Two Lives

by A. Yi

  “What solution?”

  “Not to wish to be born on the same day, but to die on the same day.”

  She only froze with horror for a moment.

  “I can’t be with you, only down there.” I shook my tears and snot. “I can’t, Spring, you know?”

  She forced a smile. It was probably a smile mocking herself, or a bitter smile at that fate, or a happy smile for this more or less passable ending. She grabbed the fourth bottle and gulped. “Dying is just like that, just a moment’s thing.” I drank much more gradually. “There might be pain, but only for three or four seconds.”

  “Like getting punched, we pass out and never wake up,” I continued.

  “Sorry.”

  “For what?” she answered after a while.

  “I couldn’t take care of you when we were alive.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “When we’re down there, I will treat you better.”

  “Mm, I’ll be 10 times better to you.”

  “I hate this world.”

  “Me too.”

  “I can go there alone.”

  “Let me go there alone.” Her tears couldn’t be held back anymore.

  “Us together,” I said. “Come here, let me hug you.”

  I opened my arms. She stumbled over and sat straddling me. We held each other tight. Her body kept twitching. Now and then I grabbed the bottle and took a gulp. She did the same. Tears all over my face, I said: “I actually don’t love you, but I feel affection for you. I’ll take good care of you down there, all right?” She cried. I said: “Don’t cry.”

  “Mm,” she said solemnly.

  “After this bottle, let’s go.”

  “Mm.”

  “You go first.”

  “Mm.”

  “You first.”

  “Mm.”

  “I’ll be right behind.”

  She hugged me again and again and kissed me again and again. I shook my head, looking overcome by grief, full of hatred for society. She finished the fourth bottle and grabbed the fifth one. The color of the bottle was amber, just like DDVP. She took a sip and bent over vomiting but still took two more gulps to make sure she had taken in some pesticide. I held up the fifth bottle. She took a look at me then, holding her head, and stumbled away. Several times she almost fell down. Soon she was foaming at the mouth and seemed to lose her vision, reached out her arms to feel the way. I put down the bottle. She swayed toward the river and tottered up the floodwall. She once turned and looked at a tree, maybe she thought it was me. At the very end she whined and plunged into the cold river.

  I gazed at the road, the slope and the apartment block in the distance; my house lights were already on. She sank to the bottom. I thought I would need to push her down, but she jumped in herself. I got the fifth bottle that was mine and all the empty bottles I’d drank and threw them in the river one by one, then I sat down on the bench, a shiver running down my spine. She sank to the bottom. The river was pitch-black, the distance like a deep well, the world silent as a pocket. She sank to the bottom. Then I heard a faint slapping sound like the sound of footsteps climbing up a wooden staircase in the distance. I jumped to my feet and ran over, saw Spring’s hands reach the concrete of the floodwall and shake. She was covered with grass and filth, dripping with water. She didn’t even have the strength to lift her head, heavy breath spurting out. Because of the pain, she kept changing hands. I was ready to stomp on those violently shaking hands, but in the end stopped halfway. Why take the trouble? Sure enough she soon couldn’t hold on any longer and fell back in the river.

  Bach

  Overture (1)

  Many people’s first job is their last job, sometimes even the last job of their entire family. This lines up Chinese people’s view of job stability. For this stability Ba Like’s father jumped off the roof.

  Ba Like was told at the memorial service that he could come back from the remote countryside, take his father’s place as a teacher.

  – You know the Songs of Chu?

  – Then how much do you know about functions?

  – Know any foreign languages?

  – How about paramecium?

  Ba Like could answer none of these questions, so the head of the education department said: All right, go teach physical education.

  That was 1975, black man Arthur Ashe defeated white man Jimmy Connors, winning men’s singles at Wimbledon, Qian Zhongshu completed the first draft of Limited Views, while Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev, sitting member of the Central Committee of the Soviet Communist Party, was slowly advancing toward the center of power.

