Hung-chien said, “Today’s my turn to eat with the students. But that doesn’t matter. You go on ahead to the restaurant and order. I’ll humor them with a bowl of rice and hurry over.”
Hung-chien felt that during that semester of teaching he had gradually gotten the knack of things through practice. The students’ impression of him seemed to have improved a little, too. The four advisees assigned to him by the office of the Dean of Students came occasionally to chat and supplied him with all kinds of insights. He discovered that while it had not been many years since he graduated, once he became a teacher, he belonged to the older generation and could no longer share the views of the present students. First, he did not have their enthusiasm. Second, he considered himself more discreet than they. He wondered why those of his colleagues who went around with students never felt the generation gap. Or did they feel it and just not let it show? Though science has advanced, man still isn’t the master of his own fate. Age is an insurmountable fact in the natural course of things, like eating, drinking, sex, and death. At times this kind of generation consciousness is even sharper than class consciousness. No matter how similar your political views, theories, and tastes are to your students’, there are subtle differences between you and them just like cracks in pottery. Under ordinary circumstances they don’t mean much, but once given a jolt, the cracks will widen into fissures. Maybe if he were another ten or fifteen years older, he would want to mingle with young people and share their vitality in order to warm his own decrepitude, like a vampire sucking the essence of the young and strong. Such was old Professor Lu of the Physics Department, who never missed a single student activity, or Wang Ch’u-hou, who had married such a young wife. In any case, the students could be pitifully blind on the one hand and frighteningly perceptive on the other. This wasn’t necessarily true of their approval; sometimes they were actually fooled by their teachers. But as for their censure, this was truly just and absolute, amounting to the “Final Judgment” of the last day of the world and leaving no room for appeal. Their loathing for Li Mei-t’ing went without saying, and they never really gave Han Hsüeh-yü their love and respect. When Hung-chien became a teacher, he realized that the way Westerners looked down on Orientals or the way the rich looked down on the poor—no, the way the poor looked down on the rich—was not half so bad as the way students looked down on professors. Fairness, not mercy, was their virtue. They refused to forgive. Perhaps because they themselves had no need for forgiveness, or at least didn’t know they needed it, so Hung-chien thought.
As for Hung-chien’s relations with his colleagues, they were worse than they were the first semester. Han Hsüeh-yü’s nod was so perfunctory that it looked as though Han had twisted a shoulder, and Mrs. Han stared off in the distance at the scene behind Hung-chien. While Hung-chien did not care, he was somewhat perturbed by all this since it meant something else to worry about whenever he was out walking along the street, and if he saw them coming from afar he would duck out of the way. Lu Tzu-hsiao had grown very aloof, a tacit understanding having been reached between them. What disturbed him most was that Liu Tung-fang seemed to have considerably cooled toward him. What a fine matchmaker Mrs. Wang had turned out to be! His one consolation was that Wang Ch’u-hou was very much concerned about his affairs. He knew that Old Wang was going to be dean of the College of Letters and so was courting junior faculty members. People who harbored such administrative ambitions were the least reliable, and there wasn’t necessarily anything he himself could gain by helping Old Wang to succeed. It was like the rickshaw boy who pulls his passenger up to a restaurant after much pain and effort, and then is still left to drag along his empty rickshaw, feeding on the west wind, with never a thought of going in to eat with him. But if someone as inconsequential as himself was worthy of patronage, then obviously he shouldn’t underestimate himself. The last time Old Wang saw him, Old Wang joked that he, the matchmaker, had completely lost face. Why had neither of the fated romances come out successfully?
Hung-chien merely said, “I’m not worthy. I wouldn’t dare aspire to it.”
Wang Ch’u-hou said, “There’s no point in your doing part-time work in the Foreign Languages Department. Next semester I’m planning to add a philosophy department and ask you to take care of courses solely within the department.”
Hung-chien said gratefully, “At present I really have no place to call home. I just go begging from door to door, scorned by both faculty and students.”
“Nonsense!” said Wang Ch’u-hou. “But I’m now busy planning all this. Your salary must, of course, be adjusted.”
