Song of Everlasting Sorrow (62 page)

Read Song of Everlasting Sorrow Online

Authors: Wang Anyi

BOOK: Song of Everlasting Sorrow
4.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
By that point Weiwei had already tried on her bridal gown in front of the mirror countless times. Each time Wang Qiyao couldn’t help but be secretly surprised at how even an average-looking girl could be transformed into a glowing beauty as her wedding approached. This was that magic moment when the petals open up and all the beauty in the world steps aside to clear a path for the flower in full bloom. It is the instant at which a woman becomes a real woman; everything leading up to this is preparation for this day, when it all comes to fruit. The beauty and essence of womanhood are concentrated at this turning point.
Next it was time to sew the wedding quilt. Wang Qiyao went over to Madame Yan’s and said to her, “You know, it would be bad luck for a woman like me to embroider a pair of mandarin ducks on Weiwei’s wedding quilt. Madame Yan, you’ve been blessed with both a son and a daughter and have had a life of great fortune. I would be so grateful if Weiwei could enjoy even a fraction of the good fortune you have enjoyed.”
Madame Yan didn’t need any more convincing; she immediately ordered the nanny to come along with her to Wang Qiyao’s apartment. There she had the nanny help her spread out the quilt as she began her needlework. Wang Qiyao watched from a distance, but didn’t lift a finger to help, even when Madame Yan asked her to thread a needle. “Madame Yan, you know I mustn’t touch it . . .” she said.
“You finally found yourself an excuse not to help!” exclaimed Madame Yan, who nevertheless felt sorry for her, but refrained from saying anything further in front of the Shaoxing nanny. Instead she simply lowered her head and went hard at sewing. The nanny left around noon and Madame Yan stayed on to dinner. Smelling the aroma from the kitchen, she suddenly felt as if the clock had turned back and she was transported to a scene from many years ago. All kinds of old secrets rushed up, but they were the kinds that could never be broached. Once dinner was on the table and the two women were sitting face to face, Madame Yan cut to the chase. “Weiwei’s getting married . . . Don’t you think you should let her father know?”
The blow was cushioned by a lapse of more than twenty years and the question didn’t come across as abrupt.
“Her father’s dead,” Wang Qiyao said with a smile. Then she added, “He died in Siberia.”
The two of them laughed so hard they almost spit out their food.
“You should get yourself a new dress to wear on Weiwei’s wedding day,” Madame Yan said.
“For someone as old as I am, what good is a new dress?” replied Wang Qiyao.
“Then maybe you should take a hint from Weiwei and do something to make yourself into a whole new you!” With that, they both laughed again. Once their giddiness had passed, Madame Yan turned serious. “Actually, I was partly serious about what I said before. Once Weiwei leaves you’ll be lonely. You should find yourself a companion!”
“And where should I look?” Wang Qiyao asked.
Madame Yan finished the embroidery on the quilt, marking the end to yet another day; Weiwei’s wedding was now another day closer. As the Spring Festival drew near, everyone got busy preparing for the New Year, to see off the old and welcome in the new, all of which added to the gaiety surrounding the wedding. Xiao Lin was on winter break, but had signed up for an English class. His father had an old friend in America who had already agreed to act as his sponsor. Xiao Lin was planning to finish out his sophomore year in Shanghai before going on to the United States to complete his studies. Getting married was one step in his plan to go to America—it was much easier to get an entry visa as a married man. The idea made Wang Qiyao nervous. But not Weiwei—she had the opposite reaction, and was even more excited about Xiao Lin going to the States than she was about getting married. Sooner or later, everyone gets married, but not everyone gets to go to America—never mind the prospect of Xiao Lin one day taking her there; just the thought of
his
going was exciting enough.
Because Xiao Lin was slated to leave, they had a short-term perspective when it came to some of the wedding preparations. Their bridal chamber was set up in a small west-facing room in his parents’ apartment, and none of their furniture was new. But marriage always makes people happy; no matter how often this old ceremony is repeated, it never loses its flair. Whatever time Xiao Lin didn’t spend cramming English he spent with Weiwei—shopping, eating out in Western restaurants, or going to the movies. Knowing that marriage was right around the corner, they couldn’t help crossing the line once in a while, but that was okay. Just how far could they really go standing in dark doorways or in the corner of the public park at night?
