‘Sorry. Sorry. I’m not accustomed to staying in guesthouses like yours.’
Diesel’s eyes flashed. He stood up and, still wearing his stiff smile, looked right at Meng. ‘Guesthouses like ours?’ he said. ‘Sir, I would suggest that you have no right to judge without having seen it. What makes you think the conditions will not be to your liking? Our hostel operates under the aegis of the ministry of education. We’re not like these others; we don’t take anyone for a ride. If it says central heating, there’s central heating; if it says colour TV, there’s colour TV; if it says hot water, there’s hot water!’
This impatience reminded Meng of what physics class had been like long ago. ‘Atmospheric. Pressure. Who’s that talking? Whoever doesn’t want to be here can bugger off right now!’
Meng had concluded that Diesel didn’t have the faintest recollection of him, but it was for precisely that reason that his inner urge to apologize was even greater.
‘That’s not what I meant. I’m not a big fan of TV. Actually. actually, I’m only staying one night. The facilities don’t really matter as long as it’s clean.’
He saw a frosty smile play on the corner of Diesel’s mouth, a smile just like the one he used to wear whenever he entered the classroom, their exercise books stacked under his arm.
‘How do you know we’re not clean? I’ll have you know we’re a model of hygiene.’ Diesel looked a little angry now. ‘You think I’m a cheat, do you? I was a people’s teacher for thirty years; I sacrifice time in my declining years to do a little something for society, and you accuse me of coming down here just to con people. Is that it?’
Meng began to feel uncomfortable; the sense of desperation that Diesel used to provoke in physics class returned vividly. Meng had never been able to answer his questions correctly, and Diesel had had a special proclivity for asking him. Meng wondered why he had recognized Diesel at first glance, but still Diesel hadn’t recognized him? The women outside the gates were exchanging confidential whispers; they shot reproachful glances at him which seemed to mean, How come you let him butt in? Meng blushed deeply and carried his luggage around for a moment inside the railing, then he glanced at Diesel, but Diesel wasn’t looking at him; he was slapping his sign against the railing. You could tell that his teacherly anger had not yet cooled. Meng took another few tentative steps. Then, in the space of a moment, an uncharacteristic decision became reality. He walked up to Diesel and said, ‘OK. I’ll stay the night at your guesthouse.’
Absolutely everything about the city had changed. Development is a hard truth. The city had turned into an endless succession of construction sites and neon lights. He bumped around in the battered van for about half an hour, then it stopped and he heard Diesel say, ‘We’re here. I said it wasn’t far, didn’t I? This is the old town. In the thirties, this was the commercial hub of Tiancheng.’
Meng had no idea where he was. The whole city now consisted of indistinguishable demolition zones. The ground was covered in rubbish and broken bricks, and only a few reusable wooden doors and windows were tidily stacked. And when there are no longer any buildings or trees by which to tell your way, it’s inevitable that you lose your orientation.
‘Where the hell are we? Where the hell is this?’
He saw a three-storey building standing solitary in the rubble, with lights on only one floor. ‘This is a wasteland.’
Diesel didn’t respond, but wrested Meng’s luggage from him and ran towards the building, shouting, ‘Miss Zhang! A room!’
The guesthouse was filled with a raw, damp smell. A woman at reception was huddling against an electric heater, and she looked over at Meng with a glance neither defiant nor apologetic.
Meng stood hesitating at the counter: ‘From the looks of things, you couldn’t possibly have central heating here.’
The woman said, ‘There’s air conditioning.’
Meng said, ‘What was all that about first-class facilities? From what I can see, you don’t have any facilities here at all.’
The woman looked at Meng, then over at Diesel, then she puckered her lips into a smile.
Meng continued, ‘They tore down all the other buildings around here. How come they’re not tearing yours down? This place looks illegal.’
Before he had even finished his sentence, he felt a hard shove on the shoulder. It was Diesel. Looking at him angrily he said, ‘Is that any way to talk, sir? If you want a room, then fine, but if you don’t, bugger off. But to come here and insult people! Illegal! What do you mean, illegal? What kind of people do you take us for, huh?’
Meng reflexively took a step backwards. ‘I was just joking. There’s no need to get all worked up.’
Diesel was still glaring. ‘That’s no way to joke with anybody. When you make a joke, you don’t do it at the expense of other people’s dignity, do you understand?’
Meng said mockingly, ‘Yup. Got it. Got it, all right.’
Meng had already retreated to the exit and was looking out through the glass doors. It was pitch black outside and the little van had already left. He could not rid himself of the feeling that he had been taken for a fool, and this thought made him baulk. He stood by the window and scratched his head. The woman suddenly gave a cough and said, ‘If you don’t want to stay here, we’re not going to force you. If you go out the door and walk four hundred metres, there’s a hotel that’s in a little better shape.’
Meng looked at her gratefully and asked, ‘Do they have central heating there?’ But before the woman could answer, Diesel glowered at him and shouted, ‘This is Tiancheng, not Beijing. What the hell kind of central heating do you expect? You’re lucky to have air con!’ Meng shook his head. The sound of Diesel’s voice still held an awesome power over him — ‘Atmospheric pressure! If you can’t do it, then that’s that! Don’t try to fake your way out of it!’ he remembered.
Meng wondered what attitude Diesel would adopt if he recognized him. He gave the door a push and then quietly closed it again.
‘It’s really cold out. Why is Tiancheng so cold nowadays?’
Diesel rolled his eyes at him, which seemed to mean he wouldn’t deign to respond to such stupid questions.
‘I lived here for eight years; I went to school here,’ Meng remarked.
He saw how Diesel’s exceedingly hostile expression grew somewhat milder, then he gave a snort and said, ‘Well, then, that’s good. You’re a native son returning from his travels. You ought to have some feelings for Tiancheng, so what’s with the snooty airs? Complaining about this, that and the other.’ Meng watched Diesel, hoping he would expound upon his theme, that he would ask him where he had lived and what high school he had gone to, but Diesel picked up a newspaper and seemed unwilling to continue the conversation. This, too, conformed to Meng’s recollection of the man, for if memory served him right, he had never been eager to forgive a student who had crossed him. He was a person who made others feel awkward and that much hadn’t changed. Meng scratched his head, still hesitating. In the end, it was the receptionist who tactfully convinced him. She said, ‘It’s late and awfully cold; I think it’s best if you stay here the night.’
The room was as crude and dilapidated as Meng had expected. The patterned sheets and cotton quilt were damp to the touch. There was a Peacock TV at least a dozen years old, and with the colours distorted so the female broadcaster acquired a green face and lips that looked like they had been smeared with blood, a horrifying shade of red. The only surprise was the presence of a balcony, and quite a sizeable one at that; a solitary luxury feature futilely fixed outside the window. Diesel turned the air-conditioning on with the remote, which he then slipped into his pocket. Noticing the surprised expression on his guest’s face, he began to explain the guesthouse rules and regulations.