Let us hope that tomorrow will be even better!
It was wonderful to be singing a song popular on both sides of the straits together with their Taiwanese friends. It was quite dark by now, and far above them, the stars were pinpricks of light. Had the forest sprites emerged to light those lanterns in the sky, for the benefit of these visitors who had come such a long way? Was this their way of welcoming them to Mount Ali, of joining in these joyous, intoxicated celebrations? On a night like this, you hardly needed wine. Just the fragrance of the forest could plunge you into a deep sleep.
Mount Ali by night was steeped in beauty. Tianyi, caught up in her own fantasies, imagined jumping on a flight and coming here any weekend she wanted, to this restaurant halfway up the mountain. It would be as easy as heading to a bar in Beijing’s Sanlitun. They would brew tea from leaves freshly picked from the mountainside, and wile away the hours chatting. If it was a snowy winter’s day, they would order drunken crabs with wild Mount Ali mushrooms, and talk of days long past.
One day, this might be possible. Tomorrow would be even better.
But tomorrow was not better at all. On the way home, she stopped in Hong Kong to see her friend Di. Di had suffered a resounding defeat in her battle against Brian, her American husband, and, in a fit of depression, had headed for Hong Kong where she could at least get a long-term resident’s permit. They sat in a bar on Wan Chai pier sipping cappuccinos. Both were well into middle-age by now, and time had left its mark on them, mentally and physically.
Di told Tianyi that her war with Brian had lasted ten years, though their marriage had lasted less than six months. Originally she had been determined to get an American green card but when, after ten years, they finally got to court, the court decided that she had no right to one. She should have guessed as much. Brian had worked for the American government, he was an American citizen, and she was just an interloper.
Di had aged in a way that Tianyi could not have imagined. She looked at her friend: ‘You don’t look like you’ve been suffering. You haven’t changed a bit …’ Tianyi laughed bitterly, and sipped her coffee. ‘I don’t know. My life has never been what I wanted it to be … I’m not living, I’m getting by. Does that make sense?’
‘Of course. Total sense.’ Di nodded. ‘Everyone’s getting by. But if you can get by, you’re doing alright. Look at me, for the last ten years I haven’t even been getting by …’ Dull tears ran down her face.
‘Don’t think that, you’re doing well now, aren’t you? You’ve got a Hong Kong resident’s permit.’
‘But now I’m asking myself, what’s the point?’ Di suddenly became animated. ‘Ten years, ten of the best years of my life, all for a resident’s permit. By the time I got a Hong Kong resident’s permit, the island belonged to the mainland again. What was the point?’
‘There never has been a point to any of it, you fighting for a resident’s permit or me writing for a living. Absolutely no point at all. But we have to find a reason for living, right? We have to have something to do. Oh, by the way, I met Zheng in America.’
‘Oh, did you? Has he changed? It must have been quite emotional to see him … after all these years.’
‘Not at all, I don’t know why. I think we all live in our own imaginations, really. I can’t tell anymore what’s really happened and what I’ve imagined. Everything’s so confused. She suddenly stopped talking. Far out on the horizon, where the sea met the sky, the sunset glow had caught her attention. It was utterly beautiful.
‘We aren’t waiting for the sun, we’re waiting for the sunset,’ a voice seemed to whisper in her ear.
Those were Zheng’s words. Three years ago in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They had been in the downstairs cafe, sipping their drinks and looking out at the sunset sky.
The sunset is lovely, but what if we wait and it doesn’t come, there’s only darkness?
‘What were you saying?’ asked Di, puzzled by Tianyi’s distracted expression.
‘Nothing …’
‘You may live in your imagination, but I don’t. I’ve always lived in the real world.’ Di blew a lock of hair from her mouth. She wore her hair short these days, and her face and neck were mottled with age spots. ‘I’ve got a secret to tell you. For a while, I was very ill and almost died. Really. It wasn’t scary. Death is only a window, once you open it and look out …’
Tianyi looked at her, but said nothing.
‘I’ve come face to face with death quite a few times now. When Brian and I had our worst fights, I wanted to open the window and jump. We lived on the twenty-fourth floor back then. It was really high, and once when I looked down a young girl in red looked back up at me. For some reason I thought it was you. For an instant, it took me back to the time when you used to wear that red skirt, and my sister and I used to wear the patterned ones. You’d just moved in, and the house was full of unpacked boxes. The place was empty, and the three of us used to play in there.’
‘Xian … I haven’t seen her in ages …’
‘Mum says she’s got herself a boyfriend and is about to get married.’
‘She’s brave! That’s a big step.’
‘Of course, don’t you remember she was always the bravest of the three of us?’
Tianyi didn’t reply. The sunset had faded. Before long, darkness would descend on the world again.
Back home in Beijing, she felt she was suffocating again. Her son was thinner, and seemed to want to keep her at arm’s length. Lian was as miserable as ever and ignored her. She forced herself to put on a show of generosity, and brought out the Lacoste shirt and T-shirts she had bought for Lian. He turned away without so much as looking at them.
He came back with a piece of paper, which he threw at her. She glanced at it, eyes widening. We are sorry to announce the death of People’s Liberation Army General Staff Headquarters Comrade Vice-Minister Yang Huairen.
‘Uncle? Uncle’s dead? When did that happen?’
‘When? When you were off on your travels, that’s when,’ Lian said, with a sarcastic curl of the lips.
She looked at the date. The third day of her trip to Taiwan.
‘What about Aunt Hui?’
‘Your other uncle wrote saying your aunt wanted him to tell us the news. She absolutely doesn’t want a visit, she’s just letting the family know and then she wants nothing more to do with you.’ Lian sounded delighted at the news.
‘No, I’m going to see her, right now.’ She jumped to her feet. Go ahead and have your dinner. Don’t wait for me.’ Behind her, Lian asked sarcastically: ‘Aren’t you jumping the gun a bit? Are you sure it’s the right thing to do? If she really doesn’t want to see you, you’ll just get egg on your face!’
She ignored him and went anyway. Her uncle and aunt’s house held such happy childhood memories for her. Now, though, it was deserted. Just a couple of security guards, motionless in their sentry boxes. Not a breath of life in the place. Even the trees and flowers had disappeared.
In 1971, her uncle had been implicated in the fall from grace of Mao’s one-time comrade-in-arms, Lin Biao. Demoted to chief of staff of Fuzhou Military Region far away in the south-east of the country, he returned to Beijing only when he retired. Tianyi visited them once. Aunt Hui had seemed much less spiky, even cracking jokes as she made chicken and mushroom stew. Her food was as good as ever. She had put on a lot of weight and was comfortably plump. When they had finished eating, she lay down and opened Anna Karenina. Then she spoke in a low voice: ‘The old man’s just like Karenin in this book, he’s never given me an ounce of freedom in all our life together. He’s crushed the life out of me. If it hadn’t have been for him, I would have gone to university!’ Tianyi looked at her, bewildered. Aunt Hui sounded like the bitter, sharp-tongued woman of the old days. She wondered if that would ever change.