by Can Xue
Ayuan thought, What does this little fire have to do with the people inside the building? But the entire building rapidly filled with noise. People seemed to be dashing around. They poured basin after basin of water down from the windows. The water didn’t actually hit the fire, and yet the fire began shrinking, as if intimidated by the people’s actions.
A garbage collector came over and stopped his cart. He bent and picked up the charred remnants of the sign, looked at it, and threw it into the cart. Just then, someone in the building dumped a basin of water on him. He grimaced at Ayuan and said, “It’s really dry today, don’t you think?”
His hands on his hips, he stood below the window, as though he didn’t intend to leave anytime soon.
Ayuan heard bubbles gurgling in the garbage cart. When he took a look, it was empty except for the sign in the bottom of the cart. Ayuan wanted to move closer to get a better look, but the garbageman pushed him away. He was so strong that Ayuan nearly fell.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked Ayuan furiously.
“I just wanted to see if there was a swamp in your cart.” Ayuan was aggrieved.
“What makes you think it’s okay to spy on things? Get out of here!”
Pedaling his cart, he took off. Ayuan heard the merry sound of a series of bubbles rising from the depths of the water to the surface.
The people in the building continued pouring water down. Ayuan wished they would pour it on him, but they didn’t. After a while, the place where Ayuan was standing turned into mud, so he circled around to the front of the building. The wall with no door was just the same, but someone was standing there. It was Uncle Sang.
Uncle Sang walked over to him. Patting him on the shoulder, he said, “Ayuan, I can’t help but worry about you! You’re a nice kid, but you’re wasting your time. You haven’t done your job right.”
“Uncle Sang, can you tell me how to do it?”
“Me? No, no, no. This can’t be taught. I came to see you because I was worried about you. Now that you’ve heard my warning, you should be okay.”
Like the garbageman, he unhappily flung Ayuan aside and walked off.
Ayuan walked over to the small clearing and sat on a tree stump. He thought he should wait here until something occurred. Hadn’t Uncle Sang said he’d missed his opportunity?
He waited and waited, but nothing happened. The building was quiet, and no one passed by. He was surrounded by a deathly stillness. Just then, it suddenly turned overcast and then quickly grew dark. It was morning: how could the sky be dark? Ayuan was hungry, so he decided to go to a small restaurant for a meal.
The restaurant was deserted. He ordered a large bowl of pork soup and downed it quickly.
Something bit his ankle, and he yelled, “Ouch!” Looking down, he saw the familiar piglets! Ayuan wondered if they had come because he had just now eaten their relatives for supper. After the piglets had made a circuit of the room, they ran out.
When Ayuan stood up to pay the tab, the waiter asked, “Do you want to stay here? It’s fifty yuan for a bed.”
“What kinds of guests usually stay here?” Ayuan asked, frowning.
“What do you think? They’re poor people who’ve come here to try their luck. This is the only part of the city that still has some opportunity. The other places are closed up.”
“What opportunities are available here?”
“You ask too many questions. Do you want to stay or not?”
“Yes.”
Ayuan followed him to a room behind the lobby. Two of the three beds in the room were occupied. The room had no electric lights, but a kerosene lamp was lit. The clerk pointed to the empty bed. Ayuan had no sooner sat down than the clerk blew out the kerosene lamp and left.
Groping in the dark, Ayuan found the pillow and quilt. He unfolded the quilt and lay down.
“You’d better not sleep too soundly,” a person said from the bed across from him.
“Do opportunities come at night?”
“Don’t ask. You shouldn’t ask about this.”
Ayuan stopped talking. He was uneasy and sleepy. He didn’t sleep well. Every five minutes he awakened in alarm. Each time, he heard the people in the other two beds planning something in low voices. He heard them mention “iron cage,” “dungeon,” “torture instrument,” and so forth—dark and ruthless things. As he was on the verge of figuring out what they meant, he dozed off again. And so he never figured out exactly what they were talking about.
