by Can Xue
“Yes. I work the night shift. I don’t have a specific job. The job I’ve given myself is to look at pedestrians’ eyes. There are many pedestrians on city streets at night. I wander among them. One after another, I look at their eyes and ask, ‘Do you see me?’ None of them does. But I still have to ask because it’s my job.”
Liujin sighed softly. She thought of the wagtail. The boy’s words made her tear up. Whose child was he? She looked at his hands through her blurred, teary eyes. A white fluorescence came from two of his fingernails—the index finger and middle finger of his right hand.
“You see better in the dark. Is that right?”
“Yes, I was trained to be this way. My family used to live in a grotto. My father was a hunter. We were quite well off. Father wouldn’t let us turn on lights. He wanted us to train our eyes, and so I had a lot of practice. I saw you crying just now.”
“I see. Then tell me about these two fingernails.” Liujin held up his hand.
“I don’t know. I didn’t always have them, but then I did.”
Just then, Liujin heard a bird flapping its wings. Had the wagtail returned? She asked Roy if he saw a bird. Roy said the sound came from his tummy.
“I want to sleep. Roy, are you going to spend the night on the windowsill?”
“I’m on the night shift. I have to go out after a while. Hey, Liujin, your room is crowded with people!”
It was after midnight when Roy left Liujin’s house. The soft sound of the door closing awakened Liujin. She put on shoes and dashed outside. She followed him at a distance. After taking the main road for a while, Roy turned and headed toward the train station. He was tall and walked rapidly. Liujin had to jog in order to catch up with him.
The lights were on in the train station, but no one was there: it was silent and even a little eerie. Roy walked to the end of the platform, raised his arms, and cried out loudly. Liujin hid behind the square pillar and observed him. When he had shouted seven or eight times, Liujin heard a subtle roar. She thought it was an illusion because she knew there was no midnight train here. The sound quickly vanished. Liujin thought, It’s definitely an illusion. Roy was still shouting—shouting himself hoarse, and the roar sounded again. It was real. After a few seconds, a whistle blew, and the train rushed past in a cloud of smoke. Liujin saw Roy wobble and almost fall off the platform. Her heart sank. But nothing happened. The train slowed to a halt, and many people surged out of the car. Liujin had never imagined anything like this. Was it because it was a holiday? The entire long platform was filled with people, and Roy was being jostled. All of them knew where they were going. He was the only idler, and he was always in other people’s way. Liujin saw him stay resolutely on the platform, craning his neck to take stock of the passengers who were walking with heads bent. They frequently pushed him roughly away. Liujin shouted at him a few times, but her voice was drowned out by the noise. Although she clung to the pillar, the passengers hurrying past jostled her, too. It was unbearable. These people were dashing around madly! Were they all in an urgent hurry? Finally, she was pushed over. The one at fault was actually an old woman, and the suitcase she was carrying also hit Liujin in the back, as if she were attacking Liujin. When Liujin fell, she thought she might be trampled to death. But no one stepped on her. They all strode over her as they passed by. Liujin was surprised all over again—how could the train hold so many people?
A long time passed, and then she heard Roy whispering to her. By now, hardly anyone was left on the platform. Roy crouched beside her, a large garland around his neck.
“Are you hurt, Liujin?”
“Tell me, Roy, how did you summon the train?” Liujin asked him sternly.
“I don’t know.” Roy narrowed his eyes and stared into space.
“You come to the station often, don’t you?”
“Yes. Liujin, these passengers didn’t recognize me. It’s depressing. But today, they gave me this garland. Look—they’re irises.”
“Who gave them to you?”
“I don’t know. I was pushed over, and when I got up again, I had this.”
By now, the platform was deserted. Roy supported Liujin and headed for the exit. It was unusually dark away from the platform. Even the passenger cars melted into the darkness and became invisible. Liujin thought, It’ll probably be light soon. Where does this boy stay in the daytime?
“I sleep in the park,” Roy answered, as if he had heard her question.
“The poplar park?”
“Yes. No one there would drive me away. I know the old gatekeeper there.”
