by Can Xue
He washed his hands and tidied his clothing, then walked toward José and the baby.
“Baby has grown some more. Her eyes remind me of the trumpet shells in my hometown.”
José handed his daughter to him, and he lifted her over his head. The baby chortled so loudly that people standing in the road outside the guesthouse could hear her. She was already sturdy. She lifted her little arms high.
“I hear that as soon as you pick her up, she starts laughing,” José said contentedly.
“Mr. José, Baby and I were brought together by fate.”
The happiness falling on him was so sudden: carrying the baby, Qiming circled around the flowerbed several times. He kept lifting her toward the sky. Her merry laughter filled the flower garden.
Finally, though wishing he could go on like this, Qiming returned the baby to José.
“How about your being her adoptive father?” José said.
“She’s truly an active baby.”
Qiming used his sleeve to wipe away the tears spilling from his eyes and sighed emotionally. Just now, when he had lifted the baby toward the sky, he had clearly seen a sail and mast. A boat with an invisible hull sailed into the clouds.
“How many years have passed?” he seemed to be asking José, yet also asking himself.
But José responded, “Now I understand the director’s goodwill.”
José and the baby had left quite a while ago, but Qiming was still drenched in sentimental happiness. He had made up his mind: he would visit this child often at José’s place.
Qiming wondered if—in separating Nancy from her child—the director was showing that she expected even more of her. A woman could certainly change in that old, somewhat gloomy building overlooking the barren hill. She would become even more of a Pebble Town resident. It seemed that ever since the day they arrived in Pebble Town, his life had been bound up with theirs. Back then, as he stood in the river, he had been really curious about the two young people struggling ahead on the road across from him. As he swept the floor, Qiming thought back to these events. After sweeping the walkways, he leaned on the broom as he used to do and gazed at the distant snow mountain. And so he remembered that it had been a long time since he’d thought of the goddess in his heart. Before he realized it, some impurities invaded his pure imagination.
He returned to his room, filled a basin with cold water, and began once more to wind bathe.
“Hey, Qiming, do you want to go back to our hometown to visit?” Haizai had emerged from somewhere.
“No. I think it’s impossible. Wasn’t there a tsunami there?”
“Hunh. The village is gone, but traces of it are left in the land. I guess those traces can be found here, too, so we might as well look for them.”
Haizai grimaced. Qiming asked if he would stay this time—if he wanted to grow old in Pebble Town. Haizai didn’t answer. He looked around and asked if he could lie down on the bed.
He took off his shoes and got into bed, saying he was terribly tired and really had to rest for a while. Then he would take Qiming to see his hometown. While still talking, he suddenly began to snore. Qiming thought, The “hometown” he spoke of probably isn’t far from here.
Qiming locked the door and walked out to the street. He was afraid the director would see Haizai, and he knew she wouldn’t be happy. He bought eggs, green onions, and flour, intending to make pancakes for Haizai. But unfortunately, the director spotted him. Noticing his purchases, she smiled and said, “The demons that climbed out of the abyss can’t be driven away. We’d better take care of ourselves.”
The director followed Qiming home. Haizai was still snoring. The director bent down and peered at Haizai’s face. She turned and sat on a small bamboo chair that Qiming provided. Suddenly, she bent her head and buried her face in her hands. Qiming was stunned: Why was the well-respected director—so smart and strong—acting like a little girl?
It was a long time before the director looked up. Qiming saw that she was perplexed.
“Qiming, do you still recognize me?” she asked.
“Of course. You’re our director.” Qiming’s heart pounded, and his voice shook.
“That’s good. I thought you wouldn’t recognize me. Just now, I went back again to that hospital in the interior. I was lying on the table in the operating room. Outside the window, the yellow sand was billowing. The doctor gave me a face transplant.”
Exhausted, she massaged her eyes, and then looked up. She asked Qiming to feel her forehead.
Her forehead was ice-cold. Qiming stopped himself from crying out by clapping his hand over his mouth.