They also spent some of their time together at Wang Qiyao’s place. They would talk about America and it was as if their hearts had already flown there. Wang Qiyao, too, was a fan of America—the America she liked was the one she had seen in Hollywood movies. But, fond as she was of the America on the silver screen, she knew that it was all make-believe; her America was a place within sight but far beyond reach. Xiao Lin and Weiwei, however, took their America for real and they had all kinds of plans to carry out there. Wang Qiyao couldn’t get a word in as they talked about their American dreams, but their America was boring to her—it didn’t even come close to her Hollywood movies.
One day Xiao Lin came over while Weiwei was still out.
“Come on in,” Wang Qiyao said. “Weiwei should be back right after lunch.”
Xiao Lin picked up the evening newspaper from the previous day. Wang Qiyao, who went on knitting a sweater, asked where the wedding reception was going to be held and whether he had booked the room. Xiao Lin said that his mother was just about to inquire about how many tables Wang Qiyao’s family wanted for the reception. Wang Qiyao figured that, even if she invited people from her mother’s side of the family, they might not come. Besides them, no one else really mattered, except Madame Yan. Although they didn’t always see eye to eye, they had never fallen out of touch all these years and could be said to be lifelong intimates. She told Xiao Lin that she wouldn’t even need a whole table; it would just be herself and Madame Yan.
“Of course we’ll invite Madame Yan,” Xiao Lin replied. “But she’s only a friend. Aren’t there relatives you’ll be inviting?”
Wang Qiyao was silent for quite a while before responding. “Weiwei’s my only relative . . . and now I’m giving her to you.”
As those words left her lips, they were both moved.
“In the future, you’ll come to live with us,” said Xiao Lin.
Wang Qiyao stood up. Putting down the cashmere, she cried, “That won’t do! What about your parents?”
With that, she ran out to the kitchen. Xiao Lin became a bit depressed, as if his impending happiness was suddenly shrouded by a melancholic shadow. He realized at that moment that all the old furnishings he had admired in her apartment—everything from the chest to the vanity mirror—carried that same shadow. “Old” was not the right word; it was “melancholic sadness.” He didn’t sense it when Weiwei was around, because she was the flighty sort that likes to be free and easy with life. But “melancholic sadness” reaches out to grasp at the vanishing years. This was yet another difference between mother and daughter—Weiwei didn’t stop until she had used everything up, whereas Wang Qiyao made it a point to take stock carefully as she went along, and couldn’t let go even after it was all used up. But what good did that do? It’s not within our control anyway, so why make life more difficult by refusing to let go?
The wedding day finally arrived. In the morning the young couple went to Wangkai Photo Studio for their wedding portrait, accompanied by Wang Qiyao. The gown and tuxedo, rented out by the studio, had already adorned countless couples. Pins were used to adjust the same dress—cut to the largest possible size—to fit virtually any client, and the time they spent adjusting all those pins for Weiwei was no less than it would have taken to tailor make a brand-new one. But that white dress retained a virginal look; it may not have fit properly, but it still looked perfect. Weiwei became extremely quiet as Wang Qiyao made the adjustments. The train heaped up on the floor over her feet like a pile of snow. However, Wang Qiyao’s fingers could feel the dampness of the gown and she had trouble getting the pins to work right because they had become dull from overuse. Before long her palms became sweaty and beads of perspiration appeared on her forehead; she grew dizzy and momentarily forgot that the woman in the gown was her daughter. Raising her head, she saw in the mirror a princess, beautiful and proud. The top of the mirror reflected the glow of an electric lamp, the window had been covered by a heavy curtain, and there was a hairbrush with tangled strands of hair caught in it sitting on the dressing table. A curious air of mystery reigned in the studio’s dressing room with its arsenal of little-known tricks, such as those two rows of closely spaced safety pins just below the armpit and others hidden in the folds of the skirt. The hair, too, had been manipulated, as the bobby pins littering the floor attested. Her wedding gown now near perfect, the veil flowing down over her face like a gentle waterfall, Weiwei could almost pass for a fairy descended from heaven.
