by Yu Hua
“What brings you here?” Hansheng put on a show of being casual.
He felt this question inappropriate, for in the past he had been a frequent visitor. But now, he thought, the question perhaps made sense.
“I’m reading something interesting,” Hansheng said.
He ignored this remark. He hadn’t come here to engage in desultory chitchat with Hansheng; he had another purpose in mind. So he listened with great concentration.
“It’s really well written.”
He heard a slight noise, like that of something falling on the floor. He tried to determine its source, and decided that it came from the room whose door was closed.
Hansheng said nothing more. He picked up a magazine and started flipping through it.
He was glad of that, for this way he could concentrate on listening. But Hansheng made a lot of noise as he flipped through the magazine, and this was annoying. No doubt he was doing it deliberately.
Even so, at intervals he could still hear some slight movements. Now he was certain that Bai Xue was inside. She had concealed herself when Hansheng called out, and his shout had drowned out the sound of her closing the door.
Evidently, when Bai Xue ducked into the shop earlier, that was to give him the slip. It would drive him to despair if he discovered that she was in league with them, but he could not be absolutely sure this was the case.
He saw Hansheng close the door that was still open, as though he had remembered something. Too late, he thought.
15
Never before had he observed so intently the sky turning dark as he did this evening.
After dinner he didn’t wash the dishes but went out onto the balcony instead. What was odd was that his father did not reprimand him. He heard his mother go into the kitchen, and soon there was a clatter of bowls and plates.
Rosy light sprinkled itself everywhere, like fresh blood, and the sun fell slowly like a punctured balloon, disappearing behind the building opposite. Then he heard his father come over, and soon he felt a hand pat his hair.
“Why not go out for a walk?” his father said pleasantly.
Inwardly he gave a cold smile. His father’s affability was a sham. He shook his head. Now he felt his mother join them.
The three of them stood in silence for a moment, and then his father asked once more, “How about a walk?” Again he shook his head.
His parents exchanged a glance and then left the balcony. Soon he heard a door shut and knew that they had gone out.
He lowered his gaze, and soon he saw their silhouettes slowly moving away.
Then the family of three who lived next door appeared—also walking down the street at a leisurely pace. At almost the same time he saw other neighbors come out onto the sidewalk, all heading in the same direction, pretending to go for a stroll.
“Spring is here—let’s go for a walk,” he heard someone say. This comment was intended for his ears, he thought. It was just as fake as his father’s invitation just now.
It was patently obvious: while pretending to be out for a stroll, they had set off on their mission, and they would all gather somewhere to confer, and no doubt their discussion would focus on him.
Some residents had not left, but were still standing on their balconies. That was part of the plan, he thought—to leave a few people to watch him.
He raised his head and scanned the sky. It seemed to be turning pale. The ruddy clouds had dispersed and the deep blue had receded into the far distance. It was the first time he had noticed that the sky turns pale after sunset. But the paleness was temporary, and behind it the blue could still dimly be seen. Then the blue gradually deepened, at the same time slowly spreading out of the paleness. That was how the sky got dark.
He remained on the balcony even after the sky turned black. He saw that in the building opposite only four windows were lit up. Then he looked down at his own block, which had five windows that were illuminated. Only then did he go in and turn on the light.
As he slowly descended the staircase, the thought occurred to him that perhaps those dark windows were watching him too. So when he reached the ground floor he pretended to walk with a limp. That way they would not recognize him. Because he didn’t turn the light off when he left, they would assume he was still at home.
Once he could no longer be seen from the two housing blocks, he resumed his normal walking gait. He turned into an alleyway. There was a water tower at the end of it, though the pipes had yet to be installed.
There were no streetlights in the alleyway, but the moon had now risen and he walked softly in the moonlight, which shone as clearly as water on the paving stones. There were no footsteps behind him.
The alley did not extend far, and soon the water tower was standing before him. First he saw the sharp end of the tower, which stood quietly and ominously in the moonlight. Its full shape, which emerged when he left the alley, was chilling. It seemed like a huge, dark shadow, empty and formless.
All around was desolate, with a light shining only in a shack at the foot of the water tower. Quietly he made his way around the shack, and when he found the narrow iron ladder that was clamped to the water tower, he climbed it, rung by rung. The breeze grew stronger, and by the time he got to the top his clothes were puffed up by the wind and flapping as though torn. His hair blew across his face.
Now he had a bird’s-eye view. In the moonlight the town looked gloomy and chilling, as if in a coma.
It’s a plot, he thought.
16
Zhang Liang and the others swept in like a tide when he was still holed up in bed. He saw Yazhou and the other guys, plus a girl whom he had not seen before. He looked at them all in astonishment.
“How did you get in?” he asked.
They burst out laughing, as though they’d just heard a terrific joke. All of them except for the girl collapsed laughing into a chair, and the chair creaked as though it were laughing too.
