Big Breasts and Wide Hips (88 page)

“Madam General Manager, my first question to you is, how did you come up with the unusual name ‘Unicorn' for your shop, your factory, and your line of clothing?” Her smile exuded confidence. One look at her told you she was educated, intelligent, rich, and powerful — a woman to be reckoned with. “It's rather a long story,” she replied. “More than three decades ago, my father adopted the pseudonym Unicorn. According to him, the unicorn is a magical beast that resembles, to some degree at least, a rhinoceros. It is the ‘magic horn of the heart' that signifies a coming together in ancient texts. Lovers, spouses, friends, aren't they all a magic horn of the heart? That is why I chose it for the name of our shop. Turning it into a product name was the next logical step. Magic horn of the heart, yes, magic horn of the heart, doesn't the sound just carry you off into a world of blissful emotions? But I'm afraid I've gotten carried away myself, and all our magic horn of the heart friends out there don't need me to offer an explanation.”

Why don't you just shut up! Jintong sputtered indignantly. How dare you take the credit for that! I'll “Unicorn” you one day!

Seated across from the hostess, a woman with protruding front teeth, Wang Yinzhi talked on and on. “Of course, my husband played a significant role in the early days of the business, but then he fell ill and is now convalescing, leaving it up to me to fight on alone. The unicorn is a true fighter in the wild, and I consider it my duty to carry on the unicorn's fighting spirit.” “What, may I ask,” the bucktoothed hostess asked, “is your goal?” “To turn Unicorn into a nationally known product line within three years, an international one within ten, and, ultimately, the world leader in apparel.”

Jintong flung the remote control at the televised image of Wang Yinzhi. Have you no shame at all? The remote control bounced off of the TV set and landed on the floor. Meanwhile, on the screen, Wang Yinzhi, her falsies protruding like little umbrellas beneath her thin blouse, captivating a vast audience of youngsters, talked on and on. “Madam General Manager, in recent years, young women in the West have gotten caught up in a breast liberation movement. They say that brassieres are no different than the harmful corsets women wore in the seventeenth century. What's your opinion?” “It's ignorance, pure and simple!” Wang Yinzhi said categorically. “Those corsets were made of canvas and bamboo splints, like a suit of armor, so of course they were harmful. I'd say you can equate the European women's love affair with the corset with the way Chinese women bound their feet. But you can't compare either the corset or bound feet with a modern bra, especially our Unicorn product. A brassiere meets the needs of beauty and health. At Unicorn we take both aspects into account, doing everything possible to satisfy both aesthetic and biological requirements.”

Jintong picked up a teacup to fling at the TV set, but at the last moment he aimed it at the paper-cushioned wall; it hardly made a sound as it bounced harmlessly onto the carpeted floor, sending a few mildewed tea leaves and some red tea splashing onto the wall and the TV set.

A single limp tea leaf stuck to the 29-inch TV screen, like a beard just beneath her mouth. “May I ask, Madam General Manager, are you wearing a Unicorn bra?” the bucktoothed hostess asked, trying to be witty. “Of course I am,” she said as she reached up and shifted her false breasts — seemingly subconsciously, but actually quite intentionally. A bit of free advertising there. “How about your home life, Madam General Manager. Would you say it's happy?” “Not really,” she replied candidly. “My husband suffers from a psychosis. But he's a good and decent man.”

That's crap! He jumped up off the sofa. This is all a plot against me. Honeyed words to my face, then you stab me in the back. You've got me under house arrest. The camera caught Wang Yinzhi at an angle that showed her sinister smile, as if she knew that Jintong was home watching her on TV.

He got up, turned off the TV, and began pacing the floor anxiously like a caged simian, hands clasped behind his back, anger mounting by the second. Psychosis? You're the one with the goddamned psychosis! You say I can't manage the business? I'm saying I can! You daughter of a whore, you just won't let me. You're not a real woman. You're a stone woman, a hermaphroditic toad spirit! Overcome by a welter of emotions, an exhausted Shangguan Jintong lay down on his faux antique carpet on that spring evening in 1993 and began to sob uncontrollably.

