by Liu Zhenyun
Lin, on the other hand, felt awkward. He was so feckless they had to rely on someone else. Their neighbor would surely look down on him, which was why he didn’t look as happy as his wife.
“I couldn’t have done it myself if not for the fact that the father of one of my colleagues happens to be a bureau chief at that office,” the neighbor said. “We went to him for help and got two spots. It’s how things work these days, you know.”
That made Lin feel better. The fake Indian woman was a troublemaker, but her husband was a nice guy. Lin took out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to the man. It was Changle, not one of the better brands, and it had been open for a few days, so the cigarettes were stale, but that didn’t bother the man, who lit up and began smoking with Lin.
Now that their daughter was going to the school of their choice, Lin and his wife felt much better, and their relationship with the neighbors improved, while the two kids went to school together. But a few days later, his wife came home with a long face. When Lin asked her what was wrong, she said:
“We’ve been tricked. We shouldn’t have sent our child to that place.”
“What do you mean, tricked? And what’s the problem?”
“On the surface it looks like they helped us, but I couldn’t help thinking that something wasn’t quite right. Well, they were actually helping themselves, not us. Their child was making a fuss about going to school alone, so they decided to get ours to go with her. The two kids are playmates, so it works out nicely for them when the kids go together. I also asked around, and found out that the husband doesn’t have a sister. We’re totally useless, so our child suffers. I ride the bus thanks to someone’s sister-in-law and now our child goes to school as someone’s companion.”
She began to sob. Her words sent a chill up his spine. Damn it! So the fake Indian family had designs on them all along. But this was nothing they could talk about openly, and he couldn’t argue with his neighbors, even though it felt sordid to him, as if they’d rubbed his nose in horse dung. What really got to him was the fact that, when all was said and done, their daughter still had to go to school as the other girl’s companion. Still, being someone’s companion at a good preschool was better than muddling through at an inferior place, just as riding the commuter bus because of someone else’s sister-in-law was more comfortable than crowding onto a public bus. Lin shed tears for the first time that night, after his wife and child fell asleep, even slapped himself in the dark.
“How could you be so worthless? Why don’t you know how to get things done?”
But it was a gentle slap—he didn’t want to wake up his wife.
6
There was a great cabbage harvest that year.
Lin sucked in cold air, as he stood in the long line with other residents of the city to buy cabbage for the winter, holding a piece of paper in his hand, like everyone else. Some of them were already wearing padded caps. After a while, they got to know each other. A middle-aged man in front of Lin gave him a cigarette and they got to talking after lighting up. Every year, when it came time to buy winter cabbage, Lin was besieged by anxiety and conflicting thoughts. He was anxious when he saw other people transporting cabbage home on bicycles, three-wheelers, and in large baskets, littering the streets with detached leaves in their wake, anxious that the cabbage would be sold out and his family would have nothing to eat that winter. He felt cheated each time he squeezed into a line, year after year after year. A few dozen heads of cheap cabbage would bring so much trouble, laying them out to dry and turning them over daily and bringing them back inside every evening, until they dried nicely to a smaller size. When they finally decided to eat it, the cabbage would be dry and shriveled. Each head would have only a tiny heart left under the layers; sometimes it would have a sour taste after being frozen. Every spring, when they were confronted by the remaining cabbages, he and his wife vowed not to buy any in the fall. But when fall came around, with piles of cheap cabbage subsidized by the government, they’d see people taking cartloads of the stuff home and feel they ought to buy some. The anxiety and conflicting thoughts were a torment, exacting a far higher price mentally than the actual cost of the cabbage. Which was why he made up his mind at the onset of fall: be resolute and do not buy a single head of cabbage. His wife agreed with him, saying it wasn’t that much cheaper than buying cabbage in the market, after they removed the bad parts in the cabbage they’d stored up. So they didn’t buy any, not at first, anyway. But after three days, Lin put on his cap and joined the line, but not because he wavered in his decision. There was a surplus of that year, and every government office rallied their employees to buy “patriotic cabbage,” for which they would be reimbursed at the office. Lin and his wife couldn’t pass up such a good deal, so he lined up to buy the maximum amount that would be reimbursed. He had a one hundred and fifty kilo quota at his workplace, his wife a hundred at hers, so two-fifty it was, much more than they usually bought. Lin even borrowed a three-wheeler from He, the deputy section head in his office.
