by Anchee Min
He is a good lover, not always in a hurry to possess her. He takes her out and tries to relax her. He takes her to galleries, antique shops, bookstores, concerts and poetry readings. They look at their reflections when passing the street windows. They are a handsome couple. Both tall and slim.
She appreciates it that he never makes fun of her mistakes. She knows that sometimes she overplays her cleverness. She appreciates it when he goes out of his way to ignore it when she lies out of embarrassment. Tang Nah is critical of others but never of Lan Ping. He never says, How terrible you don't even know who Su Dong-po is. He explains patiently that Su is a famous ancient poet and then reads her the work. Then he buys tickets to visit Su Dong-po's birthplace and gives her a lecture on the way.
The white-colored cliffs shoot out of the horizon while the Yangzi River rushes toward the east at its bottom. Around the cliffs there is a narrow path for climbing. The view steals my breath away. At the bottom, there is a little wooden boat and a fisherman for hiring. As we sit in the boat looking up, the cliffs seem to be pressing air back into my lungs. The sky is magnificently clear and blue. At noon we are on top of the cliff. As we look down from a bird's perspective, the boat is smaller than an ant. The comparison between greatness and smallness gives me a sense of life's range and depth.
This is how I fall in love with Tang Nah. I begin to see everything through his eyes. A new world that begins with the story of Su Dong-po. Tang Nah is comparing Su's encounter with the ancient court with our current government. The way A Doll's House was forced to shut down. The way my role was taken away from me.
A group of court officials made their dislike of the poet known to the emperor, Tang Nah explains. They reported that they had discovered in Su's verses disrespect and provocation. Playing on the emperor's doubts, Su was sentenced to a lifetime in exile. The poet must take leave of his family forever. He is dragged through his hometown to enter upon a long bitter journey toward the western desert. Imagine facing the endless interrogation and torture by local executioners. Imagine all his friends turning away from him in fear of the government.
No pain could ever be greater than the isolation and loneliness of the heart, Tang Nah continues. Yet, alone the poet was alive with his own spirit. It was then that the idea of the great verse Writing on the Red Wall was conceived. It was born in despair. It burst out in the middle of suicidal thoughts.
The girl looks up at Tang Nah in awe as he explains maturity.
It is like the radiance of the sun but not as bright and hurtful to the eyes. It is a sound that is pleasant and resonant but not sugar-filled. It is a kind of ease. It doesn't demand attention. There is no longer a need to please. It is the point at which one no longer begs for another's understanding. It is a smile that forgives all. It is one's peacefulness, one's remoteness toward the world of materials. It is a height that one doesn't have to climb to achieve. It is when the passion-dough is ready for steam, when the shrill sound of a mountain wind gives way to a gentle moan and the streams gather into a lake.
One evening we are strolling after dinner at a local restaurant. Suddenly there is noise. A block away, on the side street, someone is calling for help. As we get near we see a big-shouldered Russian hitting a thin rickshawman. The Russian complains that the man has asked for too much fare. There is a crowd but no one speaks for the rickshawman.
We watch for a while. Tang Nah becomes upset. Why don't you two talk and come up with a reasonable price? Tang Nah goes up to the Russian. He demands that he stop hitting the rickshawman.
The Russian says, Get out of my face!
No, replies Tang Nah. No paying no leaving.
I worry that the Russian will turn around and hit Tang Nah. It is what he will obviously do next. But Tang Nah stands firm. At that very moment I feel my love for him. A perfect hero.
The rickshawman is unable to speak clearly. His mouth is bleeding. The Russian speaks English. He insists on leaving without paying.
How about five yuan? Tang Nah pitches his voice. I know the area. The distance where the ride began and ended would cost at least eight yuan. Let's be fair.
One dime, the Russian offers insultingly. He throws a dime on the ground.
Suddenly the rickshawman rises and jumps on the Russian. With the help of the crowd, Tang Nah and I push both men to the nearest police station.
We assume that the rickshawman will get justice at the police station. But we are disappointed. Who gives you the right to violate a foreigner? the police chief yells at Tang Nah. He might be an investor and we can't do enough to make him feel at home.
Are you a Chinese? Tang Nah yells. It's your obligation to help another Chinese when he is mistreated! Tang Nah's whole frame shakes when the police chief frees the Russian and fines the rickshawman.
For a long time Tang Nah is unable to speak.
We continue our stroll. But our mood has changed completely. The smell of the gardenias is no longer sweet and the night scene is no longer soothing.
There has to be a revolution, Tang Nah mutters finally. Chiang Kai-shek's government is completely corrupt. It has to be brought down or China has no hope. I shall write about this incident in a play and you will perform it.
Suddenly we stop walking. We embrace and kiss passionately in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night and in the middle of the pain.
***
I think I am ready. I am over with Yu Qiwei and the rest of the mess. I am beginning a new relationship with the man I totally adore. Yet I am afraid. I can't proceed. There is this little voice speaking in the back of my head, in a panicky tone. It tells me that I am about to hurt myself.