The director’s voice seemed to be coming from a crack in the wall when she said, “You’re startled, aren’t you? This is what happens to me whenever the past crosses my mind.”
She had no sooner spoken than the loud, clear sound of a child’s crying came from outside. Qiming opened the door, and all at once the room brightened. He noticed that color had returned to the director’s face. José was carrying his daughter and walking by from the flowerbed. The director stood up. Looking determined, she was once more her usual self. She strode quickly toward José and his daughter.
Haizai woke up.
“I crushed and killed a little girl with my wheelbarrow. The mountain road was so slippery that I couldn’t stop.”
Huddled in the quilt, he sat on the bed and stared wildly at that blocked-up wall. Then he ordered Qiming to close the door because the rays of light would make him “go on a rampage.” “I’m not accustomed to an environment that’s too transparent,” he said.
He arched his back and walked along the wall, sniffing as he went. Ignoring him, Qiming began to cook. Each time a pancake was finished, Haizai snatched it and ate it all, saying he was starving. “For the past several days, I’ve neglected my physical needs.” Qiming finally used up all of his flour, but Haizai was still hungry. Qiming was a good cook: the aroma of onions and eggs permeated the small room.
“I’ve slept and I’ve eaten. Ha! Now who’s telling a story?” Haizai said as he wiped his mouth.
He said someone was telling a story in the garden outside the gate. He had listened intermittently: the story seemed to be about a goose flying south. He asked if Qiming had heard it. Qiming opened the door and looked outside. When he came back in, he said no one was outside. There were two birds in the garden. Haizai still insisted that someone was telling a story; maybe it was the man with the child. Haizai said a strong homesick feeling dominated the story. As he talked, Haizai sniffed again at the wall. He looked anguished.
“What do you smell, Haizai?”
“My hometown. This is quite an unusual wall.”
“Yes, it can change irregularly, and at night it can disappear.”
Haizai sat down on the bamboo chair and told Qiming that he had traveled through more than half the country and at last he had come here. He felt he had indeed returned to his hometown. Wasn’t this true? Qiming said he felt the same way, and so he had settled down in this small town. He didn’t want to go anywhere else. After saying this, he immediately recalled his goddess. At this moment, he really wanted to talk with Haizai about this beauty, but he didn’t know what to say, so he kept repeating a silly remark, “The frontier women are really beautiful, really beautiful, really beautiful. Nowhere else . . .”
At night, the two of them went to the poplar park again; they vaulted over the low fence to get in. When they jumped down, they startled some birds. Qiming was relieved that the old guard hadn’t been awakened.
Haizai lay on his stomach on the grass and wanted Qiming to do so, too. As soon as Qiming lay down, he heard people talking.
They spoke with a southern accent: they seemed to be quarreling about something. Their voices came from underground. If you placed your ear close to the ground, you could hear better. Haizai whispered to Qiming that this was the old guard’s family. When he had first come here, he had realized that this park belonged to that family. In other
words, in the daytime it belonged to the visitors and at night it belonged to the guard’s family. “After midnight, they go back to the hill in the south. That’s their family’s tea plantation, and it’s wreathed in mist most of the year.” Just then, some animals appeared under the dim yellow street light in the distance. They were rather large—one, two, three—and even more of them. Haizai said they were southern tigers. They didn’t attack people, so one needn’t be afraid. Qiming asked, “Why don’t they? They did when they were in the south.” Haizai began laughing. He laughed so loud that it startled the tigers. They stopped in their tracks. Qiming was shaking all over. At the same time, the family that was underground began arguing even more vehemently. The southern tigers apparently heard this, too. They couldn’t seem to decide where to go. Then they walked toward Qiming and Haizai. There were probably at least six of them, making no noise as they walked on the grass. Haizai urged Qiming to lie on his stomach, too, without moving, and said it would be best to close his eyes if he didn’t want to be upset. This advice was ridiculous, but under the circumstances Qiming did shut his eyes. In no time, the tigers did step on his back. Though this hurt, it wasn’t life threatening. He counted: probably three of them walked over his body. They disappeared over the other side of the fence. From underground came the sound of the family crying, and all of a sudden Qiming heard his father’s voice in the midst of the weeping. The voice was loud, yet he couldn’t understand what Father was saying. In the end, Qiming got tired of listening.
