Humans, Beasts, and Ghosts

by Zhongshu Qian

  The day Yigu had been asked to write the invitations, Mr. Li had already been feeling somewhat unhappy. By the time Mrs. Li asked Yigu to read the novel for her, Mr. Li thought that this would not only stop the writing of the travelogue but, like a hot knife cutting lard, would waste the best part of the day—the time before and after noon. He couldn’t expect Yigu to work for him any more that day. At the moment, he had been too embarrassed to blow up, but he harbored a vague fear that Aimo would snatch this secretary from him. In Aimo’s presence, he said to Yigu sulkily, “You go read your novel. Give the draft to me. I’ll write it myself.”

  With a faint smile on her face, Aimo asked, “What’s the hurry? One day matters little to your writing. What if I offended the author tomorrow? If I weren’t expected to keep house for you, I would have read the book ages ago.”

  At the time, Yigu knew only that Aimo wanted him to work for her and failed to grasp the implied meaning of Jianhou’s words. He gave the draft to Jianhou, which Jianhou took. Though he didn’t say anything, Jianhou’s yellow face turned greenish.

  Casting a glance at Jianhou, Aimo smilingly said to Yigu, “Thanks!” She then left the study.

  Yigu sat down to read the novel. What bad luck for the author! Eager to show Aimo the severity of his discernment and the loftiness of his standards, Yigu felt compelled to be overcritical of the plot and the writing, as if he had been instructed by Fu Juqing. Jianhou sat absentmindedly in front of the spread-out draft, unable to write a single word. It had always been his job to watch the time and tell Yigu to go home and have lunch. Yet that day, not until the servant came in to ask him whether he would have lunch did he give Yigu a forced smile, implying that he could leave. Seeing Yigu take the novel home with him, Jianhou became even angrier. He went into the dining room and sat down to drink his soup. Neither he nor Aimo said a word. Women, after all, are creatures that have been oppressed since the dawn of creation and are thus more patient.

  Jianhou broke the ice by saying, “Would you please not use my secretary later? I have important things for him to do. If you want him to do those trifles, you should do so in the afternoons, when he has finished with my serious business.”

  “Hm.” Aimo said in English, “So you’re blowing up at me, are you? The maid is standing close by and listening. Aren’t you embarrassed? Is this the appropriate place to start a quarrel? Just now, you embarrassed me in the presence of your dear secretary. Now you’re finding fault with me over lunch. I suggest that you not get angry at mealtimes, otherwise you’ll have a relapse of your stomach trouble. One of these days, you’re going to bully me so much that I’ll have stomach trouble too. Would that make you happy? Besides, today we’re having fried lobster, which is difficult to digest.”

  Although the maid didn’t know English, she understood enough from Aimo’s tone and countenance and sniggered to herself, “They must be boiling over with anger at each other! Your gobblygook can’t fool me.”

  After lunch, the couple went into the bedroom. As soon as the maid had made up the bed for Jianhou’s nap and had left the room, Jianhou burst out, “Did you hear what I said?”

  Sitting on the sofa and smoking, Aimo said, “I heard! How could I not hear? Maids, old and young, heard it too. Your voice could be heard by people at Tiananmen and in the Haidian district. Everyone knows you’re scolding your wife.”

  Jianhou didn’t want to expand the war and give up his nap, so he said in conclusion, “Just so long as you heard it.”

  Without looking at her husband, Aimo said as if to herself,80 “But you want me to obey you. Certainly not! It’s up to me when I want to use him. Quite the big husband, scolding me in front of the secretary and the servants!”

  Jianhou felt that his prone position was not advantageous for quarreling. The bed was a woman’s territory. Only a woman could talk to a guest while lazing in bed. Women and beds were fit for each other, and each shone in the other’s company. If a man lay in bed, he would be like an army that loses its esprit de corps without a secure defensive position. Jianhou sat up and said, “I’m the one who hired this secretary. He should listen to me. If you want him to do odds and ends, you should ask me first.”