I am in Tang Nah's arms. I ask him to hold me tight, tighter. I ask him to convince me.
What are you afraid of? He is in tears, he can't stand my pain. You will never be hurt again, I promise.
I am a revolutionary! The strange phrase pops out of my mouth. My voice is blunt, as if it were a statement of caution.
Tang Nah makes no response, he is confused.
I too. It is odd. I have no explanation. There must be a reason. There must be tension building already. Tension that will break us apart even as it pulls us together. I speak in order not to be tempted, in order to refuse. I am sure this is it. My senses try to tell me that there is a mismatch. A gap between us that is impossible to fill. It happens right then, right in the middle of novelty. But it is no use. No one can escape fate. We must come together to share this path, to share the view of the gingko-nut boy and his armful of light.
A few days after the Russian incident we sign a lease on a small apartment on the north side of Shanghai. We move in and begin to live together.
6
SHE DOESN'T REMEMBER how the trouble started. It began slowly, crept up on them and then there it was. She assumes that there is too much heat in both of their personalities and that this has begun to melt their relationship down. They battle over what seems to be nothing yet everything. Bills, jobs, habits, differences in opinions. She knows another reason—she is not getting any offers from the studio and Tang Nah's connections are not helping. She is frustrated that he not only doesn't help to fix her trouble, he doesn't take her trouble seriously.
You can always survive by doing something else, he suggests. Be a secretary or a nurse, for example.
She feels like a peacock being forced into a hen cage. She tries not to argue back. She tries to make herself understand that Tang Nah has troubles of his own and needs support. Because of his radical views his paper recently became the target of the government. As a result Tang Nah was fired as the paper's key writer. At first he felt proud that he had stood up for his beliefs. But lately his job hunting hasn't been successful. She has tried to be supportive. He pretends to be unconcerned and shrugs her off.
Before my eyes Tang Nah slips into misery. No one will hire him and he is becoming short on money. He shouts at himself. And yet he still goes to restaurants. He can't live without style. He borrows mon
ey to buy me gifts. He has to feel rich and capable. He continues to throw big parties to entertain his friends.
I am scared of going into debt, scared of Tang Nah's desire to keep spending. I pull money out of our joint account and hide my savings. One day I am caught and he accuses me of betraying our love.
We haven't spoken to each other for two days. I feel guilty and try to make up by cooking dinner. I prepare his favorite food, pot-stickers. I do it carefully, making sure each pot-sticker turns a perfect golden brown.
He lies on the bed, staring at the ceiling and smoking.
Dinner is ready, I call.
He gets off the bed and comes to the table.
I serve him, putting a pair of chopsticks, a napkin and a little bowl of vinegar in front of him.
He pushes away the plates and begins to speak in a strange voice. Craving for fame is the enemy of happiness. There is nothing worse. You are losing your best qualities. You are influenced by the worst of Shanghai. You have bought its superficiality. I am worried about you. You are destroying yourself. You can't see it because of your poor education. I feel sad and sorry for you. You play smart at small situations but you lose the big battles. You are losing. It is like covering your ears while stealing a bell—you think no one is going to hear you. You know what you are turning into? A philistine. Yes, you are.
She tries to ignore him. She stuffs her mouth with pot-stickers and chews viciously. She tries to think that he is taking his frustration out on her and doesn't mean harm. He has nowhere else to deposit his anger. She has to be there for him. It's time to prove her love. He needs her to hold his trash. That is what she should do for him.
She endures until she reaches her limit.
He continues. I am beginning to believe what my friends say about you. You have come from a small place. I am trying to grow a flower out of a cooked seed.
At this point her rage rises. The impact chokes her. You are my lover, she says, pointing her finger at him, her tears pouring. I can bear nasty rumor, insulting gossip and mean criticism. I can hold up a falling sky, but not your words.
It hurts her too much to go on. She picks up the pot-sticker plate, carries it into the bathroom. She dumps the pot-stickers into the toilet and flushes. She shuts herself in and sobs.
He comes, knocks and begs her to open it. It's all because of my frustration. I apologize. I am afraid. I fear that you will be disappointed and you will leave me.
At midnight, she opens the bathroom door and comes out. She tells him that she can't stay with him anymore. She is unable to erase what he has said from her head.
He looks at her as she starts packing. She takes out her jackets, pants and shoes, her toothbrush and towels. She has a small suitcase and she doesn't have much to pack.
Is this the way you punish me? he says bitterly. You know I have no strength to resist you. All my friends predicted that. But no one can talk me out of loving you. I thought you cared, but ... You don't give our love a second chance. You don't. He breaks down.
She has never seen a man sob like this. His whole frame shakes like cucumber frames beaten down by a storm. She quits packing.
After a long while he stops sobbing. He gets up, goes to the door and opens it widely. Don't bother with me. Just go.
The room is quiet. The water pipe in the toilet tank has stopped filling.
She gets up and walks to the door and closes it. After that she looks at him and waits.
Ping, he calls.
