The Song of Everlasting Sorrow: A Novel of Shanghai (Weatherhead Books on Asia)

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The Song of Everlasting Sorrow: A Novel of Shanghai (Weatherhead Books on Asia) Page 34

by Anyi, Wang


  Arriving at Wang Qiyao’s back door, Mr. Cheng reached into his pocket and took out a key. Focusing on that key, Jiang Lili’s eyes suddenly took on a piercing gleam, but when Mr. Cheng noticed her expression, she quickly looked away. Embarrassed, he wanted to explain, but Jiang Lili stepped briskly ahead of him and went inside. Upstairs, Wang Qiyao was awake but still resting in bed. Inside the darkened room, Wang Qiyao did not immediately recognize Jiang Lili. By the time she did, Jiang Lili was already standing in front of her, looking down at her. Their faces were close—almost touching—their eyes met and each held the other’s gaze. It was only for a split second, but all of the sights and sounds they had experienced during all those years apart seemed to pass through their eyes. Wang Qiyao sat up in bed and called out, “Jiang Lili!”

  Jiang Lili caught sight of her protruding belly under the blanket and the piercing gleam returned. Wang Qiyao drew back instinctively, but this only emphasized her condition. Jiang Lili blushed; staggering backward, she took a seat on the sofa. She turned to face the window, but didn’t utter a word. The threesome had parted under awkward circumstances; they were united again under equally awkward circumstances—fate was not done collecting its debts, it seemed. The light on the curtains shifted, the noises filtering in through the window became quieter, more intermittent, and Jiang Lili announced she had to leave. They made no attempt to detain her, partly because they felt ashamed, but also afraid of being spurned. Mr. Cheng saw her out before going back upstairs. The two avoided eye contact—they both knew that Jiang Lili had gotten the wrong idea about their relationship, but were actually rather pleased with the misunderstanding.

  That evening they sat across the table from one another, shelling walnuts. Shanghai opera came in erratic bursts from the radio next door. They were perfectly calm. No longer did they demand anything of life other than what they presently enjoyed. Perhaps it was not all that they wanted, but they had learned to be content with what they had. One cracked open the shells while the other removed the nuts; they ate all the broken pieces, saving the whole ones for later. That was one of the rare nights that Wang Qiyao didn’t feel drowsy and her back was not sore as it had been. Mr. Cheng brought her a pillow to lean against.

  “When is the baby due?” he asked.

  Wang Qiyao counted on her fingers. It was going to be sometime in the next ten days. Mr. Cheng couldn’t help feeling anxious; in the end, it was up to Wang Qiyao to put him at ease.

  “Childbirth is the most natural thing in the world—just look at all the people out there walking the streets.”

  “I’m worried that you might be alone when the baby comes and won’t have anyone to help you get to the hospital.”

  “Childbirth doesn’t happen instantaneously,” Wang Qiyao explained. “The process takes at least half a day.”

  Mr. Cheng was somewhat relieved at this, especially seeing how calm she looked.

  After a pause, he mused, “I wonder whether it’s a boy or a girl.”

  “I hope it is a boy,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “A woman has so little control over her fate. . . .”

  They fell silent. This was the first time they had discussed the unborn child, a taboo subject they had both tried to avoid. Now that they had broached this once-forbidden subject it felt like a hurdle had been overcome. A new intimacy arose between them and they suddenly felt closer. It was ten o’clock by the time they finished shelling all the walnuts. Wang Qiyao waited as Mr. Cheng descended the stairs; only after she heard the downstairs door close did she go around to make sure the doors and windows were locked. Then she washed and went to bed.

  Chapter 4

  Childbirth

  ONE DAY MR. CHENG went to Wang Qiyao’s after work to find her pale and flustered, lying down every so often and then getting up to pace around. She even knocked over a glass, which shattered on the floor, but didn’t bother to pick up the pieces. Mr. Cheng hurried out to call a pedicab, came back in to help her downstairs, and then rushed them off to the hospital. Having arrived at the hospital, she seemed to improve, and Mr. Cheng went out to get something for their dinner. By the time he got back, Wang Qiyao had already been taken into the delivery room. It was a baby girl. She was born at eight o’clock. They told Mr. Cheng that she had long arms and legs and a full head of black hair. This set him wondering, Just who does she look like? When, three days later, he brought mother and daughter home from the hospital, the threesome attracted quite a few curious stares down the longtang.

