Frontier

by Can Xue

José continued putting things in order. A picture frame accidentally fell from his hand and broke into pieces. It held their wedding photo. Now both their faces were a mess. From the other room Nancy asked:

  “Who’s here?”

  “No one. Go back to sleep.”

  “But I hear a man and a woman.”

  José hid the picture frame and turned around. Sure enough, a man and a woman were standing there. Evidently, everyone here was used to entering without knocking. He gave a slightly embarrassed smile and said, “Hello.” They smiled slightly, too, and said, “Hello,” introducing themselves as neighbors. They told him to call on them if he needed anything. Their home was to the east, three doors away. “These three apartments are empty, but you mustn’t open the doors by yourself,” the man added. José asked, “Why not?” The man frowned and thought for a while before finally answering, “No reason. It’s simply our custom here. Maybe because we’re afraid a wind will blow the door down.” José noticed a white flower of mourning on each of their chests. The man explained that their beloved dog was seriously ill and wouldn’t live long. José said, “But it hasn’t died yet.” The woman answered, “But it will die eventually. If not tomorrow, then next month.” They seemed critical of José’s attitude. They glared at him and then fell silent.

  Nancy had dressed and come to join them. She was wearing a necklace with a jade toad hanging from it. She invited them to sit down. The man and woman hesitated bashfully for a long time, and finally decided to leave. By then, José had almost finished dealing with their luggage and putting everything away. But Nancy didn’t seem to realize this. Holding her head and complaining of a headache, she paced back and forth. José asked her what she had seen when she was sleeping. She said she’d seen a crane flying up from the south and circling above the skylight. “Cranes live a long time,” she said.

  “I didn’t like their bravado.” She was suddenly infuriated. “Why white flowers? What for? No one wants to die, right?”

  “True. I don’t like them, either,” José chimed in.

  José admired his wife’s acuity. He thought that even in her dreams, she was aware of the essence of things. The day before they arrived, when they were sleeping in a room in midair wreathed in smoke, she’d said she heard a large bird flying past the window. Was it the same crane? She preferred long-lived animals, and she also raised a little black turtle in their room. But was the crane really long-lived?

  “I want to walk around. Let’s both go,” she suggested.

  The entrance to the staircase was to the east. When they got there, José kept staring at the locked door. He noticed his wife smiling a little. This building where they lived was in the middle of the poplar grove. Not far away was the small river, but perhaps it wasn’t the same small river? José lost all sense of direction. Nancy walked on the flagstone path beneath the poplars. She was composed, sometimes massaging her temples. Her headache seemed much better. What surprised José was that there wasn’t a ghost of a breeze. He recalled that he had heard a bizarre wind in the room, and he swept his eyes involuntarily over the steel-blue sky. But Nancy suddenly bent down, leaned over the grass, and placed one ear close to the ground.

  “Nancy, what are you doing?”

  “A large group of people is coming across from the snow mountain. José, this small town is going to be overcrowded. We’d better batten down the hatches.”

  As she spoke, her body writhed in anguish on the ground. Her movement was strange—as if the bones had been pulled out of her body. The weeds underneath her had been crushed and smashed into the ground. Looking at his wife, José felt growing doubts and suspicions. Was it really because of reading an advertisement that they had decided to come all the way out here? Had Nancy really known nothing about this little town before they decided to come here? If that wasn’t true, then what was? He sat down on the grass, too, but as soon as his butt touched the ground, he felt a kind of jumping—no, it was a knocking, just like the wind knocking the roof. He leapt to his feet, astonished, and turned to look at Nancy again. She was looking down and snickering.

  “What happened?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? A large group of people is on the way. You haven’t gotten hold of yourself yet. You have to stop being so wishy-washy right now.”

  In the distance, old Qi the janitor was standing in the river. This man seemed to like doing things in the river. He was probably observing them. Maybe this was a task that the institute had given him. José didn’t know why the institute would do this. Up to now, the only impression he had of the Design Institute was the white-haired woman director. Nancy wanted him to get hold of himself. What did she mean? He wanted to go and see the Design Institute, that place where he would work for a lifetime. It must be nearby. And so he hailed old Qi. When Nancy asked why, he said he wanted old Qi to take them to the Design Institute so they could look around. Standing up, Nancy brushed the dust from her clothes and whispered, “Hunh. You’re too impatient.”

