Humans, Beasts, and Ghosts

by Zhongshu Qian

  His face slightly reddening, Yuan Youchun shot Fu Juqing an angry look, and replied, “The British measure by the pound, not the catty. You’re not such an Englishman after all.”

  Taking a sip of his tea, Chen Xiajun said, “What a shame! What a shame! Such good tea is used to wet your throats for quarreling! I didn’t mean to have you wait for me. I just went to the station to see off a friend and his family who were leaving for the south. That’s why I was late. An inauspicious wind is blowing across the land these days. Many people want to leave here. Old Ma, do you think war will break out or not? You ought to be better informed than we are.”

  Cao Shichang said meaningfully, “You should read his editorials. No private interviews about state affairs now.”

  Several voices chimed in at the same time, “We need to ask him because we can’t make heads or tails of his editorials.” Yigu too felt that this was of immediate concern to him and waited for Ma Yongzhong to speak after finishing his sandwich.

  Mrs. Li said, “Right! I need to be prepared. If Beiping is really all that dangerous, I’ll have to reclaim the rented house in Shanghai, and Jianhou will need to go to the south to see to it. Yet that summer three years ago was even worse than now. Japanese aircraft were circling overhead and everyone was fighting for transportation to return south. The second-class corridors were full of passengers. In third-class, one couldn’t even roll over at night. All kinds of funny things happened. The big problem later turned out to be no problem at all, and those who had left came back. Much ado about nothing. We’re used to false alarms these past few years. It may be that nothing happens. Yongzhong, what do you think?”

  Ma Yongzhong carefully chewed his bread, as if bearing in mind, as he had learned in his physiology class, that starch should be digested in the mouth. When he finished, he used the napkin beside the dish to wipe away the crumbs on his chest and frowned. “Hard to say . . .”

  Mrs. Li coquettishly feigned anger, “That won’t do! You have to tell us.”

  Fu Juging said, “Why are you so hesitant? Let’s hear what you have to say. To tell you the truth, Mr. Ma, I’ve never taken what you say seriously. Unlike with your editorials, you don’t have to be responsible for your talk here. For good or bad fortune, we can pray and draw divination sticks at temples, or prognosticate with the eight trigrams,67 or consult those people who run the glyphomancy stalls.68 We won’t act based on what you big political analysts say.”

  Pretending not to have heard that, Ma Yongzhong said to Mrs. Li, “I don’t think that war will begin immediately. First of all, we are not fully prepared. Second, I was informed that if Japan makes war on us, Russia might seize the opportunity to attack her. I can’t tell you the source of this information, but it’s quite reliable. Third, Britain and the U.S., because of their interests in the Far East, will not sit around and do nothing while watching Japan invade China. I know they have a tacit understanding with our authorities concerning actual support. The Japanese are afraid of Russia and can’t ignore Britain and the U.S., so they won’t dare to start areal war. Fourth, our government is on excellent terms with Hitler and Mussolini. Germany and Italy sympathize with us. They won’t help Japan in order to pin down Britain and the U.S. So, as I see it, there won’t be a war for the next two or three years. But, there are always unforeseen circumstances.”

  Mrs. Li said angrily, “What an annoying person you are! Just as I was feeling a little bit relieved by all you had said, you came out with that one depressing line.”

  Ma Yongzhong smirked apologetically, as if an unexpected war were going to be the fault of his inaccurate prediction. Cao Shichang asked, “If that’s the case, then how to end the present tense situation?”

  Yuan Youchun said disdainfully, “Huh! What else can we do but give way?”

  Ma Yongzhong replied gravely, “We can only endure and make temporary concessions.”

  “That’s terrible!” Jianhou said. Yigu echoed him in his heart.

  “It will get worse if we don’t concede,” Fu Juqing and Lu Bolin said simultaneously.

  Chen Xiajun said, “Concede! Concede! How long can we continue to concede? At most, the nation will be subjugated. It would be better if we fought to the bitter end with Japan. Actually, we shouldn’t be so reluctant about losing Beiping. In this atmosphere of compromise and momentary ease, we are quickening the pace of subjugation. I can’t bear it! Fighting is the only way out.” With this he struck the table to show that he was as good as his word, as if to say that this was how the Japanese should be fought.

  Zhao Yushan, who was sitting on his right, was so startled that he jumped up, spilling tea all over his clothes.

  “Look what you did!” Mrs. Li said with a laugh. “Be careful not to break my cups. ‘Fight!’ Will you go to the front to fight?”

