by Can Xue
The old man took the bird out and let it stand on his own palm. The bird flew into midair and then dropped sure-footedly back onto his palm. When the old man took an exquisite little birdcage out from under his coat, the little bird flew into it.
The old man motioned to Roy to take the bird.
When Roy carried the birdcage toward the park, some new ideas bubbled up in his mind. Today all at once he had become acquainted with three persons. It was truly an extraordinary day. When he reached the park, he hung the cage on a small tree, and the bird began chirping continuously, sounding rather forlorn. Standing there transfixed, Roy started weeping.
“This is a bird king,” the old gatekeeper whispered in his ear, “I’ve seen it in many places.”
“It remembers things I’ve forgotten.” Roy wiped his tears away with his sleeve.
The door to the cage was open the whole time, with the bird perched inside making no sound. Roy had a faint recollection of Liujin’s living room and thought, With so many people jammed in there, is it possible that one of them would carelessly trample the little bird to death?
“It’s the bird king. It has entered our human lives. It . . .”
As the old man talked, he walked into the distance. Roy watched him go into the little mailroom. A triangular red flag hung from the room’s window; it blew in the wind. Roy chanted the old man’s name, “Grandpa Pu, Grandpa Pu . . .” He looked up and saw the bird again. The bird seemed to be asleep, for it didn’t mind at all that the wind was blowing; it enjoyed it.
Every night, some people roamed around in the park. Roy knew that some of them came from elsewhere, as he did. He could tell how worried they were just by looking at them. He didn’t strike up conversations with them, for he didn’t like to break the silence in the park. When Grandpa Pu stayed in the dark with him, he didn’t like to talk, either. At times like this, Roy raised the hand with the fluorescent fingernail and waved it back and forth in the air. At first, he thought that Grandpa Pu had the same superhuman vision that he had, but Grandpa Pu told him he couldn’t see anything. At night, he relied on his hearing to distinguish things. Those warm recollections calmed him down. Roy felt that his train of thought was blending in with the little wagtail’s—and reaching toward the dark abyss, while the setting sun shone simultaneously in another world.
“Amy, do your sheep change into leopards overnight?”
“Sometimes, Liujin.”
Liujin saw many colors alternating in Amy’s perplexed eyes.
“Your boy came looking for me.”
“You mean Roy. Is he my boy?”
“He looks a lot like your little brother. Not in appearance, but he does resemble him in some ways. In what ways? I’ve been trying to figure that out ever since I saw him walk out of your courtyard.”
When Liujin threaded her way through the stream of people at the market, she was still thinking about what this woman had said. When she thought about people considering Roy her son, a warm current coursed through her veins. Her boss was arguing with someone at the yard goods counter. As soon as he saw Liujin, he turned away from the other person and came over. He told Liujin that some robbers were in the market: one bolt of cloth after another had gone missing. He had stayed at the counter all night the last few nights, but hadn’t noticed anything unusual. Yet, when he checked his inventory in the morning, bolts of cloth were still missing. “What on earth is invading us? Liujin, what do you think?”
Liujin hesitated. She had a thought, but she shouldn’t voice it because it would sound like nonsense. And the boss didn’t really want to hear what she thought. She could see that her boss was tangled up in his own stubborn ideas, that’s all. Without answering him, she set down her purse and began straightening the counter. She heard the boss still chattering behind her: he didn’t seem worried about his losses. He was merely puzzled. Liujin, though, was a little worried: she was afraid of losing this job. She had worked here more than ten years. She had no intention of losing her job: very few people in Pebble Town were unemployed. The boss would never suspect her of stealing, would he? Didn’t he keep watch at night? Liujin’s real idea was that a kind of force was able to make worldly matter completely disappear. One example was the frogs that Sherman had put in her courtyard. Curious, Liujin turned around and took a good look at her boss’s back. He was drinking tea and looked extremely lonely. It was as though she were seeing him on his night watch.
