Leave Me Alone (20 page)

The final sentence was the moral of the story. Old Lai first started to laugh, but then, after turning it over in his mind, he looked serious and said, ‘You talk too much. If you’re not happy about something, tell me outright. What are you getting at?’

I explained: ‘Doing business is the same as sex. It’s all about satisfying each other’s desires so everyone is happy.’

He looked at me half admiringly, half grudgingly, then said, ‘OK, last offer: 50,000. If you’re still not satisfied then let’s settle it through official channels.’

After we’d settled a price, the rest of the issues were easily dealt with — how to make the payment, how to destroy the evidence. I’d worked all this out long ago, and he didn’t really have much to add.

I felt pleased with myself because recently I’d managed to dredge up a fair amount of money. Twenty thousand from the billboards, and now 50,000 from this. It was enough for a deposit on a house. When I thought about houses though, I felt a bit sad because I didn’t know what Zhao Yue was doing now in our apartment. Perhaps there was someone lying in that place where I used to lie, caressing that lovely body I’d caressed so many times.

Young Lover was waiting impatiently outside; a few times she’d come in and disturbed us, then, seeing that we were still talking business, had left without saying anything. Whether intentionally or not, her eyes frequently met mine, making me a little excited.

The client saw this and said with a big smile, ‘OK, tonight you take her. I haven’t made any other arrangements for you.’

I was surprised by this. Feigning indignation, I said, ‘What kind of person do you take me for? A real man doesn’t take someone’s girl. Even if you threatened to cut off my head, I wouldn’t do this.’

He lit an extra mellow 555 and said smilingly, ‘You don’t need to be so false. You’ve been lusting for her all night — do you think I’m an idiot? Now you’re just pretending to be respectable.’

The client gave me a rundown of Young Lover’s specialities: ‘Her singing voice is voice is very sweet. She’s skilled in many positions, especially cowgirl.’

I looked at Young Lover again, and found her making eyes at me and pouting her lips, like a Japanese cartoon character.

It was raining lightly on streets that were less crowded than usual. Young Lover opened a small embroidered umbrella, I put my arm around her shoulder, and we slowly walked along. We passed a few drab boutiques. Suddenly she grabbed my hand.

‘Brother Chen, will you buy me a skirt? It won’t be more than 100 yuan.’

I felt pity for her. ‘Go in and choose,’ I said. ‘I’ll wait here.’

She ran in eagerly and within five minutes, she’d tried on four long skirts. Each time she came out to seek my opinion, asking me whether it looked good or not. I nodded silently, thinking about the days when I’d browse the shops on Chunxi Street with Zhao Yue, hand in hand, drawn to the ones with the most people.

‘Does it look good?’ Young Lover asked.

I struggled to blink away tears at the thought of another smiling face: Zhao Yue used to say, ‘Does it look good? What mark would you give it?’

Young Lover came away with two skirts. Grand total: 260 yuan. Back at the hotel, she pressed her lips against my ear and murmured, ‘Brother Chen, you’re really good to me. Today, you can do whatever you like.’

My heart was suddenly consumed by a hatred that I didn’t really understand. I flung her onto the bed and, saying nothing, began to rip violently at her clothes. She pushed me away, apparently terrified, and pleaded with me to be careful of the buttons and zippers.

‘You don’t need to be so impatient. I’ll take them off myself,’ she said.

My physical strength suddenly left me and I lay there like a piece of wood as I thought of Zhao Yue. On our first night together, she had gripped my neck tight, asking me, ‘Do you love me? Do you love me?’

‘Put on your clothes and go home,’ I said.

Young Lover was struck dumb by this and she looked embarrassed. ‘Have I made you angry? Please forgive me. I’m young, I don’t understand a lot.’

‘It’s nothing to do with you,’ I said. ‘I’m going back to Chengdu.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Twenty Volkswagen Passats entered the precinct courtyard. In line with Bighead’s requirements, every car had been spray-painted blue and equipped with the best police lights and sirens. The anti-smear windscreens and external trimmings were flawless. Bighead looked delighted but at the same time he was shouting at his minions to check all the cars, and even blustered to me, ‘If there’s anything wrong with your cars, I’ll send you to Pi County.’

Pi County was the biggest jail in Chengdu. I bowed obsequiously, just like Chinese did to the Japanese army in old times.

