by She Lao
“Are you awake or aren’t you? This is all I have. I haven’t taken a single item from the Cao residence, have I?”
“No. People like us, who get room and board, can’t have sticky fingers. If we can handle the job, we do it, and if not, we quit. But we don’t take any of our employers’ things. Is that what you’re getting at?”
“You got it!”
Old Cheng smiled. “There’s no mistake. But aren’t you cold?”
“I’m all right.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The sky seemed to lighten a bit earlier, thanks to the gleaming snow. The old year was coming to an end, and many families had begun raising chickens, whose crows and cackles were more numerous than before. The roosters’ early morning crowing lent an aura of snowy abundance to the scene. But Xiangzi could not sleep. Sometime before daybreak he dozed off a time or two, in an uneasy daze, as if floating atop rolling waves. The night kept getting colder, until, finally, when the roosters crowed, he stopped trying to sleep. Not wanting to wake Old Cheng, he curled his legs and covered his mouth with the quilt to muffle his coughs, but he was unwilling to get up. He waited impatiently, sticking it out as best he could. Finally, dawn arrived, and the sounds of wagon wheels and drivers’ shouts out on the streets broke the silence. He sat up. Cold as ever, he stood up, buttoned his jacket, and opened the door a crack to peek outside. The snow wasn’t as thick as he’d imagined, which likely meant that no more had fallen during the night. A gray sky blurred everything in sight; there were even gray patches on the snowy ground. He saw indentations from the night before, dusted by new snow but clearly his footprints.
Both to keep busy and to erase all traces of his arrival, he found a short broom and, without a sound, stepped outside to cover his tracks. The wet snow made for heavy going—he had to bend over and press down hard as he swept. He cleared away the top layer, but damp snow clung to the ground like a layer of skin. He wound up sweeping the whole yard, straightening up to stretch twice, and piling the snow under a pair of young willow trees. The effort had him sweating and considerably warmed him, which made him feel better. He stomped his feet and released a long, steamy breath.
After walking back inside, Xiangzi put the broom away and decided to roll up his bedding. Old Cheng, who had just awakened, yawned grandly. Before even shutting his mouth, he said, “It must be getting late.” The simple statement seemed to have hidden meanings. After rubbing his sleepy eyes, he took out a cigarette from the pocket of his coat and was wide awake after two deep puffs. “Don’t go anywhere, Xiangzi. I’ll get some water so we can make tea. I’m betting you had a bad night.”
“I’ll get it,” Xiangzi offered. But the words were scarcely out of his mouth when the terror of the night before returned in a flash. His heart skipped a beat.
“No, I’ll go. You’re my guest.” Old Cheng quickly dressed and, without buttoning up, threw his jacket over his shoulders and ran out, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “What? You’ve already swept the yard? You’re really something! Now you have to stay for tea.”
Xiangzi began to relax a bit.
Old Cheng returned with two bowls of sweet porridge and an armful of little buns shaped like horses’ hooves and oily crisps. “I didn’t make tea,” he said. “We’ll have this porridge instead. Go ahead, eat up. If there isn’t enough, we’ll buy some more, and if we don’t have the money, we’ll put it on credit. People who work hard for a living need good food. Eat up.”
The sun was out and their room, while still cold, had brightened up as the two men dug in, not talking as they happily slurped their porridge and finished off all the buns and crisps.
“Well?” Old Cheng said as he loosened a sesame seed from his teeth with a toothpick.
“I should be going.” Xiangzi looked down at his bedroll.
“You know, I’m still not clear about what happened,” Old Cheng said as he handed Xiangzi a cigarette. “Want to tell me?”
Xiangzi shook his head. But figuring he owed Old Cheng an explanation, he stammered a version of the night’s events; it wasn’t easy, but he managed somehow to get it all in.
With a look of near disbelief but keen interest, Old Cheng listened in silence. “As I see it,” he said, “you have to go see Mr. Cao. You can’t leave things as they are, and you can’t give up the money. Didn’t you say he told you not to stick around if things turned bad? Well, the detective nabbed you as soon as you stepped out of the cab, and whose fault is that? You weren’t disloyal, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you had to save your own skin. If you ask me, you did nothing wrong. Go tell him exactly what happened. I’ll bet he’ll not only say it wasn’t your fault, but, if you’re lucky, he’ll make up what you lost. Go on. Leave your bedroll here. The sooner you talk to him, the better. The days are short as it is. It’s eight o’clock by the time the sun’s up. So get going!”