After arranging the yard goods, Liujin was surprised to see Amy standing on tiptoe at the side gate of the market, hailing someone. Then Roy made his way through the crowd. He was taller than almost everyone else, so Liujin could follow him with her eyes. It was Roy whom Amy had been hailing. Finally, the boy walked up to the counter, where the boss confronted him immediately.
“Did you steal my cloth?” the boss asked Roy outright.
Liujin’s face flushed with anger, but Roy was calm. He said, “No.”
“You’re a nice boy. You shouldn’t hang out in the market all the time. This is a dangerous place.”
Roy bent his head and smelled the bolts of cloth. With his red face and narrowed eyes, he looked even more intoxicated than Sherman. He looked as if he had drunk several large bowls of rice wine. As if talking to himself, the boss muttered at the side, “Dumb boy, really stupid. Where did he come from?”
“I ran away from home,” Roy said. “I want to see the world. Sometimes I do steal things, but not cloth.”
Liujin’s gaze swept over the crowd. She saw Amy brandishing her flashing knife at the side gate. Who was she struggling with? It looked as though a disembodied blast had knocked her backward.
“I’ll take one bolt of the orchid pattern,” a familiar-looking customer said.
After Liujin measured the cloth, she noticed that Roy had walked away. The boss came over and told Liujin that Roy couldn’t leave the market because some things were happening just then. “Like a fly, he has smelled blood.” This disgusting analogy made Liujin blush again. When the boss took his teacup to the back room for a break, he suddenly cried out in fear and fell to the floor. Liujin rushed over immediately, but saw nothing. The boss’s lips were purple. Liujin asked where he hurt, and he strained to say, “The customer who bought the orchid patterned cloth . . . Be careful.”
That day, Liujin kept asking herself, “What happened? What happened!” The market wasn’t chaotic, nor were wild animals walking around: there were just some strange omens. Amy, the boss, and Roy all seemed to be rehearsing, yet she couldn’t see what they were rehearsing for. When it was time to leave work, Sherman showed up. He looked emaciated and old. When he reached out to touch the cloth, Liujin saw that even his hand had shriveled. He said apologetically to Liujin, “I’ve lost my usual tactile sense.” Liujin sensed his inner tension, and thought something was on the verge of happening.
Sherman was carrying an empty basket. When they left the market, Liujin asked why he hadn’t bought anything. He said he sensed he couldn’t take home any of the things in the market today; if he did, there’d be trouble. At that point, he turned around again and swept his eyes over the deserted hall. Then he continued walking ahead. Just then, Liujin heard footsteps, frenzied and loud: many people were walking around the market. Liujin recalled what the boss had said about Roy. She stopped in her tracks.
“Are you waiting for the leopard to come out?” Sherman asked.
“Unh.”
Although the two of them were standing shoulder to shoulder, Sherman felt a sudden attack of loneliness.
“I’ll go on ahead, Liujin. I’m sorry I let you down. And the sun has set; it’s cold everywhere. Take good care of yourself, Liujin.”
Then, taking the small path on the right, Sherman walked into the distance. Liujin stood there, feeling a bit surprised: What was wrong with Sherman? Had he seen something? She certainly hadn’t. She looked back again. The market was still deserted: Roy wasn’t there, and neither was the leopard. But she could still hear footsteps—frenzied a
nd loud. Was there a fight going on inside?
“Amy! Amy!” Liujin shouted in the direction of the deserted hall.
No one answered. Only an echo rippled forth.
Not until Liujin had walked straight past the plaza did Roy catch up, gasping for breath.
“Liujin, I killed the leopard!”
“How? What did you kill it with?”
“With a knife the person handed to me. I dumped the knife inside the market. I didn’t dare carry it out. Look, I’m covered in blood . . . Oh!”