“Who’s she?” he asked.
They laughed even more loudly, and Zhang Liang stamped his foot on the floor in delight.
“Don’t you recognize me?” The girl suddenly gathered in her laugh, and he was astounded that such a loud laugh could fade away so quickly.
“I’m Bai Xue,” she said.
He was astonished, wondering how on earth he had failed to recognize her. Now, studying her carefully, he felt she did look a bit like Bai Xue. What’s more, she was still wearing that red corduroy jacket, though it was no longer bright red but dark red.
“Time to get up,” Bai Xue said.
So then Zhang Liang threw open his quilt. Four of them grabbed his arms and legs, picked him up, and threw him toward Bai Xue. He gave a cry of alarm, only to find that he was sitting very comfortably in a chair, while Bai Xue had sat down on the edge of the bed.
He didn’t know what they were going to do next, so he put on an expectant air.
Zhang Liang tossed him some clothes, obviously wanting him to put them on. So he dressed. After that he sat back down in the chair and continued to wait.
“Let’s go,” Bai Xue said.
“Go where?” he asked.
She made no reply, but stood up and went outside. Zhang Liang and the rest came over and lifted him up, then pushed him toward the door.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” he said.
For no obvious reason Zhang Liang and the others burst out laughing once more.
So in just that way he was strong-armed into going downstairs. A lot of people were standing there, and it looked as though they’d been waiting a long time.
He saw how they pointed at him and made comments. As he walked on, he felt they were all falling in behind him. He wanted to make a run for it, but his arms were gripped by Zhang Liang and the others and he could not escape.
Then he was led out into the street, which he found was completely empty, devoid of people and activity. They marched him out into the middle of the street. Now, after vanishing for a while, Bai Xue appeared on the scene once more. She seemed to look at him pityingly, and then she strode off without saying a word.
Someone—he wasn’t sure if it was Zhang Liang, or Zhu Qiao, or Hansheng, or perhaps Yazhou—said to him, “Look, who’s there?”
He looked straight ahead, and there on the sidewalk not far away stood his father, smiling in his direction. Now he suddenly felt a truck was careening toward him from behind. But what was strange was that he heard the sound of a door being knocked on.
17
Later he slowly climbed down the iron ladder, and once more he stepped into the unlit alley. But now the windows on either side were illuminated by lamplight, and the light from inside brightened patches of the alleyway as well. Many of the windows were open, and voices talking inside could be heard clearly, although he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
The alley was lined with houses—mostly old, single-story residences. As he walked, he would pause momentarily every time he passed an open window.
He was eager to know what the people inside were saying, because he felt they had to be talking about him. He knew that their meeting was over and his parents would be back home. So he felt a real need to stick his ear close to the windows. The reason he hesitated was that there were human figures visible through the windows, and the people inside were too close for comfort.
Finally he approached a suitable window. There were no figures in the window, but the voices inside were unusually clear. So he went over, hugging the wall, and gradually he could make out some of the words.
“Are you just about ready?”
“That’s right.”
“When do you start?”
But now he suddenly heard a noise behind him. “What are you doing?” It was as though someone was shouting in his ear. He spun around and knocked the man down with one punch. Then he began to run as fast as he could. The man gave a shout and behind him he heard a pounding of footsteps in hot pursuit, and at the same time many people stuck their heads out the windows.
He left the alleyway with this scenario in mind. He felt it was very realistic—if he were actually to put his ear up against a window, that’s to say.
When he got home, his parents were already asleep. He put the light on. He reckoned it must now be quite late. Normally his parents went to bed at ten o’clock, and if he came home this late his father would deliver some woozy, bad-tempered words of censure. This time he didn’t do that, but said calmly, “Hi there.” He had not been sleeping.
He gave a curt response and headed off to his bedroom. Now he heard his mother say, “There’s hot water in the thermos for you to wash your feet.” Again he mumbled an acknowledgment, but once in his room he undressed and lay down in bed.
It was pitch-dark all around. After lying there for a while, he got up and went over to the window. He saw that many windows in the building opposite had now disappeared, and others were in the process of disappearing. His own block would be just the same, he thought. Now they could rest easy for a bit, for the next task would fall to his parents.
He went back to bed and lay down again. He had a hunch that something was about to happen, for they had obviously been preparing for a long time. His father had changed his attitude, and this signaled that they had noticed he was on guard. Quite possibly this would induce them to take action sooner than originally planned.
So now he needed urgently to exercise his imagination, to work out what action they might take against him the next day. Even though he had slept poorly the last two nights and was hard put to stay awake, he still did his utmost to avoid falling asleep.