Thoughts swirled in Xiangzi’s head, but he still felt he’d somehow let Mr. Cao down. What Old Cheng said, however, made sense. How was he supposed to worry about the Cao family with a detective threatening him with a gun?
“Go on,” Old Cheng urged. “I could tell you were confused last night, but who wouldn’t be, after what happened to you? Do as I say and you’ll be fine. I’m older than you, and I’ve seen and done more. Now, go on. See there, the sun’s up.”
Early morning sunlight reflected off the snow to light up the city. A blue sky over a ground covered in white, each bright in its own way, separated by a layer of gold that dazzled the eye. Xiangzi was about to leave when someone knocked at the door. Old Cheng went to see who it was. “Xiangzi,” he shouted. “Someone’s here to see you.”
Wang Er, from the Zuo residence, was stamping his feet in the gateway, his nose running from the bitter cold. Xiangzi had no sooner stepped outside than Old Cheng told them both to come sit in his room.
“You see, I came by to check on the house,” Wang said as he rubbed his hands. “But the place is all locked up, and I can’t get in. You see, it’s damned cold out there! You see, Mr. and Mrs. Cao left this morning for Tianjin, or maybe it was Shanghai, I’m not sure, so Mr. Zuo told me to check on the house. You see, it’s mighty cold!”
Xiangzi felt like crying. He’d decided to take Old Cheng’s advice and go see Mr. Cao, only to learn that Mr. Cao had just left. Momentarily confused, he managed to ask, “Did Mr. Cao say anything before he left?”
“No, you see, they were all up before the sun was out, no time for talking. The train, you see, was due to depart at 7:40. How do I get into their yard?” Wang Er was eager to be on his way.
“Over the wall.” Xiangzi glanced at Old Cheng, as if turning Wang Er over to him. He picked up his bedroll.
“Where are you going?” Old Cheng asked.
“Harmony Shed—it’s the only place I’ve got.” That single comment said everything there was to know about his grief, his shame, and his despair. Surrender was the only thing left to him. All other roads were closed. Now he could only trudge through the white snow in search of the dark pagoda that was Huniu. Respectability, ambition, loyalty, and integrity had failed him. Why? Because he led a dog’s life.
“Do what you have to do,” Old Cheng said. “But Wang Er is your witness that you took nothing from the Cao residence. Go on. Anytime you’re in the neighborhood, drop in. Maybe I’ll have heard of a job for you. Don’t worry about Wang Er. I’ll help him get in. Is there any coal in the place?”
“Coal and kindling are in the backyard shed.” Xiangzi picked up his bedroll.
By then the snow had lost much of its whiteness. Passing carts had made icy ruts in the streets, while dirt paths were a pitiful patchwork of black and white, thanks to passing horses. But none of this registered with Xiangzi, who hoisted his bedroll onto his shoulder and headed straight to Harmony Shed, not daring to stop, knowing that if he did he wouldn’t have the courage to walk in. His cheeks were hot as he entered. He’d prepared what he wanted to say: “I’m back, so do what
you want, it’s all the same to me.” But when they were face-to-face, the words spun through his mind over and over and never left his mouth. He wasn’t up to it.
Huniu had just gotten up; her hair was mussed, her eyes puffy, and her swarthy face dotted with goose bumps, like a plucked chicken.
“Well, I see you’re back!” There was fondness in her voice and a bright smile at the corners of her eyes.
“Rent me a rickshaw!” Xiangzi kept his head down. Un-melted snow covered the tips of his shoes.
“Go talk to the old man,” she said softly, pointing to the east room with her chin.
Fourth Master Liu was drinking his morning tea in front of a brazier with flames that rose half a foot in the air. “So, you’re still alive and kicking,” he said, half in jest and half in anger. “Forgot about us, I see. But never mind. How long have you been away? How are things? Did you buy your rickshaw?”
Xiangzi shook his head as a pang stabbed into his heart. “I need a rickshaw, Fourth Master.”
“Oh? Quit again, did you? All right, go pick one out.” Fourth Master reached for an empty bowl. “But first, have some tea.”
With the bowl in his hands, Xiangzi stood in front of the brazier and gulped down the tea. The scalding liquid and hot brazier made him sleepy. But when he laid down the bowl and turned to leave, Fourth Master stopped him.
