The Noodle Maker

by Ma Jian

  But as soon as she attached herself to her character in the play, her spirits lifted a little. She didn’t realise that writing is a meaningless act of vanity, and that she was merely patching a few people and events together in order make her life seem more interesting. She took the lead role of her play, and through her eyes, she was able see how stupid and naive men are. She wondered how these poor souls could ever hope to find a ‘graceful companion’ among a generation of women who had grown up reading Analysis of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat and The Fall of Chiang Kaishek. Today’s women are corrupted. How can you expect a girl who has grown up reading Selected Writings of Mao Zedong to be cultivated, elegant or refined?

  ‘Men force us to wear these fripperies,’ she wrote to herself. ‘When they fall in love, they give us jewellery, dress us up, and allow us to twist them around our little fingers. They never see the vulgar thoughts that lie hidden beneath our smiles. All my tastes and ideas are formed for their benefit. They fall in love with the woman they have created from us.’

  She remembered the wolf-man featured in a television documentary. A few days after she had seen the programme, the wolf-man appeared to her again, popping up between a man and woman who were locked in an embrace. Later, she saw it peering furtively from between two brick houses, from under the brim of a little girl’s hat, from inside a bus and from behind the glass pane of a shop window. The wolf-man could only stand on all fours. She was always terrified it might appear one day between the lines of her script.

  Slowly it dawned on her that her character was planning something, something she would only find out about after the event had taken place. In her script, she placed herself in situations she would never have experienced in real life (although later she realised that these situations were in fact variations of events in her past). In this way she was able to detach her spirit from her body and place it in a position from which she could learn new things about herself and discover how others behaved towards her. She was like the wolf-man, crouching in a dark corner, staring at herself.

  First she realised that the innocence she had projected in the past was a sham. She discovered that she was constantly scheming, and that when she was swooning in the smell of fresh flowers and the sight of blue skies, she always had one eye firmly open. Even when she was immersed in her writing, she never managed to close that eye. In her play she slowly revealed the ugliness a woman prefers to keep hidden: the bad breath that lurks behind her tidy white teeth; the lock of hair that appears to be falling casually over her face but is in fact deliberately concealing a wide chin; the silence she adopts to mask her ignorance; the loose clothes she wears to hide her flat chest. As she revealed these secrets, Su Yun suddenly caught sight of a ball of light, the mysterious glow that shines after a suicide attempt.

  When the first scene of the second act was completed, she was confident she could finish the play, and began to look more closely at herself. First she analysed her reactions to men’s gestures, body heat, sticky fluids, and the sounds and smells that issue from their internal organs. She remembered the first time she saw a man’s dark and dirty testicles, and the wrinkled stump that dangles between. Then she remembered how this man had pressed down upon her, and how the hole whose use she had been unaware of until then was suddenly filled with his hideously gyrating flesh. After she’d slept with him, she knew she would be incapable of feeling shy or innocent again. When she let the next man smear his sticky white mess across her thighs, she felt dirty and abused. She realised she was no longer a child, and that in order to appear like other women, she would have to walk outside with a smile on her face even though she felt as though she had been wiped down with an oily cloth. She understood that she would have to start pretending, and that this is what everyone did. Everyone has to learn to hide their feelings and get on with life.

  As time passed, she grew accustomed to the slimy male fluids and the various ways men moved: stomping down the streets with their heads in the air, thrusting back and forth during intercourse, chomping noisily at their food at mealtimes. She learned about men’s cruelty and weakness, and became familiar with the smell of their feet and dirty plimsolls, the stench of tobacco on their teeth.

  ‘They invaded every part of me,’ she wrote. ‘They wanted my chastity, but they didn’t respect it. I wanted their love, but they just pulled out their dicks and squirted their sperm over me. They destroyed all my dreams. Where can I hope to find love now? They have polluted all the sources. Just because they have stolen my innocence from me, does that mean I must lay myself bare and expose every part of myself to them? If I don’t put on an act, how will I ever find love? Men are no better than dogs. They believe that when they lift their legs to piss, the ground beneath them becomes their territory. If I don’t conceal my true nature, how can I satisfy their desire for feminine restraint and refinement?’

  As she progressed with her suicide plan, she caught a glimpse of her future, and she felt both calm and afraid. She was nervous that someone might guess her state of mind, so before she stepped outside, she always made sure to dress up like a woman who was passionately in love with life. ‘All suffering is man-made,’ she said, trying to console herself ‘The sublime state of confusion is only possible when your heart is numb. Suicide is the only permanent cure for despair.’ She forbade herself from thinking about her birth or her death. She knew that her birth and death were travelling in different directions, but heading for the same goal.

  When she decided that suicide was the natural way to finish the play, she tore up the earlier scenes she had been working on and started again from scratch. She hoped that the new one-act play she came up with would bring her life to a glorious and radiant end. She dedicated the new script to the love she had once believed in, hoping that this would soothe her broken heart. She telephoned the Open Door Club, a venue filled with the type of liberal-minded people who had appeared since the launch of the reform policy. She wanted to use this club to stage the final climax of her life.

