Candy

by Mian Mian

It’s not the drugs; it’s AIDS.

  What are you talking about? How could you have AIDS? That’s impossible.

  Why is it impossible?

  Well, in the first place, you’ve always used a condom.

  I’ve never used a condom.

  For God’s sake! That’s not what you told me before! Put your pants back on. Let’s not panic; let’s discuss this rationally. How could you not use a condom?

  I don’t like them.

  Who does? That’s not the point.

  I’m not promiscuous.

  How many people have you slept with?

  Not that many.

  Yes, but how many people had they slept with?

  They were all nice, unsophisticated girls.

  Nice, unsophisticated people are the most dangerous. The vast majority of what you call “nice girls” are incredibly ignorant. I don’t want you to get mad at me, but —

  They were perfectly healthy. The problem is that I slept with laowai.

  The problem isn’t foreigners. It’s not who you screw; it’s how you do it.

  You’re starting to scare me.

  I doubt that you have AIDS. You probably haven’t been exposed to it.

  What makes you think that?

  Nothing in particular. It’s just a feeling.

  But how do you explain all these symptoms? I want to get tested.

  Where do you want to go?

  A hospital.

  Which hospitals do AIDS testing?

  I don’t know. We can ask around.

  Who are we going to ask? This isn’t an ordinary STD. I’ve been tested for HIV twice, but that was in rehab.

  Bug sat down on the sofa, sucking nonstop on breath mints. He said, Why did this have to happen to me? Why me?

  I said, Let’s not talk about that for now. First we get you tested. Then we’ll see about the next step.

  Bug didn’t want to go home, so he stayed at my place. Every day I gave him all kinds of cold medicines, as well as medicine for diarrhea, and every day I checked his forehead repeatedly, hoping to find that his fever had subsided. But what I found troubled me. I couldn’t understand why things had to be this way. Every time he came out of the bathroom, he would stare at me inconsolably, and then he would say, I had diarrhea again. We spent our days in an ignorant haze, watching pirated VCDs. We would watch any pirated movie we could get our hands on. But finally I said, I can’t stand it any longer. Why don’t we get on the Internet and see what we can find out?

  We visited every HIV Web site, but aside from having information about the history and medical aspects of HIV, they didn’t provide any detailed descriptions of the symptoms, beyond a slightly elevated temperature, diarrhea, swollen lymph glands, and a spotty red skin rash. That’s as far as it went. There were, however, a lot of phone numbers. I figured that this was because they didn’t want to encourage people who didn’t know what they were doing to sit at home and diagnose themselves. But all of the telephone numbers were for hot lines overseas, and we couldn’t call them from here. What’s more, neither of us spoke very good English. As it was, we’d had a hard enough time trying to decipher what we saw on the Web.

  We got in touch with our mutual friends Xiaochun and Xiaohua.

  I said, We have a serious problem. I think you may have guessed what I’m talking about. What should we do?

  Xiaochun said, You can’t go just anywhere for testing. If you’re positive, they’ll haul you off and banish you to some deserted island, and they’ll never let you go. This scared us. Xiaochun was one of those people who spent the whole day sitting in an office reading the newspaper, so we figured she knew what she was talking about. Xiaohua said, Don’t get tested in China. She also didn’t think that the tests in China were reliable. She said that the last time she’d come back from abroad, they’d demanded at the airport that she be tested for HIV, and they took blood from lots of people and then put it all in different squares of a gridlike frame. They shook the whole thing several times, back and forth, and up and down, and then they pronounced everyone OK. She concluded from this that the greatest danger in China wasn’t from laowai at all, but from all of the Chinese who regularly traveled abroad.

  We tried to imagine that “deserted island,” but we couldn’t exactly picture what it would be like. And because we couldn’t picture it, we felt even more afraid.

  We thought about all of those Chinese people who frequently travel outside China. When they’re overseas, they sleep around. They’re careless, they don’t use condoms, and when they come home, they pass through immigration wearing dark glasses before vanishing into the crowd. And then they fuck around some more. Afterward the people they fucked go and fuck a bunch of other people. It’s terrifying, this promiscuous world we live in.

