by She Lao
As Xiangzi was taking Mr. Cao home from West City at around nine o’clock, they passed through the festivities at the Xidan Memorial Arch and turned east onto Chang’an Street, where the crowds began to thin out. The smooth asphalt roadway was covered by a thin layer of snow that dazzled in the reflected light of street lamps. The headlights of an occasional automobile lit up a long stretch of the road, turning snowflakes caught in the lights into what looked like flecks of gold. As they neared the New China Gate area, a thin layer of snow on the wide roadway gave the welcoming impression that the world had opened up, invested with an air of solemnity. The Chang’an Arch, the New China Gate, and the red walls of Nanhai—the Southern Sea—all wore white crowns, contrasting starkly with their vermillion columns and red walls. In the surrounding stillness they displayed the courtliness of the ancient capital. At that moment, in that place, Beiping seemed to be a city inhabited not by people but by palatial halls and temples and a few old pines whose branches silently received the falling snowflakes. Xiangzi had no time to take in the scenery, and when he saw the snow-covered road ahead, he thought only of getting home as fast as possible. In his mind’s eye, he visualized the gate at home at the end of the straight, white, silent road, but he could not run as fast as he wanted, for the snow, while thin, formed a layer on the soles of his shoes. He kept stomping his feet, but a new layer quickly formed. The ice crystals were small but heavy, and they partially blinded him, forcing him to go slow. The cold air kept the snowflakes that landed on him from melting, and before long a layer of ice had formed on his shoulders, annoying him only in the sense that he felt uncomfortably wet. Though there were few shops in the area, firecrackers kept exploding in the distance, and every once in a while a double-pop rocket or a Five-Devils Starburst lit up the night sky. After the sparks died out, the night seemed darker than ever and unsettling. Anxious to get home, Xiangzi heard the firecrackers and saw the sparks in the night sky, but he had to keep his pace frustratingly slow.
What really irritated him was the bicycle that had been following them all the way from West City. When he reached West Chang’an, where the street was quieter, he could hear the tires crunching snow behind him, soft but audible. Like all rickshaw men, Xiangzi hated bicycles. Automobiles were horrible things, yet their engines were so loud you had plenty of time to get out of the way. But bicycles wobbled dizzyingly in and out of traffic. And woe be it to the rickshaw man who collided with one, because it was invariably his fault, at least in the view of the police, who found rickshaw men easier to bully than cyclists. Several times Xiangzi felt like surprising the cyclist by stopping abruptly and sending the little wretch flying. But that would have been a mistake. Rickshaw men had to put up with all sorts of humiliations. Each time he stopped to loosen the ice on his soles, he had to shout, “Stopping!” When they reached Nanhai Gate, the street widened, but the cyclist stuck to him, so angering Xiangzi that he pulled over to brush the snow off his shoulders and then stood there until the bicycle glided past. The rider even looked back at him. Xiangzi took his own sweet time starting out again, giving the cyclist time to get far ahead. “Damn you!” he cursed.
Mr. Cao’s humanitarian nature kept him from putting up the padded curtain that served as a windbreaker, and even the canvas hood went up only during heavy rainstorms, all to make it easier on the man in front. Mr. Cao saw no reason to put either one up in such a mild snowfall and far preferred the opportunity to enjoy the sight of the falling snow. He’d spotted the bicycle as well, and after Xiangzi got the curse out of his system, he said softly, “If he hangs around, don’t stop at our gate but continue on to Mr. Zuo’s house by Huanghua Gate. And don’t panic.”
Xiangzi started to panic. He was always ready to curse someone on a bicycle, but he’d never considered the possibility that a cyclist was to be feared. If Mr. Cao was unwilling to go straight home, that fellow must have presented a threat. Xiangzi hadn’t run more than a couple of dozen steps before catching up with the cyclist, who was obviously hanging back waiting for them. He let the rickshaw go on ahead. Xiangzi took a quick look at him on his way past, and that was all it took: a member of the secret police. He often ran into them in teahouses, and although he’d never spoken to one, he knew them by their clothes and how they carried themselves. Just like this guy. A black overcoat and a felt hat with the brim pulled way down low.
