country. My bicycle struck a dry ditch, and I was thrown off and fell hard on the ground. I got up, left the bicycle, and staggered breathlessly toward the fire. Empty beer bottles and cigarette packets were scattered everywhere. It was not the grand spectacle I had expected. The celebration was over, and people had already dispersed. Only Old Wang was sprawled on the ground with his arms and legs outstretched. He was obviously drunk and covered with vomit. As I crouched down to wake him, I was grabbed around the waist from behind. Someone was guffawing. Like a crab that has been trapped in a net, I kicked and struggled, but it didn’t help. I was thrown onto the ground. In the dim light, I recognized who they were, even though they stood with their backs to the fire and their faces were distorted and shadowy. They were the two famous visiting poets; I’d seen pictures of them. They drunkenly ordered me to recite a poem that had only two lines: God! You see, I am tired of resurrection, even of death, even of life. I did as they wanted. Then they ordered me to recite it in the local dialect. When I hesitated, they slapped me hard. I cried and recited the poem at the top of my lungs. I was trying to wake Old Wang, but he lay there as if dead to the world. They kicked me in the chest and stomach. It seemed they really were tired of life. I fell down, realizing that this time I was not lying in the Gobi Desert and had no way to imagine the infinite cosmos, the mysterious heavens, and the yellow earth. I had no way to find any eternal meaning in my lying there. Neither could I see the snowy mountains. Someone lifted up my legs, and I saw a leg bone sticking out of worn trousers. The next day, in the setting sun of the new millennium, I left without Old Wang, who was pursuing the two bad guys. At the railway station, I ran into the lovers who had been in the bar the night before. The girl and I were crammed into the same car, and as the train pulled away, the young man—as is often seen in the movies—waved at her and ran alongside. My necklace with the bone was missing. It was dusk when Old Wang stopped the car and asked me to get out with him to stretch our legs. The wilderness was deserted, and night was falling. I walked away from him to urinate. When I stood up, I saw the snowy peaks of the Qilian Mountains glinting in the sunset. The setting sun was golden,

132

Mānoa

n

The Zither

and the shining peaks were silvery. They must have been glinting like that for hundreds of millions of years. Compared with these silvery peaks, the people who had left their bones in the Gobi Desert decades ago were insignificant. The mutilated me was also nothing. “They’ve seen so much,” I said to Old Wang, pointing to the silvery peaks in the distance. He leaned toward me to smooth my wig. He loved doing this. I said, “In your hometown, though we smelled the sea, we couldn’t see it. It would be nice if we could. Viewing the sea is like viewing the snowy mountains. They both make people take themselves less seriously.” “It isn’t the same. I have some relatives living at the seaside,” he said. “Living like that, you have to depend on the sea to get by. It’s like lifelong slave labor.” Not wanting to contradict him, I just smiled and held his hand. He looked toward the west and said to himself, “But then, life is like slave labor wherever you are.” I told him that a group of people had been sentenced to actual slave labor in the Gobi Desert beside the Qilian Mountains. They were the literary youth of those years. If they had been lucky enough to be born a few decades later, they might have become the poets of the new era. He looked at me uneasily, probably thinking I was mocking him. He no longer wanted to hear anything about poets. I felt a little dizzy, so he picked me up and helped me into the backseat so that I could lie down to rest. Through the open door, I watched him standing at the roadside and smoking. “Not a bad idea to sentence them to slave labor in the Gobi Desert,” he said with his back to me. He got into the car and covered me with a blanket. Then he started the engine, taking me in the direction of my former professor. In Beijing, I encountered Professor Xue Ziyi only once, in the well-known 798 Art District. As I came out of a gallery, I saw him sitting across the street under the awning of an open-air bar. Wearing a brown shirt in the traditional Chinese style, he looked as if he had transcended this mortal life. He was thinner than ever, sitting motionlessly with his eyes closed as if he were meditating. I stood watching him, as if it were many years ago when I was collecting a bunch of bones for making necklaces. To my surprise, two pretty young women came up to him. Each of them was wearing a long white skirt, and each styled her hair like the other: pinned at the back of the head. He opened his eyes, and the women helped him to his feet. They treated him as if he were their master, but he still looked trapped and defeated. He reminded me of Yuan Mei, the famous scholar, poet, and sensualist of the Qing Dynasty. That’s what Professor Xue Ziyi had taught us in class. Was he emulating Yuan Mei by taking these two girls as his female disciples? Was he still the man with a solemn secret in his heart? Everyone knew that Yuan Mei was a talented, decadent poet who loved women and fine food. I

Yi

n

Freewheeling

133

watched Professor Xue from across the street as if I were looking back in time. He pointed at a huge poster on the building, and the girls nodded their heads. One of them imitated him with refined gestures, then rested her head on his shoulder. I turned away, thinking about the word enlightened. Neon lights in the distance delineated a town of fantasy—the county seat had completely changed. After we checked into the chain hotel Seven Days, Old Wang asked me to go out to eat with him, but I declined. I was exhausted and felt a little nauseated. He brought back fried noodles and mutton soup for me. As I sipped the soup from a plastic container, I looked up and saw him staring at me sadly. I blushed—something I hadn’t done for a very long time. “I don’t remember what this used to taste like,” I said. “It tastes the same as the food I had in Beijing.” I ate the noodles one at a time. “But you’ve come back,” he said with a little pride. “I’ve brought you back here! I would have been happy to bring you back even on foot.” “Is it like returning merchandise to a store?” I asked. “I’m defective now.” I sounded like I was blaming him. That wasn’t fair; I didn’t mean to complain about my fate. “Of course not, Yang Jie, you know that’s not what I mean.” “What do you mean then?” “I don’t know,” the former wandering poet said awkwardly. “And you’re not defective.” “Yes, I am.” For an instant I felt an impulse to show him the scar on my chest. But it’s not a badge of honor, and it wasn’t something to show off. These several nights, we had been sleeping in our clothes in the same room, but separate beds. “No, you’re not,” he repeated, looking away. “Sorry.” After a pause, I said, “Wang, I didn’t mean to…” I looked at him wearily. I had no appetite for either the noodles or the soup. I’d been off chemotherapy for months, but I still had trouble eating. Old Wang had hunted down the two men who had hurt me, and consequently he served eight years in prison for what he did to them. I felt that I owed him. He had written many letters to me from prison. The letters—sent to my mother’s address and then forwarded to me—were simple and plain, devoid of flowery lyricism. In one letter, he wrote, Yang Jie, I wouldn’t mind if I died and were buried here. It’s a big farm of hundreds of thousands of acres, with lots of cattails and wormwood. The area used to be the mouth of the ancient Yellow River. Five thousand years ago, it was covered by the sea. Because of the riverbed silting up for thousands of years, it turned into a large reed pond. Reclaiming this land required huge numbers of coolies; there was never a shortage of them. Although the place is shown on maps to be in Hebei province, it’s administered directly from Beijing. So the locals call it an “enclave.” There is a

134

Mānoa

n

The Zither

gardening brigade of female prisoners who planted apples and grapes. The women all look very healthy.

Naturally I was touched by his letter. He seemed to be summoning me to go there to plant apples and grapes, too. That “enclave” reminded me of the Gobi Desert area, next to my hometown: they were both places at the edge of the world, suitable for exile and extinction, imprisonment and punishment, where people rapidly disintegrated to white bones. But I did not reply to him, for fear that I couldn’t write as simply and plainly as he did. There was no way for me to answer his call anyway, because it was too much of a parody: it was too beautiful. To live in Beijing was not as hard as people said. I found that almost all problems could be solved if you truly grasped the essence of the saying “life is but a parody.” I actually went so far as to buy a one-bedroom apartment in Beijing, though it was located in Tongzhou, far away from the city center. At the same time that I accomplished this, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and the breast had to be removed. The past twenty years seemed to culminate in this breast removal, but ultimately it was as insignificant as a balloon drifting away. Standing in the glass-walled building where I worked, I looked out at the tide of people coming and going on the street. I had gotten used to living in this city. For a short time, I had suffered from mild depression. But so what? Almost everyone in my company was taking the anti-depressant Deanxit. I had volunteered to work for several days during the Beijing Olympics. Then, to reward myself, I went to Switzerland for a holiday. Mount Titlis had a cable car that wound 360 degrees around the mountain, but I didn’t take it, because I liked the Qilian Mountains so much and didn’t want to take the chance that I would end up liking the Alps more. I saw many young people “being persuaded to drop out” in this Swiss city. A beggar girl who was singing in the subway was beaten for no reason by some drunkards. In Beijing, I didn’t have a steady boyfriend. After I adopted three cats, there was no man in my life at all. Because of that, I purchased a few dildos from an online store, and at last I was convinced that I had lost all desire. The most money I had ever made was barely enough to cover the bill for cutting off my diseased breast. Three years after encountering Professor Xue Ziyi at the 798 Art District in Beijing, I began teaching myself to paint. I bought a copy of The Manual of the Mustard Seed Garden, an ancient Chinese guide to painting. I liked to wear a long white skirt, and I pinned my hair at the back of my head. Mother told me over the phone, “Professor Xue is a very rich man now.” How rich could he be? Could he have built a beautiful mansion for himself, as Yuan Mei did? I never thought of going home, for fear that if I did, Mother would once again worry that I was “being persuaded to drop out.” The Black River flowed and roared. Looking out the window, I saw the water glistening in the night. When I came out of the bathroom, Old Wang had fallen



Yi

n

Freewheeling

135

asleep. I was afraid to look at him sleeping, lying there like a corpse. I turned off the light and sat alone in the dark. What could I tell Old Wang about Professor Xue? He seemed to know why I had to go back home, so I just said, “Even though the professor mastered meditation, he is not immortal and now he is dying. I need to see him before he dies, because he’s the one who enlightened me.” I did not tell Old Wang that Professor Xue had once said that it was I who had enlightened him—just in case he wouldn’t understand. To me, the word enlighten was beyond understanding—like an isolated mountain peak. I didn’t want to make things too complicated. I just said that the professor was an important person in my life, because when I was young he made me less highspirited. He taught me to admire ancient things, and he turned what should have been the carefree years of my youth into a time of infatuation with white bones. “He taught me that history wasn’t a far-off time, but was close at hand.” I chose my words carefully. I didn’t want to overstate anything. “History?” “A kind of history. He lives in the shadow of history.” “You shouldn’t be caught up in those things,” Old Wang said. “They have nothing to do with you.” “I’m not caught up in them. And you are right, they’re none of my business.” I said, “I was just explaining why I want to go back to my hometown.” “I don’t need any explanation in order to accompany you—I’d even go to Mars with you.” “I know.” I believed him. “In life, simpler is better,” he went on. “Then why did you even consider going back with me on foot? Isn’t it a lot simpler to book a plane ticket?” “Well, I don’t know. It’s not the same thing.” “It is the same thing. But you have a Jeep now, a possession you can’t let go of.” “What does this have to do with my Jeep?” He stretched out his hand to smooth my wig. “Well,” I said impatiently, “even though you own a business now, you are still inwardly a wandering poet.” I regretted that my words sounded a little mean. I hadn’t known what to say, so the words had just slipped out. A few weeks earlier, I had encountered another former acquaintance in Beijing. His minority clothing was too striking to miss. I recognized him at once in the hotel lobby, but couldn’t remember his name, so the word Yaohur slipped out of my mouth. He hesitated for a long while before asking, “Is it Yang Jie?” After graduation, Yaohur had become a county official. He was in Beijing now for a national convention and was wearing a high-collared robe with buttons down one side. I felt as if his body were blocking the snowy Qilian Mountains from my view. We went to the hotel’s open-air coffee bar on the

136

Mānoa

n

The Zither

second floor to talk. He didn’t act as if our meeting was in any way awkward. Perhaps he had completely forgotten that he had thrown me down in the Gobi Desert. Like a real county official, he talked about achievements in economic construction. He also told me that Professor Xue had made a great contribution to the local economy by setting up a business that processed cattail leaves into medicine for relieving menstrual cramps. Xue had become the richest man in the area and lived in a mansion that he had had built for him. “But unfortunately he has terminal cancer. He is dying,” Yaohur told me. “He is a stubborn old guy—over seventy perhaps—and refuses to go to the hospital. He stays in his manor and takes only herbs.” Before we parted, Yaohur warmly invited me to “go back and have a look” at my hometown. He knew that my father had died when I was little and my mother had died two years ago. I had no family back there anymore. But he said he would welcome me home as if he were my family. After saying goodbye to Yaohur, I took the subway back to my apartment in Tongzhou. When the train stopped at Gaobeidian station, a woman got on. She was probably in her mid-fifties, plump and stuffed like a lump of dough into a jacket that would have been too tight even for a normal figure. She was heavily made up. Sitting across from me with a poker face, her long blue eyelashes unblinking, and looking like a swollen bodhisattva, she ignored everybody. Her boldness and confidence were awe inspiring. I was stunned, and suddenly I felt ashamed of myself. So, I made up my mind to go back home. I dug out Old Wang’s letters. After being released from prison, he had continued to write to me; when my mother died, there was no one to forward his letters. I copied his address from one of the envelopes and sent him a short note. A week later, he called me. “I want to take a trip back to the Northwest,” I told him, “but I’m not well. I need someone to go with me.” “Okay, I’ll pick you up in Beijing tomorrow,” he said without hesitating. “Is that convenient for you? I mean …” “I don’t have a wife at home.” I smiled. I had figured as much. The next afternoon, Old Wang showed up and parked his Jeep across the street from my apartment building. As I carried my suitcase out, he ran up to help me. Neither of us made small talk. I told him we didn’t need to hurry because it wasn’t urgent, and considering my health, going at the normal speed would be the best. As we drove, Old Wang told me about the prison farm of hundreds of thousands of acres, as if talking about a tourist attraction. There were flocks of wild ducks, and he told me how to distinguish the male from the female by their quacks: ga says the male duck and ka says the female. “Ga!” “Ka!” His imitation of their quacks was so funny that I laughed until my chest hurt.

Yi

n

Freewheeling

137

But the “tourist attraction” had left him with a lot of health problems. When he finally got out of prison, the joints in his hands were completely deformed: his fingers looked like duck feet. After that, he held a number of different jobs, including being an editor for a book company in Beijing, but he couldn’t make his way. Then he thought of the wild ducks, and it was as if God had opened a narrow door for him. He started all over and began raising mallards. He had been seeing several women at this time and had come close to marrying one of them, but that didn’t work out because she couldn’t put up with his taciturn nature. “Mallards are wild birds. They are timid but alert. If a stranger approaches, they fly away in a frenzy. Mallards need a quiet environment, undisturbed by humans and animals,” he explained. “As time passed, I too became quiet.” He talked to me softly as if I were a mallard, so I felt it was all right to doze off in the passenger seat. The phone rang suddenly in the hotel room. I jumped up and grabbed it. A woman with a Southern accent asked if I needed a massage. I hung up without a word and turned off the phone. My eyes were accustomed to the dark, and by the moonlight I could see Old Wang sleeping. I had worried that he might become as timid and alert as a wild duck, but he slept like the dead. In the dark I took off my bra and prosthetic breast and stroked the scar on my chest. The next morning, we drove south to a quiet county town. Every local knew of Xue Ziyi’s mansion. The clerk at the hotel reception desk gave us detailed directions. Not realizing that I was originally from there, she kindly offered to draw a road map for us. I hadn’t slept well the previous night. As we were driving, I began to feel carsick. We were heading south toward the Qilian Mountains. The snowy peaks were so bright in the morning sun that Old Wang had to wear his sunglasses. It was early summer, but the morning breeze was still chilly. In the Gobi Desert, shrubs such as artemisia and salix shivered in the wind. The only color we could see was light gray; there was no green at all. To fight the nausea, I tried to look out of the window at the boundless desert. I could see neither tombstones nor the cemetery that someone had once promised to build. The brilliant sunlight flooded over me. In my drowsy dream state, I was surrounded by a crowd of self-important boys who were like little ignorant beasts. The two villains who had attacked me were behind them, outlined by the firelight as if they were made of red-hot wire. Mother muttered to herself before she died: in her daughter’s behalf, she begged the world not to persuade her to drop out again. An ancient scholar suddenly became senile, and his gestures of resistance turned into embraces. A gust of wind blew sand into my eyes, and the sand became pebble-sized tears. There was a hollow in one side of my chest, where cold air was swirling. Then Old Wang woke me up with his webbed hand. Still half dreaming, I groaned as he caressed my face. I slapped the door to get him to stop the car, and he pulled over to the side.

