Read Song of Everlasting Sorrow Online
Authors: Wang Anyi
Song of Everlasting Sorrow (31 page)
One day Madame Yan came dressed in a short satin jacket with piping to see Wang Qiyao, who, in a white jacket similar to that worn by physicians, was giving an injection to a patient. She had a large mask on, and only her eyes, firmly fixed on the patient, were exposed. Madame Yan sensed defeat even before she knew what was underneath the white jacket and slumped into a chair. When the patient left, Wang Qiyao was startled to find Madame Yan sobbing in a corner of the room. She went over and supported her by the shoulder. Before she had a chance to ask, Madame Yan said Mr. Yan had been in a pet that morning, but refused to tell her what was wrong. She carried on about how life was no longer worth living and began to cry. Wang Qiyao said she should stop being so paranoid. There are always ups and downs in a marriage, and she of all people should know better. Madame Yan wiped her tears and continued on to say that she did not know what had happened, but lately she couldn’t even coax a smile out of Mr. Yan, no matter how hard she tried.
“Why don’t you try ignoring him, then? Let him figure out how to make
you
smile,” Wang Qiyao suggested.
you
smile,” Wang Qiyao suggested.
This finally produced a grin on Madame Yan’s face. Wang Qiyao dragged her to the vanity table to recomb her hair, and showed her some of her makeup tricks. The unspoken words behind their words were how they really communicated, and from that day on they were able to resume their intimacy.
By now Madame Yan had veritably worn down the threshold on Wang Qiyao’s front stoop, but Wang Qiyao had yet to step inside Madame Yan’s home. It was not for want of trying on the part of Madame Yan. Every time she extended an invitation, Wang Qiyao would always say that she was expecting patients.
One day, Madame Yan asked half-jokingly, “You’re not afraid Mr. Yan might eat you up, are you?”
Blushing deeply, Wang Qiyao persisted in declining. But the remark was enough to make her feel that she was not reciprocating Madame Yan’s goodwill properly. She insisted that Madame Yan stay for lunch and consulted her on what to do with several dresses at the bottom of her chest. After lunch, sensing she had got the upper hand, Madame Yan again pressed the invitation, which Wang Qiyao finally accepted after some hesitation.
It was around two o’clock when they locked the door and windows and made their way downstairs. Few people were up and about in the
longtang.
As the sunlight streamed onto the pavement, the silence was interrupted only by the music of children’s voices from the elementary school next door. Feeling a bit solemn, they did not speak as they made their way toward the back door of the townhouse. Madame Yan called out, “Mama Zhang!” whereupon the door opened and they entered.
longtang.
As the sunlight streamed onto the pavement, the silence was interrupted only by the music of children’s voices from the elementary school next door. Feeling a bit solemn, they did not speak as they made their way toward the back door of the townhouse. Madame Yan called out, “Mama Zhang!” whereupon the door opened and they entered.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness indoors, Wang Qiyao saw they were in a hallway, on one side of which a window with sheer curtains faced out onto the
longtang.
The formal dining room at the end of the hallway was dominated by an oblong oak table, surrounded leather upholstered chairs; over it hung an old-fashioned chandelier with light bulbs in the shape of candles. This room was also shaded by sheer curtains, the heavy fringed drapery layered over them now parted and pinned up to the window frame. Across the waxed floor, at the other end of the dining room, a narrow flight of stairs gleaming with brown paint led them upstairs. From the landing, also shaded by sheer curtains, Madame Yan pushed in a door and they entered a room divided down the middle by a portiere. On the far side of the drapes stood an oversized bed with a shirred green satin bedspread reaching to the floor; a light with a green lampshade hung over the bed. On this side of the drapes, a host of floral patterns played over the decor. The armchair cushions were embroidered with flowers, as was the tablecloth covering the round table, which was littered with nail clippers and cotton balls stained with nail polish. A pink glass lampshade hung over the round table. Under the window, shaded with sheer curtains and heavy drapery, was a long European-style sofa upholstered in red and green, with cloud-like patterns engraved in its legs and back. Had she not seen it herself, Wang Qiyao would never have guessed such a luxurious place lay hidden in Peace Lane.
longtang.
