Frontier

by Can Xue

  Sherman’s wife was a gardener. She had been a beauty, good at singing and dancing when she was young, and was still pretty even now. The other day when Liujin saw Sherman arguing with her, Liujin thought she was a young woman. In fact, she would soon turn forty. The couple started fighting not long after their daughter was born. Sherman’s wife turned their home into a battlefield; Sherman couldn’t do much about it. One day when he got home, he didn’t go in immediately, but looked through the window. He saw his wife sitting in their shabby home, moaning constantly in pain. Deeply touched, Sherman went in right away, but without letting him ask her anything, his wife stood up and silently did the housework as if nothing was wrong. Sherman asked, “Were you feeling unwell just now?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  Her head high, she went into the kitchen. She sang while washing the dishes.

  Sherman thought his wife was unfathomable. He couldn’t even guess what she was thinking most of the time. As the years went on, Sherman felt more and more that it was impossible to understand her. Yet it was this very woman whom he’d fallen for at first sight years ago at her auntie’s home. Last year, after their daughter moved out, life at home was even more hellish. Sherman spent less time at home now.

  Then where could he go? He couldn’t bear to stay in the archives because several young people considered his office their teahouse, going there to talk, drink tea, and smoke. Sherman enjoyed melting into crowds of people, so he began frequenting the market. He didn’t buy anything, but just roamed around to kill time. In the market, he became aware of the unpredictable swings in public emotions. People in the market were strangers to each other, yet whenever they became excited by the same thing, they could turn violent, even barbaric. Ordinarily, though, each individual was wrapped up in his inner concerns; no one was interested in talking with strangers. When Sherman moved around in the bustling crowd, he always heard a weak moan. The intermittent sound was everywhere. Sometimes Sherman sat down in a corner for a moment and concentrated. The more he listened, the more puzzled he became, because at such times he felt that everyone was moaning, but each one was doing his utmost to suppress this sound. Sherman looked up and took stock of these people’s faces, but doing so didn’t tell him anything.

  He became acquainted with Liujin by accident. One day in the market, as he fingered the locally woven material, he ended up talking with her about dyeing cloth. The young woman didn’t talk much, but she listened attentively. As they stood beside the dry goods, the noise in the market vanished, and in that brief moment, Sherman saw an eagle above the cliff. He said to himself, “Her parents can’t be locals.” One time in her small courtyard (such a relaxing, beautiful courtyard!), he asked if she had heard weeping in the market. She said it wasn’t weeping; it was a moan that came as people struggled against something huge, “such as a tiger charging down from the hill.” She winked at him as she said this. This woman was a much different type from his wife. She was also mysterious, but she didn’t spurn others. Sherman was captivated by her. He schemed for a long time before placing frogs in front of her small courtyard. But, later on rainy days, he didn’t hear the croaking he expected. The frogs had vanished. Sherman was impressed by Liujin’s formidable willpower. Back then, he wasn’t sure what Liujin thought of him. She seemed to welcome him, but Sherman thought things weren’t that simple. And so, although he liked this woman a lot, something always held him back.

  When he didn’t feel like going home, he frequently sat in the poplar park with Song Feiyuan. Sometimes they sat there until dark, like two vagrants. Feiyuan was instinctively violent. Sometimes he would ram his head against a poplar until he bled. Sherman delighted in seeing this. It was because of this that he often spent time with him. He certainly didn’t expect Liujin to appear in this place. The young woman acted a little crazy. She dashed around as if in a realm of nothingness, blind to anything in her way. Seeing she was about to fall, he alerted her, but she wouldn’t listen and finally she did bump into something and fell down on the ground. After a while, she sprang to her feet and ran off, as though being chased by a ghost. He recalled that under the faint moonlight, Song Feiyuan had said huskily, “Someone else is coming.” This was a strange comment. At that time, he had just become acquainted with Liujin, and he wasn’t sure what Feiyuan meant. Did Feiyuan think that Liujin was coming to the poplar grove for the same reason? However, they didn’t run into her there again.