138

Mānoa

n

The Zither

I got out and ran to a dead poplar tree nearby. From its craggy branches I broke off a piece as big as a disposable cigarette lighter. Watching me as I got back into the car, Old Wang didn’t say anything, but his face darkened a little. Later, he remarked for no reason, “People say that poplar trees sometimes can still be standing a thousand years after dying.” Old Wang drove steadily, especially after I told him I was feeling carsick. Every now and then, he patted my leg with his webbed hand. As the Jeep went uphill, the landscape turned greener. Then we saw an entire hillside meadow dotted with yellow rapeseed flowers. Butterflies were flapping their wings against the car windows. I tried my best to see the foothills, and I really did see a girl standing in the Gobi Desert. She had been standing there for a thousand years, looking up at the snow-capped peaks. The car headed for the snow line. Far away, rain was falling slowly from the high clouds. The mansion did not seem out of place in its surroundings. “If it weren’t for the Qilian snowy peaks, you could mistake this town for my home in the South,” Professor Xue had said to us in his class. Back then, could he have foreseen that he would one day build a southern mansion in the Qilian Mountains? Anyway, in the mountainous area, this mansion looked more like an isolated Buddhist temple. But I didn’t believe that building a mansion or a temple should have been the life goal of a man who had deliberately burned his palm. Old Wang stopped the car. I told him to wait for me. When I opened the car door, he said, “Yang Jie, after we leave here, would you go away with me to raise ducks?” Even after I had walked a long way off, his words kept me in a trance. A red stone bridge led to the front gate of the mansion. Under the bridge was a winding mountain stream. freewheeling garden was written on a modest plaque on an arch above the entrance. It looked old, as if it had been around for hundreds of years. The wind on the Gobi Desert was a time machine that in the blink of an eye could turn a body into a skeleton, or make a new thing into an antique. I rapped the heavy knocker on the thick wooden door. After a long while, the mottled side door opened a crack. “Who are you?” the girl at the door asked. She wore a long white skirt, and I assumed she was one of the disciples. She was a local with the distinctive feature of highland red on her cheeks. “I’m here to see Mr. Xue Ziyi.” “Sure you are, like everyone.” She was arrogant. “I was asking who you are.” “I’m his student.” I felt stupid. I was over forty and wearing a prosthetic breast, no longer fit to be a student. “Everyone says that.” She was about to shut the door on me. “Wait a minute,” I said anxiously. “My name is Yang Jie.” She stared at me for a while and finally said, “Come in.” I could see that my name meant nothing to her. She may have been moved simply by my desperation. Inside the garden was another world. After we went past a wall, a wooden



Yi

n

Freewheeling

139

gate opened to the north, inside of which stood a clump of bamboo. Walking up a stone-paved path and then through a long corridor, we came into a bright, spacious hall. Two other girls were sitting there. I was sure I’d seen them before. “Mr. Xue is very ill,” one of the girls said to me. The other added, “He stopped receiving visitors a long time ago.” They offered me a seat on an old-fashioned wooden chair. Bewildered, I clutched the arms of the chair and watched them whispering to each other. They seemed to ignore me. I felt sick. The past was rewinding in my mind. I recalled Professor Xue hating himself for being infatuated with me, then burning his left palm over a candle flame. I thought of Old Wang making a small fortune by using a skill he learned in the prison farm: employing a “call bird,” which was a cross between a mallard and a domestic duck, to trap more wild ducks. And Mother telling me on the dean’s phone at school that my aunt had died unexpectedly in a sandstorm, and the dean beside me, fondling my breast. Then the bodhisattva on the subway looking at me with a transcendent expression, giving me courage. “Is his left hand all right now?” I asked suddenly. The girls looked at each other in surprise. “Please have some tea with us while you wait. He’s meditating now,” said the girl who had let me in. The girls drank tea in a peculiar way, using all kinds of tea ware. One of them told me, “The water is melted from ice from the mountains.” Their attitude changed and they started talking to me. “Where are you from?” I wanted to say Beijing but felt it would sound affected. After all, I was originally from the Gobi Desert, the area at the base of the mountains. “I came a long way.” That’s all I could say. They exchanged looks again. They were just kids after all. They began to talk more. I had mentioned Xue’s injured left hand, so they were curious. “He rarely lets people see his left hand. When he shakes hands with officials, he uses his right hand.” They laughed. The girls seemed to work in his company, addressing each other as either director or manager. It was only then that I noticed they all smelled strongly of cattails. Fortunately, the professor hadn’t mentored them in Yuan Mei’s style, lured them with old bones, or made them cynical and hopeless like me. The girls were girls after all, and the conversation quickly shifted to their online shopping experiences. For a while, I listened in silence to their chatting. Then, catching a moment to interrupt their spirited talk, I asked, “May I see him now?” They stopped chatting and looked at each other as if they had just remembered my presence. “Please, I’ve come a long way just to see him,” I heard myself begging, “and I have a long way to go back.” The red-cheeked girl who had led me in stood up, taking responsibility for my being there. “Please wait one more moment.” She nodded at me and then left, dis­ appearing behind a screen. 140

Mānoa

n

The Zither

I clutched the small piece of poplar wood inside my pocket, waiting. Soon the girl appeared again from behind the screen and beckoned to me. I followed her into a corridor that was covered with vines. The leaves were swaying in the mountain wind. The abundance of green plants suddenly made me sick again. I bent over, retching. “Are you all right?” The girl looked at me nervously. I pretended to be okay and tried hard to calm my mind. I knew my face must be pale and my wig might be askew. I must look scary, but I thought this made me more like the subway bodhisattva. I finally stood in front of his bedroom door. A tablet was hanging from the lintel; on it was inscribed mountain cabin. My palms were sweaty. “You may go in now,” the girl said. She didn’t dare look at me. “Thank you.” I felt guilty for frightening her. The door was ajar, so I entered the room. “Hello, Professor?” The room smelled bad. The muslin curtains on the window must have just been opened, and were fluttering in the breeze. “Professor, it’s me, Yang Jie.” No one answered, but there was a rustling on the elaborately carved wooden bed. I saw him. In my imagination, he should have been sitting cross-legged like a timeworn idol tucked into a shrine. In fact, he was lying on his back, a thin blanket covering his body up to the chin. Of course this was the way it had to be. What else could he do? Even though the young women he had hired were sitting in the bright hall, and outside the window everything was blossoming on this summer day, he could only be—I didn’t want to say the word—dying. He was really close to death. A spider crawled quickly over the carved bedpost. Everything was rotten, and a bad smell lingered in the air. A fierce sadness surged in my heart. I wanted to yell at him and curse him. We had enlightened each other, but now he had built this Freewheeling Garden as a parody of a cemetery. I felt betrayed, though I was not sure why. The wave of my anger must have been strong enough to stir him. His body began to tremble slightly under the thin blanket. His lips quivered, and a dark-brown liquid dribbled from the corners of his mouth. I leaned in toward him, and the bitterness from his body softened my heart. “Okay, it’s not all your fault. The world has no patience even for a parody,” I whispered in his ear. The spider climbed onto his head. I reached out and caught it. I couldn’t bear to see a wretched spider crawl across his haggard face. I sat down beside him and reached for his left hand under the blanket. I stroked his palm, which was as cold and hard as a stone. I held my other hand up to his eyes. “Look, a bone.” His eyelids pulsed but didn’t open. For a moment I thought he was dead, so I put my finger under his nostrils. The faint breath of life touched it. “You have to talk to me,” I insisted. He was silent. “Speak to me, will you?”

Yi

n

Freewheeling

141

He remained silent. “Please, say something to me,” I sobbed. He said nothing. I didn’t dare shake him for fear that he would crumble to dust, and if that happened, I couldn’t even get a few bones. The room was hot, but charcoal burned in a large, copper stove at the side of the bed. A copy of Yuan Mei’s collection of ghost stories was lying on the floor, its yellowed pages stirring in the mountain wind. When I picked it up, I found another book beneath it: Jiabiangou: Memoir of a Labor Camp (1957-1960). I put the two books on the desk next to the window, one on top of the other. Through the open window, I heard the faint sighing of the weeds and glimpsed a pavilion that was collapsing into ruins. Then I went back to the bedside. Half kneeling before him, I turned his face carefully with both of my hands. His lips were purple, and I drew mine slowly close to them. I kissed him, then opened his lips with my tongue, and his clenched teeth loosened obediently. The tip of my tongue touched his palate slightly, tasting his bitterness. Together, we became toothless sleeping babies. As I came out of the gate, I saw Old Wang standing next to his Jeep at the foot of the hill, chatting with a woman who was carrying a basket on her arm. The woman had the kind of red headscarf often worn by the local women: it matched Old Wang’s red blazer. She probably was on her way to collect herbs in the mountains. I walked slowly down the hill. I did not look back, but I knew that the mansion behind me was silently collapsing. No, I should phrase it this way: it was as if a mirage were being swept away by the wind. The stars were falling and the woods roaring in my heart. Old Wang and the woman were in high spirits as they talked, and slowly I saw myself as a figure in the scene. I would go with Old Wang to raise mallards. It was not a deliberate choice, but one decided by fate. Hadn’t I learned how to tell a male duck from a female by their quacks? Besides, I would no longer have to wear a miserable prosthetic breast. Old Wang saw me and ran over. “How’s it going?” he asked as he approached. I looked at him and said slowly in a voice only I could hear, “Black won by five moku and a half.” Translation by Chen Zeping and Karen Gernant

142

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Y i

Z hou

Isobathic one She sat across from me in the café. Between us was a table with a tablecloth. This scene had occurred many times, and each time I felt a turbulence in my heart. Her name was Mo Li, but from the very beginning I had called her Moli, which means “jasmine.” That was my secret name for her. At first, it was a sign of my affection. As time passed and as my affection cooled, I no longer used it as a term of endearment but as an ordinary feminine name. Nevertheless, calling her Moli became a stubborn habit. She said, “Xiaodong, I’m sorry I always seek you out at times like this. I know that you can’t help me bring them back, but I’m in the habit of telling you my problems …” I gazed at her. She had said “habit.” I remembered being awakened from a bad dream late one night three years ago. The phone was ringing and when I grabbed it and said hello, I was startled by the sound of my voice—raspy and coarse, like wind gusting over sandpaper. This was strange; my voice was fine before I fell asleep. I’d been talking to a woman on the phone, and as usual, I had smoothly created the right mood using my gentle, seductive baritone. I’d carried the conversation into my dream, but when I answered the late-night call, my voice had suddenly changed. I was alarmed because it had changed for no reason. Trying to clear the sleep from my head, I sat up straight. When I said hello again, I felt better, but still a little strange. The other party hung up. I was a person who believed that life was filled with metaphors and revelations. A phone call in the middle of the night and the sudden change in my voice led me to gloomy conjectures. I coughed hard a couple of times, and the phone rang again… It was Moli. We hadn’t talked for years. She said, “I called to tell you that Zhou Youjian has disappeared.” Zhou Youjian was my friend from college, Moli’s husband. That was three years ago. Now, she was sitting across from me in the café, separated by a table with a tablecloth. This time, she was telling me that her teenage son, Zhou Xiang, was missing; he’d disappeared three days ago. “Moli … you don’t have to apologize. It’s—”

143

“I know! But I’m about to fall apart!” I could see that. She didn’t seem to be aware that she was pounding the table. I pushed the glass of lemonade over to her. “Drink a little lemonade, Moli.” She picked up the glass, took a big swallow, and wiped away tears that I hadn’t noticed until then. I said, “It’s all right for you to come see me. It helps to talk things out with someone.” I said this mainly to make her feel better. I stared at the glass that she was gripping, afraid her grip would shatter it. “You’re only trying to make me feel better, Xiaodong.” She relaxed her hold on the glass, but the veins on the back of her hand still stood out. “I know, talking can’t solve anything.” I was searching for the right words. “Things may not be as bad as they seem if Zhou Xiang left home only three days ago …” “That’s long enough, isn’t it?” She turned hostile again. “My husband was gone for three days at first, and now it’s been three years!” I took the glass and set it down at a safe distance from her. “It isn’t the same, Moli. Zhou Xiang is just a kid. You know, it’s normal for teenage boys to run away for a few days. When I was his age—” “When Zhou Youjian disappeared, all of you said the same thing—it’s normal for a man to run off for a few days. Even a grown man can disappear all of a sudden. Well, my son is just a kid.” I didn’t reply right away. I knew she would interrupt me. “Zhou Xiang is tall, but he’s still just a child. He’ll turn fourteen in three more days …” Her voice trailed off, and she reached absent-mindedly for the glass. From the window where we were sitting, we could see a muddy river. On the opposite shore, hidden behind the buildings, were bald hills. The view wasn’t at all pleasant. It was the last weekend in May, ten o’clock in the morning, and except for us the café was empty. The waitress was mopping the floor and occasionally looking up with sleepy eyes. “This is different,” Moli continued. “I was worried when Zhou Youjian disappeared, but this time—I am really desperate!” I put my hand over hers to keep her from lifting the glass, and thought about how a woman viewed the difference between her feelings for her husband and those for her son. I had no doubt that she was desperate. Three years earlier, when she had phoned me in the middle of the night, she hadn’t come straight to the point. After I said hello, she had asked hesitantly, “Is this Xiaodong?” I said, “Yes. And you are?” She said, “Oh, I thought I had the wrong number—your voice sounds different.” “Yes,” I said, “actually, it happened just now without any warning. But your voice hasn’t changed at all. I know you’re Moli.” More relaxed, she said, “Really? Are you kidding me?” I said, “Really, really.” My heart brightened. In my drowsiness, I began to remember what Moli was like: her face, her waist, and the cross swaying in her cleavage. The memory of a

144

Mānoa

n

The Zither

sweet scent returned to me from my distant college days. I thought, The Moli of today must be much more charming than before—like a fine violin that improves with age. Now in her late thirties, her body must be perfectly ripe. We kept chatting idly, reminiscing about the past and all that had changed. Moli was talking rather excitedly. Women always like to hear that they haven’t changed. We had seldom seen each other after graduating from college, even though we lived in the same city. We just knew where the other lived, and occasionally talked on the phone. I began to feel vaguely uneasy. My voice still sounded strange to me, as if a hand were slowly strangling me and making each of my words sound false. On that late-night call, as Moli and I relived the old days, I knew we were deliberately avoiding certain memories. Later, as we began talking about people we knew, she suddenly fell silent. “Oh—I remember why I phoned you …” she said vaguely. “I wanted to tell you that my husband, Zhou Youjian, has disappeared.” “Disappeared? Who?” “Yes . . . For no apparent reason, he disappeared from work…and nobody knows where he went . . . It’s been three days …” She sounded detached, as if she were talking in a dream. I shrank back into my quilt. Yes, oh yes, how could I have forgotten Zhou Youjian, her husband? He had been my classmate and my friend. The uncomfortable memory we had been avoiding now came to the surface, like ruins exposed after a flood recedes. Now that Moli had remembered why she called me, she became dejected, and her voice turned flat and neutral, sounding like that of a TV announcer reading the news. I couldn’t connect this voice with the Moli I used to know so well. She said she was coming over to tell me more about Zhou Youjian’s disappearance. Then she asked, “Are you free now?” “Now?” I replied mechanically. “Sure, it’s fine. Come on over.” This memory from three years ago had distracted me from the present. A little annoyed, she pulled her hand away from mine and tapped the table. “I’ve filed a missing person report and informed the school.” “What did they say?” “What did they say? The same as you—it’s normal for a teenage boy to run away for a few days!” I shrugged, feeling a little ashamed of having said the same thing as everyone else. To cover my embarrassment, I said excitedly, “Moli, could it be that Zhou Youjian secretly returned, got in touch with his son, then took him away for some reason?” She fixed her eyes on me. I went on, “It’s possible Zhou Youjian went to his school just to see him; they hugged each other at the school gate, and then on an impulse went away for a few days. Maybe Zhou Youjian was eager to make up to his son for his absence, but in their excitement at seeing each other, they neglected to let you know.” Though only wishful thinking, it seemed reasonable to me.

