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Rickshaw Boy: A Novel

Page 17

by She Lao


  “Getting me angry is part of your plan,” Fourth Master said, his eyes as round as saucers. “You think I’ll keel over in a fit of rage and you can get yourself a man. Well, not so fast. I’ve got a few years left in me.”

  “Don’t change the subject. Tell me what you’re going to do.” Huniu’s heart was pounding, but there was defiance in her voice.

  “What am I going to do? I already told you. It’s him or me. I’m not going to let a stinking rickshaw man get what he wants that easily.”

  Xiangzi threw down his broom, straightened up, and glared at Fourth Master. “Are you talking about me?”

  Fourth Master bent over, laughing. “Ha-ha, it seems we have a rebel in our midst. Who else would I be talking about? Now get the hell out of here. I thought you were all right and treated you well, and this is the thanks I get. Have you forgotten who I am? If so, you should have stopped to find out. I want you out of my sight, and I don’t ever want to see your face around here again! You were mistaken if you thought you could come here and do whatever you damn well pleased!”

  The old man’s shouts brought some of the rickshaw men out to see what was going on, while the mahjong players went on with their game, since Fourth Master yelling at one of his employees was nothing new.

  There was much that Xiangzi wanted to say, but his mouth was not up to the task. So he stood there silently, stretching his neck and swallowing noisily.

  “Get of my sight, I said, get out now! You and your plan to benefit at my expense! I knew all the tricks before you were even born!” While he appeared to be lashing into Xiangzi, the real target of his wrath was his hateful daughter. But even in his anger he could not deny that Xiangzi was a decent and honest young man.

  “All right, I’ll leave!” There was nothing more Xiangzi could say, so best to get out now; he was sure to lose a verbal sparring match with either of them.

  The other rickshaw men had been standing around watching the fun, though when they recalled what they’d been put through that morning, they were happy to see Xiangzi on the receiving end of Fourth Master’s tirade. But then they heard him send Xiangzi on his way, and their sympathies returned to their brother, who had worked like a slave for days, only to have the old ingrate turn on him, to tear down the bridge after the river was crossed. That wasn’t fair. “What’s going on, Xiangzi?” one of them asked. Xiangzi just shook his head.

  “Hold on, Xiangzi, don’t go yet.” Huniu saw what she had to do, now that her plan had fallen apart. If she didn’t act fast and keep him from leaving, she could lose the hen and the egg.

  “We’re like a pair of grasshoppers tied together by a string, so neither of us can get away. Don’t do anything till I work this out.” She turned to her father. “You might as well know that I’m carrying Xiangzi’s child, and I go where he goes. Now, are you going to let me marry him or would you rather chase us both off? It’s up to you.”

  Things had come to a head much too fast for Huniu, forcing her to show her hand before she was ready, and this new wrinkle obviously took Fourth Master by surprise. Still, he mustn’t give in, especially in front of all those people, no matter how things stood. “How could you have the insolence to say what you just said? My face burns with shame, shame for you!” Slapping his own face, he spat, “You haven’t an ounce of shame!”

  The mahjong players’ hands froze. Something was seriously wrong, but they did not know what and kept their mouths shut. Those who didn’t stand up sat there staring dumbly at their game pieces.

  Huniu’s secret was out, and she was glad. “I don’t have any shame? Don’t get me started on what you’ve been up to. Your shit stinks worse than mine! This is my first mistake, and it’s your fault. A man takes a wife and a woman finds a husband. Someone who’s lived sixty-nine years ought to know that. I’m not saying this for their benefit,” she said, pointing to the men looking on, “but now everything’s out in the open, the way it should be. You’ve got a tent right there, so make use of it.”

  “Me?” Fourth Master’s face changed from an embarrassed red to an enraged white. He hadn’t been a widower all these years for nothing. “I’ll burn the damned thing down before I’ll use it for you!”

  “Fine!” Huniu’s lips were trembling, her voice nearly a shriek.

  “I’ll pack up and leave, but first, how much are you going to give me?”

