Song of Everlasting Sorrow (23 page)

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Authors: Wang Anyi

BOOK: Song of Everlasting Sorrow
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“I hope you do not mind my making this comparison,” Wang Qiyao continued. “How should I put it? . . . Your mother is like the fabric sewn on the outside, to be shown to the world, because she is presentable. The woman in Chongqing is the fabric used for the lining. It mayn’t be presentable, but it’s inexpensive and serves a necessary function. Your mother and the woman in Chongqing are each mistress of her respective domain, neither taking away from the other. Whether we end up as one or the other is not within our personal control. It is all fate.”
Jiang Lili had ceased to be agitated. Even though her parents were being used as examples, she felt she was being given a lecture on life. The matter under discussion bore no resemblance to the relationships in her romantic novels, but it was straightforward and had a ring of truth. Wang Qiyao spoke unexcitedly, as if she were analyzing someone else’s affairs with cold detachment.
“Of course, it would be ideal if one could both be presented to the world and serve a real function,” she went on to say, “but we all come with our distinct properties. Rather than making do, it’s better to put each fabric to its most fitting use. This is to pursue the ideal in a far-from-ideal world. Furthermore, there’s an old saying that even the moon goes through cycles of perfection and incompleteness, and when the vessel is full, the water spills over. Who’s to say that, lacking the other half, one might not be more secure as a result?”
Jiang Lili listened intently. Perhaps Wang Qiyao was justified in belittling her after all. Putting things this way, her explanation could even make her mother feel better about the woman in Chongqing.
Wang Qiyao was right. With the taboo subject now out in the open—exposed in all its starkness and simplicity—they both felt much more at ease. To Jiang Lili’s queries about Director Li, Wang Qiyao answered truthfully, recounting for her an outline of the events that had led her there. She even took Jiang Lili to see their bedroom, but before they entered, she rushed forward, blushing, to stuff something from the bed into the dresser. Jiang Lili realized that Wang Qiyao was no longer the pure young girl she once had been and that henceforth there would always be a line dividing them. After they returned to the living room, Wang Qiyao ordered the maid to go out and buy some crabmeat buns for snacks. As they ate, they gossiped about Wang Qiyao’s neighbors, thereby confirming many rumors and correcting others floating about in Shanghai. The sky outside brightened. They seemed to have gone back to old times, putting their differences aside. They acted as if Mr. Cheng did not exist and talked more about Director Li. Wang Qiyao showed Jiang Lili his pipes, large and small, in a metal box. She took one out and clowned around, puffing away at it. When Jiang Lili stood up to say goodbye, Wang Qiyao insisted that she stay for dinner. She even made a show of asking the maid to prepare special dishes. The maid was as enthusiastic as the mistress at the prospect of entertaining their first dinner guest.
Over dinner, Wang Qiyao said poignantly, “I have had countless dinners at your house. Now I can finally have you over to my home.”
Jiang Lili was touched and for the first time appreciated how confined Wang Qiyao must have felt living at her house. Darkness had fallen outside, and the lights in the living room were turned way up. A record of the opera king Mei Lanfang singing in his usual falsetto played on the gramophone; the lyrics were difficult to understand but the emotion in his voice was palpable. The chinaware under the lamp had a serene look, the food was delicious, and the warm Shaoxing wine gave off a comforting vapor.
Jiang Lili was uncertain as how she was going to break the news to Mr. Cheng. She was afraid he would take the blow very hard. She also worried for her own sake—if Mr. Cheng were to become totally despondent, her own dream would have no chance of being realized. She pitied both Mr. Cheng and herself for their lack of control over their own destinies.
She made a date to meet him in the park. From afar, she saw him standing alone and felt sorry to have to bring him such unwelcome news. Mr. Cheng spotted her and came up to greet her as she was getting ready to step out from the pedicab. Walking on the paved road that ran along the edge of the park, neither wanted to bring up the subject, so both remained silent. They made a full round before deciding to rent a rowboat. Out in the middle of the lake, facing each other in the boat, they felt the invisible presence of Wang Qiyao between them.
After they had been rowing a while, Jiang Lili finally said, “Does Mr. Cheng still remember? The last time we were in a rowboat here, there were three of us.”
