Life and Death are Wearing Me Out (76 page)

Gaomi had come a long way by then, though it still didn’t compare favorably with the big cities. There’s a saying that goes: “The bigger the woods, the more diverse the bird population; the smaller the woods, the fewer the birds.” These two strange birds and their ferocious monkey attracted an immediate crowd of curious gawkers, as well as at least one busybody who ran to the local police station to report what was going on.

The crowd instinctively formed a circle around Ximen Huan and Pang Fenghuang, which is what they wanted. He pulled a bronze gong out of his backpack and struck it —
bong bong
— which attracted even more people and tightened the circle. One sharp-eyed person in the crowd recognized the youngsters, but all the others were staring wide-eyed at the monkey and couldn’t have cared less who his handlers were.

While Ximen Huan rhythmically beat the gong, Fenghuang took the chain off her wrist to give the monkey more room to maneuver, and then removed a straw hat, a tiny carrying pole, two tiny baskets, and a tobacco pipe from her backpack, laying them on the ground beside her. Then, to the rhythm of Ximen Huan’s gong, she began to sing in a raspy but melodious voice. The monkey took that as his cue to stroll around the square. It was a stumbling gait, since his legs were bowed; his tail dragged on the ground behind him as he glanced all around.

“Move back! Clear the way!” Newly assigned deputy station chief Lan Kaifang elbowed his way through the crowd. He was born to be a cop. In two years on the force he had acquitted himself so well that at the unprecedented young age of twenty he’d been picked as deputy chief of the train station police substation, one of the most crime-ridden areas in town. It was a ringing affirmation of his talent and dedication.

As she sang, Fenghuang tossed the straw hat to the monkey, who nimbly put it on his head. Next she tossed him the pipe; he jumped up and put it in his mouth. That done, he clasped his hands behind his back, bent at the waist, and bowed his legs; with his head rocking from side to side and his eyes darting, he looked like an old man out for a stroll, and was rewarded with laughter and applause.

“Move back! Clear the way!” Lan Kaifang squeezed up to the front. His heart had begun to sink when he received the busybody’s report, for rumors had reached his ears that Ximen Huan and Pang Fenghuang had been kidnapped and sent to Southeast Asia, where one was forced to perform manual labor, the other was sold into life as a prostitute; another version had it that they had both died of drug overdoses somewhere in the south. But deep down, he believed they were alive and well, especially Fenghuang. You, dear reader, would not have forgotten how he cut his own finger so Ximen Huan could test the restorative powers of Huang Huzhu’s hair. Well, that cut showed how he felt. So when he received the report, he knew who they were and knew they were back. He dropped what he was doing and ran to the square, the image of Fenghuang floating before his eyes the whole way. He hadn’t seen her since his grandmother’s funeral, when she’d been wearing a white down jacket and a white knit cap; her tiny face, red from the biting cold, had made her seem to be a pure and chaste fairy-tale princess. When he heard her raspy singing, Kaifang, who treated criminals with the callousness they deserved, felt his eyes glaze over.

Pang Fenghuang picked up the little carrying pole and its two tiny baskets with her foot and flipped it into the air with such skill that it landed on the monkey’s back. First he rested it on his right shoulder, with one basket in front, the other in back; Erlang carrying a mountain and chasing the moon. Then he rested it on his back, with one basket to the left, the other to his right; a phoenix spreading her wings to pursue the sun.

The monkey threw down the carrying pole, picked up a red plastic platter Fenghuang had thrown down for him, and began passing it around.

Good uncle, good aunt
Grandpa and Grandma
Brothers, sisters, fellow countrymen
I’ll take even a dime if that’s all you have
But give a hundred, and you’re the Guanyin Bodhisattva come to earth

While Fenghuang sang, the people tossed money into the platter held high over the monkey’s head. One-jiao, two-jiao, and three-jiao coins, plus one- , five- , and ten-yuan bills, fell into his pan with hardly a sound.

