Song of Everlasting Sorrow (69 page)
Read Song of Everlasting Sorrow Online
Authors: Wang Anyi
In the light of day, the same spectacle would take on an air of the ridiculous. That’s because a late-riser like Long Legs usually didn’t get out of bed until quite late. Even if he got up early, where could he possibly go? That was when all of Shanghai’s night owls were still in bed! And so he too stayed in bed. Everyone in the apartment who had to get up early for school or work walked around his bed, talking loudly as if he wasn’t there. They sat down on the edge of his bed to eat breakfast, their chopsticks clanking against their bowls all the while. Through the open windows and doors the morning sun shone directly down on Long Leg’s sleeping form—this was the nightmare he had to endure when the sun came up. Who ever said that nightmares only come at night? Some don’t. As if they were deliberately trying to distance themselves from the intense quiet the night before, they made as much noise as possible, with noises of all kinds—now that was a bona fide ruckus! But Long Legs slept right on through it, the sole creature asleep in a world of boisterous beasts. The ruckus usually lasted for at least an hour; then came the sound of doors closing, followed by the echo of footsteps going down the stairs, and the sound of bicycle bells gradually dying off in the distance. But just before the descent of that final silence there came an assault of music—morning calisthenics at the neighboring elementary school; the overpowering rhythm of the music made its way into Long Legs’ ears, transporting him back to his childhood.
As a boy, Long Legs was accustomed to another kind of music. Every day, around four o’clock in the afternoon, a bell would ring along the intersection at the railroad tracks near his home. As soon as the bell started to ring, his two older sisters would take him over by the tracks to wait for the train, and he would stand between them, holding each one by the hand. He had some faint memories of the old house they lived in back then, one among a row of bungalows. He and his two sisters would rush down the small footpath past these makeshift homes, as if they were late for some important meeting. As they approached the intersection, the hazard light would be blinking, warning pedestrians and vehicles to stop; the bell would still be sounding. Then came the toot of the whistle and the train would come rumbling toward them. At first it seemed to take its time, but as it got closer it suddenly flew past like a bolt of lightning. The carriages flashed by in a blur; there were people inside, but he could never make out their faces. Long Legs used to wonder:
Where are they going?
Once the last carriage had passed, there would be a brief pause before the mechanical arms blocking the road would slowly rise, letting a flood of people and vehicles onto the tracks. Long Legs would recognize a familiar face in the crowd—his mother. He was the only boy in the family; one sister was seven years older than he, the other one six, and both were his babysitters. At one time they tied a rope to the tree outside their house, affixing a stool to the end of the rope to make a swing. That was their playground. There were also the ants crawling on the bricks outside and the worms slithering through the mud—these were their playmates.
Where are they going?
Once the last carriage had passed, there would be a brief pause before the mechanical arms blocking the road would slowly rise, letting a flood of people and vehicles onto the tracks. Long Legs would recognize a familiar face in the crowd—his mother. He was the only boy in the family; one sister was seven years older than he, the other one six, and both were his babysitters. At one time they tied a rope to the tree outside their house, affixing a stool to the end of the rope to make a swing. That was their playground. There were also the ants crawling on the bricks outside and the worms slithering through the mud—these were their playmates.
He still had faint but fond memories of those happy days. Later his family moved into the factory housing complex where they were still living. All that those cement boxes ever brought Long Legs was boredom and, however good-natured his disposition, it wasn’t enough to prevent a feeling of oppression from developing inside him. The dust collecting in the corners and under his bed, the water stains on the walls, the cracks in the ceiling, and the ever-accumulating clutter around the apartment—all added to his growing frustration. He couldn’t say exactly what it was: he just felt as if everything was pointless, so pointless. After graduating from middle school, he was assigned to a fabric dyeing plant as a machine operator. His second year there, he was diagnosed with hepatitis. He took some time off to recuperate and never went back to work. During his extended sick leave, he would take long, leisurely bicycle rides every morning and gradually, without realizing it, he found that he was able to shake off that oppressive feeling.
Taking in all the street scenes as he rode his bicycle around town, his happy and carefree nature returned. The sun shining down on the streets was bright and beautiful, as was everything he saw during those bike rides. Leaning forward and slowly pedaling, Long Legs was like a fish swimming in a river of sunshine. It was usually eleven-thirty by the time he reached downtown. He would stop by the side of the road, a confused look on his face—only for a moment, though, before it was replaced by a look of determination. Having fixed on one direction, off he rode. The sharp rays of the sun reflecting off the tops of the buildings excited him. The area he was in was right around Wukang Road and Huaihai Road, a haven of quietude in the midst of the bustle of the city. It was also a quiet moment in the midst of the hectic hours of the day, as if harboring a dormant happiness and confidence. Long Legs’ heart began to lighten up and the shadow of the nightmares disappeared; he felt relaxed and free. Everyone who saw Long Legs was sure that he was a successful man with important things to do; but what was Long Legs going to do? He was on his way to take his friends out to lunch.
