Madwoman On the Bridge and Other Stories (6 page)

The driver really did want to sleep, if only for ten
minutes; he felt exhausted, close to collapse. Before he
crawled under the mosquito net, he went to the basin
on the stand and gave his hands a good wash. There
he discovered they were filthy, with diesel oil and dirt
between his fingers. After he had finished washing his
hands, as a matter of habit he took a paper tissue from
his pocket. He’d already used them up, though, and all
he fished out was the crumpled plastic packaging. He
felt something else come out of his pocket along with
the packaging and fall softly to the floor. The thing he
dreaded most came last: it was a red chilli pepper lying
on the inn’s plastic matting, shining forth its cool dark
red rays.

At night, Weeping Willow was a different world. The
business, small and quaint by daylight, emerged in
all its thriving, prosperous glory. The day’s heavy rain
lingered into the evening, stopping for a moment and
then starting up again. The lights of Weeping Willow
seemed exceptionally bright in the damp air. Perhaps it
was because of the bad weather, or maybe because traffic
accidents had delayed the drivers, but that night Weeping
Willow was very busy. Altogether, there were seventeen
drivers spending the night there. The few tables in the
restaurant were completely packed and the lights in
the inn’s rooms were all turned on in readiness. The
proprietress was radiant as she commanded her flock of
girls in miniskirts, shuttling back and forth between her
businesses.

Among the seventeen drivers was a young fellow by the
name of Li. He drove a fuel tanker, and he knew Xue. He
sat down and started glancing around, looking for Xue
among the other girls, but unable to find her. He asked the
proprietress where she had gone, and though he repeated
his question several times, the frantic proprietress kept
telling him to wait. So he waited, and didn’t drink, and
didn’t talk to the other drivers, and after quite a while
the proprietress finally came to him, but the news she
brought was very unexpected.

‘What a shame you should come now. Xue’s had a
family emergency; it just happened today. Her father
was coming to get her, but he was hit by a truck on the
highway!’

‘Was that the accident by Siqian?’ The young man was
stunned for a moment, then he suddenly remembered
something. ‘The site of the accident is still closed off. I
heard it was a hit-and-run.’

‘That’s the one. Xue had only eaten half her dinner
when the police came.’ The proprietress pointed at a
plastic bowl and said, ‘Do you see that? She just left her
dinner there.’

For a moment Li was at a loss. He opened his mouth,
but didn’t know what to say. The proprietress clapped
him on the shoulder and tittered, saying, ‘Don’t look so
stricken. You’re not the one who hit him. Why should you
be nervous?’

Li asked offhandedly, ‘Who did hit him?’ The proprietress
winked and seemed to want to tell him some
secret, but in the end she rejected the idea. ‘How would I
know? If I did, I’d arrest the truck-driving creep myself!’
Her hands waved ambiguously in the air and then
clapped the driver’s shoulders again. ‘Now don’t you pine
after Xue, she was nothing special.’

As the proprietress spoke, she bent closer to Li’s ear
and said in a low voice, ‘Give me a second and I’ll send
Hong to serve you. She’s our best worker, and she’s
beautiful,
and
she went to college. I guarantee you’ll be
satisfied.’

The man they called Papa Qi was in fact still quite young.
Though Meng and his wife realized that he was younger
than they were, they still affectionately called him Papa.
It was a habit, and like all habits it arose from particular
circumstances. It might be inaccurate, but it seemed
wrong to correct it. Calling him anything else would feel
unnatural by now, like the time Ningzhu had suddenly
asked him, ‘Mr Qi, what time is it?’ The two men in the
room had acted as if a bomb had gone off, and turned
abruptly to look at her as she stood by the door. Their
gazes expressed shock in different degrees, and their
reaction made Ningzhu feel extremely awkward.

‘Our wall clock is broken,’ she explained haltingly.
‘Papa Qi, you have a wristwatch, don’t you?’