“Qiming, Qiming! Quiet down!” Haizai said, “Why did you call your father?”
“I didn’t say anything, did I? What’s going on?”
“Hunh. You summoned the tigers back. Luckily, they don’t eat people here.”
When Qiming noticed that they had appeared under the streetlight again, he opened his mouth in alarm. Now he dared to observe them. Qiming had never seen tigers before. The closest one was looking at him; the expression in its eyes greatly resembled that of Nancy’s baby. Would its voice also be like the baby’s? Under the tiger’s gaze, Qiming started feeling feverish. Lying beside him, Haizai began bickering with the father he had just heard. Father’s tone was persistent; Haizai sounded desperate. But it was hard to hear what they were arguing about. Qiming pinched his face hard, struggling to stay awake. His father seemed to be referring to the watch, blaming Haizai for losing it. Haizai started crying and explained himself, saying he had buried the watch in the safest place—at the bottom of the ocean. Nobody would be able to reach that trench. Qiming was startled when he heard this. He felt his breast pocket: the watch was still there. The voices were slurred; he didn’t know what they were arguing about. Looking up, he saw that the tiger’s eyes had become two green flames, perhaps because it had walked from the streetlight to the recesses of the poplars. The other tigers had disappeared. How beautiful the tiger’s eyes were! Why didn’t Nancy like such eyes? Qiming began sweating: his clothes were drenched. He turned aside, avoided looking at the tiger, and muttered, “I want to go home . . .” His muffled voice sounded like thunder. Haizai jumped up and rebuked him, shouting: “It’s midnight. Who brought the baby here?”
Qiming stood up, too. Side by side, the two of them walked ahead, following the faint sound of the baby’s crying. They went through the grass, the flowerbed, the poplar grove, and the dark bosk. Just then, they saw another grassy area stretching to the horizon. The baby’s crying was coming from some place ahead of them.
“The old guard’s kingdom is truly immense!” Qiming sighed emotionally.
“Shhhh. Don’t make a sound. Damn!”
As Haizai cursed, they saw the fence, and the baby’s crying faded away. An iron door appeared in the back. They went through it and left the park. Then Haizai headed in a different direction with his head down, and Qiming went home alone. When he passed through the deserted Culture Plaza, the bell was ringing non-stop. But it was midnight, and he was the only one who heard it.
Chapter 6
LIUJIN AND ROY
This summer, Liujin’s life was a little upended. She wondered if this was related to the Snow Mountain Hotel being torn down. Often when she was alone at home, memories of the hotel would suddenly surge up for no reason and upset her. She had named that hotel “Tumulus.” Occasionally, she wondered how her relationship with Sherman might develop in the future. The Snow Mountain Hotel wouldn’t be in the picture. Back then, she was so young, and her memories related to the hotel were so vivid—as vivid as leaves in sunlight . . . But now, this obscure, shapeless relationship with Sherman was insubstantial—like a loose gossamer floating in the air. The long summer would end soon. The little wagtail hadn’t appeared for three days; it must have gone somewhere else to play—maybe to the neighbors’ courtyard, where many sandthorns grew. Walking past, Liujin heard the hullabaloo of birds singing, and stopped for a moment. Loneliness rose in her heart. Deep down, she still feared being irrevocably involved with this person whose background was murky. Once, he had put a lot of frogs in her courtyard, but they had all vanished without a trace. Thinking of this made her uncomfortable.
Liujin tossed and turned in bed in the dark. She heard a muffled explosion coming from the direction of the snow mountain. She thought, The snow leopards must be terrified and running for their lives on the mountain. The sad, tragic scene made her close her eyes tightly, but she couldn’t stop her mind from racing. The night before, she had asked Uncle Meng Yu, “What was Pebble Town like forty years ago?”