When they reached the intersection of Nanchang Road, Xiangzi sneaked a look behind him as he turned the corner. The man was still there. Suddenly forgetting about the snow on the street, he picked up his pace. Ahead was a long, straight, silvery-white road illuminated by the cold glare of street lamps; behind, a detective on a bicycle. This was a new experience for Xiangzi, and he broke out in a sweat. He turned to look again at the rear entrance to the park. Still there! When they finally reached the gate at home, Xiangzi did not dare stop, yet hated the idea of going on. Mr. Cao said nothing, so he kept running, heading north, and soon arrived at Beikou. The bicycle stayed with them the whole time. Xiangzi turned down a narrow lane. Still behind him! He emerged from the lane. Still there! This, Xiangzi realized, was not the way to Huanghua Gate. He’d taken the wrong lane but wasn’t aware of it until he was at the far end. Getting lost like that bothered him.
When they reached the rear of Jingshan Park, the cyclist turned north and headed toward Rear Gate. Xiangzi mopped his sweaty face. The snowfall had lightened considerably and was now a mixture of flakes and ice crystals. He loved the way snowflakes danced so naturally in the air, unlike the ice crystals, which were cold and disagreeable. “Where to, sir?” he turned to ask.
“Mr. Zuo’s house. If anybody asks, tell them you don’t know me.”
“Yes, sir.” Xiangzi’s heart was pounding, but it was not his place to ask why.
When they arrived at the Zuo home, Mr. Cao told him to pull the rickshaw inside and close the gate behind them. He was as calm as ever, but there was something unsettling about the look on his face as he left Xiangzi with his instructions and went into the house. By the time Xiangzi had parked the rickshaw beside the gate, Mr. Cao had reemerged, along with Mr. Zuo, whom Xiangzi knew. He was one of his employer’s friends.
“Xiangzi,” Mr. Cao said, speaking hurriedly, “You’re to take a taxi home and tell the mistress I’m here. Have her come here, by taxi, but not the one you rode in. Understand? Good. Tell her to bring the things she’ll need and those scrolls in my study. Got that? I’m going to phone her, but I’m telling you because she might be flustered and not do as I say. It’s up to you to see that she does.”
“Why don’t I go with him?” Mr. Zuo said.
“No need for that. That fellow might not have been a detective after all, but I have to be careful because of that other business. Would you mind calling for a taxi?”
Mr. Zuo went inside to phone for a taxi, while Mr. Cao gave Xiangzi more instructions: “I’ll pay the taxi when it gets here. Tell the mistress to pack up the children’s things and the paintings in the study—just those few scrolls—as quickly as possible. The rest doesn’t matter. When she’s done that, have Gao Ma phone for a taxi and come here. Have you got all that? After they’ve left, lock the gate and move into the study, where there’s a telephone. Do you know how to use one?”
“I know how to take calls but not dial them.” Xiangzi did not like taking calls, either, but saying so would only add to Mr. Cao’s concerns.
“Good.” Mr. Cao continued, speaking rapidly: “Don’t open the door for anyone, no matter what. With us gone, you’ll be alone, and they’ll nab you for sure. If things look bad, douse the lights and go to the Wangs’ out back. You know them, don’t you? Right. Hide there until this blows over. Don’t worry about my things, or yours, for that matter. Just jump over the wall to keep from falling into their hands. If you lose anything, I’ll make it up to you. For now, take these five yuan. All right, then, I’ll phone the mistress now, but be sure to repeat what I said when you get home. Just leave out the bit about nabbing people. He m
ight not have been a detective, so don’t panic.”
Xiangzi’s head was spinning. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but he had to concentrate on what Mr. Cao was telling him to do.
The taxi arrived and Xiangzi climbed in awkwardly. Snow still fell, neither more nor less heavily but enough to blur the scene outside the window. He sat up so stiff and straight his head nearly touched the top. He wanted to think things through but could not take his eyes off the arrow on the hood ornament, bright red and quite lovely. He was fascinated, too, by the windshield wipers that swept from side to side, clearing the glass of moisture. They pulled up to the gate just as he was losing interest in all this, and he stepped reluctantly out of the taxi.
Before he could ring the bell at the gate, a man who seemed to come out of the wall grabbed Xiangzi’s wrist. His first impulse was to wrench his arm free, but he stopped when he saw who it was: it was the detective they’d seen on the bicycle.