Papa Qi laughed silently, and glanced at his wrist.
‘Nine o’clock. I should be leaving,’ he said and stood
up. He seemed a bit flustered, and ended up hitting the
coffee table with his knee, then almost sweeping a cup to
the floor with his arm. After this momentary confusion
he gave the cup to Meng, grimaced in embarrassment at
the couple, and said, ‘I should go. You’ll be wanting to get
to bed soon.’

‘There’s no hurry. Why don’t you stay a while longer?’
An unmistakable look of shame appeared on Ningzhu’s
face and she blocked the door as she spoke. ‘Don’t misunderstand
me. The wall clock really is broken; it has
been for weeks. I told Meng to have it fixed, but he
doesn’t want to go to the repair shop and keeps putting it
off. You know how lazy he is.’

‘I should go. It’s after nine – I really should go,’ Papa Qi
said. ‘I have a lot to do tomorrow anyway. We’ve been so
busy at the office recently.’

‘We just don’t have any way to tell the time at home
now. I left my own watch at my aunt’s,’ Ningzhu felt
compelled to keep explaining, ‘and Meng can never find
his. You’d really have to look hard to find someone as
forgetful as he is. We’ve bought so many watches but he
just keeps losing them, one after the other!’

Papa Qi had reached the door by now. All of a sudden
he turned back and told Meng, ‘Go and get your wall
clock and give it to me.’

‘Sorry?’ Meng hadn’t caught on right away.

‘It’s broken, isn’t it?’ said Papa Qi. ‘My brother knows
how to repair clocks. That way you won’t have to take it to
the shop. Besides overcharging you for the repair, they’ll
probably take out the good parts and put broken ones
back. Let me handle it. That way you won’t have to pay
a penny, and I guarantee it’ll run for two years without
breaking.’

‘You don’t have to do that,’ Meng glanced up to where
the clock hung on the wall. He said, ‘We really shouldn’t
bother you with all our little problems. Maybe it’s not
broken at all. Maybe I just bought a dud battery.’

‘What’s the big deal between friends?’ Papa Qi
answered. ‘Go and take it down and give it to me.’

Meng looked at Ningzhu, but she avoided his eyes and
sighed ambiguously. He took a chair, walked around her
and climbed up to take the clock off the wall.

That was how it came about that Papa Qi left the
Mengs’ that day carrying their wall clock. Outside it was
already completely dark and there were no street lights.
The Mengs stood outside the door to see him off, but all
they could make out was the dim glow of Papa Qi’s white
shirt. Apparently, he had placed the clock in his bicycle’s
wire basket as they could hear it rattling. He straddled his
bike and then they heard him say in the darkness, ‘Till
Saturday then. On Saturday I’ll come again. I’ll bring the
clock.’

On any given day, how many trains are there in the
world speeding along the railway tracks? And on every
train, how many people become companionable simply
because they happen to be sitting next to one another in
a crowded carriage? But then again, how many of these
chance acquaintances end up as actual friends? Travel
acquaintances are quickly made and equally swiftly
forgotten; when the train enters the station there may
not be time for farewells, and once you’ve been off the
train for an hour you might even have forgotten what
your companion looked like. Meng had never imagined
that a trip lasting a mere three hours would yield an
unforgettable friendship. No, you don’t expect some
guy making small talk on a train to turn into a real
friend.

But that was just the kind of friend Papa Qi was. Meng
could no longer remember clearly what topics they had
touched on while chatting on the train – the conversation
had ranged from UFOs to share prices to AIDS. It
had been a congenial chat precisely because it had been
so wide-ranging. Both of them had wanted to kill time
on the train in the most natural way, and the three hours
were easily disposed of. Soon they were standing on the
platform and nodding to one another as they went their
separate ways.

Later, Meng could not be sure exactly why Papa Qi had
checked his rapid steps – more than likely it was because
of Meng’s luggage. He had three pieces with him: two
travel bags and a large cardboard box. He would carry
one of the travel bags on his shoulders, and the other bag
and the box in his hands. For Meng a little luggage like
that presented no difficulty at all. He picked up his travel
bags but was beaten to the cardboard box by someone
else, who lifted it up. Glancing up, Meng saw that it was
his neighbour from the train, an amicable smile on his
face.