Yi

n

Isobathic

145

Moli stared at me. She began turning the glass around, which made me worry that she might hurl the remaining lemonade in my face at any second. I was hoping she wouldn’t say anything. But that wasn’t Moli. “Shut up, Xiaodong,” she said. “Just shut up.” I leaned back and took a deep breath. “Okay, Moli,” I said, “let’s try to sort through this whole thing.” Now she was calm, looking at me and turning the glass. There was pity in her gaze. I ordered another iced coffee. Moli gulped her lemonade, yet the glass seemed to remain half full. I had a rough idea of what the boy was like: exceptionally good grades and no bad habits. He wasn’t antisocial either. Apparently, the fact that his father had disappeared three years earlier hadn’t been traumatic for him. And yet, three days ago, the boy had suddenly left home. “After he got out of school, I know he went home first. The security guards told me that they saw Zhou Xiang enter our apartment complex late in the afternoon. And I could see evidence that he’d been there—a big slice of ham was missing from the fridge. When he left, he carried his backpack and yet his books were still at home, so he must have stayed long enough to finish his homework. Oh yes, he also took one of my cell phones.” “A cell phone? With a SIM card in it?” “Yes.” “Did you try to call that phone?” Without answering, she took a cell phone out of her purse, and after dialing a number, she turned on the speaker and set it on the table. A woman’s recorded voice came from it: “Sorry. The number you dialed is power off.” I was distracted again, wondering why she needed two cell phones. “What time did you get home? How long was it between when the security guards saw him enter the complex and when you discovered that he had left home?” “Unh. Probably five hours.” “Five hours,” I repeated, calculating what time that would have been. She looked embarrassed. “No, it wasn’t what you’re thinking. I got home quite late, but that isn’t why he left. I know that.” “Are you sure? And yet you have no idea why he left home?” She nodded, looking wronged. “A big slice of ham was missing. Does Zhou Xiang usually cook his own dinner?” “What do you mean?!” she began shouting. “Are you saying I don’t take good care of him and that’s why he left?” “No, of course not!” I regretted what I’d said. “I just want to get the whole picture.” “Xiaodong, don’t keep asking these questions. I know what you’re thinking. Everybody blames me: Zhou Xiang lost his father, and I haven’t been a good mother, so the child ran off. The logic is simple, isn’t it? But you aren’t ‘everybody,’ and that’s exactly why I came to you. Xiaodong, I don’t want to be judged cruelly again.” 146

Mānoa

n

The Zither

“All right, Moli. I didn’t mean to blame you. Believe me.” “You need to believe me, too. Please. My son and I are as close as any other mother and son! Zhou Xiang loves me and sometimes even pities me…” Sobbing, she covered her face with her hands. I wanted to soothe her—to hold her, or at least hand her a facial tissue. But I didn’t move. It was only now that I was becoming aware of how grim this situation was. I believed that Zhou Xiang was a thoughtful kid and that he loved his mother and that he even sometimes “pitied” her, but all of this made the boy’s disappearance even more ominous. “You’re worrying too much. Your son is a sensible boy. He probably took the cell phone so that it would be easier to get in touch with you.” “Then why hasn’t he turned it on?” Taking her hands from her face, she gazed at me as if I were a child. “Is he playing hide-and-seek with me, and this is just a game?” I was speechless. How could I have treated this lightly? This woman had been dear to me for more than twenty years. Three years ago, her husband had left without saying goodbye. At first, everyone must have tried to comfort her. But the situation had lasted three years and was still unresolved. And now, who would dare say, Oh my, has this game started over? This middle-aged woman seemed like a little girl abandoned in the wilderness, blindfolded and groping for her loved ones in a sad hide-and-seek of fate. I said, “We can’t be sure of much right now. Teenagers are hard to understand. But my intuition tells me that Zhou Xiang will return safe and sound.” “Really?” I nodded seriously. She seemed to let out a breath, but still looked expectantly at me. “Why not let me take care of it?” I didn’t know why I felt I could say that. “I promise, I’ll bring him back to you.” Actually, I’d been on the verge of blurting out “dead or alive.” “Thank you, Xiaodong.” She became despondent again. “Thank you for saying that.” Moli thought I was merely consoling her. I meant what I said, but at the same time I realized that my words were as hollow as the female operator’s on her cell phone. “My son’s birthday is three days from now,” she said. “He’ll probably be home by then.” “Honestly, that’s my last hope.” “It surely wasn’t just by chance that he chose to leave home when he did. Maybe he had a timetable in mind; I mean, a little plan of his own.” “Oh, a plan…” “Of course, right now we don’t know anything. But perhaps we should believe in the boy.” Then, changing the subject, I said, “Tell me how you’ve celebrated his birthday in the past.” “In the past?” She looked down as she thought this over. “Mostly we celebrated at home. I bought a cake and some presents—a watch, or a pair

Yi

n

Isobathic

147

of athletic shoes, that sort of thing.” She peered at me for a moment and then quickly lowered her eyes, as though she was concealing something. “Nothing special. And he never seemed to care very much about his birthday.” I couldn’t help but ask, “Did you care?” “Xiaodong, I admit that as a mother, I haven’t done everything right. We neglected many important things.” She looked straight at me. “That’s our sorrow, isn’t it? And there are so many feelings that we once thought would be engraved in our memories forever—and yet ultimately they vanished.” She seemed to be changing the subject, but she was right that people tend to see their lives in a generalized way and fail to pay attention to the specific moments that matter. “I’ll go to his school first thing tomorrow and talk with his teachers and classmates to see what they know.” After pausing for a moment, I said, “Of course I’m sure you’ve already done all these things. But we may have different perspectives; maybe I can find a new lead.” “I’m so touched that you would do this, Xiaodong. I came looking for you mainly because I wanted some moral support. I didn’t mean to place this unrealistic burden on your shoulders.” “I know.” “No, no, you don’t. In fact—how should I put it?—you’ve never understood me.” “Moli.” “Sometimes I don’t even understand myself. Just now, I told you that I wasn’t responsible for my son’s leaving. Actually, I know I’m deceiving myself. When a son suddenly leaves home, how can a mother not bear some responsibility?” I listened quietly, expecting that she had more to say. “As for his birthdays, I took him on a trip three years ago to celebrate his birthday.” “Where?” “Xi’an.” I silently counted back. “Was your husband still at home then? I remember that Zhou Youjian disappeared in September. Did all of you go to Xi’an?” “No, just my son and me.” “Uh, why didn’t Zhou Youjian go, too?” “You know what he’s like, and you still have to ask?” You know what he’s like. I had to once again recall what I knew about Zhou Youjian. What was he like? In the middle of the night three years ago, after I had put down the phone, I was a little confused. As I waited for Moli to come over, I had thought about his angry shouts. Zhou Youjian had a kind of bellowing nature. People never had time to defend themselves against his outbursts. He would slap the table and stand up abruptly; he would lash out fiercely; and he would not forgive—not anyone. Once while we were in college, I accompanied Zhou Youjian to buy a coat. Moli went with us; at the time, she was my girlfriend. The three of us looked

148

Mānoa

n

The Zither

through half the city without finding something he liked. Zhou Youjian thought all the coats were too expensive. For the entire day, we watched him take off his wrinkled jacket, try on a new one, then put on his old one. It was very hard on Zhou Youjian because each time, he had to expose his old undershirt and his worn-out belt. It was a sad sight. Zhou Youjian’s countenance grew uglier: his face turned from ashen to deathly pale. Big beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. I realized it had been a mistake to bring Moli along, and that it was because of her that Zhou Youjian was so embarrassed. Moli had also grown deathly pale. Later, I surmised that these two had already betrayed me, confirming what I had only dimly suspected. I think I had invited Moli to join us simply to let her see with her own eyes what a sorry figure Zhou Youjian cut. (Did I make up this reasoning only later? When I was a student back then, I might not have been so astute.) Anyway, at a shop outside of town, Zhou Youjian became really frustrated: the zipper on his worn-out jacket got stuck at the bottom. He struggled fur­ iously, and his eyes reddened as he gritted his teeth. He was pathetic, as if his whole world had suddenly collapsed because of a little zipper. Struggling with it, Zhou Youjian suddenly glared at something to the side. Moli and I followed his gaze and saw there were two lovers behind us. The girl was complaining that this kind of shop had nothing worth buying, and the boy was apologizing for taking her there. Just as I concluded that the scene was trivial, Zhou Youjian howled—a strange, piercing cry that startled everyone. He bellowed at the boy, who was trying to be conciliatory, What did you do wrong?! What did you do wrong?! What could possibly be wrong with going to this shop? Then he stopped abruptly, as though his throat was being tightly squeezed. His eyebrows and mouth were twitching, and a growling sound was building up inside him. I couldn’t figure out what was going on, and I went over to protect him from himself. I had no sooner touched his shoulder than he collapsed on the floor, his body rigid. He grabbed at his neck convulsively, as though he wanted to strangle himself. Everyone was shocked and frightened. Crouching next to him, I was even more terrified than the others. When he foamed at the mouth and his lips trembled, people at last rushed to help him. It took all my strength to pull his hands from his neck and liberate the sound imprisoned in his throat. “Zhou Youjian … ,” Moli said despairingly. Then, miraculously, Zhou Youjian’s hands relaxed. “Oh—what did I do . . . ?” His voice sounded ancient, like that of a dying dog, and its weirdness has lingered in my memory all this time. On that late night three years ago, as I remembered this incident, I tensed up again. I was almost certain that by then they were in a relationship. Zhou Youjian had shouted for help, and Moli—his angel—had responded, saving him. After this, they were openly together. I lost a friend and a sweetheart at the same time. It turned out that Zhou Youjian suffered from epilepsy. It had been controlled earlier, but was set off by Moli being in the shop with us. If she hadn’t been with him that day, Zhou Youjian wouldn’t have felt humiliated and tormented and wouldn’t have had a seizure. After this, Zhou Youjian



Yi

n

Isobathic

149

had frequent seizures. From time to time, he would suddenly start shouting, cursing at the hypocrisy around him. And then he would fall down, foaming at the mouth. Because of this, he nearly failed to graduate. Except for Moli, he denounced almost everyone around him, including the department chair as he was giving a speech, and the president as he was inspecting the dining hall. The summer before graduation, a storm inside him unexpectedly blew up, and the man in the eye of the storm was impelled to stand up and shout. Time after time, he fainted on the streets. Because Zhou Youjian wasn’t able to resist this force, he cried out in his ear-splitting voice. And so, Moli had good reason—and, furthermore, the responsibility—to stick with him. In that idealistic time of our youth, I accepted this and also believed I didn’t love Moli as much as Zhou Youjian did. I just wanted to know when these two people had begun betraying me—and how far it had gone. What troubled me was that when Moli was my girlfriend, she resisted my advances with all her might—fighting me with her hands, her feet, and even her teeth. She only let me touch her breasts—that was all. After dating her for more than a year, the only things I knew about her body were that her breasts were as firm as fists and she wore a cross on a necklace between them—in short, Moli was a Christian. The cross reminded me of sin and punishment. From the time I was a child, I had lived surrounded by the sound of violins, because my father was a master violin maker. While I was dating Moli, I felt she was like an unfinished violin that merely made a screechy sound. After we broke up, the thing I hated most was imagining that Zhou Youjian had very likely already played this violin. Three years ago, while I waited for Moli to visit me in the middle of the night, that’s what I was thinking about, and it made me sad. The waitress came over and asked if we wanted anything else. It was noon, so I asked Moli if she’d like some lunch. She shook her head. Actually, I didn’t feel hungry either, but I said, “We do have to eat, it’s lunchtime.” She shook her head again. “I can’t. I’ve had no appetite for three days.” But she didn’t look as if she’d gone without food for three days; she just looked a little pale and had faint shadows under her eyes. “Whenever I think about eating, I worry about my Zhou Xiang: is he hungry?” “Oh, I forgot to ask. Does he have any money on him?” “Yes. He put his pocket money in an online bank account. I checked—it shows a balance of several thousand yuan.” “Can you see what he’s bought these last three days?” “There’s been no activity on his card. But before he left, he withdrew five thousand yuan from the ATM.” “Look, Moli, the boy did everything methodically. This shows he has a plan.” I muttered to myself, “Of course, he’s still a child, not even fourteen years old,

150

Mānoa

n

The Zither

but kids these days are sometimes more independent than we imagine. He can probably take care of himself better than some adults can.” “I hope so.” She was distressed. “But I still can’t figure out why he did this.” “There’s no point in speculating. All we can do is try to guess the facts. I think we can be optimistic that he isn’t in danger.” It seemed I had convinced her. She also agreed to have some lunch. I ordered a fried pepper steak. “Don’t you need to go home and have lunch with your wife?” she suddenly asked. “Xiaodong, I don’t want you to be—” “You think too much.” I gazed at her. I had to admit: even now, she could still affect me deeply. Her skin wasn’t pale enough to call her beautiful in the conventional way, but to me her dark skin was even more attractive. As I turned my attention to the food, I thought back to the night three years earlier, just after her husband disappeared. I was in my early thirties when I was promoted to the rank of professor. Consequently, there was no lack of women interested in me. But I was still single and my only steady companion was a pet dog, a papillon named Shangyuan. When Moli knocked on my door in the middle of the night, Shangyuan woke up and began to bark furiously. In his surprise and confusion, the dog blocked the entryway, then rushed the woman standing there. Because he kept howling, I dragged him to the balcony and locked him outside. He kept barking and barking, making the night even more unsettling. Moli was wearing a coffee-colored dress, which matched her complexion. She stood gracefully in the doorway like a violin on display. We looked at one another for a moment, neither of us surprised. I hadn’t seen her for years. She looked just the way I had imagined—with the body of a mature woman. She could have seen me only as what I had become: a man with sagging cheeks and a developing beer belly. Nevertheless, we made beautiful music together that night. The cross that had hung between Moli’s breasts was gone. Perhaps she had given up religion, or perhaps her breasts had become real breasts, with firm brown nipples. Her body had a violin’s harmony, and the sound it made after being played was like a radiance enveloping me. Actually, everything proceeded in silence; her body resonated, but silently. The only sound was Shangyuan’s indignant barking on the balcony. I was absorbed in a desolate yet enchanting symphonic movement: it was as though the entire world had been caught up in a vast symphony. Before getting into bed, we had said almost nothing. When I went to close the door, she clung to me from behind. “I’m so lonely,” she said. I turned around and held her hands—her long, delicate fingers were smooth and cool. Her eyes were brimming with tears, glistening in the light from the bedroom. Leaning against my chest, she said, “I was feeling terrible, and suddenly I thought of you …” I heard her use the plural you. “I was scared … ,” she said. “I accidentally smashed the glass that Zhou Youjian had left on the table . . . This evening, when I went to pick it up, it fell to the floor the instant I touched it, but I didn’t hear



Yi

n

Isobathic

151

it breaking …” Her voice was so soft that it was only a murmur, drowned out by Shangyuan’s ferocious barking. She was probably saying that when her husband had suddenly vanished three days before, he left no clue to indicate where he was going. It was as if he had disappeared from the face of the earth. His boss was worried and called his hometown, but didn’t get any information. Instead, a group of his relatives held Moli responsible. She had filed a missing person report … and had even gone to the morgue to see if she could identify any unclaimed body… Moli said she dreamed that he was still alive and was having seizures again: in the dream, he raged at her before suddenly falling and frothing at the mouth. Just as I was about to ask something, I stopped, thinking about my strange voice on the phone—raspy and rough, like wind gusting over sandpaper. I was scared that I would speak with that voice. Some questions were suffocating me, though, and I grew dizzy. I wondered whether it was fear or the weight of Moli’s head on my chest. Before I fell asleep, I worried about teaching my students the next day if that voice came back. A professor, a person who depended on lecturing for his living: what would it mean if I was unable to speak properly? Early the next morning, I awoke to the ear-splitting sound of barking. Moli was already up and neatly dressed, sitting on the sofa in the living room. When she saw me, she stood and said, “Good morning. I have to go now.” I walked her to the door and then went out to the balcony. Shangyuan was cowering in a corner. He stopped whimpering as soon as he saw me. Picking him up, I saw some blood on the white hairs next to his mouth. He had barked so indignantly, so forcefully and persistently, that it had hurt his throat—and yet would any angel hear it? I looked out the window and saw that the night fog hadn’t dispersed. It was as though the world had been frozen in an ancient, timeless wasteland. I saw Moli get into a silver Peugeot and take a long time to start it up. I went back to the living room and turned on the TV. A female announcer smiled as she said, “Good morning …” Her voice was the same as Moli’s. When Moli left the café, it was still early. I followed her with my eyes and remained at the table for a while longer. Through a window, I saw her get into the same silver Peugeot. The car started, the engine sounding weak, like someone starving to death. Moli always appeared strong even if she was about to collapse, but the car was a reflection of her true condition. The waitress came over with the check, and as a matter of course asked if I would accept a discount of two yuan and forego the receipt. “Your order didn’t even come to two hundred yuan.” She meant that the total was such a trivial amount that I should be ashamed to actually demand a receipt. But I was unusually serious. I suddenly wanted to live formally, not perfunctorily, and I didn’t want to be conciliatory. I insisted that she go to the trouble of bringing me a receipt. As I walked home along the river, I thought about the things that happened three years ago. My life had changed a lot. The most significant changes were

152

Mānoa

n

The Zither

that I had married and had become taciturn. But after Moli left the café, I realized that I had always loved this dark-skinned woman. When I was with Moli, other women didn’t seem to matter anymore. two Dongfang High was a private school. When I arrived, the last class of the morning was in session. Zhou Xiang’s homeroom teacher, a woman about my age, met with me in the office. She motioned for me to take a seat across from her and asked, “How are you related to Zhou Xiang?” “You could say I’m an uncle.” I figured that because she was about my age, her career had probably been much like mine. Our generation of college-educated people had had similar life patterns. “His parents and I were college classmates. You understand the friendship among college classmates, don’t you?” As expected, she smiled. “Zhou Xiang’s father was my best friend in college. In that sense, Zhou Xiang is almost like a son to me.” “I see.” It seemed my explanation was working. “Has Zhou Xiang’s father been in touch with his son? Have all of you been looking for Zhou Youjian the last few years?” “We won’t give up,” I equivocated. After all, I had come to this office looking for Zhou Xiang, not for his father. “I’m wondering if Zhou Xiang’s departure could be connected with his father? Of course, that’s just a guess,” the teacher said. “That’s possible. But we have no inkling. You’re Zhou Xiang’s homeroom teacher. Can you tell me how he normally behaves? Maybe that would give us some clues.” “I’ve already told his mother all I know. It’s actually really simple: Zhou Xiang excels in his studies and behavior.” But her expression as she said this wasn’t simple at all. I thought she was holding something back. “Weren’t you surprised that your student had suddenly left home?” “Certainly. But I also felt it wasn’t totally unexpected.” “Huh?” She only smiled without replying. “Besides writing comments on their report cards, you must have a perceptive understanding of your students. Maybe from your intuition?” “How do you know?” “I’m a teacher, too, and each of my students leaves some impressions that I can’t summarize in my evaluations…” “That’s right. I have a particularly strong impression of Zhou Xiang. How to put it? This child is simply perfect. His grades and his character are above reproach, but taking into account the misfortune in his home—I mean his father’s disappearance—I sometimes think … maybe he’s a little too perfect.”

