Frog (30 page)

But there was an even greater danger, Sensei: the predatory punk was coming at me. By now the squid was gone, making the skewer even more deadly, and that’s when I realised that he was the son of the smaller of the two women, while her fat companion had to be his aunt. The survival instinct had me scrambling to my feet, and I knew it was time to put my asset – running – to work. After years of living in affluence, I’d forgotten what a fast runner I’d once been. It all came back to me now, when my life was threatened. The women tried to keep me from getting away, the punk was thundering his displeasure, and I began to howl like a cornered dog. With my face bloody, I bared my teeth to give them a momentary fright, since I’d seen a dazed look in the women’s eyes with my first howls; I’d always been deeply sympathetic to women who had that look in their eyes. I took advantage of the moment to slip between two parked cars and ran off.

Run, Wan Zu, Wan Xiaopao the runner – fifty-five-year-old Wan Xiaopao was running as fast as he ever had. I ran like a madman down the street, passing the smells of frying chicken, raw fish, lamb kebobs, and some I couldn’t name. My legs felt as light as grass, and every step bounced up as if the ground were a spring, which invested greater power in the next steps. I was a deer, a gazelle, a superman light as a swallow after landing on the moon. I felt like a horse, a fine Turkmenistan horse, a horse that steps on a flying swallow, powerful, unconstrained, no worries, no cares.

But in fact this powerful and unconstrained feeling was a short-lived illusion. The real situation was altogether different. I was gasping for breath, my throat was on fire, my heart was pounding like a drum, my chest had swelled up, my head felt as big as a bushel basket, my eyes pulsed black, and my veins seemed about to burst. The survival instinct was in control of my exhausted body; this was a true case of a last-ditch fight to live. Shouts of ‘beat him’ rose all around me. At first a bearded young man in a black tunic rushed me from the front, his green eyes flashing like fireflies on a mountain road late at night. At the moment his ghostly white hands reached out to grab me, my lips parted and I spewed a mouthful of dirty blood into his ghostly face, which immediately changed colour. He yelped in agony and his hands flew to his face as he crouched down. Sensei, I was filled with remorse, since I knew that he was justified in trying to block my way, that his action proved that he was highly moral and righteous, and spewing dirty blood was like a black Betta fish spewing its guts to ward off danger; I felt terrible about soiling his face and ruining his eyes. Had I been a more noble man, I’d have stopped, apologised, and asked for his forgiveness even with the tip of a knife in my back. But I didn’t. Sensei, I have dishonoured your guidance. After that, several sanctimonious gentlemen stood by the side of the road also shouting ‘beat him’, but did not step forward, surely in fear of my unique blood-spewing skill. They threw half-finished Coke bottles at me, the symbolic colour of American culture, with its golden foam, but I knocked them out of my way.

Sensei, there had to be a conclusion to this. No matter how positive or negative an affair, it must reach a conclusion at some point. This chase and escape, in which right and wrong were totally jumbled, reached its end when my strength was exhausted and I collapsed in front of the Sino-American Jiabao Women and Children’s Hospital. A shiny sapphire-blue BMW drove out of the tree-lined compound, where the fragrance of flowers hung in the air. My fallen state must have presented an awful sight to the occupants of the car – I was covered in blood, like a dead dog that’s fallen from the sky. Startled at first, they were then struck by inauspicious notions. I knew that rich people tend to be highly superstitious. The degree of superstitious beliefs parallels the degree of wealth. I knew that their fatalistic beliefs outstripped those of poor people, and that their love of life was far greater. Nothing unnatural about that. The poor treat life as worth no more than a broken vessel; the rich treat it as a priceless porcelain bowl. My crumpled appearance in the path of their BMW was no less jarring than a stallion rearing up, eyes blazing and releasing a spine-tingling whinny. I felt just terrible. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I was racked by spasms as I tried to crawl out of the way, but, like an insect whose tail is pinned with a thumbtack, I couldn’t move. This reminded me of a prank I’d played as a youngster, even as an adult: I’d pin green insects to the ground or onto a wall by their tails to watch them try to get away, observing the struggle between their instinct to flee and bodies that would not do their bidding. I had been pitiless, actually enjoyed the spectacle. I’d been so much bigger and stronger than any insect, too big and too strong even for an insect to grasp my full appearance. To them I was a mysterious force that created disaster. They probably had no conception of the hand that had brought such evil down on them; their inkling did not extend beyond the thumbtack or the thorn. Now I’d tasted the suffering I’d inflicted on those insects. Little insects, I’m sorry, I am so sorry.

