Frontier

by Can Xue

  “The frogs have gone underground, Liujin.” When he talked, a hint of absentmindedness skimmed over his face.

  “Really? Here?” Liujin’s voice was merry.

  “Really. Right under your courtyard. Otherwise, why would I have set them free here?”

  “Then, do you know where they come out? What’s it like underground?”

  “No. I don’t know. Maybe from the vent under your house? I’m not sure.”

  He continued to stand, and so Liujin had to stand, too. They listened to the frogs in their imaginations. As the sky gradually darkened, Mr. Sherman’s face blurred. She felt that his arm resting on the courtyard wall was unusually long—like a gibbon’s. Suddenly, Liujin thought of her faraway parents, and yearning welled up in her heart. The air vent? A very long time ago, at night, she and her father had actually squatted at the vent under the house and listened; back then, however, it was just like now—they didn’t hear anything. Yet, it wasn’t that they heard nothing: she and her father heard her mother talking nonsense in the house. Her mother kept stupidly imitating a crowing rooster. Whenever she heard it, she wanted to laugh. Her father was critical of her attitude. Mr. Sherman really wasn’t sure where the frogs were. What made him think the frogs were underground? He must have experienced many things that Liujin hadn’t come in contact with. She had encountered his unearthliness in the poplar grove. At the time, she had felt that he came and went mysteriously, and that he was very shrewd. Perhaps it was just because of his shrewdness that it was a long time before she felt affection for him. She was a little afraid and meant to keep her distance.

  “I really want a garden of my own.” As Mr. Sherman talked, he removed his thick glasses and wiped them. The two lenses swayed in the moonlight, gleaming like bewitching mirrors. Seeing this, Liujin’s passion for him waned. How could she fathom the ideas of a person like this? Just then, Mr. Sherman laughed softly.

  “What are you laughing at?” Liujin was a little annoyed.

  “I’m remembering that when I was a child I went barefoot chasing frogs. Frogs were my good friends, but they always teased me.”

  Then he put on his glasses and took his leave. Liujin remembered that she had forgotten to even give him the tea that she had prepared. What did she know of this man? Only that his family dyed cloth and lived on the other side of the snow mountain. That’s what he had told her. Liujin went back to sit under the grape arbor, and finished the cup of cold tea. For a moment, she seemed to hear the sound of water, but it was merely an illusion. Turning around, she saw the light on in her house. Had she turned it on earlier, or had it gone on automatically? She definitely hadn’t turned it on, and at the time it wasn’t dark yet. She didn’t want to think about these things. She was too tired. Maybe she should think of some happy, tangible things. Then, what was tangible? It seemed that the beautiful woman in Meng Yu’s home was. That red skirt was so gorgeous, as was that delicate, dreamlike face. That was beauty. And her midnight singing. That, too, was beauty. The magpies and the wagtails weren’t out yet; the courtyard was so quiet that it made her nervous. She decided that she would ask Amy some questions next time. Would Amy let her get close? She was so beautiful that she didn’t seem like a person of this world. Besides, the murderous-looking atmosphere in Meng Yu’s courtyard deliberately kept people away . . . Neighbors, neighbors: What kind of people are you? She felt weary again. The light in the house wasn’t terribly bright. It seemed to be covered with a layer of gauze. Liujin assumed some little insects were flying in the lamplight, as usual, and the gecko had probably also emerged. It was another world inside.