Yi

n

Isobathic

153

“What?” “Well, a child this age would usually be emotionally troubled if his father disappeared. But I see no sign of anything wrong. So I think there are only two possibilities for the boy’s running away: either he’s heartless or he’s trying to hide something. These are both cause for concern.” “Absolutely. You’re right. Did you talk about these things with Zhou Xiang’s mother?” “No. As a mother myself, I didn’t want to add to another mother’s worries. After all, it’s objectively true that this child excels in every way, and there’s no way to test our subjective intuition.” “Thank you so much for nevertheless sharing your intuition.” I had a very good impression of this woman teacher. Whenever I had a good impression of someone my age, I couldn’t help wanting to know how the other person had managed the transition after graduation. But I couldn’t ask her that. “Can you tell me if there are any students who are close to Zhou Xiang?” “There’s one. I already told Zhou Xiang’s mother.” The name the teacher gave shocked me: “Liu Xiaodong.” Because my name is also Liu Xiaodong, it took me a few seconds to under­ stand what she was saying. “Thank you!” I wanted to shake her hand before parting, but I didn’t. A few minutes later, I was at the school entrance, in the midst of the throng of students rushing to lunch from their classes. I was waiting for the boy who had the same name as me. Kids were so tall these days. I couldn’t expect that being an adult would give me any advantage over him. “Liu Xiaodong?” I was looking at the tall boy who had my name. I fantasized, inappropriately, that I was looking in a mirror. “Hello, uncle. I was told that you were waiting for me.” The boy was well mannered. His book bag was slung over one shoulder, making his shoulders lopsided. “Um … Did your teacher tell you what it was about?” “Are we going to talk right here?” he asked, seeming very mature. “No, of course not.” I assumed an air of sophistication. “We’ll find a place. Kentucky Fried Chicken? Are you in a hurry to get home?” “I don’t go home at noon. There isn’t time. And there’s no one at home to cook. Zhou Xiang doesn’t go home either.” He seemed to know why I had asked to see him. “If you don’t go home, what do you do for lunch?” I asked. “There’s a student canteen. Zhou Xiang and I eat lunch there. It’s in that building.” He pointed to the other side of the road. “We can also take a nap there after lunch.” “Do you mind if we eat somewhere else today?” He was noncommittal and looked down. He walked ahead as I followed him—two Liu Xiaodongs going to lunch in the fierce, early-summer heat. After a block or two, we reached a Kentucky Fried Chicken. Still walking

154

Mānoa

n

The Zither

ahead of me, the younger Liu Xiaodong went in and found a place to sit. I tactfully went to the counter to order for the two of us. Since I didn’t know what he liked, I ordered a few different things, thinking that he’d like at least one of them. When I placed the two large platters of food on the table, he frowned. “You went overboard,” he said. “We’ll never eat this much.” And then he remembered something and smiled. “There’s an eighth-grade boy in our school who liked a seventh-grade girl. He invited her out to Kentucky Fried Chicken and ordered a total of five hundred yuan worth of food. He became the laughingstock of our school. How much did you spend on this food? I guess it’s maybe about the same.” I knew that “the same” wasn’t referring to the “five hundred yuan” but to being a “laughingstock.” “Um, it’s about the same,” I said as I grabbed a hamburger. “Actually, the relationship between us now is about the same as that boy and girl’s. I’m the pursuer, and you’re the stuck-up girl I’m asking out to lunch.” “Sheesh.” He made it clear that he didn’t want to be the girl student. “Gimme a break.” “Do you know that our names are exactly the same?” This sounded like a lie intended to worm my way into being friends with him. “So?” He didn’t seem the least bit interested. “It just means that the name is too ordinary, that’s all.” He was still keeping his distance, so I waited until he had taken a hamburger, and then I got straight to the point. “Tell me, what did you and Zhou Xiang usually talk about?” He asked if I had learned anything from his teachers. I said I wasn’t sure, but probably not. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have sought him out. I could see that this made him childishly proud of himself. “What did we talk about? I’ve already told his mother. We talked about our dreams, our studies.” “Come on, don’t flimflam me. You ate my hamburger.” He laughed. “You’re a queer uncle.” I was glad I could still understand this kind of Internet slang. “Okay, that’s what I am—so, level with me,” I said. “We talked mostly about science.” I sensed that the way he said science wasn’t like the way he had just said dreams and studies. “Courses in school are boring. We need something more challenging.” He then said in a tone of indifference, “We can’t help it that we were born with high IQs. Did my teacher tell you this? Zhou Xiang’s grades are at the top of the class, and mine are second.” “She didn’t tell me that.” “It doesn’t matter. And there’s no point in talking about our schoolwork.” “Well, tell me about something you think is worthwhile.” “Zhou Xiang and I have recently taken an interest in oceanography.”

Yi

n

Isobathic

155

“Oceanography?” I repeated this solemnly, in order to confirm what I had heard. “What in particular?” “You wouldn’t understand.” “Actually, you’re right—I definitely wouldn’t understand. Just tell me whatever you’d like to tell me.” “For example, contour current.” “Oh, contour current.” I did my best to act calm, so as not to reveal the absolute ignorance of a college professor who teaches Chinese. “The contour current is caused by the rotation of the earth. Below the continental slope, and parallel with the continental margin, is the contour stream. It’s one kind of traction current, flowing toward the continental slope. Its velocity is low, generally 15 to 20 centimeters per second. It carries a heavy volume and has a high rate of sedimentation. It’s an important geological agent of the continental slope. Some scholars think that the contour current is also one kind of bottom current . . .” I didn’t say anything, and I kept my face expressionless. After a while, I said, “That sounds interesting. Now, tell me something that I can understand.” “You must understand law.” “I think so. The two of you talked about law?” “Yes. Before he left, Zhou Xiang was very interested in law.” “Which part? Which legal issues?” “We looked up provisions concerning the age of criminal responsibility.” I dipped a French fry into catsup and drew a wavy line on the tray. I thought I was beginning to grasp what was going on. It was still a kind of intuition. If there was something worth respecting about a professor teaching Chinese, keen intuition might be one of them. Across from me, the other Liu Xiaodong went on talking. “Chinese law stipulates that a person over the age of sixteen who commits a crime shall bear full criminal responsibility. If a person who has reached the age of fourteen but not the age of sixteen commits the crimes of intentional homicide, intentional injury resulting in serious injury or death of another person, rape, robbery, trafficking in narcotics, arson, bombing, or poisoning, he shall bear a share of the criminal responsibility. A person who is less than fourteen years old, regardless of what he has done, shall bear no criminal responsibility.” “His birthday is the day after tomorrow. Did you know that?” I interrupted. “Day after tomorrow, Zhou Xiang will be fourteen.” “I know.” He was still indifferent. “The age at the time the crime is committed shall be calculated according to the year, month, and day of the Gregorian calendar. Beginning the day after one’s birthday, one is considered to have reached the age of the birthday.” When he enumerated these legal provisions, he used the same tone as when he explained contour current. I was impressed. “Okay,” I took a deep breath. “Tell me: what was Zhou Xiang’s plan for leaving home?”

156

Mānoa

n

The Zither

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.” He blinked. “But I know where he went.” “Tell me.” “Why?” “First, you ate my hamburger. Second, we have only two days. After that, Zhou Xiang will be fourteen and he will have to take partial responsibility.” This kid was bright, but he was still a kid. He hadn’t connected what he knew about law with his friend’s disappearance. “You’re saying—” “Yes.” I interrupted, afraid that if he went on speaking, the conversation would take an unhelpful turn. “Tell me, where did Zhou Xiang go?” Then we two Liu Xiaodongs left Kentucky Fried Chicken and walked half an hour to the ticket window at the train station. He said he had accompanied Zhou Xiang to buy a ticket here. But I had to verify this. The window wasn’t open at noon, but a Chinese professor ought to be able to apply his professional skills at a time like this. So I used my most sincere tone of voice to gain sympathy from the girl behind the ticket window. To buy a train ticket, one had to have proof of one’s identity; Zhou Xiang was too young to have an ID card, but he did have an ID number that he had carried with him since birth. The younger Liu Xiaodong recited the string of numbers, and after checking it on the computer, the girl said, “Indeed, five days ago, a train ticket to Xi’an was sold from this window. You’re in luck. After five days, we can no longer retrieve this information.” I felt as though I had won the lottery. As I stood in the early summer heat, all kinds of feelings welled up in my heart. “Why didn’t you tell Zhou Xiang’s mother?” I asked the boy. “First, I didn’t eat her hamburger. Second, it never occurred to me that Zhou Xiang might be in danger.” I patted him on the head. This motion wasn’t very natural, because he was almost my height. “How tall is Zhou Xiang?” I asked. “About the same as me. Haven’t you ever seen him?” “Yes, but that was three years ago, when he was still in primary school.” I was suddenly embarrassed and a little depressed. After Moli visited me late at night three years ago, we kept in touch. But she didn’t come to my home again: she said she was scared of the dog’s ferocious barking. I didn’t go to her home either. I was afraid that when we made love again, her missing husband would jump out from under the bed or from inside the closet. Once, I ran into her on the street. She had picked up her son from school and they were going home. When they were several meters away, she furtively signaled me. I realized that she didn’t want her son to see there was another man in her life so soon after his father had disappeared. I brushed past without acknowledging her, doing my best to act like a passerby. That was the only time I’d seen the boy. And now I was looking for him. I asked again, “Did Zhou Xiang tell you why he was taking the train to Xi’an? Don’t tell me he went for sightseeing.”

Yi

n

Isobathic

157

“No, he didn’t say anything.” I thought he just wanted to take a long trip before he turned fourteen. Kind of like making a dream come true. Sometimes, I also want to run away from home before I grow up.” “Why? Why do you want to do that?” “Because it’s no fun to run away once you’re an adult.” I was stunned. “As an adult, it takes a lot of courage and comes at a high price if you do—like with Zhou Xiang’s father.” He was speaking of Zhou Youjian, who occupied a painful place in my heart. “Did Zhou Xiang talk with you about his father’s disappearance?” “Yes. Zhou Xiang said he understood his father. He said that only the sort of action his father took was isobathic with life.” “Isobathic?” “That’s referring to contour current. Zhou Xiang and I were doing research on that subject at the time. I think he blurted out the word as a metaphor.” I gave the boy cab fare to get back to school. I didn’t think I would have anything more to talk about with him. We were both named Liu Xiaodong, but when I was fourteen, I would never have known the oceanographic term isobathic and never would have thought to use it as a metaphor for life. I went to the café. While waiting for Moli, I reflected on our mutual past. We had broken up in college because of Zhou Youjian. Three years ago, we had met again, the main reason—and our excuse for seeing each other— being that we were looking for him. But when she and I were together, we rarely spoke of him; that would have been awkward, after all. We had a mutual understanding: Zhou Youjian’s disappearance gave our reunion some legitimacy, as if two unfortunate people were dependent on each other in a time of need. One day Moli called to say that she’d been told Zhou Youjian was in a temporary shelter in a neighboring county. We drove there on a winding road and came to a building with walls studded with broken glass and topped with iron spikes. Inside, I saw all kinds of damaged and sick people. They hung their heads and sat passively on bare, wooden beds. Moli and I peered through each of the windows on the rotted doors, but unfortunately we didn’t see Zhou Youjian. Afterward, we got into Moli’s car, parked outside the shelter’s wall, and embraced and kissed, this time with a clear conscience. I asked Moli if she really didn’t know the reason her husband had left home. The question made her nervous. She said, “Don’t you know? His collapse the summer before our graduation devastated him. Roaring at the world had been his way of self-medicating; when this outlet was blocked, he could only confront the world by using silence. He became a complete outsider, a misfit—a sick man who was abandoned by society.” I could only listen. It seemed that the summer before we graduated had become the justification for any behavior our generation engaged in. What else could I say? She gave me an artificial smile. Then she smiled again two or three times, which made it seem all the more forced. I kept the rest of my questions to myself.

158

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Later, Moli told me she had received a phone call, but the person on the other end of the line had said nothing. Her first thought was that it must be Zhou Youjian. She had said, “Zhou Youjian—is it Zhou Youjian? Zhou Youjian!” But the caller hung up. She asked me, “What do you think? Was it him?” After that, I called her from a public phone, and when she answered, I said nothing. She said hello twice in a firm voice and when there was no response, she hung up. The next time we saw each other, I asked if she had received any more strange phone calls. Her reaction sent an electric shock through me: she simply shook her head. I realized then that Moli chose to withhold some things from me, preferring not to explain everything. When Moli came into the café and sat down across from me at the table, I was prepared for her silence. I got right to the point. “I’d like you to tell me again about the time three years ago when you and Zhou Xiang went to Xi’an to celebrate his birthday.” I gazed off into the distance, thinking she would be slow to answer. I looked around the café. It had a suspended tin ceiling and was decorated in brown and silver. There was a bookcase in front of the counter. One of the titles was Selection of Poems by Independent Chinese Poets. I wondered what it meant by “independent.” As she adjusted the cushions, she abruptly responded, “Why do you ask?” I turned my attention back to her. “Just tell me what happened, and then I’ll tell you why I’m asking.” She was wearing the same clothes as the day before: a beige dress, a fine necklace with a coin-shaped silver pendant flashing at her neckline. She didn’t seem in very good shape. Three years ago when we were seeing each other, she would never have worn the same clothes two days in a row. She ordered a lemonade, then said without looking at me directly, “It was a weekend trip. He had school, so we could take only two days.” She paused, but didn’t seem to be making a serious effort to remember. “I took him to see the terracotta warriors. Oh, and also Huaqing Hot Springs.” “Where did you stay?” “In a hotel of course. Why?” “Did anything in particular happen in Xi’an?” “No. I don’t think so.” “You mean there could have been something?” “I don’t know. I don’t know if it would count as something.” “What was it?” “Why?!” She finally lost her patience and looked hard at me. “Xiaodong, why do you keep pestering me with these questions? Do you mean to say that Zhou Xiang is in Xi’an?” “Yes, almost certainly.” Our eyes met. Looking at this woman whom I continued to call Moli, I felt waves of affection wash over my heart. “He bought a train ticket to Xi’an on the day he left home. I checked the timetable. The train left at 9:58 at night. The timing sounds right—between when the security

Yi

n

Isobathic

159

guard saw him enter your residential complex and when you returned home five hours later.” “Where did you get this information?” “That doesn’t matter.” “It does.” She was stubborn. “Tell me.” “Okay. Liu Xiaodong told me.” “Liu Xiaodong?” She looked at me, shocked. I realized she must have been confused by the name, so I explained, “Zhou Xiang’s classmate. You’ve met him.” She closed her eyes for a second. “So it was him. That’s right. His name is the same as yours. I forgot to tell you.” “It’s not important. I have a common name.” She looked at me in surprise. “But why didn’t this Liu Xiaodong tell me? I talked with him the day after Zhou Xiang disappeared.” “Because you didn’t treat him to a hamburger.” Realizing at once that my tone wasn’t appropriate, I added, “Kids have their own morality: they cover up for each other. It’s understandable.” “But why did Zhou Xiang go to Xi’an at such a time?” “Such a time—so near his fourteenth birthday, you mean?” “Oh, I hadn’t given it much thought … Yes, why would he go at this time— right before his birthday?” “Maybe to relive the happiness connected with his birthday three years ago?” “No, that’s impossible! That makes no sense. If he really had that in mind, he would have asked me to go with him.” Now she seemed to be trying her best to remember. “And to tell the truth, I don’t think he was so happy on that trip. He wasn’t much interested in either the terracotta warriors or Huaqing Hot Springs.” “I don’t think it’s very likely either.” I took a sip of coffee and averted my eyes so that she wouldn’t feel I was pressuring her. “And so, Moli, you have to tell me the truth. We don’t have much time. Just two more days.” “What do you mean? What truth? Why are you saying we don’t have much time? Two days—why two days?” “Don’t ask so many questions.” I still avoided looking her in the eye. “At the moment, I can’t explain why—I’m just relying on intuition.” “Intuition?” I raised my hand to stop her from asking more questions. “First tell me what happened. For example, who else did you see?” After a pause, she said hesitantly, “Well, the headquarters of the company where I work is in Xi’an. When we went there, the company hosted us. But I don’t think that was a problem …” “Just stick to the facts. Okay?” “Okay!” She seemed to have made up her mind. “My boss accompanied us those two days. Xi’an is a big city. It’s not easy to get to tourist spots on your own.” “He just accompanied you to the tourist spots, nothing else?”

