A Cabinet of Curiosity

by Bradford Morrow

  “Let us try!” we cried. We passed the plum around, taking turns. We loved how the silken skin puckered beneath our lips, how its syrup made our palms sticky.

  Someone said it tasted like Christmas morning. Someone else said it tasted like the last day of school. When it was finished, we chucked the pit onto the ground. Stubborn pieces of skin clung in the spaces between our teeth. We licked our lips, savoring what little nectar remained. But it wasn’t enough—we wanted more. We stepped forward, taking fistfuls of Mona’s leaves in our hands. “No,” she wailed. “No, no, no!”

  We yanked, drawing the leaves out by the branches. Mona cried out in pain, her shoulders quivering beneath the thin cotton of her shirt. We snapped the twigs one by one. We shredded the leaves—how red they were in our hands! Like little cardinals, fluttering from our fingertips.

  “Look at us,” we hissed.

  She did. Her horselike eyes were full of pain. “Please,” she whimpered.

  Roaring with glee, we reached out again, pulling and shredding, until Mona was bald and shivering. But we didn’t want to stop. How could we stop when our curiosity drove us to want all of her, our beautiful Mona?

  We brought our hands to her shirt and tore this off, then did the same to her skirt. What did she look like beneath those layers? Did she have a wooden trunk? Or a hollow in her breast? But no. Mona Sparrow was a girl, and, like William, achingly human.

  We reached out, stroking her flesh, which shimmered with the wetness of her tears. We put our mouths to her skin. She shut her eyes. She began to hum, softly. I shut my eyes too, remembering Mona in choir, all those years before. I wondered what had become of the chunk of salt I had given her for protection. It was of no use now.

  At last Mona stood naked against the tree, her eyelashes ornamented with tears, her body buckled in shame. We thought we’d better be getting home, before our parents started to worry. I couldn’t help but gaze over my shoulder at Mona as we walked away. Her dark eyes were blank and bleary, staring into the nothingness.

  I returned to visit Mona the following afternoon. The walk to the thicket was much farther than it had seemed the day before.

  She was still tied to the tree when I got there. Her cheekbones jutted out of her face, sharp, like the edges of the flats. Her dewy eyes roamed my face.

  “I brought you something.” Unzipping my knapsack, I reached inside and fished out Mona’s old pink cap. It had been crumpled in a ball at the back of her locker.

  Approaching her, I extended my hand. Maybe I meant to touch her cheek, or to stroke her bare head, but before I could do these things, she spat at me. “Get away,” she said. But there was no ferocity behind her words. Without her branches, Mona Sparrow looked wan and frightened.

  I dropped the hat and turned to leave.

  “Wait!” she cried. But I didn’t turn back.

  Mona’s empty gaze—it followed me. I couldn’t face the rest of them at school. “What’s your problem?” they asked, poking me between the shoulders with the points of their pencils. I just shook my head. There was nothing left to say.

  I went back with a knife to cut Mona down a few days later. I called her name as I wandered through the bramble. A bird regarded me curiously, then flitted away.

  Walking over to the tree where Mona had been tied, I noticed the ropes hung loosely around its trunk, right above the ground. No Mona. I pressed my hand to the rugged face of the bark, wondering if she had melded into it, wondering if I was touching her. I glanced up. On one of the upper branches, amber buds, like jewels, sparkled in the gray.

  I sank against the tree and looked down at the ground. There, stuck on one of the tree’s exposed, rambling roots, I saw it—Mona’s pink hat. Frost had grown over the yarn; the fabric was cold to the touch. I picked up the hat and put it on my head. Then I got up and began the long walk home.

  Her Old Home

  Can Xue

  —Translated from Chinese by Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping

  She hadn’t wanted to give up her bungalow in the city. Twenty years ago, Zhou Yizhen had come down with a serious illness. The best thing to do was to sell the house and move to an old apartment building in the distant suburbs—the living quarters for workers at a tire factory. She said to her husband, Xu Sheng, “Be patient for another year or two, and then you’ll be free.”

  Xu Sheng glared and retorted, “Life and death are determined by destiny. We don’t get to make these big decisions.”

