by Anyi, Wang
“Well, you won’t get an answer out of her!” Wang Qiyao retorted.
They spoke in double entendres because what they really wanted to say was out of bounds. All Wang Qiyao knew was that this time Sasha came into her with unusual force and her own climax was correspondingly intense—all of which made her feel that he truly deserved what was coming to him, and her conscience was eased.
For the next two days Sasha made no allusion to their discussion, behaving as if nothing had happened. Wang Qiyao could not restrain herself from asking, “What are we going to do?”
“What’s the hurry?” Sasha casually replied.
Wang Qiyao was compelled to suppress her impatience and play along with him, but she was determined not to let him get away. Anger allowed her to see matters in simplistic terms, and she was able to joke: “Let’s have this child and take it with us to Russia to live on bread.”
“And what if the child prefers Chinese pancakes and fried dough to Russian bread?” Sasha rejoined.
Half suspecting that her secret had been discovered, Wang Qiyao did not dare carry the joke any further. However, her resentment gave her strength. Meanwhile, two more days went by. Sasha came as usual and, after lunch, sat picking his teeth. As the sun shone on his face, one could see the tiny blood vessels beneath his skin. After a while he nonchalantly announced that he would take her to the hospital the following day.
“Which hospital?” Wang Qiyao asked.
“The one in Xujiahui.” He said he had made a special effort to find a doctor who had studied in Russia. Feeling that an enormous load had suddenly been lifted off her shoulders, Wang Qiyao heaved a sigh of relief, and was then struck with a spell of dizziness.
They took a public bus to the hospital. Sasha—deliberately it seemed—let two buses pass by before taking the most crowded one. Wang Qiyao rarely went out, much less took the bus. Not being used to pushing and shoving, she let other people go ahead of her. The door closed behind her as she got on board, pinching her heels. By that time Sasha had made his way deep into the crowded isle, out of Wang Qiyao’s sight. There she stood at the door, unable to move forward or backward, pushed and grumbled at by all the passengers getting on and off. By the time she got off at Xujiahui, her hair was disheveled, a button had fallen off her dress, and her shoes were dirty from being stepped on; she was beating back the tears and her lips were quivering. Sasha, the last to emerge from the bus, asked her how she was feeling. She gritted her teeth, swallowed her tears, and said she was all right.
Quickening her steps to keep up with him, she made a point of always getting ahead of him, as if to say, “Don’t you even think about getting away.” Sasha, who had a few more tricks left up his sleeve, was compelled to get down to business. They found themselves at the imposing gate of the hospital, which was marked with a red cross. Sasha led her twisting and turning down many a corridor before they found his friend, the resident doctor, who was resting in his office, having just finished his rounds. He stepped in first to talk to the doctor before motioning for Wang Qiyao to come in. Wang Qiyao, seeing that the doctor was a man, blushed with embarrassment. He asked her several questions and told her he needed a urine sample before the examination. Wang Qiyao wandered furtively around the building like a thief, too intimidated to ask where the restroom was. When she finally found it, a janitor was cleaning it and she was forced to wait outside. As soon as she entered, she was overcome by the harsh smell of Lysol and began to vomit, though nothing but acrid liquid came out. Soiling the freshly scrubbed bathroom filled her with shame and dread. She started to cry, so hard that she was afraid all the pent-up grievances inside her might explode in a scream of anguish. Stuffing her handkerchief in her mouth, she doubled up, racked with spasms of sobs. The back window, on which she leaned to steady herself, offered a vista of undulating rooftops. On some of them, rice was spread out on mats to dry. The sun shone on the rooftops, even on the grains of bug-infested rice. A flock of pigeons rose and glided in circles, their wings flickering in the light. Wang Qiyao stopped sobbing, even though her tears continued to flow. The pigeons wheeled round and round, up and down, growing more distant and then closer, like seagulls soaring over the ocean of rooftops. Wang Qiyao straightened up, wiped away her tears, walked out of the bathroom, and went downstairs.