“Since we can get reimbursed, we’re forced to go through all the trouble once again.”
The trouble was in the reimbursement, which was why he felt so put upon as he stood in line. He sighed and gave the cabbage a savage kick, absent-mindedly watching them weigh the cabbage up front, before he regained his focus. The “free” cabbage brought on a fierce competition—people were afraid there’d be none left when their turn came. Everyone was staring, which made Lin nervous despite himself; he rolled up the flaps on his cap to hear better.
The smell of two hundred and fifty kilos of cabbage that permeated their apartment soured his mood. But the free cabbages motivated his wife as she went about laying them out to dry. He knew the results by heart: they would turn into seventy or eighty hard heads. He lost his appetite just thinking of finishing that pile of cabbages in one winter. The only thing saving his mood was his wife’s high spirits, and a heavy weight seemed to have been lifted in their home. They had visitors from his hometown again the day after he brought the cabbage home, six of them no less, making him tense and changing the expression on his wife’s face. But the guests left soon after arriving without staying for dinner, heading northeast on business, they said. He felt better and his wife’s face relaxed. They sent off their visitors with a great show of feelings, to everyone’s satisfaction.
On this day, he left work early and went to the market, where he bought some sweet red peppers and exchanged some meal coupons for a kilo of eggs (the food situation at their house had improved since the nanny left, so they could use meal coupons for eggs now). When he was about to leave, he spotted a cart selling dried salted ducks from Anhui and a line of shoppers in front of it. He went over to take a look. The ducks were too expensive, costing more than four Yuan for half a kilo; but the entrails were only three Yuan. His daughter loved animal innards, so he lined up to buy some. Two people were working there, one with an Anhui accent who chopped up the ducks, while the other collected money, acting like the owner. When Lin went up and handed over the money, the owner took a look at him. Their eyes met.
“Little Lin!”
“Little Li Bai!”
Throwing down the duck entrails and money they were holding, the two men laughed as they embraced. Li Bai had been a college classmate and a close friend back then, when, as poetry lovers, they joined the literature club. They had gotten caught up in struggle, with energy that could open up a new world. Talented and diligent, Li Bai produced three poems a day on average, some of which were published. He was a carefree soul who knew everything under the sun, from early Chinese history to the modern era. Lots of girls at school had their eye on him. Lin and Li had gone their separate ways after graduation; Li was assigned to a government office. Later Lin heard that he tired of office work and took a job at a private company. How had he ended up selling dried salted duck? With this chance encounter, Li handed the stall over to the Anhui guy and went with Lin over to a tree nearby to have a smoke and catc
h up.
“I thought you were working at a private company? How’d you wind up selling ducks?”
Li laughed.
“The fucking company went bust, so now I’m my own boss, selling ducks. It’s not bad, not all that different from owning a company. I take in eighty to a hundred Yuan a day.”
That was a staggering amount to Lin. “Do you still write poetry?”
Li spat on the ground.
“Shit. I was too young to know anything. Poetry? Poetry is for posers full of hot air. I’d have starved to death if I still wrote poetry. Now I’m just trying to get by, that’s all. You married yet?”
“I’ve got a three-year old kid.”
Li clapped his hands. “You see? And you were asking me about poetry. Poetry, my ass. I got it all figured out. Don’t indulge in fanciful thoughts or try to rise above the others. Instead, just muddle through and don’t think about anything else, and you’ll have a good life. What do you think?”
Lin couldn’t agree more. He nodded.
“Any kids?” he asked.
Li raised three figures, another staggering number.
“What about family planning?”