She stretches out her arms.
It is a night of tears and promises. We swear to never let anything get in the way of our love. The next day he is confident again. He goes out job hunting and comes back with flowers in his hand. No good news, darling, but love is the best news, isn't it?
I smile and hug him. I tell him about my news—no roles but I got myself a part-time job, a production assistant.
The days go on. Weeks and months. Still no good news for Tang Nah. To avoid embarrassment he hangs out late. He comes home drunk and doesn't get up until noon. He parties with friends endlessly.
The world stinks, he says to me. It absolutely stinks.
Dan and Junli continue to embrace Tang Nah. They listen to him with pleasure. They put no pressure on him and he leans on their support. He even talks enthusiastically about Dan's new role and Junli's new movie. He makes it sound like his own success.
What about you? I ask. My tone is sharp and I don't intend to hide my disappointment.
His parties and friends become irritating to me. I can't stand them. Tang Nah has run out of tricks to solve the trouble building between us. To avoid conflict I start to close myself. We withdraw affection and rarely make love. When we do, it is a way to stop a fight, a way to escape reality. But it is losing its magic.
Her own frustration comes to bite her now. None of her auditions are picked up. One day her temper bursts. They are attending the opening of a play, Empress Wu. She and Tang Nah have come with friends. She is fashionably dressed in an indigo-blue full-length silk gown with a thin scarf around her neck of the same fabric. Tang Nah is in a white Western suit. They look handsome together. At the beginning she seems to be having a good time. Empress Wu is an experimental play. It is the first time Chinese actors recite prose instead of poetry. Empress Wu is depicted as a woman of greatness. The audience cheers loudly when the curtain descends.
It is at the reception that Lan Ping loses control. She speaks harshly. The performance is much too dull in my opinion. It lacks energy. The actress is unfit. There is no sincerity. She is not acting, she is a young monk chanting—with her mouth, not her heart.
People are shocked. But Lan Ping keeps going. In her animation her scarf falls off the shoulders. She keeps picking it up but the scarf keeps falling. Finally she leaves it off. She continues to criticize, her voice gets louder and louder. She wraps her fingers with the scarf nervously. Tang Nah comes. He pulls her gently to the side. Come on, you are tired.
Let me finish!
Listen, I am a critic. And it's my job to comment and I think it is a good show.
Oh, Tang Nah, you are a lousy critic and that's why you are not hired.
At this point Tang Nah shoots back. He says what hits a nerve, says the words that split them forever. You know what, Lan Ping? The only reason you are angry is because you didn't get to play Empress Wu!
***
For Lan Ping the winter of 1936 starts with slammed doors and tears. The couple has decided to separate and each is renting a different place. Although they try to come back together again, there is a wall between them. Mentally she tells herself that she is finished with Tang Nah, but physically she is unable to break the habit—their bodies depend on each other. After every fight she goes back to him only to run away the next day.
One night he comes to see her with roses to congratulate her on a new stage role she has been offered. It is a small role, but it gives the two a reason to meet. After the door has been closed only a few minutes, an upstairs neighbor hears Lan Ping's cry, followed by sounds of furniture being smashed. Fearing for Lan Ping's life the neighbor rushes down and breaks in. The lovers are at each other's throats.
On stage, I play a working-class girl who is at a turning point in her life. A girl very much like me, from a small town, confused by big city living. During the performance I take the opportunity to weep for myself. I am ill. My headache is severe, but I can't leave the stage. I have no other place to go.
I can't close my eyes. If I do, there is Tang Nah.
The night of March 8 I suffer from the desire to see him again. I am risking my health. My fever is getting worse. Maybe this is why I want to see him. My sense that I might be dying. Maybe I will be relieved—my body is doing the job on behalf of my heart.
I deliver myself to his apartment even as my head keeps telling me no. He lives on Nan-yang Boulevard in Chingan District. It is a cultured, upscale neighborhood. A place that suits his fashionable tastes. What am I doing here? I am out of my
self. He has given me the keys, but doesn't expect me—I have declined his invitations. I have told him that it is not in my character to look back.
I break my own promise this time. I want to let go, to speak with him for the last time, to love him for the last time. On stage it would be the farewell scene. A heartbreaking but liberating act.
Her body is shivering, sweating from fever. She longs for his arms. She turns the key and enters. He is not in. The room is neat, as she had imagined. Everything is in its place. Shoes lined up behind the door, dishes piled up in baskets. Magazines and books stacked up, dust-free. A window is left open slightly. The white curtain moves with the breeze. She has only been in this room once before. It was two months ago.
There is a book on his desk. Something sticks out from its pages. Letters. She can't help her curiosity and decides to take a look. Two letters. One is a stranger's handwriting. A female-fan letter admiring one of his past columns. At the end she flirts. It is sweet but stupid. The writer says that she can't wait, has been dreaming about him. Says he is meant for her. She begs for a chance to meet him. The signature is like a dragon-dance, shows that she is not well educated. The paper smells fragrant with the scent of wild lilacs.