That night Fang’s sleep was fitful, like rice-flour noodles without elasticity or stretchability. His joy burst from his dreams and woke him four or five times. Each time he awoke, he seemed to see Tang Hsiao-fu’s face and to hear her voice. Her every word and gesture during the day he tried to impress upon his heart. Moments later he would drift to sleep only to awake with a start a moment later, feeling his joy had been robbed by sleep. Once more he would mentally review the day’s happiness. When he finally awoke and got up, he found the sky dull and grey. He had not chosen a nice day for a dinner party, he thought, and wished he could have pressed blotting paper against the pale rain clouds to dry them up.
Monday was usually the busiest day of the week at the bank. Fang wouldn’t be able to leave the office until after six o’clock in the evening. Since he wouldn’t have time to come home and change before going to the restaurant, he got dressed in the morning before leaving for work. Imagining he were Miss T’ang, he judged his appearance in the mirror through her eyes. In less than a year since his return from abroad, he had acquired more wrinkles on his forehead, and since he hadn’t slept well the night before, his complexion and eyes were dull and lusterless. His acquisition of a new love two days ago had made him meticulously aware of every last blemish in his appearance in the manner of a poor man with only one dress suit who knows its every spot and patch. Actually, to other people, his complexion looked the same as ever, but he found himself particularly ugly that day. Thinking that the color of his necktie made his sallow complexion greenish, he changed neckties three times before going down for breakfast.
As usual, Mr. Chou was still in bed, so Fang ate with Mrs. Chou and Hsiao-ch’eng. As Fang was still eating breakfast, the telephone outside his bedroom upstairs rang. At home, he seldom had a moment’s peace and quiet, and when irritated by the phone, he would often think his fiancée’s life had been snatched away by that “soul-snatching bell” of the telephone. The maid-servant came down to say, “Telephone, Mr. Fang. It’s someone named Su, a woman.” As she spoke, her eyes passed the message to Mrs. Chou and Hsiao-ch’eng, whose eyes were so busy that they resembled ripples in a spring pond in the breeze. Hung-chien had never expected Miss Su to call, and he was sure Mrs. Chou would quiz him about the call. As he bounded up the stairs to answer the phone, he heard Hsiao-ch’eng remark in a loud voice, “I bet it’s Su Wen-wan.” The other day in his history class Hsiao-ch’eng had incorrectly identified the family name of the Manchu rulers Ai-hsin Chiao-lo13 as Ch’in-ai Pao-lo (Dear Paul); for his mistake he had received a severe reprimand from his teacher, and the reprimand had so infuriated him that he was playing hooky and staying home that day. On the other hand, after seeing Miss Su’s name once, he had it memorized.
As Hung-chien picked up the receiver, he felt the entire Chou family were listening in with bated breath. “Miss Su?” he said softly. “This is Hung-chien.”
“Hung-chien, I thought you’d still be home so I called you up. I’m not feeling well today, so I won’t be going to the O Mei-chun this evening. I’m very sorry. You mustn’t get mad at me.”
“Is Miss T’ang going?” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he regretted having said them.
Incisively, she said, “I have no idea.” Then in a distant tone, she went on, “Of course, she will be.”
“What’s wrong with you? Is it serious?” He knew his inquiries were already too late.
“It’s nothing. I just feel too tired to go out.” The implication was obvious.
“Well, I am relieved to hear that. Take good care of yourself. I’ll certainly see you tomorrow. What do you like to eat?”
“Thank you. I don’t want anything.” Pause. “Well, then, I will see you tomorrow.”
After Miss Su hung up, it occurred to Hung-chien that as a matter of courtesy he should cancel and schedule the dinner for another day. Should he call Miss Su and ask her to tell Miss T’ang about the postponement? But he really didn’t want to. Just as he was pondering over the matter, Hsiao-ch’eng came running and jumping along, yelling at the top of his lungs all the way, “Dear Miss Su, have you come down with lovesickness? What do you love to eat? I love baked sesame buns, fried puffs, five-spice beans, dried bean-curd strips, dried mucus, stinky salt-preserved fish.”
