Frontier

by Can Xue

  “They have to take me in! Hunh,” he roared suddenly with great confidence. His eyes were fierce.

  Qiming thought this guy was ridiculous. Was he a little crazy? He didn’t quite believe the news he had brought; maybe he was talking nonsense.

  “Tell me more about my father’s death,” he pressed him.

  “Oh. He had an odd disease. He fell asleep and didn’t wake up. But before he fell asleep, he gave me this.”

  He took an old watch out of his pocket and gave it to Qiming. Father always had this on him. Qiming’s hand trembled as he took the watch. He told the other man not to be upset; some place would take him in. Everyone could find shelter in this Pebble Town, especially people like him with no home to return to.

  “It’s true that I no longer have a home. There was a tsunami. Don’t you read the newspapers?”

  Actually, Qiming hadn’t read a newspaper for years. Pebble Town had a superiority complex, and everyone who lived here was soaked in this atmosphere. Outside events never interested them. He rarely even thought about his own family.

  “I hopped a passing freight train to get here. They threw me off, but I hopped on again. This happened several times.”

  “How did you know which train was coming to Pebble Town?”

  “Do you mean those coal trains? I could tell just by looking at them!”

  Hands behind his back, this man, named Haizai, stood in the middle of the room, staring at the opposite wall. Qiming thought apprehensively, Will he discover the secret in this room’s wall? But Haizai laughed again and dropped his gaze. He had spent several dizzying days on the coal train to get here. Why wasn’t he at all tired? And he wasn’t dirty, either. Qiming asked Haizai if he wanted to rest on his bed. Haizai kept refusing, insisting he wasn’t tired. He was focused on finding a job right away. He’d better deal with this before dark, and then he could move into an apartment of his own. His luggage was stored at the train station. He need only move it over here. Qiming had a sudden thought and said, “Why not wash dishes in the canteen?” Several others working in the canteen had done just that—hanging on there at first without being formally hired. Anyhow, most of the apartments were vacant. One could simply move in. At the end of the month, he would automatically get his monthly wages. It was said that the director gave no attention to minutiae: she simply paid everyone who was there. Haizai listened, his expression unchanging. At last, he said, “That’s what I thought, too.” Qiming was surprised. Haizai continued, “I got here yesterday, and walked around, getting the lay of the land.” Qiming was even more surprised. This person, his childhood playmate: How come he talked just the way the Pebble Town residents did? He had completely lost the simplicity of Fish villagers. Had he just begun to change or had he changed long ago? Before Qiming had worked this out in his mind, Haizai waved goodbye and departed. He took buoyant and decisive steps. This encounter had occurred only yesterday.

  Qiming remembered Haizai’s father was an illiterate guy, a real fisherman who was at one with the ocean and the shoals. In the past, Qiming had looked down on him and his family, because Qiming’s father was educated and moved to Fish Village only after coming upon hard times. Now in Pebble Town, these distinctions weren’t important. Haizai—this uncouth person—seemed even smarter than he was, and was genuinely optimistic. At this point, he walked out of his room, a little puzzled. It was quiet outside. Only two guests were sitting under the sandthorn tree playing chess. Qiming watched for a long time without seeing either of them make a move. They were simply dazed, looking up at the sky. A little curious, Qiming strode over to take a look.

  It was a man and a woman, both getting on in years. Resting their coarse, weather-beaten hands on the table, they were merely making a show of playing chess. When they saw Qiming, they hailed him. They seemed quite humble.

  “We’re going to stay here a long time. We’re special guests.” The old woman’s lips were dried up, and it seemed hard for her to speak. “The institute director invited us.”

  “You’re very welcome here. We like having guests,” Qiming said.

  The old man struck the ground with his cane and shouted, “Don’t take her seriously. She talks nonsense. We didn’t get a personal invitation. We simply saw a small ad in the newspaper and decided to come. The ad gave the institute director’s name and said that she invited everyone to come here for a tour! We’ve walked all around this area. It’s quite desolate.”