The driver honked his horn gently. A cultured, patient, decent man, obviously. Not a representative of the nouveau riche. If he had been, he’d have made it sound like an air-raid siren. If he’d been one of those, he’d have stuck his head out the window and bombarded me with filthy curses. Because he was a decent man, I tried even harder to crawl out of his way, but my body failed me again.

Seeing he had no choice, he got out of his car. He was wearing a soft yellow leisure suit with orange checks on the collar and sleeves. I vaguely recalled my time in Beijing when a friend who was an expert on famous brand products told me what this particular brand was called in Chinese translation, but I’d forgotten. I never could remember famous brands, which was probably a mental block, a complex psychological expression of loathing and jealousy by people towards their betters. That is much like the way I undervalue bread when compared to steamed buns, or fermented bean sauce over cheese. Rather than curse or kick me, the man shouted to the guard at the hospital entrance: Come here and carry him out of the middle of the road.

His order given, he squinted and looked into the sky to search for the sun and sneezed. The past came flooding into my head. Once again, the sneeze told me who it was: Xiao Xiachun, my one-time classmate, who had cast aside his official position to gain fabulous riches. Word had it that he’d caught a wave into coal for his first bonanza, then tapped into his carefully cultivated connections in officialdom to strike out in all directions and let the money roll in, until he was worth billions. I’d read an interview he’d given in which he actually spoke of eating coal as a child. He’d never eaten coal, I remember that clearly. As he’d watched us eating some, he’d studied the piece in his hand . . . Sensei, look at me, here I was, in dire straits, and I couldn’t stop being trivial. I am beyond redemption.

One guard alone could not move me, so a second one came up, and each of them took an arm and, not too roughly, carried and dragged me over to a spot beneath the gigantic signboard just east of the hospital entrance. There they sat me upright with my back against a wall, where I watched classmate Xiao climb back into his car, proceed slowly across the speed bump, then turn and drive off. Here I should say I might have seen, but probably imagined, the lovely Xiao Bi, her long hair spilling over her shoulders, in the back seat of the car, a pink infant in her arms.

The crowd that was chasing me drew up. The two women, the little punk, and the young man whose face I covered with dark blood, plus all the ones who had thrown Coke bottles at me, craned their necks to observe me. Several dozen faces formed a hazy mosaic around me. The little punk still wanted to stab me, but was stopped from doing so by the woman who seemed to be the younger of the two. A professorial-looking man stuck two slender fingers under my nose to see if I was still breathing. I held my breath for the sake of self-protection. As a boy I once heard an old man who had returned to the village from Guangdong say that if you encountered a tiger or a black bear in the mountain forests, your best bet was to lie down, hold your breath, and pretend to be dead. Large predators share heroic qualities with humans: a valiant human will not attack a foe that has surrendered, a wild beast will only kill and eat living prey. Well, it worked, for the professor stood there speechless for a moment before turning and walking off. His action served as an announcement to the crowd: This man is dead! Even though, in their eyes, I was a criminal, the law did not give law-abiding citizens the right to beat a thief to death. So they got out of there as quickly as they could – better safe than sorry. The two women dragged the boy away from the scene. I exhaled, greatly relieved, and was suddenly aware of the dignity and honour the dead possess.

It must have been the guards who called the police, since they were the only ones who came to report what had happened when the police cars drove up, sirens blaring. Three policemen walked up and asked me how I was doing. They were all young, and their yellow teeth showed they were all from Northeast Gaomi Township. I got tearful, and before long was sobbing my story like a boy who’s been victimised by a bully when he sees his father arrive. Only the cop with a growth between his eyebrows seemed to be listening to what I was saying. The other two were more intent on studying the signboard above me. When I finished, the first cop said: How do we know that what you’ve said is the truth? Go ask Chen Bi, I told him. The tallest cop said, without taking his eyes off the signboard, How do you feel? Want us to take you to the hospital?

I tried moving my legs. They were still working. Then I looked at the wounds on my arms and hands. They’d stopped bleeding. If you don’t mind the bother, the cop with the growth on his brow said, you can come to the station with us and make a report. If it’s too much bother, you can go home and rest up. That’s it? I said. No who’s right and who’s wrong? There’s right and there’s wrong, he said, but we need proof, witnesses. Can you get that Chen Bi and those fishmongers to be witnesses? Can you be sure those two women and the boy would not turn around and accuse you? That kid, the grandson of the scoundrel Zhang Quan of Dongfeng Village, is a bad one, all right, but he is a child, and what do you think you can do to him? All right, I said, I’ll just drop it, I lose – wisdom grows out of experience, and at my age a man should stay home and out of trouble, playing with his grandchildren and enjoying family life – thank you all, sorry to waste the nation’s gasoline and wear down the nation’s tyres, and cause you trouble. Are you mocking us, old sir? No, of course not, I wouldn’t dare. I’m being truthful, absolutely sincere.

