by Yu Hua
This time it was the man at the other end who interrupted her. “I know Li Hanlin pretty well,” he said, “but I don’t know anything about this Qingqing person. Could you have misinterpreted? Perhaps they’re just friends … Excuse me, someone’s knocking at the door. Hold on.”
He put down the phone, and after a moment she heard two men talking and steps coming toward the telephone. The receiver was picked up and the man said, “Hello?”
She knew that he was waiting for her to go on, but she didn’t want to say more, so all she said was “If you have a guest, I’ll let you go.”
“Okay, we’ll talk about it later.”
He hung up. Lin Hong still clutched the receiver. She looked up the number of another friend of Li Hanlin. She dialed and heard someone pick up the phone. “Hello?”
“This is Lin Hong,” she said.
“Lin Hong, how are you? And how’s Li Hanlin? What’s he up to these days?”
She was quiet for a moment. “Do you know Qingqing?”
There was a long silence at the other end of the line. She had no choice but to continue. “Li Hanlin has been carrying on with another woman behind my back.”
“Surely not.” Now, at last, he spoke. “Li Hanlin wouldn’t do that kind of thing. I know him. Is it possible that you’re being a bit … over-suspicious?”
“I’ve got evidence,” Lin Hong said. “I’ve got the letters this woman wrote, and the photos she gave him. I called her up on the phone just now, also.”
“I don’t know anything about this.”
His tone was frosty, and Lin Hong knew she would get nothing more out of him, so she hung up the phone and went to the balcony and sat down. Li Hanlin had a few other friends, but she didn’t want to call them. They would simply come to his defense and show her no sympathy. A long time ago she had had friends of her own—Zhao Ping, Zhang Lini, and Shen Ning—but she had drifted apart from them after her marriage, hanging out with Li Hanlin’s pals, chatting and joking with them, going shopping with their wives. Those wives had replaced Zhao Ping, Zhang Lini, and Shen Ning. Only now did she realize she had lost all her friends.
She had no idea how to get in touch with Zhao Ping or Zhang Lini. She had only Shen Ning’s number, scribbled down a year ago when they had run into each other in the street. She had written the number in her book and then forgotten all about it.
It was Shen Ning’s husband who answered the phone. He told Lin Hong to hang on, and then Shen Ning came on the line. “Yes, who is it?”
“It’s me, Lin Hong.”
She heard a yelp of delight at the other end, then Shen Ning unleashed a stream of comments and questions: “It’s great to hear your voice! I called you once, but nobody picked up. Are you doing well? It’s been ages since we saw each other. A year now, right? It seems like ages. Have you heard from Zhao Ping and Zhang Lini at all? It’s been years since I saw them, too. Are you doing well?”
“No, I’m not doing well,” Lin Hong said.
Shen Ning went quiet. “What did you say?”
Tears began to spill from Lin Hong’s eyes. “My husband has been cheating on me. He’s been carrying on with some woman …” She was sobbing too much to continue.
“What happened?” Shen Ning asked.
“Yesterday,” Lin Hong said, “yesterday, when I was tidying his drawer, I found a folded envelope, and when I opened it I found two more envelopes inside. He had hidden a key inside those three envelopes. I got suspicious and tried all the locks in the apartment, but it didn’t open any of them. So I thought maybe it was the key to his office desk, and this morning I went to his office, and that’s where I found the letters that this woman wrote to him, as well as a couple of photos—”
“Outrageous!” Shen Ning started cursing.