The formal dining room at the end of the hallway was dominated by an oblong oak table, surrounded leather upholstered chairs; over it hung an old-fashioned chandelier with light bulbs in the shape of candles. This room was also shaded by sheer curtains, the heavy fringed drapery layered over them now parted and pinned up to the window frame. Across the waxed floor, at the other end of the dining room, a narrow flight of stairs gleaming with brown paint led them upstairs. From the landing, also shaded by sheer curtains, Madame Yan pushed in a door and they entered a room divided down the middle by a portiere. On the far side of the drapes stood an oversized bed with a shirred green satin bedspread reaching to the floor; a light with a green lampshade hung over the bed. On this side of the drapes, a host of floral patterns played over the decor. The armchair cushions were embroidered with flowers, as was the tablecloth covering the round table, which was littered with nail clippers and cotton balls stained with nail polish. A pink glass lampshade hung over the round table. Under the window, shaded with sheer curtains and heavy drapery, was a long European-style sofa upholstered in red and green, with cloud-like patterns engraved in its legs and back. Had she not seen it herself, Wang Qiyao would never have guessed such a luxurious place lay hidden in Peace Lane.
As soon as Madame Yan had sat Wang Qiyao down on the sofa, Mama Zhang brought in tea. Tiny chrysanthemums floated on the green tea, served in fine china cups with gold trim. The light filtering through the curtains was bright enough to see by, but the curtains subdued the hubbub rising up from outside. Wang Qiyao felt as if she had fallen into a fog, uncertain of where she was. Her host pulled out a piece of dark red fabric from the armoire and held it against Wang Qiyao’s body, saying she wanted to have a fall coat made for her. She dragged Wang Qiyao in front of the mirror to see how it would look. Looking into the mirror, Wang Qiyao saw reflected a tobacco pipe lying on the chest next to the bed and with a flash thought she was back in Alice Apartments. Everything here was reminiscent of Alice Apartments. She had known all along what she would see here—what memories it would stir up—that was the reason she had resisted coming.
Mahjong PartnersFrom that day on, in addition to Madame Yan’s regular visits to Wang Qiyao, Wang Qiyao would also occasionally call on Madame Yan. If patients showed up while she was out, Wang Qiyao would have her downstairs neighbors tell them to find her at the house at the end of the
longtang.
Not long after this, Madame Yan’s second-oldest child came down with the measles. He ran a high fever for days and broke out in a rash that covered his whole body. As Madame Yan had never had the measles and was in danger of being infected, she could not take care of the child and asked Wang Qiyao for help. People coming for shots were told to go directly to the Yan house. Mr. Yan was never home in the daytime and in any case was not the type that minded, so the two ladies made his bedroom into a clinic, setting up the alcohol burner on the round table for sterilizing needles. One of the children’s rooms on the third floor became the infirmary. Every hour or so, Wang Qiyao went up to check on the patient; the rest of the time they whiled away by chatting. Mama Zhang served them lunch and afternoon snacks. The Yan boy’s bout of measles had turned into a long holiday for the ladies.
longtang.
Not long after this, Madame Yan’s second-oldest child came down with the measles. He ran a high fever for days and broke out in a rash that covered his whole body. As Madame Yan had never had the measles and was in danger of being infected, she could not take care of the child and asked Wang Qiyao for help. People coming for shots were told to go directly to the Yan house. Mr. Yan was never home in the daytime and in any case was not the type that minded, so the two ladies made his bedroom into a clinic, setting up the alcohol burner on the round table for sterilizing needles. One of the children’s rooms on the third floor became the infirmary. Every hour or so, Wang Qiyao went up to check on the patient; the rest of the time they whiled away by chatting. Mama Zhang served them lunch and afternoon snacks. The Yan boy’s bout of measles had turned into a long holiday for the ladies.