  Bug launched into a silly chant: I’m tired, I’m wired, I’m tired, I’m wired.

  He stripped off all his clothing and inspected every square inch of his body, and he found a couple of little red spots on his calves. He said, Hey, look at this. Can you see them? He was blinking hard as he spoke. A few days later, he discovered a gray stripe on his tongue, and this was followed by alternating sieges of diarrhea and low fever.

  Every day saw new developments. It was always something, as if he’d been possessed by evil spirits and the wheel of life was spinning rapidly into the darkness. The whole situation just made us want to get high every day. We weren’t doing much of anything, but our appetites suddenly improved, and our metabolism sped up, and every day we devoured lots of different flavors of instant ramen like a pair of hungry ghosts. When we weren’t eating or sleeping, we were thinking about HIV, but we couldn’t think of a solution.

  Xiaohua phoned. She said she’d gotten on the Internet. Her tone was grief-stricken as she announced, It doesn’t look good. What he’s got sounds pretty similar.

  I called Kiwi in the United States, and he called a hot line over there. When he got back to me, he was using the same tone of voice that Xiaohua had. It’s not good, he said. It sure looks like that’s what he’s got. He concluded, Whatever you do, don’t treat him like a pariah. What he needs more than anything right now is understanding and comfort.

  I couldn’t take it all in. How had words become reality in such a short time?

  We started analyzing in detail each and every girl that Bug had ever slept with.

  We soon realized that all of the girls he’d been with had at least two things in common. One, none of them had insisted that Bug use a condom. Two, Bug always knew at least one of the other guys these girls had slept with. But what other girls had those guys slept with? What were they like? Bug could always find at least one other girl that he knew. Following this information to its logical conclusion, we became increasingly alarmed. The more we knew, the more worried we became. Ultimately we estimated that Bug had, in effect, made love with hundreds of thousands of people (and because Bug and I were such close friends, I was soon infected with the same panic). As I multiplied all these numbers in my head, it started to seem likely that everyone was in trouble.

  The next morning, I came upon Bug in the bathroom. He was staring into the mirror with a dazed expression on his face, and he asked, Is it OK if I brush my teeth? The vulnerable look in his eyes made me feel sad, and I said, Of course you can brush your teeth here. Please just don’t use my cup, because both of us have bleeding gums. Bug blanched. He said, It just hit me. I know how I got it. When I was in America, I used more than three different people’s razors. I said, Why would anybody let you do a thing like that? He said, They didn’t know.

  This got us thinking about all of the potential hazards associated with our daily routines. Bug had borrowed people’s toothbrushes before, and even though they’d belonged to his lovers, it was still risky. And there was one time when Bug was making love and somebody’s skin had broken. He wasn’t sure who had bled, but it had been painful, and afterward he’d seen blood on his toilet paper.

  My best friend Bug’s private life was
bit by bit being exposed to the light. Things I hadn’t understood before were becoming clear. After he’d told me everything about himself, I started thinking about my own history. Life is hard to pin down that way. How can people be certain they know the truth? I didn’t feel I could trust anybody anymore.

  Saining was in Japan on business, and I called him on the phone. He said, I can come back early. I know there’s a hospital in Shanghai for foreigners, and since I have a foreign passport, I can be seen there. We can go there and talk with one of the foreign doctors and get the doctor to agree to test Bug. Or maybe they’d be willing to put my name on Bug’s blood sample. I said, There’s no way anyone would agree to something that serious. Bug sat down next to me, his head hanging and his eyes riveted to some spot on the floor. I said, Why not send him to Japan for testing? Saining said, Getting a Japanese visa is too much trouble. He’d be better off going to Hong Kong to get tested! I said, But Hong Kong is China too. Wouldn’t they arrest him there as well? Saining said, I’ve been tested there—they don’t even ask for your name. I said, You’ve been tested in Hong Kong? Oh, so that’s what you do in your spare time. Why do you need to get tested all the time? You’re supposed to wear a condom when you sleep with girls! Although Saining and I were still living together, we hadn’t had a physical relationship in a long time. I slept with other men, so I didn’t think I had the right to criticize him. It was a sensitive subject. Finally, Saining asked me again, Are you absolutely sure that there’s nowhere in Shanghai where he can get tested? I said, Don’t even suggest it. Xiaochun said that he could get arrested, and everybody who gets tested is a junkie or a prostitute. We can’t send Bug into a place like that all by himself; we just can’t.