  Living in the tire-factory quarters was hard on Zhou Yizhen. She couldn’t remember when she began to believe that she wouldn’t die. She contacted a nearby woolen mill, and knitted scarves and caps for it at home. After cooking, she sat on the balcony every day and knitted, and she became steadily healthier. The air in the suburbs was better than in the city, and fresh vegetables were available. Zhou Yizhen regained her health, and the nightmare in her memory gradually dimmed.

  Xu Sheng hadn’t mentioned their former home for years because he didn’t want to make her feel bad.

  Although the city wasn’t far away by bus, Zhou Yizhen had never gone back to see their old house. She wasn’t very sentimental, but after all she had lived there half her life, had gone to primary and middle school there, and had worked in a factory, married, and given birth to her daughter. That bungalow figured in so many of her memories. Although she’d been away for twenty years, she often still lived there in her dreams. She rarely dreamed of the tire-factory quarters.

  Zhou Yizhen was planning to deliver her consignment to the mill Wednesday afternoon (she had knitted some baby shoes and would earn quite a lot for this) when the phone rang. It wasn’t her daughter, Jing. The woman on the other end of the line asked Zhou Yizhen when she would come to see her old home, as if they had an appointment. Zhou Yizhen remembered her the moment she heard her voice. It was the woman who had bought their bungalow all those years ago.

  Her name was Zhu Mei, a single woman five or six years younger than Zhou Yizhen. Zhu Mei worked in a design institute. Zhou Yizhen remembered the evening she turned the house over to her. Zhu Mei kept standing in the shadows behind the half-open door, as though she didn’t want others to get a good look at her expression. So many years had passed, and yet Zhu Mei was still thinking about her. Zhou Yizhen felt nervous but she couldn’t explain why. Zhou Yizhen said she hadn’t thought about going back to see her old home, but she was grateful to Zhu Mei. It seemed she’d done the right thing in selling the place to her.

  “Please come and visit. Will you?” the woman insisted.

  “OK. I’ll come Saturday.”

  As soon as she hung up, Zhou Yizhen had misgivings. How could she have agreed? She wasn’t superstitious, but she wasn’t sure she could handle the memories of those days when she suffered from the terrible disease. Intravenous injections, swallowing handfuls of pills, and the frightening chemotherapy—she had nearly buried these dark memories. Was she now ready to revive them? And if Xu Sheng knew, he would surely not agree.

  On the way back from the woolen mill, Zhou Yizhen began feeling better. She hadn’t expected to receive so much—two hundred yuan! They could live on this for three months. Although she was fifty-five years old, she felt more energetic than ever. The world was green, and flowers were in bloom. Zhou Yizhen was sweating as she walked. She was also working out a new design for baby shoes. She nearly laughed out loud. When she was almost home, she decided that Saturday afternoon, she would indeed go to her old place in the city and look around. She was proud of this decision.

  After dinner, she told her husband about this.

  “Zhu Mei isn’t an ordinary woman,” Xu Sheng said.

  “Do you mean I shouldn’t go?”

  “No, no, this isn’t what I mean. Why not go? Since you want to go, just go.”

  Xu Sheng’s answer surprised Zhou Yizhen. She knew that it wasn’t out of a lack of concern for her. How had he reasoned that she should go? Xu Sheng was a straightforward, fairly simple man. If he thought she could go,
then she probably wouldn’t have to worry about this trip. And she was curious about her old home.

  The three days passed quickly. During this time, Zhou knitted an entirely new style of baby shoes; they were very pretty. Xu Sheng held the wool shoes up and looked at them from all angles. He was as happy as she was. “Remember to tell Zhu Mei how skilled you are at knitting.” Zhou Yizhen asked why. He said, “I don’t want her to look down on us.”

  Zhou Yizhen was startled. What an odd idea coming from her husband.

  “I don’t care what others think,” she replied.

  “That’s good.”

  Zhou Yizhen was a little nervous on the bus. She was still sort of worried about going back. She kept saying to herself, If I continue thinking positively, there won’t be a problem.

  After getting off the bus, she headed for Jixiang Lane. Once there, she found a dilapidated lane where many bungalows had been demolished. It didn’t look at all as it had in the past. The city was in the midst of rapid development: the changes in Jixiang Lane should not have been a surprise, but still she was shocked by the scene.