  Mr. Cheng had fetched Wang Qiyao’s mother the day before, setting up a place for her on the sofa, and even going to the trouble of preparing a set of toiletries. Mrs. Wang was silent the whole time, but, as Mr. Cheng busied himself with the household chores, she blurted out, “If only you had been the child’s father . . .”

  Mr. Cheng trembled and almost lost hold of the things in his hands. He wanted to say something but his throat had closed up. By the time he was able to speak, he had forgotten what to say. So he simply pretended that he had not heard. When Wang Qiyao came home the next day, her mother had already prepared a pot of chicken broth and the customary bowl of soup with red jujube and longan, which was supposed to be so nourishing for new mothers. She handed the bowl to her daughter in silence. She did not bother to even look at her granddaughter; it was as if the child did not exist. Neighbors began to call on them, but they were only the most casual of acquaintances—the only contact they normally had with Wang Qiyao was waving hello as she went in and out of the longtang; now they came out of curiosity. Each one went on about how much the baby looked like Wang Qiyao, all the while wondering who the father was.

  Going into the kitchen to fetch the hot water Thermos, Mr. Cheng found Mrs. Wang standing in front of the window, looking out at the overcast sky and quietly wiping away the tears. Mr. Cheng had always thought her a calculating woman. Back when he used to call on Wang Qiyao, she would never even bother to greet him but always sent the maid down to talk to him at the door instead. Now, he sensed, she was much closer to him, perhaps more understanding and sympathetic even than her daughter.

  He stood behind her for a moment before offering a timid attempt at consolation. “Don’t worry, Auntie. I’ll take care of her.”

  With those words he could feel the tears welling up and hastened back into the room with the hot water thermos.

  The next day Madame Yan, who had not visited for ages, came to see Wang Qiyao. She had long heard of the pregnancy from her servant Mama Zhang, who had seen Wang Qiyao coming and going with that protruding belly of hers; Wang Qiyao obviously wasn’t worried about the rumors her pregnancy might stir up. Kang Mingxun and Sasha had by this time long vanished from the scene, one hiding out at home while the other fled far away. Then, out of nowhere, appeared this Mr. Cheng, who suddenly started coming by at least three times a day. Although Madame Yan wasn’t exactly sure what had transpired, she wasn’t in the least bit taken off guard; in fact, she fancied herself one imbued with keen insights into the situation of women like Wang Qiyao. Still, she was intrigued by Mr. Cheng. She could tell from the fine quality of the old suit he wore that this Mr. Cheng had been a stylish man back in the old days. She took him to be some kind of playboy whom Wang Qiyao must have known back in her dance hall days. Madame Yan imagined all kinds of things about Mr. Cheng. She had run into him a few times in the alley: he was always on his way to Wang Qiyao’s with snacks like “stinky tofu,” and would always rush briskly past lest the food get cold. The grease from the tofu had already soaked the bottom of the bag and was about to drip through. Madame Yan was touched, even somewhat jealous of Wang Qiyao for having such a devoted friend.

  Hearing that Wang Qiyao had given birth, she was moved to sympathy; being a woman, she could relate to how difficult things must have been for Wang Qiyao, and decided to go over to see how she was. Mrs. Wang, sensing that Madame Yan was a cut above the others, felt favored by the visit and tried to make herself pleasant. She even brewed so
me tea and sat down with Madame Yan.

  With Mr. Cheng away at work, these three women of different generations compared notes about the hardships of childbirth. Wang Qiyao mostly just sat and listened, as if the shady circumstances surrounding the father of her child prevented her from claiming her share of the glory. Her mother and Madame Yan, on the other hand, vividly recalled every detail from earlier decades. When Mrs. Wang started to speak about how hard it was giving birth to Wang Qiyao, the irony of the present situation was not lost on her and her eyes reddened. She quickly found an excuse to scurry off into the kitchen, leaving the other two in an awkward silence. The baby had just been fed and was deep in sleep, her outline barely visible in the candle light. Wang Qiyao had been looking down as she picked her fingernails, but she abruptly raised her head and laughed. It was a tragic laugh that affected even Madame Yan.