160

Mānoa

n

The Zither

“Xiaodong!” She raised her voice again. “Don’t make wild guesses. My son was with me. I know how to behave!” I fell silent and looked at her sadly. This time, she was the one dodging my gaze. I wanted to ignore her expression, but I couldn’t. The night we were together in a hotel room three years ago, Moli thought I was asleep, so she had gone into the bathroom to phone someone. She spoke very softly. At first, I thought the sound was coming from the TV, but then her voice grew louder: “No! Absolutely not! Why are you asking me to be quiet … I want to talk! I must talk! I want the whole world to know!” She sounded as if she were clutching her throat. The pain in her voice went straight to my heart. I lay motionless on the bed, wondering who she was talking to on the phone. What did she want to say that she couldn’t? Who was causing her this pain? Did her husband’s disappearance have anything to do with it? I said, “What’s this boss’s name?” “Guo Hongsheng. Xiaodong, you—” “Your son didn’t like this boss Guo.” “How do you know?” “Intuition. Moli, think hard. In those two days in Xi’an, did anything happen between the boy and Guo Hongsheng?” “Unh … If you insist on knowing what happened, maybe this …” I was listening attentively without saying a word, so she had to continue. “The day we came back from Huaqing Hot Springs, Guo took us back to the hotel. When we parted in the lobby, he … unh, he patted me one time.” I still said nothing. “On my bottom.” She met my eyes steadily. “Zhou Xiang saw this.” “How did the boy take it?” “Not well, I have to admit. The next day, we were going to visit the Giant Wild Goose Pagoda. When Guo came to pick us up, Zhou Xiang refused to go.” I closed my eyes and began putting the pieces together. It all seemed to fit, but the logic that bound them together made my heart ache. “Zhou Xiang is not like his father. He hardly ever complains.” She couldn’t stop talking now. She was facing me, but what she was seeing was her own past. “After we came back from Xi’an, he seemed withdrawn. His father was still in the picture then. He and his father hadn’t been very close for quite some time—you know, because of Zhou Youjian’s condition—but in the following days, Zhou Xiang stayed with his father in the study after school. Sometimes, I suspect the boy’s disappearance might have something to do with what they talked about . . .” “And was there a connection?” “I don’t know.” “You know what I’m asking, don’t you?” She groaned and covered her face with her hands. I was in agony. I missed my old friend Zhou Youjian, who had exiled himself from his marriage. At a table not far from us was a man with his back to us. I fantasized that he was Zhou Youjian. I hoped that when he turned his head, I

Yi

n

Isobathic

161

would see the familiar face, with its expression of fortitude. I hoped I’d see him wearing the jacket with the broken zipper. The waitress came over and topped up Moli’s lemonade. I felt she wasn’t very friendly. She surely recognized me and knew that I was the pain-in-the-butt customer who had demanded a receipt. And so I felt a little guilty and wanted to say, Okay, I give up; I won’t ask for a receipt today. three I boarded the 9:58 p.m. train for Xi’an. It would have been faster to fly, but I chose the train. This mission was like a nightmare and I could only give myself up to the dream. I decided to take the same route as the boy, feeling that was the only way to find him and bring him back. I felt intuitively that the boy had been calm on his journey. I could almost see the situation on the day he left: he had headed home at sunset as always, and when he entered the residential complex, he had nodded politely to the security guard. After he got to his house, he finished his homework. He arranged his textbooks on the desk, and then took a slice of ham out of the fridge. He heated it and slowly ate it for his supper, and maybe he also watched a little TV. At about nine o’clock, he set out calmly for the train station. I told my wife that my department was sending me to Xi’an for a meeting. As I was leaving, she went downstairs with me. She wanted to walk me to the gate, but I asked her to go back upstairs. I didn’t want her to see that Moli was in her car, waiting at the gate to take me to the train station. From the balcony, the old dog Shangyuan quietly saw me off. I refused Moli’s request to go with me to Xi’an. I’d already gone to the temporary shelter with her to look for Zhou Youjian, and I didn’t want to have another experience like that. I asked Moli to trust that I would look for Zhou Xiang as if he were my own child. “You have to believe me. We’re isobathic in caring for Zhou Xiang.” I was surprised at myself for using the word isobathic, even though I wasn’t sure what it meant. Sitting in her silver Peugeot, I felt that the world had started to tilt. In that long-ago summer, when we were out in the storm, who would have thought that, years later, we would be sitting in a Peugeot at night viewing the beautifully lit city? One might feel today was light, or maybe heavy, but—whatever it was—today was definitely not the same as the past. We were either in the air or on the ground, like one end of a seesaw. It was definitely not equilibrium—not isobathic. Moli and I said goodbye in front of the train station. She wanted to go to the platform with me, but I asked her not to. “Please take it easy. Maybe the calmer we are, the better the outcome will be,” I said. For a split second, she seemed about to cry, but she blinked back the tears.

162

Mānoa

n

The Zither

It had been years since I’d taken a train. I remembered trains were always packed with passengers. Unexpectedly, the train that night wasn’t crowded. After I found my berth, I didn’t lie down right away, but sat up practicing qigong until I achieved an absolutely still, balanced state of mind. My father was not only a master violin maker but also a qigong master. He had taught me qigong, though I hadn’t done it for a long time. After the lights went out in the sleeping car, through deep breathing I became a spectator of my own life, reviewing with disinterest the scenes of my past. One day three years earlier, I was staying at a hotel while participating in a symposium. I was taking the hotel elevator down when, as the doors opened on a certain floor, I saw someone’s familiar back in the hallway. My heart thumped. I squeezed my way through the half-closed elevator door and saw Moli disappear down the corridor with a lanky man. The two were gone in a flash, so I didn’t see which room they had entered. I listened at each door in order not to be mistaken, but heard nothing behind any of them. I stood there feeling ridiculous, disgusted at my behavior. I went downstairs and as I walked outside, I saw Moli’s silver Peugeot in the hotel parking lot. In that moment, I felt a sound building up in my throat. I opened my mouth wide in order to release it. I staggered a few steps forward and suddenly threw up onto the lawn. Even more disgusting was that—because I was still walking—I stepped in my own vomit. That lanky man whom Moli “wanted the whole world to know” at last had a specific profile. This was the man she had called the night we spent together, the man who had wanted her to quiet down. Moli and I had often met at a hotel, and generally I was the one who made the reservations and she would simply show up at the appointed time. There were also a few times when she had called me late at night and asked, “Can you come over? I’m at the hotel. I’m scared …” This lanky man and I had both been meeting Moli in a hotel—a fact that hurt me more than the man’s existence in her life. After the day I had accidentally seen her with him, Moli and I stopped seeing each other. Someone I started to date—a divorced employee in my office—eased my distress. She was gentle and sweet. When we made love, she would moan rhythmically, the important thing being that every time she lay on the bed, my dog lay under it without barking. He snored happily, his breathing calm and undisturbed. It matched the gloomy fog outside the window. But it also made me miss Moli more. I remembered the night when the dog had barked like crazy. I thought I understood Moli, though her life wasn’t easy either. In a sense, she and I were exploiting each other in order to avoid facing our destinies. As I meditated on this night train, clearing my mind with qigong, I began to shed tears. At a little after seven the next morning, the train arrived in Xi’an. The traffic regulations in front of the station seemed designed to make things difficult for



Yi

n

Isobathic

163

passengers. Fortunately, I was traveling light and carrying only one bag. After some effort, I got a taxi. My destination was the Qindu Hotel near Yuxiang Gate, the same hotel where Moli and her son stayed on their trip to Xi’an. It was only when I was checking in at the front desk that I remembered hotels were very strict about minors, not allowing them to check in on their own. So Zhou Xiang wasn’t likely to be staying there. Sure enough, after patiently listening to my description of him, the woman at the front desk told me that they had never registered such a guest. I wasn’t completely discouraged. My intuition told me that I was still on the right track. This wasn’t a very popular hotel, and the room wasn’t up to date. The phone was from the last century, though the bathroom wasn’t bad. The window faced north, and from it you could see the ancient wall that surrounded the city. I tried to take in the surroundings the way a young boy would. I wanted to see what he had seen. I went to the lobby and sat down on a leather sofa. Three years ago, the boy was eleven—maybe about as tall as the back of the sofa? And so I saw: the man patted his mother’s butt in the second she turned around. Moli hadn’t been angry. She had just rebuked her boss with a smile, and when she turned back to her son, she met Zhou Xiang’s eyes. I saw two uniformed policemen asking about something at the front desk. It seemed routine, and they were familiar with the desk clerks. It reminded me of something that had happened three years earlier: Moli and I were discovered in a hotel room together by the police. In our romantic state of defiance, we stood close together, our calmness firmly protecting our dignity. Anyhow, we weren’t too embarrassed. One of the officers, a young man with a little fuzz on his face, got excited, but because the senior officers were cordial, he didn’t have a chance to show off his authority. He just kept looking at Moli and me with a sarcastic expression. After checking our work IDs, he sneered even more and laughed. This still didn’t satisfy him and he started drawing closer to Moli. In that instant, I exploded at him, roaring, “What are you sneering at? You’re sneering at life! You’re sneering at humanity…which you know nothing about.” My anger burst like a flood over a dam. My face was contorted and my hands clutched the air. Just when I thought I was going to faint, I heard Moli’s desperate cry: “Xiaodong!” Later, someone from my school came and vouched for me. The episode was over, except my colleagues gossiped about me for a long time. The experience taught me that, like my friend, I had the potential to become so enraged I could black out. Reviewing these things from the past, I had a sudden urge to smoke, even though I had given up the bad habit years ago. I bought a pack of Three Fives, but I purposely did not buy a lighter. And so in the hotel restaurant, I held a cigarette that I had no way to light. After a simple breakfast, I went back to my room to shower. Then I stood outside the Qindu Hotel for half an hour, waiting for a taxi. As soon as I got in,

164

Mānoa

n

The Zither

the driver—speaking in the local dialect—began complaining about the price of gas. I was just about to reply to him when we reached the Yijie Corporation building. After I got out, I could see the archaic facade of my hotel, just a couple blocks away; I could have walked. Now I understood why Moli had stayed at the Qindu: it was very close to the Yijie Corporation. But she hadn’t bothered to tell me this. The corporate headquarters were located on the top floor of this tall building. I got into the sightseeing elevator and looked out at the city as the elevator rose swiftly. I watched until the pedestrians looked like ants, but I didn’t see a boy with a backpack. When I exited the elevator, I was in the large lobby of the Yijie Corporation. Instead of walking over to the receptionist, I took a seat on a sofa next to the French windows. A large crystal ashtray sat on the glass tea table nearby. This reminded me of my cigarettes and I pulled out my pack of Three Fives, but simply put them next to the ashtray. I was creating balance and harmony in the setting. I leafed through a brochure that was lying on the table. The Yijie Corporation was a large conglomerate dealing in non-ferrous metals, construction materials, and petroleum and chemical products … including nearly every business that makes big, quick profits. In its portfolio were mining industries and power plants. The flyer included a photograph of the corporation’s chairman, a middle-aged man named Guo Hongsheng, who looked like the lanky back that had flashed past me. I mean the front view before me was what I would expect from the back I had seen. In the list of directors of subsidiaries, I saw the name Mo Li. I had never known what business Moli was in. She had probably told me, but it hadn’t made any impression. I hadn’t known that she was a director within such a huge corporation. In my world, a person named Mo Li didn’t exist. I had never taken any notice of someone with that name. I had stubbornly thought of Moli as a violin. I couldn’t avoid being noticed, and finally the receptionist walked over gracefully. She stood next to me, her hands folded at the waist. Bowing slightly, she asked, “May I help you, sir?” She was tall. I felt certain that if I stood up, I would be half a head shorter than she was. “Is Mr. Guo in?” I asked. “Yes, do you have an appointment?” “No.” “I’m sorry. You can’t see him without an appointment.” “May I have a glass of water?” I was looking out the window. She walked over to the water dispenser and filled a paper cup for me, then came back and set it on the table. I took my time drinking it; then I stood up and went back to the elevator. I didn’t look at the receptionist. I hated to prove to myself that she was taller than me. When I got into the elevator, my cell phone rang. It was Moli. “Where are you?”



Yi

n

Isobathic

165

“In the hotel. I’m going to take a nap first,” I said without thinking. “Take a nap? … Okay.” I could hear her thoughts: You’re actually going to take a nap first! I felt trapped. On the train last night, I had slept very well, but that was because of qigong. The I who had slept well was another I, or simply couldn’t be thought of as me. What I needed now was sleep for my body. Tomorrow was Zhou Xiang’s birthday, so this was a critical moment. Even so, I wasn’t nervous. My intuition told me to take a nap first. For much of the day, I was in my hotel room sleeping with three pillows under my head. I only came out for a stroll around two o’clock in the afternoon. After getting a general idea of the surroundings, I went into a small restaurant and ordered a bowl of the famous lamb soup with bread. This was good, solid food. After I finished, I felt I wouldn’t have to eat again for the next three days. Late in the afternoon, I returned to the first floor of the Yijie Corporation building. It was as though our actions had been planned in advance: I had no sooner arrived than the lanky man came down the stairs and walked past me. His yellow T-shirt was tucked in at the waist, making him look even thinner. To my surprise, he didn’t get into a car, but walked down the street at a leisurely pace. I hadn’t planned to follow him, but now that was all I could do. His way of walking was unusual. He seemed to me to be swinging his arms in an exaggerated way. I also noticed that his hands were particularly large. I thought, Those were the hands that the boy had seen pat his mother’s butt. Before long, I knew where he was going. I watched him cross the main thoroughfare and walk into the Qindu Hotel. I was pleased that while I had been taking a restful nap, my intuition had been guiding me like a rocket to the right trajectory. I felt I was now in rhythm with this whole situation. Soon after I entered the hotel, I glimpsed his lanky back going through the lobby and into the elevator. I approached the front desk and casually asked the woman clerk, “Just now, I think I saw someone I know. Was it Mr. Guo from the Yijie Corporation?” With a trained smile, she said, “Yes. Do you know each other? Mr. Guo has a room reserved here year round.” I turned and found a place to sit down on the sofa. So that was the way it was. He lived in this hotel throughout the year. When Moli and her son stayed here three years ago, he was here. The boy had probably witnessed more than a large hand patting his mother’s butt. What else had he seen? Perhaps late at night, his mother had quietly slipped out of their room … Even though I was now married and had adopted a silent lifestyle, and even though I had done qigong last night and had had a good nap today, I was feeling an acute ache inside. I thought it was probably much like what the boy had experienced that day—isobathic pain. I continued to sit in the lobby. The bellboy pushing a cart piled high with luggage passed by. Dust-covered travelers passed by. A man and a woman

166

Mānoa

n

The Zither

passed quickly by—obviously an adulterous couple. Under the light of a large chandelier, I felt as if I were witnessing all the forms of human behavior generated by the times. I sat there until eleven o’clock at night, and the lanky man never reappeared. Maybe he had ordered room service? Because of the lamb soup and bread, I wasn’t hungry. I didn’t feel lonely either, because I reckoned that at this moment, a boy was hiding in a corner somewhere, waiting quietly along with me. After I was sure that nothing was going to happen that night, I went outside. Xi’an in June is unbearably hot. The heat hangs heavily in the air long after sundown. Under the nearby city wall, neon lights were flashing. I went to a bar called Old Town, located beside the wall. The bar had a courtyard with monstrous old trees that looked bizarre under the neon light. There were so many customers in the courtyard that it seemed like a banquet was being held. A hostess in a cheongsam greeted me, and I ordered a beer. In the center of the courtyard was a stage, where a saxophonist was playing the Wham duo’s “Careless Whisper.” This old ballad broke my heart. I wanted to talk about it with the bartender. I wanted to tell him that Wham was the first rock group to come to China, and in that year, the “Careless Whisper” album went platinum in America. But my desire to share this story from the last century would only prove how old I was and how desperate to talk with someone. I didn’t tell it, of course. I just drank my beer. When the woman from my office and I got married, many friends and students came to my home to celebrate. I called Moli, and to my surprise, she showed up, too. Taking advantage of the crowd to slip out to the garden together, we talked casually, staying away from sensitive topics lest our conversation turn serious. Then Moli said, “It seems that your dog has turned mute all of a sudden. So many people are here right now, and yet I don’t hear it barking.” “Oh,” I said, “many families have pet dogs here. They used to always be barking and bothering others, so an old science teacher designed a dog collar with a battery on it. When the dog starts barking, the collar gives them a mild electric shock and they stop. They soon learn to be quiet.” Moli looked around and saw that, sure enough, every dog was wearing a collar with a battery. Some had colorful nylon twisted around the collar; others had little bells. Watching these noiseless dogs running around, Moli began to cry. I ignored her tears. I stood in the shade of the trees and added, “Of course, one or two dogs that have just started wearing these collars might bark even more fiercely when they get the shock, but that doesn’t mean the collar isn’t working. They just aren’t used to it yet.” In the courtyard bar, I drank three beers over two hours—not enough to make me drunk but enough to make me feel sorry for myself. I left the bar at midnight and headed back to the hotel. I needed a bathroom, so I had to start jogging. I felt a sudden impulse to call Moli, not unlike the urgency I felt to pee.

