by She Lao
His wandering took him to Zhonghai Lake. He stood on the bridge, where all he could see anywhere was a blanket of snow, and only then did it occur to him that the snowfall hadn’t stopped. He reached up to feel his knitted cap—it was wet. The bridge was deserted; even the duty policeman was nowhere to be seen. Street lamps appeared to be blinking amid the onslaught of snow. He looked around at all the snow, his mind a blank.
Xiangzi stayed on the bridge a long time, feeling that the world had died: no sound, nothing stirred. The gray snowflakes took this opportunity to speed up their disorderly fall to earth and submerge the land before anyone was aware of it. Alone in this hushed moment, he heard his conscience whisper: Never mind yourself, it said. You have to go back and take care of the Cao family. Mrs. Cao and Gao Ma are all alone, without a man in the house. That five yuan he was holding on to—hadn’t Mr. Cao given it to him? Without wasting another minute, he turned and headed back as fast as he could.
There were footprints in the snow outside the gate, and fresh tire tracks on the road. Could Mrs. Cao have left already? Why hadn’t that Sun fellow arrested them?
He was afraid to open the gate, in case someone was waiting inside to nab him. He looked around and saw no one. His heart was racing. Go ahead, give it a try. You’ve got no home to go back to, anyway, so what if they arrest you! He gave the gate a cautious push; it swung open, and he took a few tentative steps along the base of the wall. There was a light in his room—his room! He felt like crying. He walked up and listened at the window. Someone coughed inside. It was Gao Ma! He opened the door.
“Who’s there? Oh, it’s you, Xiangzi. You frightened me to death!” Gao Ma sat on the bed, pressing her hands to her chest to calm herself. “What happened to you?”
Xiangzi had no answer. As if he were seeing Gao Ma again for the first time in years, a sensation of pervasive warmth filled his heart.
“I said, what happened to you?” Gao Ma was nearly in tears.
“When you didn’t come, the master telephoned to tell us we were to go to the Zuos’ and said that you were on your way. When you got here, I opened the gate for you, didn’t I? But there was someone with you, a stranger. So I turned and went back inside to help the mistress pack. You never came into the house, leaving the mistress and me to grope around in the dark. The young master was sound asleep and had to be taken out of his warm bed. When we were all packed and had the scrolls from the study, there was still no sign of you. Where were you? Tell me that. We were ready to go, so I came looking for you. You were nowhere in sight. The mistress was so angry—mostly because she was anxious—she was shaking. It was up to me to call for a taxi, but the ‘empty city bluff,’ keeping people out by leaving the door open, wasn’t going to work, so I said, ‘You go ahead. I’ll keep an eye on the place and come along after Xiangzi gets back. But if he doesn’t, well, that’s my bad luck.’ What do you have to say for yourself? Tell me what happened to you.”
No reply from Xiangzi. “Say something! Don’t just stand there.”
“You can go now.” Finally, Xiangzi managed to speak. “Go on.”
“Will you look after the house?” Gao Ma calmed down a bit.
“When you see the master, tell him that the detective nabbed me, but then…but then, he didn’t after all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gao Ma nearly laughed out loud.
“Listen to me.” Xiangzi was running out of patience. “Tell the master to leave now. The detective said he was going to be arrested. Mr. Zuo’s house is not safe, so he must leave right away. I’ll jump over the wall and spend the night at the Wangs’. I’ll lock and bolt the front gate. Tomorrow I’ll go look for work. I’ve let the master down.”
“I’m really confused now,” Gao Ma said with a sigh. “But I’ll go. The young master must be half frozen, so I’d better go see how he is. I’ll tell the master that Xiangzi said he has to leave right away. Tonight Xiangzi will bolt the gate and sleep at the Wangs’ house. Tomorrow he’ll go job hunting. Is that right?”
Xiangzi, feeling immense shame, nodded.
