by Yu Hua
Later on, I left the house dejectedly and went for a walk by the riverside, one hand scraping along the parapet. Pink clouds floated in the water, but I was glum and spent, like ashes after a fire. Just as I got to the bridge, I caught sight of Kunshan. The contusions had now gone from his face and he had regained his former air of vitality. He came swaggering along as though he owned the whole town. Suddenly I was filled with excitement, because at the very same moment I saw Shi Gang. He was approaching from the other direction. The arm that had been injured was now swinging casually by his side, and he was heading toward Kunshan.
I felt as though the breath had been knocked out of me, and my heart thumped. Their stirring combat was surely about to resume. But this time there was no cleaver and no towel: their only weapons were their fists and their feet—one was wearing leather shoes, I noticed, the other sneakers. Kunshan went right up to Shi Gang, blocking his way, and I heard him say loudly, “Hey, got a cig?”
Shi Gang didn’t answer; he just stood there, eyeing his adversary. Kunshan began to pat Shi Gang’s jacket, then his hand slipped inside a pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I knew he was being provocative, but still Shi Gang made no move. Kunshan extracted a cigarette, and I thought he would pass it to Shi Gang and keep the rest for himself. But instead he stuck the cigarette in his mouth, looked at Shi Gang, and handed the pack back. Shi Gang took it, extracted a cigarette, and put it between his lips. What happened next took me completely by surprise. Shi Gang slipped the pack into the other man’s pocket. Kunshan smiled. He took out his matches, lit Shi Gang’s cigarette, then his own.
That evening the two of them leaned against the bridge and there was no end to their banter, no end to their laughter. I watched as the sunset bathed them in a rosy hue, staying on until they were shrouded in darkness. They rested their arms on the parapet, their cigarettes glowing as they held them up to their faces. Though I stood listening just a few feet away, nothing they said really sank in. For a long time afterward, I kept trying to recall the brand of cigarettes they smoked first, but somehow four names would come to mind all at the same time—Front Gate, Flying Horse, People’s Choice, and West Lake.
About the Author
Yu Hua is the author of five novels, six collections of stories, and four collections of essays. His work has been translated into more than twenty languages. In 2002, he became the first Chinese writer to win the James Joyce Award. His novel Brothers was short-listed for the Man Asian Literary Prize and awarded France’s Prix Courrier International. To Live was awarded Italy’s Premio Grinzane Cavour, and To Live and Chronicle of a Blood Merchant were ranked among the ten most influential books in China in the 1990s by Wen Hui Bao, the largest newspaper in Shanghai. Yu Hua lives in Beijing.
About the Translator
Allan H. Barr is the translator of Yu Hua’s debut novel, Cries in the Drizzle, and his essay collection China in Ten Words. He teaches Chinese at Pomona College in California.
Also Available in eBook Format from Yu Hua
Brothers • 978-0-307-37798-2
China in Ten Words • 978-0-307-90693-9
Chronicle of a Blood Merchant • 978-0-307-42526-3
Cries in the Drizzle • 978-0-307-48340-9
To Live • 978-0-307-42979-7
For more infomation about the publisher
www.pantheonbooks.com
ALSO BY YU HUA
China in Ten Words
Brothers
Cries in the Drizzle
Chronicle of a Blood Merchant
To Live
The Past and the Punishments