The old man paused in his handiwork and looked up at the sky. Then he pointed at her chest, bent his head again, and continued twisting his rope. Liujin was very confused, but she still gained a hazy enlightenment. Standing in the curtain of night, she thought it over repeatedly: bit by bit, some events from the past came into focus, and she thought she was one step closer to the answer.
It had been a night just like this. Her insomniac father—as always—had moved a rattan recliner outside, placed it under a tree, and lain there looking up at the sky. In her dreams, Liujin heard an animal howling—each sound more shrill than the last one. She awakened with a start. Feeling her way in the dark, she walked out of the bedroom, through the living room, and outside. She stared at the courtyard and saw five black animals circling her father. The moon was unusually bright. Her father’s head lolled to one side. He was sleeping. All at once, Liujin felt terrified and helpless. Was her father dead? She screamed: “Pa—Pa!” Those animals (it seemed they were bears) turned around and looked at her. Liujin retreated hastily behind the door and prepared to close it. Luckily, it wasn’t the wild animals that approached her. It was Mama. Her mother was barefoot; she wasn’t even wearing slippers. She asked Liujin if she was hungry. “No. Mama, look at Papa!” she said. Mama took her small hand and led her back to her bedroom. As she settled Liujin into bed, she said, “You’re growing up.” She tucked her in and left the room. Liujin gaped at the shadow of the tree swaying on the wall. The animals howled again. A bloody scene of her papa’s neck being snapped came into her mind. It was a long time before she fell asleep.
“Does your neck hurt, Papa?”
“Oh, a little. When I sleep on the rattan recliner, there’s this pressure on my neck. What is it?”
Liujin was ten years old then.
Staring at Uncle Meng Yu’s strong, rough hands, Liujin was reminded of the animals in the dark night. Had the animals in Pebble Town run down from the snow mountain, or had they emerged from underground? After she grew up, she encountered all kinds of animals numerous times in the Snow Mountain Hotel. As time passed, she got used to seeing them. All of a sudden, Amy’s stirring singing came from across the street. Uncle Meng Yu was working with his head bent, and made no response. Perhaps the singer was no longer Amy, because the voice was mixed with a masculine quality. When you listened a little longer, you became even more confused.
There were seldom birds in Liujin’s garden. She noticed that the nests in the poplars had been abandoned. In the past w
hen she came home from work, these little creatures greeted her. Even at night, one or two skipped around in the flowerbed or under the trees. And then, only the wagtail was left. Now, not only had the wagtail vanished, but so had the gecko.
“Uncle Meng Yu, I think you’re a local.”
The old man stopped working for a while—a long while, and then went back to twisting the rope. Liujin walked away and bumped into a person in the shadows of the fence. The person took hold of both of her legs. Liujin bent over. She recognized the big eyes: it was the boy who’d worn leaves. He said, “Liujin, I sneaked in. The old man sitting at the entrance didn’t let me in. Will you sit here with me for five minutes?”
Liujin sat with him on the grass below the fence. The boy hugged her arm to his chest. He was excited, but said nothing. Liujin stroked his round head.
“You’re like a hedgehog.”
He giggled.
“Where are your clothes that were plaited from leaves?”
He still said nothing. He just rested his head on Liujin’s arm, as if he wanted to go to sleep. After a while, Liujin withdrew her arm, stood up, and said, “I have to go in. What about you? Why don’t you come in with me? You don’t have anywhere to spend the night, do you? You can sleep on the hearth in my kitchen, okay?”
The boy sat unmoving, so Liujin went into the house by herself. When she reached the steps, she turned and saw Uncle Meng Yu leave the courtyard. She left the door open and turned on the light in the living room because she thought the boy might want to come in. If he did, he could sleep on the couch. Just as she was about to go into the bedroom, the boy entered the living room. He turned off the light and sat down on the windowsill. When Liujin drew close to him, she heard the sound of a flowing brook. Liujin asked what this noise was. He said it was the sound of his gut squirming.
“My name is Roy. I gave myself this name. Back home, I had another name.”
“Do you have to work at night, Roy?” Liujin asked, patting the boy’s shoulder.