“What’s your hurry? You came at just the right time. The twenty-seventh is my birthday, and I’m going to put up a tent for a party. You can help out for a few days and go out with a rickshaw afterward. They”—Fourth Master pointed toward the yard—“aren’t reliable. I won’t let a bunch of lazy slobs get involved. No, I want you to help. Do what has to be done without me having to tell you. You can start by sweeping away the snow, and I’ll treat you to a hot pot at lunchtime.”
“Yes, Fourth Master.” Xiangzi knew when he was beaten, so now it was all up to father and daughter; they could do with him what they wanted. He was resigned to his fate.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Huniu said, coming in at the right moment. “Xiangzi’s the one. The rest of them just don’t match up.”
Fourth Master smiled. Xiangzi’s head drooped even lower. “Come here, Xiangzi,” Huniu called from outside. “Take this money and go buy a broom, a good one, bamboo. The yard has to be swept right away because the tent people are coming today.” She led him into her room, where she counted out the money and said softly, “Show a little life! You want to get the old man on your side. That’ll smooth the way for us.”
Xiangzi neither spoke nor got angry. He’d given in completely, mind and body. He’d just get by one day at a time. If there was food, he’d eat; if there was liquor, he’d drink; and if there was work, he’d do it. By keeping busy, he’d get through each day, especially if he could learn from a donkey that turns a millstone—go round and round, oblivious of everything else.
He could not shake the feeling that he’d never again be happy. He swore off thinking, speaking, and losing his temper, and yet there was a heaviness in his chest that went away for a while when he was working but always returned when he had time on his hands—it was soft, but large; it had no definable taste, yet it choked him, like a sponge. He’d keep this suffocating something at bay by working himself half to death so he could fall into an exhausted sleep. His nights he’d give over to his dreams, his days to his arms and legs. He’d be like a working zombie: sweeping away snow, buying things, ordering kerosene lanterns, cleaning rickshaws, moving tables and chairs, eating the food Fourth Master supplied, and sleeping, all without knowing what was going on around him, or speaking, or even thinking, yet always dimly aware of the presence of that spongelike thing.
The yard was swept clean; snow on the roof slowly melted. The man putting up the tent shouted, “Climbing to the roof!” as he erected the framework. He had orders to raise a heated tent that covered the yard, with eaves, railings, and glass-inlaid doors on three sides. Inside were to be glass partitions and screens hung with painted scrolls, the wooden poles wrapped in red cloth, the main and side doors decorated with colorful streamers. The kitchen would be out back. Since this would be Fourth Master’s sixty-ninth birthday—one of the celebratory nines—it had to be festive, and a proper tent was the essential first step. Winter days were short, so the tent man was only able to put up the framework, the railings, and the outer skin before darkness fell; the interior decorations and door streamers would have to wait till the next morning. After arguing with the man until he was red in the face, Fourth Master had Xiangzi go make sure that nothing would hold up delivery of the lanterns or the arrival of the cook. Little chance of that, but he was starting to worry. So Xiangzi went, and he’d no sooner returned than Fourth Master sent him to borrow several mahjong sets, so his guests could gamble to their hearts’ content. Immediately upon his return, Xiangzi was sent to borrow a gramophone, since a birthday party called for loud music. His feet did not stop moving until eleven o’clock at night. For someone used to pulling a rickshaw, running errands without one was far more tiring. When he returned from his last errand of the day, he—even Xiangzi—could barely lift his feet.
“Good boy! You’ve done well. I’d gladly give up my last few years if I had a son like you. You’ve earned your rest. There’ll be more to do tomorrow.”
Huniu, who was in the room with them, winked at Xiangzi. The tent man came the next morning to finish the job by hanging painted scrolls on the screens, depicting scenes from the Three Kingdoms tales: the three battles with Lü Bu, fighting at Changban Slope, the burning of enemy camps, and others. The stage figures with painted faces sat astride their chargers, swords and spears at the ready, and Old Man Liu was happy with what he saw. Men from the furniture shop were next to arrive. They set up eight tables and chairs, the cushions and covers embroidered with bright red flowers. A longevity shrine was erected in the ceremonial room, with a cloisonné incense burner, candlesticks, and four red rugs in front. When Fourth Master sent Xiangzi to buy apples, Huniu slipped him two yuan and told him to also buy longevity peaches and noodles. The dough peaches were to be carved with the Eight Immortals and would count as Xiangzi’s gift. The apples arrived and were set out. Then came the longevity peaches and noodles, which were placed behind the apples. Each peach, painted red and displaying one of the Eight Immortals, was magnificent.
