The Far Side of the Night

by Jan-Philipp Sendker

  “How long have you been living in this ghost town?”

  His question brought her back to the present. The feeling of lightness dissipated. Dark clouds were approaching from the horizon instead. Gao Gao had another large mouthful of champagne. Perhaps that would delay their arrival a little.

  “Are you really interested, or are you asking out of politeness?”

  He replied with a cryptic smile.

  “I’m not interested in small talk,” she added.

  “Neither am I,” he said.

  His glass was empty once more. “Do you always drink so quickly?”

  “No.”

  She picked up the bottle and he nodded. She poured him another large whiskey.

  “I seldom drink. But sometimes it helps.”

  “Only for a while,” she said, and smiled.

  “Anyway,” he said, smiling back, “why do you buy so much stuff that you don’t need?”

  “Who decides what I need and what I don’t?”

  “Lots of it is simply lying around your flat in its packaging, still unopened.

  She shrugged. “I enjoy it. I’m killing time.”

  “That’s banned in some countries.”

  “What is? Shopping?”

  “No. Killing time.”

  Was he being serious or was he pulling her leg? “Why?”

  “Because it’s so precious. We have so little of it.”

  She liked his sense of humor. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you all need somewhere to stay so urgently?”

  He hesitated before replying, but held her gaze. His sad eyes reminded her of her father in the final months of his life.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You can stay as long as you like.”

  He lifted his glass in her direction and took a large gulp of whiskey before telling her his story. She believed every word. They wanted the child as a present. Why not? Everything had become a commodity, everything could be bought. Careers. Contracts. Permits. Friendships. Women. Why not a four-yearold child? Her father had told her about Chen before. They had often met at Party conferences. He said Chen was the most unscrupulous and power-obsessed of the Party cadres that he had ever met. He had sounded quite admiring of him. The children of the Party officials had grown used to getting what they wanted. She was one of them herself, so she knew that all too well. And who knows? If she had been a little luckier, or unluckier, she would still be one today.

  She had seen the end coming. Not very long before it came, but all the clearer for it. Dozens of Party cadres in the neighboring provinces had been arrested in the course of Beijing’s latest anti-corruption campaign. Was it time to sell some of her shares? Should she try harder to get an American or an Australian passport? Or try to get Singapore citizenship, even though, by comparison, it held less promise of protection in case of an emergency? Her father had always shunned the idea. It wouldn’t look good for someone high up in the Party to be applying for dual citizenship elsewhere.

  Suicide. That was the Party’s official explanation. And it was the truth, for once.

  Gao Gao had seen it coming and yet not known how she could have stopped it. It had been his life and he had had the right to end it the way he wanted to and when he wanted to.

  Her father had stood up during a meeting of the most senior Party committee in the province and excused himself. He had something urgent to attend to and would be back in a few minutes. He had calmly walked up the stairs to the top floor, climbed onto the roof and jumped off it into the abyss. They said he had died on impact.

  He had not left a farewell letter. Not that it had been necessary. What could he have said to her that she did not already know? This was his final and greatest gift to her, and he was paying for it with his life. The family members of Party officials who committed suicide were, with rare exceptions, spared further investigations into corruption.

  A few weeks after his death she had visited the place where he had ended his life. She climbed the stairs one by one, overcame the protests of the building manager who unlocked the door for her, went to the very edge of the roof, stood with the tips of her toes over it, and looked down. Seven stories down. Seven, of all numbers. His lucky number; his unlucky number. Gao Gao had been born on the seventh of July and had made him a widower on the same day.

  She saw the broken branches of the bushes in front of the building. Looking from here, the outline of his body could still be made out.

  Should she jump? Did she want to jump? Seconds passed. Just a small step. Simply shift her weight forward and she would be together with him again. Gao Gao did not know what stopped her in the end. She had no husband and no children. The only person she would really miss had gone before her.

  One week later, an article in the Party newspaper included a statement that the investigations would be extended to include the family of the Party Secretary. She got the message. The next day she sold her complete portfolio of stocks to the son of her father’s successor. He had made her an offer that she could not refuse. It was under half the actual value but it came with a promise from his father that the authorities would refrain from any investigations into her affairs.

  A few hours after the contracts had been signed, she had been cleaning out her office when she had broken down completely. Her old life had ended the way it had begun.

  With the death of a parent.

  _________

  Paul got up. He swayed a little on his feet, and held on to the armrest to steady himself. “I have to go to bed.”

  She nodded. “I still have to buy two rice cookers.”

  He disappeared into his bedroom and she turned the TV on again, spreading her credit cards out before her.

  The bottle was empty. The champagne was no longer having any effect. The black clouds were advancing remorselessly and had almost reached her. The two rice cookers were quickly bought. She added a twelve-piece sushi master’s knife set from Japan and eighteen red wine glasses. Express delivery.

  She had used the wrong expression, she thought. It was not about killing time. It was about distracting herself. Some memories were too painful to bear without numbing herself.

  A few weeks had passed between the end of her first life and the start of her second. She had spent the first two of those weeks in intensive care at People’s Hospital Number 1. Her memories of that time were vague. A green curtain. Lots of tubes. Machines that had hummed at regular intervals or emitted frightening beeps. A nurse who had smelled of alcohol. Cramps. Pains in her lower body. Concerned faces by her bed. When she read her medical records later, she learned that the doctors had practically given up on her. Her survival was a near miracle. She had been on the verge of multiple organ failure. Her body had been gradually switching off its functions, like someone going from room to room in a house turning off the lights. At the same time, her immune system had started to attack itself. The doctors could not explain the cause of this. They thought it might be an allergic reaction or a result of poisoning. Gao Gao knew better.

  A young assistant doctor from Hubei province developed a particular interest in her puzzling case. He sat by her bed often, studied the results of her medical examinations and laboratory tests, and talked to her. She did not understand much of what he said, but his friendly, bright voice did her good.

  At some point the nurses disconnected her from most of the machines and wheeled her into a private room. She did not know if it was a room to die in or to survive in.

  It was a horrible room: small, with a barred window looking onto a courtyard that only got a little sunlight in the late afternoon. She did not have any visitors. Who would come? Her friends had turned their backs on her and after her grandmother had died her family had consisted only of her and her father, who was also her mother. Days passed in which she did not exchange a word with a single person apart from a few pleasantries with the nurses.

  With the passing of time, she felt smaller and smaller and more and more helple
ss, as if she had been transformed back into the child sitting on a wall waiting for her father. But this time her silent fear had come true: he was not coming.

  He had abandoned her.

  For the first time since her childhood, she longed for her mother. She had no memory of her, of course not. No voice, no smell as a connection to her. How could someone miss a person they had never known? And yet. It was a deep, piercing pain that she thought had gone long ago.

  She, too, had abandoned her.

  She had stood on that roof and looked down. She could have died at the same spot but she had lacked the courage to make that one final step. What had actually stopped her from ending this desperate, lonely life? Gao Gao had cursed herself for her cowardice then, but now there were many days when she felt glad about it.

  There was time enough for her to be dead.

  VI

  Da Lin did not feel like talking. The fat woman talked all day anyway. And when she was quiet Paul and Christine argued. Just like his parents used to. And the old couple in the house next door. Sometimes their voices had been so loud he had heard them in his house. Like the market traders arguing with their customers too. Why were grown-ups always fighting?

  Christine had disappeared into her room. That was a shame. He would have liked to talk to her a little. Maybe she knew how his grandfather was. Or how long they had to stay here. Or if Paul had already called his mother and she was waiting for him. But Christine had a headache.

  Paul too. He sat in an armchair and kept his eyes closed most of the time.

  The fat woman had sat down in front of a TV. It was showing a movie about a bear who liked eating honey, and his friends. But the animals were not real animals, only drawings. David sat next to him, and whenever he felt frightened, he moved closer to him and took his hand. He did that often. Da Lin told him that the animals were drawings and that someone had just made up a story about them. But that didn’t help. David was still frightened.

  Time passed agonizingly slowly. There was nothing to do except watch TV. The woman wanted to play a card game with them but David did not understand the rules, so they decided to leave it.

  He missed his grandfather. The dog. Even the chickens. It was horribly warm in the flat and you couldn’t even open the window. And there was a funny smell.

  Against one wall in the living room was a big glass box with water, plants, and two fish in it: one red and one white. He spent some time watching them swim from one side to another looking at him stupidly. But that became boring too.

  Da Lin thought about the policeman. He simply couldn’t get him out of his head. The way he lay motionless in the courtyard, with blooding flowing from his head. Like a rat. He had taken aim at him with his catapult and let go. But when the man fell to the ground, Da Lin had been surprised. How could such a small stone fell such a big man? But it was his own fault. If he had not broken Papa’s cue and even laughed while doing it, nothing would have happened to him. It served him right. Was he still in hospital? Maybe he would never speak again. Like the old woman in the village. Something had burst in her head and since then she could not walk but had to be carried by her children. And when she spoke no one understood her. Da Lin thought about whether that made him feel sorry. A little; but then not really. It was strange. He had taken precise aim; he had wanted to hit the man, but he still felt that he hadn’t intended to.

  VII

  He had not felt so lonely since Justin had died. When he had crept into bed with Christine and David that morning, she had got up and disappeared into the bathroom. She said he stank of whiskey. She avoided his gaze at breakfast. She had not returned his quick goodbye kiss. The more she withdrew from him, the less he could imagine them finding their way back to each other in Hong Kong. He knew that from his first marriage. Back then, during Justin’s illness and before he died, there had also come a point when he and Meredith had grown so distant from each other that Paul had known they would never draw together again. It was over, no matter whether their son survived or not.

  He was glad when Christine and Gao Gao left the apartment for a couple of hours.

  Gao Gao had given him the phone number of a neighbor on the twenty-second floor before they left. If they got bored they could call him. Mr. Zhou was a bit crazy but quite harmless. He had something that the children were sure to be interested in.

  Paul wanted to play a game with the boys first. Da Lin could not think of anything that he would enjoy. David wanted to play hide-and-seek. But when Da Lin found him quickly every time, he didn’t want to play any more.

  Paul suggested they play rodeo riders. He bent down on all fours. Da Lin climbed on his back. Paul bucked vigorously and Da Lin slid off and fell on his elbows. Now he didn’t want to play anything any more. He crouched on the floor by the window and looked out. Paul propped his son on his back and crawled around the living room. David knew this game and held on tight to his father’s hair. They galloped round until Paul’s back hurt.

  After half an hour, he called the neighbor.

  _________

  Mr. Zhou was a short elderly man with gray hair that almost reached his shoulders. He was very pleased to have unexpected visitors. The three rooms of his flat were stacked with aquariums up to the ceiling. Some of them were as large as bathtubs while others were as small as shoe boxes; most of them were somewhere in between. There must have been hundreds of them. Swimming in them were fish of all shapes, sizes, and colors. The gurgle and pop of water and the sonorous hum of the many pumps filled the rooms. The air was warm and humid, and smelled of stagnant water. David and Da Lin stood still, not knowing where to look first.

  “Would you like to feed the fishes?” Zhou asked.

  The two boys nodded.

  Zhou gave them small tins of fish food and showed them exactly what they had to do. He helped them with the first couple of aquariums, and when he saw that they were following his instructions precisely, he turned back to Paul.

  “Would you like some tea?”

  “Yes, please.”

  They went to the kitchen. A pile of water pumps, filters, motors, and replacement parts was piled up under the table. The fridge was crowned with a terrarium with two small tortoises in it and there was another one on the floor for salamanders and geckos. Zhou took two cups from a cupboard and poured the tea.

  “Why do you have so many fish?” Paul asked, somewhat absently. He had never been very interested in aquariums.

  “I actually wanted to sell them,” Zhou said. “But I couldn’t bear to part with them. Living creatures shouldn’t be bought and sold.” After a brief pause, he added, “You don’t care much for aquariums, do you?”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can see it.” Zhou smiled.

  They drank their tea in silence.

  “Do you live here on your own?”

  “Yes. I get along better with fish than with people.”

  Paul gave him a questioning look.

  “I can’t read what’s in people’s hearts. They say something and do the opposite. I just don’t understand it.”

  “Fish are quieter. That much is true.” Paul had to smile at his own comment.

  Zhou did not react, however. “You have two lovely children. Mine think I’m a loser,” he said in a serious tone.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t have anything other than a few hundred fish. The flat belongs to my son.” He poured more tea for Paul and checked on the two boys briefly. They were entirely focused on feeding the fish. “But I live exactly the life that I want to. It’s my decision. I’m a free person. My children don’t understand that. They say I should work more. I ask them, why? They say, so that I will have more money and can enjoy life. I say, I enjoy my life. They don’t understand me.”

  Paul nodded. He did not feel like having an intense conversation. He just wanted some distraction for himself and the children.

  “Have you known Gao Gao for long?”

  “Since she mo
ved in here. And you?”

  “No. She’s a friend of a friend.”

  “Then be careful.” When Paul did not react, he added, “Gao Gao cannot be trusted.”

  Paul ignored this too. He looked through the open door at a silver-gray fish in a large glass tank that was swimming behind a small fish. It was following the other fish as it criss-crossed through the water, past climbing plants and rocks. Suddenly, it made a jerky movement with its tail, shot forward, and the small fish disappeared into its mouth.

  “Did you hear me?” Zhou asked, unperturbed. “She is very well connected.”

  Paul nodded. He wondered if he should ask Zhou what he meant. What kind of connections? Why should she want to harm them? To what end? He did not want to know more. They had no choice but to trust her, and if his intuition could be trusted, they had nothing to fear from this woman who was obsessed with shopping.

  VIII

  Come with me! It was more like an order than an invitation.

  Christine was undecided. Leaving the flat meant putting herself in danger. Yet she also longed for distraction.

  Gao Gao tried to dispel her doubts. They would be in her car driving from one underground parking garage to another and be back in two or three hours at most. She would not see anyone on the way.

  And she knew everyone who attended the service in Pastor Lee’s flat. All of them would have been willing to accommodate Christine and her family if they had had the space. She could vouch for every one of them. They belonged to an underground church, and they met in secret every Sunday. This showed how little they had to do with officialdom in China. Apart from that, they were Christians. It was part of their faith to help strangers in need. In the end we are all brothers and sisters. Fellow people. Creations of the same God. One big family.

  It was an outing without risk. Christine would have other things to think about. It would do her good, just as Gao Gao herself always felt better for it.

  Paul encouraged her to go. He wanted to stay in the flat and play games with the children.