He let out an odd scream. But Liujin didn’t see any blood on him. She thought, He’s having a wild hallucination. For years, this market where people came and went kept triggering hallucinations. Was this why she didn’t want to lose her job and leave this market? In front of them, Amy’s shadow flashed past and then disappeared. She had gone into a beauty parlor. Roy told Liujin he had seen Amy stab herself several times with the knife, yet she was actually all right. Now and then, they stopped walking, attracting sidelong glances from others passing by. Roy said the street was deserted and he was afraid. He was accustomed to walking in a stream of people. Liujin consoled him, taking his hand and saying repeatedly, “I’m here. I’m here for you.” His gaze fell briefly on Liujin’s face and then slid away. His gaze was unfocused. Liujin wanted to take him home with her, but he refused. He kept wandering aimlessly. Liujin followed him to the vegetable market. A waxy-faced fellow was closing the gate there. Roy approached him, lowered his head, and asked the man if he recognized him. The fellow looked up. “Aren’t you Axiang’s workmate? Axiang has gone away.”
Liujin recalled seeing Axiang off. At the time, the train station was packed with people. Axiang had told her he was going out to buy some fruit and then had vanished in the crowd. Liujin had waited and waited. She waited more than an hour. By the time the train pulled out, he still hadn’t reappeared. Liujin believed he had boarded the train.
The fellow was hostile as he took stock of Roy and Liujin. He said, “Ever since Axiang left, many people have inquired about his whereabouts. What was the point? You didn’t treasure him when he was around and felt regret only after he left. What an immature attitude toward life.”
He locked the gate angrily with his brass key, and then—to make sure it had been securely locked—he pulled hard on it, and the gate boomed loudly.
Ignoring them, he walked off. In fact, Liujin recognized this fellow, for she often bought vegetables from him. She hadn’t known, however, that he also knew Axiang, because Axiang had often said that he didn’t have a single trustworthy friend in the city. Just then, Roy seemed to come to his senses. He suggested going to Liujin’s place for dinner. He said he was exhausted: not only were his eyes tired but his tummy was empty. So they took the path beside the vegetable market and returned to the main road. It was dark, and the streetlights were on. Just then, both of them realized that the other was breathing deeply, and they started snickering. Roy said a strange sound was coming from the grove next to the road. He asked if she could hear it. Liujin looked in the direction he pointed toward and saw some fog. Moving closer to Liujin, Roy said, “I have the bird king. It’s in the park. It’s the one that’s yours.” As he talked, Liujin saw the dead poplar tree—so dark, so dazzling—pointing stiffly at the sky. Liujin shivered.
They drank milk tea and ate crackers in Liujin’s home. Sitting at the table in the kitchen, Roy looked drowsy. He asked Liujin to turn off the kitchen light. Then, in the dark, he raised both hands: all of his fingernails emitted a fluorescence. Liujin drew one of his hands to her cheek: it was ice-cold.
“You little devil, where did you put my bird?”
“It’s wherever the cage is. Right now, it’s in the park.”
He stood up all of a sudden and moved ahead along the wall.
“Liujin, these things are crushing me so much that I can’t breathe.”
Roy’s whole body was glowing. With each step he took, his body lit up.
“Roy, Roy! Is something wrong with you?”
“Yes. No—no, nothing’s wrong! Don’t come over here. I feel great!”
Liujin reached out to touch him, but she touched something viscous. Roy said it was excreta gushing out of his system, and this was what was glowing. Each time after it glowed, he had to take a bath and wash his clothes. Otherwise, he would smell. Now he had to go back to the park, because his change of clothes was in the old gatekeeper’s home.
When he was gone, Liujin—at her wits’ end—kept drinking tea. Her courtyard was now exceedingly quiet. She sensed a familiar, warm thing moving away from her—farther and farther away. A letter was lying on the table: it was from her mother.
“. . . We saw the long-life bird—the one that your father and I saw in Pebble Town’s park. Its feathers are green, its tail long. We rarely go to the roof of this building, but yesterday was a particularly nice day: there was no wind and less smoke than usual. And so we rode the elevator up. We stood on the roof garden and looked into the distance. Your father said he could see your snow mountain! And then it flew in. It flew in from the north and lit at our feet. We turned its feathers over and quickly found that mark. Your father and I gave this all our thought. What did this signify? The bird didn’t look at all aged. We couldn’t see how old he was, but he must be older than you. When it flew away, your father said, Our era has passed; a new era has begun. What is the new era? Did he mean Liujin’s era? When you were a baby you cried non-stop all night long. Even the snow mountain was moved by this . . .”