Not wishing to be too beholden to him, Hung-chien said, “The president also promised me at the beginning that next semester I would be promoted to full professor.”
“The weather is very nice today,” said Wang Ch’u-hou. “Why don’t we take a walk around the fields? Or would you care to come to my place for a chat and have something to eat?”
Hung-chien of course said that he would like to take a walk with him.
After crossing the stream and passing by the Wang’s house, they came upon a clump of ten or fifteen thin cedar trees, one of which had recently fallen and lay lengthwise on the ground. They sat down on the trunk. Wang Ch’u-hou took the cigarette from his mouth, and pointing with it all around him like a compass, said, “The scenery here isn’t bad. ‘Living at the foot of the tall pines,/Studying by the roots of the autumn trees.’ When my wife feels up to it, I’ll ask her to paint those two lines of poetry.”
Hung-chien expressed his admiration.
Mr. Wang said, “Just now you were saying that the president promised you a promotion. How did he put it exactly?”
“He didn’t make it definite, but that was the idea,” replied Hung-chien.
“That means nothing,” said Mr. Wang, shaking his head. “That sort of thing can be very exasperating! Hung-chien, you’ve just come back from abroad to teach, so you don’t understand much about the way a university works. People with big names or special connections are of course exceptions, but for most faculty promotions, one can say this: It’s easy to be promoted from lecturer to associate professor, but it’s twice as hard to be promoted from associate professor to full professor. When I was at Hua Yang University they used to make this analogy: A lecturer is like a maid, a professor is like a wife, and as for an associate professor, he’s no more than a concubine.”—at this Hung-chien burst out laughing—“The difference of one word9 can’t be measured in terms of miles. For a maid to become a concubine is quite common—at least it used to be so. But for a concubine to gain legitimate status as a wife goes against all moral principles and obligations. It just can’t be done. Wasn’t there a couplet in the Ch’ing dynasty which went: ‘I washed my concubine’s feet,/And was given an honorary degree to start out.’10 One of my colleagues in our department, also an associate professor, changed it to ‘I win face for my concubine,/And wait for the honorable associate professor to make good.’ Ha, ha—”
“Damn!” said Hung-chien. “Even an associate professor has to suffer insult!”
“But there’s a way out: what is vulgarly known as ‘jumping the manger.’ If you can’t get promoted to professor in your own school, transfer to another one where you will. If this school won’t agree to your leaving, while another one will hire you as professor, then this school has no choice but to promote you. When another school gives you formal contracts or informal letters of appointment, the more you turn them down, the more you have to let the authorities here know about it. That way you’ll get your salary raised. Leave things to me. After the spring vacation I’ll have a friend in the Philosophy Department at Hua Yang University write a letter asking me to invite you there for him. I’ll then show the letter to President Kao and sing a few rounds of praise for you on the side. He’ll certainly promote you; this requires no effort on your part.”
Now, if someone is willing to help you out in this way, and you don’t rouse yourself to action, then yo
u really are a worthless sort. So, from then on Hung-chien made it a point to put extra effort into preparing his lessons and gradually began to dream of being a “star professor.” Just as getting a degree is a matter of duping one’s professors with a thesis, so teaching is a matter of duping the students with the lecture material. Hung-chien had not duped his professors, and so he had not received his degree. Now that he wanted to dupe his students, he found he lacked a model to go by. There are two stages a professor must go through to become a star professor. First, he must make his lecture notes into a book, and second, he must use the book as his lectures. It is much like an apprentice barber who sharpens his skills by practicing on the heads of idiots or poor people. Thus, if a professor’s lectures went off smoothly when tried out in the classroom, they could be published in a book. After publication, it would of course become a required textbook. Since Hung-chien was putting so much effort into his teaching, it was only natural that he should begin to have wild dreams of glory. He saw Miss Sun a few times but did not talk with her much, learning only that she had done just exactly as he had advised, no more and no less.
Hsin-mei often went to the Wangs. Hung-chien teased him about it, saying, “Be careful Wang Ch’u-hou doesn’t get jealous.”