  Eventually, she reached her former home. Her little courtyard remained the same, but no one was there. Zhou Yizhen saw the faucet outside the door of the house: she had often washed clothes and mops here. She felt a little sick at heart, yet she quickly got hold of herself.

  She knocked on the door several times, but no one answered. Curious, she pushed the door gently, and it opened.

  It was really strange: the furnishings in the two rooms were exactly the same as the ones she had had in her home! Hadn’t she moved all of them? What she and her husband had turned over to Zhu Mei was an empty house. With mixed feelings Zhou Yizhen sat at her old-style dressing table. She didn’t want to move, remembering the last time she had sat here. Back then, the bald woman reflected in the mirror had made her quiver.

  She heard approaching footsteps. Probably the owner had returned.

  “Sister Zhou, you’re here. I’m so glad! I’m really fortunate!” Zhu Mei glanced at her.

  “Fortunate?”

  “Yes. You always inspire me.”

  “Hold on a moment. What are you talking about? And what about the furniture and the way everything is arranged in this home?”

  “Oh, you mustn’t be confused. I designed it so it would look the way it did before you moved out. Back then, I came to your home several times. Have you forgotten? I was a designer. How should I put it? At that time, I had sunk to the lowest point of my life. I decided to cast off my old self and change into a new and different person. I happened to meet you in the hospital and learned that you wanted to sell your house. I followed you and your husband here.”

  “You made up your mind to change yourself into me?” Zhou Yizhen paled.

  “That’s right. Please don’t be mad at me.” As she answered, Zhu Mei looked Zhou Yizhen directly in the eye. “In fact, you saved me. See? I’m living a full and healthy life.”

  “Hold on, please give me a moment to think.”

  “Here—I brewed some tea for you. Have some. You don’t look so good. Do you want to lie down and rest for a while? This is still your home.”

  Zhou Yizhen drank some tea and composed herself. Her gaze dulled and slowly shifted to those familiar furnishings.

  “This is great,” she said insincerely. “I’ve truly returned to my former home. Is that my chopping knife? I cut lotus seeds with it in the processing plant. Zhu Mei, you must have gone to a lot of trouble with all of this. I can’t believe my eyes!”

  A neighbor stood at the door and looked in. He recognized Zhou Yizhen.

  “Mei, you have company. I’m here to collect for the electricity. I can come back whenever it’s convenient.”

  He didn’t greet Zhou Yizhen. She felt awkward and dispirited. Did this neighbor think she had died? In the past, they’d seen each other every day.

  “Yes, I have a guest. Don’t you recognize her?” Zhu Mei said.

  “She seems a little familiar. No, I don’t know her.”

  He left, looking a bit terrified. Zhou Yizhen suddenly felt tired. She struggled to keep her eyes open. Zhu Mei’s figure looked distorted.

  “You’re sleepy. Lie down. I’ll help you take your shoes off. Yes, that’s good. I’m going out to buy some groceries. We’ll have dinner together tonight. What? You say there’s a spider? Don’t be afraid. There’s one in this room, but it doesn’t amount to anything….”

  Before she fell asleep, Zhou Yizhen heard Zhu Mei close the door.

  When Zhou Yizhen awakened, the sun had set. She had slept a long time. She felt she was acting strange: why had she come to another person’s home and fallen asleep on another person’s bed? She had never done anything so out of character. She heard Zhu Mei busying herself in the kitchen, and so she made the bed and went to help right away.

  Zhu Mei had cooked an appetizing meal. Zhou Yizhen thought she was very good at taking care of herself.

  As they ate, Zhou Yizhen said, “Look, I’m so embarrassed that—”

  Zhu Mei interrupted her at once. “Don’t be. Please. This was your home in the first place. You can do whatever you wish here. Anyhow, I’m the one who invited you to come.”

  After dinner, they tidied up the kitchen together. Zhou Yizhen was going to go home. Zhu Mei said, “Didn’t you notice a bed made up in each bedroom? This one is especially for you, even when you aren’t here. I sleep in the inner bedroom.”

  Zhou Yizhen was surprised.

  “I haven’t discussed this with Xu. I don’t think he would agree.”

  “Why not? I’m sure he would. Just phone him.”