  After a while, when old Qi showed up, José made his request.

  Puzzled, old Qi rolled his eyes. They didn’t know what he was thinking until he suddenly laughed and said, “Mr. José, you were there yesterday. It’s where the madman abandoned you.”

  “But I certainly didn’t see the Design Institute in that area. It was just a hill.”

  “You didn’t look closely. Actually, it’s not far from there. It has a gray arch, so it isn’t conspicuous. Lots of other people can’t find it, either. Do you still want me to take you there?”

  “Ah, no. I don’t want to go now, thank you. I’ll give it some more thought.”

  Nancy stared at him reproachfully and dragged him home. With an understanding smile, old Qi called after them, “That’s good.”

  When they got back to their building, Nancy wouldn’t go in. She said the apartment was “suffocating.” She’d rather walk around outside. To his surprise, Nancy said that when they were on the hill she had seen the buildings at the Design Institute; they were all unimposing, low, gray buildings. At the time, she hadn’t known it was the Design Institute, so she hadn’t said a word for fear of being mistaken again. She was right. If they had simply walked in there and found no one expecting them, it would have been embarrassing. As they walked around on the cobblestone path in front of the building, Nancy seemed agitated. Apparently she had something on her mind.

  “Nancy, what are you thinking about?” José asked uneasily.

  “I’m thinking—ah, José, I’m wondering what kind of people will live in Pebble Town forty years from now? When I think of these things, I get very excited.”

  “You’re looking far into the future. You’re like the geese that look down from above: will they be frightened into being unable to fly? I think of things like this only occasionally.”

  But José sensed distinctly that Nancy had some other idea—not what she had just spoken of. What was it?

  Upstairs, the man who had been in their apartment stuck his head out the window to talk to the woman, who was heading out the door holding a shopping basket. The man wanted the woman to find a veterinarian named Snake. The woman said, “Okay, okay,” bent her head, and raced away. José noticed that she now wore an even larger white flower. As she went past and nodded, they saw her red and swollen eyes. Although neither José nor Nancy liked these neighbors, their melancholy was impressive. Those two seemed to spend the whole day wallowing in a kind of funereal atmosphere—white flowers, black clothing. Seeing them gave Nancy a headache. Nancy liked to think about lofty, distant things; she liked to roam about in the immense, boundless world. She regarded these neighbors as obstacles to her train of thought. José sensed this, too. They didn’t notice how lame the woman was in one leg until she walked past. José felt sorry for her. He smacked his head and said, “How come I didn’t notice!” “Unh,” Nancy responded as if deep in thought. All of a sudden, they both wanted to go upstairs. When they went in, several people came out of the building, racing away with thei
r heads bent.

  The man was rather flustered and hurriedly threw something behind the sofa—because José had just opened the door and walked in. Standing up straight and blushing a little, he said, “Welcome, welcome. My name is Lee. My wife’s name is Grace. The institute director told me your names.”

  José saw it. It was a miniature dog with short reddish-brown hair. He didn’t know why it was so dirty; it was covered with spots of black grease. It was lying on the ground, panting, its eyes almost shut.

  “It used to sleep in bed with us, but it hasn’t wanted to do that recently. It’s so dirty and sick now. It doesn’t want to eat anything. Don’t make a fuss over it. If you do, it’ll give us trouble when you leave.”

  Lee invited José and Nancy to come inside and sit down, lest they disturb the dog. The furniture in the apartment was the same as theirs, except for a black quilt and white pillows on the large bed: the combination looked oppressive. It seemed natural for the three of them to go over to the window and look out.