  He stood up, a little agitated. He looked at the sky, then at the ground, then suddenly turned around and picked up a large chess piece. He thumped it down and said, “Check!”

  A slight smile appeared on the old woman’s wrinkled face. She seemed excited, too, but she controlled herself. She moved a piece so quickly that Qiming didn’t see which one it was. Then she stood up and asked Qiming, “Is it true that lodging is free for all the guests here?”

  Startled, Qiming began to stutter. He said he wasn’t sure; this wasn’t part of his job. The old man approached him and whispered, “The gardener here is from our hometown. He used to raise poppy flowers in the garden, and then he was convicted for it. I saw him yesterday. He hasn’t aged much. Why are people here so young? Huh? Look, he’s on his way over!”

  But Qiming saw only a small tree swaying in the wind. These two people annoyed him. He took his leave impatiently. Qiming had noticed a phenomenon here for years: everyone who came to Pebble Town took on certain traits that made them just like the people already here. At first, people weren’t so much the same, but after a few days, they were talking just like the locals. Qiming sometimes felt fragile. At such times, he wanted to confide his feelings to a person from his hometown in the dialect he’d spoken as a youth. Just now, when he saw Haizai, he’d felt this way. But, apart from his name, nothing about Haizai reminded him of his hometown. In fact, he was more like a Pebble Town resident than he himself was. How come? Perhaps when one left home, one automatically became another person. Back then, he experienced this, too. After going with the cadre on cars, trains, and several other modes of transportation, he gradually hardened his heart. The person Qiming admired most was the institute director. He couldn’t say why. Even though she’d had nothing more to do with him after settling him into this shed-like cabin, Qiming still appreciated her. He sensed an invisible solicitude being transmitted from her every day. And so every time this nominal Design Institute took in more newcomers, he gasped at the director’s generosity. She had even gone to the hospital with José to visit Nancy and their newborn baby! What a terrific woman!

  The two elderly people had left, but the chess board was still set up on the stone table. Maybe they would return after a while. The good news about Nancy giving birth to a daughter had invigorated this place. The wind was blowing continuously from the snow mountain. It was so cool, so refreshing! What was his precious goddess doing now? Harvesting grapes? Qiming took out his watch and listened: oh, it was running so forcefully. It ticked vigorously as if to demonstrate its power. Qiming felt it was strange. Maybe this watch was his father, and now his father was finally with him.

  Haizai didn’t appear for days, nor did he go to work in the canteen. Qiming thought, Maybe he went to work on maintenance for the city. It was easy to blend in there. Anyone could go.

  One day, however, José came back from the hospital and made a special point of asking him about this. José said that while he was resting in a hospital room, Haizai had shown up. He introduced himself as Qiming’s fellow villager and said that he’d arrived in Pebble Town only a few days before. He was working in the hospital. When José asked what kind of work he was doing, he answered, “Helping out in the morgue.” He told José that deceased people here were much different from those in the interior or on the coast. Here, the corpse didn’t stiffen and could be moved easily. He liked this work quite well because the pay was good. As Haizai was talking, the institute director came by. As soon as Haizai saw her, he sped away rapidly as though he’d seen a ghost. Had he known this
woman in the past? José asked the director if she knew this person. She sneered and said, “Naturally.” She sank into memories and told José that she was in an accident in the interior several years ago and was taken to the hospital, where she was pronounced dead. But after a day in the morgue, she came back to life. She was moved into an ordinary room. A young person went to her room every day and chatted with her. As they chatted, the institute director sensed that she’d seen him somewhere before, but couldn’t remember where. The young person said he was a vagrant and constantly on the move. He was currently helping out in the hospital. Not until the day she was discharged did he tell the truth: he said he had talked with her an entire night in the morgue and had almost frozen to death. She suddenly found this young person really annoying. As for him, he knew his place and left. Long after leaving the hospital, the institute director still couldn’t shake off her depression. Later, she gradually found relief in her daily routine.