  Chapter 2

  JOSÉ AND NANCY

  José and his wife walked out of the Pebble Town bus station and stood at the side of the long cement street. The two of them let out deep breaths simultaneously: they felt they had stepped into a picture of the legendary Crystal Palace. The chilly air was clear and fresh, and under the high, distant, steel-blue sky, the street seemed very wide. The sidewalk was made of pretty, colorful stones. Elms alternated with oleasters, screening the quiet avenue. In the middle of the road, men looking down at the ground were slowly pulling a few flatbed carts. The simple houses were quite far from the road; each house had clumps of greenery out front. José and his wife were a little taken aback as they stood under a tree with their bags at their feet. This small frontier town was beyond their expectations; to them, it felt like a utopia. After a while, the rickshaw from their workplace arrived; it was a pedicab whose driver was a big fellow with a black beard. He helped them pile their heavy luggage into the front, and asked them to take seats in the back. Then he started pedaling slowly and effortlessly. He was a virile man who evidently didn’t like to talk much. José and his wife felt it wouldn’t be right to talk, so they enjoyed the view of the beautiful town in silence. Pebble Town apparently had only one street because they saw no forks in the road. When the rickshaw reached the end of this straight road, it went up an asphalt path. On one side of the path was a small river; on the other side were poplars. No one was on the road. There were only birds chirping in the trees. After they made a few turns, the river and the poplars disappeared, and a rocky hill stood before them. The driver got down, saying he had to pee, and then he disappeared.

  The husband and wife waited and waited on that desolate hill before finally suspecting they’d been tricked. They didn’t know how to pedal the rickshaw, but if they walked off and abandoned it, they wouldn’t be able to take their luggage. Nancy squatted on the ground and sighed. José thought to himself, She’s always like this; whenever something happens, she sighs. He hastily estimated that it was almost two miles to the main road, and the road wasn’t good. Besides, it was almost evening. They had to leave their luggage behind and get away from here soon. They had to find their workplace. He didn’t dare spend the night with his wife in the fields of the frontier. It could be dangerous. After talking it over briefly, they walked away holding hands.

  It was hard walking on that path. It was filled with jutting rocks, and they almost tripped and fell several times. Nancy was nearsighted and couldn’t easily walk in the dark. She had to hang on tightly to José’s arm and let him guide her. It seemed it wasn’t just two miles, but maybe more than three or four miles. When they finally got back to the main road, they were too tired to talk. The main road was empty, yet extravagantly lit; they leaned against a power pole waiting for someone to appear.

  It was about half an hour before they came across someone. He was dripping wet from walking up from the river. When José went up and made inquiries, he replied, “Didn’t you see me? I was watching you from the river all along! The boss sent me. I was afraid of making a mistake, so I didn’t call out to you. Everyone from the office is out looking for you.”

  “But we’ve left our luggage in the wilds.”

  “Don’t worry. Someone picked it up quite a while ago. You ran into a madman, didn’t you? It was a prank. People here are fond of doing that. Follow me—Pebble Town welcomes you!”

  The two of them looked up at the same time and saw a flock of geese flying in the deep blue sky. They almost wept.

  It was very cool after dark, so even though they had walked a long way they didn’t feel hot. They were the only ones on this road. Such a quiet little town.