  So we set about arranging a Hong Kong visa for Bug. Since he was broke, I didn’t have any choice but to lend him some money, although I didn’t expect that he’d be able to pay me back. That was when the reality of AIDS finally sank in. I was certain that my dear friend Bug had AIDS. I thought about how his sparkling Chinese eyes would soon be dull, about how his long, beautiful hair would be shaved off, leaving him bald. I thought about how his fingers would bleed when he played guitar, about how this talented guitar player was going to die of AIDS, and about the fact that he’d always dreamed of making his own record. I thought about how I’d never have to worry about his coming over and messing up my place anymore, or eating all my food, and as I walked down the street, I thought about how Bug wasn’t going to be bouncing along beside me anymore. I thought about all of the things we would have to face in the future, but how could we face them? We’d been left empty-handed. Sometimes I would break into tears and I wouldn’t be able to stop. It could happen anywhere, and I could be doing anything. If I thought about it, I would start to cry in fitful, choking sobs, and sometimes I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe.

  I got Xiaochun to spend a lot of time with us. I was afraid of the night, afraid of the day, afraid of thinking, because whenever my thoughts turned to this close companion of mine and how he was about to slide into a pitch-black hole where he couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet, my every breath became fraught with a sense of crisis. Xiaochun was sitting with me. She said, Everyone has his own fate. If heaven wants to take him away, that means his time has come. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t really want to grow old. You know how he’s always been so innocent, so pretty. Have you ever tried to imagine what he might look like when he gets older?

  I hadn’t. But that’s nothing more than guesswork anyway. Finally she said, Here’s what I think we should do. First, let’s have him get checked for ordinary diseases by, say, an internist and a dermatologist. I said, No. I don’t want to put him through all that. If he’s going to die, I want him to die a beautiful death. Xiaochun said, Nobody knows for sure if he’s really sick, right? He needs to see a doctor. I said, His Hong Kong visa is going to be ready any day now. It’ll be better if he gets checked out in Hong Kong.

  Xiaohua had stopped calling, so I called her up. I said, When something as serious as this happens to a friend, you’re supposed to show even more concern for him than usual. Xiaohua said, I need to know the results of his examinations. It’s confusing for me, not knowing what he has. I don’t know how to treat him. If you need money, I can give you as much as you need. But please don’t come over to my house. I can’t have him touching my things.

  I said, What if he is sick? Do you think you’re going to get infected just by talking to him? Do you think if he touches your things you’re going to get infected? You two are close friends.

  Xiaohua said, It has nothing to do with whether or not we’re good friends. The point is that you’re going to go get him checked out. You want to know if it’s AIDS. Now, one of the early symptoms of AIDS is hepatitis, and hepatitis is supercontagious. I can’t afford to get hepatitis. I need to work.

  I said, Hepatitis? Who the hell told you that? How can you think about yourself at a time like this? You should be thinking about him!

  Xiaohua said, Why don’t you mind your own business? It’s not as if we aren’t doing anything for him.

  This conversation felt like a death sentence. Once again we felt it had been confirmed beyond any doubt: Bug clearly had AIDS. And the worst thing was that when I was making the call, I’d accidentally pressed the speakerphone button, so that Bug had heard every word Xiaohua said. Bug looked stricken. He said to me, Take me to the hospital. That’s where I belong. And then he started to cry. I’d never seen him sob like that before, and I was struck by how ugly my cute, gangly Big Bird of a sweet-voiced pal looked when he cried. He was shaking all over, and his entire face was twisted into a knot, and I felt acutely uncomfortable. I was used to looking at a pretty face.

  I said, Would you stop complaining! Nobody else is complaining.

  Bug said, I’m not complaining. My past has caught up with me. But why did it have to happen to me?