  Sherman frequently referred to his wife’s thoughts as “lizard tongue,” for her tongue never stopped at a certain place. She never had just one idea at a time; each one contained many other ideas. He knew she didn’t intend to be like this; rather, it was instinctive. Their relationship over the last many years hadn’t exactly chilled, but it was depressing. Sherman often told himself, “My wife is a huge mountain pressing down on my head.” His spiritual connection with Liujin rekindled his vitality. When he talked with her, he could sense a silent snow leopard making its way between them. At those times—even though he was myopic—he could see irises in the dark. Sometimes, while talking with Liujin, he could suddenly understand one of his wife’s ideas. He thought, There are so many hidden paths in a woman’s mind.

  He still slept in the same bed with his wife, and late at night, in spite of themselves, they would have sex and pull one another into a tight embrace, as though wanting to melt into one another’s body. But as soon as the night was over, she wrapped herself up again in steel armor. Sherman had tried hard to probe her mind, and then he gave up and became a little numb. However, he couldn’t quite manage to be “estranged” from her, so he always sensed a protracted war in their home—especially after their daughter moved out. One night, as they were having sex, Sherman suddenly began shaking from cold and he immediately withdrew. He struggled all night as if in an ice hole. He called out to his wife many times, but she didn’t respond. Not until the next morning did he realize that rain was leaking through the roof, soaking the whole bed. He was surprised that he had slept there all night. His wife said, “You wouldn’t get out of bed. I went over to the other room and slept by myself.” When they had the roof repaired, he was overcome by fumes from the tar, and he lay there thinking he would die. He couldn’t open his eyes; everything around him was spinning rapidly. He was in the swaying white light. Unexpectedly, he heard his wife shout “Sherman!” He felt a little gratified. When he recovered, his wife also returned to her usual ways. From the bed, Sherman looked at her from behind and wondered, Has our relationship ended up this way because she’s also an orphan with unspeakably dark experiences? But in the beginning when she told him she was also an orphan, he had been so happy! Alas, childhood! Did that early, innocent part of one’s life determine one’s whole future? Sherman wanted to calm down, but this was impossible. Every now and then, they would fight furiously. They never had long, confidential talks. Neither of them was accustomed to that. Sherman wasn’t good at expressing himself in words, and his wife Yuanqing—although she was good at singing and dancing—had never told him what she was thinking, either.

  Song Feiyuan was a vendor of roasted mutton. He and Sherman had known each other for several years. Song Feiyuan didn’t like to talk, either, but the two of them did understand each other.

  “How are we going to spend the day, friend?” Song would say to him.

  Then—in spring, summer, or autumn—they would go to the poplar grove. In the winter, they would go, instead, to a small bar and drink. Song Feiyuan was the only local who was chummy with him. Sherman often sighed: this person was so sincere. He lived at the end of the avenue where Liujin lived. His shop was on another smaller street. Sherman didn’t notice for a long time that Liujin also lived there. He frequently saw Song Feiyuan walk out of his adobe house, which was partially crumbling to dust. He would stand at the side of the street and look in all directions, like a helpless child. His business didn’t open until evening, so he could spend the day loafing with Sherman. When Sherman called out “Feiyuan,” his f
ace lit up, as though he had found the meaning of life. He didn’t like other people to go into his dilapidated house, but Sherman had seen his two children and his wife. His impression was that they behaved furtively, like groundhogs. Sherman concluded from this that he had no one at home to fight with. Was this why he had knocked down one wall of his home?

  Next to the dead poplar tree, Feiyuan told Sherman that his childhood dream was to become a soldier.

  “I was always holding a wooden club and thrashing around pretending to be in a battle. My mother encouraged me. Luckily, she died young; otherwise, she would be upset about my becoming a vendor of roasted mutton.”

  “What’s wrong with selling roasted mutton kebabs? I think that’s great!”

  Sherman burst out laughing, and so did Feiyuan. They weren’t often so happy. They looked at the sky together. They both liked the frontier sky. Sometimes they looked at it for half an hour without speaking. Sometimes they saw a single goshawk in the sky; sometimes they saw nothing.