By the time his tears had soaked a spot the size of a bowl, his Fil-ipina servant entered. “Dinner's ready, sir,” she said as she placed a basket of food on the table, then took out a bowl of glutinous rice, a platter of stewed lamb and turnips, another of tiny shrimp and celery, and a bowl of sweet-and-sour soup with snakehead fish. She handed him a pair of imitation ivory chopsticks and urged him to eat.

Jintong had no appetite for the steaming food arrayed in front of him. Turning to the servant, his eyes puffy from crying, he shouted in anger, “What am I? Tell me that!”

The poor girl was so frightened she just stood there with her arms hanging loosely at her side. “I don't know, sir …”

“You damned spy!” He flung his chopsticks down on the table. “You're working undercover for Wang Yinzhi, you damned spy!”

“I don't understand, sir, I don't know what you mean …”

“You put slow-acting poison in this food. You want to see me dead!” He picked up the dishes and dumped their contents on the table. Then he flung the bowl of soup at the servant. “Get out of my sight, you spying bitch!”

She ran out of the room howling, her clothes wet and sticky.

Wang Yinzhi, you counterrevolutionary, you enemy of the people, you bloodsucking insect, you damned rightist, capitalist-roader, reactionary capitalist, degenerate, class outsider, parasite, petty scoundrel tied to the post of historical disgrace, bandit, turncoat, hooligan, rogue, concealed class enemy of the people, royalist, filial daughter and virtuous granddaughter of old man Confucius, feudalism apologist, advocate for the restoration of the slave system, spokeswoman for the declining landlord class … Calling up every degrading political term he'd learned over several turbulent decades, he launched a verbal attack against Wang Yinzhi. Tonight you and I are going to have it out once and for all. Either the fish dies or the net breaks. Only one will be left standing. When two armies clash, victory goes to the most heroic!

Wang Yinzhi opened the door, a ring of golden keys in her hand, and stood in the doorway. “Here I am,” she said with a scornful smile. “Let's see what you're made of.”

Mustering up his courage, Jintong said, “I'm going to kill you!”

“Well,” she said with a laugh, “a spark of life, finally. If you really have the guts to kill anyone, you've earned my respect.”

She walked unafraid into the room, gave the filth on the floor a wide berth, and stopped in front of Jintong. She smacked him on the head with her key ring. “You ungrateful bastard!” she cursed. “I'd like to know what you're so unhappy about. You live in the finest hotel in town, you've got a servant to prepare your meals. Stick out your arms and you'll be clothed, open your mouth and you'll be fed. You live like an emperor, so what the hell else do you want?”

“I want… my freedom,” Jintong muttered.

She froze for just a moment, before bursting out laughing. “I don't restrict your freedom,” she said after she'd had a good laugh. “In fact, you can leave right this minute. Go!”

“Who are you to tell me to go? It's my shop, and if anyone's going to get out of here, it's you, not me.”

“Like hell!” Wang Yinzhi said. “If I hadn't taken over the business, you'd have gone under even if you had a hundred shops. And you have the nerve to say this shop is yours! You've lived off me for a year already, which is all anyone could expect. Now it's time to give you back your precious freedom. There's the door. This room is reserved for someone else tonight.”

“I'm your lawful husband, and I'm not leaving until I'm good and ready.”

“Lawful husband,” Wang Yinzhi repeated mawkishly. “Husband. Do you think you're worthy of the term? Have you fulfilled your husbandly duties? Are you really up to it?”

“Yes, if you'd do as I say.”

“How dare you!” Wang Yinzhi exploded. “What do you take me for, a whore? You think you can order me around any way you want?” As her face turned bright red, and her ugly lips began to twitch, she flung the keys in her hand at his forehead. A sharp pain drilled its way into his brain and a hot, sticky liquid soaked his eyebrows. He reached up to touch it and pulled back a bloody finger, just as a couple of men he knew burst into the room. One was wearing a police uniform, the other was in a judge's robe. The policeman was Wang Yinzhi's younger brother, Wang Tiezhi; the judge was her brother-in-law, Huang Xiao-jun. They went straight for Jintong. “What do you say, Brother-in-law?” the policeman said as he drove his shoulder into him. “Anyone who takes advantage of a woman isn't much of a man, wouldn't you say?” The judge kneed him in the back. “My sister's been good to you. Don't you have a conscience?”