“Don’t you recognize me, Xiangzi?” the man said with a smile as he let go of Xiangzi’s arm.
Xiangzi gulped, not knowing what to say. “Have you forgotten how we took you to the Western Hills? I’m Platoon Leader Sun. Now do you remember?”
“Oh, Platoon Leader Sun!” Xiangzi had no idea who he was. When the soldiers dragged him up into the mountains, he hadn’t paid the slightest attention to who was a platoon leader and who was a company commander.
“You might not know me, but I know you. That scar on your cheek is a dead giveaway. A while ago, while I was tailing you, I kept looking but couldn’t be sure. But there’s no mistaking that scar.”
“What do you want?” Xiangzi tried again to ring the bell.
“I’ll tell you what I want, and it’s important. Let’s go inside and talk about it.” Platoon Leader Sun—now a detective—reached out and rang the bell.
“I’m busy,” Xiangzi said as he broke out into a sweat. I can’t get away from this guy, he said to himself angrily, and now he wants me to invite him in.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” the detective said with a crafty grin. “This is all for your own good.” When Gao Ma opened the gate, the man slipped inside. “Excuse me,” he said. Before either Xiangzi or Gao Ma had a chance to react, he pulled Xiangzi in with him. “Is this where you live?” he asked as he pointed to the gatehouse. He stepped inside and looked around. “Not bad, nice and neat,” he said. “You’ve got a good deal here.”
“What do you want? I’m busy.” Xiangzi had heard enough meaningless talk from the man.
“Didn’t I say I’ve got important business?” Another smile, but the stern tone was unmistakable. “I’ll give it to you straight. Your Mr. Cao is a member of an outlawed political party, and when they catch him, they’ll shoot him. He won’t get away! You and I have had dealings before. You did my bidding at the camp, and besides, we’re street people, so I’m here to give you a warning. If you don’t get away while you can, you’ll be caught in the net with all the others. You and I sell our muscle to make a living, and this case involves others, not us. Isn’t that right?”
“I wouldn’t be able to face them.” Xiangzi was thinking about Mr. Cao’s instructions.
“Face who?” Detective Sun was still smiling, but his eyes narrowed. “They’re the ones who caused all this, so why worry about them? We shouldn’t suffer over what they do. Think for a minute. You’ve lived like a wild bird all your life; do you think you could stand being locked up in a cage for three months? Not only that—money will take the sting out of prison for them, but you, my young friend, with nothing to offer, might wind up tied to the toilet. But that’s just the beginning. They can pull strings and get off with a few years behind bars and make you the scapegoat. We don’t look for trouble and we don’t cause it, so how fair would it be to wind up with black dates in our chest at the Tianqiao execution ground? You’re smart enough not to fight against impossible odds. Face them? Hah! I tell you, my young friend, no one in this world gives a damn about hard-luck guys like us.”
Xiangzi was frightened. He could imagine what prison would be like as he thought about how he’d suffered when the soldiers took him. “So I should take off and not worry about them?”
“You can worry about them, but who’ll worry about you?” Xiangzi had no answer for that. He stood there stiffly until he felt his conscience was clear. “All right, I’ll take off.”
“Not so fast,” Detective Sun said with a sneer.
Now Xiangzi was really confused.
“Xiangzi, my young comrade, you are a fool. You don’t expect a detective to just let you go, do you?”
“But…” Xiangzi was speechless.
“Don’t act dumb.” Detective Sun’s eyes bored into him. “You must have some savings. Let’s see what you’ve got to buy your life with. You make more a month than I do—and me, with a family to feed and clothe. I need to supplement my regular pay. I’m giving it to you straight. Do you really think I can just let you go? Friendship is one thing. If we weren’t friends, I wouldn’t be doing this for you. But business is business, and if I didn’t get something for my troubles, my family would have to subsist on the wind. People who get along like us don’t need to waste words—am I right or aren’t I?”
“How much?” Xiangzi sat on the edge of the bed.
“Whatever you have. There’s no fixed number.”
“I’ll take my chances with prison, then.”
“So you say, but you’ll regret it.” Sun stuck his hand into his padded coat. “See this. I can take you in right now, and if you resist arrest, I’ll shoot. And if I take you in, money will be the least of your problems. They’ll strip you and take the clothes off your back. You’re a smart boy. Figure it out for yourself.”