  Aimo threw away her cigarette so that she could use her mouth exclusively for arguing. “As long as you’re employing him,” she said, “I’m going to call on him if I have things to do. To be honest, the work you give him is not necessarily more meaningful than what I ask him to do. If you had any talent, you’d write the book yourself instead of asking somebody else to write it for you!81 Cao Shichang, Lu Bolin, and Fu Juqing have all written many books. None of them used a secretary!”

  Jianhou was so angry he struck the bed and barked, “All right, all right! Tomorrow I’ll send that Qi kid packing and nobody will have a secretary.”

  Aimo replied, “If you fire him, I’ll hire him. I have so many little things to do, whereas your travelogue . . .”

  “If you’re busy,” Jianhou retorted, “why don’t you hire another secretary instead of grabbing mine?”

  “And why shouldn’t we economize when we can, my dear sir?” Aimo asked. “I’m not a mindlessly extravagant woman. Besides, have I demanded a share of the family assets?”

  “I wish that the boundary between us were clearer.” Jianhou said.

  Aimo stood up. “Jianhou, make sure you don’t regret this later. If you want to divide up the family assets, then divide them we will!”

  Jianhou realized that he had gone too far but insisted stubbornly, “Don’t deliberately misinterpret me. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

  Aimo sneered, “I didn’t misinterpret you. You always feel that others look up to me more than to you, so you’re jealous. You believe the nonsense Xiajun was spouting two days ago and have made up your mind to find another woman. Don’t worry, I won’t get in your way.”

  Losing momentum, Jianhou gave an awkward laugh. “Ha-ha! Isn’t that sheer exaggeration? Sorry, I’m going to sleep.”

  He lay down and pulled the covers over his head, not uttering a sound. Five minutes later, he poked his head out.

  “Will you get the novel back from that kid?” Aimo asked. “I’m not going to ask him to read it for me.”

  Jianhou replied, “You needn’t feign benevolence and righteousness. I have some errands to run in the afternoon, so I’m not going to the study. If you want to use Qi Yigu, go right ahead. I’m not going to write anything anymore. It’s all the same. Whatever is mine you always take over in the end. All my friends are estranged from me and drawn to you. All the servants busy themselves for you first, while my affairs are always delayed. Your convenience trumps my command. It’s a good thing that we don’t have children. Otherwise, they would be like beasts and barbarians, acknowledging only their mother and not recognizing me as their father.”

  Mrs. Li’s attitude on breeding children resembled the slogan of the Soviet Union’s state abortion institution: “First-timers welcome, but please don’t come again.” Mrs. Li’s gynecologist, however, had given her a severe warning that she was not fit for childbirth. Therefore, not even one soul had reincarnated in her womb. Behind her back, their friends called her a true “peerless and heirless beauty.”82

  “How pitifully you talk!” she retorted. “What a wretched husband! Servants listen to me because it’s me who keeps house. Who wants to do that? All the worry has given me a headache. Starting tomorrow, you can take care of it, then all the servants will flatter you. As for friends, that’s even more absurd. Why is it that all my friends from school days have abandoned me since I married you? You haggle over your friends with me, but who’s to blame for the loss of my friends? Besides, aren’t our present friends common to both of us? What’s the point in distinguishing whether they’re good to me or to you? You’re so naive. As for the secretary, these are precarious times. Who knows how long we can employ him? If we move back south, we can’t take him with us, can we? But, if you fire him now, you still have to give him a m
onth’s salary. I don’t necessarily need him. But even if you’re not going to write anything, there’s no need to dismiss him right away. He might come in useful occasionally for errands. Let’s see how the situation looks in a month and then decide. If you consider this merely a woman’s pettiness, I’ll be provoked into saying something you dislike again. Anyhow, you take care of everything. It’s all up to you.”

  Hearing his wife speak plausibly and at length and call him “naive,” Jianhou found it difficult to go on quarreling and waved his hand. “Don’t say that! You’re always right. Let’s call a truce.”