After Gao Ma left, he bolted the gate and went into his room. The shattered bank was still on the floor. He picked up one of the large shards and looked at it before throwing it back down. The bedding had not been moved. Strange! How come? Is it possible that Detective Sun isn’t a detective after all? No, that can’t be. If Mr. Cao hadn’t smelled danger, he wouldn’t have abandoned his family to escape with his life. I don’t understand, I just don’t understand. Without being aware of it, he sat back down on the bed but immediately jumped up in alarm. I can’t stay here! What if Sun comes back? Thoughts were racing through his head. I’ve let Mr. Cao down, but having Gao Ma tell him to get away makes me feel a little better. In all good conscience, Xiangzi had done nothing to bring injury to anyone but himself. “My money’s gone and I can no longer help Mr. Cao,” he muttered under his breath as he gathered up his bedding.
After shouldering his bedroll and dousing the lamp, he went out the back door, then laid his bedroll on the ground and boosted himself up to look over the wall and call out softly, “Old Cheng, Old Cheng!” There was no reply from the Wangs’ rickshaw man, so Xiangzi decided to climb over and look for him. He tossed his bedroll over; it landed without a sound on the snowy ground. After picking it up, he walked quietly to Old Cheng’s room. There wasn’t another sound in the compound, which meant that everyone was asleep, and he couldn’t help thinking that being a thief didn’t seem all that risky. Emboldened by that thought, he increased his pace. The hard-packed snow crunched beneath his feet. Outside Old Cheng’s room he coughed. “Who’s out there?” Old Cheng apparently hadn’t been in bed long.
“It’s me, Xiangzi. Open the door.” Xiangzi said this with no trace of panic or urgency. The sound of Old Cheng’s reply was like the comforting voice of an old friend.
Old Cheng lit a lamp and opened the door, a well-worn fur-lined jacket over his shoulders. “What is it, Xiangzi? It’s the middle of the night.”
Xiangzi stepped inside, dropped his bedroll onto the floor, and sat on it without a word.
In his thirties, Old Cheng had prominent muscles—even on his face—that were rock-solid. He and Xiangzi were not close, though they exchanged pleasantries from time to time. On days when Mrs. Wang and Mrs. Cao went shopping together, Xiangzi and Old Cheng went to a teahouse to rest while they waited. Xiangzi did not particularly admire Old Cheng, who ran fast but careened along and did a poor job of controlling the shafts. There was nothing wrong with him personally, but that flaw kept Xiangzi from respecting him.
On this night, however, Old Cheng was everything Xiangzi could want in a friend. He sat there, not knowing what to say but filled with gratitude and affection. Not long before, he had been standing on the Zhonghai Bridge, and now he was sitting in a friend’s room. The abrupt change in circumstances erased all that had been in his mind and replaced it with warmth.
Old Cheng went back to bed and pointed to his leather jacket. “There are cigarettes in the pocket. You’re welcome to them. They’re Estates.” Rickshaw men had taken to Country Estate cigarettes as soon as they’d come on the market.
Though he didn’t smoke, Xiangzi knew that it would be unfriendly to refuse, so he took one and began to smoke.
“So,” Old Cheng remarked. “Did you quit?”
“No.” Xiangzi stayed seated on his bedroll. “There’s been trouble. The family’s left and I don’t dare stay there alone.”
“What kind of trouble?” Old Cheng sat up.
“I’m not sure, but it’s so bad even Gao Ma left.”
“You’ve left the place empty?”
“I locked the gate.”
“Oh.” Old Cheng mulled this over for a moment. “I’ll go tell Mr. Wang. What do you say?” He threw his jacket over his shoulders.
“Hold off till tomorrow. I wouldn’t know what to tell him.” Being questioned by Mr. Wang worried Xiangzi.