  José was astonished because he saw a scene that was completely different from the one outside his window. It was a small garden with palms, banyans, and coconut trees, as well as some other unusual plants. An old man bustled about in the garden. José wondered why he hadn’t seen this garden from his window, for their window faced the same direction. And how could these southern plants grow so well in the north? All at once, Nancy’s impression of these two neighbors changed. She grew excited and kept asking Lee the names of these plants. She kept tut-tutting as she marveled at them. José said, “Why can’t I see this garden from our window?” He had no sooner spoken than Nancy reproached him, “You’re talking nonsense again, José. That isn’t good.” When José stuck to his question, Nancy angrily stamped her feet and went home alone. Lee looked at José sympathetically and sighed. “You’re a straight talker. Look at the gardener again. You’ll see that in fact you know him.” José looked carefully and said he didn’t recognize him. Lee said, “Then stop staring at him. He’ll get angry. The old geezer is from a southern plantation. Now he stays in this garden and never leaves it. He lives in his memories.” Lee drew the drapes. Noticing that they were a dark blue just like the ones in their previous home, José wondered if their neighbors came from the same place they had. Because he hadn’t opened the skylight, the room looked gloomy, but this oppressive atmosphere felt familiar to José. And this skinny man—had he seen him before? He asked José to sit on the only chair, while he himself began talking. As he talked, the large white flower on his chest swayed.

  “Young José, my wife and I came to this Design Institute more than a year ago. Here, we can’t see our future. Of course, we didn’t come here to find our future. We just wanted to find an atmosphere, an atmosphere that could constantly inspire us. And in this, we were right to come here. People living in Pebble Town always feel a covert motivating force. Your wife, for example: I believe she already feels it. She’s very sensitive. You’re a man, and men generally lag behind in this. Let me ask: can you endure a life in which you can’t see the future?”

  “Probably. I don’t know. I’m confused. What’s wrong with your dog?”

  “It isn’t sick!” Lee stood still. In the shadows, his eyes flashed with light. “That’s the problem. Nothing’s wrong with the little animal, but it wants to die.”

  Sensing a cold breeze in the room, José shrank back into the chair. Lee noticed this slight movement. The drapes were drawn very tight, and the skylight was also closed. Where was the wind coming from? As José was speculating about this, Lee had quietly gone to bed and covered himself with the quilt. Set off by the snow-white pillow, his long, thin face looked a little dirty. He said he had to lie down because he wasn’t feeling well; he had heart problems. He asked José not to be offended. “Now we’re one family,” Lee added. José stood up and walked lightly to the front room to look at the puppy. He squatted down and stretched out a hand to pet it. But it stopped him with a slight moan. Lee’s despairing voice reached him from the other room, “José, when will the fog lift?” When José looked up, he saw that Grace had come back and was standing there looking woeful. Beside her was a grocery basket. In addition to some vegetables, there were a few things wrapped in pink paper—probably medicine for the dog.

  “Mr. José, have you seen the garden?” Grace said, looking at him solemnly.

  “Yes. So beautiful—”

  He was thinking about other ways he could describe the fairyland, but Grace interrupted him.

  “The garden isn’t there to be admired. It’s enough to know that such a place exists right under your nose.”

  José wondered how she could reproach him just as Nancy did. Women—ah, it was so hard to figure out how their minds worked. He thought of Lee lying in bed, and he suspected that Lee had been ground down by her. With such a serious heart disease, he didn’t know what kind of work he could do. Today wasn’t a day off, yet they were staying home. They were like people taking extended sick-leave.

  Grace dumped the dog medicine into a small ceramic bowl and dissolved it in water from a thermos bottle. She placed it in front of the animal, which opened its eyes right away and stood up. It thrust its head into the bowl and lapped up all the off-white medicine in a few gulps. Grace called out to it softly: “Xiumei, Xiumei . . .” The puppy held its head high, seemingly in good spirits. José thought it was about to start running, but it barked—depressed—once, and then lay down again and closed its eyes. Its ears drooped. “Xiumei, Xiumei—” Grace called patiently. It didn’t respond.

  “What’s this medicine for?” José asked curiously.

  “What do you think?” Grace ridiculed him.

  José caught what she had left unspoken and felt uncomfortable. In front of this woman wearing a white flower on her chest, he felt as naked as the day he was born. Mumbling vaguely “I have to go home,” he went out the door. In the corridor, he straightened his back and took a deep breath. A large white moth flew in from the window on the east side. His heart constricted, and he hid his face in his hands as he rushed home. The moment he got there, he bolted the door behind him. Nancy smiled.

  “You’ve already let it in. It came in before you did. This is the season when white moths lay their eggs.”