When the monkey was face-to-face with Lan Kaifang, the policeman put in a thick envelope containing a month’s wages and overtime pay. With a screech, the monkey fell to all fours and, with the platter in his mouth, scampered over to Pang Fenghuang.

Bong bong bong
— Ximen Huan struck his gong three times and bowed deeply to Kaifang, like a circus clown. Then he straightened up and said:

“Many thanks, Uncle Policeman!”

Fenghuang took the money out of the envelope and, holding it in her right hand, slapped it rhythmically against the palm of her left hand to show off to the audience as she imitated a pop song:

Kaifang pulled the brim of his hat down low, turned on his heel, and pushed his way through the crowd without saying a word.

Dear reader, as a policeman, Lan Kaifang had the authority to drive Ximen Huan, Pang Fenghuang, and their monkey out of the train station square, but he didn’t.

Since his father, Jiefang, and I were like brothers, he might be considered my nephew, while in truth I barely knew him; he and I had exchanged no more than a few words. I suspected that he was prejudiced against me, since I’d been the one who’d introduced his father to Pang Chunmiao, and that had led to a number of disastrous consequences. I tell you, Nephew Kaifang, if not Pang Chunmiao, some other woman would have come into your father’s life. That was something I’d wanted to say to you for the longest time, but the opportunity never presented itself, and now never would.

Since I lacked any real contact with Kaifang, anything I say about what was on his mind is pure conjecture.

I imagine that when he pulled the brim of his hat down and pushed his way through the crowd, he was beset by powerful mixed emotions. Not long before that, Pang Fenghuang had been Gaomi County’s supreme princess and Ximen Huan the supreme prince. The mother of one had been the most powerful official in the county, the father of the other the richest. They were carefree and willful, spending money as if they had it to burn, and enjoying a large circle of acquaintances. The golden boy and jade girl were the envy of a great many people, but it did not take long for both powerful figures to pass from the scene, their glory and riches turned to foul dirt, and their favored offspring were reduced to making a living through the antics of a trained monkey.

I imagine that Lan Kaifang’s love for Fenghuang had not faded. Given the disparity between a onetime princess who had fallen to the role of street entertainer and the deputy commander of a police substation, he could not suppress his feelings of inadequacy. And even though he’d charitably placed a month’s salary plus overtime in the monkey’s platter, the sarcasm with which they had accepted the gift showed that they still felt superior, that this ugly policeman was beneath their dignity. It also served to erase any thoughts he may have had of stealing Fenghuang away from Ximen Huan and removed what remained of the belief and courage that he could rescue her from her demeaned circumstances. He lowered his brim to cover his face as he fled the scene; it was all he could do.

Word that the daughter of Pang Kangmei and the son of Ximen Jinlong were working with a trained monkey in front of the train station quickly spread throughout the city and into neighboring villages. People converged on the square for reasons that would have been clear if they’d been able to identify them. Neither of the local darlings, Fenghuang and Ximen Huan, felt the least bit of shame; they seemed to have cut themselves off from their past. For them the train station square might as well have been a foreign country, where they were among crowds of strangers. They worked hard and collected their rewards earnestly. Some of the people watching the monkey’s antics shouted out the couple’s names, and others screamed epithets at their parents, all of which they ignored and none of which had any effect on their radiant smiles. But, should anyone speak immodestly or act inappropriately toward Fenghuang, the monkey would be all over the offender, biting and scratching.

One of the notorious Four Little Hoods waved a pair of two-hundred-yuan notes in Fenghuang’s direction and shouted, “Hey, girl, I see you’ve got a ring in your nose. What about down below? Drop your pants and let me see for myself, and these are yours.” His buddies whooped and hollered, but she ignored the raunchy comment and, chain in one hand and whip in the other, sent the monkey out for donations.