  Ba Like, 29 years old, blew the whistle, made the kids sprint on the cinder track. He couldn’t squeeze the timer yet, just randomly reported the results. He thought that the world has only one quota, and because he had it, the other one had to stay on in the village, speaking useless Mandarin.

  2

  In 1991, the Chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet, Gorbachev, announced his resignation, the Soviet Union came to an end; in 1993, Arthur Ashe died of AIDS, only 49 years old; in 1998, Qian Zhongshu passed away, age 88.

  Ba Like was still a PE teacher in one of the city’s primary schools. He got to school punctually, poured himself a bottle of tea, carried the tea to the track, taught his students the crouching start position, and left school punctually. At home he had a mother with mobility issues. He cooked for her, washed clothes, read newspapers, helped her to the bathroom.

  These things were sometimes done by Woman. Woman cooked, washed clothes, read newspapers, helped his mother to the bathroom.

  The first time he saw Woman in the park, he smelled something like face cream. Later, on their wedding night, he once saw her warm pink panties. But in the end they didn’t bear children.

  Ten years after the marriage, Woman proposed divorce. He gave it some thought, agreed. He wanted to give the modest family property to her, she also wanted to give it to him. They went to the civil affairs bureau, went through the formalities, then walked home together, kept living. Living like aged elder brother and aged younger sister.

  3

  Ba Like didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, didn’t play cards, didn’t even watch TV. He just left home every Saturday at 5 a.m., got on the first number 216 bus, came to the foot of Mount Qingshan, then started climbing. At nightfall he walked down the mountain, caught the last number 216 bus, and went back home. He got home at 8 p.m.; the rice in the rice cooker was just cooked, the bowls and chopsticks were laid out. He washed his hands, sat down, served food to Mother, then scooped mouthfuls of rice himself and ate while Woman sat by his side, and the light bulb hung still between their heads.

  – How is it on the mountain?

  women asked him.

  – The fruit are out (or the fruit aren’t out yet), he would answer.

  Sometimes he wanted to say, after he crossed the first rope bridge, even walking on the hard, blue rock, he could still feel the whole earth shaking as if there was an earthquake. Or, when he went through the dark, thick woods to the exit, sunshine injected his failing body like hot blood, filled him with strength. He didn’t say these things, he said, The fruit are out (or the fruit aren’t out yet).

  – I like eating these things, Woman said.

  Done with eating, done with the dish-washing, showering, and paper-reading procedures, Ba Like fell asleep early. The lights in his home were turned off. Then the lights in the 50 or 60 homes on the street were turned off. Finally, all the lights in the world were turned off. Darkness was like a smooth birth canal leading to death.

  4

  At 5 a.m. on November 3, 2007, sixty-one-year-old Ba Like, as on every previous Saturday, left home. He was wearing black track pants, a black T-shirt, and carried a backpack. In the backpack there were rice balls, a tea bottle, a flashlight, a machete, some paper
, a pen, and a coat to keep the cold out. Woman rolled onto her side, went on sleeping, her biological clock to ring one hour later. She would get up to buy food, come back and wash it, then make a simple breakfast, help Ba Like’s mother eat.

  – Remember to bring back some wild hawthorn berries, she told Ba Like the previous night.

  Ba Like gripped his mobile phone, got on the number 216 bus. The bus window was dusty, the seat was cold, the driver scrunched up, teeth chattering, asked: That’s all you’re wearing?

  – I’m used to it, Ba Like answered, smiling, like a young man responding to one of his boss’s concerns. The driver glanced at Ba Like. His face was rosy, skin white, biceps and pecs standing out in his T-shirt; his belly, unlike other old men’s, was neither bulging nor shriveled. In fact she had seen him many times, but she still clicked her tongue in admiration. Ba Like didn’t shift, just politely sat, watched the darkness slowly disperse like molecules. The gradually arriving light pierced through one parasol tree after another, poured onto the paved road.

  5

  At 8 p.m., the temperature control switch of the rice cooker automatically switched off, Woman brought out cooked dishes, helped Ba Like’s mother out of bed. The door was locked; they didn’t hear footsteps on the stairs.