‘Why don’t I take this for you?’ he said. ‘You live in the
new housing estate at the station, right? That’s only a few
steps away. I’ll help you take it all home.’

Meng thanked him and declined repeatedly, but
finally he reluctantly acquiesced. It was because of Papa
Qi’s eyes; they seemed so clear and pure somehow, as if
charged with some kind of expectation. That was how
Meng first hesitantly led Papa Qi to his home. He recalled
later that Papa Qi did not come in on this occasion.

Meng had invited him in for a sip of tea, but Papa Qi had
replied, ‘No thanks. I still have to get to the office. We’ve
been very busy recently.’

Meng said, ‘Well, look in some time when you’re free.’
Of course, he just made this offer to be polite but he
always remembered Papa Qi’s earnest reaction. He had
thought seriously about it for a moment, shaking his
tired wrists, and then he’d said, ‘On Saturday. I’ll come
on Saturday then.’

And afterwards Saturdays became Papa Qi’s visiting
day.

The Mengs were not the kind of people who enjoyed a
wide circle of friends. On the first day that Papa Qi came
to visit, neither of them really knew how to act, although
as cultured people, they treated him amiably enough.
Ningzhu had not yet met Papa Qi, and assumed he must
be a friend of Meng’s from university. She sat to one side,
lamenting the fickleness of human nature and remarking
that Meng’s photograph albums were filled with pictures
of his former classmates, faces shining with happiness,
arms slung around one another’s shoulders. How close
they seemed to have been, yet now they had scattered
to the four winds and Meng was in contact with no one:
only Papa Qi had taken the time to visit his old friend.

Meng felt it would be awkward to correct his wife’s
error, so he just chuckled instead. It was Papa Qi who
took the initiative and explained who he was: ‘I never
actually went to university. I missed the minimum score
by a single point. I think I was born unlucky. After that, I
didn’t bother to retake the exams.’

Ningzhu, reacting quickly to this information,
immediately switched the topic of conversation to the
worthlessness of university graduates. ‘What good are
they? Look at Meng – comes out of a prestigious college
and can’t even install a ceiling light.’

Papa Qi laughed knowingly as she spoke. Then he
nodded and remarked, ‘You’re right. But it’s not just him.
None of the college graduates I know can. And anyone
who
can
put in a ceiling light didn’t go to college. It’s a
social problem.’

‘Well, I bet you can do all kinds of electrical work,’ said
Ningzhu encouragingly. ‘Maybe we can give you a shout
next time we need something done.’

‘No problem. Just give me a call and I’ll be there.’

In fact, they never actually asked Papa Qi for help with
anything electrical, nor did they ever intend to ask for
help with anything else. But later Papa Qi did do them
an enormous favour; something it would have been hard
to imagine before it occurred.

For a few years Meng had been wanting to leave the
research institute where he worked to find a job in the
hi-tech development zone
⁴
, but this hope had remained
unfulfilled. One day he mentioned it in passing to Papa
Qi. He really had meant nothing by it, he was just adding
one more possible topic to their increasingly meagre supply
of conversation. Papa Qi merely smiled enigmatically and
asked, ‘You want to work in the zone, eh? We might be able
to work something out. As long as the research institute
will let you go, there shouldn’t be any problem.’

‘I went to the zone once when they were recruiting.
They seemed to be really satisfied with me, but nothing
came of it in the end,’ said Meng gloomily.

‘Nothing strange about that, you don’t have the connections,
that’s all. People get high salaries and good
treatment in the zone. Everybody’s been racking their
brains for a way to get in. It all depends on your connections.’

Meng replied, not without scorn, ‘I know that, but I
can’t be bothered to go around making connections. If
they don’t want me there, then I don’t want to be there.’

Papa Qi looked at him closely and after a second was
unable to stifle his laughter.

‘What are you laughing about?’