  “The institute director and I have recently become close friends, and we talk about everything with each other,” José said with feeling.

  Qiming was astounded by this story. After mulling it over, he asked José, “Did the institute director tell you what she and Haizai talked about that night in the morgue?”

  “She said she couldn’t remember. She’s been plagued by this question the last several years.”

  Qiming’s thoughts drifted: he thought of his father. What was it like for his father as he neared death? Was it the same as the institute director’s experience in the morgue? What had Haizai talked about with him? All at once, an image of the fishing village swaying in a storm appeared in his mind. He felt a little dispirited and forlorn. But that feeling passed very soon. He still wanted to talk with Haizai.

  When he went to the hospital to look for Haizai, Nancy had already brought the child home. The morgue was separated a little from the hospital rooms. Many flowers were growing at the entrance, where a guard sat sunbathing. Qiming explained why he had come.

  “Oh, you mean that volunteer. He said he was going to take the day off. He’s a great help to us. It isn’t very often that someone wants to do this kind of work,” he gave a thumbs up as he praised Haizai.

  “Is he really a volunteer?”

  “Yes, that’s why we respect him so much. He told us he would work only as a volunteer. He didn’t want any wages. All he wanted was three meals a day with us. What a wonderful person! Do you want to come in and look around?”

  Qiming sensed that this furtive middle-aged person was constantly taking stock of him, and he was disgusted. He promptly turned down his invitation. Even after walking a long way from the hospital, he could still smell Lysol on his body. He wondered if Haizai had been in the morgue just now. When he thought of him working as a volunteer in the morgue, he couldn’t help but laugh. Apparently he had chosen this work in order to talk with the dead. But this kind of communication must be tough. He could achieve his goal only with someone like the institute director who wasn’t really dead. Qiming recalled that Haizai had been a very stubborn kid. He was so obstinate and so inflexible that he offended almost all the villagers. He had probably traveled to many places and kept doing this shameful thing. Qiming sank into dark memories. This was his new practice—remembering a life he had never experienced. As he walked, he thought about this, and the more he thought, the colder he felt. When he reached the guesthouse, he was shaking all over. He figured he should go home and lie down and rest until he recovered.

  “Old Qi—old Qi, is something wrong?” Sun Er, from the mailroom, caught hold of his arm and shook him hard.

  “Don’t—don’t worry,” he managed to say.

  Sun Er chortled for no reason. Qiming struggled free of him, and even though everything was blurry in front of him, he groped his way into his room, removed his shoes, and got into bed.

  No sooner had he lain down than he had a sudden recollection. It was a rainy night. He’d been sleeping peacefully, but was awakened with a start by the sound of rapping on the wall. Was it a thief? It was really pathetic if someone had to come out and steal during a downpour like this. He gradually became aware of a sliver of light entering the room. What on earth? He sat up to light the kerosene lamp beside the bed. The first match he struck didn’t catch. When he struck a second match, someone grabbed his hand, preventing him from lighting the lamp. Just then, Qiming noticed the sliver of light widening. A wall was moving, and he smelled the weeds and shrubs. Was he in the open country? The person who grabbed his hand spoke, his voice sounding as if it came from a vat. It was unpleasant.

  “I want to create a tropical garden here. What do you think? I tried it, but tropical plants won’t survive here. But we can build a greenhouse in the air. Don’t you see? It’s absolutely unobstructed. It’s ideal for a tropical garden. I’m a southerner, wandering around this place. Can you identify my accent?”

  Actually, aside from the unpleasant buzzing quality, his accent was the same as the local people’s.

  “But my house wasn’t originally built in the unobstructed wilderness,” Qiming protested.

  “So what? Living here, young man, we have to be flexible. Hunh. Can’t you tell what my accent is? I’m from the southernmost place.”

  Qiming wanted to ask him something, but the sliver of light suddenly disappeared. Maybe the wall had come together again. The person disappeared in the dark. The next morning, it was still raining. He forgot all about this incident.