Ximen Huan was smiling too as he beat a rhythmic tattoo on his gong. “Ximen Huan, you little bastard, what happened to the intimidating fellow we used to know? Go on, tell your girlfriend to drop her pants. If you don’t—” The monkey hobbled up to the man and — some people said they saw Fenghuang tug on the chain, others said she did nothing of the sort — tossed his platter behind him, leaped up onto the man’s shoulder, and began biting and scratching wildly. The monkey’s screeches and the man’s screams merged as the crowd fled, with the little hood’s buddies out in front. Fenghuang pulled the monkey back and continued her little song:

Riches are not ordained by heaven

People all get their comeuppance sooner or later —

The bully, his face a mass of blood, was rolling on the ground and screaming in pain, which attracted a squad of policemen, who wanted to arrest Ximen Huan and Fenghuang. When the monkey bared his fangs and screeched, one of them drew his gun; Fenghuang cradled him in her arms like a mother with a baby boy. The crowd formed around them again to voice their support for Fenghuang, Ximen Huan, and their monkey. They pointed to the screaming man on the ground. “He’s the one you should arrest!” Dear reader, mob psychology is mind-numbingly strange! When Pang Kangmei and Ximen Jinlong held sway in the county, Fenghuang and Ximen Huan were objects of the people’s loathing, and their downfall was both predicted and longed for. But when that actually happened, they became underdogs, and everyone was now in their corner. The police knew all about these two and were aware of the special relationship they had with their deputy commander. So in the face of the crowd’s militancy they simply shrugged their shoulders and said nothing. One of them grabbed the bully by the neck. “Let’s go,” he said angrily. “You can knock off the phony victim act!”

The incident alarmed members of the county Party Committee. Out of kindness, Party Secretary Sha Wujing sent his office manager and a clerk to the basement of the train station hotel to talk to Fenghuang and Ximen Huan. The monkey bared his teeth at the two men when they passed on the Party secretary’s request, which was to send the monkey over to the new Phoenix Zoo in the western suburbs, after which he would find jobs for the two of them. For most of us, that would have been exciting news. But Fenghuang held the monkey in her arms and said with an angry glare, “Anyone who so much as touches my monkey will have to answer to me!” Ximen Huan merely smiled mischievously and said, “Thank Secretary Sha for his thoughtfulness, but we’re doing fine, and his time would be better spent taking care of government workers who have lost their jobs.”

From here my story takes a cruel and unhappy turn. Don’t think I’m happy about that, dear reader. The characters’ fates have made it inevitable.

The story continues that Pang Fenghuang, Ximen Huan, and their monkey were sitting at a food stall on the southern edge of the train station square eating dinner when the bully they’d dealt with that day, his face covered with gauze, crept up. The monkey screeched and sprang at him, but wound up doing a somersault, thanks to the chain around his neck. Ximen Huan jumped to his feet, turned around, and was immediately face-to-face with the sinister bully. Before he could say a word, the man stabbed him in the chest. Quite possibly, the killer may have wanted to kill Fenghuang while he was at it, but the screeching, jumping monkey frightened him off before he could even pull the knife out of Ximen Huan’s chest. Fenghuang threw herself on Ximen Huan and wailed. The monkey stayed put, glowering at anyone who tried to come close. When Kaifang and several of his men ran up, they were stopped by the monkey’s fearful screeches and threatening gestures. One of them drew his gun and pointed it at the monkey; Kaifang grabbed him by the wrist.

“Fenghuang, grab your monkey so we can send Ximen Huan to the hospital.” He spun around. “Get an ambulance!” he shouted.

Fenghuang wrapped one arm around the monkey and covered his eyes with the other hand. He lay docilely in her embrace.

Lan Kaifang removed the knife from Ximen Huan’s chest and pressed his hand over the wound to stop the bleeding. “Huanhuan!” he shouted. “Huanhuan!” Ximen Huan’s eyes opened slowly. “Kaifang,” he said as blood seeped from his mouth. “You’re my brother . . . I’ve . . . gone as far as I can go. . . .”

“Hold on, Huanhuan, the ambulance will be here in a minute!” Kaifang put his arm under Huanhuan’s neck; blood flowed between his fingers.

“Fenghuang . . . Fenghuang . . .” Ximen Huan was beginning to slur his words.