by Tie Ning
She said, “Yes, that’s right.”
“Don’t you want to contradict me? I was saying the opposite of what I meant.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I really want to choke you to death.”
“Choke me to death. Choke me now.”
She grabbed his hand and placed it on her neck, squeezing his hand with hers. He freed himself from her grip and kissed the back of her neck. They made love one more time.
At daybreak, she said to him, “You should give me back the key to this apartment.”
2
She thought about phoning Mike; she knew he had gone back to the States long ago. He had called her before he left China, hoping to come to Fuan to meet her. She refused to see him then; her heart at the time could only contain Chen Zai. Now she thought of Mike; she didn’t want to consider this pragmatic. No, she was not that kind of pragmatist. She didn’t know why she wanted to make the call, she only knew that she really wanted to.
She dialed Mike’s home number in Texas, and an utterly unexpected voice struck her dumb—it was Fan who picked up the phone.
Fan said, “Older sister, I never expected it to be you calling.”
“I didn’t expect it to be you answering the phone.”
“I knew I was going to surprise you. I planned to call home in a few days and tell all of you everything.”
“Then you can tell me now.”
“When you came to Chicago and called Mike, I wrote down his home number. And later we became friends.”
“Can you tell me what kind of friends you are?”
“The kind who want to live together. David and I are divorced. He went back to that older German woman of his. I’ll probably marry Mike soon; he’s already proposed.”
“Do you really love him?”
“I really do.”
“Then what about David?”
“I didn’t know anything when I married David.”
“Fan, it’s not that I want to stop you from marrying Mike. I just feel you get some kind of satisfaction from competing with me, and taking things from me. This mind-set can confuse the soul and prevent you from knowing who you really love.”
Fan said, “That’s what I should be saying to you. I just called Chen Zai and heard that you two are not going to get married. You’re the one who wants to compete and take things away, right? You remember Mike when you have no one to turn to.”
Tiao said, “If my agreeing would make you happy, I’d admit you were right. I apologize for remembering Mike when I had no one to turn to. It’s weak and low of me. I should change my attitude and wish you happiness, wish that you and Mike are happy together.”
Fan said, “Do you think I appreciate your sarcasm and insincerity? Don’t use the Chinese way with me. I would rather you shouted.”
Tiao’s hand holding the telephone was shaking. How she wanted to scream at Fan through the receiver. Even though she had no relationship with Mike, she still felt the stab of a deep wound, and Fan was the blade. How busy Fan was, so busy that she didn’t forget to pry into her and Chen Zai’s business even when she was busy dating Mike. She was so busy, busily getting involved in order to spoil things, to get involved by spoiling things, to spoil things by getting involved. She couldn’t be sure of her own existence if she didn’t get involved and spoil things. Tiao held the phone, thinking. The strange thing was that she was no longer so angry. She felt like someone who had seen the final ending of everything, and understood that all the emotion of those who’d tried to change the ending meant nothing, suddenly didn’t matter. She said into the receiver, “Fan, let’s make up. I sincerely wish you two happiness.”
“Older sister, I know you feel very bad now.”
“When are you coming back to China together? I’ll go to Beijing to pick you up.”
“Maybe during the Spring Festival. Can we stay with you?”
“Of course you can.”
“Can we use your bedroom?”
“Of course you can.”
“Can we use your big bed? Mike and I have to sleep together.”
“Of course you can.”
“I really want to go home right away.”
Tiao said, “Do you know that Going Home Right Away is Fang Jing’s new movie?”
“He mentioned it when he was in Chicago. The movie was shown here a while ago. But Mike and I didn’t see it; Fang Jing’s generation is too old.”
Tiao hung up without asking to talk to Mike. She sat cross-legged on her bed and cried quietly. She cried not just because she felt sad and misunderstood, nor because she wanted to relieve her sadness or allow herself to feel the gains and losses in her life. She was just crying, letting the tears run off her face and wet her clothes. The crying seemed to prepare her for another state of mind, and she entered into a meditation. She took herself into her heart, and only then realized what a mistake it was to think of her heart as the size of a fist; it was deep and wide—boundless. She led herself far down into her heart, spellbound by the flowers and fragrance that were everywhere. Finally, she reached the garden in the depths of her heart, and only then did she discover what it was like: the verdant green of the grass, the gushing springs, the flowers swaying joyfully on their stems, and the water dancing jubilantly in the streams. White clouds brushed lightly against the rippling water and birds called as they flew over them. Everywhere she went she saw familiar faces, people she knew so well, those who had been dearest to her, men she had loved … They were strolling the garden with smiling, untroubled faces. Those young girls who had passed from her life were also there, Fei, and that heroine of the war against Japan, and Quan. They glided over the tips of grass, wearing crowns of Persian chrysanthemums, bringing with them a light breeze. She moved through, full of wonder at being able to provide them with a garden like this, with such breezes, with such a sense of love. When had she cultivated it? How did it come to be hers? Was it there naturally or had she planted it? It must be natural. There was a garden in every heart’s core that each of us must enter. Everyone must discover it, cultivate, pull the weeds, and water it … and when we wear our crowns of Persian chrysanthemums and look back, we will feel blessed that the heart is the broadest place in the world and that we haven’t let our love nest in weeds.