The two cops – one with the growth, the other very tall – turned to leave, but the third man – who had a wide mouth on a square face – kept staring at the signboard and had no interest in leaving. Let’s go, Wang, Eyebrow Growth said. Has the sight of the babies paralysed you? Wide Mouth responded with a note of approval, Cute, really cute! Eyebrow Growth teased, Then go home and give your seed to your wife. Can’t, Wide Mouth said, she’s barren. I can do the planting, but there’ll be no sprouts. The tall cop joined the conversation: Don’t put all the blame on her, he said. Go get checked. Maybe your seeds have all been fried. No way, Wide mouth said . . .

The banter continued as they climbed into their car and left me there under the signboard, depressed but resigned to my fate. What would I have gained by going to the station with them and making a report? Since the women were Zhang Quan’s daughters – he had a third – Gugu was their enemy, and now I knew why the boy had scared her with that frog. He’d probably been coached by his mother or aunt as a means of avenging their mother, even though Gugu had not been responsible for her death. You can’t be reasonable with people like that. To hell with it, I lose. No, God is testing me. So grin and bear it. I’m a strong-willed man, a playwright, and all these encounters and experiences constitute superb material. Important people become important by enduring the suffering and humiliation that defeats ordinary people. Examples like General Han Xin, who drank the cup of humiliation; or like Confucius, who endured hunger from Chen to Cai; or Sun Bin, who ate his own faeces . . . how can the little bit of suffering and humiliation I endured be mentioned in the same breath as that of those sages and ancient wise men? With that thought in mind, Sensei, I gained a sense of tolerance as my breathing returned to normal, my eyes lit up, and I felt my strength slowly return. Stand up, Tadpole, the heavens have bestowed great responsibilities on you. You must bravely accept suffering without complaint and with hatred towards no one.

I stood up, and though my wounds hurt, I was famished, my legs were rubbery, and I saw stars, I would not allow myself to fall back down. I thought there’d be people watching me, but there were none. Even the guards at the hospital entrance ignored me. This confirmed what Li Shou had told me. Thoughts of Li Shou reminded me of Chen Mei, in whose belly my child was growing.I felt different about that now than I had in the morning. I’d been hell-bent on forcing the death of the child, but no longer. I turned to look at the hospital signboard and the thought running through my head could not have been clearer: I want that child! I desperately need that child. He is a treasure sent down to me from the heavens, and is worth all my suffering.

Sensei, I want you to know that the signboard was etched with the enlarged photographs of hundreds of children, some laughing, others crying; some with their eyes shut, others open in a squint; some had both eyes wide open, others had one eye open and one eye shut; some were looking up, others were looking straight ahead; some were holding out both arms, as if reaching for something; the hands of some were balled into fists, as if they were unhappy; some were sucking on a fist, others had their hands over their ears; some were laughing with their eyes open, some with their eyes shut; some were crying with their eyes open, some with their eyes shut; some had no hair on their heads, others had a headful of black hair; some had soft, golden fuzz, others had sleek, shiny, velvet-like, flaxen hair; some had wrinkly faces, like little old men, some had fat faces with big ears, like little piglets; some had skin as white as glutinous dumplings, others were as dark as coal; some had puckered lips, as if angry, others looked like they were shouting; some were making sucking motions, looking to nurse, other pressed their lips together, cocking their heads, refusing to nurse; some were sticking out bright red tongues, others were sticking out pink ones; some had two dimpled cheeks, some had only one; some had double-fold eyelids, some had single-fold eyelids; the heads of some were round as balls, those of others long as gourds; the brows of some were thoughtfully furrowed, others had raised their eyes . . . in other words, their appearances and expressions varied widely, and each one was cute as could be. The promotional text informed me that these were pictures of every child born in the hospital in the two years it had been open, a bumper crop. This was truly a great undertaking, a noble one, and a sweet one . . . Sensei, I was deeply moved. As tears filled my eyes, I heard the call of a sacred noise, and experienced the most solemn feeling a human can know – the love of life; all other love, by comparison, is vulgar, low-class. Sensei, it was as if my soul had received a solemn baptism, and that I’d been given the chance to have all the sins of my past forgiven. Whatever the cause or the effect, I wanted to spread my arms to enfold this innocent new life sent to me by the heavens!