by Tie Ning
From where they stood on the ground, it seemed that the ring’s flying into the branches of the tree could only have been an accident; to the ring in the air, it had been an invitation, an invitation extended to it in midflight, when it was alone, abandoned, and without a destination.
They looked at the branch from which a tiny light shone. Still holding Tiao’s shoulder, Fei said, “What did you just say?”
“I said in this world, anything that can be bought with money is cheap.”
Fei said, “That’s me. Don’t you know that I’m cheap? If someone pays, I give myself to him. That’s why I felt sorry about that ring, the ruby ring in the tree.”
“But you won’t climb up the tree to get the ring,” Tiao said.
“It would be lousy if someone else got it—you see how calculating I am.”
“It’s unlikely that someone else will find it,” Tiao said. “Nowadays, no one stares at a tree for long.”
“I would,” Fei said. “And when I need money, I’ll definitely come to this tree.”
6
London plane trees seem to grow very well in the city of Fuan. The water and soil here don’t particularly favour them, but as long as the tree takes root, it will grow vigorously, with single-mindedness, and ask for no attention. The young London plane tree with the ring in the Design Academy’s garden soon grew into an adult tree, with a palm-sized leaf covering the ring. The ring must be there still.
Fei did come to the tree, by herself, on several occasions. She thought, a little obsessed with money, that, although she wouldn’t climb up to get the ring, if the branch happened to break and the ring dropped to the ground, she wouldn’t hesitate to pick it up. Often she thought of the tree as having a piece of matter stuck in it called ruby. The oddness of her refusal to consider a tree itself as matter—even the trees growing in the city, lining the pavements and rustling in the wind—struck her. Matter would be those buildings hidden behind the trees, and the electricity poles, vehicles, neon lights, and stainless steel rubbish bins. But trees aren’t matter. She recognized that architecture was matter because of the way all the buildings in the world appeared to resist loneliness, saturated with human will and moulded by human hands, according to artificial design—altogether entangled with the human. Trees, on the other hand, are natural and independent, and grow while quietly connected to the land, inhaling the sunshine. Trees are spirits that are hard to approach; they have compassion for human beings but don’t want to get too involved. Trees are thoughts that are beyond the power of human comprehension.
Fei looked helplessly at the London plane tree in front of her and told herself, You’d better give up on the ring. Do you have nothing to cook in your wok or are you at the point of selling all your possessions to pay for your debts? You’re no longer the old you, the one who tried to bribe the vice director of the foundry with a Shanghai Coral Jewel watch to get a better job.
Master Qi had helped Fei fulfil her dream of working in a state-run factory, but her job was unsatisfactory. Given her background, she was grateful at first for just being able to become a worker. But never had she imagined that the foundry work would be so dirty and exhausting! Naturally, she worried about her face, hands, and skin, which were the only capital she possessed and which she would have to use over and over again. She must tend the meagre advantage she had, which was why she especially dreaded the dirty, heavy work. So she went to see Master Qi again.
On several occasions she’d asked to meet with Master Qi at the riverbank after dinner, but was turned down every time. He was avoiding her, trying to play down what had happened that evening at the riverbank. He had never displayed any signs of that subtle complacency that some men have after possessing women in need, nor did he try to make further advances. He genuinely felt guilty about what had happened. Once he even told Fei seriously, “You can’t behave this way anymore. You should work hard. You’ll have to grow up and live a good life.” Master Qi’s words didn’t seem to strike a chord with Fei. Maybe she wasn’t aware there were decent men like Master Qi in the world. She could only interpret it as Master Qi’s reluctance to help her further, which just strengthened her resolve. She went to the political department to talk to him.
It was in the afternoon, when people were about to leave work. Fei rose from a long nap after her night shift, washed her hair, intentionally leaving it wet, and came to the political department. Her wet hair gave her an excuse not to braid it, and she looked particularly charming with her hair falling down about her shoulders, useful in piquing the male imagination. She entered the political department with her wet hair down, but Master Qi was not there. The only person in the room whom Fei knew was the vice director of the plant, Yu Dasheng. Sometimes he gave speeches when the factory held an all-employee meeting.
Yu Dasheng didn’t recognize Fei. In a state-run factory with more than a thousand employees, it was impossible for a director to know everyone. But Fei certainly caught his eye. She looked like a worker, and she must be one, as she wore the factory uniform, the canvas shirt with the stand-up collar, a clean blue. It wasn’t the uniform that attracted his attention, but probably because she was a female worker arriving at the office during working hours with her hair down. He glanced particularly at her hair, shoulder-length, with water still dripping, and two wet spots on her shoulders like epaulets. He addressed her as if he were the host of the room. “Whom are you looking for?”
She tossed her hair as if in an unconscious gesture and a faint scent of lemon wafted out. She said, “I … I want to talk to you, Director Yu. Is this your office?”
Perhaps she decided to say this the very moment she pushed open the door and saw Yu Dasheng. She had a gift for weighing up a situation in an instant and seizing an opportunity. She acted as if the office she was entering were Yu Dasheng’s and introduced herself. “I’m a worker in the foundry department. I would like to report a situation to you.”
