Leave Me Alone

by Murong Xuecun

  Li Liang took a lot of photographs on his nostalgia tour of the university, many of them outside our dormitory building. I looked at them, and each small scene reminded me of forgotten times: us sat outside the dormitory getting drunk; another time, when we came back at midnight and made a human ladder to climb the wall with moonlight on our backs. We took pictures outside the building and sang ‘The Internationale’ and Panther’s ‘No Place to Hide’:

  No place to hide for shame, don’t you feel lonely

  you have been rejected by people before

  but you never have any feelings

  I have no place to hide for shame.

  Zhao Yue was in these memories too. She would stand under the Chinese parasol tree with her schoolbag and a lunch box, waiting for me to come downstairs to eat, or to make out in the woods.

  Li Liang said that our dorm was still as filthy as ever. There were posters of naked women on the walls, smelly socks on the floor. The new generation of university students still debated our old topics: poetry, love, and their brilliant futures. In Big Brother’s bed was a new generation Big Brother lookalike, and in my bed was a fat guy from Lanzhou. The woods that once witnessed my seductions had been levelled and there was a tennis court there now. Zhang Jie, who worked in the university office, had given birth to a 4-kilogram baby boy. The literature society newspaper had changed its name to Sound of the Whirlpool. Teacher Lin who taught poetry had died, and his wife had burnt all of his manuscripts. Among the remains was found a blackened piece of paper with one legible line: The journey of life is long, there is no place to rest.

  Li Liang said, ‘You have to admit, we’ve all degenerated.’

  Li Liang, the recovering addict, looked sallow. His face was stubbly. His voice was hoarse and squeaky, as if a pig-gelder was gripping his crotch. I didn’t agree with what he’d said. There was no degeneration. The stars were still the stars, the moon remained the moon. Walking in the river of life didn’t make us taller or shorter; our ups and downs happened on the surface of the water and were beyond our control. Twenty years ago I’d wanted to be a scientist, but I didn’t believe that the Chen Zhong of that time was any nobler than the Chen Zhong of today. As I stepped out of the door, I thought that ambitions were like soap bubbles. After they burst, their true ephemeral nature was revealed. Li Liang’s mistake was to mistake the bubbles for life itself.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Zeng Jiang from Dachuan County came to Chengdu on a business trip, and I told Fatty Dong I’d have to spend time entertaining him. Honestly, I both envied and despised those sales agents who worked on a commission basis. I envied them because they earned more than me and the girls on their arms were therefore more beautiful. But I couldn’t stand how coarse and shallow they were, especially Old Lai. Quite apart from him spending all his money on whores, you never heard anything uplifting come out of his mouth. He called himself ‘semen-sprinkling god’ and boasted foully how he’d stuffed his ‘gun’ into girls from thirty-one provinces, as well as conducting ‘international trade’ with Russia. The last time he came to Chengdu, we went to a nightclub. He grabbed a girl and bragged about his personal dimensions, using gestures to illustrate: 2 inches wide at the top, weight about 7 pounds, and more than 154 square centimetres. His talk was so unbelievably foul that my eyes nearly popped out and the girls gagged and fled the scene. Old Lai was satisfied with himself, believing that his weapon was supreme and he’d won a battle without even taking to the battlefield.

  Zeng Jiang, however, had the style of a scholar merchant. He wore smart suits, expensive shoes and a big smile. Any comparison was embarrassing but he was the same age as me, twenty-eight. He was a graduate of Shanghai Tongji University and able to talk intelligently on any topic. I would often say to him, ‘You’re a walking encyclopaedia’.

  Once when we were walking around Wu Hou Temple, a couple of foreigners asked us for directions. He conversed with them in fluent English, while I stood at his side feeling like a loser. I was poor at foreign languages, always confusing singular and plural, unable to distinguish between tenses. On one of the occasions when Old Lai conducted ‘international trade’, he asked me to help him with introductions. He only knew one English phrase: ‘fa-ke you’, which I’d taught him, for use when he was fleeing the scene of battle. Anyway, that time in the Pushkin Hotel, my mind was a blank as I found myself approaching a detachment of beautiful Russian girls. I decided to try flattery, but I was careless with my verb and said, ‘You is a beautiful girl.’ They laughed at me.