But just as Jintong was about to speak up in defense, a punch in the stomach drove him to his knees and sour liquid shot out of his mouth. Then the policeman leveled him out with a mighty karate chop in the neck. This brother-in-law, the judge, was a onetime military official who'd been a scout for ten years and had such a powerful hand he could break three bricks with a single chop. Jintong was grateful he'd held back a bit; if he hadn't, he'd have been lucky to keep his head on his shoulders. Cry, he told himself. They won't hit a man who's crying. Crying is what weak people do. Crying is a plea for mercy, and real men never ask for mercy. But they kept hitting him, even as he knelt on the carpet, weeping and sniveling.

Wang Yinzhi was also crying, really crying, like a woman abused. “Don't cry, Sis,” the judge said. “He's not worth it. Get a divorce. There's no need for you to throw away your youth. “You, there,” the policeman said, “I suppose you think the Wang family is an easy mark for you. Well, your niece the mayor has been suspended from duties and is under investigation. Your days of bullying people owing to connections are about to come to an end.”

The policeman and the judge picked Jintong up, carried him out of the room and down the dark corridor, past the brightly lit shop and outside, where they dumped him next to a rubbish heap. Like people said during the Cultural Revolution, he was swept onto the rubbish heap of history. A couple of sick cats in the rubbish heap meowed plaintively. He nodded apologetically. We're in the same wretched boat, cats, so I can't help you.

Jintong hadn't seen his mother for at least six months, ever since Wang Yinzhi had kept him under house arrest, and he longed to see the light shining in that window and smell the enchanting aroma of lilacs beneath it. Last year at this time Wang Yinzhi had been a gloomy woman pacing beneath his window. Now he was the gloomy one, as the raucous laughter of the two brothers-in-law emerged from that window. She was too well connected in Dalan, with protectors everywhere, and he was no match for her. It's another rainy night, but colder. Tears slither down the glass of the display; but this time they're mine, not hers. How many nights in a person's life does he find himself with no home to return to? This time last year I was fearful of letting her wander late at night all alone; tonight that's exactly what I'm doing.

Before he realized it, his hair was soaked by the rain and his nose was stopped up, a sure sign of a cold. He was also hungry, and regretted flinging that wonderful soup at the maid instead of eating it himself. But now that he thought back, her fit of anger wasn't altogether unreasonable. Any woman with a useless husband has no choice but to take over. Maybe, he was thinking, there's still a chance. She hit me, but I didn't hit her back. I was wrong to throw the soup, but I got down on my hands and knees and licked some of it up as part of the punishment the two men dished out. I'll go over first thing in the morning and apologize — to her and to the Filipina servant. For now, I should be snoring away on the mattress at home. Maybe suffering a bit will do me good.

He recalled the overhang in front of the People's Cinema, which was as good a place as any to get out of the rain, so he started walking. His decision to apologize to Wang Yinzhi in the morning went a long way toward putting his mind at ease, and he noticed the starlit edges of the misty sky. You're fifty-four years old; the dirt is already up to your neck, so it's time to stop making trouble for yourself. What difference does it make to you if Wang Yinzhi has slept with one or a hundred men? A cuckold is a cuckold.

Tears wetted my cheeks, all puffy from slapping myself, but the only reaction I got from Wang Yinzhi was a sneer. No indication that this cold-blooded woman had any intention of forgiving me as she fiddled with her key ring and watched my performance.

“Yinzhi, as the saying goes, one day of married life means a hundred days of tangled emotions. I'm begging you to give me another chance.”

“The problem is, we haven't had our one day of married life.” “How about that night of March 7, 1991? That should count.”

I watched as she thought back to the night of March 7, 1991. Suddenly her face reddened, as if I'd humiliated her. “No,” she said indignantly, “it doesn't! That was an indecent act, an attempted rape!”

Shocked and angered by her characterization, I asked myself how I could have been worried about losing a woman who could turn on me like that? Shangguan Jintong, after a lifetime of tears and snivel, isn't it time you took a stand for a change? She can have the shop, she can have everything, except for my freedom. “All right, then, when shall we file for divorce?”