Yu Dasheng said, “This is not my office. I came here to look for someone. You—why don’t you talk to your department director, if you have something to report?”
“You’re the one in whom I have the most confidence. In the whole factory, or even the entire city of Fuan, the person in whom I have the most confidence is you,” Fei said smoothly.
It was flattery, and Yu Dasheng was well aware of it. Still, he couldn’t have been prepared to have a strange, pretty female of such a young age come and flatter him so obviously for no apparent reason. Compared to the women in the factory with whom he usually dealt, Fei was much prettier, and also more educated. She used the word “confidence,” which the workers here seldom used. It was a good word, even though it implied familiarity. But to be trusted by people was a pleasant feeling, so Yu Dasheng told Fei, “In that case, you can come to my office with me. I can listen to your report.”
They went to Yu Dasheng’s office. Yu Dasheng sat behind his desk and Fei chose a seat near the door. Yu Dasheng said, “Okay, what would you like to talk about?”
Fei cleared her throat and said, “It’s like this … Oh, right. I forgot to tell you my name, which is Tang Fei. I always pay very close attention when you give a speech, because you speak Beijing dialect. You’re a Beijinger, right? So am I. I’m pretty sure we’re fellow Beijingers.”
“Yes, I’m a Beijinger,” Yu Dasheng said. “You just said your name was Tang Fei, so your family name is Tang?”
“Yes, my family name is Tang, a very common family name.”
“Can you tell me what you want to report?” Yu Dasheng calmly put the conversation back on track.
Fei said with determination, “It’s actually about my own situation. I want to change jobs. I work in the foundry department … I’m sure you know how dirty and exhausting the job is. The working class shouldn’t be afraid of dirty, hard work, but my skin is allergic. I get an allergic reaction as soon as I walk into the workshop.”
Yu Dasheng gazed at the smooth-skinned girl, with her healthy complexion, and said,
“I understand your situation, but I’m afraid I can’t change jobs for you as you ask. There are so many workers in the factory. What would other people say if I go and assign you another job?”
“You probably don’t believe my skin is allergic. Let me show you my arm …” She stood up from her chair and walked quickly to the desk, moving close to Yu Dasheng and rolling up her sleeve for him. On her forearm, along with the visible traces of light purple blood vessels, there were indeed two penny-sized, slightly swollen red ulcers, caused by aspirin. When she’d gone to the factory clinic for these ulcers, the doctor had already told her to stop taking the painkillers because she might be allergic to aspirin. Now she was trying to blame her allergies on the foundry department with the evidence of these few small spots. Shouldn’t she be given a transfer to some other place, when her arm was so badly affected? The foundry department might cause her whole arm to rot off if she stayed there. Emboldened, and with the help of the ulcers on her forearm, she moved even closer to Yu Dasheng. Almost leaning her body against him, and at the same time bending over slightly, she put her afflicted arm on the desk in front of him, her damp hair brushing tantalizingly against his ears. For a few seconds of stillness, she felt the way both she and Yu Dasheng stared at the arm she’d laid on the desk. Concluding that Director Yu had no intention of avoiding her, Fei grew daring now, thinking it was possible for her to seize the chance and sit on his lap, just by pretending to stagger and plunging forward. She put her little trick into practice and sat smoothly onto his lap, only to be picked up immediately. His actions with her could be best described by the phrase “picked up.” Although she was above and he was below, she still had a feeling of being picked up—always embarrassing and undignified to have that done by someone. She didn’t remember how she got picked up, only the result. With one hand gently pushing her elbow, he sent her back to her chair by the door and then returned to his behind the desk. “You are still a child,” he said, deliberately, one word after another.
She was so ashamed that she couldn’t say a word. She hadn’t felt shame for a long time—Director Yu forced her to be reacquainted with it, but deep down she refused to admit defeat. However, the courage to continue to sit there left her.
A strong sense of failure settled in her after she returned to her dorm. “You are still a child”—these words of Director Yu’s went round and round in her mind. He was probably forty-something, old enough to be her father. Of course he could say, “You are still a child.” It was more like subtle urging than a reprimand or a shaming. But at the time Fei was unable to understand the implication. She believed she was no longer a child; she had long ago stopped being a child. She was an adult, the head of her own family; she was mother to herself and father to herself, her own master. “You are still a child.” Such words were not offensive to her; they were just too light, too easily said, and could no longer move Fei. Director Yu could embarrass her but he couldn’t repress her desire to leave the foundry. He didn’t fall for her ploy, but she was determined not to lose this one-in-a-million chance.
She remembered that Shanghai Coral Jewel watch, the keepsake that the dancer had left, which she had been keeping as property she might use as a last resort. She thought it over and over and asked herself numerous times: Is this my last resort? Yes, she answered herself every time. Only leaving the foundry as soon as possible would enable her to keep her looks, her beauty, and her youth, to which she was so attached. Because she loved her looks so much, she must offer the watch. She was indeed still a child, believing that just because she thought the watch was valuable property, everyone else thought so too. She took out the watch, carefully cleaned it with a handkerchief, and wound it. Then she walked into Director Yu’s office again with the quietly ticking watch, intending to give him the precious watch in exchange for the favour of getting her transferred.
