by Su Tong
The subject annoyed Bao Qing as soon as it was brought up, but he couldn’t very well lose his temper. Instead, he told his uncle, ‘I don’t have time to eat with him; I’ve even declined the mayor’s dinner, and I’m leaving tomorrow. Besides, I still have to go to the banquet the Education Committee Director Liu’s giving.’
By the time Bao Qing left his uncle’s home, the rain had become very heavy, so he took a short cut through the little alleys. As he passed Maqiao’s second Primary School, which he had attended long ago, he automatically glanced through the school gates. What he saw, however, was not the familiar sight of the school, but rather Fatcat’s eiderdown plant. Four red lanterns hung from the factory gates, making up the words, ‘Happy New Year Wishes!’ On both sides, the walls of the factory grounds were pasted with the conspicuous slogan ‘Demand Quality From Management, Reap Profit From Quality’. Bao Qing stood beneath his umbrella and listened to the sound of the raindrops as they struck the red-brick building’s gutters and the plastic awning over the propaganda board. The sound was so desolate that Bao Qing shuddered, and then he felt a strange sensation of resentment. ‘So he bought the school and made it into a factory. That’s new money for you! New money!’
Fatcat’s invitation hung like a shadow over Bao Qing as he paid his various family visits. Using the weather as an excuse, he had resolved to decline Fatcat’s invitation to dine at Prosperity Restaurant. His mother did not encourage him to go, for she could still remember the humiliating price her son had once paid for the privilege of Fatcat’s friendship. As Bao Qing was making excuses on the telephone, he heard his mother denouncing Fatcat: ‘Now he treats you like a human being, but back then he treated you like you were his servant; actually worse than any master would ever treat a servant. He used to ride on your shoulders and shit.’ Bao Qing did not want to hear his mother prattle on about the matter, so he motioned for her not to hover by the phone while he spoke. She moved a few paces away and sat down, remarking, ‘He’s rich. So what? There’ll be great food. So what? Leave it for the folks who like that sort of thing.’ His mother’s attitude reminded Bao Qing that he could safely shift all blame onto his mother. Into the receiver, he said, ‘Of course I don’t wish to offend, but I’m off to Beijing tomorrow and my mother says she simply won’t let me eat my last meal anywhere but home.’
Bao Qing presumed that, with this, he had successfully declined the invitation, but that evening, just as the whole family was sitting down to dinner, they heard the sharp squeal of motorcycle brakes outside, followed by the sound of knocking on the door. Bao Qing’s sister went to open it and came back to inform him that it was Renzheng. She reported furthermore that he refused to come in and was insisting that Bao Qing go out to speak to him. As soon as Bao Qing went outside, he saw Renzheng standing stiff and perfectly upright in the rain. He had removed his helmet and Bao Qing saw that he was now half bald. There were only a few tufts of hair closely pressed to his brow, dripping from the rain. He stood there in the rain with a mixed expression of terror and disquiet, seasoned with a pinch of mystery. ‘Well, Mr Professor, don’t you think your high horse is a little too high? Your old classmate is just asking you to have a drink with him, not to pass through fire and brimstone. So how come it’s so hard to get you to agree?’
Renzheng had been sent to pick Bao Qing up for Fatcat. Apparently, he had no delusions as to Bao Qing’s feelings about the matter, and so had prepared some ploys to make him to submit. ‘Bao Qing, if you don’t give in, I’ll just stand here and wait.’ Renzheng lifted his head and looked at the sky. ‘I don’t mind if I get wet. In any case, I’ve never heard of someone being rained to death.’
Bao Qing’s mother was the first to falter; pitying Renzheng, she sent Bao Qing’s sister out with an umbrella, saying, ‘When a man is that devoted, you’d be wrong not to go. People will talk. They’ll say my Bao Qing goes round with his nose in the air now that he’s made good – it’ll make a terrible impression when it gets round.’ Then, just as he was on the point of leaving, his mother picked up a piece of smoked fish with her chopsticks and stuck it in Bao Qing’s mouth. So it was that he left the house chewing fish.