  Now although he wanted to think this incident was a dream, it certainly hadn’t been a dream. It was simply an incident that he’d completely forgotten. When he had talked with that person back then, he’d been absolutely clear-headed—a little as if his body had been in another space. Was that person the Design Institute’s gardener? Qiming thought he hadn’t conversed with the gardener before. The gardener was taciturn and a little arrogant. No doubt that person was one and the same; he had conversed with him. This person did build the tropical garden of his dreams here: Qiming had heard several people talk of his flower garden, but he hadn’t seen it yet. He wondered if the gardener knew Haizai in the past. How were they connected? Why had Haizai said the gardener was also from Fish Village? Also, he hadn’t approached this taciturn guy for years, and now as soon as Haizai arrived and mentioned him, he finally remembered talking with him on a rainy night about the garden—the garden that, even now, he still hadn’t seen. What kind of garden was it? Several people had spoken of it, but they disagreed on where it was. Some said it was on the east side; some said the south. Others said it was inside the Design Institute; still others said it was on a hill in front of the Design Institute. Someone else said the gardener’s tropical garden was halfway up the snow mountain. Later, Qiming saw the gardener again, but the gardener was cold to him, giving no sign that he knew Qiming.

  Another week had passed since he remembered his brief conversation with the gardener. One night, Qiming really did dream of the tropical garden. Many poppies were growing outside the garden, and one huge banyan tree nearly occupied the entire space. It wasn’t like a tree, but more like the devil. He walked around amid the aerial roots—so dense that the wind couldn’t penetrate them—and thought he would never be able to extricate himself. He felt, too, that the aerial roots had turned into countless frosty hands that were grabbing and pinching him.

  After arising in the morning, while wind bathing under the poplars, he saw Nancy appear with her newborn daughter. The baby had a mass of black hair, unlike a baby’s hair, but more like a four-or five-year-old’s hair. Once more, the phrase “Daughter of the Frontier” surfaced in Qiming’s mind. The post-partum Nancy walked daintily. Qiming was surprised: How could someone who had just delivered a baby wander all over? He remembered that he had once almost told Nancy of the Uighur beauty. Nancy vanished from his view. Qiming gazed at the snow mountain and sighed deeply.

  In the morning, he was sweeping the conference room. He climbed up on the windowsill to wipe the glass, and after a while l
ooked down. He was astonished to see Haizai sleeping on the lawn below. He jumped down from the windowsill and ran downstairs.

  “Why are you sleeping here?”

  “Someone chased me. The dead are struggling for territory against the living people.”

  Flicking the dirt from his body, Haizai stood up. He looked relaxed. Qiming noticed that his right hand was bleeding. When he sucked the wound, he looked intoxicated. Qiming asked what was going on, and he said he had bit himself while asleep and that he had done this to stay alert. All of a sudden, a thought occurred to Qiming: Could this man have killed his father? He felt a little sick. He invited him to his small room, but Haizai didn’t want to go, saying this style of house was too stuffy. He didn’t like the Design Institute any better: he had now found a more interesting place to go.

  “You mean the hospital morgue?” Qiming asked.

  “No, no, no. That’s only a cover.”

  He put on his hat and said he was leaving. Qiming purposely teased him: “Our institute director intends to give you a job.”

  “I’m grateful to her, but I already have a job. This is a beautiful city. I think I’d like to live here after retiring. It never crossed your mind that we’d see each other here, did it?”

  As he watched him depart, Qiming sighed, “He’s really a carefree vagrant.”

  When he returned to the conference room, he saw the director sitting in the empty room thumbing through a notebook. She motioned, indicating that he should sit next to her. Her head bent, she made many marks in her notebook with a fountain pen. Qiming was uncomfortable sitting there wondering what the woman would say to him. Was it about Haizai? Just now, he had boasted to Haizai. But the director couldn’t have heard him: she couldn’t hear anything so far away!