  As we left Wu Hou Temple, I thought angrily that my life had been wasted. I’d accomplished nothing, my wife had left me, and I had debts. The knowledge I’d acquired at university had turned out to be useless. What could I do now?

  Zeng Jiang didn’t notice my dark expression as he continued talking about how he wanted to go to the UK to study. I felt as if I’d somehow been robbed.

  At that month’s sales fair our Sichuan branch’s achievements ranked first in the whole company. A triumphant Fatty Dong returned to Head Office to receive the garlands we had earned. Before he went, he held a short meeting during which he boasted that he was a master strategist, surpassing Zhuge Liang of the Three Kingdoms period. My lungs felt swollen with indignation as I listened to him; if he’d had to rely on his own pig brain there was no way we’d have got this result. Our success was down to two factors: good coordination on adverts and seizing our opportunity.

  Lanfei company — our rivals — sneakily held their sales fair on 15 October, two days earlier than we’d expected. The instant I got hold of this inside information I applied to Head Office to bring our plans forward. I pressed the logistics centre to get the stock ready, then summoned Fatty Dong from his wife’s side to convene an urgent meeting. We talked till three in the morning, until finally we’d decided a detailed plan. By that time this so-called ‘master of strategy’ was only capable of nodding his head; he didn’t have so much as a fart to offer.

  That was the second day after Li Liang had gone missing and leaving the office, I’d noticed the moon scattering irregular beams in the alleys between the clusters of buildings. Apart from the occasional shooting star, the whole city was still and silent. I’d slowly made my way back to my deserted home thinking of Li Liang, my heart like an expanse of empty desert — endless, solitary, not even a blade of grass growing there.

  The 24th of October was my twenty-ninth birthday. My mother called me at work and told me to come home for dinner. She said she’d cooked several dishes and my father had already poured the wine. I laughed soundlessly. Although I didn’t know why, I felt slightly hurt.

  That night, though, we had a happy meal together. My mother’s beef was hot enough to bring tears to our eyes, but we wolfed it down. The old man challenged me to a drinking contest, saying that tonight he would drink me under the table. Heroically I managed two glasses to his every one, downing as many as six doubles. Someone had got my father the wine wholesale from Quanxing factory and it was powerful. Soon I felt warm from head to toe, my brain flooded with a drunk self-satisfaction. Despite his crushing defeat my father bragged that thirty years ago he’d been more than a match for two, even three, rabbits. Everyone laughed loudly and my nephew snorted until he spewed his dinner all over himself.

  Before my sister gave birth to her child, she and her husband used to argue a lot. When my sister’s husband first started out, he was just a small-time reporter but his ambition was great. He wanted to be a famous journalist. He went everywhere, day and night, with his concealed camera. His unit had a dormitory, but my sister said she’d rather die than let him live there — it was damp and depressing, only fit for storing radishes, she said. So we all spent two years squeezed together at our parents’ place. My sister and her husband were in the room next door to me. Often in the middle of the night their iron-framed bed would shake and clank. One night it disturbed me so much that I leapt up and banged the wall in protest, causing my ‘famous journalist’ brother
-in-law to be red-faced for days. At one stage, their relationship reached crisis point — probably some kind of something-year itch. They’d argue eighty times a day, then my brother-in-law would storm out and my sister would weep silently. Around the time of the spring festival they had another big fight. My sister was pregnant then, and was trembling all over with rage. She shook her fist at him, shouting, ‘You’re immature.’ My brother-in-law leaned against the wall, not saying a word. I protested that my sister was being unreasonable, that nagging was wrong. My sister got so angry that she beat her swollen stomach. Full of indignation she shouted, ‘Heavens, even you won’t take my side. Don’t you know he has a lover?’