  Xiajun apologized to Yushan, “It’s all my fault. Your wife will quarrel with you again about the tea stain . . .”

  Hearing what Mrs. Li said, he turned back, “I will not. I cannot. What’s more, I dare not. I am a coward. I am afraid of gunfire.”

  Jianhou shrugged his shoulders and winked at the other guests.

  Fu Juqing said, “The fact that you can admit your cowardice shows the greatest courage. Nowadays, nobody dares to say that he’s afraid of fighting a war. You are the only one who dares to speak so frankly. Some people conceal their cowardice under the guise of policy, saying that we should maintain peace, that we should compromise temporarily, and that we shouldn’t act rashly and be swayed by personal feelings. Others shout loudly that we should fight. Actually, they only wish to make an empty show of strength and frighten Japan with shouting. They don’t want the war, nor do they believe there will be one. In short, everyone is a coward, yet they pretend to be brave. No one dares to be an honest coward. You, on the other hand, support the fighting of the war. That’s a little bit contradictory.”

  Xiajun poured milk onto his plate and summoned Taoqi to lick it. Stroking Taoqi’s fur, he replied, “It’s not contradictory in the least. It’s a mentality shared by traditional Chinese and cats alike. We always say that ‘Those who are good at fighting wars deserve the severest punishment’ and that ‘A good army is an inauspicious thing.’ But we also say, ‘Don’t use an army unless you have to.’69 We are afraid of fighting and fight only when it becomes impossible to avoid. Before we fight we are afraid of death, but when we fight we are so afraid that we forget death. I’m no Sinologist, but I vaguely remember a certain famous general once saying that soldiers’ courage comes from fear. They are afraid of the enemy, but they are even more afraid of their own general, so they have to go all out against the enemy. To take another example, cats are the most cowardly domestic animals; yet we see children scratched by cats but never bitten by dogs. If you compare infants under one year old with puppies and kittens of the same age, you will see how kittens differ from those two other types of four-legged domestic animals. A child will cry if you pretend to strike him, while a puppy will lie down with its four limbs in the air and wave its two forepaws, as if to ask you not to hit it, rocking its body from left to right. A kitten, on the other hand, will become fiercer the more afraid it is. Its whiskers will stand on end and the muscles in its paws will tighten like the string of a drawn bow as it prepares to risk its life. Yet we all know that cats are far less brave than dogs. Therefore, to be afraid of war yet able to fight a war is not as contradictory as Juqing thinks.”

  Yuan Youchun realized that he could insert this discussion into his article about the traits of the Chinese and didn’t say anything, as if he had not heard it.

  Lu Bolin said, “I never knew that Xiajun was a speechmaker. What has happened today might well be made into the title of a chapter in a novel, ‘Banging the Table, Chen Xiajun Makes a Vehement Declaration; Teacup Overturned, Zhao Yushan Becomes Soaking Wet and Angry,’ or ‘Chen Xiajun Compares Himself to a Kitten; Zhao Yushan’s Wife Resembles a Tiger.’”70

  Everyone laughed at Lu Bolin’s wickedness. Shaki
ng his head, Zhao Yushan said, “Rubbish! Poorly done.”

  Cao Shichang remarked, “I don’t have Mr. Chen’s courage. But we intellectuals have responsibilities toward our country and should hasten to do what we can. I think we should call for international sympathy. To begin with, we should get the media’s support and sanction Japan for its perfidious actions. Those of you who know foreign languages should carry out this kind of unofficial propaganda. Mr. Yuan has made a lot of progress in this respect. Mr. Fu, perhaps you should try this too. Last spring, a Chinese art exhibition held in London drew the attention of cultured people throughout the world toward China. That’s the best kind of opportunity. We shouldn’t miss it! We must strike while the iron is still hot, and if it isn’t hot, we’ll strike it until it is!”

  Yigu was fully convinced by this, thinking that Cao Shichang was quite reasonable.