Sasha did not return to Wang Qiyao’s apartment until two o’clock in the afternoon. She was giving an injection to a patient, and had another one waiting. On the table, the blue flame of the alcohol burner was licking the box of needles. Her sheets and bedding had been taken off the bed and were being sunned on the balcony, the floor had just been mopped, and the furniture was freshly wiped. Wang Qiyao herself had changed into a blue smock with white polka dots, her hair was neatly combed and tied back in a pony tail—she looked like an entirely different person. When Sasha entered, she asked if he had had lunch and offered him some water. In the presence of strangers, Sasha had to stifle his anger. He had no idea what Wang Qiyao wanted out of him. As soon as the patients left, he sprang from his chair. He was still smiling as he asked her what she had against that doctor that made her run off as soon as she laid eyes on him, not even bothering to tell him she was going. Wang Qiyao tried to explain by saying that after she had gone to the bathroom, she couldn’t find her way back to the doctor’s office. Sasha said it was his fault, he should have gone with her to help her find her way. Wang Qiyao insisted that she should take the blame; she always had a terrible sense of direction.
“Getting mixed up about where you are going isn’t so bad ...” replied Sasha, “but you should be careful about getting mixed up about the person you should be with.”
At that, Wang Qiyao stopped talking and flashed an awkward smile. She paused for a moment before asking Sasha if he wanted anything to eat. Sasha twisted his head away sulkily and said no. The blue tendons on his neck were bulging. His behavior reminded Wang Qiyao once again that he was still a child, four or five years younger than she and Kang Mingxun, who had conspired to take advantage of him. She went over to fondle his silky, feather-soft hair, which brushed gently against her palm. They were both silent.
There was a long pause. Then, avoiding her gaze, he asked, “Just what do you really want from me?”
These heart-wrenchingly bitter words carried a plea. Wang Qiyao realized that, as much as she had been wronged, she had not been dealt as bad a hand as Sasha. But she was helpless, whereas Sasha had options. Her hand lingered in his hair and she marveled at its colors.
“Sasha, do you know the old saying, ‘Husband and wife for a night, husband and wife for life?’” she asked.
Sasha kept quiet.
“Sasha, don’t you want to help me?” she prodded gently.
Sasha rose to his feet in silence and left the room, softly closing the door behind him before descending the stairs.
Sasha was truly in a wretched state. He could not understand how everything had happened, but somehow his world had suddenly been turned upside down. One might be tempted to think that Sasha, being a half-breed, was heartless. But deep down, half-breeds also have feelings and know right from wrong. He realized that Wang Qiyao had entrapped him and this enraged him, but he also pitied her. He walked briskly along the street, aimlessly, utterly frustrated. Everyone else looked happier than he was. He could not obliterate from his mind the image of Wang Qiyao’s face, bloated, tear-stained, and marred by freckles from her pregnancy. And though he knew that her tears were aimed at trapping him, he still felt sorry for her. Tears welled up in his eyes and he felt haunted by an oppressive feeling.
He eventually grew tired from walking, his stomach started growling from hunger, and his throat was parched. He bought himself a piece of cake and a bottle of soda; he had to return the bottle to the vendor, so he ate standing next to the counter. He heard someone referring to him as “foreigner,” which gave him a certain satisfaction. His spirits lifting a little, he returned the bottle and decided to visit a woman from Russia he was friends with. Her p
lace was several trolley stops away. The trolley bell cheered him up. It had turned out to be a beautiful day, the sun still bright at four in the afternoon.
When he got to her door, he was greeted by the odor of floor polish. Inside, all the furniture was pushed against the walls, chairs were placed upside down on the table, and the floor was as shiny as a mirror. The Russian woman was so happy to see him that she lifted him up in her arms and set him down in the middle of the room. She took a few steps back, declaring that she wanted to take a good look at him. Standing in the middle of the shiny floor, Sasha looked small, like a puppet. She commanded him to stand still and, humming a Russian song, danced around him. The whirling and twirling left Sasha a little dizzy and impatient. Laughingly, he ordered her to stop. Then he moved to the sofa and lay down. He was so tired he could scarcely open his eyes. With his eyes closed, he felt the warmth of the sun on his face and the sweetness that comes with fatigue; he also felt the woman’s exploratory fingers on his body, but he was too exhausted to respond and fell fast asleep. When he woke, the room was dark; only the hall was lit. Smells of onions in borscht wafted from the kitchen, a greasy, pungent odor. His friend was talking in whispers with her husband to avoid waking him up. The furniture had been put back in place and the floor gave off a dark luster. His nose twitched and large teardrops fell from the corners of his eyes.