  – Like still not back? Ba Like’s mother asked.

  – No, still not back. Woman glanced at the clock on the wall. A minute had passed.

  – Always comes back, Woman said, then picked up food for Ba Like’s mother. The old woman rolled up her sleeve, pressed her index finger on her wrist, a small dent was left on the shriveled skin.

  – Look, it doesn’t go back.

  – Eat.

  – Look, it doesn’t go back, I’m so old.

  – Eat.

  After the meal Woman helped Ba Like’s mother to the bathroom, then to the bed. Ba Like’s mother said: What’s the time?

  – It’s nine.

  – Why is Like still not back?

  – Yeah, why isn’t he back? I’m going to make a phone call.

  Coming back after the call, Woman said: Phone’s off. Perhaps out of power, the bus broke down, or he didn’t catch the bus.

  – Does he know people at the base of the mountain?

  – He does.

  – Then he has a place to stay.

  Woman washed the dishes, went back to the bedroom, did a bit of needlework, pushed the window open, had a look, found there were some stars in the sky. She thought, it should be him worrying about them, not them worrying about him. She yawned and went to bed.

  6

  At 6 a.m. on November 4, Woman woke up punctually, found emptiness beside her. She pulled the bedroom door open, saw on the table, on the sofa, on the floor no trace of anyone back, then opened the front door. The stairs were empty too. She called, the phone was off. Woman brushed her teeth, washed her face, rubbed some Dabao SOD cream on her face, then took a shopping basket and calmly went out. From total savings of eighty thousand yuan, she withdrew 24 yuan, which was used to buy pork, vegetables, lotus roots, and eggs. When she came back, there still wasn’t any sign of Ba Like in the house. She went to wash rice, cook congee, make pickles. By the time the smell of the congee wafted out, it was already half past seven.

  Ba Like’s mother called a few times. She went over.

  – Like back?

  – Not yet.

  – What’s wrong with that man?

  – Guess he should be back in half an hour.

  The two women started to eat congee while they waited. Light came through the glass window; the house was getting hot. Ba Like’s mother, anxious and worried, shouted: When he’s back, I’ll definitely break his dog legs. I mean it, definitely break his dog legs. Woman didn’t respond, didn’t wash the dishes either, she leaned back on the sofa knitting, knitting stitch by stitch. The clock on the wall moved notch by notch. Ba Like’s mother mumbled a few words, quietly lay down on the bed.

  When the clock struck 10, Woman tried in vain to knit a few more stitches, but her hands had no strength. Standing up, her legs had no strength either. She moved to the telephone, dialed again and again. The phone was off. Woman then moved to Ba Like’s mother’s room, found she was crying secretly. Woman reached out a hand, she grabbed her hand, like Ba Like was hiding in her hand.

  – My son, you come back, hurry back.

  – I’m going to the police, Woman said angrily. When Woman went out the door, she ran right into a neighbor, and called the neighbor in to take care of things. As Woman walked on the street, her two legs got stronger step after step, her breath intensified as she walked. But once she got to the police station, her whole body gave out. The police tried to help her but couldn’t help her up.

  – What’s wrong?

  – My man’s missing.

  7

  As Woman walked back her two legs were strong again and even trotted up the stairs. But after the door was pushed open, Ba Like’s mother sat in the middle of the room crying like all hell. The neighbor said: It’s all right, it’s all right, even with only one star in the sky, Mister Ba could find his way. Women glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 12 noon. All kinds of possibilities rushed like monsters into her head.

  – Eaten by wolves.

  – Fell off a cliff and died.

  – Struck dead by a falling rock.

  – Fell into a hunter’s trap and bled to death.

  – Frozen to death.

  – Robbed and killed by mountain people passing.

  – Slipped, rolled down the mountain, hit a tree, died.

  – Killed himself.

  He couldn’t possibly kill himself, he had a mother, had a job. Once he retired, before the school could say rehire, he went skipping back. She went to search inside the nightstand, found six bankbooks, four bank cards, not one missing.