  Fu Juqing said, “You overestimate me. Only Youchun can do this. But you also overestimate foreign sympathy. Sympathy is merely an emotional luxury. There’s nothing practical about it. We all sympathize with Yushan, for instance, yet who will help him tame his wife? We’ve seen with our own eyes that Chen Xiajun made him spill tea on himself, and our revered Lu Bo made caustic remarks to him. Have we defended him against the injustice? If foreigners know it’s in their best interest, they will naturally come to our rescue. Modern media is unlike traditional Chinese pure talk.71 In autocratic countries, the government controls the media, not the other way around. In democracies like Britain, all the nation’s presses are in the hands of one or two publishing magnates. These people are not intellectuals with brains and hearts, just ambitious capitalists who want to expand their wealth and influence through the newspapers. How can they uphold justice? As for the London art exhibition, let me give you some food for thought. A British friend of mine wrote to me to say that Europeans took an interest in Japanese art because Japan had won the Russo-Japanese War. Now they are positive that if a Sino-Japanese war begins, China is going to lose. That’s why they’ve suddenly become interested in Chinese art. When a big house is about to change hands, neighbors will go pay a visit.”

  “Talking about all these things is useless,” Lu Bolin said with a yawn. “In any event, China can’t bring credit to itself and has to rely on others. Whether we concede to Japan or seek protection from Britain or the U.S., it’s either Tweedledum or Tweedledee. I see no difference between them. Both are a disgrace to the nation. The Japanese harbor ill intentions, to be sure, but how much better are the British and the Americans? I’d prefer Japan, which at least is of the same race and shares a great deal with us in culture. I know I’ll be vilified for saying this.”

  Chen Xiajun said, “What else can we expect from an out-and-out ‘Japanese expert’? Many peacetime ‘Japanese experts’ will collude with the Japanese when war breaks out. Revered Bo, I’m awfully sorry if I’ve offended you. We Hunanese speak crudely and know no taboos.”

  Lu Bolin went livid at this last utterance. His face turned white and his hand trembled over his beard. In China, only people from four provinces—Guangdong, Guangxi, Hunan, and Shandong (which barely makes the list)—could say such cocky things to others as “We people of such and such a place are born this way.” It was as if their native places were themselves a principled debating standpoint or a battle slogan. Lu Bolin was a native of the area bordering the Shanghai-Hangzhou-Nanjing railroad. The name of his hometown didn’t sound especially good. Others used his birthplace to mock him, or explain away his disposition, so it wouldn’t enhance the force of his argument. Therefore, he couldn’t think of anything at the moment to counter Chen Xiajun’s “We Hunanese.” Besides, he had just predicted that he would be vilified. Now that his prediction had come true, why complain?

  Zheng Xuxi hastened to ward off an argument, “I can’t decide whether or not it makes political sense for us to declare war, and I’ve already been disparaged by young people for saying too much. But from a suprapolitical point of view, war might be necessary for our national spirit. An epic war would stimulate our people’s latent virtues and help us restore spiritual health and national self-esteem. Of course, we would be unable to avoid pain, casualty, horror, homelessness, famine, and all the disasters wrought by Ibáñez’s ‘Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.’72 But these are all necessary in the course of war. Amid the overarching atmosphere of glory and heroism, we would have compensation for local pain. Such is life. Beauty and virtue are distilled from ugliness and evil. The same is true of the fresh milk, snow-white sugar, fragrant tea, and delicious snacks on the table. Once inside us, these good things change property and shape through the biological and chemical processes of our intestines and stomachs, turning into a mushy and messy state too horrible to imagine. We should protest the injustice done to these fragrant and sweet good things. Yet, without this filthy process, how can the body become beautiful and healthy? I—”

  Mrs. Li cut him short, “You’re about to make people start vomiting. We women don’t enjoy listening to such roundabout arguments. Life is full of disgusting and loathsome but unavoidable things. If this war can’t be avoided, you don’t have to find profound reasons to demonstrate that it’s reasonable and good. Your attempt to justify war doesn’t glorify war; on the contrary, it profanes the truth. Listening to you, we become suspicious of all truths and imagine that they, too, are merely compelling cover-ups for wrongs. Our task is not necessarily a good one. Your opinion sounds like self-delusion. I don’t buy it.”

  Yigu was spellbound by Aimo. He turned and listened to her attentively, his eyes like two fires burning bright with surprise and admiration. Seeing this, the sharp-eyed Chen Xiajun winked at Aimo, smiling. Aimo turned to look at Yigu. Yigu was so embarrassed that he bowed his head. He twisted off pieces of bread and rolled them into little balls.

  Chen Xiajun immediately asked, “May I know this gentleman’s name? I came in late and didn’t have the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

  Yigu felt ten pairs of eyes setting his two cheeks on fire. He wished he could kill Chen Xiajun with one stab of the knife. Meanwhile, he heard his voice answering, “My name is Qi.”