At midnight, Ayuan sensed that his feet and neck had been tied to the posts at either end of the iron bed. Probably the other two men had left. When he tried to move a little, the coarse rope tightened. He realized he had to lie still in order to alleviate the pain. Just then he heard the sound of bubbles that he hadn’t heard for quite a while, and he calmed down at once. A hand at the door was holding a wavering candle, but then quickly retreated. A woman’s voice said, “What an adorable guy.”
The sound of bubbles was rising from underneath the bed; it was as if his entire person were submerged in water, gurgling and gurgling. He had waited a long time: wasn’t it this that he’d been waiting for? In this city that was so dry that cracks opened up everywhere, what a lucky man he was! His insteps tickled, but he forced himself not to move, for he didn’t want to interrupt this great moment of feeling so lucky. The woman spoke again, “Now he can die without regrets.”
Ayuan recognized her voice: she was a former neighbor. She was an assistant at a vegetable stand, where she didn’t talk and never even made eye contact with customers when she sold vegetables. What had made her so talkative now? Every time Ayuan was about to fall asleep, he was awakened again by her.
“Is this the swamp or is it a dungeon?” Ayuan asked angrily.
The woman didn’t respond. Maybe she had slipped away.
But the sound of bubbles had also stopped, and Ayuan’s feet and neck were now free. He got out of bed, walked to the window, and looked out at the dim backyard of the hotel. Two old-style waterwheels had been set up in the middle of the yard. Two dark figures were bent over, operating the waterwheels. Their actions made no sound.
Ayuan shouted, “I’m coming to help you!” Then he jumped down from the window. He didn’t land in the backyard, but in a hole. Although he wasn’t injured, the fall was painful. Someone said, “He hasn’t paid for his room yet. This kind of jerk is shameless. And his body is so dry that even the crocodiles would show no interest in him. Isn’t there better stuff than this in the city?”
This frightened Ayuan. As he climbed out of the hole, he said, “I came to help with the waterwheels . . .”
“There’s no water here!” the man rebuffed him. “More than a hundred years ago, there was, but now there are only alligators and snakes. Alligators lie in the dirt hole; all the armor on their bodies has disappeared, and they’ve become slippery all over. Do you really want to operate the waterwheels? Okay, I’ll help you!”
He shoved Ayuan, and Ayuan stumbled ahead several steps. When he came to a stop, he rubbed his eyes and saw that he was standing next to the main road. He was in the city’s new district. A car stopped beside him, and the door opened. His face wreathed in smiles, Uncle Sang got out.
“This is great!” He patted Ayuan on the shoulder as he said, “Look—the leeches didn’t suck all my blood, and the alligators didn’t eat you. From now on, you can go there any time! Just take the roads you’re familiar with, and you’ll have no trouble. Don’t you think I’m right? Hang on a second. Look!”
Ayuan saw the two mountain people in a black jeep flashing by.
“Is today Monday? Ayuan, you have a job. You’ve got to go to work now. However, our swamp welcomes people from all occupations. Next time, you just need to take the roads you know. You can go whenever you like. It’s so dry in the city, you can’t stay here all the time.”
The two of them parted at the intersection.
Ayuan returned to work, where he noticed that the deep hole nex
t to the shed had reappeared. A crowd of people stood around it. As Ayuan approached, a worker asked him, “Ayuan, I saw someone jump down into the hole at dawn. Was it you?”
Everyone stared at Ayuan, showing their admiration.
“It was . . . I jumped down from the window, but . . . ,” Ayuan said hesitantly.
“That’s terrific! Absolutely terrific!” Everyone cheered.
Ayuan noticed little animals climbing up from the side of the hole. It was two of the piglets! The piglets were sticky and filthy, giving off a smell that Ayuan knew very well. Ayuan squatted down and petted them, and in awe, the workers made a path for them, and the two little animals ran away.
“God! They came from over there!” Young Hu was the first to shout.
“Who could have guessed that? Who would ever have thought of that?” Several people sighed in dismay.