The lobby was unlit, and the two of them felt their way out. When they finally reached the exit, an enormous sound came from the darkness behind them, as though the door to another world had closed. They discovered that they were illuminated by the bright streetlights. Liujin was surprised to see that Roy’s garland had withered, as if the flowers had been picked two days earlier. She asked Roy about this. He smiled a little absentmindedly and said, “Maybe they’ve been baked like this because of the fire on my body. In the dark, sparks explode when I pound my chest.”
“Do you sleep well in the park?”
“Yes. The sun thaws me out. The old man is over ninety years old. He keeps me company. He’s lonely.”
They were going in opposite directions, so they parted at the station’s entrance. Liujin stood under a lamppost until darkness swallowed the boy’s shadow. She realized that, in spite of herself, she kept silently calling, “Roy! Roy!” even after he had walked far away. He had made too great an impact on her. Why did a person like this exist?
“Have you seen this child?” Liujin asked Sherman.
“No. When you talked about this just now, I kept puzzling over it. This boy, this Roy—did he come from that tropical garden?”
“Oh, the garden! I know what you mean. My parents told me of it. It’s the very most illusory place. The boy Roy, however, is a real person.”
“Hunh. Maybe an imaginary thing has sneaked into our daily lives. I’m not sure. I’ve been to the riverside, a dirty river. There you can see what your parents told you about.”
Although Sherman was drinking tea calmly as he sat in the rattan chair, Liujin sensed his panic. It was because of the topic they were discussing. For some reason, Liujin’s yearning for this man was ebbing. She was looking in all directions, searching with her eyes for the bird. But she was dimly aware that the bird wouldn’t reappear.
She felt both regretful and relieved. The wind was cool, carrying the smell of the snow mountain with it. Liujin took a deep breath and thought of the riddle of the snow leopard. In spite of herself, she spoke of what she was thinking: “The question of Roy is the riddle of the snow leopard.”
Sherman looked a little flustered. What kind of woman was she? He had never figured her out, and he probably never would. But there was one thing for sure: both of them were puzzling over the same thing. The stars in the night sky were so beautiful—beautiful and large. You couldn’t see a sight like this in the interior. Looking at this night sky, they couldn’t discuss anything. Although neither spoke, each one heard the other’s silent sigh.
“When I was a child, I often got into trouble, so the orphanage cook would put me on the high hearth with my legs dangling in the air. That’s how I grew up. You can see how wretched my childhood was.”
Liujin saw Uncle Meng Yu arriving early at the courtyard. He sat on a stone stool at the entrance. He hadn’t brought his basketwork. This was unprecedented. Sherman stood up and took his leave, saying, “Liujin, I’d really like to sit here forever. It’s like sitting halfway up the snow mountain!”
Liujin saw him off. She noticed the two men taking stock of each other for a second. Uncle Meng Yu’s face was in the dark, Sherman’s in the light.
After Sherman left, Uncle Meng Yu took a small birdcage out from under his overcoat. When he placed it on the ground, Liujin saw the white wagtail. Was it the one she was missing? She squatted down and opened the doo
r of the cage. The little bird ran out. But it didn’t run far: it jumped back and forth around them.
“His mind is filled with thoughts of death,” he suddenly said very clearly.
Liujin was startled. She had never heard the old man utter such clear sounds. She was familiar with this way of speaking—filled with vestiges of the past and reminding her of her parents.
“Who are you speaking of?”
“Hunh. Who else?”
Although it was still warm at the end of summer, Liujin felt ice-cold all over, and her teeth were chattering. She felt as if she were on top of the snow mountain. She looked down: the little bird had actually gone back into the cage of its own accord. This bird must be hers: the old man had actually domesticated it. She said she had to go in because she was cold. The old man said nothing, but just looked at her from the shadows.