  “See how easy it is for you to say ‘truce’!” Aimo replied. “If I were to believe you, we’d have broken up long ago.” She left the room as she said this, ignoring Jianhou’s hand, which was stretched out for her to grasp and seal their truce. Jianhou lay there alone, wondering how it was that even though reason was on his side, he seemed at a loss for words and reason after a short quarrel and had to apologize to her, only to be given a cold shoulder. The more he thought about it, the more indignant he became.

  For the next four or five days, Jianhou seldom came to the study. He was always out, and no one knew what he was doing. Once or twice, he failed to accompany Aimo to dinner parties, but Yigu’s work was not reduced. Jianhou did not tell him that he had decided not to write the travelogue and kept him busy by telling him to translate material to arrange later. Aimo also frequently asked Yigu to write invitations and thank-you notes for her. Occasionally she would sit for a while and chat with him.

  Yigu didn’t have any sisters, and he had few contacts with his relatives. As his widowed mother’s only son, he was kept under strict guard. Thus, despite having been in college for a year, he had never spoken to a girl. Even a tightly sealed bottle of soda pop will reveal floating air bubbles when the bottle is held up against the sunlight, and so it was with Yigu. Though he was outwardly uptight, deep in his heart a kind of foolish, unclaimed love had been stirring. The number of women in the heart of your average girlfriendless boy of eighteen or nineteen is equal to that in the thirty-six harems of an emperor, while the filth in his heart sometimes surpasses that of a public restroom. In the meantime, he entertains lofty ideas about love, hoping to find a woman whose sentiments match his for an intimate yet chaste relationship. He pushes aside physiological impulse or conceals its true nature beneath layer upon layer of gloss.83

  After Yigu got to know Aimo, his general and aimless affections gradually focused. To a boy with no experience in love, the charms of this mature, middle-aged woman were like late spring weather or a down comforter—snug, soft, and hard to wake up from.84 A love object is merely a means to fulfill one’s life’s needs. Therefore, in one’s youth, one tends to fall in love first with someone older, because a young person needs to mature and will unconsciously choose a more experienced partner. In old age, however, one always falls madly in love with someone younger, because an old man dreams of rejuvenation, which we also see in his final endeavors.

  After his second week at the Lis’, Yigu had admitted to himself that he loved Mrs. Li.85 What would come of this love? He had no time to think about that. He only wished he might often have the opportunity to continue being close to her. Whenever he heard her voice, his heart would thump and his face would flush red.86 This could not escape Aimo’s eyes. Yigu dared not fantasize that Aimo loved him. He was sure only that Aimo liked him. But sometimes he lacked even this much confidence, thinking that he was only dreaming and that Aimo would certainly despise him should she learn of it. He would then busily search her small gestures and expressions—ones that Aimo herself might not remember—for evidence that his hopes were not just wishful thinking. But this was not enough. What on earth did Aimo think? He had no way to determine this. What if she didn’t like him? Fine! He didn’t care. So be it! To hell with her! He would put her out of his heart. But after he had done this and awoken from his sleep, he found that she still occupied his heart, and that his first thoughts were about her. One moment he would feel as happy as if he had risen to Heaven; the next, as dejected as if he had fallen into Hell, swaying on the swing of lovesickness.

  When Yigu arrived at the Lis’ on Monday of the third week, Old Whitey informed Yigu as soon as he opened the door that Jianhou had gone back south the day before. Yigu immediately asked why and whether Mrs. Li had also gone. Only after ascertaining that Jianhou had gone to Shanghai to see to the house and that Aimo wouldn’t be leaving right away did he calm down. Yet he still felt uneasy. The possibility of parting had cast a shadow on his heart. He moped about for quite some time before Aimo came to the study. She told him that Jianhou had returned home on Saturday saying that news from outside was not good, that war was inevitable, and that they should move as soon as possible. He had thus left for Shanghai the day before in a hurry.

  Pretending to be calm, Yigu said, “Mrs. Li, you’re not leaving Beiping right away, are you?”

  He waited for an answer like a patient waiting for emergency treatment.

  As Aimo was about to answer him, Old Whitey came in to report, “Madame, Mr. Chen is here.”

  Aimo said, “Please ask him to come to the study—I will pack up and leave too after Mr. Li comes back. Yigu, you should go to school in the south. It will be safer than here.”