The following day, Sasha returned to see Wang Qiyao, They were both calmer. Sasha volunteered to find her a woman doctor if she wanted.
“Let’s just stick with that male doctor,” Wang Qiyao conceded. “At this point, what difference does it make if it’s a man or a woman?”
They exchanged smiles in which there was more than a hint of bitterness. After making an appointment, they returned to the same hospital, but this time they went in two pedicabs, Sasha in one and Wang Qiyao in the other. It was the same doctor, but this time he saw her at the outpatient clinic. He appeared to have forgotten all about the prior visit, asking Wang Qiyao the same set of questions, then telling her to leave a urine sample. As Wang Qiyao stepped out of the clinic, she noticed Sasha behind her.
“You are afraid I’ll get lost again, aren’t you?” she asked.
Sasha smiled, but did not turn back into the clinic, choosing instead to wait for her outside the door. A parade of women passed before him, some of them pregnant. Perhaps owing to his experience with Wang Qiyao, his mind began to wander and he imagined that every one of those women was dealing with the same unspeakable problems, in the face of which they all stood helpless. The thought oppressed him. Wang Qiyao returned only to say she had to go to the lab, and asked him to wait. She disappeared at the end of the hallway with the air of someone who had already accepted her fate. The arrangements went smoothly and a date for the operation was set. As it was noon by the time they left the hospital, she suggested lunch, and Sasha agreed. Being unfamiliar with the area, they walked around aimlessly for a while. The steeple rising from the Xujiahui Catholic church stood proudly against the blue sky, its sight filling them with solemnity. After walking on for some time, they finally found a restaurant and went in.
Once seated, Sasha said lunch was on him. Wang Qiyao said she clearly should be paying today, why should he pay? Sasha threw her a glance and asked why she should pay—he clearly should be paying. She was a little shaken by her own carelessness—she had nearly given herself away. She pretended to yield to him but figured he probably did not have the money anyway. They ordered a few dishes and chatted about nothing in particular.
“Will the operation hurt?” Sasha asked abruptly.
Wang Qiyao was taken aback. She said that she did not know either, but it couldn’t possibly be as painful as giving birth.
“How does it compare with having a tooth pulled?” Sasha asked. Wang Qiyao laughed. “How could you make such a comparison?” She appreciated Sasha’s concern, but couldn’t pass up an opportunity to mock him. “It’s not a tooth, you know?”
At this point, the dishes arrived and they started to eat.
“Of all the food I have ever had, those meals you made for me were the best,” remarked Sasha.
Wang Qiyao accused him of only saying such things to flatter her, but he insisted that he meant every word of it—her cooking stood out, not because she used expensive ingredients or made unusual dishes, but because it was home cooking, the kind that one could eat day in and day out and never tire of.
“Of course those dishes were home-cooked, what else could they be? Food made by vagabonds?” joked Wang Qiyao.
“You put it perfectly,” Sasha replied. “Perhaps you don’t believe it, but people like me lead lives that can only be described as vagabond.”
“Of course, I don’t believe you,” Wang Qiyao said.
Ignoring her, Sasha continued, “I am busy from morning till night, acting like I have a hundred places to go, but that’s only because I really don’t have anywhere to go.... My heart is unsettled; I can’t sit still anywhere for long. I feel like there is this fire burning under my seat, and so I have to get up and go. . . .”
“What about your grandmother’s place?” Wang Qiyao asked.
Sasha shook his head with a dejected air, but didn’t say a word. Wang Qiyao felt sorry for him but could not think of what to say to comfort him. They ate the rest of the meal in silence. When it came time to pay, Wang Qiyao matter-of-factly took out her pocketbook.
To her surprise, Sasha was furious. “Wang Qiyao, do you really think so poorly of me? I may not be rich, but I can still afford to take a woman out to lunch.”
Wang Qiyao’s cheeks burned and she managed only to stammer, “This is really for me to take care of.”