  Now I realise how normal this kind of thing is. As I walk around Chengdu, there is no way to tell whether the men I see are honest, the women faithful. Betrayal and self-indulgence are the characteristics of the age. It is just as Bighead Wang said: everyone plays the field. But back then, the Chen Zhong who still had some illusions about love was so angry about this betrayal of his sister that he almost smashed the floorboards. He charged at his brother-in-law with a roar. Looking back on it now, I see the whole comedy as some parable about human nature. My sister sobbed loudly, my mother wept softly, and my brother-in-law ended up on the floor, shaking and moaning, his head in his hands.

  It proved difficult for my sister to get past her husband’s affair. For months she waged a cold war against him. Sometimes I wondered whether her son’s poor health was the result of all this. It was definitely a tough time for my brother-in-law too, having to suffer my supercilious looks and my father’s and mother’s cold faces. But he sincerely repented and, after working on my sister’s emotions, finally won me over too. My sister moved in with him and recovered her health. She got into selling cars and enjoyed being a good wife and mother.

  My brother-in-law’s career was on an upwards trajectory. He’d broken several big stories, and had even been to the Middle East once. In fact, it was said that he was about to be promoted to deputy editor. My sister’s face was happy these days. Every time she came round, out poured a torrent of admiration for her husband’s achievements. What was more, these days he never forgot to call her and report his whereabouts. Each month he handed over his salary right away to the head of household affairs; my sister. She gave him an allowance according to his needs. As she had a back problem, he taught himself how to give a massage and every night put his hands and feet to good use on kneading and pummelling her back; he jokingly described this as ‘legal wife-beating.’

  After dinner, I played Go with my father. My sister helped our mother put away the pots and plates, then left with her family. From the window, I watched them walk hand in hand through the yard beneath a blazing building of lights. My nephew bounced along like a small dog. My brother-in-law said a few words to my sister, who first made a fist and then rocked with laughter.

  Suddenly I thought about my former home and our old street at night with its jewels of lamplight. Only a few months ago, Zhao Yue and I had walked along there together. My insides were frozen by a pain which didn’t go away for ages. The old man stared at me, then said in a casual voice, ‘Still not guarding your corner? I’ve taken three of your pieces.’

  That day I’d received three birthday calls: Li Liang, Zhou Yan, and the one I didn’t expect… Ye Mei.

  Zhou Yan was now assistant to the CEO at a special institute that researched how to feed pigs. This seemed rather an unlikely position for her and I asked whether her boss had any other requirements. She laughed and told me to get lost.

  ‘You think everyone is as lecherous as you,’ she said.

  Zhou Yan was a strange girl. She had to know what I wanted from her, and she was usually friendly, but just when I thought I could advance a step towards my goal, she would back off. Once, during an agents’ conference in the Jinzhu Garden Holiday Village, we sang a few songs together: When it’s raining I kiss you, in spring I embrace you. My heart beat faster as I pictured ‘embracing’ Zhou Yan in many different positions. After the clients had gone back to their rooms, I suggested that we go for a walk. She gave me a surprised squint, then took a swing with her handbag, saying, ‘You … give you a little smile and you get carried away.’

  Then she went off to her room. I couldn’t tell whether she was amused or genuinely annoyed, and my confidence burst like a paper bag.

  Ye Mei’s call excited me and made me nervous. This time she wasn’t her usual cold self, but said ‘Happy Birthday’ in a very gentle voice. It made my heart beat faster. Father was still hopelessly entangled in my stratagem while, slightly awkwardly, I chatted with Ye Mei. She said she’d opened a small bar on Bacon Road, called Tang Dynasty Windmill. As soon as I heard the name I guessed it was Li Liang’s idea. For some reason, that irritated me. When we were students, the band Tang Dynasty had just become hot, and Li Liang wrote a song which he called, ‘Dreaming of Tang Dynasty’. A few lines became famous throughout the university:

  Seeing your soft lips smiling

  Seeing your long hair floating

  The Chang’an of a thousand years ago

  Is brought back to life in dreams.