After Liujin went back inside, she took heavy winter pajamas out of the cabinet and put them on. From the window, she saw Uncle Meng Yu bend down and pick up the birdcage. Then he put it back inside his big coat. She looked down and opened a drawer: lying inside was her mother’s most recent letter. She had read it once during the day. Her mother told her that her father’s insomnia was no better. Recently, he had found a new interest: after midnight, he would go downstairs and stroll the smoggy streets. He would do this until dawn and then come back and sleep. When he came inside in the morning, he was always carrying something. He would put it on the table and then go to sleep. Mother saw that these were their household objects from long ago—long before they had gone to the frontier. They included a lampshade, a shoehorn, a ruler, a bonsai plant, and a copper wind-bell. Mother asked Father where he had found these things. He said that in places where the smog was the thickest, he would scratch a few times in the air and grab one of these things. After doing that, he could sleep. If he couldn’t find anything, it was tragic—because if he didn’t sleep, he would periodically think of committing suicide. “My willpower is weakening by the day,” he said.
When Liujin reread this letter, she felt a little gratified—as she had many times before. She recalled that Father sometimes hadn’t slept for an entire week when they lived here. But now, nostalgic memories could draw him into dreamland: this was great! It was late at night when she finished reading the letter. The old man had left long ago. With no small animals visiting, this home was depressing. In spite of herself, she scratched in the air a few times, but nothing was there. She was a little frustrated with Uncle Meng Yu. Why did he have to take her bird? Had he meant to make her courtyard desolate? Recently, Amy had grown even prettier: her beauty was overbearing. Liujin felt that her dark eyes spewed fire. In the market courtyard, Amy hid among sheep and made no sound. For some reason, Liujin thought she was carrying a knife. She seemed to have a backbone of steel. How much had her relationship with Uncle Meng Yu and Grandpa Meng Yu evolved? Liujin couldn’t imagine. The activities of the people in the house across the street were growing more and more mysterious.
She had gone to bed and turned off the light earlier, but now thinking of what Uncle Meng Yu had said, she couldn’t sleep. The more she thought, the more she stewed. So she got dressed and walked out past the courtyard.
Sherman sat under the light next to the street, looking at his hands. He brought his left hand up to his myopic eyes, then moved it a little farther away, then brought it closer, then away. He kept repeating this.
“Sherman, are you crying?”
Liujin moved closer to him and sat down, and Sherman hugged her. All of a sudden, Liujin was alarmed that she actually felt no desire at all. What was wrong with her?
“I’m not crying, Liujin. It’s something inside me that’s crying. I saw him. He’s a white person, and he blocked my path! See, Liujin, everything is dark. Only this small spot where we’re sitting is light! But it will gradually darken, too.”
Sherman released her and stood up. He tottered ahead without looking back.
Liujin went back inside. She slept soundly. When she woke up, she saw Roy sitting on the windowsill and drinking water directly from her thermos. Liujin was moved by this and got dressed quickly and made the bed. Outside, the sun shone brightly.
Roy drained the thermos, wiped his mouth, and said, “Liujin, I think someone recognized me yesterday, but he wavered.”
“What kind of person?”
“So tall that I couldn’t see his eyes. I saw his eyes only when he bent over. Then he straightened up again. I think he must be as tall as a two-story building. When he was walking in the crowd of people, I couldn’t see him. Alas, I missed my chance.”
Liujin called him into the kitchen and gave him goat’s milk and pancakes. He ate quickly—like a small animal. When they drank tea, Liujin asked where he bathed every day. He said, in the brook. He had two changes of clothing. He paid attention to personal hygiene. Moving closer to Liujin, he asked, “Do I smell?”
“No, it’s just the smell of a leopard’s coat. When you’re asleep, your skin probably reveals the pattern of a leopard’s skin,” Liujin said, smiling a little.
“Really? You really think so? And then does it disappear as soon as I wake up? I’d really like to see it!”
He stood and picked up a watering can that he had placed behind the door. He lifted it very high and sprinkled Liujin with water. She dodged out of the way and ran into the living room, grabbing a feather whisk-broom and chasing him. When she caught up with him, Roy squatted and held his head in his hands, letting her whip him. Liujin swatted at him until she was tired, then dropped the whisk-broom and sat down, and asked, “Roy, have you seen the tropical garden?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Liujin.”