Hsin-mei replied gravely, “He’s not so petty as you—besides he’s never home when I go. I’ve only seen him once or twice. The old fellow likes to gamble and always goes over to the Wongs.”
Hung-chien remarked that Li Mei-t’ing must have won some money, since he’d stopped raising a fuss about mahjong games.
The evening of the fourth day of spring vacation was as warm as the previous evenings had been. Kao Sung-nien was returning from an engagement in town, strolling along drunk and sated, when on a sudden impulse he decided to detour around to the Wangs. As his family was not with him, it was very lonely returning to his bedroom. By staying out, it would seem the night was not yet over. Returning would only spell the end of it. It was nine o’clock by his watch, but there was not a sign of anyone on the field by the main gate of the campus. This was because during vacations the students returned home, went on trips, or in some cases stayed in the dormitories preparing for midterm examinations after the spring break. The sounds of frogs testing their voices could be heard scattered throughout the open countryside. He thought how early spring came in this region and at the same time was reminded of the spicy frog he had eaten last year. He knocked twice on the Wangs’ gate, but no one answered. He remembered that the Wangs had recently hired a new maid. Perhaps it was her day off, but the girl servant could not have gone out. He then pulled at the bell rope. This bell was connected with the servants’ bedroom and had been installed for the master to use when he came back late at night. The girl opened the door with sleepy eyes and slippers on her feet. When she saw it was the president, she stifled her yawn and said that the master was not at home but had gone to the Wongs. President Kao’s heart skipped a beat, and he asked about Mrs. Wang. The girl said she was home and led President Kao into the living room. She was just about to go in and call Mrs. Wang when, rubbing her head, she said it seemed Mrs. Wang had gone out too and had wakened her to shut the gate.
A wave of anger swept over Kao Sung-nien. Playing mahjong! he thought. Still playing mahjong! One of these days the students will hear of it. I’ll have to warn Old Wang and the rest of them. He told the girl to shut the gate and rushed over to the Wongs.
When Wang Ch’u-hou and the others saw the president, they were all greatly embarrassed and hurriedly put away the mahjong set. Mrs. Wong herself served tea and offered the president some midnight snacks, which had been laid out for the gamblers. As soon as Kao Sung-nien saw that Mrs. Wang was not among them, he said, “Sorry to disturb you,” but did not urge them to continue playing. “Mr. Wang, I’d like to speak to you about something. Let’s go now.”
When they were out of the house, Kao asked, “Where’s Mrs. Wang?”
“She’s home,” replied Wang Ch’u-hou.
“I went to your house first. The girl told me she’d gone out, too.”
“She couldn’t have. She absolutely couldn’t have,” said Wang Ch’u-hou quickly, partly to answer Kao and partly to reassure himself, but his throat had gone hoarse with anxiety.
Despite his stubbornness, Chao Hsin-mei knew in his heart that Hung-chien was quite right and that he should avoid rousing any suspicions. He liked Mrs. Wang very much because she was attractive, she understood things, and she was the only woman there who had anything in common with him. He considered himself much too high-minded ever to get himself involved in a scandal. Lonely and bored during the spring vacation, he had gone over to the Wangs to chat after dinner. No one answered his knock, and he was about to leave, when suddenly Mrs. Wang opened the door herself. She said, “When I heard a knock at this hour, I didn’t think it could be anyone else.”
“Why did you answer it yourself?” Hsin-mei asked.
“One of the two servants has gone home, and the other one is just like a bird. She gets sleepy the moment it becomes dark. It was easier for me to open it myself than wake her up to do it.”
“The weather is so nice; I came out for a walk. I was passing your house and decided to drop in to see you and Mr. Wang.”
Mrs. Wang said with a smile, “Ch’u-hou has gone off to play mahjong. He won’t be back until eleven. I was thinking of taking a walk myself. We can go together. You go to the gate and pull the bell to wake the girl. I’ll tell her to shut the gate. Is it cold outside? I don’t need an extra wrap, do I?”
Standing in the dark outside the gate, Hsin-mei heard her tell the maid, “I’m going to the Wongs, too. I’ll be back with Mr. Wang in a while, so don’t sleep too soundly!”