  In the centre of the newly built club was a large basketball court. The space below the spectators’ seats was occupied by ping-pong rooms, rehearsal rooms, shops, the offices of an association for the handicapped, a social club for retired cadres, a local family planning centre, a senior citizens’ dating agency, a wholesale outlet for Victory Biscuits, and a tax-collection point. Walking through the club, one would bump into unemployed youths, company managers, artists, the two midgets who danced with the club’s singer every night, painters on the look-out for beautiful models, and women in search of their prince on a white horse.

  A few months before, the club had hosted the first beauty contest to take place in the town since the launch of the Open Door Policy. When the young women glided across the stage, a beautiful scent flowed from their thighs, nipples, stomach, feet, backs and buttocks, and filled the competition hall. The first part of the contest was a quiz on the memorandums issued at the Ninth Party Conference. The eventual winner had spent six months studying the documents, and got every question right. The last test was the swimwear competition. The women waltzed delicately across the stage, as the choir behind them sang: ‘Let us follow the advice of the Party Central Committee, and go to the rivers, lakes and seas to perform our morning exercises …’

  Inside the club, people could gain a taste of what it feels like to travel abroad. They would swagger through the corridors, exchanging looks of smug satisfaction. The shops below the spectators’ seats had American cigarettes and bars of soap whose wrappers were printed with pictures of foreign women in their underwear. The soap wasn’t for sale, it was merely displayed to bring in the customers. Young men would enter the shop pretending to want to buy something, just so they could lean over the glass counter and stare at the smooth shoulders of the lady with golden hair, then with palpitating hearts, lower their gaze to her ample breasts and the flesh-coloured bra that covered them. With each new campaign against ‘Bourgeois Liberalisation’, the soap wrapper was as
sessed by censors from the Information Bureau and Propaganda Bureau, but always managed to pass the test. You could say that the wrapper lay on the boundary between the pornographic and the healthy.

  In the club’s video rooms and coffee bars, members swapped Foreign Exchange Certificates and ration coupons. The club became the centre of the town’s black market trade. One could find coupons for peanut oil, as well as the diesel coupons and national treasury bonds that were introduced after the launch of the Open Door Policy. Two tickets for the monthly screening of films marked ‘Internal Viewing Only’ (which only a select group of cadres were allowed to ‘Watch and Criticise’) could be acquired in exchange for a permit to buy goods at the Friendship Store, which was generally reserved for foreign visitors. If one had recently embarked on a new love affair, two of these tickets would guarantee a night of passion. These films had not yet been vetted by the Central Committee, so it is easy to imagine the kind of scenes they contained. In the coffee bar, one could also exchange lithium batteries for Marlboro cigarettes, a bottle of foreign wine for a bicycle, a copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover for the second volume of the erotic classic, Jin Ping Mei, a hundred treasury bonds for a jar of Nescafe, and top grade rice coupons for an advertisement bearing the picture of a blonde woman in a swimsuit. One could also procure photocopies of the application forms and correspondence addresses of every large university in America, as well as a list of the names and telephone numbers of the staff of Beijing’s American Embassy. These of course had to be paid for in Foreign Exchange Certificates, as indeed did anything with remotely ‘foreign’ associations. With a wad of FECs and a couple of purchasing permits, you could wander into the Friendship Store without being stopped by the guards. If you were lucky, you might even be able to rub shoulders with a foreigner inside the store, and catch a whiff of their intoxicating bourgeois fragrance.

  Su Yun knew that the painter often visited the Open Door Club to watch the various talent and beauty contests that were held inside.

  She made an appointment with the club’s manager and turned up at his office at the time agreed. He was the son of a commanding officer of the old Red Army. Although he was in his forties and had a small, monkey-like chin, the continuously changing lines on his brow suggested he was at the forefront of the reform process. During the Cultural Revolution, he was sent to prison because his father had been a lackey of the treacherous marshal, Peng Dehuai. His wrists were left crippled by the handcuffs, and since his aunt was living abroad at the time, he was accused of being an undercover agent, and subjected to further torture. However, after the Open Door Policy was launched, foreign connections and pockets stuffed with FECs gave him the freedom to saunter in and out of the Friendship Store whenever he pleased. After the posthumous rehabilitation of his father, he used the compensation money to set up the club, and threw himself into his new career with enormous enthusiasm.

  ‘I want to take part in your “Everyone is Happy” show,’ Su Yun told him, lowering herself into her seat. ‘I will perform the most innovative act this town has ever seen.’

  ‘You’re from the Jiefang District art centre, am I right?’ the manager asked.

  ‘The newspapers have reported that this act is very popular in Japan.’

  The manager’s affection for all things foreign had turned the hairs of his beard blond; his small blue-black eyes were a harmonious fusion of East and West. These eyes were now clearly drawn to Su Yun’s larger-than-average breasts.

  ‘My act will achieve record-breaking ticket sales for your club,’ she stated calmly.

  ‘I’ve seen you on stage,’ the manager said, suddenly remembering her performance of the patriotic shepherdess.

