Song of Everlasting Sorrow (74 page)

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Authors: Wang Anyi

BOOK: Song of Everlasting Sorrow
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A few days later the schools were back in session and he went back to work. He had a full schedule and would leave early and not return home until late. He went to bed early every night and slept peacefully. Spring had begun to adorn the dark roof tiles outside his dormer window. The wild grass that sprang up from between the tiles was nameless, but it grew thick. The sunlight was warmish and had a moist feel. Even the songs of birds sounded richer, as if they had endless things to say. Waking up in the morning, he would wonder,
What good things are going to happen today?
Even people who are wise to the ways of the world can’t help being infected by this strange hope. That was the benefit of spring: everyone looks on the bright side of things and feels more lighthearted.
That Sunday, he finally went to Wang Qiyao’s apartment. As he entered the back alley, he suddenly began to feel lost, and even asked himself,
What kind of place is this?
Had he even been there before? But his bicycle seemed to know the way and he rode right up to Wang Qiyao’s building. He left his bicycle outside the back door and went straight up the stairs. Her door was closed. He knocked but no one answered. He took out his key, but before he could get it into the keyhole, the door opened. The curtains were all pulled shut, but the noon sun had managed to creep in, filling the room with a hazy glare that mingled with the cigarette smoke in the air. Wang Qiyao had got up and put on her nightgown before opening the door, but once she had let him in, she went back to bed.
“Are you sick?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. He approached, intending to console her, but as soon as he saw the stains on her pillow from her hair dye, his heart sank. There was a stale odor lingering from the previous day, which also brought his spirits down.
“It’s stuffy in here,” he said as he went to open a window. The glare of the sun blinded him as he pulled the curtain back.
“We should start preparing lunch . . .” he said, trying to put on a cheerful air.
He had not expected his words to find an echo in Wang Qiyao, who said quietly, “You’ve always talked about taking me out for a meal . . . well, how about today?”
Those words were the equivalent of calling out “checkmate.” Both of them understood the significance of eating out together like that, but one of them had always refused to go. Times have changed, and the tables have turned; she, who had once refused, wished to go, while he, who had been so aggressive, now refused. He stood with his face toward the curtains for a moment before turning around and walking out.
From the Blue Sky Down to the Yellow Springs
 
As we have mentioned before, Long Legs was a god of the night, never returning to his lair until past midnight. One evening, after wrapping up his nightlife early but not feeling like going home, he decided to ride past Peace Lane and somehow found himself going in. Seeing the light on in Wang Qiyao’s window, he figured there must be people up there having a grand old time, and rode over toward the back alley with eager excitement. At that moment he saw someone getting off his bicycle outside the back door of her building. It was Old Colour. Long Legs was about to call out to him when he saw Old Colour unlock the door and head straight upstairs, quietly closing the door behind him.
How could he have a key to Wang Qiyao
’
s building?
Long Legs may have been naïve, but he wasn’t stupid; he knew better than to knock on the door, and instead turned around and rode out of the back alley. As he passed by the front on his way out, he looked up again at the window and saw that the light had already been turned off.
Looking down at his watch, Long Legs saw that it was midnight. There was not a single light on in Peace Lane and the apartment buildings threw a jagged silhouette against the curtain of darkness. It was a strange night. There was something mysterious about that night, even to someone as deeply embroiled in the city’s nightlife as Long Legs; it made him feel oppressed and somewhat perturbed. Strange demons seemed to have taken over the narrow night sky between the buildings, and the night air rang out with premonitions. Long Legs was suddenly struck by how distant and strange this city really was to him. In these streets, empty of cars and pedestrians, the traffic lights at the intersections changed from red to green to red again, as if controlled by some alien force. When an occasional pedestrian chanced on another, they were fearful and couldn’t wait to get away. The night was a massive net and Long Legs felt like a fish trapped inside it; no matter how hard he swam, he couldn’t escape. It was like something from a nightmare. But Long Legs was a man without a memory: every morning he would awaken and everything from the night before would disappear like clouds and mist. By the following evening he would be just as lovable and friendly as ever; it felt good to be together with his friends and even the neon lights were all practiced in singing and dancing.