As they strolled along, Mrs. Wang asked Hsin-mei about his home, why he hadn’t married, and if he’d ever had a sweetheart. “You must have had a girl friend. You can’t fool me.”
Hsin-mei gave her a brief account of his involvement with Su Wen-wan, but under Mrs. Wang’s goading and probing, it became more and more detailed. They were chatting merrily when they found themselves back at the Wangs’ gate.
Mrs. Wang said with a smile. “I got all carried away listening to you. How did I manage to come back again! Well, I’m tired now, anyway. I don’t think I’ll go to the Wongs. Thank you, Mr. Chao, for taking a walk with me, and thanks especially for telling me so many interesting things.”
Hsin-mei grew somewhat ill at ease at this point and regretted having been so forthright and having told her everything. He then said, “You must be sick of hearing about it. A love story like that is of great interest to the person telling it, but only sounds common or funny to others. I know from experience.”
Mrs. Wang said, “Well, I found it very interesting. But there’s one thing I must tell you, Mr. Chao.”
Hsin-mei urged her to tell him, but she refused and was going to knock on the door and go in, when Hsin-mei held her back with his hand and begged her to tell him. Kicking aside a pebble near her foot, she said, “Just remember this: Never say nice things about one woman to another.”
Hsin-mei was so stunned that it was as if someone had struck him on the head. All he could do was gasp.
“Especially to someone as ill-tempered and rash as I am, to go on about how tender and refined this young lady of yours is—”
“Mrs. Wang, don’t be so sensitive!” cried Hsin-mei. “I didn’t mean that at all. To tell you the truth, I think you’re quite like her in some ways.”
Mrs. Wang half pushed aside his restraining arm and said, “Nonsense! Nonsense! No one could be like me—”
Suddenly they heard voices nearby and quickly separated.
Wang Ch’u-hou was not as young or quick-limbed as Kao Sung-nien and had run himself out of breath. Neither of them said a word. Just before reaching the Wangs, the sharp-eyed Kao Sung-nien caught sight of two figures entwined in the semitransparent evening light and rushed up to them. Wang Ch’u-hou also heard his wife talking with a
nother man, and a red cloud came before his eyes. Hsin-mei was just about to turn around when someone grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, and he heard Mrs. Wang’s horrified gasp. He turned his head and saw Kao Sung-nien’s face with teeth bared less than an inch from his own. Frightened and abashed, he quickly shrugged off Kao Sung-nien’s grasp.
When he saw it was Chao Hsin-mei, Kao released his hand and said, “What impertinence! How disgraceful!”
Wang Ch’u-hou seized his wife and wouldn’t let go. Panting, he cursed in genteel tones, “Well! Well! Chao Hsin-mei, you scoundrel, you shameless wretch, seducing a married woman. Don’t try to deny it. With my own eyes I saw you—saw you embracing—”
Mr. Wang was too enraged to finish. Hsin-mei straightened himself up to reply, then thought better of it.
Understanding what her husband had left unsaid, Mrs. Wang shook herself free of his grasp and said, “If you have something to say, then let’s talk inside. My legs are getting sore from standing,” and she reached out and pulled the bell rope. Her voice was pitched unusually low to suppress the quaver.
No one had expected her to say this, and taken by surprise they all followed her meekly inside. As soon as Hsin-mei stepped through the doorway, he suddenly came to his senses and was about to slip off, when Kao Sung-nien stopped him, saying, “Oh, no you don’t. We’re going to clear this up.”
Mrs. Wang went in the living room, picked out the most comfortable chair, and sat down, telling the maid to pour her a cup of tea. None of the three men sat down. Mr. Wang paced back and forth, sighing again and again. Chao Hsin-mei stood stupidly with his head down. President Kao held his hands behind his back and pretended to be looking at the scrolls on the wall.
When the maid had brought in the tea, Mrs. Wang said, “Go on to bed. This is none of your business.” After taking a sip of tea, she said deliberately, “Now, what was it you wanted to ask? It’s getting late. I don’t have my watch. Hsin-mei, what time is it?”
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