“I’m speaking of banyans, durians, lichees, and mangoes.”
“Unh. Yes, I’ve seen them. And a green bird.”
“Where?”
“Inside myself. When I’m asleep, these things probably appear on my skin, too.”
Liujin wanted him to talk of these things, but he stood up, saying he had to be going because he still had to work that day. He said he’d be in the poplar park if she wanted to find him: he slept in the sun under the trees every morning. When it rained, he slept in the mailroom at the park.
He walked out into the sunshine. Liujin looked at his receding figure for a long time.
When Roy walked into the market, the people there stood motionless. In Roy’s eyes, they were like the coral trees in the ocean. Circling around these coral trees, he arrived at the courtyard in back. It was filled with sheep moving restlessly about. Roy felt dizzy and nearly fell.
“Kid, how dare you rush in here!”
A woman wearing a red skirt emerged from the herd of sheep and grabbed him by the arm.
“Don’t move! It’s dangerous. Take another look—are these sheep??” Her tone was stern.
Roy stared: sure enough, they weren’t sheep. They were snow leopards. They were entering the market rapidly from that entrance.
“Don’t move and you’ll be okay.”
After a while, the courtyard emptied out except for one leopard. Roy saw the woman in the red skirt confront the leopard with a knife. When the snow leopard charged at her, she deftly dodged away and cut a long bloody hole in the wild beast’s flank. Snarling, the injured leopard charged out of the gate, leaving a lot of blood behind. Roy stood there staring.
“Those people are all motionless,” she said, pointing at the market. “They’re used to this. If you hadn’t charged in here, you wouldn’t have seen what was happening today.”
She carefully wiped the blood from the knife and put the knife into the leather sheath at her waist.
Finally, Roy made eye contact with her. He asked hesitantly, “You—do you know who I am?”
“Of course. As soon as you came in, I could smell you. What are you planning to do now?”
“I want more people to know who I am.”
“You stubborn kid. Aren’t you afraid?”
“No.”
“Then hold your hand out!”
He held out his left hand. The woman took out her knife and traced a line in his palm. Blood gushed out, but he felt no pain. Amy knelt down, took his hand in both of hers and sucked for a while. The bleeding stopped. When she looked up, her mouth was covered with fresh blood, and Roy felt nauseated in spite of himself.
“You’re afraid,” Amy said.
“I’m not.”
When he walked out the gate, he felt top-heavy and unsteady. The people who’d been motionless like coral had now come back to life. When he made his way through the crowd, they pulled and grabbed at him and he nearly fell several times. But they helped him up. “I’m Roy! I am Roy!” he shouted as he struggled ahead.
Sherman was standing outside the market’s main entrance. He shouted, “Roy! Roy! I know who you are!”
Roy elbowed his way to the entrance. In his eyes, Sherman was a red-eyed beggar in rags. He extended his left hand to Sherman, and for a few seconds Sherman looked closely at the cut on his palm. Then he looked Roy in the face. At the same time, Sherman was scowling—recalling something.
“Did you ever sleep under the bridge, Roy?”
“No. I haven’t even seen a real bridge. After running away from home, I’ve slept wherever I could.”
Sherman kept saying “strange.” He went on, “You look a lot like the boy who sleeps under the bridge.”
“You’re mistaken.”
Dejected, Sherman dropped his gaze and looked at his feet. He was ashamed. By then, Roy felt re-energized: taking long strides, he walked into the stream of people on the street. Holding up his injured hand, he kept approaching all kinds of people, hoping that more of them would recognize him and talk with him. The strange thing was: with the cut on his palm, many people seemed to know him. Everyone nodded and waved at him. But still, no one wanted to chat with him. The moment he opened his mouth, the other person would dash away.
Roy saw that an old man standing next to the street was watching him. When Roy noticed him, he motioned Roy over. The old man had a thick, long, snow-white beard. A little grayish-blue bird stuck its head out from the beard and chirped twice in Roy’s direction. When Roy saw the little bird, tears spilled from his eyes. He said, “Grandpa, where does the little bird want to go? I know this bird.”