However, that was back before the Spring Festival. On the second day of the Lunar New Year, when he was at Wang Qiyao’s apartment watching Old Colour and Zhang Yonghong parrying with each other, the incident he had witnessed never even crossed his mind. That New Year was a tough time for Long Legs; the day after the dinner, he disappeared. Everyone thought that he had gone to Hong Kong to see his cousin—Zhang Yonghong was expecting him to bring back the most fashionable outfits for her. But what was really up with Long Legs? Bundled up in a factory-issue cotton overcoat, his hands drawn back inside his sleeves, he was, in fact, braving the cold in the passenger seat of a three-wheel pedicab on his way to an aquatic products supplier at Hongze Lake. The cars on the highway were all trying to overtake each other; their glaring headlights, swinging this way and that, shone harshly on the night traveler curled up in the back of the pedicab. Blaring in his ears were the sounds of truck engines mixed with the sharp blasts of horns; occasionally they passed by pedicabs broken down by the side of the road, the occupants standing next to their vehicles with a blank look on their faces.
That was indeed another world. Between unbounded heaven and the limitless earth, human beings crawled like small insects, and could be crushed by a single step. When one finds himself in such circumstances, it is easy to act out of desperation. The aquatic products business was exceedingly risky and uncertain, but Long Legs went ahead and threw in his last bit of money. In doing so, he effectively burned all of his bridges—there was no turning back now. If he failed, how could he ever go back to Shanghai to face his friends? How could he face Zhang Yonghong?
At this very time, the story about his trip to Hong Kong was spreading all over Shanghai. You know what happens once people start talking—everyone tells their friends, their friends tell their friends, and before you know it the story gets blown completely out of proportion. People started to say that Long Legs was never coming back: his cousin was sponsoring him to emigrate. Others said that he had gone away to claim his inheritance and that even if he did come back, he wouldn’t be the same person. Zhang Yonghong began to grow anxious and silently counted the days since his departure. She couldn’t help but feel uneasy when she thought about how old she was; she was already well past marrying age. For the past year or so she had set her sights on this one man—he was her sole candidate. The more she worried about her future, the more she missed Long Legs. With no news from him, and the rumors flying all around, she could no longer sit still. She decided to visit Wang Qiyao to try to take her mind off the matter. Just as she was about to open the back door to Wang Qiyao’s building, Old Colour stepped out.
“Wang Qiyao’s not home?” she asked.
Instead of answering, he asked whether she had time to get a bite to eat. Zhang Yonghong figured she might as well find distraction at the restaurant and went along with him. They didn’t go far, just over to Nocturnal Shanghai in the adjacent
longtang,
where they found a quiet and secluded table in a corner. Zhang Yonghong thought that Old Colour would ask after Long Legs and was wondering what she should say, but to her surprise he never even broached the subject. Deep down her gratitude was mixed with a feeling of being cheated, as if he had let her get off easy in a game of chess. His magnanimity, however, only made her all the more determined to bring up Long Legs. She said that he had been incredibly busy since arriving in Hong Kong and had only had time to send one postcard.
“Has Long Legs gone to Hong Kong?” Old Colour asked.
It was only then that she realized Old Colour hadn’t even heard about the trip. She cursed herself for assuming too much and felt a bit awkward. Old Colour, however, took no notice, and simply asked her what they should order. As they were talking, someone wove past the other tables toward them and stopped in front of them. They looked up and saw Wang Qiyao. Her hair was freshly washed and neatly done up in a tight bun. She was wearing light makeup and had on a light green cotton jacket, and looked exceptionally youthful.
“What a coincidence!” she chirped brightly, “running into you two here!”