‘You. That really says it all about you intellectuals.’
Meng understood what was meant, but said nothing.
Then he heard Papa Qi give his knee a resounding slap
and say, ‘No problem. I’ll take care of this.’

Meng thought his behaviour baffling, but didn’t pursue
it since he’d only mentioned the matter in passing. It was
true he wanted to go to the zone, but it wouldn’t kill him
to have to stay at the research institute, either – that was
how he looked at the matter. So he was almost scoffing at
Papa Qi when he asked, ‘What? You don’t mean to tell me
that your father’s the general director of the zone?’

No, Papa Qi’s father was not a high-placed official in
the zone, but he had another relative who was, and Meng
was about to find that out. After only three days he was
called to an interview in the zone, and what surprised
him even more was the comment the official made as he
was showing him out: ‘We’ll make the transfer order out
tomorrow.’ As Meng sped down in the lift he felt like he
was dreaming. He left the building and spotted Papa Qi
right away. He was sitting on the flower terrace, waving at
him. Meng immediately woke from his trance, feeling now
that there had been no particularly dreamlike element
to what had just occurred. Of Papa Qi he enquired, ‘So
what’s your connection with Vice Director Wang?’

‘What do you want to know that for?’

‘No reason. I was just curious.’

At this Papa Qi laughed and said, ‘You intellectuals,
curious about everything. But can you eat curiosity?’
Meng felt a little awkward, but Papa Qi gave him a hearty
pat on the back and said, ‘He’s a relative, I suppose, but
that doesn’t count for much. We’re mostly friends; we
gradually got to know each other.’

The Mengs were duly grateful for Papa Qi’s help, and
the day before Meng reported for duty in the zone, the
two of them went to buy gifts for him. Obeying the
conventions, they purchased high-quality cigarettes and
alcohol. Then Ningzhu, anxious to do right, said, ‘Papa
Qi’s chin is always so stubbly. Why don’t we get him an
electric razor?’

‘If we get one, then it should be top-grade,’ Meng
replied, so in the end they shelled out a thousand yuan
for a Philips razor.

Just as the couple had expected, Papa Qi refused
this windfall of gifts, remarking, ‘If I’d known you
intellectuals believed in bribes like everyone else, I
wouldn’t have helped you out in the first place.’

Fortunately, Ningzhu knew how to be persuasive: ‘We
know how things work. You must have spent quite a lot
of money running around to get this done for us. If you
won’t accept even these poor tokens of our gratitude then
Meng simply won’t report for work in the zone.’

Only when she had put it so boldly did Papa Qi finally
agree to take the cigarettes and the alcohol; but when it
came to the razor he exhibited his unconventional side,
saying, ‘I’ll accept the razor too, but I won’t take it home
with me. If I take it home, I’ll just end up giving it away to
someone else, so it’ll be best if you take care of it for me. I
come here all the time anyway. This way it’ll be mine just
the same, right?’

From then on, the buzzing sound of an electric razor
was often to be heard in the Meng’s home, generally
on Saturday afternoons but sometimes also early on a
Friday or Sunday evening. And that was how Papa Qi’s
visits became part of Meng family life. He made them
when the working week was done, so naturally those
were the days when Ningzhu was particularly busy with
her housekeeping. While she was cooking or washing
up, she could always hear Papa Qi shaving in the sitting
room. Their flat was far too small, and even from the
kitchen she could clearly hear the three revolving blades
rasping against the bristle of his beard. Not only that:
since Papa Qi’s beard was very tough, even two rooms
away Ningzhu could make out the sound of the stubble
rattling around inside the razor. One day, she grew very
agitated at the noise and cried out loud, ‘That racket is
driving me crazy!’

The two men hadn’t heard Ningzhu’s complaint, but
when Papa Qi took his leave that day she didn’t see
him to the door as usual, but instead vanished into the
bathroom. She came out only once he had left, and her
expression showed she was annoyed. She said to Meng,
‘You two talked together the whole evening. What did
you talk about? You talk to him almost every other day.
What on earth do you find to talk about? How can there
be that much to say?’