“If you’ve got time to squeeze me, why not squeeze Mr. Cao?” Xiangzi’s voice broke.
“He’s the main criminal, and I’ll get a small reward for bringing him in. It’ll also be my fault if I fail. But you, you, my young friend, letting you go will be like passing gas, and killing you would be like squashing a bedbug. Give me the money and you can be on your way. Refuse, and I’ll see you next at Tianqiao. Don’t make trouble for yourself—be a big boy and cough it up. Besides, I won’t be able to keep all of what little I get from you. My comrades will lay a claim to some of it, and I might wind up with less than anybody. If you think it’s too high a price for your life, my hands are tied. How much do you have?”
Xiangzi got to his feet, his brain about to leap out of his head. He clenched his fists.
“Use those and you’re done for. There’s a whole gang of us, you know. Now, come on, let’s see the money! I’m helping you save face, so now’s the time to do the right thing.” Detective Sun flashed Xiangzi a sinister look.
“What have I ever done to you?” Nearly in tears, Xiangzi sat back down.
“Nothing. You just wound up in the wrong place at the wrong time. You’re either born lucky or you’re not, and people like us are at the bottom of the heap. There isn’t a thing you can say or do about that.” Detective Sun shook his head, as if deeply moved. “All right, let’s just say I’ve wronged you, and let it go at that.”
Xiangzi thought hard for a moment and came up with nothing. His hand shook as he took his gourd bank out from under the covers.
“Let’s see it,” Sun said with a smile. He took it from Xiangzi and flung it against the wall.
Xiangzi’s heart broke when he saw the money strewn across the floor.
“That’s all?”
Xiangzi said nothing. He was shaking.
“Oh, hell, I’m not out to drain you dry. A friend’s a friend, after all. But I want you to know how lucky you are to be buying your life with this pittance.”
By now shaking uncontrollably, Xiangzi began rolling up his bedding.
“Don’t touch that!”
“But it’s cold out there.” Flames seemed to leap from Xiangzi’s eyes.
“I said don’t touch that, and I mean it. Now get
out of here!” Xiangzi swallowed hard and bit his lip as he pushed open the door and walked out.
An inch or more of snow had fallen while he was inside. He started walking, head down. The ground was pristine and white, all except for the dark footprints he left in the snow.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Xiangzi was looking for a place to sit down and think about what had just happened. Even if he only wound up crying, at least he’d know what he was crying about. The changes had come too fast for him. With snow everywhere, there was no place to sit. All the teahouses were boarded up, since it was past ten, but even if they’d been open, he wouldn’t have gone in. What he needed was a quiet, out-of-the-way spot, since he knew that the tears could start flowing at any minute.
With no place to sit, he decided to keep walking, slowly. But where should he go? A silvery world offered him no place to sit and nowhere to walk to. The only break in the white expanse came from hungry birds and a solitary man who was sighing in despair.
Where to go? This was the first order of business. A small inn? Out of the question. The way he was dressed, he could be robbed during the night, not to mention all those frightful bedbugs. How about a larger inn? Too expensive. All he had on him were those five yuan, the sum total of his wealth. A bathhouse? But they locked up at midnight, with no overnight accommodations. There was nowhere.
The lack of a place to go drove home the severity of his predicament. After all his years in the city, he owned only the clothes on his back and five yuan. Even his bedding was gone. His thoughts turned to tomorrow. What would he do then? Pull a rickshaw? That would still leave him with no place to stay, homeless and his savings gone. Become a peddler? Not with a measly five yuan as capital. And, of course, he’d have to buy a carrying pole. He’d never make enough to survive. A rickshaw man could at least earn thirty or forty cents a day, while vending required capital, with no guarantee he’d make enough for three meals a day. He could always spend his capital and start pulling a rickshaw when it was gone, but that was like taking off your pants to fart, a waste of five yuan. That was his last hope, and he mustn’t lightly let go of any of it. Take a job as a servant? He wouldn’t know how. Wait on people? He couldn’t do it. Do laundry? Cook? He couldn’t do that, either. He didn’t know how to do anything. He was useless, big, rough, and stupid!