  I notice you turn around

  I’m lonely as the wilds of the Silk Road.

  Ye Mei’s voice was husky with a nasal twang. It sounded as if she had a cold. I told her to be careful of her health, and she said thanked me, then asked: ‘Have you got time tonight? Come and hang out for a while.’ Her tone struck me as being like that of a spoilt child.

  My mother was happy because she thought I’d found a new girlfriend. To encourage me, she upended the game board and told me to hurry to make my date. The old man protested that my mother had gone too far: apparently he’d encircled most of my players and was just about to move in for the kill.

  My mother made as if she was going to hit him. ‘My son hasn’t got time to play games with you,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you hear there’s a girl looking for him?’

  Still laughing I went downstairs. When I started the car, its worn-out engine gasped like an asthmatic old man. I manoeuvred around the bike awning and the small shop, and emerged to a street crowded with people and cars. As I remembered that wild night of confusion with Ye Mei, and the following seven months of one thing after another, my head felt like it was tangled with a real mess of feelings: happiness, regret, shame.

  Driving past the hospital, I was reminded of Zhou Weidong. During the sales fair season I’d arranged for him to do a circuit of Deyang, MianYang and Guangyang. The guy didn’t get a single night’s rest. By the time the sales meetings were over, his ‘gun’ was worn out, red like a carrot and so painful he cried like a baby. I drove him to the hospital and he tossed and turned in agony the whole way. When we arrived, the doctor told him, ‘We’ll do a blood test first. We’ve got to eliminate AIDS.’

  Zhou Weidong almost shat himself. My heart was jolted too but later, I realised the doctor was deliberately trying to scare him. It was just gonorrhoea. He had to go in every day for two injections, each one costing 180 yuan. Zhou Weidong didn’t have that much money himself so he’d borrowed 2,000 from me.

  I’d written the money off of course. A female pig would become screen siren Gong Li before Zhou Weidong ever paid anyone back. He wasn’t cheap, but he was forgetful. When he had money, you borrowed from him and he forgot that too. Still, the thought of it was painful, because my salary was now just a few thousand a month. The way things were going I’d have to dip into my savings again.

  I decided to call Old Lai. At the sales meeting he’d sold more than 2 million, and with all the add-ons, his gross profit wouldn’t be less than 300,000. This time he wouldn’t be able to get away with telling me how hard up he was.

  Old Lai didn’t answer for ages and I silently cursed him. Finally he picked up the phone. He said he was talking business in the office with a colleague and asked me to call his landline in half an hour. I pulled the car over at the roadside and vowed to fight with Old Lai to the end.
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br />   At that moment Ye Mei called again to ask where I was. After hesitating, I decided to be honest.

  ‘I want to come, but I can’t betray Li Liang.’

  Ye Mei spluttered as if something she was drinking had irritated her throat. She said in a huff, ‘Forget it,’ and then slammed down the receiver.

  Thinking of her post-coital body, I suspected that something was wrong with me.

  Old Lai didn’t beat around the bush. He said outright that he wouldn’t give me the 50,000. I kicked my cigarette stub in the air, breathed hoarsely for a moment, then said coldly, ‘OK, then are you prepared to receive a legal summons? You still owe our company 280,000.’

  Old Lai just laughed. I wanted to put my fist down the phone and smash his face.

  ‘There’s no way your company will bring a suit against me,’ he said.

  I blustered. ‘Sue or not, it’s not in our hands. You just wait and see.’

  There was a background whispering noise, like papers being shuffled.

  ‘Trying to scare me won’t work,’ Old Lai said. ‘Boss Liu has already promised me they won’t sue.’

  I should have sensed from this something was up, but couldn’t prevent myself saying furiously, ‘Boss Liu is HR, he doesn’t understand this kind of thing. When it comes to business matters, our big boss listens to me.’

  Old Lai didn’t reply immediately. The whispering sound intensified. Then, after about a minute, he said, ‘Boss Liu is right here next to me. Want to speak to him?’