With a yelp, Hung-chien grabbed Hsiao-ch’eng, cutting short his proposed menu and frightening him into begging for mercy. Hung-chien gave him a light pat and dismissed him. He then went downstairs to finish his breakfast. As expected, Mrs. Chou was waiting to query him in detail. “Don’t forget, you must make me your adopted mother,” she said.
“I’m waiting for you to get an adopted daughter. The more daughters you get, the wider is the selection for me. This Miss Su is only an old classmate. Nothing serious between us, so don’t worry,” Hung-chien quickly answered.
The sky gradually cleared up, but because of the phone call that morning Hung-chien’s high spirits had been considerably dampened. He felt unworthy of such a beautiful day as he had planned it, and he felt as if a tent were about to collapse on him. Miss Su was up to mischief, no doubt. And if she didn’t come, so much the better as that would leave just Miss T’ang and himself. But without a third person, would Miss T’ang come? he wondered. He hadn’t asked Miss T’ang for her address and telephone number the day before, so he couldn’t find out if Miss T’ang knew about Miss Su’s not coming to the party. Miss Su would surely let Miss T’ang know. What if Miss T’ang had asked Miss Su to tell him that she wasn’t coming either. That would be disastrous!
At the bank he assisted Chief-secretary Wang with letter writing. His mind preoccupied with his own affairs, he made a few errors in the drafts of letters he wrote. Wang corrected them for him, chuckled, and said, “Brother Hung-chien,14 the eyes of this old clerk are still pretty sharp.”
By six o’clock when he still hadn’t received any word from Miss T’ang, he began to get nervous but didn’t dare call Miss Su to ask about Miss T’ang. Around seven, he briskly walked over to the O Mei-chun and engaged a private dining room, preparing to wait for Miss T’ang until eight-thirty. If by that time she still hadn’t come, then he would have to eat alone. Waiting patiently and never raising his hopes too high, he lit a cigarette and then snuffed it out. The evening was too chilly for him to open the windows, yet he was afraid the odor of smoke might fill the room and offend Miss T’ang. He opened the book he had brought to the bank to read during his spare time but not a single sentence made any sense. When he heard the waiter greeting a customer outside, his heart fluttered. The dinner was for seven-thirty, and it was just seven-forty-five by his watch. She couldn’t possibly be coming this early, but suddenly the curtain was drawn, the waiter stood aside and in came Miss T’ang.
In his heart what Hung-chien felt was gratitude, not joy. After greeting her, he said, “I am sorry Miss Su couldn’t make it today.”
“I know. I almost didn’t make it myself. I tried calling you but couldn’t get through.”
“Then I’m grateful to the telephone company. I hope their business prospers and their lines get so busy that telephone calls to make last minute changes of plan won’t get through. Did you call the bank?”
“No, I called your house. This is what happened. Early this morning my cousin called me saying she couldn’t come to dinner and had already informed you. I said I wouldn’t go either, in that case. She wanted me to tell you myself and gave me your phone number. I dialed and asked, ‘Is this the Fangs’ residence?’ A woman answered in your native dialect—I couldn’t imitate the way she said it—‘This is the Chous’ residence. There is only one person named Fang here. Are you Miss Su? You want to speak to Fang Hung-chien. Hung-chien’s not in. I’ll have him call you when he gets back. Miss Su, you must come visit sometime when you’re free. Hung-chien often says how pretty and talented you are,’ and she went on and on in the same breath. I meant to explain, but I couldn’t get in a word. I thought all that rice gruel was being poured down the wrong ear,15 so
I very rudely hung up on her. Who was that?”
“That’s my relative, Mrs. Chou, the wife of the general manager of the bank where I work. Your cousin had called just before I left the house, so Mrs. Chou thought the call was from her again.”