  That night, the dripping wet middle-aged man took them to the guesthouse of the Construction Design Institute. As they entered the room, they saw their luggage. Lying on the bed, Nancy couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. She seemed to dread the future. Every few seconds, she whispered into the dark, “It didn’t occur to me.” José thought his wife was blaming him, but he was excited, even . . . radiant. He liked challenges. He heard someone turn on the water in the next room, perhaps taking a bath. He kept listening; the sound of water continued. He remembered the small river outside the town, and the man standing in the river. Had the man been fishing? But he hadn’t been carrying a pail of fish. Maybe many other people had also been in the river; he an
d Nancy had been concentrating on hurrying along and hadn’t noticed. The people of this little town must have noticed every move they’d made. When they were on the desolate hill, they’d felt keenly that the world had deserted them. When José recalled the days and nights on the train, he felt that Nancy had undergone an inner upheaval, because on the train she was longing for small town life and had vowed solemnly and repeatedly that they would never go back to the big city—their hometown. As they neared their destination, she became jumpy. Pointing out the window at one quiet little town after another, she asked, “Is it like this? Does it look like this? . . . What do you think? Will it look just like this? Huh?” Unable to answer, José was perplexed and alarmed. He knew that his wife’s train of thought was always unusual. But just now, why had she said that it had never occurred to her? José thought it should have been the other way around: she should have foreseen everything. When they had first seen the little advertisement in the newspaper, they had resolved to give up everything in the large Smoke City and set out for an unfamiliar place. People who could move so far must have thought things through quite thoroughly. What on earth was wrong with Nancy? Had some little setback beaten her down? No, no, her whispers must hold a hidden meaning. Then, what was this hidden meaning? José thought: as soon as he’d reached this small town, everything buried deeply in his past had emerged and slowly unfurled before his eyes—but he couldn’t see it well. For example, when the man was pedaling them slowly out of the city this afternoon, a familiar feeling had welled up in his heart. He couldn’t say when that feeling had arisen, but it was certainly related to things in his previous incarnation. He’d experienced this before. This made him suspect that it wasn’t because of the newspaper ad that they had left Smoke City; perhaps this had long been premeditated. After this, when the man abandoned them, he had felt even more suspicious. Outside, a gale blew up, threatening to rip the roof off. The room suddenly became cold. Nancy snuggled up to his chest, and they wrapped the thin quilt tightly around themselves. A loud shout in the corridor was followed by hurried footsteps. Door after door was opened, and then closed, as if everyone was running out. Outside, one gust of wind was closely followed by another. Then someone blew a whistle, as if in a military camp. The two of them didn’t dare turn on a light, nor did they want to get up and see what was happening because they were exhausted from the day. Nancy murmured, “It’s really noisy tonight.” They decided to ignore everything and go to sleep. And then they really did fall asleep.

  José awakened at dawn. After going to the washroom, he went to the now calm courtyard. The courtyard at the guesthouse was several acres large. Some shrubs grew there, but there wasn’t a single old tree; the only trees were young, newly planted firs. José reflected that if there had been any old trees, they might have been toppled by last night’s gale. The sun was almost out, and he smelled again the distinctive clear, fresh air. The day before, this had almost brought him and his wife to tears. The guesthouse was located on high land. When you looked out, you could see the snow mountain. He could see it well because no fog blocked his vision. It stood there indifferently. José sighed lightly: Ah, so this was the snow mountain! It wasn’t completely snow-covered. Only the peak was white, probably because it was so high. People said it was four thousand meters above sea level. For some reason, the middle-aged man who had brought them here the day before was standing in the courtyard washing his face. He placed the washbasin on a block of stone, and wiped his face with a towel until it glowed red. José walked over to him.

  “Washing the face is a kind of exercise,” the middle-aged man said.

  “True, true. You’re really fortunate.”

  José surprised himself by saying this. What had he meant by it?

  “You’re right. I’m bathing with the chilly breeze blowing in from the snow mountain. Every morning, I stand here and bathe in the wind, and listen to the birds on the mountain and the cries from the snow leopards and the black bears.”

  “So far from here—and you can still hear them!” José was astonished.

  “People on the frontier have good hearing.” He laughed out loud. “And so you and your wife can’t get lost in Pebble Town. How could you? Huh?”

  Although José was sure the man meant well, his laughter made him uncomfortable. And while this person was talking, he never stopped using the towel; he scrubbed his face until it was like a shiny red apple. Ordinarily, José loathed people with this kind of face. And so he took his leave and went back to the room. The middle-aged man shouted from behind, “Why don’t you cherish your happiness? And don’t do anything rash.”

  An elderly silver-haired woman had come to their room and was whispering to Nancy. Smiling at him, Nancy said the old woman was the institute’s director. José promptly exchanged greetings with her. This woman director had a nice way about her. Looking at her closely, José thought she wasn’t very old at all. She smiled a little and said to José, “Just ignore the man outside. He’s a little crazy because he was unlucky in love. He’s the janitor here.”