She meant to prepare him for what was coming with this. Mr. Cheng sensed that she was about to report something devastating. He turned red and tried to push the topic away by calling attention to a willow tree, so pretty it should be in a painting. Ordinarily, this remark would have been pleasing to Jiang Lili, but she was not about to be diverted from her mission today. She tried another opening.
“My mother says, ‘Ever since Wang Qiyao stopped coming around, Mr. Cheng has disappeared as well.’”
Mr. Cheng forced a smile but could find nothing to say by way of a response, so he hung his head. Sorry as she felt for him, Jiang Lili was determined to get it over with. She mustered up her courage and blurted it out.
“My mother also told me some rumors about Wang Qiyao.”
Mr. Cheng almost dropped the oar in his hand. His face seemed suddenly drained of blood. “Rumors are unreliable,” he retorted. “All kinds of rumors go the rounds in Shanghai.”
Stung by this absurd remark, Jiang Lili pressed on with some asperity, “I haven’t even told you the nature of the rumor, yet you are already refuting it.”
Mr. Cheng’s eyes blinked behind his glasses. He had long since forgotten to row and the boat was going around in circles. Jiang Lili was almost ready to let the matter drop, but on second thought reflected that there might not be another chance like this. Lowering her voice, she told Mr. Cheng everything that she had heard and seen. Mr. Cheng proceeded to row steadily. He did not shed any tears, but his actions became stiff and wooden, as if he had been transformed into a marionette. On reaching shore, he laid the oar against a large stone, tied the boat, and walked off, oblivious that there was a Jiang Lili still sitting there. Jiang Lili scrambled ashore and ran after him with his walking stick. She found him standing in the woods facing a tree. She walked closer, meaning to complain, but saw that he was weeping.
“Mr. Cheng!” Jiang Lili called him softly. It became apparent that he simply did not hear her. Jiang Lili tugged lightly at his sleeve, but he gave no response.
Sighing, Jiang Lili said, “You’re so upset. What should I do?”
It was only then that Mr. Cheng turned around to look at her.
“I may as well die . . .” he mumbled dejectedly.
Jiang Lili found herself crying. So she was not even a worthy rival to death! To her surprise, Mr. Cheng took her in his arms, and put his head against hers. She instinctively returned his embrace. Hope arose in her breast as she sniffed the scent of his hair tonic on his collar. Even though this hope was squeezed forcibly out of Mr. Cheng’s hopelessness, it was still hope.
In the days afterward Mr. Cheng no longer spoke of Wang Qiyao, nor did Jiang Lili. They went out every week. Whether they went to dinner or a movie, they always avoided places the three of them had gone to together, or those that Mr. Cheng had gone to alone with Wang Qiyao. They tried to steer clear of Wang Qiyao, but it was not easy. Every time they got together they felt they were doing something behind her back. Wang Qiyao had occupied a large space in each of their hearts, leaving only the edges for their relationship. Nonetheless, the feelings they had for each other were genuine: no deception or pretension there. Needless to say, Jiang Lili truly loved Mr. Cheng while he, at the minimum, did not find her objectionable. On top of that, he felt a certain gratitude, on behalf of himself and of Wang Qiyao. It was the tenderness of a brother toward a sister, a real tenderness.
For a time they saw each other almost every day, even showing up together at parties and gatherings among their relatives and friends, appearing as a couple for whom marriage was but a matter of time. This was a time of healing and calm. There were no extravagant hopes, just quiet planning along sensible lines. Mr. Cheng often dined at the Jiang house, and even the automaton-like young master of the house managed to say a few polite words to him. On Jiang Lili’s twentieth birthday her father came out to Shanghai from the interior. Solemn introductions took place, and the two men were left with good impressions of one another. Even though Mr. Cheng had not proposed formally, they spoke with each other as if they were one family. Jiang Lili’s mother began to mull over the upcoming wedding, wondering what kind of
cheongsam
to wear at the banquet. As she recalled her own wedding, her joy was mixed with sorrow.