  I said, Just stop crying, OK? If you die, my life will be over too. I’m your bosom buddy. We’re always hanging out together, and aside from the fact that you never told me you didn’t use condoms, we didn’t have any secrets. Anyway, I’ve lived long enough. I mean, I don’t think I’ll be able to get used to not having you around. We’re going to have to die together.

  Bug said, You’ve answered my prayers. But if you don’t die with me, I’ll end up like that girl in Rouge and I’ll come back to find you.

  I said, It’s a deal.

  At the same time, though, I wondered what my mother would do. How she would feel if I went through with it? My dad was really strong, but would my mom be able to manage? Just thinking about losing my friend had plunged me into depression, and if that could make me feel this sad, how would my mother feel without me? I couldn’t bear to think about it. I remembered something my mother had said to me when I was back in rehab: If I thought it would ease even a little bit of your pain, I would gladly give my life. I wondered if I was really willing to die for Bug. I didn’t know. I only knew that I didn’t want anybody to get AIDS. Not anybody.

  Xiaohua called up to say she wanted to pay my way so that I could go to Hong Kong with Bug. She said, Think about it. We can’t let him go off on such terrifying business all by himself. He’d probably crash his car as soon as he found out his results. But then Xiaochun said, I don’t want you to take this wrong, but I mean, if he really does have it, it would be better for him if he did what Xiaohua just mentioned! When we talked about AIDS, we never actually used the word. It was as though we were afraid even to mention it, and so we always said things like “has it” or “doesn’t have it.”

  Bug said, I don’t want Xiaohua’s help. He said he didn’t want to see her, because whenever one of her friends got into dire straits, she treated it like a math problem; it was just about numbers. What he really needed now was his friends and his mother, because when he went to bed each night, he never knew where he was going to be when he woke up. He knew it was stupid for him to think this way—things wouldn’t happen that fast�
��but he couldn’t help worrying. He said, You can’t understand what it’s like unless you’ve been there. Words just can’t describe it. He said, I don’t need any drugs anymore. I feel high every day. And I’ve concluded that I’m an idiot, because there are so many things that I don’t understand. I feel as blissfully ignorant as that little dog of yours.

  Sometimes Bug was able to forget all about it. He would preen in front of the mirror, just as he always had, and he’d sing and play guitar. But these were the times that left me feeling the most despair. I thought that since I was his best friend, it was my responsibility to make arrangements for him to go get tested. But I also had to think about what I was going to do if he turned out to be positive.

  I felt I had to find a way to help him record his own album. He’d always wanted to turn “Surrounded on All Sides,” the general’s swan song from Farewell My Concubine, into a rock opera, and he’d even lined up most of the instruments. He could play drums, guitar, and bass, and we had pipa players too. The only studio that Bug had ever set foot in was the one I had at home. Saining had set up a recording studio in my apartment, but I was sure it wasn’t well-enough equipped for a project like “Surrounded on All Sides.”

  I got in touch with Xiao’er. Xiao’er had a pretty decent recording studio of his own, and even though he was a lousy recording engineer, he was a great guy. When I told him solemnly that Bug was terminally ill and that we all had to help him, the first thing he said was, Is it AIDS? I said, What makes you think that? He said, The crowd you hang out with is pretty high risk, y’know? I said, Will you help him or not? He said, As long as the studio is free, it’s all the same to me. The only thing is that making recordings isn’t easy, y’know? I said, What are you trying to say? Are you going to help or not? He said, What I’m trying to say is this: Are you trying to kill him? How can you think about music at a time like this? You ought to be thinking about getting him treated. Or sending him overseas and marrying him off to a foreigner so that he can get foreign residence and get cured over there. That’s what you should be thinking about. If you were sick, would you sit around dreaming about making fucking records? You must be out of your mind! Out of your fucking mind. At one point I thought I had AIDS, and I just wanted to go away to a beautiful little island somewhere and wait to die. But later on I found out I wasn’t sick after all. I said, How did you know you didn’t have it? He said, It turned out I had an allergy that made me break out in a rash. That’s all it was. It was easy to treat, and it definitely wasn’t AIDS.