“Married three times and divorced three times. I’m on my fourth now,” Li said with a laugh. “Each marriage produced one and none of the women wanted the kid during the divorce, so I ended up with three. That’s why I have to sell ducks here; I’ve got five mouths to feed.”
Lin had to laugh too. His friend was still the Li Bai he used to know. He might have stopped writing poetry, but he was still as carefree as ever. They chatted until it started to get dark, when Li Bai slapped Lin on the shoulder.
“That’s it!”
“That’s what?” Lin was startled.
“I have to be out of town for a couple of weeks to get more ducks. I was worried that no one could be here to collect the money. Why don’t you come do that for me after you get off work?”
“No way.” Lin waved him off. “I have to go to work. Besides, I know nothing about selling ducks.”
“I know you’re thinking about face. Still naïve and immature, aren’t you? Who needs face these days? If you care about face, you’ll be just another poor pedant, but if you don’t, you can be rich and powerful. You think you’re taking the moral high ground, don’t you? But look at you and what you’re wearing. You have poverty written all over you. Come collect the money after work for ten days and I’ll pay you twenty Yuan a day.”
Without waiting for Lin’s response, Li shoved a large duck into his hands and sent him off.
Shaking his head, but smiling, Lin walked home with the duck. His wife scolded him for coming home so late and not picking up the child on time. The duck he was holding upset her over the expense.
“Have you become a nobleman?” She shouted. “Are we supposed to be eating a big duck like that?”
He tossed the duck onto their dining table and glared at her.
“It was a gift.”
“Have you been promoted?” she asked in amazement. “And now people are giving you gifts?”
He told her what had happened at the market, and was delighted over the news that Li had asked him to collect the money for him.
“Two hours a day and you still go to work as usual. Twenty Yuan for two hours is more than you’d earn as a waiter for big-shot capitalists. So why not? Starting tomorrow, I’ll pick up the child after work and you go sell ducks. You can do it.”
Lin was sprawled on the bed with his hands folded behind his head.
“Sure I can do it, but selling ducks would be a great loss of face.”
“So what! Saving face is why we’ve been poor all these years. You’re not looking for a wife and I don’t care if you lose face, so what are you afraid of?”
Lin began selling ducks every afternoon after work. He was shy at first, unable to look the customers in the eye once he put on his white apron, afraid he’d run into someone he knew. And when he got home, he headed straight for the shower to wash off the smell of duck. But it took him only two days, two ten-Yuan bills in hand each day, for him to look up at the customers, acquaintance or not, and he no longer felt he needed a shower. Habit breeds acceptance. He began to think it wouldn’t be bad to keep selling ducks, which would bring in six hundred Yuan a month. Wouldn’t they be rich in a year? Too bad Li Bai was only away for ten days, putting him out of a job when his friend returned. Why couldn’t he have met Li earlier?
On the ninth day, someone he knew showed up. He’d gotten used to seeing people he knew, but this one was different. It was the new section head, Guan, and that scared him a bit. Guan didn’t live anywhere near the market, so Lin was puzzled why he was here. When Guan spotted his own clerk sitting behind a duck cart, his eyes bulged from the surprise, which embarrassed Lin. At work the next day, he was prepared to be summoned for a talk with the boss. Sure enough, Guan asked to have an “airing out” with him. But by that time Lin was no longer afraid. Everyone had to make a living, so there was nothing wrong with earning a little extra after work, as long as he didn’t sell ducks at the office. Money made everything easier. He earned a hundred and eighty Yuan in nine days, which he used to buy a trench coat for his wife and a melon that weighed two and half kilos for his daughter, bringing smiles to everyone’s face. Compared with that, face and a few words of criticism from his boss was nothing. But Lin had worked at the office long enough to shed his naiveté and the failing of candor; he’d learned to mixed the true with the false, since liars got promoted while truth-tellers always suffered. When Guan asked for an explanation, Lin flashed a guileless smile and said the duck cart belonged to an old college friend. He’d put on his friend’s apron and shouted a few times, just for fun. He hadn’t expected to run into his boss, and wasn’t about to ruin the office’s reputation by moonlighting as a duck vendor. Guan was relieved.