  ‘I don’t expect any share of your profits. All I want is one free ticket.’

  ‘What kind of act do you have in mind?’ The manager wasn’t interested in her answer, he just wanted an excuse to continue talking to her. In fact the acts for his ‘Everyone is Happy’ show had been finalised months before.

  ‘What type of background music can you provide?’ she asked.

  ‘Even if your act is accepted by the censors, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until next year to perform it.’

  ‘That won’t do. I must perform it within the next three days,’ she said, staring at the beady eyes behind his imported glasses.

  ‘So what is this act then?’ he asked.

  ‘Suicide,’ she said.

  ‘Suicide?’ The manager hadn’t heard of this act before. He had to pause and think for a while. ‘And it’s the latest act from Japan, you say.’

  ‘Yes, there have been articles about it in the magazines.’

  ‘Is there real death involved, or is it just performance art?’ the manager asked, removing his glasses.

  ‘It’s real suicide, in front of an audience.’ After these words left her mouth, she was disappointed by how flat they sounded.

  It was a hot day, and the downy hairs on Su Yun’s shoulders were drowning in a thin layer of sweat. A fine rash had erupted on her skin, and her breasts felt awkward and heavy. Her slightly flabby stomach bulged through her tight white skirt like a lump of steamed rice. Sensing a sour dampness seep from her lower body, she crossed her legs, exposing her beautifully shaped calves.

  ‘How could the audience watch you meet your death without wanting to rush onto the stage to rescue you? he asked, breathing in the milky smells wafting from her body.

  At last she had succeeded in letting her play precede her life. When she got home, she took out her notebook, and wrote down everything that was said during the meeting.

  MANAGER: You will probably need to register first at the Suicide Prevention Centre.

  SU SU: They all know me there already. Anyway, they’re so overworked they are ready to commit suicide themselves!

  MANAGER: Why not just pretend to kill yourself? You don’t have to do it for real the first time.

  SU SU: No one can tell the difference between what is real and fake any more. How else would I have got away with all my fake suicide attempts?

  MANAGER: I spent four years in jail without ever once considering suicide.

  SU SU: You’re older than me. You lack a modern con sciousness. Do you know that in foreign countries there are nudist beaches already?

  [The manager is dumb-struck by this astounding news from far-off lands. He stands up and walks from stage left to stage right. The volume of the background disco music gradually increases.]

  MANAGER: Which college did you attend?

  SU SU: The teacher’s college. I majored in politics.

  MANAGER: That’s one of the country’s finest institutes of higher education. My son graduated from there too.

  SU SU: It’s not an institute of higher education – it’s just a school where people are locked up and taught to know their place.

  MANAGER: The teachers are excellent.

  SU SU: It would be more accurate to call them prison officers.

  MANAGER: Death is a terrifying thing.

  SU SU: Mr Manager – I have seen bare wheatfields after the harvest.

  [She shakes her head emotively. Her passionate expression is in stark contrast to the beseeching demeanour she wore when she first entered the manager’s office. She lights a cigarette, takes a deep drag and smiles dreamily as the smoke streams from her nostrils.]

  MANAGER: I’m afraid that I haven’t yet received notification from the authorities that the term ‘Mr’ can be employed in the workplace.

  SU SU: Didn’t you hear Premier Deng use the term ‘Mr Manager’ at the state banquet? My death won’t

  change a thing. The air will still be here for you to breathe. If you understood that you were a mere grain of dust in this life, you would know that suicide isn’t a private matter – it needs an audience. That’s the only reason I’ve come to see you today. If it were simply a matter of killing myself, I wouldn’t need to go to so much trouble.

  MANAGER: Have you just broken up with someone?

&
nbsp; [A light shines onto the backdrop, creating a sunset on the painted sky.]

  SU SU: I only came here to talk to you about the show. I should be on my way now, Mr Manager.

  MANAGER: Can I invite you for a cup of coffee in the club?

  SU SU: If it’s to continue our discussion about the show.

  MANAGER: Providing that you write out a will, and that your act promotes the message that socialist civilisation is on a forward march, then –

  SU SU: You’ll let me die right there on stage! Do you promise?

  MANAGER: I’m still not entirely clear about your plans. What exactly will this act involve?

  SU SU: I will hire a wild tiger from the zoo. It will chase me across the stage, I will run away from it, and in the end I will die between its jaws.

  MANAGER: Aren’t you afraid of tigers?

  SU SU: I was born in the Year of the Tiger, but of course I’m as afraid of tigers as anyone else.

  MANAGER: You’re incredible! I will let you do it. I too was born in the Year of the Tiger.

  SU SU: So you’ve lived twenty-four years longer than me.

  At this point, the manager suddenly came to his senses. He stared at the ‘dead’ person sitting before him, and asked her: ‘How much money do you want for this?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘I will give my life away for free. If any part of my body happens to be of interest to you though, you’re free to make use of it tonight. Tomorrow it will be good for nothing.’

  The wrinkles on the manager’s forehead suddenly smoothed out.

  Three days later, a notice unlike any other that had appeared before was nailed to the entrance post of the Open Door Club.