Now that Lin Hong had an ally at last, her grief and resentment could find release. “I did everything for him,” she said. “I never gave a moment’s thought to whether there were things I should have. All the time I was thinking of what I could do for him, what he’d like to eat, what clothes he should wear. After we got married, I completely forgot about myself. All that mattered to me was catering to his needs, and now look what he gets up to …”
“What’s your plan?” Shen Ning asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you,” Shen Ning said. “You can’t afford to be weak at this point, and you can’t be softhearted, either. You have to punish him. No more crying from now on—whatever you do, don’t let him see you cry. You need to look furious and ignore him. Don’t cook his meals; don’t do his laundry; don’t do anything for him. Don’t let him sleep in your bed—make him sleep on the sofa. At the very least, make him sleep on the sofa for a year or so. He’ll beg you, he’ll get down on his knees, he’ll even slap himself on the face, but stick to your guns. He’ll make all kinds of promises—men are good at that, but their promises are worth no more than a dog’s bark. Don’t believe a word of it. In short, you need to make him understand the costs incurred when he has a romantic adventure, you have to give him a taste of hell on earth, you have to make him feel that life’s not worth living, that he’d be better off dead.”
A FEW DAYS LATER, Li Hanlin came back from his trip. He found Lin Hong sitting on the balcony, indifferent to his homecoming. He laid his bag on the sofa, went over to Lin Hong, and looked at her. She seemed to have been struck dumb. “What’s wrong?” he said.
Lin Hong’s eyes were fixed on the floor. Li Hanlin waited by her side, and when she still said nothing he went over to the sofa, opened his bag, and dumped out the dirty clothes, then looked at her. He was displeased to find her still staring at the floor. “What’s the meaning of this?” he said.
Lin Hong turned away from him and surveyed the view from the balcony. Li Hanlin went back to rummaging around in his bag. He took out his other belongings and laid them on the sofa. Then he began to lose his temper. He walked over to Lin Hong and started to shout. “What the hell is this about? I come home and you put on a sourpuss face. What have I done to offend you now? You—”
He could see that Li Hanlin stopped abruptly. A key was clasped between Lin Hong’s finger and thumb. There was a buzzing noise in his head. He stood there a moment, then went to his study and opened a drawer. Some magazines were stacked inside. He groped around underneath the magazines, but failed to find the neatly folded envelope in the right-hand corner. He realized he was breathing heavily.
Li Hanlin stood by the window for a long time. Then he left the room and walked quietly over to Lin Hong. He bent down. “You’ve been to my office?”
Lin Hong sat there motionless. Li Hanlin looked at her. “You’ve read Qingqing’s letters?”
Lin Hong began to tremble. Li Hanlin hesitated, then put his hand on her shoulder. Lin Hong jerked violently, knocking his hand away. It returned to its original position and hung there for a moment before he put it in his trouser pocket. “This is the situation,” he said. “I met Qingqing two years ago, at a friend’s house. She’s a cousin of his, so she often stops by. One day I ran into her in the street and we began seeing each other. She lives with her parents and I live with you, so we’re not in a position … What I mean to say is, she and I are not in a position to have sex. When we meet, it’s in a cinema or a park or just walking in the street. She and I, all we’ve done is … all we’ve done is kiss.”
Lin Hong was weeping now. The hand came out of the pocket and reached for her shoulder, but it retreated when her shoulder shrank back. Li Hanlin rubbed his forehead. “That’s the sum total of my interaction with her. Even if you hadn’t found out, she and I wouldn’t have gone any further. Our marriage is very precious to me. I would never break up this home of ours.”
Lin Hong sprang to her feet, strode into the bedroom, and slammed the door. Li Hanlin didn’t move. After several minutes, he walked over to the bedroom and tapped lightly on the door. “I won’t see Qingqing anymore,” he said.
LIN HONG THOUGHT, he didn�
��t beg me to forgive him, he didn’t fall on his knees, he didn’t slap himself in the face, he didn’t pledge oaths, and he didn’t even apologize.
He did sleep on the sofa, however. Shen Ning was right on that score, at least. He had lingered by her bedside, standing there like a businessman weighing the pros and cons, and finally he had opted for the sofa.
By opting for the sofa, he had opted for silence, opted for a life where he and she lived separately.
Now that his life and hers had parted ways, he said nothing further on the topic of Qingqing, and naturally he no longer acted as a husband would. He was careful and circumspect. As he moved about the apartment he did his best to make no noise, and he did not turn on the television. He limited his activities to the sofa, where he either sat or lay, reading. He never used to read at all, but now he always had a book in his hand.