  “The money’s mine, and nobody’s telling me who to give it to.” Hearing his daughter say she was leaving saddened Fourth Master, but this was no time to back down, so he hardened his heart.

  “Yours? Without me around to help you all these years, you’d have spent it all on whores. Let’s be fair.” Her eyes sought out Xiangzi. “Say something.”

  Xiangzi stood there, tall and straight, but there was nothing he could say.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Since Xiangzi was not capable of hitting an old man or a woman, his strength lacked an outlet. Trying to turn this to his advantage was an option, but that wasn’t like him. He could, of course, simply run out on Huniu, but she had stood up to her father and was willing to run off with him; while there was no way of knowing what was in her heart, to all appearances she was ready to sacrifice herself for him, which forced him into the position of putting up a bold front in the presence of all those people. He had nothing to say, so the least he could do to show that he was a man was to stay put and wait for things to sort themselves out.

  Father and daughter, having run out of insults, could only glare back and forth while Xiangzi stood mute to one side. That held true for his brothers as well, no matter whose side they were on. An awkward silence also engulfed the mahjong players. Still, they felt obliged to urge both parties to resolve their differences by calmly talking things out. Trite though their comments were, what else could they do? They were in no position to solve anything, and they knew it. But when it became clear that neither party would give ground, they made themselves scarce at the first opportunity. As the saying goes, “An upright official steers clear of domestic disputes.”

  Huniu detained Mr. Feng of the Tianshun Coal Shop before he could slip away. “Mr. Feng, you have room in your place, don’t you? How about letting Xiangzi stay there for a couple of days? We’ll put our affairs together quickly so he won’t be on your hands long. Xiangzi, you go with Mr. Feng. I’ll come by tomorrow so we can make plans. But I’m telling you, the only way I’ll leave this shop is in a sedan chair. He’s in your hands, Mr. Feng. I’ll come get him tomorrow.”

  Mr. Feng gulped, wary of taking on the responsibility, but Xiangzi, in a hurry to get out of there, blurted out, “I’m not running away!”

  With a final glare at her father, Huniu turned and went into her room, where she bolted the door from the inside and began to sob.

  Mr. Feng and the other stragglers tried to get Fourth Master to go to his room, but he asked them to stick around for a few more drinks in an attempt to appear sociable. “Don’t you gentlemen worry. From now on, she’ll go her way and I’ll go mine. There won’t be any more quarreling. Once she’s gone, I’ll pretend I never had a daughter. I’ve been a man of the world all my life, only to be shamed by the likes of her. Twenty years ago I’d have torn them both apart. But now she’s on her own, and I’ll be damned if she’ll get a cent from me. Not a cent! We’ll see how she gets by then. A taste of that kind of life will tell her who’s best, her papa or that no-good lover of hers. Stick around for a few more rounds.”

  But they made their excuses and left as quickly as possible.

  Xiangzi went to the Tianshun Coal Shop.

  From there, events moved quickly. Huniu rented two small rooms with a southern exposure in a large, shared-use tenement compound in Mao Clan Bay and hired a man to paper the walls in white, then asked Mr. Feng to write several happiness characters, which she hung here and there. The rooms now in readiness, she went out to arrange for a bridal sedan chair, specifying that she wanted it decorated with stars and accompanied by sixteen musicians, but no
gold lanterns or formal escort. That done, she made a red satin wedding dress, rushing to finish to avoid the taboo against doing needlework between the first and fifth days of the New Year holiday. The wedding would take place on the sixth, an auspicious day with no taboo against leaving home. All this she managed on her own, before telling Xiangzi to go out and buy a set of new clothes. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime event,” she said.

  Xiangzi had only five yuan to his name. “What?” she remarked, staring at him. “What happened to the thirty yuan I gave you?”

  Incapable of making up a story, Xiangzi told her all that had happened at the Cao home, and she stood there blinking, not sure if she should believe him or not. “All right, then,” she said. “I don’t have time to argue, so we’ll let our conscience be our guide. Here’s fifteen yuan. If you’re not dressed like a proper bridegroom on our wedding day, look out!”