Long Legs’ desire to please was incredibly strong; so long as they were outsiders, all, near or far, were his friends. Together these people constituted the Shanghai that he loved. They became the masters of the beautiful streets of Shanghai. He and his family had come from the provinces and were not highly regarded by the natives, but now, through his own efforts, he had made it into mainstream Shanghai society. Walking down the streets, he truly felt at home; the other pedestrians were his family and they shared his thoughts. What was displayed in the store windows on either side of the street may not have been his, but the fact that they were there made a big difference. Perhaps only one individual out of ten thousand on the streets harbored such thoughts; but this rare individual was the backbone of the Shanghai streets, their spirit. As frivolous as it may have seemed, such a life force is irreplaceable. You may call it blind, but its innocent naiveté is sufficient to carry one back to the realm of truth.
Long Legs had been making his living exchanging money on the black market for quite some time. Don’t look down on currency exchange, it’s a real job—he even had business cards printed up! These money changers were all men of integrity; if you go and check, you’d find that they weren’t the ones who swindled people—it was always the small-time players who had somehow weaseled their way into the business who did that kind of thing. Every profession has its imposters. But real money changers have regular clients who can attest to their character. Nevertheless, this was a high-risk business, and whether business was good or bad the risks were always there. When the going was slow, they would lie low for a while, waiting for the right moment to jump back into the game. Long Legs always put friendship first in doing business. When his friends came knocking, he would always cut them a deal even if it meant losing money. This created the impression that he had solid financial backing. His business cards were all over the city—virtually everyone had one. People were apt to suggest that he should use his connections to get into big-time trading, to which Long Legs would smile without comment, and this too strengthened the impression that he was a force to be reckoned with.
Zhang Yonghong met Long Legs at a time when changing money on the black market was going quite well. The way Long Legs threw money around was nothing short of shocking. Spending money always gives a man a feeling of achievement, especially when he is spending it on a woman. Long Legs had a kind and generous disposition, but he had had little opportunity to experience the warmth that a woman can give; so he kept buying things for Zhang Yonghong, and eventually seemed to have bought himself into some genuine feeling. During this period he brushed his business and friends aside, focusing his warmth and sincerity on Zhang Yonghong. He appeared so kind and faithful, he had such a gentle look in his eyes—everyone who saw him was moved. He was really the kind of man who could lose himself completely, devoting his entire being to someone else. He bought a pile of clothes for Zhang Yonghong, never giving a thought to how slovenly he himself usually was. He saw only the good in her and only the worst in himself. He wished he could give every piece of himself to her, but figured that everything about him, body and soul, was utterly worthless. There were so many heartfelt things he longed to share with Zhang Yonghong, but all that came out of his mouth was big talk and petty lies.
When Long Legs first started dropping by Wang Qiyao’s apartment, his sole motivation was to see Zhang Yonghong, but that eventually changed. He started to like the place . . . and Wang Qiyao. Although she was a bit older, he didn’t feel any distance when he was around her. There was no gap between her and the spirit of this new generation. Unlike Old Colour, Long Legs knew nothing about the past, nor was he sentimental about it—he was always looking ahead, and the farther ahead the better. But because he wasn’t as bright as Old Colour, his actions were the result not of choice but of going with the flow. If the wave was surging forward, then that’s where he was heading, and he let it sweep him up and carry him along. But he did have good intuition and sometimes intuition is more perceptive than reason, taking you right to the heart of the matter.
Being around Wang Qiyao gave him a certain peace of mind, and he didn’t need to hustle to get that feeling, which was reassuring for him. It was as if he had quietly discovered that things go in cycles and that underneath all the apparent change, everything remains the same. All the empty and evanescent grandeur of the streets of Shanghai had found a home in Wang Qiyao’s apartment. The meat and vegetable dishes on Wang Qiyao’s table represented the heart of fancy banquets served in hotels and restaurants, the clothes that she wore were the heart of what was displayed in fashionable shop windows, and her simplicity was the heart of extravagance. In short, she provided a place where he could feel solid, where he could see something akin to the essence of this city. He shared with Old Colour the same love for the city. One loved the old face of Shanghai while the other loved its new face; but this was actually only a difference of labels, at its heart was the same love for its glory and splendor. One was a sober love while the other was more muddled; but the degree to which they loved was the same, devoting every piece of their hearts and souls to this romance. Wang Qiyao was their teacher and guide. With her leading them, all of their dreamlike illusions transformed into something tangible and real. That was the mysterious appeal of Wang Qiyao.
