by Can Xue
“Are you looking for your dad?” Song Feiyuan’s voice came out of the dark.
“No, I’m going back to my own home,” Liujin said.
“Although your dad isn’t here, you can still find him if you look.”
Liujin could hear him, but she couldn’t see him. She pulled herself together and continued walking ahead. Next to her, Song Feiyuan reminded her to walk to the right. She felt light-footed. She looked up and saw the strip of sky to the north. The two stars shone brighter and brighter. The vision thrilled her: that narrow strip of sky had turned violet. Her left foot stepped on something slippery, and she nearly fell.
“Look: this is the little turtle that your parents raised over there; it crawled here,” Song Feiyuan said.
This time, Liujin saw him: he was bent over, hurrying along beside her.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m cleansing my gut. There are always some dirty things there. I’m not like you . . . Didn’t you catch it? It’s run off again. Your parents love you so much, I really envy you.”
“Mr. Feiyuan, I need to go on ahead.”
“Go ahead. I’ll catch up soon.”
Liujin walked quickly toward her home. After a while, she heard the river gurgling. It was that small stream with fish leaping in it. When she looked up again, she saw that the entire sky had turned violet. One goose was on a solitary journey in the sky. She could see the road well now: she was walking on the blacktop road with poplars on both sides—the route her parents had taken thousands of time. When she turned around, she saw everything behind her still cloaked in darkness. Song Feiyuan’s short form passed by in the dark. His flashlight was still on. The place where she stood was the boundary between light and darkness. She mused to herself that she had walked from the Design Institute to the main road within half an hour! Even in the daytime, it used to take her at least an hour and a half.
She sat on a stone bench beside the road. Once more, she heard Song Feiyuan.
“I can’t match Ying, yet I also made it bit by bit.”
Liujin looked all around, but couldn’t see him. One person wobbled along the road: it was Sherman, whom she hadn’t seen for a long time. He was wearing an ugly robe that didn’t match his manner at all.
“Liujin, you’ll laugh at me for sure. I can’t walk steadily now. I can’t help wobbling.”
“Do you also cleanse your gut at night?” Liujin asked.
He started laughing, showing his white teeth. Liujin thought he was a little spooky.
“Oh, you must mean Song Feiyuan’s trick. As for me, I just muddle along. The incident with my daughter taught me a lesson. Luckily, those frogs and turtles all love me. Sometimes I buy them at the market and let them go. People say I’m like a child.”
Liujin watched him wobble toward the market. What would he do there at night? She compared him with Ying, and said to herself, “They’re both a little like ghosts, one wandering on the wasteland, the other hiding in the crowds of people.” She recalled the scene when Sherman first came to her counter to look at cloth. What a charmer he was!
When she pushed open the courtyard gate, a voice spoke to her from next to the well. “It’s been autumn for some time now—don’t you feel cold at night?”
It was old Meng Yu. He hadn’t come to her home before. He had returned from his travels.
“I chased a lamb to your courtyard. Amy carried it back. This well of yours isn’t an ordinary one. If you go down this well, you can reach Muye County!”
“Muye County? I heard of this county only recently. I heard that it’s chaotic over there,” Liujin said, flustered. “Muye County is where Ying often goes. I just came from seeing Ying.”
“I also just returned from Muye County. I have to go home now. Liujin, you must take good care of this well.”
After he left, Liujin leaned over the well—that is, over the cement—and listened. She heard frogs singing—a large chorus deep underground. Now she realized that all of them knew the secret of the underground world. She was amused to recall how affected Sherman had acted when he worked on something in her yard. Some violet coloring still gleamed in the sky, stirring Liujin’s emotions. She took a deep breath and sighed, “Oh, Ying!”
She prepared a sumptuous dinner for herself and kept listening as she ate—imagining the chaos caused by the war underground. She knew this evening was extremely unusual.