  She walked out, stared numbly at the open door. Under the door there was a narrow long black shadow. When the crying, which had stopped, started again, she got annoyed and angry, said: Stop crying, stop crying, then dialed the number of the police station. The police station said, Already contacted Qingshan Villagers’ Committee, didn’t find any signs of Ba Like going down the mountain, will investigate further. Woman put down the phone, didn’t know what to do, began slapping the sofa, threw her body in tears. The neighbor panicked, went out looking for help. A while later a bunch of neighbors poured in (including kids holding rubber balls). They looked anxiously at the two unsteady women, picturing that missing sixty-one-year-old kid. One of them, who had comforted them for a long time, suddenly patted his head, went home and came back with a telephone book. There was a number in the book, the number of the outdoor search-and-rescue team.

  – This is more effective than the police, he said.

  Foreshadowing

  8

  Wallace wasn’t his real name. Ever since he watched a DVD called Braveheart, his real name disappeared.

  Every city had some mysterious people voluntarily getting together, like those who feed pigeons, those who sing rock, those who do outdoor search and rescue – they have their own languages, titles, and dignity, do things Don Quixote would probably do. They would never have an office, scorning places of business hung with signs and people in uniforms.

  Wallace was the captain of the outdoor search-and-rescue team. On the evening of November 4, he read the map, then read it again, cautiously drew a few circles, then took off his suit jacket, tie, shirt, leather belt, suit pants, and alligator-skin shoes, walked naked to the mirror, smeared his face with oil paint specific to Native Americans, then put on ripped-knee, light-colored camouflage and leather military shoes, put on sunglasses and an American soldiers’ beret. He fiddled with the hat several times, to make a cluster of white crew-cut hair peek out from its edge. That’s how he wore the hat and shoes as he slipped into bed and fell asleep.

&
nbsp; At 5 a.m. on November 5, before the alarm clock rang, Wallace sprang out of bed. He threw the army backpack into the jeep whose muffler was removed, drove it onto the street, onto the concrete road and the paved road, toward Qingshan Village in the dark. There he had smoked nearly half a pack of cigarettes before his 16 comrades had arrived one after another.

  At first the sun was weak. He set his watch, tipped up his high nose to make his determined lips show completely. Like a general he said: Target, a teacher named Ba Like, in black T-shirt, black track pants; height 1.80 meters, weight 80 kilograms; square face, scar between eyebrows; area, Mount Qingshan’s minor peak, Mount Heshang; strategy, troops divide along four routes, climb the mountain siege-style. Begin.

  Mount Heshang was 863 meters above the sea level. Telecom, through mobile positioning, confirmed that Ba Like’s mobile phone showed a signal in this area, at 10 a.m. on November 3. Wallace emphasized this was the only available clue. He figured searching this area only required about four to five hours, but being out of practice a long time caused them to make this error of assumption. As the fog spurted out layer upon layer like exhaust fumes, they could only see the tips of their feet, the original extensive search in sunny conditions turned into step-by-step measuring. Then due to constantly getting lost, the search-and-rescue team got all tangled up.

  By the time the fog was gradually replaced by a curtain of darkness, they finally gave up their conviction to complete the task in one go.

  – How are we getting back?

  – Walk toward the center of gravity, Wallace said in the walkie-talkie, sad and disappointed.

  9

  At 9 a.m. on November 6, the sunlight was splendid. Mount Heshang in the distance was like an awkward bald head, swaying among the mountains covered in red leaves. The team members before Wallace now numbered 38. It took them several hours to gather at the peak of the mountain. What they saw, besides rocks, were other rocks. Wallace ordered them to recheck the potential paths. They checked all the way to the base of the mountain, didn’t find any items, odors, or footprints, but found Mount Heshang to be the origin of the world, its zigzagging visible paths and invisible paths winding down, a dozen of them which led to Rome, Tokyo, New York, every corner of the world.