  Though he had expected such an answer, Yigu still felt desperate and heartbroken when it actually reached his ears. It was all he could do to keep himself from crying.

  Chen Xiajun shouted as he came in, “Aimo, I never expected that you would take my advice and that Jianhou would let you have his private secretary.”

  After saying hello to Yigu, he said to Aimo, “Jianhou took the train back south yesterday.”

  Aimo said, “You’re well informed. Did Old Whitey tell you that?”

  “I was the first to know. I saw him off yesterday.”

  “That’s strange. Had he informed you ahead of time?”

  “You know that the sight of me gives him a headache. Why on earth would he tell me? Since I haven’t had much to do these days, I’ve been going to the station whenever a friend leaves. I manage to see all kinds of people this way. Yesterday, I was seeing a relative off, and quite by chance, I met your husband. He seemed to feel uncomfortable running into me and wanted to hide, but I called out to him. He told me that he was going to Shanghai to look for a house. Why didn’t you go see him off yesterday?”

  “We’ve been married many years, so we’re not like lovers who can’t bear to part. Anyway, he’s only going to Shanghai. There’s no point in my seeing him off, and besides, he didn’t want anyone to see him off. He didn’t have any large trunks, only a briefcase.”

  “He had one female second cousin returning with him to the south, didn’t he?” Xiajun fixed his gaze at Aimo.

  Aimo jumped up. “Ah? What?”

  “It was just him and a girl of seventeen or eighteen in his sleeper. She looked quite humble and by no means attractive. She also wanted to hide when she saw me. Is that strange or what? Jianhou said she was his second cousin, so she must be your second cousin too. Isn’t she?”

  Aimo turned pale. “He doesn’t have any female second cousin! Isn’t this a bit odd?”

  “Yes! At the time I also asked, ‘Why haven’t I ever heard you mention her?’ Holding the girl’s hand, Jianhou said to me, ‘Go ask Aimo, she knows.’ His tone was quite solemn, and I felt it a bit odd that he didn’t say much at the moment. Jianhou looked very out of sorts! I parted with him then and there.”

  Aimo’s eyes could not have opened wider. She said, “There’s something shady going on here. What did that girl look like? Did Jianhou tell you her last name?”

  Suddenly, Chen Xiajun slapped his side and rolled with laughter. Aimo was incensed. “What’s so funny?”

  Yigu hated Xiajun for coming and interrupting their talk. Now seeing Aimo angry, he was angry too. Still laughing, Xiajun said, “Sorry, I can’t help laughing. That idiot Jianhou really was as good as his word. Now
I understand. That girl is his new lover and they were stealing away south for their honeymoon. Little did he expect to run into a disgusting fellow like me. He knew that the matter couldn’t be disguised, so he simply asked me to inform you. Ha-ha! I had no idea that Jianhou would pull such a trick. He was goaded into doing this at that tea party. I find it hilarious that he carried out my suggestion to the letter. Even the girl he chose was plain looking and behaved awkwardly. She looked like no more than an ignorant child who would exchange friendship for being treated to a meal and a couple of movies. Beiping is full of girls like that. In her eyes, Jianhou is wealthy and great; one might compare her to that divorced American woman who got to know Britain’s Prince of Wales! Ha-ha! How will this end?”

  Aimo was so angry that she could hardly hold back her tears. She said, “Jianhou is such a jerk! Treating me like this—”

  At that moment, all Aimo’s fashion and competence faded away, leaving behind only the weak and pitiful nature of a woman. Seeing Aimo cry, Yigu was at a loss. He suddenly found that when Aimo cried, her age and all the defects in her looks were laid bare. Her tearstained face, like ink-written characters that have been splashed with water, had become obscured and swollen.87 Her tears, meanwhile, reminded him that she was still Jianhou’s woman. Those tears were for him.

  Chen Xiajun knew in theory that a woman’s anger could lessen once she had cried, just as a fierce wind can be stopped by the rain, but when he actually saw tears he became confused and kept repeating, “You’re crying? Can I do something? I’ll do anything to help.”