Whenever she appeared, he would put down the book he was reading and look at her, partly to get some sense of her state of mind, partly to make his own position clear: he had not lost himself in the pleasures of reading; he was still fidgeting uneasily in the real world.
His silence infuriated her. Did he think that by eliminating all sound from their home, he could muddle his way through the crisis? It wouldn’t work, because she wouldn’t stand for it—she wouldn’t allow him to have a quiet life. He had betrayed her, and now he thought he could make up for it by pussyfooting around?
She began to provoke him. Seeing him sitting on the sofa, with his feet on the floor, she walked toward the balcony, giving his feet a kick as she passed, as though they were blocking her way. She went out onto the balcony and waited for him to react, but he didn’t. Not even pain could force him to make a sound. There was nothing for it but to return to the bedroom. This time she noticed that he had now withdrawn his feet and put them on the sofa.
She persisted with her provocations. In the early evening she walked over to the sofa and dumped his bedding, clothes, and books on the floor, then sat down and turned on the television.
He just sat there on the sofa as she cleared away his things, but once the TV was on he stood up and went out to the balcony. He sat on the floor of the balcony and read his book. He did this to demonstrate his modesty, his belief that he didn’t deserve to sit next to her, didn’t deserve to watch television with her. He continued to sit on the hard balcony floor, getting up from time to time to stretch, then sitting back down. Only after she had returned to the bedroom did he go back to the sofa, reclaim the items she had flung on the floor, and lie down to sleep.
His boundless silence left her at a loss. All her provocations were like stones cast into the ocean.
The next night, she abandoned the bed and lay down on the sofa to watch television. She fell asleep there with the TV on and didn’t wake up until morning. This was part of her scheme, but it seemed natural as well. She had occupied his sleeping area, and at the same time conceded her bed to him, expecting the soft bed to entice him and lull him into unwary slumber, thus giving her an opportunity to engage in further hostilities. But when she woke up on the sofa, she found him sitting on a chair, his head cushioned on the dining table, fast asleep.
He was going around the house with his tail tucked between his legs, as though he were punishing himself. The problem was that this kind of punishment punished her as well. She couldn’t shed the tears she wanted to shed, couldn’t yell the things she wanted to yell. A fiery rage consumed her, but it could only smolder in her heart. By now she was no longer waiting for him to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness: she had given up hope of getting the reaction that Shen Ning had predicted. What she wanted now was a huge row. Even if they came to blows, it would be better than this.
But he refused to provide her with this opportunity: that is, he rejected the punishment she had selected for him. He passed judgment on himself and punctiliously submitted to this judgment, making her feel, in the end, that he was now quite comfortably reconciled to his life of deprivation. Each morning he would leave before she did, and in the evening return from work after her. There was really no bone to pick here. He had a much longer commute than she did, and he had always left early and come home late. He ate lunch at his office, she knew, but where he was eating dinner in the evening she had no clue. When he came home at the end of the day, he didn’t go into the kitchen, didn’t even glance in that direction, so she knew he must already have eaten. He sat on the sofa and picked up a book. He had disrupted her life, thrown her into turmoil, but he had adjusted perfectly.
One evening, she was standing on the balcony when she caught sight of him coming out of a restaurant below, and it suddenly became clear where he had been eating his dinners. She was so angry she began to shake. For her, every day seemed like a year, but there he was, in and out of restaurants, treating himself to a life of luxury. She marched downstairs. She had already eaten, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her from stuffing herself again. When they passed each other on the landing, she marched straight by him without looking his way and continued down the stairs and into the restaurant he had just left. She ordered several dishes and some wine, but could not stomach more than a couple of mouthfuls.