When she reached the living room, she saw the letter on the table. Her mother’s handwriting seemed a little shaky. She wrote that she and Dad had taken part in an activity for seniors organized by Smoke City: they had dug trenches on the farm outside town. Every day, they had been covered with mud and sweat. “Even though the era of war ended long ago, your dad and I found this sort of work very inspiring. Just think about it: so many people were involved in digging trenches. And it was raining. Frogs were singing everywhere. The triangular red flag loomed through the fog in the distance . . . Just think, when does anyone ever get to see a scene like this?!”
Liujin gave it a lot of thought. The scene her mother had described was very familiar—as though she herself had participated in that great activity of “digging trenches.” But Pebble Town had no smog, and so she couldn’t experience the hazy anxiety that one felt when on the edge of a great breakthrough. At the end of the letter, Mother mentioned Ying, saying that Ying was her “good friend whom I have lost forever.” When Liujin read that, she was reminded of Roy. Roy was her good friend whom she had lost forever. She heard the parrot talking in the next room. It was talking very fast, a little testily.
When she went into the bedroom, the parrot was still saying, “Another day has gone—huh!”
She opened the cage to let it go to the living room to drink some water, but it stayed arrogantly in the cage and said, “No!”
The courtyard was quiet tonight, and Liujin fell asleep as soon as she lay down. In her dreams, that bird argued with her incessantly. It kept saying that her home wasn’t safe because a beam had cracked.
Liujin went to the Design Institute again on her day off a week later—this time in the daytime—and people were working in all of the buildings. She went upstairs to Ying’s office. She knocked lightly on the door, and Ying opened it a little and stuck out his coal-black head. Liujin heard buzzing in the room—like a toy airplane circling in the air, or like a huge fan spinning around. It set her nerves on edge. Ying hesitated before letting her in.
Ying had shrouded his office in darkness. The only light came from the reading lamp on his large drafting table. The noise was coming from skulls—more than a dozen of them—hanging from the ceiling. There was no chair, so Liujin stood next to the drafting table. She had never understood those blueprints, and they held no interest for her.
Pointing to the skulls, she asked, “How come these things make noises?”
“What? You hear noises? I guess I’m used to them, so I don’t hear them. These were my buddies, long ago. They lost their lives during a malaria epidemic. Do you feel ill?”
“Yes. Uncle Ying, I’m dizzy.” Swaying, she gripped the table.
“Let’s get out of here. Right away!”
Ying supported the trembling Liujin out to the corridor, and then downstairs and outside. They sat on a bench under a tree. Liujin couldn’t say anything for a long time.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Ying said.
“But why aren’t you feeling even slightly indisposed?”
“I got along well with my buddies. Of course, it isn’t that I’m not stressed at all, but I got used to it a long time ago.”
They walked slowly to the wasteland, and Liujin noticed that huge rock again. It wasn’t at all conspicuous in the daytime. It was covered with ash and other dirty things. Some little black-colored birds were pecking at worms there. When people passed by, they flew away. Ying said there was no sound in the daytime. He asked Liujin to try, and she planted her ear against the rock. It’s true, she heard nothing. Ying went on to say that this h
uge rock was dead in the daytime, coming back to life only at night. Liujin thought to herself, This mysterious rock brings Ying so much consolation.
“There’s something that always puzzles me: Is the war in Muye County going on now, or did it happen a long time ago and we’ve just learned about it here? There’s a time difference.”
“Do you still agonize over past events?” Liujin asked sympathetically.
“Maybe it isn’t agonizing, but instead a certain kind of recreational excitement. Do you think that the events I’m entangled with belong only to the past? No, it’s not so.”
Liujin asked Ying: Why did they still have to go to work on the weekend?
“Ever since the old director died, work has turned into a hobby for everyone. This institute of ours hasn’t had a leader for a long time: it’s more a concept that’s leading us. The institute is still in good shape.”
As they sat there, dark clouds drooped from the sky, and the ground began to take on the dreariness of autumn. Liujin saw this on Ying’s face, too. She thought of Song Feiyuan. Was he also working here because of a hobby? What could that hobby be?