  Jianhou said, “I forgot to introduce him to you! Mr. Qi helps me arrange material. He’s very bright.”

  “I see, I see!” was Chen Xiajun’s answer. If Heaven indeed obeyed human wishes, Chen Xiajun would have felt his cheeks burn as though slapped by Yigu.

  “You haven’t hired a woman . . . woman secretary?” Yuan Youchun asked Jianhou.

  He had meant to say “woman clerk” but suddenly remembered that this title was too straightforward, and feared it might be unpleasant to Yigu’s—the clerk’s—ear. He congratulated himself for shrewdly switching to the more polite “secretary.”

  Cao Shichang said, “That’s out of the question! Would his wife allow that? Besides, a woman secretary wouldn’t be much help.”

  Mrs. Li said, “That’s not true. He can use as many women secretaries as he wants. It’s none of my business. Don’t put it all on me. Right, Jianhou?”

  Jianhou giggled foolishly.

  Yuan Youchun said, “Only Jianhou can use a woman secretary without causing a scandal about seducing girls of good families. With a wife as beautiful as Aimo at home, he has high standards. It’s hard for him to appreciate anyone else.”

  Glancing at Jianhou, Chen Xiajun said, “I doubt he’d have the nerve to seduce.”

  Suppressing his anger, Jianhou forced a smile, “How do you know I don’t have the nerve?”

  “Treason!” Xiajun shouted. “Aimo, did you hear that? You’d better keep an eye on your husband immediately.”

  Aimo replied with a laugh, “If someone falls in love with Jianhou, so much the better. It shows my good taste in my choice of a husband. I should be delighted if other people share my taste. I don’t mind in the least.”

  Aimo’s response was pleasant enough but actually beside the point, since Chen Xiajun was talking about Jianhou’s falling in love with another woman, a
nd not another woman’s falling in love with him. But nobody corrected her.

  Chen Xiajun continued, “Jianhou might have the nerve but not the appetite. For us who have reached middle age, so long as one of the two basic desires, for food and sex, is still strong, that means we aren’t old yet. These two desires have something in common. From a man’s diet, we usually can infer his libido . . .”

  With his eyes on the teacup in front of him, Lu Bolin said, as if talking to his own beard, “Aimo said just now that she’s not jealous! But she loves to eat fish sautéed with vinegar. Voilà!”73

  Jianhou said, “That’s right! Xiajun only spouts nonsense, as if he knew everything.”

  Paying no attention to Lu Bolin, Xiajun rolled his head as he told Jianhou, “I assume she’s jealous since she loves to eat fish sautéed with vinegar. Be careful not to enjoy yourself too much.”

  Mrs. Li said, laughing, “That’s irresponsible talk. Okay, okay, so I’m a vinegar bottle, a vinegar jar, a vinegar barrel. Go on.”

  Like a rubber ball that had been pricked and deflated, Xiajun said lazily, “There’s nothing to talk about. Jianhou has a small appetite, so he probably isn’t greedy for love affairs.”

  “He must also be constantly improving his skill as he does with cuisine. There aren’t many women who can satisfy his aesthetic standards,” said Fu Juqing.

  Hearing this, Jianhou was very pleased.

  “That’s a completely erroneous statement,” Xiajun burst out. “The women most likely to win men’s love are not beauties. On the contrary, we should guard against plain and commonplace women. When we see a famous beauty, we can only look up to her. We dare not love her. Those of us who have grown ugly before we’re old feel inferior and hopeless, so we don’t lust after swan’s flesh like a toad. Her beauty increases the psychological distance between her and us. It’s like a danger sign that makes us timid and cowardly, and we dare not approach her. If we pursued her, we’d be like soldiers on a suicide mission, forging ahead with foreknowledge of failure. On the other hand, when we run into an ordinary woman whose looks are at best not repulsive, we go out with her with our guard down. Pow! One day, we suddenly discover that she’s been stealthily making a nest in our hearts. We fall in love without knowing why and without justification. Beauties are like the enemy’s regular army: you know how to guard against them, and even if you lose the war, you can account for it. But ordinary women are like Franco’s Fifth Column in the Spanish Civil War, spying on you and subverting you while you’re still daydreaming. Take our wives or other women we’ve loved, for example: none of them can be considered beautiful. Yet when we were wooing them, we still sometimes found it difficult to sleep and eat. Young as this Mr. Qi is, I assume you’ve had your fill of experience, eh? Ha, ha!”