During this period, friends and relatives of the Yan family came by with fruits and delicacies, but they did not go up to see the boy, staying just a few minutes in the parlor downstairs. One of the visitors, a cousin of Madame Yan’s several times removed, was known to the children and the rest of the household as Uncle Maomao. After graduating from college in Peking, Uncle Maomao had been assigned a job in the remote province of Gansu, where he naturally had no desire of going, so he came back to Shanghai and lived off his father’s savings. His father used to own a factory many times larger than that of Mr. Yan. He had received a lump sum in compensation after the government took it over, whereupon he retired with his two wives and three children to live in a house with a garden on the west side of Shanghai. Uncle Maomao was his father’s only son, but the child of the concubine. Although pampered as a boy, he had sensed the peculiarity of his situation very early on and this taught him always to calibrate his behavior so as to keep on everyone’s good side. Now, as a grown man freeloading at home, he made himself useful. Should any of the women need anything—his sisters or either one of his mothers—he made it his business to get it for them. If they wanted someone to accompany them to the hospital or the beauty salon, or to buy fabric for clothes, all they had to do was say the word. He freely offered advice on a variety of topics. He also cheerfully volunteered to discharge bothersome social duties, of which paying occasional visits to the Yan family was one.
The day that Uncle Maomao dropped by, the boy was feverish and a doctor had to be called in to give him medicine and shots. The two ladies were so busy that they did not have time to take their lunch until well past one o’clock in the afternoon. When Mama Zhang announced Uncle Maomao’s arrival, they asked him to join them upstairs. After all, he was family, and Madame Yan had known him since childhood. He sat on one side while they ate. It was a gloomy day, but the alcohol burner was still on and there was a warm feeling in the room. As soon as Mama Zhang put the dishes away, Uncle Maomao joined them at the table, and the three chatted without ceremony.
With Madame Yan guiding the conversation, both he and Wang Qiyao felt quite relaxed even though they were meeting for the first time. The bedroom setting created an atmosphere of easy familiarity, and they talked and laughed with little inhibition. When Uncle Maomao asked if they had a set of playing cards on hand and Madame Yan responded, “You have no adversary worthy of you here today,” he whispered to Wang Qiyao in an aside that he was an expert at bridge, playing every Sunday at the International Club. Wang Qiyao hastened to wave her hand, indicating that she was no bridge player.
Uncle Maomao laughed. “Who said anything about bridge? After all, who ever heard of three people playing bridge?”
“Then what did you want a deck of cards for?” asked Madame Yan as she got up to look in the drawer.
“One can do lots of things with a deck of cards besides play bridge,” he explained as he began to shuffle the deck she handed him. “Actually, bridge isn’t at all difficult. It’s fun to learn.”
He cut the cards into stacks of four each and explained how bids are made and when one should put a card into play. Madame Yan accused him of seducing them into the game by degrees, but she soon got into the spirit. Wang Qiyao, on the other hand, tried to dismiss his efforts, laughing, “We’ll be exhausted before we even get the hang of it, leaving him to play all by himself.”
“Is bridge that scary?” asked Uncle Maomao. “It’s not a trap, you know.”
He gathered up the cards and dazzled Wang Qiyao by shuffling them into a fan, then into a standing bridge. “Perhaps you’ll make more money doing card tricks at Great World Amusement Center,” Madame Yan teased him.
“I don’t know how to do tricks,” he rejoined. “But I can read fortunes. Let me read yours . . .”
“You don’t get any credit telling my fortune. You already know everything about me,” said Madame Yan tartly. “Perhaps you can prove your ability by telling us a thing or two about Wang Qiyao.”
Uncle Maomao demurred at this. “This being my first meeting with Wang Qiyao, I will not be so impertinent as to make guesses about her past or future.”