In the midst of these heartwarming activities, Jiang Lili was fretful. Even when Mr. Cheng was with her, he still remained somewhat aloof. The more she got from him, the more dissatisfied she grew. By nature domineering, she had furthermore been brought up with a strong sense of entitlement. Circumstances had forced her to be tolerant for a time, but it was not a situation she could live with in the long run. Her natural tendency was to either advance or retreat; moderation was just not her style. She became extremely demanding of Mr. Cheng, especially in matters concerning Wang Qiyao, whose importance she tended to blow out of all proportion. At first she allowed a fuzzy area to exist around that forbidden territory, only fretting in private. Soon, however, she brought the fight out into the open.
One day, as they headed toward a department store on foot to buy gift certificates for a friend, Jiang Lili, annoyed at Mr. Cheng’s inattentiveness, followed his eyes to a pedicab, wherein sat a young woman in a cape enthroned among her purchases. It took her a few minutes to digest what had occurred, but when she did, Jiang Lili suddenly stopped talking. Roused from his reverie, Mr. Cheng asked why she had stopped.
“Oh,” Jiang Lili responded coldly, “I mistook that lady for Wang Qiyao and completely forgot what I was saying.”
Peeved at having his daydream exposed, Mr. Cheng merely kept quiet. This was the first time Wang Qiyao’s name had come up in their conversation since the day on the lake, and over them hung a sense of an invisible line being crossed, of skeletons being brought out of the closet. Taking Mr. Cheng’s silence to be an admission of guilt, Jiang Lili became incensed. She lost all interest in gift certificates and immediately hailed a pedicab to go home, leaving Mr. Cheng on the street. Contrite, Mr. Cheng blamed himself for not being more careful. He continued on alone to buy the certificates at the Xianshi Department Store, and, to placate Jiang Lili, also bought some pine nut candies at Caizhi Zhai. He took the trolley to her house. Jiang Lili was sitting in the living room, but upon his arrival ran upstairs to her bedroom and locked the door. Mr. Cheng did not want to raise his voice and spoke softly to her through the door, to no avail. Just as he finally gave up and was about to leave, the key turned and the door opened. There she was, her eyes swollen as large as peaches from crying. Mr. Cheng had to console her a thousand times, and it was dusk before she was mollified.
Once something happens, it tends to happen again. Gradually, Wang Qiyao became a mantra that Jiang Lili invoked all the time. Sometimes she was right—he
was
thinking of Wang Qiyao—but other times she was dead wrong. Mr. Cheng was unfailingly apologetic. After a while, Mr. Cheng himself became confused. Perhaps there was really no room for anyone else in his heart aside from Wang Qiyao. What might have faded away naturally over time became etched in stone. Mr. Cheng had indeed suffered grievously from his love for Wang Qiyao, but he had resigned himself to losing her. Now Jiang Lili practically taught him that he could still think freely of Wang Qiyao and let her presence remain with him day and night. Reclusive by nature, he would let his thoughts wander back to Wang Qiyao whenever he was alone. He resumed his interest in photography, taking pictures of scenery, objects, and architectural structures, but no human figures. That space he reserved for Wang Qiyao alone. He saw less and less of Jiang Lili.
Initially, Jiang Lili would not call him. When he finally came around to phone or visit, she would pretend to ignore him, even declining to see him, partly because she was still sore and partly because she was deploying the old stratagem of disarming the opponent while pretending to let him go. But when Mr. Cheng stopped calling altogether, Jiang Lili panicked. She started to call him. She felt better when she heard his voice, but that did not prevent her from remaining angry. Even when they did manage to get together, they seemed always to part unhappily. After a few instances of this, Mr. Cheng even started to decline some of her invitations to go out. They were thus back to square one—both were discouraged that their sincerity and efforts had come to naught. Jiang Lili, however, could not come to terms with this; she refused to believe that this was happening to her. Rebuffs from Mr. Cheng only provoked her to take further action, propelling her to call him again and again, until she was forced to acknowledge defeat.
In the end, she resumed her humble attitude: she simply had to see him, with no strings attached. This frightened Mr. Cheng, who went into hiding. His “fright” had little to do with Jiang Lili specifically, but with relationships between men and women in general. He had offered up his heart twice—albeit, it is true, each time in a slightly different fashion—the first time he invested his love and the second time his loyalty. Each time he gave himself wholeheartedly to the effort, but what did he receive in return? Nothing but suffering—suffering when he didn’t get the girl, and even more suffering when he did. He began to doubt if there could ever be happiness between man and woman, and gradually grew convinced that all attempts were futile.

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