As the studio lights turned on, Wang Qiyao sat in a dark corner and became almost invisible. The lights shone onto another world only a few feet away from her, but it could just as well have been at the other end of the universe. It suddenly occurred to Wang Qiyao that she never should have come. She had ended up an onlooker at a spectacle that she didn’t want to see. She knew quite well that photo studios were all dens of deception, yet she had still walked right into their trap—after so many decades, she still hadn’t learned her lesson. Her heart rose and sank as the studio lights turned on and off. Those lights were the most familiar sight in the world to her, yet at that moment they felt so far away. She could clearly see the photographer’s lips moving but couldn’t hear a word he said, nor could she hear the voices of the young couple. When they were finished, they stepped away so that another couple could begin their shoot. As Wang Qiyao helped Weiwei out of the gown, a pile of pins dropped to the floor, emitting an odd clinking sound. Then, in taking off the dress, Weiwei accidentally smeared lipstick onto the white crape, adding another stroke to the history of the gown, which, piled up on the floor, looked like the empty shell of a giant cicada.
It was already afternoon by the time they left the studio and went to the eleventh floor of the Park Hotel for lunch. All three were worn out from the photo shoot and no one spoke much. Outside the window, there wasn’t a single cloud in the boundless sky, but, looking down, they could see an unbroken expanse of rooftops and the noises of the city assaulted their ears. The sky above and the city below were of two different worlds and each went about its own business, as did the Huangpu River, which was constantly flowing, never an end to its moving current. Who is to say who holds the truth?
They spent the afternoon at Wang Qiyao’s apartment, where Xiao Lin had followed them. As it was only the second day of the New Year, firecrackers were still going off intermittently in the
longtang.
The second day of the New Year is traditionally a time for calling on friends and relatives, so Peace Lane was bustling with the rituals of receiving guests and seeing them off. After things quieted down, the apartment took on a lonesome air. Weiwei and Xiao Lin sat in silence, physically and psychologically drained by several days of nonstop hard work and excitement. Now that the ceremony was almost upon them, they both found themselves instinctively pulling back a bit. They sat at the table eating melon seeds; before they knew it, the table was filled with a pile of shells and their lips were stained black. The sunlight projected a checkered pattern on the floor, and the young couple looked a bit pale and couldn’t think of any better way to pass the time than sitting around eating more watermelon seeds. Wang Qiyao tried to make small talk, but neither of them responded.
Going into the kitchen to boil some water, she noticed that light of the sinking sun was showing through the north window; yet another day had slipped by, like all the rest. The sunlight on the north window had indeed completed its day’s journey and, with its acquired wisdom, shone on her with understanding and compassion. A sparrow looking for food landed on the windowsill and took a few pecks before flying away. Wang Qiyao opened the window and placed a few grains of leftover rice there so that the bird would have something to eat when it came back the following day. Returning from the kitchen, she was surprised to see the young couple fast asleep in separate beds. Seeing how late it was, she quickly woke them up and hurried them to get ready. Before long, the taxi they had reserved pulled up in the back alley and beeped its horn.
Even as they got into the taxi, their faces looked numb with exhaustion. This day felt like the longest day in their lives, and they had little confidence that they could see things through to the end. All three felt daunted by the grand occasion ahead. The young couple had stage fright: the curtain was about to rise on a show that would come only once in their lives, and they realized that they were not fully prepared. At a complete loss, they could hardly remember the script. Wang Qiyao too was struck with stage fright; she was as yet unprepared for her role of spectator. The prior scenes had been full of surprises, and now the final and most dazzling act was about to be performed before her eyes. At the entrance to the hotel they could see lights flooding the ground, just waiting for the couple to bask in their radiance. As the taxi pulled over to the curb, a few pedestrians stopped to look as the bride and groom stepped onto the stage. Wang Qiyao got out of the car first and stood off to one side, waiting for the couple to step out. Taking Xiao Lin’s arm, she guided Weiwei’s hand to grab hold of it before giving them a gentle nudge from behind. As they approached the entrance, shoulder to shoulder, their retreating silhouette was indeed the image of a perfect couple!

Other books

The Bloodgate Warrior by Joely Sue Burkhart
Breeds by Keith C Blackmore
In a Heartbeat by Elizabeth Adler
Dawn and the Dead by Nicholas John
Death by Marriage by Blair Bancroft
Winter at the Door by Sarah Graves
All the Difference by Leah Ferguson