What Xiangzi did not know was
this: Mr. Cao gave lectures at a local university, where someone named Ruan Ming was enrolled as a student. Teacher and student had formed a cordial relationship, and Ruan Ming often visited him in his office. Mr. Cao was a socialist, but Ruan Ming entertained a far more radical ideology, though one well within the bounds of their friendship. Age and status, however, did create an occasional clash. As a teacher, Mr. Cao placed professional responsibilities above personal concerns, insisting that his students take their lessons seriously and not use a budding friendship as an excuse to slack off. In Ruan Ming’s view, given the chaotic state of the world, young people with lofty ideals ought to be involved in revolutionary activities and not worry about schoolwork, at least for the moment. His relationship with Mr. Cao was based in part on their shared interests, but also on Ruan Ming’s hope that the older man’s affection for him would ensure his promotion to the next year no matter how bad his test scores were. People like him often betray a shameless side during chaotic times; history is rife with justifiable examples.
Then came the exam, at which Mr. Cao gave Ruan Ming a failing grade. But even if he’d passed him, Ruan Ming’s overall grades were not good enough for him to continue. And yet he reserved most of his loathing for Mr. Cao, who he thought had disregarded the concept of “face,” which in China is no less important than revolution itself. Ruan Ming had disparaged knowledge in his haste to accomplish other things, and over time this had become so ingrained in his behavior that, like lazy people everywhere, he felt he had to expend little effort in order to be admired and valued, especially since he considered himself to be a progressive. By giving him a failing grade, Mr. Cao was obviously not empathetic toward a young man with lofty ideals, so there was no longer any need to continue the friendship. By pretending to be on good terms with him most of the time, only to embarrass him in the exam, Mr. Cao had shown a sinister side. It was too late for Ruan Ming to improve his grades or to resist expulsion, so he decided to focus his wrath on Mr. Cao. Having failed at getting an education, he would take his teacher down with him. That would not only give him a chance to stir things up a bit, to flex his muscles, but also would let others know that Ruan Ming was not someone you wanted as an enemy. And if he could parlay this effort into membership in one of the new groups that had sprouted up, that would be better than passing the days with nothing to do.
Ruan Ming compiled a list of comments on politics and society from Mr. Cao’s lectures and private conversations, and then reported to the Nationalist Party headquarters that Mr. Cao was espousing a radical ideology to all the young minds around him.
Mr. Cao had gotten wind of this but considered it laughable. He knew that his socialist tendencies lacked substance and that his fondness for traditional Chinese painting prevented him from taking forceful actions. How hilarious to be branded as a revolutionary leader! He saw no need to pay attention to such a ludicrous thought, though his students and colleagues warned him to be careful. A calm demeanor is no guarantee of personal safety.
The winter break provided an opportunity to weed out suspect individuals at the university; detectives busied themselves with investigations and arrests. When Mr. Cao sensed that he was being followed, his mood turned from jovial to solemn. He had to think. This would have been an ideal moment to make a name for himself; spending a few days in lockup was simpler and safer than setting off a bomb, and one counted for as much as the other. Time behind bars is capital for important people, but not for Mr. Cao. He refused to try to beat someone at his own game just to build what was at bottom a false reputation. In examining his own scruples, he hated himself for not having what it took to be a fighter, but those same scruples made it impossible to assume the role of a fighter in name only. So he went to see Mr. Zuo.
“If necessary,” Mr. Zuo proposed, “you can move in here. They’re not about to search my place.” He had connections, which always counted for more than the law. “Move in and lie low for a few days to let them think we’re afraid of them. We might have to grease a few palms to appease them, but once they’ve gotten enough face and their pockets are fatter, you can move back home.”
Detective Sun knew that Mr. Cao was a frequent guest at the Zuos’, which was where he’d go if he sensed he was in danger of being arrested. But Sun’s people dared not provoke Mr. Zuo and were only out to frighten Mr. Cao. If they managed to chase him to Mr. Zuo’s house, they could put the squeeze on him and gain considerable face in the process. Fleecing Xiangzi had not figured in their plans, but since he’d fallen into their hands so easily, that little bit of money was there for the taking.
Yes, Xiangzi had again been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tough luck! Everyone could manage, everyone had a crack to slip through, everyone but Xiangzi. He was a rickshaw man, and for him there was no escape. A rickshaw man swallows coarse grains and sweats blood; he depletes his strength for next to nothing; and he stands on the lowest rung of the social ladder, open to assaults by all people, all laws, and all privations.