Yi

n

Isobathic

167

I had just taken out my cell phone when a guy tried to grab it out of my hand. Instinctively, I seized his wrist and followed up with standard martial arts movements that sent him rolling over my hip, and as soon as he hit the ground, I pinned him under my knee. I couldn’t see his face clearly under the streetlight, but I could smell his stinky body. Still holding his wrist tightly, I bent it backward and down. I could hear bones breaking as he screamed. I went on my way. After a couple of steps, I started jogging again. Behind me, the thief was sobbing and cursing. “Fuck you, you jerk!” I’m not really an aggressive person. My father had trained me in many things, but up to now I had mainly admired his talent for making violins. Tonight, though, I wanted all crimes to be punished—for the world to be in isobathic balance. four Today, Moli’s son turned fourteen. I returned to the sofa in the lobby very early. The lanky Mr. Guo didn’t leave his room. At ten o’clock, a man at the front desk called room service and said, “You can take Mr. Guo’s breakfast to him now.” I was sitting close enough to hear this. The restaurant was on the ground floor. When the server appeared with a cart, I followed him into the elevator. On the cart were a salad and two fried eggs, covered with plastic wrap, plus a basket of bread and a pot of coffee. I followed the server out of the elevator when it stopped on the fifth floor. I stood in the corridor, pretending to make a call on my cell phone. The server stopped in front of room 512 and rang the bell. The door was opened by a young woman wearing a nightgown. She didn’t ask the server in, but took the food from the cart herself. After the server left, I stood in front of the door for a long time. I thought, Moli was surely no stranger to this door. The faint sound of a TV came from inside the room. As I stood there, I again had the urge to smoke a cigarette. When I returned to the lobby to wait, a middle-aged man was sitting where I’d been. He was smoking. I took it as predestined and sat down next to him, then nonchalantly asked for a light. I inhaled through my nose: it was a mellow, rich taste. I didn’t know I could be so desperate for a cigarette. My head started spinning. So, today the lanky Mr. Guo was in his room with a young woman. When he was hungry, food was delivered to him. When he was tired, he could go to sleep. However, I was like an attendant, sitting in the lobby and keeping continuous watch for him. I smoked half of the pack of Three Fives, asking for lights from the smokers passing by. I felt nauseated. I ate lunch and dinner in the hotel restaurant, which was divided by a glass wall from the lobby. Sitting there, I could keep my eyes on everyone coming and going. I didn’t see any young boy who might have been Moli’s son. 168

Mānoa

n

The Zither

The receptionists must have noticed me; I couldn’t imagine what I looked like to them. On the wall behind their desk were the usual five clocks. Beijing, Tokyo, New York, Paris, London—why was it always these five cities? Watching this unchanging scene for a long time, I grew weary. At eight in the evening, my wife phoned and said, “Your father is in the hospital.” I was slouching on the sofa in the lobby, already feeling discouraged, and this bad news made me feel even worse. “What happened? Is it serious?” I asked. “It shouldn’t be too serious … ,” she stammered. “The doctor said it’s his blood pressure. Don’t worry. I just thought I’d better tell you.” I could hear our dog bark twice in the background. This was unusual. Shangyuan had been quiet for so long that I’d almost forgotten he used to bark all the time. “Okay, I’ll be home tomorrow,” I said. Then I went back to my room. I had intended to keep watch in the lobby until midnight, because I stub­ bornly thought Zhou Xiang’s reaching age fourteen was a red line. By law, anyone who crossed this line would have some limited responsibility for any crimes he committed. I therefore thought everything would occur before the boy’s birthday. Now I felt utterly absurd for assuming this, as it was based entirely on the confidence I had in my superior reasoning as a professor of Chinese. I had never felt so dejected. Back in my room, I called the hotel’s business center to ask them to book a flight back to Lanzhou the next morning. After a few minutes, the business center called and said the first available flight was at ten thirty. “Fine,” I agreed. After I showered, I lay in bed and phoned Moli. “How is everything?” she asked. “Nothing to report yet.” I paused, then said, “Perhaps I misjudged everything.” She said nothing; it seemed she still wanted to give me the “isobathic” silent treatment. I said, “Moli, that Mr. Guo is staying upstairs here.” “Why are you bringing him up?” Her voice was muffled. “Xiaodong, what are you up to? I don’t know what this has to do with Zhou Xiang’s disappearance … You haven’t told me a single thing.” “Okay, I’ll tell you what I think. I’m afraid Zhou Xiang left home in order to harm Mr. Guo.” I was ready to collapse from the effort it took to tell her this. “Why? Why would he do that?!” She raised her voice. “You really don’t know why?” I moved the phone away from my ear to give me the illusion that I was talking to myself. “Okay, let me tell you. The boy is seeking revenge. He thinks this man dishonored his mother, forced his father to leave, and ruined his family.” There was no sound from the phone. Then I heard sobs. “Of course this is all speculation. Zhou Xiang hasn’t actually shown up yet,” I said. “What should I do, Xiaodong?” She sobbed more heavily. “You have to

Yi

n

Isobathic

169

understand my predicament. My husband was unable to support our family. Everything was on me. In these times, what could I do? You’re right: later on, Zhou Youjian found out about Mr. Guo, but it never occurred to me that he would leave …” “What did you think he would do when he found out?” She paused. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I didn’t have the courage to think about it.” I wanted to smoke, but I didn’t have a lighter. “Moli, can you tell me—since this is the way it is—why you came to me three years ago?” “Why?!” She suddenly started shouting. “Because I needed to be loved!” “Couldn’t Zhou Youjian satisfy your need for love?” “In these times, as a husband, no. He couldn’t.” I felt myself melting like a popsicle. She had said “these times,” but what did she mean? Yes, we were going through times that we couldn’t have imagined when we were in college. Back then, Moli was a girl with a cross hanging on her chest. She was a girl who—in the name of righteousness and justice— could drop everything to be with a needy, sick person. And “in these times,” she wanted on the one hand to run a company and, on the other, to be loved. “Xiaodong, don’t criticize me. At least don’t criticize me now…” She made a sound that was somewhere between sobbing and grieving. “I’ve just lost my son,” she said. Of course I didn’t intend to condemn her. Everyone cheated in life. She had, unfortunately, been caught. I was no better. Anyone looking at me would say I was living a good life. I lectured glibly in the classroom, yet fooled around in the bedroom. The only one who had the moral right to criticize the sicknesses of these times had disappeared without a trace. The next morning after getting up early, I shaved, showered, and left at eight to make the ten-thirty flight. When I was waiting at the front desk to check out, I saw the lanky man rushing out of the hotel’s main door carrying his cell phone. From where I stood, I could see him on the steps looking around as if searching for someone. I hurried out. Before I reached the man, I saw the boy on the opposite side of the street. It was an eight-lane street. The boy was carrying a backpack. His hands were clasped against his chest, with a piece of clothing draped over them. He was waiting patiently for the red light to change. The sunlight made his shadow look strangely elongated. Because the traffic was light, some pedestrians were already crossing the street. But he obeyed the rules and waited for the light to turn green. I stayed on my side of the street waiting for him. If I had to pick moments from my forty-some years that I would never forget, this would definitely be one of them. This encounter with the boy I’d been trying so hard to find gave me intense, mixed feelings of sadness and relief. When the light changed, the boy walked unhurriedly into the crosswalk. As we were about to pass each other in the middle of the street, I suddenly took

170

Mānoa

n

The Zither

hold of his shoulder and—with a strength that he couldn’t match—forced him to turn around. Of course he struggled. But my arm was like iron as I held him. I grasped his hands, which were pressed against his chest and hidden by a piece of clothing. It took only a split second for me to control him. “You turned fourteen today,” I said quietly, not looking at him while dragging him to the curb. I sensed that my words weakened his struggle. But I still felt as if I were holding a small beast. In this moment, I appreciated the law of nature—that an adult always is strong enough to subdue a child. This law was absolutely fucking great. He staggered a little as I forced him back to the far side of the street. Without stopping, I led him to a food vendor’s stand set up on the sidewalk. I relaxed my hold on his shoulder but kept a strong grip on his hands. “Give it to me,” I said. He hesitated, and then relented. A reasonable kid, he saw that it was pointless to keep struggling. The object he had tried to hide fell into my hands: it was a knife. We sat on small wooden stools and ordered breakfast from the food stand. He rubbed his shoulder a little. I must have hurt him even though I had tried to be gentle. He was wearing a black, V-necked T-shirt, was tall and thin, and had acne on his forehead. If I hadn’t known he was fourteen, it would have been hard to guess his age. Kids like him were in a gray zone, as though crossing a river and finding themselves caught between this shore and the other. The boy looked like both of his parents. Seeing Moli and Zhou Youjian in him made me suddenly ache. He must have been taking my measure, too, and probably thinking that I’d be no match for him in a few years. “Who are you?” he asked. “I’m your uncle,” I replied earnestly. “But I don’t know you.” “That’s right. I don’t know you either.” Tears welled up in my eyes. “But I know your father and your mother.” I felt I was stating a very important fact. “We were all classmates, friends, in college.” I had a middle-aged man’s sincerity and felt that I was carrying the debt owed by one generation to another. It was because of my generation’s failures that we had come to the day when this young boy had set out with a knife. The boy saw the tears in my eyes. He knew that I was sad, but he couldn’t understand my grief. Still, I could see he was touched. He moved some fried dough sticks toward me. “How did you find me?” he asked. His adolescent voice was changing and seemed even lower than that of an adult. “Intuition.” I didn’t intend to elaborate on this. I felt that only “intuition” fit this moment. “I will try again,” he said calmly. “And I will stop you again, by intuition.” I pulled out my cell phone, dialed Moli’s number, and handed it to him.

Yi

n

Isobathic

171

The boy put the phone to his ear but said nothing for a long time. “Ma? It’s me,” he finally said. “I’m fine. Please don’t cry.” And then he listened quietly. I concentrated on eating the breakfast until he handed the phone back to me. Sobbing, Moli said, “What’s going on? Where are you, Xiaodong?” “It’s okay. We’re on our way back. No problem. We’ll be in Lanzhou this afternoon.” She wanted to continue talking, but I broke the connection. The boy ate a lot—a bowl of tofu milk and four fried dough sticks. Seeing him eat so well made me relax. “Okay, let’s go,” I said. I threw the boy’s weapon into a trash can. I didn’t want to know whether or not the knife was sharp and what kind of wound it could inflict. It made me sick to my stomach. I gave back the piece of clothing he’d used to conceal it—a red-and-white school uniform made of synthetic material. We stood at the side of the road and hailed a taxi. “Where have you been staying the last few days?” I asked. “A small, private inn nearby.” The boy was wearing tennis shoes and stamping his feet. He was bored. “Only twenty-five yuan a night.” “How did you get that man to come out of the hotel?” “It was so easy.” He smiled, sort of self-satisfied and showing off. “I’ve got my mother’s cell phone.” He showed me the phone he’d brought from home. “The man’s phone number is in it. I called him and said I was Mo Li’s son, and that we had come to Xi’an, but my mother had fallen in front of the hotel. I asked him to come down and help.” “You’re smart.” I was looking at him, distressed. “You planned all of this.” He pursed his lips. He looked a little bashful. “But why didn’t you do things as you planned?” “What?” “You should have made your move yesterday.” “Hunh?” “You turned fourteen today.” “I know. This is the day I planned to act.” I was stunned. “Why? You knew that after yesterday, the same action would result in a different outcome under the law.” “I wanted to take responsibility for whatever I did.” He was holding the straps of his backpack and looking at the sky. “I didn’t want everyone to see this as an irresponsible child making trouble.” I was shocked. I realized that the “intuition” I had relied on all along had been tainted with adult cynicism. It had led me to think of everything from the perspective of deception. I never imagined that the boy in front of me would have chosen to be honorable and take responsibility for his actions. Compared with him, I—standing on one side of the “age fourteen” red line—was clever but shallow, instinctively dodging responsibility. This boy, standing on the other side of the line, carried the nobility—long lost—of ancient heroes. I wanted to give this more thought, but I had to put it off at this moment.

172

Mānoa

n

The Zither

“Did you think about the consequences?” I asked him, feeling lucky that I hadn’t been this boy’s target—something that definitely could have happened. “No.” He smiled at me, but he was very serious. “When that man patted my mother’s butt, he must not have thought of the consequences either.” Like father like son. I could almost see Zhou Youjian suddenly lashing out at all the injustices in life—and never forgiving anyone. “But you have to weigh whether it would have been worth it.” He didn’t say anything. A taxi stopped for us, and after we got in, he suddenly whispered, “Do you think it was worth it for my father to leave home?” I had no way to answer. The other Liu Xiaodong had said to me that Zhou Xiang understood his father, and added that only the action his father took would give his life isobathic balance. I realized that when I, when Moli, when all of us were blaming “the times” for the compromises we had made, there was also a logic: only actions in isobathic balance could heal the damage done by fate. Not hearing me say anything, the boy seemed to be talking to himself. “Just now, my mother told me that you are the friend she trusts the most.” It was ten o’clock when we reached the airport. I gave up boarding the tenthirty flight and bought tickets for both of us for the eleven-forty flight. Before we boarded, I called Moli and told her what time we would arrive. After takeoff, I talked to the boy about his father. After college graduation, because of his erratic behavior that summer, Zhou Youjian had been assigned to the literature and history archives, where he spent his days buried in old books. I would always imagine him in a worn-out undershirt that was no longer white, wearing a brown leather belt with frayed edges, and a jacket with a broken zipper. But now, from the bottom of my heart, I wanted to give Zhou Youjian’s son—the next generation—an image of a perfect father. I told him that Zhou Youjian had the highest scores in our class. This was a fact I’d forgotten over the years. I said that he had a strong sense of justice and shame, and that his malady should be seen as a pure soul’s response to an unhealthy world. The boy listened, fascinated. “How about you help me find your father and then we’ll bring him home together?” I suggested. “How?” “By intuition.” I was sort of nervous, because I had already started to doubt my corrupted intuition. “Isn’t that how I found you?” My words weren’t very convincing, but I thought it was worth a try. “And don’t you think that would make more sense?” Lost in meditation, I was feeling that this meeting together in the air might come to something. The flight attendant came to check on me now and then. I was baffled until I finally realized I was holding an unlit cigarette. Of course the cigarette was only like a prop. And of course I wouldn’t light it—I didn’t have a lighter. An hour later in the arrival area, Moli waved at us. She couldn’t hold back



Yi

n

Isobathic

173

her excitement, yet she seemed a little shy. You could see that between her tears and her smiles she was doing her best to find her balance. She was dressed a little too casually, in a unisex white T-shirt and jeans. She wore her hair up and tucked into a baseball cap. Even though the outfit looked good, it seemed too calculated. In her guilt, this woman, this mother, was playing down her sexuality, was asking her son’s forgiveness. The boy controlled his emotions. He even reached out and playfully touched his mother’s cap. I didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried. I could see that, in a way, the boy pitied his mother. But I felt distressed, even worried, about the predicament they were in. There were some things I had been unable to say to the boy. I didn’t know how to ask him to give his mother a chance to redeem herself. Because I had no idea if this kind of redemption was possible or whether, in the end, she was truly capable of it. Everyone was quiet on the way home. I sat in back and observed the mother and son sitting in front. Like laying a pack of cigarettes next to an ashtray, the natural arrangement inside this car should have been a middle-aged man in the driver’s seat, a middle-aged woman in the passenger seat, and their child in the back seat. The world, however, had created a bit of chaos in each local space. Moli turned on the music. To my surprise, it was the Wham’s “Careless Whisper.” I felt a little more at ease when I realized that Moli still retained some positive memories from our time. I asked her to drop me off at the hospital. She wanted to go in with me, but I declined her offer. “My wife is there,” I said. In fact, my wife was an office worker and had to be at her job. She wouldn’t be at the hospital now. My father was the only one in the room. His condition didn’t seem so bad. I sat next to his bed and told him I had just come back from an academic conference. “An academic conference?” His tone made it seem as if he’d never heard of such a thing. He asked, “What kind?” “Isobathic balance,” I answered without thinking. He wasn’t interested in pursuing the topic. He talked off and on about irrelevant things, and then suddenly he grew angry at himself. “Look, I’m really dying. And now I’m talking too much. It’s really annoying.” He added, “I’m not used to being like this. The best violin rarely makes a sound …” I objected, and my voice turned to a whisper. “What’s the point of a violin if it makes no sound?” Inexplicably, Father smiled. And then he sat bolt upright in bed and bel­ lowed, “You know nothing! I am saying that if you hold too much sound inside you, sooner or later it will kill you!” I saw my father’s eyes start to roll back as if he were about to suffocate. Horrified, I shouted, “Papa!”