“Song Feiyuan? Unh. He took on the job of janitor for the main building. He also has an office there. Do you want to see it? Our employee Old Gu died, and Song Feiyuan took over his office.”
When they approached the No. 3 office building, many people opened their windows and leaned out to look at them. Liujin thought Ying must really be somebody important here.
Song Feiyuan’s office was large. Files were strewn in disarray on his desk. Two little chickens walked back and forth amid the files. Ying said that Song Feiyuan was freer than he was. Song spent hardly any time in the office. He stayed ten minutes a day at most and then left. He had never locked his door. He pointed out the shish kebabs on the tea table and said, “See? This is freedom.”
After standing in the office for a while, Liujin’s head began to hurt again—the same feeling she’d had in Ying’s office. Although this place didn’t have that buzzing sound, it had a sort of evil wind that was nearly undetectable. She didn’t know where it had blown in from. Bit by bit, that wind was eating away at Liujin’s willpower.
“Uncle Ying, I’m dizzy.” Everything was turning black in front of her. She gripped the desk.
Ying steadied her, and the two once again walked out of the office and stood in the field.
“But my parents worked in the building for decades,” she said uncomprehendingly.
“That’s true. I remember well the first time your mother came to the office. Back then, there weren’t many people in this building.”
As they sat on that rock, Ying seemed depressed. His head drooped. Liujin stared at his hair, noticing that his short curls were all spirals that seemed to be screwed deep into his brain. Liujin was nauseated and hurriedly averted her gaze. She had always felt this black man was unique. Now she seemed to understand him a little: he was melancholy because he had never been able to identify his desire.
Liujin looked ahead: in the misty distance, the area of shrubbery, Song Feiyuan was struggling with a boa constrictor. He was very agile, jumping around like a monkey. Finally, he clutched the lower part of the boa’s head. She wanted to continue watching, but man and snake tumbled into the shrubbery.
“Feiyuan is addicted to this romantic life,” Ying said. “On this barren slope, people can exhibit all kinds of audacity and imagination.”
Two office buildings were over there. Many people were watching, craning their necks from the windows. Maybe they were watching Feiyuan fight the boa, or maybe they were watching her and Ying. Liujin felt uncomfortable. She wanted to hide behind the rock and complained to Ying, “How can people in the Design Institute be so curious?”
“It’s true, they are. But you mustn’t think they’re watching you. No. They aren’t.”
“Then who are they watching? They certainly aren’t watching themselves, are they?!” Liujin said angrily. “Look, someone’s even using a telescope!”
“Oh, I saw that. Yes, someone is using a telescope. Her name is Tulip. She’s adorable. Haha!”
“She’s watching us through a telescope, and you actually feel good about it? Who is she?”
“Why not? We should be happy! This girl can see the shadow of her own lungs.”
“Then why doesn’t she look at herself, instead?”
“Can’t you see that’s exactly what she’s doing?”
Liujin looked closely at Ying’s kind expression, and her inner anger vanished all at once. She remembered the bottomless spirals of Ying’s hair.
Ying took a telescope out from a hollow in the rock and began looking back at the people in the office buildings. The way he was using the telescope was just like observing the surface of the moon. He looked for a long time, and then apparently tiring of it, he put the telescope away. He told Liujin that he and his colleagues had to look at each other every day.
“Uncle Feiyuan, are you looking for those snakes?” Liujin asked Song Feiyuan.
“Yes. Without them, I feel uneasy. Have you seen Sherman lately, Liujin? I was thinking about the old days when the two of us were together. The more I thought, the more confused I got. That’s why I’ve ended up with these snakes.”
As he stood in the wasteland, he looked young and refreshed. In the past, Liujin had always thought he was a little wretched.
As he walked away, Liujin noticed Ying staring at Feiyuan’s receding form and said, “One night in the poplar grove, I walked into a trap that this man set. He’s quite amazing, isn’t he? I like him a lot!”