  On the sixth day of the New Year, Huniu climbed into a bridal sedan chair and left without a word to her father, no siblings to see her on her way and no good wishes from friends and family; all that accompanied her were drumbeats and the clang of cymbals on streets still festive from the New Year’s celebrations. She made her way steadily past Xi’an Gate and Xisi Arch, arousing the envy and stirring the emotions of people in their new clothes, especially clerks in shops along the way.

  Xiangzi, his face flushed, was waiting to greet her in a new outfit bought in the Tianqiao district; it included a little satin cap that cost thirty cents. He looked like a man who had forgotten who he was, dumbly taking in what was going on around him, having lost all self-recognition. From the coal shop room, he was abruptly plunged into a bridal chamber freshly papered in white and wasn’t sure why. The past was like a coal yard, littered with heaps of black, but now, with a blank look on his face, he was standing in a room so white it nearly blinded him, with blood-red happiness characters on the walls. It was, he felt, mocking him—white, shadowy, oppressive. The rooms were furnished with Huniu’s old tables, chairs, and bed. A stove and chopping board were new, and a colorful feather duster stood in the corner. He’d seen the furniture before but not the stove, the cutting board, or the feather duster. The mixture of old and new got him thinking about the past and fretting over the future. At the mercy of others in everything, he was like something old and something new, a strange decorative ornament that he himself did not recognize. He could neither cry nor laugh as he lumbered around the warm little room like a caged, fleet-footed rabbit, gazing longingly through the bars and surveying its cramped surroundings, unable to escape. Huniu, in her red dress and heavily rouged and powdered, followed him with her eyes. He didn’t dare look at her. She, too. was a strange object, old and yet new. She was a girl, and she was also a woman; she was female, but she looked male; human yet a bit like a wild beast, a beast in a red dress that already had him in its grasp and was getting ready to dispose of him. Anyone could make short work of him, but this beast was especially savage and never let him out of its sight, staring at him, laughing at him, perfectly capable of getting him in a bear hug and sucking out every ounce of his strength. Hopelessly trapped, he took off his cap and stared at the red button on top until his eyes glazed over. When he looked away, the walls were covered with red dots, circling and jumping. The largest of them, and the reddest, right in the center, was Huniu, a revolting grin on her face.

  On their wedding night Xiangzi learned that Huniu was not pregnant after all. Like explaining a magic trick, she said, “Would you have gone along if not for this little deception? I don’t think so. I stuffed a pillow in my pants.” She laughed till she cried. “What a dummy you are! I’ve done you no injury, so I don’t want to hear a word from you. Who are you, anyway? And who am I? I fought with my father to be with you, and you should be thanking your lucky stars!”

  Xiangzi went out early the next morning. Most but not all of the shops were open. New Year’s scrolls still decorated the doors, but the strings of yellow paper money had been blown away by the wind. Rickshaws were plentiful on otherwise quiet streets, the men more spirited than usual in their new shoes, at least most of them; red paper streamers adorned the backs of their rickshaws. Xiangzi envied these men, with their New Year’s spirit, while he had spent the past few days bottled up. They were content with their lot; he had no job to go to and could only stand idly by, which was unlike him. Tomorrow, he was thinking, he’d have a talk with Huniu—his wife. From now on he would have to beg for food from that wife—and what a wife she was. His physique, his strength, all going to waste—useless. His first job was to take care of his wife, that fanged thing in a red dress, that blood-sucking beast. No longer could he lay claim to being a man; he was just a piece of meat. He’d ceased to exist, except to struggle in her teeth, like a mouse caught in a cat’s mouth. No, he wouldn’t talk things over with her; he’d find a way to escape; as soon as he had a plan, he’d leave without a word. He owed nothing to a crone who would trick him with a pillow. He felt terrible. How he longed to tear his new clothes to shreds and then jump into a pool of clear water to wash away the filth that clung to his body, the unspeakable grime that sickened him. He wanted nothing more than to never see her again!