After three meals in the restaurant, she began to feel distressed about all the money she was spending. She was making inroads into their savings. They didn’t have a lot of money in the first place, and there were plenty of basic things they still needed. Indignation, however, impelled her back to the restaurant, until the day that they happened to be there at the same time. She saw him as soon as she walked in, huddled over a bowl of noodles. She sat down at a distant table and watched the other people enjoying their extravagant meals, while he ate his wretched noodles. Suddenly she felt heartsick.
The next day, while cooking her dinner, she prepared a serving for him, too. She placed an empty bowl on the most conspicuous spot on the dining table, and a pair of chopsticks on top of the bowl, and the food she’d made beside it. She hoped he would notice as soon as he came in, and in this he did not disappoint her. His eyes lit up right away, and then he looked at her quizzically to confirm that the dinner was intended for him. Even though he’d already had his noodles, he sat down at the table and consumed the entire meal she had cooked.
By the time he had finished, she had gone into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. She lay on the bed and listened as he opened the door and walked over to her. After standing there for a while, he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Can we talk?” he asked.
She did not say anything. After a moment, he asked again, “Can we talk?”
Still she said nothing, hoping that a torrent of words would flood from his lips. In her view, he needed to take himself to task. Even if he didn’t burst into tears, he should at least beat his breast and stamp his feet; he should get down on his knees the way Shen Ning had said he would; he should pledge solemn vows, he should say everything she wanted to hear. She would ignore him just the same, but these were things he had to do. Instead, all he could say was “Can we talk?”
He sat on her bed for a long time, but when she made no reply he stood up and left. After he had gently closed the door behind him, she began to weep. How could he just slip out like that, so nonchalantly?
He went back to the sofa, and after he lay down the progress that had been made was nullified; they were back where they had started.
AFTER TWENTY-SIX DAYS OF THIS, Li Hanlin finally couldn’t take it anymore. He told Lin Hong that he had a constant ache in every joint, an agonizing crick in his neck, and a chronic stomachache as well. “We can’t go on like this,” he said.
Now, at last, he was speaking assertively. He was circumspect no more. He stood gesticulating before Lin Hong, the image of self-assurance. “I have already punished myself,” he said, “and still you won’t forgive me. If we carry on like this, I won’t be the only one to suffer—you’ll find it equally unbearable. I really have had more than I can take. I just can’t go on like this anymore. The only thing to
do is …” He paused for a moment. “The only thing to do is get divorced.”
As he spoke, Lin Hong had her back to him, but when he said this she spun around. “Forget about divorcing me! You hurt me, and you still haven’t paid the price. You want to hightail it out of here. You want to run off to your Qingqing, but I won’t have it. I am going to pin you down, pin you down till you’re old, pin you down till you’re dead.”
When a smile appeared on Li Hanlin’s face, she suddenly understood. He wasn’t at all opposed to being pinned down, being pinned down until his hair had gone white, until he was dead. He wouldn’t raise the slightest objection. So she broke off and stood there, unsure what to do. She felt tears falling, and this simply added to her humiliation. So many days of misery, and a smile was all she got. For weeks she had been waiting for his repentance, his self-indictment. At the very least, he should shed some heartfelt tears, demonstrate true remorse, but he wasn’t doing anything like that; instead, he was standing in front of her, declaring boldly, “The only thing to do is get divorced.”
She raised her hand and wiped her tears away. “All right, forget it,” she said. “Better to get divorced.”
At this, his smile vanished. She went into the bedroom, locked the door, lay down on the bed, and fell asleep with her clothes on.
THEY WERE WALKING TOWARD the registry office. That was where they had gone to formalize their marriage, and now they were going to dissolve it. A wall ran along one side of the street and Li Hanlin walked in front, Lin Hong a few steps behind. From time to time he would stop and wait for her to catch up, then walk on. Neither of them said a word. Li Hanlin bowed his head and knitted his brows, as though weighed down by worry. Lin Hong walked with her head up, letting the autumn breeze toss her hair about. Now and again, a wisp of a smile could be seen on her otherwise expressionless face. It was a smile like a falling leaf, desolate, lifeless.