“There, you have already exposed yourself—the rest is all excuses!” Madame Yan snorted. “Real gold is not afraid of being melted in the fire. I don’t believe for a second that you can actually read fortunes.”
With his cousin egging him on, Uncle Maomao felt he really had to show his stuff. Wang Qiyao begged to be excused from the exercise, but Madame Yan goaded her. “Don’t you worry! Let him do it. I guarantee he won’t be able to figure out a single thing about you.”
Uncle Maomao shuffled the cards again and cut the deck several times, leaving only a few cards fanned out in a row. He asked Wang Qiyao to pick one out and turn it over. But as soon as she did, the patient upstairs rang the bell, and she hurried off. While she was gone, Uncle Maomao furtively asked, “Tell me, has she been married?”
“Ha! What did I say? You’re a fraud. You just won’t admit it!” Madame Yan chortled. “But to tell you the truth,” she continued in a whispered undertone, “Even
I
don’t know.”
I
don’t know.”
Time flew by that afternoon, and before they knew it, it was dinnertime. They were having so much fun that, when the horn of Mr. Yan’s car sounded at the back door, they asked Uncle Maomao to come back the next day. Madame Yan promised she would send Mama Zhang to fetch some crab dumplings from Wang’s Family Dumpling House. The next day Uncle Maomao showed up as promised at about the same time, but this time the two women had finished lunch and were busying themselves picking the plumules from lotus seeds with large blanket needles. The alcohol burner was not on, and the air had a crisp feel. Try as they might, they just couldn’t recapture the conviviality of the previous afternoon. After the lotus seeds were done, there was nothing else to do and they all felt somewhat let down. Uncle Maomao’s suggestion that they play cards with the deck that had been left lying on the sofa went unopposed. He said he would teach them
durak
, a Russian card game, the simplest form of poker, and explained the rules as he shuffled the deck. When he discovered that the ladies did not even know how to arrange their cards, he helped them do that. Then he realized he had seen their hands and had to reshuffle the cards. Their spirits revived as they played.
durak
, a Russian card game, the simplest form of poker, and explained the rules as he shuffled the deck. When he discovered that the ladies did not even know how to arrange their cards, he helped them do that. Then he realized he had seen their hands and had to reshuffle the cards. Their spirits revived as they played.
Playing
durak
with the two ladies demanded only ten percent of Uncle Maomao’s attention. Madame Yan kept comparing cards to mahjong as she played, devoting only thirty percent of her mind to the game. Wang Qiyao alone was focused. She fixed her eyes on the cards, considering one card carefully before she set it down. Unfortunately, she kept winding up with the weakest hand and the other two kept winning.
durak
with the two ladies demanded only ten percent of Uncle Maomao’s attention. Madame Yan kept comparing cards to mahjong as she played, devoting only thirty percent of her mind to the game. Wang Qiyao alone was focused. She fixed her eyes on the cards, considering one card carefully before she set it down. Unfortunately, she kept winding up with the weakest hand and the other two kept winning.
Wang Qiyao finally let out a sigh. “It looks like winning and losing are predestined. One cannot force the hand of fate.”
“So, Miss Wang is a fatalist,” commented Uncle Maomao.
Wang Qiyao was about to respond when Madame Yan said, “I don’t know about being fatalistic, but I do believe things are predestined. Otherwise, so many events can’t be explained. There was a ferryman in my husband’s hometown. One night, after everyone had gone to bed, someone hollered to be taken across the river. He got out bed and ferried the passenger across. When they reached the other shore, the passenger placed something hard into his hand and left in a hurry. The ferryman discovered it was a gold bar. He used it to purchase grain and made a fortune when famine struck the following year. He then took his money to Shanghai and bought stock in a rubber company that was just going public. Little did he know that the rubber company would declare bankruptcy within three months, leaving his shares totally worthless. Later, he found out that the man he ferried across the river was a robber with a price on his head.”
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