She was taking an enormous risk with those words, and her eyes betrayed a glimmer of guilt. Sasha held her hand with the money in it, his face suddenly suffused with gentleness.
“This is a man’s business,” he said softly.
Wang Qiyao did not argue with him. After he paid the waiter, they left the restaurant in silence, each barely able to fight back the tears.
As the day of the operation was approaching, Sasha received a call from an aunt in Russia asking him to meet her in Peking. He suggested that Wang Qiyao postpone the operation for a few days until his return, but Wang Qiyao insisted on going ahead with it without him. She told him not worry, explaining that it wasn’t really a big deal.
“Just like pulling a tooth,” she added teasingly.
But Sasha would not hear of it. Wang Qiyao lied to him, saying that her mother would go with her. Although he doubted that she would actually ask her mother, he turned a blind eye and pretended to believe her. Before he left, he forced her to accept ten yuan to buy something nutritious after the operation. Wang Qiyao took the money but later sneaked twenty back into his pocket. She heard the sound of his footsteps going down the stairs and out the back door, gradually growing ever more distant. She sat transfixed, her mind emptied of all thoughts, as the colors of dusk slowly slipped in through the window, engulfing her like a cloud of dark mist.
That was a night of utter stillness. Everything seemed to be the way it was before—no Sasha, no Kang Mingxun, not even Madame Yan. Wang Qiyao took in even the minutest sounds of Peace Lane: footsteps on loose floorboards, doors being shut, parents hollering at their children, even the whoosh of running faucets. Her gaze settled on the potted oleander plant on the balcony opposite, bathed in cold moonlight. She could almost see the gentle hand that tended the plant. In contrast, the sound of water rushing down the pipes had a preemptory air, as though lodging a protest on behalf of Peace Lane. Even though the patch of sky above Peace Lane was narrow and crooked, it remained, far, far away. On clear nights the silhouettes of the buildings stood against the sky like a paper cutout. The buildings might conceal the moon and stars, but they could not prevent their light from shining through, nor could they block out the warmth and cold. Good: it meant that the seasons were still on schedule and people’s lives went on as usual.
Wang Qiya
o opened a packet of longan fruit and started shelling them. No patients came on that tranquil night; only the old man from around the corner came around, warning people to mind their kitchen fires, a well-intentioned message coming from an experienced voice. Wang Qiyao had filled a bowl with succulent longan meat, leaving the shells in a heap on the table. The large flowers on the window curtains, somewhat faded, were still distinct. The mice soon kicked off their nocturnal activities, squeaking merrily along. Cockroaches, masters of the night, began scurrying about out of human sight, coming on shift even as people went off to bed. A myriad insects were astir, drawing the sparrows’ attention.
The following day was humid and warm, with a drizzling rain. Wang Qiyao took an umbrella with her. On her way out she looked back at her apartment, wondering if she would be back in time for lunch. When she got downstairs, the unrelenting rain was creating eddies alongside the curb. The seat in the pedicab that she hailed at the entrance to the lane was damp, even though it was shielded by oilcloth curtains hanging down from the canopy. She felt chilly as little raindrops came through and splashed on her face. Through the slits in the curtains she could see the stark branches of parasol trees brushing against the gray sky. She thought of Kang Mingxun—the father of the child she was carrying. It was at this moment that she realized that the “problem” growing in her belly was a child—but that child would soon be gone. Her back broke out in a cold sweat and her heart was racing. In her confusion, she suddenly began to wonder what it was that dictated that this child be removed from the world. Her face was now drenched; the raindrops were deafening as they titter-tattered down on the canopy. I will be left with nothing—not even my baby.
Without her realizing, tears ran down her cheeks. Her knees were knocking together. Never in her life had she felt so anxious. One of the most important decisions in her life would be settled in an instant. Her eyes became fixed on a minuscule hole in the oilcloth: the material was about to tear, but for now it was still held together by a thin web of filaments, through which light leaked in. What could this hole mean? she wondered. Looking through where the oilcloth curtains met the canopy, she saw another slash of the vast gray sky. She was thirty years old, with nothing to show for all that time; she wondered what there would be to look forward to in the next thirty years. This was real despair, but lurking in the depths of this despair was a glimmer of hope.