“These are from Xiangzi,” Huniu bragged into her father’s ear. “See how thoughtful he is!” Fourth Master smiled at Xiangzi.
The calligraphed Chinese word for longevity, which, by tradition, would be written by a friend and hung from the longevity altar, had not arrived, and Fourth Master, by nature impatient, was ready to explode. “I’m always the first to contribute to weddings and funerals, but now that it’s my turn, I get left in the lurch. Well, fuck them!”
“People won’t come till tomorrow, the twenty-sixth,” Huniu said to calm him, “so take it easy.”
“I want everything ready ahead of time. Doing things in fits and starts annoys me. Xiangzi, see that the carbide lamps are in place. If they’re not here by four this afternoon, I’ll skin those people alive!”
“Xiangzi,” Huniu said to show her reliance on him, “go hurry them up.” She made a point of telling him to do things since her father was around. Without a word in reply, he went off to do as he was told.
“I probably shouldn’t say this, Father,” Huniu said with a little pout, “but if you had a son, and he didn’t take after me, he’d take after Xiangzi. Too bad I had to be born a girl. But what’s done is done. Having him as a sort of foster son helps. See how he gets everything done without so much as passing gas.”
Fourth Master’s mind was elsewhere as he listened to his daughter. “Where’s the gramophone?” he asked her. “Let’s have some music!”
The music that emerged from the well-used gramophone they managed to borrow pierced eardrums like the screeching of a cat when you step on its tail. But Fourth Master Liu didn’t care, so long as there was noise.
By that afternoon everything was up and ready, and now it was just a matter of waiting for the cook to arrive the next day. After an inspection tour of the festooned site, Fourth Master nodded his approval. That night he invited the proprietor of the Tianshun Coal Shop to keep the accounts. Proprietor Feng, a man from Shanxi Province who kept detailed and accurate accounts, came to take a look and had Xiangzi purchase two red account books and a large sheet of vermillion writing paper. He cut the paper into strips and wrote the character for longevity on each of them, then pasted them up everywhere. Fourth Master, impressed by the man’s attention to detail, offered to invite two more friends to make a foursome for mahjong. Mr. Feng, who was well aware of Fourth Master Liu’s skill at the game, said nothing.
Upset over the lost opportunity for a game, Fourth Master summoned some of his rickshaw men. “How about a game of mahjong?” he said. “Any of you got the guts?”
They were eager to play mahjong but not with Fourth Master, since they knew he’d once run a gambling den.
“How do sorry specimens like you manage to stay alive?” Fourth Master sputtered. “When I was your age, not even being broke stopped me. If I lost, so what!”
“Can we play for pennies?” one of them asked.
“Keep your damned pennies—I don’t play with children,” Fourth Master said as he drained his cup of tea and rubbed his bald head. “I wouldn’t play now if you begged me. Tell everyone that guests will be arriving tomorrow afternoon, so bring your rickshaws in by four o’clock. I don’t want you elbowing your way in and out while I have guests. You’ll get free rent tomorrow, but be back by four. I’m giving you a free day, so I expect good wishes from all of you. Don’t disappoint me. There’ll be no rickshaws out the day after, my birthday. You’ll get fed at half past eight in the morning. Six large platters, two seven-inch platters, four small plates, and a hot pot. That’s the kind of treatment you get from me, so I want you to wear long gowns. Anyone who shows up in a short jacket gets booted out. After you’ve finished eating, make yourselves scarce, since I’ll be entertaining friends and relatives with three extra-large bowls, six plates of cold meats, six stir-fried vegetable dishes, four large bowls, and a hot pot. I’m telling you this so you won’t gape at the food. Friends and relatives are just that. I don’t want anything from you men, but anyone with a heart can cough up ten cents, and I won’t consider that an insult. If you prefer to kowtow to me three times instead of giving me money, I’ll accept that. But you have to be on your best behavior, understand? If you want to eat here that night, come back after six. You can have whatever’s left from the party. But don’t come any earlier, got that?”