‘Of course I wouldn’t dare,’ I said.

Secretly I was thinking: Just see how I get my revenge on you later, you bastard.

We’d arranged to have dinner with Li Liang at the Workers’
Café — my idea. The patron was a celebrity in local cultural circles who Li Liang had admired for a long time.

In Chengdu you come across a lot of these so-called creative types. Li Liang was always bragging that he’d drunk tea with this poet or eaten with that artist. As a supposed man of culture, I’d try to sound politely impressed. But Bighead had zero patience and inevitably poured cold water on Li Liang’s enthusiasm.

‘You paid the bill, I suppose? How much? Seven hundred? Couldn’t you have used that money to buy us more drink?’

I’d laugh but Li Liang would glare and say that Bighead was a philistine who only knew how to stuff his face. His very existence was an insult to the refined.

The dinner was an opportunity for Li Liang to meet the patron, which I hoped would be a reason for him to come out with us. Li Liang, the addict, lived a regular life. Every day he stayed home drinking tea, reading, playing computer games and getting a fix every couple of hours. He looked calmly indifferent to everything. Bighead and I had ceased trying to persuade him to stop shooting up. That day at his place we’d gone on at him for ages but he still wouldn’t agree to go to the rehab centre. His nose was running as he looked everywhere for needles. Half an hour later he emerged from the bedroom and told us, ‘You don’t understand this. Just leave.’

Li Liang had lost weight and his face was pale, but he was in quite good spirits. He’d quit drinking and didn’t talk much, spending most of the night listening to Bighead and me talking about the cars. It wasn’t until the patron came over to say hello that he showed some life, and they chatted for a while about the current state of Chengdu’s arts scene. Bighead
pretended to snore but we hadn’t finished eating before Li Liang himself yawned massively and a big stream of snot ran down to his mouth. His eyes were glazed.

‘Is something up?’ I asked him.

He didn’t answer as swaying slightly, he picked up his leather bag and made his way towards the bathroom. Bighead gave me a look. My heart sank, and I chewed my chopsticks as I thought: Li Liang is finished.

I remembered an incident in our university days, when Li Liang and I were returning to Chengdu by train, and came across two farm labourers also going back to Sichuan. They were dark, dirty and strong and had taken our seats, where they were cracking watermelon seeds and making a mess everywhere. I asked them to return our seats and they didn’t listen, just started cursing me. I was furious, and took out the Mongolian knife Bighead had given me. Li Liang said the expression on my face was terrifying. When those guys saw it, they left resentfully. When we sat down, I told Li Liang what I’d learnt from this response: It was better to be beaten to death than scared to death.

He said, ‘It doesn’t really matter. It’s still death at the hands of others. A true man should be able to control his death. Being killed can’t compare with committing suicide.’

Looking at his shaking back in the restaurant, I felt nervous. How would I judge him if he were to die now?

The next time I saw Bighead Wang he pointedly mentioned the fleet of cars I’d helped him buy. I knew what he was
after and handed him an envelope: inside was 14,000 yuan. Bighead grabbed the envelope with amazing speed and put it into his bag as if he was a thief. His face bloomed like a flower and he gave me a a look of almost religious devotion. Actually, the whole business had gone quite smoothly; twenty cars with a mark-up of 1,700 each. After Bighead’s cut, I still had 20,000 left.

I’d made a big show of wanting to split this with my sister, but she’d told me, ‘The best payment would if you could sort out your own life and not give Mum and Dad any more cause to worry about you.’

My nephew Dudu chimed in. ‘Uncle is a bad boy. He always gets Grandma mad.’

Last week I’d told my mother that I wanted to move out. She was upset, but silently packed my stuff for me. I guiltily told her that I was so busy that I had to work overtime every day and that was why I wanted to live closer to work.

She sighed, ‘You’re big enough to make your own decisions. As long as everything goes smoothly, that’s OK.’

When I walked out through the yard, I saw the old lady on the balcony, tearfully looking down at me.

When I failed my university entrance exams the first time round, the old man was furious. He cursed me, saying that I a playboy. He even compared me with Uncle Wang’s son.

‘Look at Wang Dong! The same school, the same age as you. How come he can get accepted by Beijing University?’