Xiangzi finished his cigarette but still did not know what to do. He was like a chicken in the hands of a chef, grateful for each new breath, and nothing more. He’d have been happy to talk with Old Cheng if only he’d had something to say, but there were no words to describe his feelings. He’d tasted all the bitterness life had to offer, and yet, like a mute, could say nothing. He’d bought a rickshaw and then lost it; he’d saved up some money and lost that. All his efforts had brought him nothing but torment and humiliation. He dared not provoke anyone, not even a mangy wild dog, and in the end he was so tormented, so humiliated, he could hardly breathe.
Since dwelling on the past would get him nowhere, he needed to think about tomorrow. He could not return to the Cao residence, so where could he go? “I’ll spend the night here, how’s that?” he said, sounding like a homeless dog that has found temporary shelter from the elements. But even with something so minor, he had to make sure he wasn’t being a burden on anyone.
“Sure, stay here. Where else would you go on a snowy night like this? You can have the floor or you can squeeze in here with me, your choice.”
The floor was fine with Xiangzi; he did not want to crowd his friend.
Old Cheng easily fell asleep but not Xiangzi, who tossed and turned, his thin mattress feeling like a block of ice, thanks to the cold air coming up off the floor; he pounded his calves to keep them from cramping. Icy wind that blew in through cracks in the door struck his head like needles. Even forcing his eyes shut and covering his head did not work. On top of that, Old Cheng’s snores irritated him so much he felt like going over and punching him in the face. And it kept getting colder, until his throat began to itch. Now he was afraid he’d wake up Old Cheng if he coughed.
Unable to sleep, he was tempted to return to the Cao residence and have a look around. He no longer had a job and the place was empty, so why not go back and take a few things? They’d robbed him of the little money he’d worked so hard to save up, all because he was helping Mr. Cao, so why couldn’t he steal something for himself as a sort of reimbursement? His eyes brightened at these thoughts, and the cold no longer bothered him. Go on! It was an easy way to get back his hard-earned money. Go on!
By then he was sitting up, but he quickly lay back down. His heart was racing, almost as if Old Cheng were watching him. No, I can’t become a thief, I can’t! It was bad enough disregarding Mr. Cao’s instructions and walking away. How could I even think of stealing from him? I won’t do it—I’ll starve to death before I become a thief!
But what was to keep other people from stealing? If that fellow Sun went over and took what he wanted, who would know? He sat up again. A dog was barking in the distance. He lay back down, still unable to bring himself to go. If someone else broke in and stole something, that wouldn’t be his fault—his conscience was clear, and he refused to sully his reputation no matter how poor he was.
Besides, Gao Ma knew he’d come to the Wang residence, so if something were stolen, he’d be blamed wheth
er he was the culprit or not. Now, having decided not to steal, he was burdened by worries that someone else would break in. If something went missing during the night, he could not wash away the suspicion even if he jumped into the Yellow River. No longer did he feel cold; his palms were actually sweating. What now? Go back and have a look? He didn’t have the nerve. He’d bought back his life once already and could not bear the thought of falling into another trap. So he’d stay where he was. But what if something were stolen?
Agonizing over what to do, he sat up again and brought his legs up until his chin was nearly touching his knees. His head drooped and his eyelids felt heavy; but he mustn’t fall asleep, no matter how long the night ahead.
One idea after another came and went as he sat for the longest time, until his brain lit up. He reached out and nudged his friend. “Wake up, Old Cheng, wake up!”
“What is it?” Old Cheng could hardly open his eyes. “If you have to go, there’s a bedpan under the bed.”
“Wake up, I said, and light the lamp.”
“Is it a thief?” Old Cheng sat up, still half asleep.
“Are you awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Take a good look. This is my bedroll, these are my clothes, and this is the five yuan Mr. Cao gave me. That’s all, isn’t it?”
“That’s all, so what?” Old Cheng yawned.