When she first pushed open the door, there were a few people talking to Director Yu in loud voices, so she closed the door and wandered around outside for a while. When she returned, he was alone. She entered the office, walked directly to his desk, took out the watch, and put it down. Director Yu said, “Whose watch is this?”
Fei said, “Oh, it’s mine … no, it’s yours.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s yours—I’m giving it to you. Can’t you see this is a man’s watch? I’m a woman. It doesn’t suit me.”
Director Yu asked, “Who put you up to this?”
“No one.”
“What do you mean by ‘no one’?”
“I mean no one. Nobody.”
Director Yu took the watch, looked at it, and then put it back on the desk. He stood up and turned his back to Fei and said, “Now please take this watch and leave my office.”
So he didn’t go for this, either.
It made her angry and suspicious. She was thinking that he couldn’t possibly be a man who didn’t go for anything. He’d probably rejected her because he’d heard a lot of gossip about her, things she had done in high school, which had long ago circulated around the whole factory. She even heard two workers betting on her. One said, “If you can fuck that girl Fei from the foundry, I’ll buy you a pack of cigarettes.” The other said, “Oh, her. I’ve fucked her plenty. All I have to do is wave and she comes running …” Anytime they felt like it, they would make those bets; she became a plaything for them, a verbal outlet for the relief of their sexual tensions. She was sure that Director Yu had heard the gossip and was afraid to be associated with her. It would be his loss. Still, after all, he was the vice director of the factory, not Master Qi. Her dream of leaving the foundry had been thwarted, and in such an embarrassing way, being humiliated by a decent man at the same time. Her face turned cold. If her opponent was so decent, she had to show some indecency, meeting decency with indecency, as if they could at least reach a standoff and she could avoid such a thorough defeat. She raised her voice at the back of Director Yu and said, “You think I admire you for refusing the watch, right? Hmm, actually I think you’re a chicken. Your guts couldn’t fill a thimble. It’s not like you don’t want … a good-looking girl like me … you’re afraid I’ll get you dirty and spoil your reputation. You actually misjudge me. If you slept with me, I’d absolutely not tell a soul. I—”
Director Yu walked to the door, opening it with a crash, and, pointing out the door, he said, “Let me repeat it one more time: take your watch and get out of this office.”
She went out, returned to her dorm, and cried her heart out. But a week later, the department director informed her that she was being transferred to the factory’s office to work as a typist.
It was clear to her who had helped her. She was pleasantly surprised and puzzled at the same time, but she could no longer bring herself to go to his office, not even to thank him.
7
Perhaps it’s better for a woman like Fei not to get married, but she still did—she couldn’t take Little Cui’s constant pestering.
Little Cui was a worker in the foundry department. Fei knew in her heart that out of the many men who were interested in her, Little Cui was the one who truly liked her. Little Cui was a man with a sluggish spirit and a stubborn temperament, and his big eyes were always bloodshot for no reason. He didn’t listen to advice, and if anyone tried to give him some, an obstinate expression would come over his face—the look of a man prepared to march down a road to the very end. After Fei got transferred to the factory’s office, there was even more gossip about her. Little Cui got into knife fights with people over it. Later, knife in hand, he went to Fei and said, “I want to marry you.”
Fei said, “This is not something to joke about, Little Cui. You’ve heard the stories about me.”
Little Cui said, “I don’t care what you did before; I just like you as a person.”
“You’d better not lose your head. A man looks for a decent girl to be his wife. Your family would never approve of your marrying me.”
“If I marry you, yo
u’ll be my family.”
Fei felt a lump in her throat on hearing his words. She said, “You can take that back for now. We’ll talk about it in a few days, when you cool down.”
Little Cui cut his index finger with the knife and said, with his finger dripping blood, “I made up my mind long ago. I swear you are the woman I want to marry. Let’s get married. We’ll settle down and live a good life.”
“Live a good life.” Fei remembered that Master Qi had said that to her. Who doesn’t want to live a good life? Who can deny that living a good life is the highest goal for most people? Fei was moved—didn’t she want to live a good life with a man who cared about her?
They were married.
Their marriage made many of the men in the factory unhappy, as if a woman who was originally public property had been taken from them to become Little Cui’s sole possession. Also, his courage in daring to marry a woman no one else would made them feel small. Their annoyance with Little Cui was especially sharp, as if he were a traitor to all men, had betrayed the brotherhood. Several hooligan types among the workers went out of their way to pick fights with him; they publicly insulted him as well as slandering Fei. They’d say brazenly, “Little Cui, guess where I went when you were on night shift? I was in your bed all night long. Your wife wouldn’t let me go until daybreak …”
Little Cui hadn’t expected things to turn out this way; nothing was as simple as he’d thought. But he couldn’t leave Fei. Her body had provided him with countless pleasures. He started to drink, staying drunk twenty days out of a month. When he was sober, he would tie Fei up and beat the hell out of her, sometimes using a leather belt and sometimes a shoe. One day, he interrogated her while beating her: “How did you get to be a typist? Tell me, how did you get to be a typist …?”