  “Madame Yan, I really appreciate you coming to see me . . . especially after all that’s happened. I was worried you would look down on me,” Wang Qiyao said.

  “Oh, cut it out, Wang Qiyao!” replied Madame Yan. “Nobody is looking down on you! I’m calling on Kang Mingxun in a few days and I’m going to see to it that he comes to see you.”

  At the mention of his name, Wang Qiyao turned away. It was only after a long silence that she replied, “That’s right, it’s been ages since I’ve seen him.”

  Madame Yan grew suspicious, but was forced to keep her thoughts to herself; instead she casually suggested that they all get together again. “It’s a pity that Sasha’s no longer around. He must be off in Siberia eating his Russian bread! But that’s okay, you can bring along that new friend of yours and we’ll have a foursome for our mahjong games.”

  She took the opportunity to ask Wang Qiyao the gentleman’s name, his age, where he was from, and where he worked, all of which Wang Qiyao responded to matter-of-factly.

  At that point Madame Yan asked bluntly, “He is so loyal to you, and neither of you is getting any younger.... Why don’t you just get married?”

  Wang Qiyao responded with another laugh. Raising her head, she looked Madame Yan straight in the eye. “A woman like me. . . . How could I talk of marriage?”

  The next day, Kang Mingxun indeed came by to call on Wang Qiyao. Although she had expected him to show up after Madame Yan’s visit, she was still caught by surprise. Standing there face to face, neither knew what to say. Mrs. Wang sized up the situation and decided it was best to give them some privacy, but slammed the door shut on her way out to register her disapproval. But Wang Qiyao and Kang Mingxun didn’t even notice. This was the first time they had been together since their parting. It felt like thousands of years since they had last seen each other. They had appeared in each other’s dreams, but the images in their dreams were so far from the real person that they would have been better off not even dreaming. They had, in truth, resolved not to think of each other—and succeeded. But, face to face once again, they discovered that letting go was not as easy as they had thought. They stood there for a moment before Kang Mingxun walked around to the other side of the bed to take a look at the baby. Wang Qiyao stopped him. When he asked why he shouldn’t see the baby, she said, “Because I said so. . . .”

  Kang Mingxun pressed for an explanation. Wang Qiyao said that it wasn’t his baby. They fell silent for a while before he said, “Well, whose is it then, if it isn’t mine?”

  “Sasha’s.”

  At that, the two of them broke down in tears. All the sorrow they had suppressed back when they had to make that difficult decision suddenly came rushing back; they wondered how they had ever got through everything that had brought them to this point.

  “I’m so sorry . . . I’m so sorry. . . .” Kang Mingxun kept apologizing, knowing it would do no good even if he said it a thousand times over.

  Wang Qiyao kept shaking her head, aware that if she did not accept the apology, she would have nothing at all. They were both in tears, but it was Wang Qiyao who stopped crying first.

  Wiping away her tears, she insisted, “She really is Sasha’s child.”

  Hearing her say this, Kang Mingxun also pulled back his tears and sat himself down. There was no more mention of the baby; it was as if she had ceased to exist. Wang Qiyao had Kang Mingxun make himself some tea and, as he busied himself, she asked him what he had been doing of late—did he still play bridge? Was there any news on the job front?

  “For the past few months, it feels like I have been doing only one thing—waiting in line. I get in line at nine thirty every morning to get into the Chinese restaurant. Then I line up again around four at a Western restaurant. Sometimes I have to line up just to get a cup of coffee or a quick bite, like a bowl of rice with salted pork.”

  He explained that he was the one who usually got stuck holding a place in line for the rest of the family; once it got to close to his turn, everyone else would show up.

  “Everyone talks about there not being enough to eat, but I feel like all I do all day long is eat!”

  Wang Qiyao took a closer look at him and jokingly observed, “You’ve been eating so much that you’re starting to grow gray.”

  “I don’t think that’s from eating too much—it’s from missing someone too much....”

  Wang Qiyao rolled her eyes. “Oh no, I’m not singing Rendezvous at the Pavilion with you again!”