  If they had enough time, they walked around Pebble Town. By the time they had circled the town once, it was dark. When they rested in a teashop, Sherman would start falling into a trance. He felt like a vagrant in the interior. When he walked, he took off his glasses and the snow mountain appeared before him, and one by one, leopards and bears did, too. He glanced sideways at Feiyuan, who was just walking ahead. So he told him to look at the snow mountain. Feiyuan said nothing about it was new to him. He wandered there every night, and couldn’t be any more familiar with it than he already was. Sherman did his best to imagine “wandering there every night,” but it made him dizzy. Each time they circled around the town, they observed the same episode—an old man starting a campfire right in the middle of the road. The fire only smoldered, and they choked on the thick smoke. They bypassed it and walked out to the fields, but couldn’t help looking back at that man. He was an old man, who was bent over when he walked—his head nearly bumping the ground. The man stood absentmindedly in the thick smoke; the melodious sound of a flute came from behind him. Because they ran into him so often, Sherman felt he should speak to him.

  “Do you live near here, sir?”

  “Yes, right over there.” He pointed to the wasteland behind him. “There are quite a few wild dogs here. You have to be careful in the suburbs.”

  Feiyuan told Sherman that this person was creating a smoke screen—to cover up the garden behind him. The sound of the flute came from there. Sherman wanted to look at the garden, but Feiyuan didn’t. He said the garden seemed near, but if you walked toward it, you’d never reach it. He had tried this a long time ago. Sherman asked about the wild dogs, and Feiyuan answered, “Wild dogs? They’re his dogs!” Sherman was puzzled. Why hadn’t he seen the garden? The next time he ran into the old man, he pushed through the smoke screen and took a good look, but he still saw nothing. Feiyuan laughed at him for “trying in vain.” He didn’t understand. Feiyuan said, “Not everyone can see it.” This incident made him glum, but he believed Feiyuan was telling the truth. He sighed to himself, “Pebble Town is really a wonderland!” He recalled that when he first came to the frontier, his adoptive father brought him to Pebble Town for sightseeing. It was deep in the autumn, and very cold, but quite a few barebacked men were standing under the poplar trees, facing the snow mountain and letting the wind blow over them. His adoptive father told him these people were wind bathing; people said this could prolong one’s life. Pebble Town residents loved competing to see who would live longer. This made Sherman think: Pebble Town didn’t have a large population, but there wasn’t one secluded place. There was no way to find a desolate place to be alone, because someone was always already there—this old man, for instance. Sherman couldn’t even see what he was doing all year long in this desolate area because he hid everything from view with that strange smoke screen.

  Feiyuan worked in his shop until late at night. Actually, there wasn’t much business at night, but he liked working then. Sherman kept him company on one occasion. Everyone else had already gone home when an old woman dressed in red entered and sat at a table. Lowering his voice, Feiyuan told Sherman that she had cancer and wasn’t allowed to eat mutton. She came just to chat with him. He and Sherman sat down across from her.

  “Today is the thirtieth anniversary of my coming here. When I was young, I worked on a tramp steamer.” She spoke easily, and her color was good.

  “A tramp steamer!” Feiyuan was a little surprised. “How did you keep track of time on board?”

  “Not easily. All the days were the same—the sun rose and the sun set. There was no way to keep track of time. Calendars didn’t help much, either.”

  “Ah, ah . . .” Feiyuan opened his mouth; he didn’t know what to say.

  Sherman felt that he and Feiyuan were acting like idiots in front of this old woman. Especially him. He had no idea what he should say to her.

  “This friend of yours: is he also counting the days?” she asked kindly, but Feiyuan was flustered and began to stutter.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps. Is he? No, no, that’s not right. I should say, yes . . .”

  When the old woman took her leave, the black cat in the shop howled at her.

  “I don’t think she’ll die anytime soon,” Sherman said.