  So Zhou Yizhen sat down and phoned.

  “That’s great,” Xu Sheng said. “Since she really wants you to stay, you may take the opportunity to get better acquainted with each other.”

  Xu’s attitude seemed odd to Zhou Yizhen, because he had never shown great interest in making friends, and he knew that Zhou Yizhen didn’t enjoy that either. Not without annoyance, Zhou Yizhen said to her husband, “OK, then I’ll stay overnight. Sure you won’t mind?”

  “No, of course I won’t mind.”

  The moment she hung up, Zhu Mei clapped her hands.

  “Your husband is so understanding!”

  But Zhou Yizhen was unhappy. She was still annoyed with her husband.

  Zhu Mei asked her to take a seat at the desk. She invited Zhou Yizhen to page through the large photo album she had placed under the desk lamp.

  The pictures in the album were all taken in places that she couldn’t have known better. She missed them very much: a stone lion in the lane, a cast-iron mailbox on the street nearest to her home, the shop that had sold sugar-coated dried fruit for more than twenty years, the date tree in the little courtyard, the clothes of all different colors drying beneath the tree under the sun. But the main person in the photos, Zhu Mei, didn’t look familiar. And Zhou Yizhen noticed that her face was always out of focus, and her body wasn’t much in focus either. It was like a shadow. It was hard to believe that this was Zhu Mei. Looking more closely, Zhou Yizhen was startled because the main person in each photo actually looked like herself. Zhou Yizhen and Zhu Mei weren’t at all alike: Zhu Mei had the features of an educated person; Zhou Yizhen didn’t. What on earth were these photos about?

  After Zhou Yizhen had paged through most of the album, she turned around. Zhu Mei had disappeared. So Zhou Yizhen got up and looked at all of the rooms. These furnishings and objects called to mind many sentimental memories. Under the present circumstances, she liked being sentimental for a moment. Sentiment was a beautiful thing. If she could cry, it would be even better. But she couldn’t. It seemed that Zhu Mei had gone out. How could she leave her guest behind and go out by herself? But, then, why couldn’t she do this? She’d already said she wanted Zhou Yizhen to consider this home her own. It was quiet outside: there was only the deep sound of the wind shaking the date tree branches. Zhou Yizhen felt safe in this house. She regrett
ed having stayed away for twenty years. She had misconstrued everything! If Zhu Mei hadn’t invited her, would she have never returned? Could Zhu Mei have been calling her to come back throughout these twenty years in her peculiar way, and she hadn’t heard? Zhou Yizhen kept thinking it over, sometimes sitting down, sometimes standing up and pacing. She sensed that the familiar objects in front of her were talking to her in low tones. Too bad she didn’t understand.

  At the corner of the wall was a little metal bucket with dried lotus seeds inside. Next to the bucket was a small bench. Zhou Yizhen’s heart leapt happily! She sat down at once and started cracking open the lotus seeds. Though she hadn’t done this for more than twenty years, she still knew how to do it! And she could do it almost without looking. It was as though she wasn’t cracking lotus seeds but picking mushrooms in the forest. She joyfully discovered one after another. As she did this, she didn’t think back to her work in the plant when she was young. Quite the opposite: what she recalled were the good things that she usually didn’t think of. For example … Ah, she was suffocating from happiness! She wouldn’t die from happiness, would she?

  “Zhou Yizhen, are you fishing?”

  Zhu Mei’s voice came from the door. Why didn’t she enter? Was she playing hide-and-seek? Zhou Yizhen put the knife down and went to look.

  No one was in the courtyard. Where was Zhu Mei hiding? Zhou Yizhen walked lightly under the date tree, intense emotions rising from within. This courtyard had five other homes; the lights were on in each one, but the doors were shut tight. Zhou Yizhen recalled that it was never like this in the past; back then, the neighbors felt close to each other, and doors always stood open. Did all of these homes have new owners?

  Without thinking, she walked out of the courtyard and came to the lane. So strange: at night, the lane didn’t look at all dilapidated as it did in the daytime. Instead, it was clean and tidy, and full of life. Although you couldn’t see anyone, that street was giving off light, as though some liveliness were left over from the daytime. The entrances of all of the courtyard houses stood wide open, letting her thoughts run wild.