Bao Qing held the umbrella with one hand and hugged Renzheng’s waist with the other as they passed through the streets of Maqiao in the freezing wind and bitter cold. It was the holidays, but night in this small town exuded an unseasonal gloom. Bao Qing could feel the little patch of warmth that was Renzheng’s waist: even through the poor-quality, rain-soaked leather he wore, Bao Qing could feel his body heat. The situation seemed both strange and familiar. Suddenly, the memory of a New Year’s night many years ago came back to him with great clarity: he, Fatcat and Renzheng had ridden two bicycles into the county capital to see the concert of some famous singer. On the way back, Renzheng’s bicycle tire had burst. Fatcat had then compelled him to change bikes with Renzheng, and they had left him behind like unloaded cargo. Bao Qing remembered that he had pushed the useless bike 15 kilometres alone.
Bao Qing had not realized that Shaohong would also be among Fatcat’s guests, but there she was, gorgeously decked out and the first thing he saw as they entered Prosperity Restaurant. She stood fixing her make-up in a mirror on the second floor, in the hallway leading to the private dining rooms. There was an excessive gravity about the way she made herself up, as if she were a folk singer preparing for the stage. Seeing Bao Qing, she tossed her lipstick hurriedly into her bag, and said loudly and sharply, ‘What, so you agreed to come? Even without a cortege of eighteen sedan chairs?’
Bao Qing could say nothing and instead forced a smile. Then he complimented Shaohong: ‘You look very nice tonight.’
She responded, ‘Like hell I do. I know what you’re thinking: you think I’m made up like an escort girl, don’t you? Well, that’s exactly what Fatcat intended: I’m to keep you company through dinner, drinks and then right on through the night. He told me it’s an honour for me to bask in the companionship of the great professor!’
The hostess, dressed in a red cheongsam and wearing a golden ‘Welcome’ sash over her shoulder, greeted them and led them to a private dining room called the Paris Hall. Bao Qing entered and then watched as an obese man in a suit rose slowly from his chair. This, apparently, was Fatcat, although it didn’t look like him. Only when Bao Qing noted the wine-coloured birthmark on his forehead was he certain it was him. At first, Fatcat made to embrace Bao Qing, but since the latter shrunk away reflexively, the movement became a handshake. Fatcat’s lukewarm hands held Bao Qing’s in a tight grip and wouldn’t relax their hold.
‘Bao Qing, just feel my heart, feel how strongly it’s beating,’ he said, tugging Bao Qing’s hand and pressing it onto his suit over his chest. ‘Bao Qing,’ he said. ‘I was less nervous about meeting the provincial governor, and that’s the truth.’
Bao Qing laughed, and extricated his hand. Then he remarked, ‘If I had run into you on the street, I certainly wouldn’t have recognized you.’
Fatcat answered, ‘You might not have recognized me, but I sure would have recognized you. You just flashed on TV for a second and I knew it was you.’
A mixed group of guests was present and they immediately chimed in, ‘That’s right. When the boss saw you on television, he recognized you straight away.’
Fatcat pulled Bao Qing down to sit by his side. Except for Renzheng and Shaohong, the others at the table were all his employees. There was a bespectacled girl in a pink sweater who kept looking at Bao Qing evasively but glowingly. Bao Qing was too embarrassed to ask her name, but Fatcat had the foresight to introduce her. She was the daughter of Mr Zhong, a teacher at Maqiao Middle School, and she was now employed as an accountant at Fatcat’s factory. ‘And how is . . . ?’
Bao Qing hadn’t finished his sentence, because he gathered what had come to pass from the general change of expression as Ms Zhong bowed her head. Fatcat kicked him under the table, and said softly, ‘He passed away two years ago. Cancer.’
Bao Qing was
silent, remembering how Mr Zhong, the physics teacher, had been the only one of his teachers to take to him, on account of his aptitude for the subject. Bao Qing was at a loss what to say when Ms Zhong stood and raised her glass to him. ‘Mr Bao, when I was a child my father often told me how he had trained a future professor. Now that I’m finally getting to meet you, I want to offer you this toast.’