  But where would he go? He had no idea. When he was pulling a rickshaw, his legs went where his passenger told him. Now his legs were free to take him wherever they wanted, but his mind was a blank. At the Xisi Arch he headed south, past Xuanwu Gate. The road ahead was straight, and his mind would entertain no twists or turns. He continued heading south, through the city gate, and when he spotted a public bathhouse, he decided he needed a bath.

  After stripping naked, he examined his body and was ashamed. So he went down into the numbingly hot water, shut his eyes, and felt the filth seep out through the pores of his tingling skin. His mind a blank, he could not bring himself to touch his body. Sweat beaded his forehead. Not until his breathing quickened did he lazily drag himself out of the water; by then his body was red as a newborn baby. Unwilling to walk around like that, he wrapped a towel around his waist, but even then he felt unsightly and unclean, despite the drops of sweat raining to the floor. There was, he felt, a stain on him that could not be washed away. In the eyes of Fourth Master, in the eyes of everyone who knew him, he would always be known as a womanizer.

  He dressed quickly, before he’d stopped sweating, and ran out, afraid to let anyone see his naked body. A cool breeze greeted him outside and had a relaxing effect. The atmosphere on the streets was even more festive than when he’d gone into the public bath; people’s faces had brightened under a cloudless sky. But Xiangzi’s mind was as conflicted as ever, and he didn’t know where to go next. South first, then east, and south again, he headed for Tianqiao, where, in the days after New Year’s, shop clerks congregated at nine in the morning after breakfast, since that was where peddlers of everything imaginable had set up stalls and entertainers put on shows. The place was swarming with people by the time he arrived, attracted by the clamor of drums and cymbals; but he was in no mood to take in the fun. He had forgotten how to laugh.

  Comic dialogue performers, dancing bears, magicians, storytellers, balladeers, drumbeat singers, and acrobats had once brought him pleasure, making him laugh out loud. Tianqiao was half the reason he could not stand the idea of leaving Beiping. Seeing the mats spread on the ground and the crowds forming around them reminded him of so many happy times. But not now. Since he could not share in the laughter, he had no desire to elbow his way into the crush of people. Instead, he needed a quiet spot, away from the crowds, but he couldn’t tear himself away. No, he could not leave this bustling, happy place, not Tianqiao and certainly not Beiping. Go away? All roads were closed to him. So he would have to return to talk things out with her—with her. He couldn’t leave, but neither could he remain idle. He had to stop and think, just as everyone must do when things appear hopeless. After suffering every wrong imaginable, why should this one be special? He could not change the past, so why not just carry on?

  He
stood and listened to the clamor of voices and to the drumbeats and crashing cymbals, and as he watched the people and horse-drawn carts stream past, he was reminded once more of those two small rooms. Suddenly, there were no more sounds to be heard, no more people to be seen, nothing but those two white, toasty rooms, with their red happiness scrolls, standing squarely in front of him. He’d only slept there one night, but they were already so familiar, so intimate, that he realized he could not easily rid himself of the red-jacketed woman. In Tianqiao he had nothing and was nobody, but in those two rooms he had everything. There was no way around it—he had to go back. That was where his future lay. Shame, timidity, and sorrow were useless. If he was going to survive, he had to find a place where things were possible.

  He went straight home, walking in the door around eleven o’clock. Huniu was preparing a lunch of steamed buns, cabbage with meatballs, and platters with jellied pork skin and pickled turnips. Everything was on the table except the cabbage, which still simmered on the stove and gave off a tempting aroma. She had changed out of her red jacket and was wearing ordinary padded trousers and jacket. But a red velvet flower with a little gilded paper ingot was pinned to her hair. To Xiangzi she seemed more like a woman who had been married for years than a newlywed—efficient, experienced, and at least somewhat self-satisfied. Though she may not have looked like a bride, there was something new in the air: the food on the table, the way the room was arranged, the sweet-smelling air, and the warmth—these were all new to him, and whatever else might be said, he had a home. There was something endearing about a home, and now he did not know what to do.

  “Where did you go?” she asked as she scooped up the cabbage.

  “I went for a bath.” He took off his robe.

  “I see. Next time tell me where you’re going. Don’t walk out with just a wave of your hand.”

 

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