indignation and sorrow —
let the pain and joy in your heart
come out and be seen in the daylight!
In the face of your critics,
their accusations pelt you like rain
— only then will new growth sprout,
fearless in the sun’s light!
My verse is a torch,
burning down all the world’s barriers.
There was warm applause that lasted a long time. Some people took photos, some shouted, others whistled, and threw hats, shoes, or empty bottles in the air.
The air was polluted, a mix of many different odours. Dizzy and headachy, Mengliu and Qizi went to an open space for fresh air. Then they saw a commotion breaking out, people running, shouting, and falling over one another. Suddenly all hell broke loose. The pair backed onto the sidewalk, and sheltered by a tree trunk. They managed not to be separated by the crowd.
At that moment they saw people walking arm in arm, forming a tight horizontal line spread across the street to the walls of the buildings on either side. Like a bulldozer, the line advanced, occasionally issuing a brief, dignified cry. About ten metres behind them, another line of people followed, advancing in identical fashion. As they moved forward in unison, the street cleared. The afternoon sun fell serenely on the scene. In the distance, the boundless sky stretched as far as the eye could see.
11
Mengliu remembered very clearly how his newly-appointed surgical assistant had taken the initiative to ask him to lunch that day. He had even gone out to the mall the night before and bought a new pair of red boxers — a girl had once said that when he wore red boxer shorts, it gave him an air of gentleness mingled with a ravaging sexiness, and he had taken it to heart. After that, he went to the salon for a haircut, shave, ear-wax removal, and trimming of his nose hairs. His nose hairs had never needed to be trimmed before. His over-zealous approach illustrated just how important the date was to him. It was the first time since his relationship with Qizi had ended all those years ago that he had taken a date — or a girl — so seriously. He made a ritual of cleaning himself, taking longer than he ever had before. He cleansed himself inside and out and, just for the sake of it, abstained from eating garlic. But still his mind floated to Qizi, and he kept confusing her with Suitang. He even found himself wondering if Suitang might be an assumed name under which Qizi had come to test him.
He dug out a designer suit he’d worn the year he attended a medical school exchange program, matching it with a good shirt and tie, and polished his shoes. He remembered how he had once elegantly laid a young foreign girl face down on his bed, caressing her back, simply because it reminded him of Qizi’s petite, pliable form. Just before going out the door, he changed everything, except the red boxers, taking pains to dress in a manner more in keeping with his professional standing. He was now dressed casually in sports shoes, white shirt under a black jacket, light grey trousers, and a subdued expression.
That day, Suitang similarly came without makeup, looking simple and pure. She was one of those girls who was all the more eye-catching in the simplest attire, like a pearl just pulled out of the water. The left side of her hair had a fiery red hairpin clipped to it. This tiny, seductive dot made Mengliu think of a widow dressed in black with a white flower pinned to her breast, but he quickly wiped that inauspicious image from his mind.
It was the first time Mengliu had gone to the restaurant. The waitress was dressed like a flight attendant, her face as welcoming as a spring breeze, eyes as brilliant as peach blossoms, her curves churning like waves, her mouth as fresh as the scent from a basket of flowers. She was respectful, caring and humble — almost ingratiating — at every moment trying to satisfy the vanity of her customers. The charming waitress, knowing it was Mengliu’s first visit, introduced him with a high degree of professionalism to the quality of their steaks, which were better than those he would find elsewhere. In their restaurant, meat from a single cow was served to only six patrons, and only the sixth and eighth ribs were selected, and after soaking for three days and three nights in the chef’s special marinade, cooked over a fire.
‘Do you know who our chef is? He is Chef Xieyong, who was employed by —!’ The charming waitress uttered an intimidating name.
Mengliu asked what was so special about the sixth and eighth ribs. The girl smiled, her look as mysterious as God’s would have been when creating humankind.
The French bread arrived on a luxurious covered tray, with little pieces of goose liver floating in glasses of wine, like beautiful girls lying on red velvet couches. The portions looked like they had been measured out for a cat, but it was all gorgeous and its extravagance was a feast for the eyes. They opened a bottle of Black Label whisky, poured it over ice, and slowly sipped at it. Suitang’s pale skin gained a rosy blush.
The steak was delayed. Mengliu and Suitang’s conversation sputtered. They talked on and off, sometimes seeming very close and sometimes very distant. The few topics they tried had short lifespans, either because she killed them or because he couldn’t manage to keep the talk up. Mengliu’s eyes fell often to Suitang’s cleavage. To call it cleavage, however, is only to describe his fantasy of it. In fact, only her collarbone was visible to him, slim and exquisite, just like the two curves of a peach on a canvas, inviting someone to add a few artistic strokes to it. Their conversation didn’t wander beyond the confines of the hospital, and from beginning to end, everything was somehow connected to illness. Of course, everyone has his or her own circle of interest, and those inside the circle rarely talk about anything outside of it. Politics, war, economics, nuclear weapons…it was clear Suitang was not interested in those things. Mengliu had a feeling that there might be words sitting in Suitang’s mouth, just waiting for her to find the right time to spit them out.
Finally the waitress came to them, poised as she swung her hips, balancing the plates. She arranged their forks and knives, gracefully poured the black pepper and onion sauces onto the few pieces of beef, her movements elaborate as those of an opera singer.
She asked, ‘Would you like me to cut it for you?’ Upon hearing Suitang’s reply, she set about with an impressive exhibition of swordplay, reminiscent of the murderous landlady Sun Erniang in Shi Nai’an’s novel Water Margin. The knife whizzed as she attacked the meat, slicing through the flesh and leaving it in a pool of gravy.
Mengliu tasted one of the slices. When he offered his heartfelt praise, the waitress’s chest swelled all the more with her pride.
The blues played in the background, mournful as a dying patient, the lingering phrases long and drawn out.
A man and woman sat at the table next to them, neither speaking to the other. They sat gloomily puffing on their cigarettes.
Several businessmen chatted on the other side. Their eyes also slipped slyly toward Mengliu’s table to catch a glimpse of Suitang’s collarbone.
When the waitress came to collect their plates, Suitang glanced at her retreating rear, wiped her mouth, and said, ‘Before, there was a man who always brought me here. I never got tired of the food, despite coming so often. Every time we ate, it was like tasting the food for the first time. I began to wonder whether they added opium to it.’
‘When love is sweet, the appetite will be good. In many senses, love is like a drug,’ Mengliu said casually, then sat silently, waiting to hear the man’s name.