  They seemed to have slipped back into their old ways—except that there was this new addition asleep on the bed. Sparrows were pecking at crumbs on the windowsill and they could hear someone forcefully shaking out a comforter on a nearby balcony.

  Kang Mingxun was just on his way out as Mr. Cheng came back from work. Passing on the stairs, they exchanged a quick glance but neither left much of an impression on the other. It wasn’t until he got inside that Wang Qiyao explained that the man was her neighbor Madame Yan’s cousin, the one she used to spend time with.

  “It’s almost dinner time. How come you didn’t ask him to stay for dinner?” Mr. Cheng asked.

  “We really don’t have anything special to entertain a guest... so I thought it would be rude to invite him,” she explained.

  Mrs. Wang kept quiet but had a disgusted look on her face. She went out of her way to be nice to Mr. Cheng, who wondered who had crossed her—he knew it wasn’t him. As usual, he spent some time playing with the baby after dinner. Seeing the baby fed and contentedly asleep with her tiny fist in her mouth, he took his leave. It was around eight o’clock. People and cars passed back and forth under the bright city lights. Instead of taking the trolley, Mr. Cheng draped his fall coat over his arm and walked home. He took in the familiar scents of the city and soaked up the evening scene. Now that the burden weighing on him for so long had been finally lifted, he felt relaxed: mother and child were safe and sound and the baby didn’t bother him as he had originally feared. In fact, Mr. Cheng was struck with a peculiar happiness; it was as if he, and not the child, had been given a new lease on life.

  The late show was about to begin at the cinemas, which added a feeling of excitement to the night air. The city still had the spirit of a night owl, and the same energy of years ago was still there. The tricolor revolving pole outside the barbershop was the emblem of this unsleeping city. The strong aroma of Brazilian coffee wafting out of Old Chang’s gives the impression that time is flowing backward. How exciting the night is! Desire and contentment abound and, despite the compromises that have to be made, everyone gives their all, living life to the fullest. Mr. Cheng’s eyes grew moist and a strange excitement welled up in his heart, the like of which he had not experienced in a long time.

  The next time Kang Mingxun showed up, Mrs. Wang did not go into the kitchen to avoid him. She sat on the sofa reading a cartoon version of the Dream of the Red Chamber. Wang Qiyao and Kang Mingxun couldn’t help but feel awkward and fell back on making small talk about the weather. When the baby woke up crying, Wang Qiyao asked Kang Mingxun to hand her a clean diaper. To her dismay, her mother got up and, taking the diaper out of K
ang Mingxun’s hand, scolded her.

  “How could you have the gentleman do this kind of thing?”

  “I don’t mind,” explained Kang Mingxun. “It’s not like I’m busy with anything else. . . .”

  “Right, let him help out,” Wang Qiyao added.

  Mrs. Wang drew a long face. “Don’t you have any manners? How could you ask a gentleman like him to lay his hands on these filthy articles? He is decent enough to treat you with respect and come to visit; but don’t take it as a sign that you can walk all over him. Show some tact!”

  Stunned by the innuendo in her mother’s sudden attack, Wang Qiyao burst into tears. Mrs. Wang became even more incensed.

  She flung the diaper in her daughter’s face, screaming, “I try to help you save face, but you just don’t seem to care! You demean yourself, and it’s all your own doing! If you want to lead a life of shame, go ahead! Nobody’s going to be able to help you if you don’t help yourself!”

  With that, Mrs. Wang also burst out crying. Kang Mingxun was thoroughly bemused; he had no idea what had brought this on. Not knowing what else to do, he set about trying to mollify Mrs. Wang, “Please don’t be upset, Auntie. You know that Wang Qiyao has a good heart. . . .”

  His words made Mrs. Wang laugh.

  She turned to him, “Mister, you are very perceptive. Wang Qiyao does indeed have a good heart. She has no choice. Where would she be if she didn’t have a good heart?”

  Suddenly Kang Mingxun realized that he was the object of her wrath. He stepped back and stammered something inaudible. At this point, the baby, whom no one had been tending to, began to howl. Of the four people in the room, three were now in tears. Aghast at the chaos, Kang Mingxun felt impelled to say, “It is less than a month since Wang Qiyao gave birth. She should still be resting and we should try not to make her upset.”

 

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