“That’s what I thought. You work for the government so you couldn’t be out selling ducks. I’ll let this go since it was just for fun, but don’t do it again.”
The airing-out ended with Lin’s promise to stop. After Guan walked off, Lin spat on the ground. Why can’t I sell ducks? For your information, I did it for nine days. Too bad this is the last day. If I could keep doing it, I would.
Too bad. Li came back that afternoon, bringing Lin’s stint at the duck cart to an end. Telling him to come for a duck any time he wanted, Li gave him the last twenty-Yuan, adding that he’d ask for Lin’s help again whenever he had to go away. No longer abashed, Lin replied loudly:
“You bet. Just give me a holler.”
7
Three months had passed since their child started preschool. Lin or his wife dropped her off and picked her up each day. In all fairness, they had more household chores now that the child was in preschool. With the nanny gone, they had to do the dishes, mop the floor, and do the laundry. They had to be punctual when dropping off and picking up the child also, unlike before, when the nanny’s presence made it possible for them to come home late. On the other hand, without the nanny and with the child away, life was easier, despite the increase of housework. Even when they brought their daughter home, there would only be the three of them, no more outsiders. On top of that, they saved more than a hundred a month from the nanny’s wage and still had fifty or sixty left over after paying the preschool tuition. His wife was willing to spend more on food now that they didn’t have to worry so much about it; she occasionally bought a sausage, sometimes even a roasted chicken. When they talked about their overall situation, they agreed that it was so much better without a nanny, and had plenty to say about their nanny’s shortcomings. Eventually, they realized that it was petty to criticize the departed girl while enjoying a roasted chicken, so no more of that talk.
They were pleased that the child was in a good preschool, but they had yet to get over the psychological hurdle that their child got in simply to serve as a companion for their neighbors’ child. They were reminded of that fact every morning when they droppe
d her off and every evening when they picked her up, and that was never pleasant. Besides, they often ran into the fake Indian woman or her husband and, after the obligatory greetings, felt mortified and awkward. Unaware of her parents’ feelings, their daughter sometimes walked out of the school holding hands with the neighbors’ child, like the best of friends. Everything is a process, and after a while, it no longer bothered Lin and his wife so much; occasionally, they even told themselves that nothing mattered as long as their child was happy and was enrolled in a good school. It wasn’t all that different from selling ducks, which was a loss of face and brought on criticism from his boss, but they came away with two hundred Yuan in the process. Yet the irritation never completely vanished, and they sometimes silently cursed their neighbors:
“We don’t owe you just because you helped us with the preschool.”
Their daughter also went through a process. She threw a tantrum and refused to go the first few days, crying when they dropped her off and crying when they picked her up. She was just a kid who didn’t know better, and simply did what her parents wanted. But she soon got used to the new arrangement and stopped crying once she got to know the teachers and other kids. Sometimes, it made his heart ache when Lin thought about how a little child had no choice but to learn to adjust. He also knew they couldn’t keep her around forever. She’d grow up and learn to adjust to the world outside. He tried to ignore his heartache.
Then came another World Cup. As an avid soccer fan, Lin got caught up in the matches. They were great fun to watch, and he knew the names of the major soccer stars. Back then, he’d believed that watching soccer matches was one of life’s main goals. The World Cup only came around every four years, and how many four years does one have in a lifetime? Later, once he started working and got married, he stopped watching the matches. What was the point? No matter how well the teams played, he still had tons of problems to solve—housing, childcare, coal briquettes, and hometown visitors. He began tuning out the clamor around the World Cup matches. But now, feeling more relaxed with the child in preschool, he couldn’t resist the draw of the final match. The live broadcasts came on at midnight, so he needed to talk his wife into letting him watch. To that end, he threw himself into the housework after picking up the child. Suspicious of his unusual behavior, his wife asked him what was going on. He told her with a sheepish look, adding for good measure that Maradona was playing that night. His wife was impervious to reason, as usual, and unmoved, as always.