Although Zhang Yonghong didn’t understand all that was going on, she sensed that something was wrong. Her heart pounded. Old Colour was barely able to maintain his composure; the color drained from his face and only after a pause did he manage to say, “Please have a seat.”
“That’s okay, I wouldn’t want to disturb the two of you.”
With that she sat down at a small table for one by the window in the opposite corner. As she sat down she turned to them and smiled. And so the three of them sat at two different tables; soon other customers came in and started filling up the restaurant, blocking their view of each other. But it was no use: they had eyes for only one thing—even with all the people there, not a single gesture or movement at the other table across the room escaped their eyes.
That was a difficult lunch to get through. None of them knew what they were eating, let alone what they were talking about or what the other people in the restaurant were doing. By the time they finally emerged from Nocturnal Shanghai, the streets were filled with passing cars and pedestrians and they became even more confused. Old Colour wasn’t quite sure how he had said good-bye to Zhang Yonghong, but they each went their separate way. He decided to call on some of his friends. He had been away from them for a long time, but Old Colour could still guess what they were up to on a Sunday afternoon like this and rode off in pursuit. Sure enough, he managed to track them down as they were on their way for a swim at some luxury hotel that had a heated pool. There were five or six in the group and he decided to tag along.
In the layer of mist that hovered above the water, all the objects and people on the other side of the pool shimmered like apparitions. The sounds also had an illusory quality as they echoed and bounced off the high ceiling. Old Colour swam laps; through his goggles he could see the blue water flowing past him like a current. The water felt good rolling off his body, serving as a measure for his strength and flexibility. He swam away from his friends into the deep end, where their cries of laughter seemed to be a world away. As he swam, all the filth inside him seemed to be cleansed away, and his mind cleared up. Afterward they took the open glass elevator downstairs; a few lights were already lit, sparkling in the waning light of dusk. Looking down on the city at that moment, one could feel the embracing warmth of Shanghai, as if the city was ready to forgive anything. The colors of sunset grew dim but the warmth lingered. He felt exhilarated and his spirit soared. As much as Old Colour was enamored with the world of forty years ago, he couldn’t escape the fact that his heart belonged to the present. By the time the elevator arrived on the ground floor, his excitement had calmed, leaving behind an intimate feeling that moved him. It was at that moment that he thought of Wang Qiyao; the image of her sitting alone in the corner suddenly appeared before his eyes. His heart twitched gently and he thought:
It
’
s about time I brought things to a close.
The dinner hour had long passed by the time he arrived at Wang Qiyao’s. She got up to make tea when he came in. As she placed the teacup before him, the calm look on her face showed no trace of what had happened earlier. That made him feel somewhat at ease, even though he suspected that she was still angry. Just as he was trying to decide how to break the news, he saw Wang Qiyao walk over to her chest and unlock one of the drawers. She took out a small wooden engraved box and, turning back toward Old Colour, placed it on the table in front of him. He had seen this box before, he remembered the floral engravings, and he knew the story of its origin—he just didn’t understand why she was taking it out at this moment. After a pause, Wang Qiyao began to explain. She said that if she had learned one thing all these years, it was that she couldn’t rely on anything; but
this
—she motioned towards the wooden box—was the only exception. In all the dark, hopeless days, this had been her only source of consolation. But now, she said, she wanted to give it to him. She didn’t have much time left, she could see that. He wouldn’t have to worry, for she wouldn’t take up too much of his time; she just wanted him to be there for her, and it wouldn’t be for long. If he had never come into her life it would have been easier, but now that he had come, she felt that losing him would leave her with nothing. Her words gradually became incoherent and she started to speak more and more quickly. She was smiling, but a tear trickled down her cheek. She cried, not a sea of tears, just a single drop from her left eye, as if the rest of her tears had dried up. As she spoke, she pushed the wooden box toward Old Colour, who tried to push it away but, feeling her resistance, had no choice but to apply some force.

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