The workers looked anguished. Someone suggested quietly, “We’d better go have a drink.”
And so they left together.
Ayuan went back to the shed by himself. He lay on the bed, thinking that he didn’t have the guts to jump into the deep hole. This could only happen by mistake. The bride from the photography studio had wanted to slide into the deep, bottomless lake—another thing he could never do. Uncle Sang must have seen what sort of person he, Ayuan, was. He was always waiting—waiting until dangers befell him by mistake.
A whistle blew outside. Ayuan changed into his work clothes and put on his hard hat. He followed the foreman to the work site. When he recalled that Uncle Sang had praised him for having “a job,” he cheered up.
“You didn’t go out drinking. I’m glad to hear that. You’re a tough guy! The others are worthless cowards,” the foreman said, as he walked along without turning his head.
When Ayuan stood on the scaffolding and looked out at the city, he heard bubbles echoing incessantly in the currents of air. Moisture-laden air blew over his face, and he couldn’t help shouting, “Uncle Sang, I’m here now!!”
He saw the gray sky pushing against him, as if it would crush him.
SIN
I had a wooden box in my loft. Everyone in the family knew about it, but no one had ever opened it. The year I was born, Father gave me this box he’d prepared. Mother was in charge of storing it. Father was a very crafty guy who always came up with long-term plans that often stretched to the unforeseeable future. And then he simply forgot his plan. For example, this wooden box. When he gave it to Mother, he said very seriously that the contents of the box were confidential. He meant to open it himself when I was grown up, for it contained something important having to do with my future. But after I grew up, he forgot. Mother didn’t remind him, either; perhaps she didn’t believe that Father had anything so terribly wonderful stored in the box. After living with him for many years, she knew him like the back of her hand, so she didn’t even mention it to him.
The box was made of ordinary fir, with a layer of lacquer slapped over it. It had a little lock—a common enough lock, which had rusted over the years. Maybe it was habit or maybe Mother’s attitude had affected me; in any case, I never considered unlocking it. After Father and Mother died, I threw the box into the loft one day and never gave it another thought. I didn’t have the curiosity one should have about some things. And yet I was endlessly interested in things that shouldn’t have concerned anyone. I was born this way; I couldn’t help it.
In August, my cousin, whom the family dubbed “Killer,” came to stay for a while. She was in her early thirties, yet her forehead was covered with wrinkles, surprising for one her age. When she walked, she held her head high. I didn’t like to be around her because she spoke unkindly; sometimes her words could even be murderous (Father was one of her victims when he was alive), so in the family we all spitefully called her “Killer” behind her back.
“Rumei,” she sat down and began talking, “that fashionable colleague of yours started spreading rumors about you yesterday among people I know well. But I’ve seen you walking arm in arm with her on the streets. What’s this all about?”
“Mind your own business. If you have to butt into other people’s business, then you’d better not stay with us,” I said in disgust.
“But it wasn’t because of this that I came here,” she said pensively. “I came because of—that box!”
“Box? What box?” I knew at once what she meant, but I deliberately feigned ignorance.
“Don’t think that just because your father died a long time ago you can ignore this. That’s childish. You’re just like your sneaky father—a sinner. You can’t cover this up.”
She stood legs apart, hands stuffed into her pants pockets. She looked like the old maid she was. I recalled that several years ago, even though I knew it was not very promising, I had introduced her to several men. None had worked out. It was only because I hated her that I’d made these introductions, but she hadn’t hated me for doing it. Quite the opposite. She had thanked me for my help, thus making me really uneasy. Not until later did I understand that nothing I did could hurt her.
I asked her why she thought so badly of my father. She gave me a probing look and sneered. She said I must have been all too aware. Otherwise, why would I have hidden the box in the loft? This was a sin.
“I didn’t hide it. I just happened to put it there, okay? You surely don’t know what’s in the box, so why do you conclude that I’m guilty?” I didn’t think I could bear this.
