Diesel threw a glance at Meng and, seeing his gloomy expression, he said, ‘This is the only room with air con. There’s nothing I can do; you’ll just have to put up with it.’
Meng gave a strange laugh and said, ‘Great! Put up with a freezing room all night.’
Diesel turned and stared sternly at Meng, then gave a renunciatory smile. With a darting movement, he returned the remote to his pocket and walked out. ‘We’ll take off the fee for air con,’ he said loudly, ‘So I’ll ask you not to regard me as a cheat, thank you very much.’
With that the door was flung heavily back. Meng sat on the bed, thoroughly dejected, not only because of his frosty room, but also because it seemed to him that the experiences of the evening were the wages of a journey conceived in error. He had plainly wanted to go south, but despite himself he had gone north. This was nothing like a reunion with a former teacher ought to be. Perhaps he should tell him the truth, but Meng doubted there was any point now in invoking their common past. No, it was definitely pointless. The reality staring Meng in the face was this: he was compelled to spend a night in this polar room. Only later could he allow this encounter to become a memory.
He entwined himself in the blankets to go to sleep. He was young and actually not all that easily affected by the cold. He had even imagined Diesel would say something to that effect: ‘Young people can put up with a little cold; it won’t kill you.’ But Diesel hadn’t said that; he was someone who made you feel awkward, but he wasn’t harsh or rude. He had been that way in the past, and he was that way now. Meng soon fell asleep. Had he spent a dreamless night, then perhaps things wouldn’t have happened as they did. But Meng dreamed of an exam, and in the dream he needed very badly to take a leak, so he pushed back the examination paper and stood up. He got out of bed and walked in a daze into the corridor, heading towards the bathroom door. Shivering and standing by the piss trough, he heard the sound of a door slamming in a gust of wind. The sound didn’t register with him immediately, but when he got back to his room he found the door wouldn’t open. There must have been a problem with the lock, because now he couldn’t get back in. The night was transforming into a long series of tribulations. He was in his underwear and beginning to shiver in earnest. He hugged his shoulders and, facing down the stairs, yelled loudly, ‘Hurry! Bring the key up! I’m locked out!’
After about a minute, Diesel appeared in the corridor, eyes heavy with sleep.
‘What now? Why did you close the door when you went out? You should keep it open.’
Meng said, ‘I didn’t close it; the wind blew it shut. Everything in this place is broken. Even the door lock is broken!’ Meng gave Diesel a sidelong glance, as if he intended some response, but he said nothing and instead dangled his keychain from his hand.
‘Go to the duty room and put an overcoat on. Watch that you don’t catch cold.’
Meng said, ‘No need for that. Just hurry up and open the door.’ Then came the greatest surprise. Meng watched as Diesel kept passing back and forth through the keys; he couldn’t seem to find the right one. ‘What now?’ Hugging both shoulders, Meng pressed in close in order to look at the keys. ‘Tell me you haven’t lost it.’
Diesel raised his head, and from his dismayed expression he could see that his guess had hit the mark. Diesel exclaimed, ‘It’s ridiculous! Ridiculous! What happened to the key?’
Meng almost leapt to his feet, ‘Everything has to happen to me! What terrible luck! Enough bad luck to last me eight lifetimes!’ He saw that Diesel’s expression had become extremely disagreeable, but he was past caring. He rubbed his hands, stamped his feet and said, ‘Enough bad luck to last me eight lifetimes!’ Diesel stared blankly for a moment, then suddenly took off down the stairs, and as he ran he said, ‘I’ll get that overcoat for you first.’ But Meng was enraged, and he screamed at Diesel’s back, ‘What good is an overcoat? I want to get into my room.’ Shouting was not enough to cool his anger, though, so he delivered a flying kick to the door.
‘They should close down hostels like this, and the sooner the better!’
It was very quiet in the hostel. Except for the sound of the wind outside, Meng could hear only the fragmentary, hectic sounds coming from the duty room. He lifted up his eyes and heaved a sigh heavy with resentment. Before long, a flustered Diesel was hurrying up the stairs carrying a padded army overcoat, which he tossed over to him, saying, ‘Please don’t shout. Shouting isn’t going to help.’ Meng wrapped the overcoat around his shoulders and found that it was still quite warm; Diesel had no doubt been using it as a blanket. Now that he had something to ward off the cold, Meng’s mood took a slight turn for the better. Looking at the keys in Diesel’s hand he said, ‘That’s fine. You made me come and stay here. First-class facilities. First-class service. I didn’t realize you were going to make me stand in the hallway and shiver till dawn.’ Meng saw that Diesel’s head was beginning to sway back and forth and that his eyes were shooting out a dreadful, scorching fury, a fury far exceeding that of the remembered physics teacher. He began to regret his excessive words, but it was too late for regret, for all of a sudden Diesel hurled the keys to the ground. Then, dragging over a chair that stood in the corridor, he sprang on top of it. Meng realized now that he was planning to go through the window above the door; it hadn’t occurred to him that Diesel might resort to such a method. As he watched Diesel clumsily push the window open, Meng felt he shouldn’t let Diesel do such a thing for him, but strangely the words that came out of his mouth were something entirely different: ‘I bet the window’s locked tight, too.’ Diesel’s back, which was hanging in mid-air, trembled a moment, then he suddenly struck the window and it opened with a clatter. Diesel turned his head to shoot Meng a contemptuous glance. Meng evaded his look, turning away in embarrassment. In the periphery of his vision, however, he could see Diesel’s head go through the window, then his legs and chubby torso all squeezed through while his feet kicked and swayed outside. Meng could see Diesel’s old-fashioned, cotton-lined shoes, torn at the toe, and the worn-through nylon socks. Above him, he could hear his panting. Only now did Meng make a tardy gesture, grabbing Diesel’s feet and protesting, ‘Never mind. Don’t go up there. I’ll go through the window myself.’ But Diesel’s feet kicked free of his hands; Meng could feel the anger residing in them. Then he watched as they slowly disappeared through the window; Diesel’s whole body had finally passed through the narrow window. At the same time, dust from the window frame and from Diesel’s coat streamed onto the ground.
Diesel opened the door from the inside. Meng, standing outside, turned sideways, avoiding Diesel’s eyes. Diesel opened his mouth wide to pant and said, ‘Come in then. What are you standing outside for? Huh? I’ve opened the door, haven’t I?’
Meng stood motionlessly. He saw Diesel rush at him, and suddenly fell prey to the illusion that the man would strike him, but Diesel just pushed him into the room. Then he began brushing the dust off his own clothes, saying, ‘What were you standing out there for? You’re the guest; I’m here to serve. You locked yourself out and I climbed through the window to let you in. What is it you’re considering now? Do you want to swear at me some more?’
Meng grew hot in the face, and said haltingly, ‘I didn’t swear at you. Why would I swear at you?’
Diesel again gave Meng a hard push and said, ‘Well, if you didn’t swear at me then that’s all right.’ And then, ‘Now, young man, get into bed and go to sleep.’