That was how Bao Qing happened to drink the first cup of wine. On the way over, Bao Qing had prepared his excuses: he had a bad stomach, he was allergic to alcohol, he would be travelling tomorrow – anything so that he might be allowed to abstain from the drinking. But Ms Zhong’s peculiar identity, not to mention her peculiar glances, robbed him of the courage to decline, and now that he had made a start it was difficult to retract. He was able to fend off Fatcat’s employees, but Renzheng’s obstreperous exhortations were harder to decline. Shaohong’s toasts were coercive to a degree, and also contained a barrage of tactless sexual innuendoes, which deeply embarrassed Bao Qing, who didn’t know how to forestall them. Presently, she suggested they all drink with interlocked arms and her audacity shocked him. His face flushed scarlet and he said, ‘We can’t lock arms for no reason.’ Shaohong replied, ‘Of course there’s a reason. It’s a forfeit to punish me for having no judgement back then – I underestimated you, I didn’t realize your potential. Now I regret it, because I could have been Mrs Bao, the professor’s wife, couldn’t I?’
Bao Qing didn’t know how to respond, so he joined in her laughter. But then he leaned back on his chair and refused her encircling arm. At this point, the others started jeering, which embarrassed her and cooled her ardour. Suddenly she could take it no longer, and she spilled the cup out on the floor, saying, ‘Well, it’s not gonna kill me if you won’t drink with me now you’re a bigshot, but I’d like to know who stole my bra once upon a time. Hm?’
Suddenly the room became quiet. Bao Qing had not expected her to play this card and he began to get angry. ‘Are you insane? I can’t believe you would even think to bring up childhood pranks now!’ He raised his voice, ‘Fatcat stole your bra and hid it in my bag. Fatcat’s here, right beside me, and he can testify to my innocence.’
Beside him, Fatcat chuckled and gave Bao Qing a shove. ‘Holy-moley, Bao Qing. There’s no need to take things so seriously. It was a joke. Who can remember the things they did when they were kids? I don’t remember anything about a stolen bra.’
But Bao Qing did not use this opportunity to back down, ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but I haven’t,’ he said sternly. ‘You hid it in my bag when her mother came after you. If you don’t admit it now, then it is I who must live with the blot on my reputation.’
Fatcat looked momentarily uncomfortable, but soon regained his good humour. Laughing, he said, ‘All right then. I remember now. I stuffed it in your bag; we used to let you take the flak. I admit it, OK?’
Bao Qing saw Fatcat make a signal to Renzheng with his eyes and he recalled how many years ago they had also communicated with these signals. Each time he had seen them, he felt a nameless fear grip him. Now he no longer feared the exchange, it just disquieted him. He set his glass down, bottom up, on the table and said, ‘I’ve finished with drinking. I’ve never been able to drink very much and now I’ve had more than enough.’
As he set down his glass, Bao Qing could feel everyone staring at him, their eyes variously revealing displeasure or nervousness. Deliberately ignoring them, he informed Ms Zhong, ‘I have ulcers and hyperglaecemia.’
Ms Zhong nodded and said, ‘Drinking is bad for your health – all the magazines say so.’ Besides passing on this nugget of magazine wisdom, it seemed that the girl wanted to say more, but didn’t dare. She held back for a moment, but then she could curb herself no longer and rashly came out with the following question, ‘Mr Bao, I’ve always wondered about something. You were a good student in those days, so why would you have been friends with Manager Huang and Mr Li?’ The question stunned Bao Qing, and his chopsticks froze over a vegetable platter. Fatcat’s employees half-seriously criticized Ms Zhong for having said something untoward, but in the end it was Fatcat who, in a generous and self-deprecating tone, said, ‘So you’re saying I was a bad student? Well, maybe I was – I can’t pull the wool over her eyes. It’s not my fault she’s so smart; she’s Mr Zhong’s daughter, after all!’
But the girl had hit on a sore point with Bao Qing. She had posed the same reproachful question that his mother and sister had been in the habit of asking, and that he had never been able to answer. The truth was he did not have the courage to analyse his motivations for sticking with Fatcat and Renzheng. He had no way of facing up to his disgraceful choice, nor enough wit to evade the question. His cheeks suddenly blushed a full, deep red, and all he could produce were a few paltry lines: ‘I don’t know either. You know how children are. No reason, really, to speak of.’
Shaohong, who had been sulking, suddenly let off a burst of cold laughter. She said, ‘I know why. It’s like this: have you ever heard the story about the chick who ingratiates himself with the weasel? And why does he do it? He wants the weasel to eat the other little chickies and spare his own life.’ Ms Zhong must have thought that Shaohong had uttered a bon mot, because she clucked with laughter. Then, when she saw no one else was laughing, she realized her error and covered her mouth.