“I can imagine that scene. You’re amazing, too,” Ying said.
That day, Liujin and Ying circled around the office buildings time after time, and the people in the buildings kept observing them. Ying joked that their “eyes would soon start bleeding from overuse.”
At dusk, Liujin saw the pageantry of the birds returning—so many birds, darkening the sky. The birds lit in the weeds and disappeared without a trace. Liujin asked Ying where they went. Ying said they had gone to Muye County.
It was just like the time years ago when Ying had seen Liujin off on the bus and had run after the bus waving at her. Liujin saw the full moon gradually rise behind him: it was actually bigger than his dark form. How strange: Shouldn’t it be a new moon tonight? After she took a seat on the bus, she looked up, and saw a man on her right ogling her. He seemed to recognize her and smiled. But Liujin didn’t know him, and this made her uneasy. She avoided his eyes and looked to the left, but the woman on the left was ogling her, too. So Liujin bent her head, propped her forehead against the back of the seat in front of her, shut her eyes, and rested.
When she got off the bus, she heard someone behind her say: “She keeps going back there time after time. Our Design Institute can reshape anyone who comes in.”
Chapter 15
SNOW
Liujin went to replenish her stock of piece goods at a place at the foot of the snow mountain. She bought calico cloth with the peculiar design of white flowers shaped like corkscrews. The pattern reminded her of Ying’s hair, and she felt a little sentimental. When she left there, it was snowing. She went through a vegetable plot to get to her jeep, which was parked next to the main road. An assistant pushing a wheelbarrow filled with piece goods headed over there with her. All of a sudden, she heard the sound of a large animal coming from the mountain—shrill and brutal. She was too afraid to move. The man shouted impatiently, “What’s wrong with you? Never mind the snow leopard. It’s a long way away from us!”
She pinched her thigh, but didn’t feel anything. Her legs didn’t seem like her own. Her head didn’t clear until the driver leaned out of the car and waved at her. By then, the snow leopard had stopped howling. The mountain looked different with snow, but it was still arrogant and aloof. All around the foot of the mountain, those tall buildings were like jesters craning their necks to gape at it. Liujin thought the snow leopard must be inside a grotto. This household
and the path between these vegetable plots were somehow linked with her—and had been for years. Not many households wove and dyed cloth now. Why hadn’t this family ever given it up? Just now, when she had gone to pick up the cloth, the owner hadn’t shown up. It was his daughter who had received her. She said her father had gone up the mountain. Liujin had stared blankly for a moment. Now she remembered this incident—and connected the snow mountain, this household in the foothills, and her coming here for years. A new picture appeared in her mind. It was a little murky, but it wasn’t insignificant. Just before getting into the jeep, she glanced again at the snow mountain. As the snowflakes fell more densely, the silhouetted mountain looked misty.
When she returned to the market, she discovered that there’d been an accident in the shop: the rolling door had slipped down and hit the manager in the leg, and he was lying in the back room. Liujin urged him to go to the hospital, but he refused. As Liujin turned to leave with a sigh, he stopped her and wanted to hear in detail about her trip. So she talked about the howling sound of the snow leopard, as well as the cave, the lonely night, and the bright full moon she had seen from inside the cave. As she went on and on, the manager closed his eyes slightly, as if bewitched. “Liujin has now become truly amazing. The snow leopard—wasn’t it calling for us?” He waved Liujin away. He wanted to enjoy a certain memory in solitude.
Not until seeing her mother’s letter on the table did Liujin gradually relax. Appreciation for her parents grew from the bottom of her heart.
In her letter, Mother said that she and Dad were still digging trenches on the farm every day. This physical work made them “feel they were being renewed from the inside out.” They also took that turtle to the farm. In the daytime, the turtle walked everywhere in the open country, and at night it returned to the dormitory. The old couple were overjoyed to see how fast it was growing.