“Oh, no! What a mess. Mrs. Chou surely blames my cousin for being so rude. I hadn’t hung up for more than five minutes when my cousin called again to ask whether I’d talked to you. I said you weren’t home, and then she gave me your office number. I thought you were probably on the way there, so I might as well wait a while before calling. Then of all things, my cousin called me fifteen minutes later for the third time. I was getting a little mad. When she found out I hadn’t yet got in touch with you, she told me to hurry and call you before you’d reserved a table. I said if he’s reserved a table then I will go. What difference would it make? She said that wouldn’t be good and invited me to her house for dinner. I replied that I wasn’t feeling well either and wasn’t going anywhere. Later I thought my cousin was just too silly. I decided to accept your invitation and not make any call.”
Hung-chien said, “Miss T’ang, today you haven’t just honored me with your presence, you’ve been a real savior. As host I am more than grateful. I’ll have to invite you out many more times. If none of the invited guests shows up, it means the death sentence for the host as far as his social life is concerned. Today was a close call!”
Hung-chien ordered food enough for five or six people. Miss T’ang asked if there would be any other guests, for how could two people eat so much. He said it really wasn’t that much, prompting her to remark, “You noticed I didn’t have any refreshments yesterday, so now you’re testing to see if I’ll eat anything, aren’t you?”
He knew she wasn’t one of those dainty women who will screw their mouth up to the size of the tip of an eyedropper at a dinner party, so he replied, “This is the first time I’ve been to this restaurant and I am not sure which dishes I like best. If I order a few extra, then I’ll have a wider choice. If this one isn’t any good, then there’s that one. I won’t starve you this way.”
“That’s not eating, that’s more like the Divine Farmer16 testing a hundred varieties of herbs. Isn’t that a little extravagant? Maybe all men like to be extravagant in front of women they don’t know.”
“Maybe. But not in front of all women they don’t know.”
“Just in front of stupid women, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“If women weren’t fools, they’d never be impressed by a man just because he is extravagant. But don’t worry, all women are foolish, just as foolish as men expect them to be. No more and no less.”
He wondered whether these remarks came from naïve candor or from what her cousin had called her social experience. When the food was served and they were eating, he asked her for her address, suggesting she write it on the blank page at the back of the book he had brought along to read, as he never liked the idea of carrying little address books around. When he saw she had written down her phone number, he said, “I won’t be calling you up. I hate talking to friends over the phone. I’d much rather write a letter.”
“Yes, I feel the same way. Friends should enjoy seeing each other face to face. Talking over the phone is considered having contact, but you haven’t seen each other, and what you say over the phone can’t be kept like a letter to be taken out and read over several times. A phone call is a lazy man’s visit or a miser’s letter, not what you would expect from a friend. Besides, did you notice that a person’s voice over the phone often sounds unrecognizable or unpleasant?” she said.
“You are right, Miss T’ang. At the Chous where I live, there’s a phone right outside my room. The noise gives me a headache every day. Often at the most unreasonable hours, such as in the middle of the night or in early morning, someone will call. It’s such a nuisance. Luckily televiewing isn’t in wide use; otherwise it’d be even worse. There’d be people spying on you when you’re in the bathtub or in bed. As education becomes increasingly widespread, the number of people writing letters decreases. Unless it’s an important business matter, people are afraid to write letters, and they’d rather call on the phone. I think that’s because it’s easy to make a fool of yourself in writing a letter. People in high positions can often speak quite well but can’t handle a pen effectively. But with a phone call a person can dispense with a visit from someone repulsive or hide his poor writing ability. So the telephone has been considered a great gift to mankind.”
Fang Hung-chien babbled on happily, urging Miss T’ang to eat from time to time. He, on the other hand, ate very little. By the time they had their fruit for dessert, it was nine o’clock. She wanted to leave, and he didn’t dare keep her. After paying the bill, he asked the waiter to call a taxi to take her home. He told her he had promised to go see Miss Su the next day and asked if she was going. She replied she might but doubted Miss Su was really sick. He then asked, “Should we tell her about our dinner tonight?”