Long Legs also had questions for Wang Qiyao, but they were usually a hundred times more childish than the sorts of questions Old Colour used to ask; sometimes they were almost laughable. But Wang Qiyao would always patiently answer each one, at the same time sighing to herself at how adorably silly his questions were.
I’ll bet he is putty in Zhang Yonghong’s hands,
she thought. Perhaps it was Zhang Yonghong’s good luck. But then she would smile wryly to herself:
The only question is how long can Long Legs keep this up. No one in the world spends money the way he does. Most people are careful about how they spend their hardearned money, but Long Legs throws money away as if it isn
’
t even his!
Yet her thinking this way only showed that she did not understand him. This was a man only too willing to spend his money on others. In fact, that was precisely his motivation for making money; otherwise he would have never bothered putting himself through so much grief and unrest. He himself had virtually no expenses. As mentioned earlier, he only needed the very basics when it came to clothing and was even less concerned about eating—a bowl of thick gruel with preserved cabbage was enough for a meal. Even at fancy banquets he spent most of his energy serving others and barely even touched what was on his plate. His personal needs were minimal; all he needed were the clothes on his back and a bite to eat. His happiness came from providing others with food, drink, and merriment; on the few occasions when someone else tried to pay the bill after dinner, he became furious because he felt they were cheating him of his enjoyment.
I’ll bet he is putty in Zhang Yonghong’s hands,
she thought. Perhaps it was Zhang Yonghong’s good luck. But then she would smile wryly to herself:
The only question is how long can Long Legs keep this up. No one in the world spends money the way he does. Most people are careful about how they spend their hardearned money, but Long Legs throws money away as if it isn
’
t even his!
Yet her thinking this way only showed that she did not understand him. This was a man only too willing to spend his money on others. In fact, that was precisely his motivation for making money; otherwise he would have never bothered putting himself through so much grief and unrest. He himself had virtually no expenses. As mentioned earlier, he only needed the very basics when it came to clothing and was even less concerned about eating—a bowl of thick gruel with preserved cabbage was enough for a meal. Even at fancy banquets he spent most of his energy serving others and barely even touched what was on his plate. His personal needs were minimal; all he needed were the clothes on his back and a bite to eat. His happiness came from providing others with food, drink, and merriment; on the few occasions when someone else tried to pay the bill after dinner, he became furious because he felt they were cheating him of his enjoyment.
Nevertheless, Long Legs often fretted about being short of cash. Currency trading was a business always in flux and he couldn’t rely on it for a steady income. His family would occasionally give him money, but that was never enough. A friend once got him a job showing around a group of overseas Chinese who wanted to go sightseeing and shopping, but in the end he insisted on treating them to meals and ended up spending more than what he took in. His friend tried to tell him that the meals were covered under the agreed-upon package, but he replied, “I’m just making friends!”
That’s how much emphasis Long Legs placed on friendship. But people didn’t know that, behind that magnanimous façade, he worried about money day and night. In truth, the money he had already borrowed from his sisters added up to a small fortune; he tried to avoid thinking about that. He would sometimes dip into the money he had set aside for trades, telling his clients he would come with the cash a few days later. Luckily, his credit was good and everyone knew how loyal he was to his friends, so they would let him slide for a few days. But he knew only too well that he couldn’t make a habit out of doing this, or the floodgates would break wide open. When he really got into a bind and had nowhere else to turn, he would tell everyone he was going out of town for a few days to stay with a relative who had just come back from abroad; that would buy him a few more days of extra time. During those days, no one would see him at those convivial dinner parties or hear him fighting to pay the bill. Who would have thought that he was actually sitting on a bench in a small isolated park in the northeast corner of the city? There he watched the children play on the slide, their high-pitched screams of joy ringing out in the open air and echoing far, far away in the outskirts of the city. Sparrows pecked at the sand at his feet and kept him company. He would sit there the entire day, heading home only after dusk when the park closed. Reaching home, he would eat the leftovers that his family had kept covered for him. On days like this, he didn’t even have money in his pocket for a small bowl of dumplings.
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