Fatcat looked at Bao Qing’s expression and turned to glare at Shaohong. He was agitated and angry. ‘Motherf***! You always complain that other people don’t know how to talk properly, but look at the kind of s*** that comes out of your mouth!’ What surprised Bao Qing was that Fatcat’s exceptionally crude way of reprimanding Shaohong provoked no reaction from her whatsoever. Fatcat’s language was both foul and rough: ‘You festering c***! You think you’re the only one around smart enough to open your mouth. Would it kill you to shut up sometimes?’
Shaohong said, ‘Fine, then I won’t say anything. Naturally, I’m unworthy to speak to the professor and anything I say is crap.’
Fatcat said, ‘Of course it’s crap. You’re here so that everyone can have some fun. And look what happens, just because you can’t talk like a normal person and keep talking crap.’
Shaohong rose slightly. ‘Fine, then I won’t say anything else. I’ve made everybody unhappy; I’m off.’
Fatcat gave an angry shout, and said, ‘You think it’s that easy, huh? Off? You can go to hell, but you can f***ing bet you’re not leaving this room. Renzheng! Pour her more wine! The big cup! She has to drink a forfeit – three big cups!’
Bao Qing would never in his wildest dreams have thought that Fatcat could treat Shaohong in this way. His common sense told him that their relationship was in all likelihood no ordinary one. His relatives had kept him posted about the extraordinarily self-indulgent private life Fatcat had begun to lead following his sudden rise to wealth, but Bao Qing had never imagined Shaohong could act so submissively towards him. He was also taken aback by Renzheng’s attitude – he had presumed that he would try to calm Fatcat, but he said nothing, just picked up the rice wine bottle to bring it over to Shaohong. Bao Qing rose and almost instinctively rushed at Renzheng to wrest the bottle from him. Renzheng smiled evasively and said, ‘Don’t worry about it. You don’t know how much she can drink.’
Bao Qing replied, ‘She’s a lady. There can be no question of forcing her to drink.’ They were grappling with one another when Shaohong suddenly grabbed the bottle herself and banged it down heavily on the table. She said, ‘If we’re going to drink, then let’s get on with it, and if I die from it, then that’s not a problem. People’s value depreciates, like everything else. If I go and sell myself for a f*** I wouldn’t even get enough money for the alcohol. So if the drink doesn’t kill me, I’ll be making a profit!’
At this point, a waiter opened the door to the room and, taking fright, poked his head in to have a look. Fatcat screamed at the door, ‘Screw off! If you come in again I’ll have your boss sauté you!’ In case this threat alone was unconv
incing, Fatcat grabbed a porcelain spoon and threw it at the waiter, making everyone near by jump. They heard a bang as the spoon shattered against the wall like a miniature bomb and covered the floor with its shards.
Dead silence prevailed in the room and three words popped into Bao Qing’s mind: The Hongmen Banquet7. On the one hand he realized that he was being overanxious, but he was also sensitive enough to be certain that the atmosphere of the banquet was growing increasingly destructive. Unable to stay seated, he told Fatcat, ‘Since I have to leave tomorrow, I’ll need to be getting home a little early.’
But Fatcat shook his head and said, ‘You can’t go.’ Bao Qing felt one of Fatcat’s hands restrain his arm like a handcuff. ‘We’re not finished drinking. No one can go until we’ve finished drinking.’
Bao Qing said, ‘I am finished drinking. I can’t take any more.’
Fatcat said, ‘It’s up to you if you drink or not, but Shaohong offended you, so she has to drink the forfeit. And as I haven’t shown you a good time, I have to drink a forfeit, too. Renzheng and Ms Zhong were invited to make pleasant company, and for failing to do a good job of it, they have to drink forfeits too!’ Then Bao Qing heard Fatcat roar to those outside, ‘Where the hell have you gone? Hurry up and bring more drinks! And don’t bring them by the bottle – bring a crate in!’
Bao Qing felt like he was sitting on a bed of needles and deeply regretting giving in to his pity for Renzheng and foolishly getting on the motorcycle. When a waiter arrived carrying the crate of liquor, Bao Qing felt a twinge of dread. He asked Fatcat, ‘What’s that for? One bottle will be quite enough, make them take the crate back.’