  Pointing with a feather duster at the moth on the wall, she asked, “What should we do?”

  What else? Of course they had to kill it, or throw it outside. José despised moths most of all; whenever he saw one, he got goose bumps. But he knew that Nancy would never kill little creatures. Sure enough, she walked over lightly, and wrapped the fat moth up in a newspaper and escorted it out of the room. When she did things like this, Nancy was earnest and agile, with a feminine charm. After washing her hands, she came back. She sat down and told José something strange: she had found her long-lost diary. It had been in the back pocket of the old suitcase. She had written it as a young girl; she had recorded a long dream about escaping from some great danger. At this point, she waved the old brown notebook in her hand. José wished she would talk about the dream, but instead she told the story of the diary.

  This diary had apparently been lost quite a few times, and then had reappeared in their home. “Who would touch this thing? It doesn’t have any shocking private secrets!” Nancy was puzzled. She had no interest in talking about her dream; she said it was just a “childish description.” As José watched, she put the diary back in the pocket of the suitcase, and asked José to help remember where it was. José thought and thought, but still couldn’t remember when he had seen this old diary. Just then, something knocked at the window. This happened time after time, and José went over to take a look. What he saw was fog; one corner of it had dispersed, revealing a coconut tree. Ah, this was the garden, wasn’t it? But the fog quickly rolled over the coconut tree again, and everything was shrouded from sight. He told Nancy that the weather in Pebble Town was very unpredictable. “That’s why I reminded you not to jump to conclusions,” said Nancy, glancing reproach
fully at him.

  This was their second night in the small frontier town. Although it was chilly, Nancy insisted on opening the skylight. As they lay on the wide bed, they felt the building swaying beneath them. Above them a flock of wild geese flew by; their lingering honks were fascinating. “Is it an earthquake? The director told me that Pebble Town has a lot of earthquakes.” Nancy’s voice seemed to be coming from far away, and the wall reverberated. The past was crowding into José’s mind; he couldn’t fall asleep. He tried to insert the ill Lee’s image into several different phases of his own life, but failed again and again. The more he thought, the more he felt that he knew this man well. Finally, he had to get up and go over to the window. A little fog still hung in the night air, yet a faint outline of the flower garden appeared. José noticed the pavilion in the flower garden. The gardener was lying on the pavilion floor, a black cat beside him. This scene felt unreal. Behind him, Nancy was talking. Her voice still stirred up buzzing echoes. She continued talking of earthquakes, asking him to prepare for their escape. “We can escape to the flower garden.” José thought her idea was rather bizarre. In fact, they couldn’t find this flower garden—so how could they escape to it? Something suddenly rapped on the window, like thunder. José turned, ran in fright, and threw himself onto the bed. He hadn’t yet recovered from his panic when Nancy said, “That was the wind.” The sound of Lee’s hysterical weeping came from the corridor. What a noisy night.

  “Should we help them?” Nancy asked as she turned on the light.

  “How? Move their dying dog over here? They would never agree.”

  Lee was talking about something, and his voice came through distinctly. It seemed to be about the dog, yet it also seemed to be about events in the distant past—something about the ocean. Had he once been a sailor? José didn’t want to go out and comfort him. If he did, he might as well forget about sleeping tonight. Lee smelled strange—like sandalwood but also unlike it. Whenever José talked with him, he felt himself withdrawing from the world—and floating like a feather. It was an uncomfortable feeling. He needed to rest now, so he told Nancy to turn off the light, and he lay down again. In the dark, he heard two people weeping. Grace’s was sharp and reverberating; Lee’s was like roaring and was punctuated by periodic complaints. He mentioned the ocean in his complaints. Nancy cuddled up to José and said in a trembling voice, “The ocean drowned a man’s dream.” Holding each other tightly, they fell asleep. It was hard to know when the weeping stopped. Later they awakened because their hands were numb. The room seemed darker than usual; after a while, they realized the skylight had closed automatically. How could it close by itself? Was it the wind? Nancy said, “We’re at the bottom of the ocean.” José reached to turn on the light. Damn, the power was out. When he got up, he felt his feet weren’t touching the floor; rather, he felt like a fish swimming. He swam in a circle and went back to bed when Nancy called to him.