Tomorrow morning, Zhang Liang and the gang, along with Bai Xue, would come over before he had gotten up. They would pretend to be in a boisterous mood, perhaps inviting him to go someplace or finding an excuse to stop him from going out. And then…He heard his breathing getting heavier.
18
The knocking was complex: in other words, there were several people pounding on the door at the same time. He was awake now, but everything that had just happened was vivid in his mind, even though he knew it was all a dream. Now the knocking on the door made him conscious of reality approaching.
He immediately decided that it was Zhang Liang and the gang, and Bai Xue, too. What was different from the dream was that they did not roll in like a tide. The door was blocking them.
Several of them at once were knocking on the door, and this showed they were annoyed.
But when he listened more carefully, it didn’t sound as though they were knocking on his door—it was as though they were knocking on the door opposite. He sat on the bed and heard the knocking growing louder and louder and sounding more and more like it was on the door opposite. So he put on his clothes and quietly went over to the door, and the knocking abruptly ceased.
He pondered for a moment, then opened the door decisively. Sure enough, Zhang Liang and the gang were standing outside. They roared with laughter at the sight of him. Then they rushed in all at once.
He was unmoved, feeling that their laughter and their boisterous entry corresponded to his dream of the night before.
Bai Xue, however, did not appear—it was just the four of them. But when they thronged inside, they did not pull the door to. Pretending to shut the door, he stuck his head out and looked around, but didn’t see Bai Xue.
“Is it just the four of you?” he couldn’t help asking.
“Isn’t that enough?” Zhang Liang countered.
It is enough, he thought. Four against one is more than enough.
“Let’s go,” said Zhang Liang.
(If Bai Xue were present, it should be she who said that.)
“Go where?” he asked.
“You’ll know when we get there.”
“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,” he said. As soon as he said this, he was stunned. Without intending to, he was repeating what he’d said in the dream.
“Let’s go.” So saying, Zhang Liang opened the door, while Zhu Qiao and Hansheng pinned his arms. (Just like in the dream.)
“We’re going to take you somewhere that will really surprise you,” Zhang Liang said when they got to the bottom of the stairs.
But there weren’t many people watching, just three or four pedestrians on the move.
Zhu Qiao and Hansheng frog-marched him along as Zhang Liang and Yazhou led the way. He felt that Zhu Qiao and Hansheng were not using as much force as they had at the start.
All of a sudden, Zhang Liang shouted, “Once there was a mountain.”
“On the mountain was a temple,” Zhu Qiao continued.
Then it was Hansheng’s turn. “In the temple were two monks.”
A little pause, and Yazhou picked up the thread. “An old monk and a young monk.”
Zhang Liang nudged him. “Your turn.”
He looked at Zhang Liang in confusion.
“You say, ‘The old one said to the young one.’ ”
He hesitated a moment, then said, “The old one said to the young one.” They all laughed like crazy.
Zhang Liang picked up the thread again. “Once there was a mountain.”
Zhu Qiao: “On the mountain was a temple.”
Hansheng: “In the temple were two monks.”
Yazhou: “An old monk and a young monk.”
It was his turn now, but again he did not do his bit, because they had reached the main street. They were standing on the sidewalk.
“Hurry up,” Zhang Liang said impatiently.
“The old one said to the young one,” he said listlessly.
Zhang Liang was disp
leased. “Can’t you say it a bit louder?” Then, crying, “Once there was a mountain,” he crossed the street. Zhu Qiao and Hansheng let go of him and followed Zhang Liang, shouting their lines as they went. Then Yazhou did the same.
Now it was his turn once more. He saw a truck slowly approaching to his left, and he knew that as soon as he got to the middle of the street it would come careening toward him.
19
What was this noise that kept chasing him and wouldn’t give up? He’d been running so fast he was gasping for breath, but the noise was still on his tail and there was no way to shake it off.
In the end he huddled next to a utility pole and threw a glance back. The sound was approaching. It was his father.
His father was now standing right in front of him. “What’s the matter with you?” he cried.
He looked at his father and made no reply. This is right, he thought. My father ought to make an appearance at this point. It simply came a bit later than in the dream.
“What’s the matter with you?” his father asked again.
He felt sweat pouring out of all his pores. He was damp all over.
His father said nothing more and simply stared at him. Sweat was dripping down his forehead and blurring his vision. And so it looked as though his father were standing in the rain.
“Let’s go home.” His father’s arm felt strong on his shoulders, and he had no choice but to follow.
“You’re a grown-up now.” He heard his father’s voice circle around him, and it was as though his father was circling around him too. “You’re a grown-up now.” His father’s voice continued to sound, but he could no longer make out the words.
As they walked back along the street, he noticed that his father’s footsteps were poorly coordinated with his own. His father’s tone, in contrast, was quite cordial, though this cordiality was bogus.
Later—he hadn’t registered just where they’d got to—his father suddenly made some remark or other and left him.