  “Oh—” Feiyuan mused for a moment, then said, “She cried just now. She comes here late at night to cry. The day she came to Pebble Town, she was carrying a small suitcase and squinting at the sky. Back then, I was still dreaming of becoming a soldier. Oh, it seems just like yesterday . . .”

  Sherman definitely hadn’t seen her cry. Feiyuan suggested that they sit beside the street for a while. He turned off the light and moved the chairs outside. By then, no one was out, and this little street had fallen asleep. Breathing the night air, Feiyuan’s figure seemed to be diminishing, and his voice came from far away.

  “Sherman, have you counted?”

  Overcome by drowsiness, Sherman struggled to say, “Not yet. But I will!”

  When they parted ways, the dew had already fallen. Sherman felt his way home through the dark and did his best to make no noise. The bed was empty. When he lay down, he heard a strange, obscure sound. It was terrifying. He had heard it a long time ago when he had stood on the ocean floor to get away from the head of the orphanage. He turned on the light and got up. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the room. He saw that his wife Yuanqing was sleeping in another room, the room that had been their daughter’s. She slept soundly, snoring lightly.

  Sherman dressed and went to the kitchen to cook noodles for the two of them.

  “Where did you go? I haven’t slept the whole night. It’s really frightening,” she said, her eyelids drooping.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “You mean you didn’t hear? There’s a strange sound in this room!”

  She stamped her feet furiously and went to work without eating. Sherman locked the door behind her and ate his breakfast.

  Just then, the sound came again, though only faintly. If you didn’t concentrate, you’d miss it. Sherman looked down from the window and saw a group of kids jumping rope. When they swung the rope, it whooshed. So was this the noise he’d heard? No, no, it wasn’t.

  After eating, he went back to sleep, letting that sound keep him company. It wasn’t as frightening in the daytime, after all. He woke from a trance with a start. A thought came to him: Was this the counting time that the old woman had spoken of? It appeared that he was her opposite: when he had stood at the floor of the ocean to escape the search of the orphanage head, he counted the time; as soon as he climbed ashore, he forgot it. This is to say: only when you remember this sound does this sound appear. Maybe his wife Yuanqing was skilled at this, and so she finally grew frustrated with him. He said to himself, “Sherman, Sherman, you’ve idled away too much time.” Feeling regretful, he went back to sleep.

  After awakening, he still remembered this incident, so he looked for Feiyuan in the afternoon.

/>   “The old woman is gone. Last night at the tumor hospital. She didn’t suffer.”

  “She was beautiful,” Sherman sighed.

  “Yes, there are many beautiful women in Pebble Town. When she arrived, however, she looked ordinary. Her face was dark. But her eyes were charming in a special way. The longer she stayed here, the more beautiful she became. Oh, these women.”

  Sherman was touched by Feiyuan’s words. It occurred to him that his wife was beautiful, too, as was Liujin. He wasn’t sure where his relationship with Liujin was heading.

  The afternoon sun shone on Feiyuan’s face. His thin, dark face was unusually alive. Sherman thought the blood of ancient soldiers ran through his veins.

  After they ate at Feiyuan’s small shop, customers started coming in. Sherman sat to one side helping him make mutton kebabs. While absorbed in this work, he heard that sound again. He looked up at Feiyuan. Feiyuan was stupefied; he was like a stone statue enveloped in a fog of light blue smoke. After a while, “the stone statue” finally began to move, but only stiffly. Sherman thought this was simply interference from that sound.

  Feiyuan quietly told Sherman: the person sitting on the third seat on the left is the old woman’s son. Like his mother, he doesn’t come to eat mutton kebabs. But he doesn’t come to chat, either. He wants a cup of clear tea, and then he looks out the window. Sherman thought the middle-aged man was quite composed, as if contemplating a problem. He wasn’t at all like someone whose mother had just died. He puffed on a cigarette and then slowly spat out the smoke. Seen through the smoke, his face looked longer. “He burrowed into a crack in a cliff on the ocean floor,” Feiyuan said. Sherman quietly asked Feiyuan, “Where does he work?” “On a tramp steamer. On the ocean. Where else could it be? He took his mother’s place. He’s been here a month.”