“Why not? No, no. I got mad a while ago and told her I wasn’t going anywhere today. All right, whatever you decide. In any case you can’t go to her place until after work tomorrow, and I will go a little later.”
“I was thinking of visiting you the day after tomorrow. Would you mind?”
“I’d be glad to have you. It’s just that our house is very cramped, nothing like Miss Su’s Western-style house with a big garden. If you don’t mind visiting a modest home, come by all means.”
“May I meet your father?” he asked.
“Not unless you have some legal questions to ask him. He usually stays in his law office and doesn’t get home until late in the evening. My parents have absolute trust in my sisters and me. They’ve never interfered with or checked up on our friends,” she replied.
The taxi arrived as Miss T’ang was speaking, and Hung-chien helped her into it. On his way home in the rickshaw, he thought the day had turned out to be unexpectedly perfect. But Miss T’ang’s parting remark about “our friends” made him jealous as he conjured up visions of a huge throng of young men secretly surrounding her.
When Miss T’ang arrived home, her parents teased her, “Well, our social butterfly is home.” She went to her room and was changing her clothes, when the maid said Miss Su was on the phone. She went downstairs to answer the phone, but halfway down the stairs she changed her mind, stopped, and instructed her maid to say, “Young Lady17 isn’t feeling well and has gone to bed.” Indignantly, she thought, That must be my cousin checking up to see whether I’m home or not. She is such a bully. Fang Hung-chien isn’t hers, and he doesn’t need her to look after him like that! The more she interferes, the closer I will let him get to me. I can never love Fang Hung-chien; love is a grand and complicated emotion, and it’s never so simple and easy. If I could fall in love with someone that easily, then I can’t either believe in or submit to love.
The following afternoon Hung-chien bought some flowers and fruit and went to the Sus. The moment he saw Miss Su, he burst out without giving her a chance to speak, “What happened yesterday? You got sick, she got sick. Was it anything contagious? Or were you afraid I’d poison the food? Was I ever mad! I just went to eat by myself. I could have cared less that you weren’t coming. All right, all right, now at least I know what a couple of stuck-up girls you are. Next time I won’t risk a refusal.”
Miss Su apologized, “I really was sick. I felt better by afternoon but didn’t call you up for fear you’d scold me for playing jokes on you, changing my mind from one moment to the next. When I told Hsiao-fu I was sick yesterday, I didn’t tell her not to go. Let me call her up and ask her over. It’s all my fault. Next time I will be the host.”
She then called up Miss T’ang to ask if Miss T’ang felt better and invited her over, saying that Hung-chien was at her house. After she hung up, she took the flowers Hung-chien had given her and smelled them, instructing the servant to arrange them in the vase in her bedroom. Turning to Hung-chien, she asked
, “When you were in England, did you know a Ts’ao Yüan-lang?”
Hung-chien shook his head.
“He studied literature at Cambridge. He’s a new-style poet who’s just returned from abroad. His family and mine have been friends for generations. Yesterday he came to see me, and he’s coming again today.”
“Oh, so that’s it,” said Hung-chien. “No wonder you didn’t show up yesterday. All that time you were discussing poetry with someone. We’re uncouth, just not worthy of your acquaintance. This Mr. Ts’ao hails from the illustrious Cambridge University, while we are nominal students from newly established colleges. How could we ever qualify to make friends with him? Tell me, since your Eighteen Poets of the Colloquial Style doesn’t seem to mention him, are you planning to include him in the next edition?”
Miss Su was half angry and half amused. Waving her finger at him, she said, “You like being jealous, and it’s over nothing.” Her expression and implication frightened Fang Hung-chien so much that he became wordless, and he blamed himself for having done too well at feigning anger.
Presently Miss T’ang came in. Miss Su said to her, “Such airs you put on! I called up yesterday to ask about you, and today you didn’t even return the call. Now you wouldn’t come until I invited you. Mr. Fang was asking about you.”
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