She kept walking, and her body and mind then sank into a profound stillness.
One day, Tiao received a phone call, a phone call from Yu Dasheng. She said, “Governor Yu, it’s you. Governor Yu, what a surprise to hear from you.”
“Don’t call me Governor Yu. I’m already retired.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Nothing in particular. But if you happened to have time, we could meet and chat. I read a book about the Jewish people recently and want to know what you think of it.”
“Of course. You choose a time. Should we meet in your office?”
“No, I don’t have an office anymore. Let’s meet in a park, the new Rainbow Park by the river.”
“Okay, let’s meet there.”
They sat on a green bench in the Rainbow Park and chatted, and Yu Dasheng brought his granddaughter along. The five-year-old was very polite, and she said, “Hi, Auntie,” as soon as she saw Tiao.
Tiao looked at the girl and responded quickly, but she had a momentary vision of Fei. Didn’t the child look a little like Fei? She really wasn’t sure whether it was her imagination or not.
The little girl ran away and played on her own. Yu Dasheng put on his reading glasses, took out a book from his coat pocket, turned to a page, and said, “Let me read this paragraph to you: ‘If a criminal were to commit arson, burning the temple, the most sacred and revered temple, he would only be sentenced to thirty lashes. Yet, if an angry person were to kill him, the punishment would be death because the temple and all holy ground are less important than a single life, even though it’s the life of an arsonist, a blasphemer, the enemy of God, and the one who insults Him.’ This is what the Jewish people believe, but what abo
ut the facts? The facts create irony for the Jews: ‘We were driven from one country to another. Our temples were destroyed, our prophets assassinated, our children murdered, but still we sing the praises of the inviolable sacredness of life and spread that faith to all humankind.’”
Yu Dasheng closed the book and said, “I think this is a good book.”
Tiao said, “Have you ever studied the Jewish people before?”
Yu Dasheng said, “Never. I haven’t even seen Schindler’s List yet.”
Tiao couldn’t help feeling surprised by this government official’s ignorance, but soon excused him. Not all Chinese officials could pay attention to other peoples’ troubles. Besides, she was rather touched by the way he sat on the park bench and pored over the book in his reading glasses: a governor reading passages from a book about the Jewish people … She said, “The paragraph you read is about the value of life.”
“Yes, the value of life, the respect that one race has for life.”
“Have you ever thought about committing suicide?”
“No, not even during the most difficult times.”
“How about the urge to take someone else’s life?”
“No. Why are you asking such a question?”
She said, “Because I had the urge—a long, long time ago. A criminal destroyed the sacred temple in my heart, and maybe all crimes only deserve thirty lashes, but I became that angry person. I am the angry one.”
“I would rather get back to discussing the Jewish people with you.”
“You haven’t thought about killing yourself or taking someone else’s life. Have you ever abandoned a life?”
He seemed to become alert—though maybe it was only Tiao’s imagination again. He said, “No, never.”
They both fell silent. She was about to mention Fei to him, but on second thoughts, what was the point? She had no right to force someone to admit to her assumption about him; she didn’t even have the right to force him to comment on it. Neither Fei nor she had any right based on their own wishful thinking. Maybe he hadn’t asked to see her because of Fei; maybe he just wanted to talk about the Jewish people because he had read a book about them.
The five-year-old girl approached her, and Tiao seemed to be seeing the baby Quan again. She was the two-year-old Quan, the green bud of the spirit. Quan was the first tender shoot in her garden, which she had trampled, and from which, in return, a garden grew. As she stood up from the bench and gazed at the river, which had grown dirty, she caught the scent of a garden in the air. Fuan should be fragrant, she thought. Let me start over again.
The little girl ran back and forth in front of her and kept turning her head to look at her. A voice floated to her from far away: “Child, what’s the matter?”
Child, what’s the matter?
She smiled and gazed at the child, her heart full of bitter sweetness.
About the Author
TIE NING came to prominence with a national short story award at the age of twenty-five and has won many other literary prizes since. She has published ten books—collections of short fiction, essays, and novels, including The Rosy Gate and A City Without Rain—three of which were made into movies and television series, including The Bathing Women. In 2006, at the age of forty-nine, she was elected president of the Chinese Writers Association, becoming the youngest writer and first woman to be honored in this way. Her works have been translated into Russian, German, French, Japanese, Korean, Spanish, Danish, Norwegian, and Vietnamese. This is her first work to be translated into English.
Copyright
Blue Door
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
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First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
Copyright © Tie Ning 2000
Translation copyright © Hongling Zhang and Jason Sommer 2012
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2014
Tie Ning asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007489886
Ebook Edition © February 2014 ISBN: 9780007489879
Version: 2014-02-27
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