174

Mānoa

n

The Zither

Nurses came rushing in to help, ready to use force to control my father’s outburst. But suddenly he was back to normal. He shrank under his quilt. He was waving one hand in the air, wearily motioning for us to leave. “Just go, all of you. Just go. Leave me alone,” he said. After I left the hospital, I walked home along the riverbank. I didn’t want to be depressed, and I didn’t want to be absorbed in frustrated introspection. I didn’t want to always be thinking about whether I had been rescued or blamed on this trip to Xi’an. I was over forty and wanted to begin a new life—not an easy thing. The city was divided into two parts by a large river. When I crossed from the south side to the north, I sensed transition. Translation by Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping



Yi

n

Isobathic

175

Y i

Z hou

The Zither 1 People have called me Old Zhang for more than forty years—ever since I was thirty. Now I’m really old: from my bones to my heart, everything is opening up toward death. In TV commercials, people my age wave little tourist flags and proudly claim, “My back is young. I’m strong.” I don’t know how they can do that. There’s no way I can compete with them, and it leaves me deeply ashamed. I’m a haggard old zither teacher, whose aged skin is as brittle as an old newspaper. When I go to bed, I never know if I’ll wake up the next morning. Even so, I don’t want to move back home with my children for the rest of my days. Instead, I insist on staying in the opera-troupe dorm so that I can watch girls go by who are as fresh as flowers. This behavior is really shameful. My wizened body is still improperly steeped in the moisture of desire, like an old cucumber being pickled in soy sauce. I frequently hide behind the window and peer out with dimming eyesight. The actresses pass when they have finished rehearsing or have just bathed. Warm and wet, they look languid. Through my eyes, I breathe in their female scent. I tremble from it. It’s as though summer light is coursing through my body, and yet I’m cold all over—except for that one part. There, I feel warmth—even if it’s only negligible warmth. Still, compared with the numbing coldness in the rest of my body, it’s a burning arousal. It’s shameful for an old man to feel this way. This shame has become my innermost torment. It began on the day that my granddaughter, Lin Shan, killed someone. Before that, I had ignored it, just hiding behind my window and inhaling with my eyes. This wasn’t hurting anyone. I was so old and weak that my skin was covered with brown spots. So was my heart. I had all the wisdom a man my age should have. I had come close to learning the essence of human nature, and as a result I accepted that humans are weak. But then Lin Shan killed someone. She used to be the pride of our family, as she was studying for her Ph.D. But Lin Shan killed a woman who worked for her school. Everyone was grief-stricken, shouting themselves hoarse, asking Why, why? What motive could Lin Shan have had? Even the police couldn’t think of an answer. I didn’t ask why; instead, one windy day I went to the detention center. I waited from morning to sundown outside the big, iron gate before finally getting to talk to the police officer assigned to the 176

case. He was a young guy, just beginning to grow facial hair. I said earnestly, Arrest me and let Lin Shan go. Hardly glancing at me, he roared off on his motorcycle. I knew he had heard this kind of unreasonable pleading all too often and had lost the patience to explain and educate. I had this much sense, but still had needed to go to the police and tell them I had done it. I had reached life’s exit. I was like a runner who sees the finish line up ahead. I was entitled to make a request. I went home alone. The wind was strong and seemed to be blowing stronger by the falling light of dusk. Stimulated by it, I moved along as though in a trance. I thought, This is all my fault. God is punishing an innocent lamb for the sin committed by an old goat. As I wandered, not watching where I was going, a speeding farm tractor suddenly ran over my left leg, sweeping it under the wheels. I didn’t register any pain at first. In fact, I even felt I was correct to judge myself harshly. The accident was a punishment; moreover, it was this same left leg that had carried me into a hair-washing shop earlier that evening. It was the Double Ninth Festival—the ninth day of the ninth lunar month. Elderly people like me pay a lot of attention to the lunar calendar. We live by it—and this was an important festival day. Perhaps it was the holiday that caused a strange sensation to arise in my body, not stimulated by the scent of any woman. The sensation smoldered in me the whole day. This unprovoked feeling proved to me that my desires originated in my brain, not my flesh. The holiday mood infected me—spread through me and caused my body to stir. In fact, my longing, coming from my brain, stimulated me even more than the faint, distinctive scent of women. Early that morning, desire suddenly scalded my heart. It rose in me—like the steam from a red-hot iron plunged into cold water. I awoke from my reverie and made my decision. A choice as immutable as the Double Ninth Festival, a powerful snare laid in my path by time, a matter of destiny, without any wiggle room. I was trapped in it. I had to go with the current and give myself up to it. Just like time itself, there was no way to go backward. But I still tried to resist. I passed the day drinking alcohol. An old man shouldn’t be so stubborn. He should let his body lead him. Age was the best excuse to just let things happen. Unhappily, however, my wizened body struggled with itself. And so, ashamed and indignant, I drank to get through the day. I didn’t know that Lin Shan was also drinking throughout that same day. My misery and mortification—not to mention the alcohol—made me lose consciousness. When I awakened, it was late at night and I was still burning. Time was moving ahead; the Double Ninth Festival was over. And by sleeping through the holiday, I had lost an excuse for indulging my longing. I firmly believe that if I had stayed asleep that night, Lin Shan would still be pursuing her doctorate. But the darkness abetted me. With trembling hands I felt my skinny ribs, and I suddenly imagined that I was hidden by the darkness, safe from any consequences. When I slowly got out of bed, I accidentally shattered the wine bottle that had kept me company all day. The smell of alcohol in the air soaked into my pores. When I went outside, a host of memories pressed around me, hemming

Yi

n

Zither

177

me in. I recalled being in love. I recalled the first time I slept with a woman, a certain opera singer. Each time before we went to bed, she begged me to play the huqin for her. Now, the night dew and these memories drenched my body, and all of my organs came to life—so much so that when I went past the opera troupe’s bathhouse, my heightened hearing detected something inside—the sound of moaning—and it inflamed me. I knew the moaning came from the woman who guarded the bathhouse. She was coarse, obese, and middleaged—so large that when she squeezed into the bathhouse’s door frame, no one without a ticket could get past her. But she was the kind of woman who, in that over-heated moment, made me feel I could also be desired. As I stood in the dark, everything seemed to press against me—as though I were being squeezed into the door frame with this obese woman. This padded, soft sensation made my bones creak. I didn’t know that my dear granddaughter, Lin Shan, was walking in the dark at the same time. Small hair-washing shops surrounded the opera troupe on all sides. I knew all too well what kind of business they were actually running. My organs experienced everything through my heightened sense of smell. What I saw, what I heard, what I touched entered through my nose, rushed into my belly, and turned into heat. Knowing the business of these shops was also a smell that scalded me, and on this particular evening the heat was like a wildfire. I’d fantasized about the shops for a long time, but I hadn’t touched a woman for nearly twenty years. I had almost forgotten what it was like. I fantasized about relearning the experience by entering one of the hair-washing shops, but I wasn’t sure I could trust my body. I didn’t know if the burning sensation would have the right effect. Hunched over, I groped my way ahead in the dark. What motivated me might have been more than sex. Probably what I wanted to re-experience wasn’t only a woman’s body; what I really wanted, however, wasn’t clear. I was full of doubts as I found myself in front of one of the shops. What did I want? Whatever it was, there was no turning back; the door suddenly opened, and a large-breasted woman reached out her hand and pulled me inside. I was giddy. I only remember that my left leg crossed the threshold ahead of the other. Later, this was the leg that was swept under the wheels of the tractor. Who could say it wasn’t divine retribution? The woman settled me into a dilapidated chair. Giggling, she asked if she should wash my hair first or if I wanted to go directly into the back for a massage. Her “in the back” was behind a curtain at the rear of the shop. The scent seeping through the curtain distracted me. I responded weakly to her, saying I came in just to have my hair washed. I was eighty years old, I told her. It was pointless to go back there. I don’t know why I had to say how old I was—actually, I was barely seventy. Why had I exaggerated? She giggled again, and said eighty was a good age to have some fun. I thought she was kind of dumb and I didn’t know how to continue talking to her. I sat stiffly in the chair, and in the mirror I saw her hug my head to her bosom. Just then, I realized how ridiculous it sounded to have said I just wanted my hair washed. I didn’t

178

Mānoa

n

The Zither

have much hair, and the little I had was messy and lay flat on my scalp. My head resembled a ball speckled with ash-gray scabs. Now this ball was being pressed between two full breasts, looking like a superfluous third one; jostled back and forth, my head at any moment might be entirely engulfed. She didn’t use any shampoo during this treatment; she just rubbed my head between her breasts until it disappeared. It was empty; there was nothing in it anymore. And then she led me into the curtained area in the back. As soon as we entered, she grabbed me—down there. I felt as if a cold wind were choking me. I screamed once and shouted, “I’m eighty years old!” Giggling again, she pulled at my belt buckle and turned a deaf ear to my frightened cry. In an instant, my belt was undone; my trousers fell to my feet, along with my long underwear and my briefs. I looked down at my lower body—my dried-up legs, my thin gray hair. And that half-erect thing. It looked ridiculous—comical, dejected, and timid. The second the woman grasped it, I began trembling like a thief who had been caught. I thought later, it must have been in that second that Lin Shan pushed the woman employee off the seventh story of a building. Leaping from the chair, I felt shame cut into me like a knife, slicing away my innermost longing. I pulled my trousers up to my waist and repeated, I’m eighty years old; what can I do except get a shampoo? To my surprise, she said she’d give me a discount if I had a senior citizen ID. With this, she moved closer. I panicked, gripped my trousers tighter, and said I didn’t want the discount; I would simply pay her full price. She reached into my pants pocket and pulled out my wallet. Knees pressed together, I watched her take three hundred yuan from it. My mind was too numb to regret what I had done. I just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. Like a defeated old dog, I ran back to my room and curled up in bed. I was shivering. I waited in terror to be drowned by an enormous wave. 2 The next day, the police took Lin Shan away. They said she had pushed a female worker down from the top floor of a campus building under construction. The whole family sank into misery and grief. All day long, my daughter, Lin Shan’s mother, wailed. Why, why, why did this happen? She couldn’t understand what had made her own daughter—a successful doctoral student—become a murderer overnight. The entire family was asking the same question. If only they could find a sufficient reason, the crime wouldn’t be so painful for them. I was the only one who remained silent. I just hid in the shadows and furtively sniffed out their endless questioning. I was thinking that since a man as old as I could go whoring, then why couldn’t Lin Shan murder someone? Neither made any sense. But in the unseen world, they were linked somehow—cause and effect. No other explanation was necessary. I absolutely believed that my absurd action was the root cause of Lin Shan’s killing someone. I was really experiencing growing old. I didn’t even have the strength to

Yi

n

Zither

179

grieve. I tried to muster enough emotion to loathe myself, since even a small amount of feeling would be better than none. But I couldn’t do it. I had become an empty shell. Not even my mood would obey my commands. Not until Elder Zhang appeared and told me why Lin Shan had committed the murder was I able to burst into tears. I wept with so much anguish, as if I were shedding all the tears accumulated in a lifetime. I didn’t care what others thought, even though I was whimpering like an old dog. Although Elder Zhang was my age, I was known as Old Zhang. He was given the much more respectful title because he was an accomplished scholar. Otherwise, he would not have been an advisor to doctoral candidates, and Lin Shan would not have been his student—and he would not have been able to tell me why she killed someone. The next afternoon, I was sitting in a wheelchair on the hospital lawn, enjoying the sun. In the distance, I saw Elder Zhang walking slowly toward me in the bright light. A familiar old scent of camphor accompanied him: a silverhaired old man dressed in gray clothing and carrying a peach-wood cane, like a person out of a legend. Although he walked unsteadily, he had an elegance that made others respect him. He sat down on a stone stool in front of me and introduced himself as Zhang Junli. He said, Are you Lin Shan’s grandfather? I’ve come here to see you. I hope you’ll have the patience to listen to what I have to say. At first I was going to tell Lin Shan’s parents this, for they have the right to know the facts. But last night I changed my mind. I thought perhaps I should tell someone my own age; he would be better able to understand the whole story. I’m not telling you this in order to win your sympathy and forgiveness. I just want to be judged fairly, no matter how severe the penalty is. His words made me shiver, even in the sunshine, but I didn’t have the strength to object. And in fact, he didn’t bother to ask my permission before he began talking. His eyes were half-closed, and his voice almost inaudible as he spoke, choosing each word carefully. 3 I’ve been called Elder Zhang for years, ever since I came back to lecture after the Cultural Revolution. I wasn’t yet fifty years old at that time. People thought I was China’s best authority on Tang dynasty poetry, especially on Li Shangyin. You must know Li Shangyin’s work. He’s the Tang poet who wrote the line, “It’s so hard to meet you and so hard to part with you.” Some of his poems are used in plays. You’re a musician who worked in the Beijing opera troupe, so you must know this. Oh, sorry, I digressed. I do that all the time. We’re both old men, and some of our habits are bone deep. We can’t help it, can we? I’m almost eighty years old. I’ve been called Elder Zhang for more than thirty years. In the beginning, it was probably an honor. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe “Elder” just refers to my age. Lin Shan, your granddaughter, was my final student. She came too late; she should have become my student

180

Mānoa

n

The Zither

before I was thirty, not in my old age. She is indeed remarkable: unique in her spiritual temperament, a poet by nature, very close to the poetic sensibility of Li Shangyin; that is, to his sense of ineffable emptiness. This is what I cherish in him. I’ve been steeped in his spirit for a lifetime. I was stunned by Lin Shan’s radiant, brilliant light the first time I met her. I experienced palpitations and agitation—feelings that used to come over me only when I was intoning Li Shangyin’s great poem “The Zither.” Sorry, I’ve digressed again. I could tell that Lin Shan admired me. I say “admire” instead of “love,” for I’ve lost the courage to use that word. Maybe I never had the sincere and unwavering confidence that would have made me capable of it. If I didn’t have the confidence when I was young, certainly I couldn’t have had it after people started calling me Elder Zhang. Once, Lin Shan asked me to write a piece of calligraphy for her. Without thinking, I wrote the two characters for the word zither. I knew she was captivated by this poem. But she stopped me. Tugging at my sleeve, she said softly that she wanted me to write instead the poem that begins, “The stars and the wind last night.” She looked intoxicated and free. Her eyes were misty, her cheeks flushed. It was afternoon; the dazzling rays of the sun on her bright face hurt my eyes. You know, the poem that Lin Shan wanted me to write is his very famous love poem. You’re certainly familiar with two lines of it: Though our bodies cannot fly freely side by side as the loving phoenixes do, Our hearts are linked forever through the line concealed in the magic horn.

Lin Shan had expressed her feelings for me before, but never as directly as that day. God knows how much courage it took for her to express this so openly. It was later that I found out that she had hidden a wine bottle in her bag. While I was grinding ink and spreading out paper, she was furtively gulping down big mouthfuls. Her movements made me feel as hot as the scorching sun. In the radiant afternoon, I—this decrepit old man—was besieged by so many radiant things. In an instant, I felt a burning vertigo, and I was blinded by intense rays of light. I lost all direction. Lin Shan was embracing me from behind; she held me tightly under my arms and rubbed her head repeatedly across my back. All of my blood rushed toward one place, making it swell. This physical response terrified me: it was as inconceivable as an adult wetting the bed at night. I shook uncontrollably as I tried to pry her hands from my chest. But her fingers were stubborn, and I wasn’t able to wrest them away. She was so young. I couldn’t match her strength. I could only hunch down, because when standing, I was obviously bulging there. It was shameful. And a little comical, too. I was sliding to the floor like a child having a tantrum. Lin Shan did all she could to hang on to me, to stop me from dropping down. When we became deadlocked, she lost her confidence. She carefully released me, and then left without a word. Gasping for breath, I fell, paralyzed, to the floor. As if scorched by the sun, my heart cracked and broke.