“The contents don’t matter at all. A person has to take responsibility for what she does. You’d better not say ‘I just happened’ very much. Who knows if you ‘just happened’ to do this? Huh!” She swung her flat rear end emphatically.
I didn’t want to pay any more attention to my cousin. If she wanted to stay here, okay, but I didn’t have to keep her company. With my briefcase under my arm, I left for work.
But I was uneasy, worried that something would go wrong at home. And I remembered that I’d forgotten to lock the drawer which was filled with personal correspondence.
In the afternoon, I left work early and rushed home. When I got there, I set my bicycle down and dashed into the house. Sure enough, she was sitting at the desk reading my letters. On hearing my footsteps, she replaced the letters in the drawer. She looked embarrassed.
“How dare you read my letters?” I paled.
“I’m just a little curious, that’s all.” She voiced her objection as she stood up. “Why are you taking this so seriously?”
“If you want to stay here, you mustn’t be so curious!” I shouted.
“Do you think I came here out of curiosity about you? You shouldn’t have such a high opinion of yourself!” She shouted, too. Standing with arms akimbo, she looked scary.
Hearing us arguing, my husband ran in to break it up. As soon as he tried, my cousin made even more of a fuss. She said she had come here in order to prevent a sin; this sin had been planned for decades, and so forth and so on. My husband was baffled. It was odd that she didn’t bring up the issue of the box in front of him. She just kept arguing, saying she had to stay here until the whole thing was cleared up.
I thought this was a little fishy. I had placed the box in the loft. You could see it if you stood in the middle of the room. Yet my cousin hadn’t mentioned looking for it in the house, nor had she asked me where it was: this wasn’t where her attention was focused. Everything was obscure. Maybe the box was nothing but a pretext for staying in my home to satisfy her old maid’s curiosity or to take revenge on me for something. She was too complicated. Since I couldn’t get a feel for her temperament, I decided not to argue with her anymore. I acted as if nothing was happening. At dinner, I talked with her as usual. She ignored my overtures and kept a straight face. Then she turned to my son and spoke with him of the subtle relationships between parents and children and took the opportunity to develop this idea for a while.
“Sometimes it takes several generations for a sin to be completed,” she announced complacently as she raised
her head. My son listened to her piously without blinking an eye. He adored this young auntie.
Not many people were as freewheeling as my cousin. She didn’t even have a formal job but merely had a stall on the street where she sold cheap silk stockings. The income from that kind of work was not very steady. She had fallen out long ago with her parents—to the point where they no longer saw anything of each other. So when business was slow and she lacked spending money, she came here. Although I inwardly hated her, at the same time I also admired her nimble and straightforward way of thinking, and I was subconsciously affected by this. So I wasn’t against her staying, but I didn’t expect her to aim the lance at me this time. It was as if she were determined to pin down a certain private thing about me.
I was thoroughly annoyed. I didn’t know what kind of trouble my cousin wanted to stir up. She didn’t care at all about my family. She claimed she had to perform “surgery” on my family. When she said this, her face was absolutely expressionless.
Today my boss had criticized me again because I was agitated and had made mistakes in filling out reports. His tone was terribly harsh. I wanted to spit in his face. I thought of the problem at home and felt it was time to drop a hint to my cousin that it wasn’t right to interfere in other people’s lives. I kept thinking about this, and on the way home I seemed to reach a decision.
As soon as I went inside, I heard laughter from her and my son. I had to acknowledge that although she had never married, she was a genius at enjoying children—much better than I. Was this why I was jealous of her? But it wasn’t pure jealousy; other factors were mixed in with it.
My cousin and my son had installed a new light switch. They’d been laughing just now because they’d succeeded. Of course this was much more convenient, but I had forbidden my son to handle electrical wires. He was too young and didn’t understand the basic guidelines. When I looked inside the room, I was startled: they had taken the wooden box down from the loft and placed it on the chair so they could stand on it to work on the light switch. In stepping on the box, they’d left several footprints on it. I rushed over and took the box down, and staring at my cousin I spat out the words slowly through clenched teeth: