by Ha Jin
“Saved.”
“How much have you saved?”
“A hundred yuan last year, but spent most of it when Father died.”
“How much do you have here?”
“Thirty.”
“Keep it, all right? It’s yours, Shuyu.”
“You don’t need?”
“Keep it. It’s your money.”
Something stirred in Lin’s chest, and his breath turned tight. He moved to the wooden edge of the brick bed and put his feet into his suede shoes, which were scuffed and weighted with dried mud on the soles. Hastily he tied the shoelaces and went out for a walk in the gathering dusk alone.
The following afternoon Lin said he would go visit his parents’ graves the next morning. His words threw Shuyu into a muddle. She hobbled to the village store and bought two pounds of streaky pork, then went to Second Donkey’s home and got a grass carp from his pond. For dinner she boiled ten ears of corn since shedidn’t have time to bake cakes; but in the evening a small plate of stewed pork was placed beside Lin’s bowl on the table. Though he pushed the dish to the center of the tabletop, Shuyu wouldn’t touch it, whereas Hua ate with relish, smacking her lips and crying out, “I want fat meat.” Her mother stared at her, but Lin smiled and put more pork cubes into her bowl.
Lin got up late the next morning. On the wooden cover of the cauldron sat a bamboo basket. He removed its lid and saw four dishes in it: a fried carp, stewed pork, tomatoes sautéed with eggs, and steamed taros, peeled and sprinkled with white sugar. The last dish had been his mother’s favorite. On the chopping board, by the water vat, were a packet of joss sticks and a bunch of paper money. Shuyu had gone with Hua to cut grass for the pigs. Lin touched the bamboo basket, its side still warm.
Quickly he drank two bowls of millet porridge and then set off for the graves, which were at the edge of the larch woods in the valley south of the village, about ten minutes’ walk. In recent years most of the dead had to be cremated to save arable land. Lin’s elder brother, Ren Kong, had treated the village leaders to a twelve-course dinner and obtained their permission to let their father join their mother on the hillside.
The sun was directly overhead, and Lin was panting slightly when he arrived at the larch woods. Some cocklebur seeds had stuck to his trouser legs, and his shoes were ringed with dark mud. Mosquitoes were humming around hungrily while a few white-breasted swallows were darting back and forth, up and down, catching them. His parents’ graves were well kept, covered with fresh earth. Beyond them, wormwood was yellow-green and rushes were reddish, all shiny in the sunlight.
Apparently somebody had cleaned up the place lately. Against the head of either grave leaned a thick bunch of wild lilies, still soaked with dew, but their small yellow flowers had withered long ago. Lin knew that it must have been Shuyu who had gathered the flowers and laid the bouquets, because his elder brother couldn’t possibly think of such a thing, he was too deep in the bottle. On one of the headstones was his father’s name, “Mingzhi Kong,” whereas the other stone carried only “Kong’s Wife.” His mother had never had her own name. Lin opened the basket and set the dishes in front of the graves. He lit the joss sticks and planted them one by one before the dishes, and then he strewed around the paper coins, each of which was as large as a palm and had a square hole punched in its center. He said softly, “Dad and Mom, take the money and enjoy these dishes Shuyu made for you. May you rest in peace and comfort.”
A shotgun popped in the east; a pair of snipes took off, making guttural cries and drifting away toward the lake in the south. A dog broke out yelping. Someone was shooting pheasants and grouse in the marsh.
Unlike the villagers, Lin didn’t burn the money. His mind was elsewhere, having neglected the right way of sending cash to the nether world. He was thinking of Manna. He had promised her to start divorcing Shuyu as soon as he got home. Now he had been here for seven days—only three days were left for the leave, but he hadn’t mentioned a word of it yet. Whenever the words rose to his throat, they were forced down. Somehow he felt that the idea of divorce was too unseemly to be disclosed. It would make no sense to anybody in the countryside if Lin said he wanted to divorce his wife because he didn’t love her. He had to find a real fault in her, which he couldn’t. People here would not laugh about her bound feet, and he did not feel ashamed of her in the village.
Having returned from the graves, for a whole day he thought of his predicament. He was certain that if a villager asked him about Shuyu, he would admit she was a perfect wife. Probably had he lived long enough with her, he would have been able to love her, and the two of them would have led a happy life, just as many couples who had gotten married without knowing each other beforehand became perfect husbands and wives later on. Yet how could he and Shuyu have lived together long enough to know each other well? Unless he had left the army and stayed home, which was unthinkable. He had his career in the city.
An ideal solution might be to have two wives: Manna in the city and Shuyu in the country. But bigamy was illegal and out of the question. He stopped indulging in this kind of fantasy. For some reason he couldn’t help imagining what his life would have been like if he had never met Manna. If only he had foreseen this dilemma; if only he could extricate himself from it now.
Two days before he left home, his wife took a pillow into his room at night. He was already in bed and was surprised to see Shuyu come in with her face lowered and twisted a little. She sat down on the bed and sighed. “Can I stay with you tonight?” she asked timidly.
He didn’t know what to say, never having thought she could be so bold.
“I’m not a shameless woman,” she said. “After Hua was born you never let me share your bed. I wouldn’t complain, but these days I’m thinking of giving you a son. Hua’s going to be big soon, and she can help me. Don’t you want a son?”
For a moment he remained silent. Then he said, “No, I don’t need a son. Hua’s good enough for me. My brother has three sons. Let them carry on the family line. It’s a feudal idea anyway.”
“Don’t you think of our old age? When we’re old and can’t move about and work the fields, we’ll need a son to help us. You’re always away, this home needs a man.”
“We are not old yet. Besides, Hua will help us when she grows up. Don’t worry.”
“A girl isn’t a reliable thing. She belongs to someone else after she’s married.”
He said no more, amazed by a sudden realization that if she were Manna, he might embrace and kiss her, calling her “Little Treasure” or “Sugar Ball,” but he did not know what to do with Shuyu, whom he had kissed only in the darkness a long time ago. Now any intimacy with her would be unnatural.
She stood up and walked away, her shoulders drooping more. He let out a deep sigh. By the door a coil of artemisia was still burning, keeping out mosquitoes. The room was filled with a bitter grassy scent.
Her words made him realize that his wife must have been lonely when he was away. He hadn’t thought she had her own ideas and feelings. More worrisome, she never doubted that they would stay together for the rest of their lives. What a simple-hearted woman!
This realization distressed him and foiled his first attempt at a divorce.
12
Why doesn’t he want to see me? Manna asked herself time and again.
She was anxious to know how Shuyu had responded to Lin’s request for a divorce. He had been back from the country for a week and always said he had too much work to do in the evenings and couldn’t walk with her. She sensed that something had gone awry. She talked about it with her friend Haiyan, who advised that she should confront Lin, and if necessary give him an ultimatum. Haiyan said to her, “Without pressure no well will yield oil. You must press him.”
On Tuesday, after dinner, Manna went to Lin’s office to look for him. Only a reading lamp was on in the room, which was as dark as a movie theater. She was surprised to find he wasn’t busy at all. He was lounging in a chair and dozing with his mouth hanging op
en and his feet on the desk. A hefty book was lying in his lap. She coughed. He woke up with a start and put the book on the desk. Then he rose to his feet, went across the room, and switched all the lights on, so that people passing by in the corridor wouldn’t suspect that the two of them might be doing something unusual in the office.
He looked tired and yawned uncomfortably. Manna’s temper flared up and her face hardened. She pointed to the book, which she recognized as Marshal Georgi Zhukov’s memoir of the Second World War, Remembrance and Thoughts. “So you’re busy studying military strategy in order to become a general. What an ambitious man.”
He grimaced, ill at ease. “Come on, don’t be so nasty.”
After they both sat down, she asked him bluntly, “Why do you avoid me these days?”
“I—I, what should I say?” He looked her in the face. “It’s true that I’ve avoided you since I came back, because I didn’t know how to tell you what had happened. After a few days’ brooding, I have a clear idea now.”
Manna was amazed by his calm voice, which made her think that he must have worked out a plan for ending his marriage. But to her dismay, he went on to describe how he hadn’t been able to divorce his wife this summer, how he couldn’t abandon his daughter who was still so young and had hung on his neck all the time calling him papa, how he had tried to broach the topic with Shuyu but every time his courage had failed him, how he couldn’t find any solid reason with which to persuade the local court to grant him a divorce, how the villagers viewed this matter differently from people in the city, how sorry he felt for Manna, who deserved a better man than himself. In short, he was hopeless and couldn’t do a thing, at least for the time being.
After he had finished, she asked, “What should we do then? Continue like this?” Her voice was devoid of any emotion.
He said, “I think we’d better break up. No matter how we love each other, there’ll be no chance for us. Better to stop before we’re trapped too deep. Let’s part from each other now and remain friends.” He grasped his chest as though suffering from heartburn.
His words drove her mad, and she couldn’t keep tears from streaming down her cheeks. She shrieked, “Then what will become of me? It’s easy for you to say that—to be so rational. After we break up, where could I find another man? Don’t you know the whole hospital treats me like your second wife? Don’t you see that all men here shun me as though I were a married woman? Oh, where can I hide my face if you dump me like this?”
“Calm down please. Let’s think about—”
“No, I don’t want to think anymore! All you can do is think, think, think.” She got up and rushed to the door with both hands cupped over her ears. The green door slammed shut behind her.
Her words upset him, but also pleased him slightly. They made him reconsider his suggestion. He had never thought Manna was already bound to him. Now it seemed clear that they ought to stay together, unless she were willing to live as a spinster for good without looking for a husband, which would have been inappropriate and abnormal. Everyone was supposed to marry; even the retarded and the paralyzed were not exempted. Wasn’t it a sacred human duty to produce and raise children?
If only Manna could have transferred to another hospital where people would treat her the same as other unmarried women, but that was out of the question because too many nurses were in the service now. In recent years thousands of young women had been demobilized, and there were more to be discharged in the years to come. Those who had left the army were often regarded by civilians as bad women who had lifestyle problems. Many men would refer to them as “used military supplies.”
A week later Lin rejoined Manna after admitting the impracticability of his suggestion. He even apologized to her for having considered their relationship only from his point of view. Despite being torn between Manna and his family, he assured her he would try to divorce Shuyu again in the future. But he needed time and could not rush. She agreed to wait with patience.
Before taking his annual leave the next summer, Lin promised Manna that he would definitely broach the topic of divorce with Shuyu this time. To convince her of his determination, he showed her a letter of recommendation issued by the Political Department, which Ran Su had written for him secretly. Lin told her not to breathe a word about the letter to anyone.
During his absence, Manna grew hopeful and was in high spirits. Her colleagues often asked her why she smiled so much. She wouldn’t tell them the truth; instead she would quip, “Is it a crime to be happy?” At night when she couldn’t sleep, she would think about how to arrange their wedding. How much should they spend? Did a vacuum-tube radio cost more than 120 yuan? What kind of bedclothes should she get? What types of dresser and wardrobe were good and affordable? She should buy Lin a bicycle—a Flying Pigeon. He also needed a pair of leather shoes and a leather jacket, which was currently in fashion. If possible, they should get a wall clock, the kind with a revolving chick inside whose head moved up and down all the time as if pecking at grain. She hoped they would be assigned a decent apartment, ideally with three rooms, so that they could have a living room to hang such a clock. How she wanted to be a mother someday and have a home with a few children.
One afternoon in the hospital grocery store, she saw some gorgeous satin quilt covers for sale. They all had celestial creatures embroidered on them—either a dragon with a fireball in its mouth or a phoenix embracing a huge pearl. In the upper left corner of every quilt cover were these words in shiny stitches: “An Unforgettable Night.” Unable to restrain herself, Manna bought a pair, which cost almost forty yuan, more than half her monthly salary. But she was pleased with the purchase. One of the saleswomen asked her, “Who’s getting married?”
She replied, “A friend of mine in Harbin.” She was blushing and left the store in a hurry, carrying under her arm the package wrapped in cellophane.
For several days whenever alone in the bedroom, she would take the saffron quilt covers out of her suitcase, spread them on her bed, and look at the embroidered dragon and phoenix. She dreamed more often now. Most of her dreams were exuberant, full of plants and aquatic animals—sunflowers, watermelons, frogs, lotus flowers, silver pomfrets, giant halibuts. Those signs ought to portend the success of Lin’s trip. At times she blamed herself for being too childish, but she couldn’t help herself, her heart brimming with hopes and her eyes a little moony.
But when he returned from the countryside, Lin looked dejected. He told her that this time he had talked with his wife about a divorce, but he hadn’t been able to go further, not because Shuyu had refused to accept it but because her brother Bensheng had gone berserk, threatening to retaliate if Lin divorced his sister. Moreover, Bensheng turned the whole village against him and spread the rumor that Lin had committed bigamy, taking a concubine in the city. Outraged, Lin showed the official divorce recommendation to him and to the Party secretary of the production brigade, but his brother-in-law declared he would go to the city, talk with the army leaders personally, and ask them why they encouraged their man to abandon his wife.
This frightened Lin. If Bensheng came to the hospital, Ran Su’s involvement in the matter would be exposed. Beyond question that would cause a scandal. So to pacify his brother-in-law, Lin gave up pressing for a divorce.
Though heartbroken, Manna was dubious about his account of what had happened. She wouldn’t say he was a liar; never had he lied to her; but she felt that his words, despite having some truth, might not be without exaggeration. Perhaps he had purposely retreated from their original agreement. But to her surprise, Lin pointed out another possible consequence, which had never entered her mind and which further justified his decision not to push for a divorce for the time being.
“Everybody knows there’ll be a general adjustment of ranks at the end of this year,” he said. “If Bensheng comes and makes a scene here, for sure neither you nor I will get a promotion. In fact he doesn’t have to come. Just sending a letter to the leaders will be enough to r
uin our chance. Don’t you think?”
She made no answer, her face getting whiter and whiter. Indeed these days people were talking about the general adjustment enthusiastically, after Commissar Zhang had declared at a meeting that most of the staff would get a promotion in rank at the end of the year. This was a precious opportunity for everybody. For almost a decade there had been no promotion whatsoever in the hospital; people’s ranks and salaries had remained frozen in spite of inflation. So now by mentioning the potential damage, Lin persuaded Manna of the correctness of his decision. She agreed that they shouldn’t provoke Bensheng for the moment. Lin promised he would figure out some way to obtain a divorce.
In December 1970 Lin and Manna both got promoted and were each given a raise of nine yuan a month. The promotion pleased them, although it had cost them much more than it had other people.
PART
2
1
In the spring of 1972 Lin Kong received a letter from his cousin Liang Meng, who had grown up in Wujia County and gone to the same middle school as Lin had. Now Liang Meng lived in Hegang, a coal-mining city about eighty miles west of Muji. Since they had not kept up a regular correspondence, his letter came as a surprise to Lin.
He asked Lin to help him find a girlfriend in the army hospital, because he would like to marry a doctor or a nurse. His wife had died two years before, leaving him three children. After long grief, he felt ready to continue with his life. Besides, his family needed a woman to keep the home together. For months he had been looking for a girlfriend in Hegang City, but without success; either the women had disliked the size of his family or he had thought them too vulgar. He was a well-educated man.
Liang Meng’s letter brought a ray of hope to the situation that trapped Lin and Manna. The previous summer Lin had returned home and broached the topic of divorce again. To his surprise, Shuyu agreed, but when they arrived at Wujia Town, she couldn’t stop her tears in front of the judge and then changed her mind. As a result, the request was declined and Lin was humiliated by the judge, who reprimanded him in harsh language, even calling him “a shameless man.” When he returned to the hospital and briefed Manna about the court’s rejection, she was disappointed and seemed to have doubts about his effort. She wanted him to promise that he would definitely carry through on the divorce in the near future, but he would not fix a deadline, arguing that all he could do was try his best the next year.