I was already depressed, and flew into a rage on hearing this. I brought up the subject of genetics.

‘Why don’t you add that Uncle Wang is a deputy department chief? If I’ve amounted to nothing, it’s your fault!’

His eyes blazed and he gave me a resounding slap. My mother restrained his hand, which was poised to repeat the blow, and condemned his use of force. It would have been OK if she hadn’t said anything, but when she did it fanned my feelings of being wronged. I opened the door and ran away, determined never to return. I was seventeen and didn’t understand anything about life, about what it meant to have a home. Ten years later, I’d come to understand, but once again I was walking out of the only home I had.

The place I was moving to was empty. There was no TV, no stereo, just a big bed. I didn’t go home at night till it was really late. Sometimes I thought ‘home’ was just a place you slept. Scholars and poets had said it was a haven or a nest where you could lick your wounds. That was bullshit. The person who you slept with could betray you at any time, but a bed would always be there. It was a constant, which you could lie on, rely on, loyal to the end.

My window faced the street, and every morning I woke early because of the noise of the cars outside. People from outside the city came to Chengdu with their hopes and dreams, while I, a native son, lived out my nightmares to the sound of their footsteps.

On the bus home from the Chongqing business trip, I called Zhao Yue’s cellphone. She asked what I wanted.

‘I miss you,’ I said. ‘Can I come home and see you?’

She refused and sounded uncomfortable. It seemed it wasn’t convenient for her to talk right then.

I asked jealously, ‘Is Yang Tao with you now?’

She was silent for about half a minute, then hung up. I dialled again but was told:
The phone you dialled is turned off. Please call later.

I felt empty and staggered into the bus toilet where I stared with abhorrence at my old and ugly reflection in the metal mirror. At that moment, the bus made a sharp turn, and sent me slamming into the wall. Zhao Yue’s words that day she caught me with Tofu Queen rang in my ears: ‘Worthless! You’re worthless!’

Emerging from the bathroom after washing my face, I attempted to boost my confidence by flirting with the attendant.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ I told her.

She gave a scornful smile and ordered me back to my seat.

‘We’ll arrive in Chengdu soon. Go home and tell your wife that.’

I said that my wife had died. The other people on the bus raised their heads and stared at me.

I was tired of city life, weary of its pretensions. After leaving the Workers’ Café, Bighead and I saw Li Liang home and then sat by the river for a while. We talked about times past. I confided to him that I’d probably leave in a few months since my boss wanted to transfer me to Shanghai. Bighead frowned
at this and kept smoking. The Funan River, outlined by a few sparse lights, made a turn beside us, flowing silently to the east. All Chengdu people viewed the river as their mother; it was the vessel of their happiness and sorrows, partings and reunions. The laughter and tears of millions of Chen Zhongs and Zhao Yues merged here, flowing to the ocean, mighty and powerful, erasing everything.

Bighead stamped out his cigarette. ‘It’s late, let’s split. If I don’t go home now, Zhang Lan Lan will take sleeping pills again.’

A few months before, I’d invited Bighead when I entertained some clients at the Yellow Dragon resort. He was having difficulties with his wife at that time. He left work without telling her he was going out and was even audacious enough to turn off his phone. At the resort we had a big gambling session and Bighead won more than 17,000 yuan. He was in an ebullient mood and took a woman to his room that night. Their lovemaking was as loud as the thunder of guns and could probably be heard miles away. Wang Yu from Neijiang admired it a lot. ‘Your classmate has so much energy’ he said. ‘His fucking has almost demolished the building.’

After Bighead went home, however, Zhang Lan Lan became suspicious. Perhaps he didn’t pay her his usual attentions. Apparently she interrogated him with the aid of specialist police appliances including an electric baton. Bighead fought back however, and handcuffed her to the bed for three hours. After she got free, Bighead’s wife took a large quantity of sleeping pills. She left a will that cursed her husband’s ancestors, and said,
I will haunt you even when I become a ghost.

She survived but I didn’t dare to visit his home for a couple of months after that.

Handing Bighead another Zhonghua cigarette, I said, ‘Screw you. I was asking for your advice. Can you at least pretend to care?’

He lit the cigarette and thought.

‘Will it be any different if you go to Shanghai? It’s not about where you are. — you won’t be happy until you do something about your temper.’