  The director’s words startled José. He thought everything here was a little topsy-turvy. Yet, Nancy was composed and didn’t seem surprised. She and the woman director seemed to get along very well.

  “I’ve been thinking—you’ve just arrived. Your apartment is ready for you. Now the most important thing is for you to feel at home, so I’m not going to assign you any work for a while. Just wander around wherever you like. Go have a look around—get a sense of Pebble Town’s geographical location.”

  After she left, José thought for a long time. What did “geographical location” mean? Did it suggest the snow mountain or did it suggest the frontier? And what about “get a sense of”? Looking at him, Nancy laughed, “You’re making too much of what the director said. Actually, she’s an old mama!” José felt this was even stranger. How had Nancy fused into this environment all of a sudden? Changes in women were unfathomable. She had actually said this eccentric director was an old mama. Then was the madman who had pulled them in the rickshaw a warm-hearted brother? When the two of them had stood on the hill, she’d been utterly discomfited. He had even thought she regretted coming here. But after only one night, she had changed her mind.

  They were taken to the top floor of a three-story building. The apartment—a loft with a slanted roof and a large glass skylight—was huge. Sleeping on the large bed was like entering outer space.

  Ecstatic, Nancy immediately lay down in the center of the bed with no thought of moving. José fetched the luggage, and started unpacking and putting things away. They had two rooms: the living room in front, the bedroom in back. While José was going back and forth moving things around, a continual “da, da, da” sound came from the roof, as though someone were pounding with a wooden stick. And the sound wasn’t coming from just one place; it seemed to be in constant motion. “Nancy, listen!” “What? I heard it all the way here!” “Could it be birds?” “I think it’s the wind.” “How can the wind make a noise like this? It’s like a wooden stick pounding.” “Probably that’s the way the wind is here.” José couldn’t come up with a response, so he went on dealing with the luggage. After a while, the pounding sound started on the skylight. José stood on the bed to look more closely, but he saw no stick pounding on the glass. He thought, Nancy’s way of thinking has changed so quickly that she might as well be a local! See, she’s sleeping contentedly, even snoring. Then someone came to the door, and José jumped down from the bed at once. The person came in without knocking: it was the jilted janitor, his face still glowing red. Without waiting for an invitation, he took a seat in the living room.

  “I need to talk with someone,” he said as he looked around.

  “I’m busy now. Do you mind?”

  “No, no. Go ahead, go ahead. I just need you to lend me an ear. Is your wife asleep? Perfect! I’ve come to talk about my personal problems. I have a regular job with the Design Institute, but I’ve never married. Why? Because I have high s
tandards. The woman I fell in love with is a beautiful Uighur. She lives with her family on the mountain. How many years have passed? I can’t remember. Who would keep track of something like this? I’ve seen her only twice. One time was at the market, which was only a little bazaar back then. She showed up with her father. Huh, I know you won’t believe this. No one ever did, except for me. Mr. José, are you laughing at me? I see your chest moving. Never mind, I’m used to that. My story always makes people laugh because it sounds crazy.”

  The janitor was lost in thought as he looked at the wall in front of him. José thought, It’s got to be his memory of this romantic encounter that keeps him active and gives him a positive outlook.

  “My name is Qiming. You may call me old Qi,” he broke the silence abruptly.

  “I just want to ask: When the wind blows over the roof, why does it sound like someone pounding it with a wooden stick?”

  “Ah—good question. That’s how things are on the frontier—the intangible is tangible. I have to go to work now.”

  He got up and left.

  Nancy turned over in bed, and shouted, “I saw it!” José looked to see her pointing at the skylight. She looked straight ahead: Was she awake? José sighed inwardly: it was as if she were sleeping in outer space. In the past, when they lived in the interior, their bedroom was closed in: heavy drapes blocked the soot and the light. Back then, he had often joked that these deep blue velvet drapes were the “iron curtain.”