At the bottom of the stationery, Mother had drawn the bird, but it wasn’t the long-life bird described in her letter: it was, instead, the little wagtail! Liujin came closer and looked again and again at that bird; terror rose from the bottom of her heart. Her parents had probably not gone up so high merely to view the scenery. They couldn’t be considered old: compared with the old people in Pebble Town, they were still young. But what was meant by that bird? Nothing more than that their era had passed? Liujin’s memory held some odd stories—stories her father had told her. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t remember on what occasion her father had told her these stories. For example, she recalled her father speaking hoarsely of a miniature dog. That dog was unusual. Anyone who saw it would feel world-weary. Father had also told a story of a boy who always stood in the brook and fished, but what he caught weren’t fish: they were his childhood playthings. He gave those playthings to Liujin. They were all rather peculiar: an old umbrella spoke, an old slipper, and so forth, as well as one living thing—an old tortoise. As Liujin remembered these events from the past, she was immersed once more in her father’s world. From the time she was little, she had known it was a world of constant disturbances. In Father’s world, the place below the banana tree was not a shady place for rest; rather, it was a place where ghosts lingered. She had never met anyone like her father, who would spend most nights deep in thought. Had he been born this way, or had he changed only after Liujin was born? Whenever Liujin had padded sleepily into the courtyard wearing little slippers, Father had patted her head and said, “Shhh!” He stood in the shadows of the poplars, and Liujin knew he was lost in thought. Countless nights of experience told her this. It seemed that, from the beginning, she had been worried for her father, because she thought his world held many dangers.
Now, looking at that bird drawn on the stationery, Liujin sensed her long dormant misgivings being revived. It was as if her parents still lived in this building. Liujin couldn’t lose herself in thought all night long. When she thought of something, she would think and think and then fall asleep. She supposed this was because she lacked her father’s iron-clad logic.
Liujin glued the stationery with the drawing of the bird onto the wall in front of the desk. She thought, Maybe someday that long-life bird will even fly back here.
Chapter 7
LEE AND GRACE
Lee and Grace had come to the Design Institute a year before Nancy and José. While living in Mountai
n City in the south, they too had seen the recruiting ad, though the ad wasn’t the main reason they had come to Pebble Town. This couple had long dreamed of once again escaping their old lives. Grace was a little lame in one leg—a result of having polio as a child, but she was born with a steely will: whenever she made up her mind, she never turned back. In addition, she was instinctively pessimistic. It seemed that she had pursued hopeless things her whole life. Maybe that’s why she finally chose Lee, who had a heart condition, to be her husband. She saw the newspaper want-ad from Pebble Town’s Design Institute and told Lee about it. After a short discussion, the couple decided to head north.
They took along only a few changes of clothes, as though leaving for a short vacation, then locked up their home and went to the train station. That day, as they stood in the aisle of the train car, Lee felt that many new things were growing inside his body and weakening him as they pressed down on his innards. He even wondered if he would die on the way. As the train kept moving forward, however, an unknown airflow started roaming around in his chest, and because of it, the pressure he felt gradually slackened. He even felt a curiosity he hadn’t felt in years, as well as some sentimental feelings. His will to survive gradually strengthened. On the third day of the train ride, he looked at the snow mountain through the window. Grace saw some tombs halfway up the mountain (Lee didn’t know how she could see them from a distance). They both felt the excitement of approaching their destination. Lee’s head began to spin, and he immediately closed his eyes and lay down.
“Lee,” Grace whispered. “The car ahead of us is on fire. It can’t stop. Luckily, we’re sitting in the caboose. Did you hear an explosion?”
He hadn’t, and he couldn’t open his eyes because of his dizziness. He was nauseated and shivering from the cold.