Yi

n

Zither

181

Do you believe this? I believe that, concealed in every person’s body, there is a second soul. Like a devil, it jumps out of your body, driving you into one dark cave after another. When I was young, I experienced a woman for the one and only time in my life. Back then, I had been exiled to work on a farm. A local middle-aged couple showed me humanity’s simplest solicitude. But the devil in my body jumped out and extinguished this most precious, delicate ray of light in the darkness. Those were the harsh years of famine. Starvation gripped everyone by the throat. Everyone was gasping to survive. You probably also experienced this. Starvation can make even breathing painful, as if the air has turned into knives. Inhaled deeply, their edges can slash and sever your entrails. One night, I walked unsteadily toward the couple’s home. I was hallucinating from hunger: I thought the night sky was covered by birds’ wings blotting out the sun. I heard the din of their countless, beating wings. Many times on nights like that, I had staggered toward their home, starving. The husband often went secretly into the forest to hunt for food with a rifle that he’d inherited from his family. Animals were scarce in the forest, but he was a superior hunter who could always bring something back. His hunting carried a lot of risk. If he were caught, he would probably be thrown in jail. The game that he brought back from the forest was very precious. Anyone who went through those years of hunger would understand this. But the couple always generously shared what they had with me. Time after time, they drew me back from my hallucinations and into this world. That night, I groped my way from the place I was living and made my way to the feast they had kindly offered me. I had received their invitation that afternoon while I was working; the woman had whispered to me that her husband had gone to the forest again. By the time I reached their home, I had exhausted my last bit of strength. I almost fell against the door, but it was already ajar, and I staggered inside. Intense light blinded me at first. It shone from the woman’s body. In the midst of the room’s profound darkness, she was emitting light. Dripping with water from head to foot, she was standing nude in a wooden basin. The scene before my eyes overwhelmed me like a great flood. I was so hungry that I was incoherent. Starvation drained my instincts. But in this moment, some instincts became infinitely magnified. I don’t know how I could have done what I did. I don’t want to exonerate myself but, really, hunger is the only possible explanation I can think of. In times of famine, people are reduced to no more than mindless bodies. A loud noise at the front door jarred me back to reality. I found that I had forced myself on top of the woman’s naked body. Her husband stood in front of me, an intimidating firearm on his shoulder. Suspended from the barrel of the gun was a repulsive, emaciated pheasant. I wasn’t afraid of him. I was like someone near death, gazing at him quietly, waiting for him to point the gun at my head. But he didn’t shoot. He merely looked at me with eyes filled with pity. This pity was so sincere that it pierced me like a bullet. I came back to my senses, escaped from his gaze, and ran weakly into the dark night, like a thief. The leaves rustled in the wind. Lines from “The Zither” resounded in my

182

Mānoa

n

The Zither

ears and heart—I was so, so empty. After that night, I vowed never to touch a woman again. Nor would I ever trust my own body. Why have I told you these things—things that I haven’t told anyone else, not even Lin Shan? I think there’s cause and effect to everything. Please be patient. Don’t judge me until you’ve heard me out. 4 Let’s go back to talking about Lin Shan. I’m old. All that’s left in me are scraps and sadness. I used to think I had shucked off the encumbrances of the flesh, but on that afternoon when Lin Shan was in my room, I was frightened by the desire that bubbled up wondrously in my body. If not for my body’s involvement, perhaps I would have unscrupulously taken Lin Shan. But my body had injured me so deeply in the past that in middle age I was determined to avoid doing this. And I was even more determined now that I was very old. Not only because of my physical decline, but also because of the grand but meaningless honors I had been given. I had lost the ability to command my body. I was ashamed. Unlike me, the poet Li Shangyin experienced life to the fullest, so much that he even had an affair with a Daoist priestess. Yet I had lived without ever having a woman in the true sense. Lin Shan’s arrival in my life gave me my last opportunity, but I was already half deaf and blind. Love demands not only spirit, but also physical capability. From a certain point of view, love has primarily to do with the body. Yes, the physical body. Ultimately, the body is the source of all our problems. Maybe I’ve been exaggerating the spiritual aspect; that isn’t why I came to see you. I came to tell the truth, although you can see, I can’t help dissembling. I’ve wanted to explain the physical body; I ought to have spoken more frankly. Lin Shan killed someone because of my problem—the lust of an old man. Are you trembling? Please don’t be angry. Let me finish. Today, when I came to see you, I was prepared for you to spurn me. I refused Lin Shan. But oh, in fact it was my body that rejected her. She is such a beautiful girl, like Li Shangyin’s verses—plain, simple, and yet gorgeous. From an old man’s standpoint, she was unapproachable. She was more intimidating than alluring. Although she aroused my body, she was far beyond my boldest fantasies. Thus, everything that occurred later was karma. One day, I dozed off in a chair at noon. In my dream, I intoned “The Zither,” which had become powerfully symbolic. Every time my destiny shifted, the poem reappeared. I fell out of my dream and onto the floor, and the fall broke my left leg. Yes, just like you now, I was taken to the hospital. And then another woman appeared in my life. Her name was Qin Mei. The school sent her to take care of me. She was in her forties and in very good health. I had met her husband, a driver for the school’s carpool. Two years earlier, he was killed in an accident along with a vice-president of the school. At the time the school sent her to me, Qin Mei was out of work. She was bringing up her son, a university student, by herself.

Yi

n

Zither

183

The school helped her out by giving her a job. She was good at taking care of me, and I was soon discharged from the hospital. But my leg hadn’t completely healed, and so quite naturally she had been asked to give me in-home care. When I said that Qin Mei was healthy, I mean that she had the robust body of a middle-aged woman. Especially her rear end. When she bent over, I worried that the seams of her pants might split. I had no idea why I was so preoccupied with her body. Perhaps the injury to my leg awakened me more to an awareness of my own body. Perhaps this was related to my attraction to Lin Shan. In short, in my old age my body’s craving overflowed disgracefully. I was so ashamed. I even began to envy the school’s retired administrators, who always got together to play croquet and acted their age. They looked simple and pure. But I—a person whom they called Elder Zhang—was focused on a woman’s bottom. Sooner or later, this would lead to trouble. Finally, when that day came, the devil in my body leapt out once more. But this time, I wouldn’t be forgiven for the consequences. That devil sent Lin Shan away one last time. I would never have another chance for redemption. It was summer and very hot. I had no air conditioning and so I had to take a bath every day. Qin Mei would help me hobble into the bathroom, and then after I had finished washing and dressing, she would come back. But that day, she came in when I was in the middle of soaping myself. She said, Sir, let me help you, and she began sprinkling me with water. At first, I was calm, but old people can be unpredictable. Sometimes I was self-conscious about my body, and sometimes I was totally uninhibited. But when her hands reached that part of me, my brain suddenly went blank. The inauspicious sound of birds’ wings filled my ears. She put soap on it and started massaging it with her hands. The tepid, satiny feeling made me shudder. I felt my organ lifting slowly, throbbing slightly. Of course Qin Mei noticed this. She glanced briefly into my eyes, then lowered her head and took me into her mouth. I was shocked. Watching her head bob up and down on the surface of the water, I began moaning. Boundless gratitude welled up in my heart. I had been desolate for so long. My old decrepit body had shrunk back before a girl as gentle and beautiful as Lin Shan. But being with a fleshy woman like Qin Mei, I confidently stood up. She was giving me my first experience of physical pleasure—the sense of floating freely, which I used to get only through reading poetry. I arched my back forcefully and pressed her head down time after time. Fluid slowly seeped out of my body. Qin Mei covered her mouth with a handkerchief and spat into it. It happened just this once. Not long after, Qin Mei went back to her duties at the school, caring for the plants on campus. But that once was enough to unsettle me. My leg was healing, and I often stood in front of the window in a trance. Not far from my house, I could sometimes see Qin Mei tending the plants. Seeing her, I felt a warmth spread throughout my body and I couldn’t help fondling myself. If things had ended there, it would have been fine. But one day in the fall, Qin Mei entered my room, smelling of soil and vegetation. Her shadow seemed

184

Mānoa

n

The Zither

immense. She told me bluntly, Sir, we must get married. To emphasize the word must, she pulled from her pocket the handkerchief she’d kept. My initial pleasure in seeing her vanished in a split second when I understood the fiendish plot she had concocted—her sordid ruse. Maybe she had a good reason to do this: she lived a hard life, didn’t earn much, and had to pay for her son’s education. And she would soon be old and alone. Still, she shouldn’t have targeted an old man like me. Later that evening, as I sat in the dark, I calmed down; I imagined her eyes were filled with sincere remorse as she gazed at me The cosmos sighed heavily. I decided to marry her. I still don’t believe this was a mistake. The mistake was telling Lin Shan. Lin Shan’s eyes grew wide. She didn’t say a word, and then tears streamed down her face as she turned away and left. 5 Early the next morning, Lin Shan reappeared. She was dressed in white and was holding a bottle of wine in each hand. She said, This is Double Ninth Festival, so I’ve come to celebrate with you. I never guessed that she had arranged to see Qin Mei that evening to talk about the relationship between us. The two women were to meet at the campus’s new library, which was under construction. Qin Mei was stupid enough to climb up to the seventh floor with her. Lin Shan and I drank together the entire day. The wine bottles seemed bottomless. When we were both thoroughly intoxicated, Lin Shan took my hand and gently placed it under her clothing. She guided my hand to her breasts. When my fingertips touched her nipples, I felt her body shudder. And so my heart shrank back. She guided my hand to roam over her whole body, allowing me to feel her moisture and warmth. She brought her fragrant face to mine and murmured in my ear: Women’s bodies are all the same. Bodies are bodies. I was really drunk. The only thing I remember well about that night is reciting “The Zither” to her:

Whenever I play the zither with its fifty strings, I recall the years when you were here with me. My love’s gone, and the cuckoo sings a sad song for me. On the moonlit sea, is it pearls that glisten or tears? On the mountain under the sun, is it the jade that smolders or the fire? Everything becomes precious in memory. But at the time I was already dazed.

When dawn broke, I was awakened by a man frantically shouting. A young teacher in the law school who had been doing his morning exercises came upon something near the new library. Looking in the high grass by the path, he saw a body. A campus siren howled, and then came the sound of the clamorous flapping of birds rising into the air. Shortly afterward, a policeman knocked on my door. I couldn’t discern his age, but he had a memorable face—gloomy and dark. He said his name was Wu. Taking a seat, he began questioning me about

Yi

n

Zither

185

Qin Mei. Of course, he didn’t ask anything terribly specific. I understood he was there as a matter of routine; he would naturally have sought me out because Qin Mei had been my in-home caregiver. Nonetheless, as soon as he said her name I began perspiring. I felt something important was slipping out of my control. We hadn’t been talking very long before another policeman burst in and interrupted us. He told Wu, We’ve apprehended the killer. Guess what? It’s a female doctoral candidate. She turned herself in. My mind went blank. In a flash, I was seeing bright crystal splinters before my eyes—like pieces of the porcelain wine bottle Li Shan had shattered on her way out. As Wu was about to leave, he gave me his business card. He added that he knew I was a Li Shangyin scholar, that he admired his poetry, and he hoped there would be a chance sometime for the two of us to discuss Li Shangyin’s work. Everyone at the school was speculating about Lin Shan’s motive for killing the woman. But nothing made sense. Nothing was logical. People came up with thousands of possibilities, but none could explain why a beautiful female doctoral student would kill an ordinary campus worker like Qin Mei. Of course some people assumed that I was somehow involved because I knew both women. But my honorable name, Elder Zhang, prevented them from taking that line of thought very far. Their minds stalled at the word “coincidence.” The school leaders even visited me to express their condolences, afraid I would be upset and that it would affect my health. I learned from them that the police hadn’t come up with a reasonable motive either. After her arrest, Lin Shan wouldn’t say anything, but there was more than enough evidence to believe her confession. There were clues all over the building under construction, such as Lin Shan’s footprints. And so, Lin Shan seemed certain to be convicted. I concluded that I was the only one who could save her. I contacted the policeman, Wu, and made an appointment for him to visit me at home that evening. I calmly told him of my physical relationship with Qin Mei and explained that she had used it to blackmail me. I had killed her. Policeman Wu was equally calm as he listened. Then he stared at me severely. I knew this must be his usual technique—to fix his eyes on his adversary until his adversary’s eyes wavered. But he misjudged me. It was clear he had rarely run across an eighty-year-old criminal. He shouldn’t have tried to stare an old man down. Not one elderly person’s eyes are weak. Their stare has been honed throughout an entire lifetime. Wu and I maintained eye contact for more than ten minutes. In this time, the depth of my gaze kept expanding and contracting, and the world in them became absolutely empty. Finally, Wu surrendered. He stood up and lit a cigarette. Then he said, Let’s take a walk. I thought he had decided to arrest me, and that out of respect for an elderly scholar, he had called it “take a walk.” We went together, but he didn’t lead me toward the police car parked in front of the apartment building. Instead, he took the opposite direction. I asked uneasily, What is this? Don’t you believe me? Without any expression, he said, I believe you. We found that handkerchief in Qin Mei’s pocket. I had decided to

186

Mānoa

n

The Zither

take the blame for Lin Shan—and I felt it was urgent to do so—but the way Wu spoke made me tremble. I became distraught. I couldn’t keep everything straight. I just followed him with a blank mind. Not until we had walked to the building under construction did I awaken to reality. Without a word, he entered and started up the stairs. I followed behind him, climbing one step after another. The last rays of the setting sun spread all through the building, which was only a frame without walls, and the autumn cold blew in from all directions. As I started to climb, I imagined the circumstances of their meeting: two women like flowers blossoming at night. They had climbed up slowly like this, finally reaching the climactic moment where death waited. Suddenly, my tears overflowed, because I realized that I too was climbing toward death and defeat. Once more, my body betrayed me. That devil of the flesh wouldn’t allow me to rescue and redeem myself. I was truly old and too weak to climb seven flights of stairs. By the time we reached the fourth floor, I had exhausted all my strength. My body gave out. The seventh story, that place of death, stood beyond the range of my abilities. Wu and I sat down together on the dust-covered fourth floor. Quietly, he smoked a cigarette and looked at me. I was like a decrepit old dog struggling at death’s door and sobbing brokenheartedly. Wu had achieved his goal. He had punctured my lie. He helped me back down the stairs, then into bed. As he was leaving, he softly recited two lines of Li Shangyin’s poetry:

Grass growing in seclusion is greener Most splendid is the sun setting after rain.

Oh, why are you weeping, Old Zhang? I didn’t come to see you weep. I didn’t come to ask for your forgiveness. I just wanted to abandon this old body. Finally, death is targeting our bodies—like this setting sun, this empty light, taking aim. Translation by Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping



Yi

n

Zither

187

a b out

■

the

contri b utors

A U T H O R S

Yi Zhou was born in 1972 and lives in Xi’an, Shaanxi Province. He is a member of the Chinese Writers’ Association and has been publishing fiction since 2000.His works include several novels, as well as collections of short stories and novellas. Yi Zhou has received the coveted Mao Dun Literary Prize for New Writers, as well as awards from several prestigious literary magazines. He is widely regarded as one of the best writers of his generation in China. Zhang Yihe was born in 1942 in Chongqing, imprisoned as a counterrevolutionary in 1970, and cleared and released in 1979. After serving as a researcher and professor of theatre arts at the Opera Academy in Beijing, she retired in 2001. She continues to live in Beijing and is known for her works of history: Old Stories of Peking Opera Actors and The Past Is Not Like Smoke (published in Hong Kong in a somewhat different version as The Last Aristocrats). In recent years, she has written novellas based on the personal stories of some of the female prisoners with whom she was incarcerated. Despite being cast as fiction, the novellas read more like memoirs; the author herself is thinly disguised as the character Zhang Yuhe. To date, she has written about the women Liu, Yang, and Zou. The University of Hawai‘i Press and Mānoa published English translations of the first two novellas in 2016. note: For a more detailed biographical note of Zhang Yihe, please see Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping, “Editors’ Note,” pp. vii and ix, in Zhang Yihe, Red Peonies: Two Novellas of China (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2016), published jointly with Mānoa as 28:2. Zhu Wenying was born in 1970 in Shanghai and now lives in Suzhou. She has written the novels Aunt Lily’s Tiny South and Ms. Dai and Blue, as well as many novellas and short stories. She has won several awards, and Chinese critics have lavished praise on her works. In recent years, she has been active in international literary festivals, as well as international exchanges, and is currently a member of the council of Jiangsu’s Writers’ Association and vice-chair of the Suzhou Writers’ Association. Some of her works have been translated into English, French, Japanese, Russian, Korean, German, and Italian. In 2005, Mānoa published her short story “Ephemeral Life.”

188

■

translators

Chen Zeping and Karen Gernant began collaborating on translations of contemporary Chinese prose in 1999. Together, they have published approximately sixty translations of short stories, novellas, and essays in prominent literary journals in China, the U.S., and the U.K., and online. Mānoa was the first U.S. literary journal to publish their translations, and they have been frequent contributors to Mānoa since then. Their book-length translations include Alai’s Tibetan Soul (MerwinAsia, 2012), Zhang Kangkang’s White Poppies and Other Stories (Cornell East Asia Series, 2010), and several books by Can Xue: Blue Light in the Sky and Other Stories (New Directions, 2006), Five Spice Street (Yale, 2009), Vertical Motion (Open Letter, 2011), Frontier (Open Letter, 2017), I Live in the Slums (Yale, 2020, longlisted for the 2021 Booker International Prize), and Purple Perilla (Common Era, 2020). Their translation of Can Xue’s I Live in the Slums was longlisted by ALTA for the 2021 National Translation Awards. Forthcoming from Yale is their translation of Can Xue’s Barefoot Doctor. Chen Zeping is professor emeritus of Chinese linguistics at Fujian Normal University. Karen Gernant is professor emerita of Chinese history at Southern Oregon University.

■

photographer

Robert van der Hilst was born in Amsterdam in 1940. He left the Netherlands at age twenty to travel and photograph, and has worked on five continents, with long stays in Cuba, Canada, Latin America, Japan, and China; he now lives in Paris. Since the seventies, his photographs have appeared in such magazines as Geo, Paris-Match, Stern, Vogue, and Zoom. He has been featured in many exhibitions worldwide, and his work is held by major galleries, including the Pompidou. In 2002, he published Cuban Interiors, and in 2009 Shanghai 1990–1993. From 2005 to 2009, he worked on a project that became Chinese Interiors, published in 2010 by Shanghai Fine Art Publishing House, then by Gallimard and other European publishers. In these and other books, he acknowledged the influence of Dutch artists, especially Vermeer. “Rather than being one of those photographers taking snapshots of so-called reality, I aim to create my own reality,” he said in 2010, in which the interiors may be as important as the human subjects, striving for “absolute silence.” In 2012, Shanghai Fine Art Publishing House released his book Timeless World.



About the Contributors

189