A few days before, he and Lü Xiaohu had gone back to the factory. After being let in by the gateman, he took advantage of a lifetime of “connections” to pick up discarded sheet metal, rivets, steel plate, and other items. The two men spent the next two days repairing and cleaning up the dilapidated bus hulk. They used the sheet metal to seal up the broken windows, then made doors out of steel plate, with locks on both sides. Once the repairs were made, Lü Xiaohu turned up a bucket of green paint and another of yellow. With the two men slapping on paint, this way and that, a broken-down hulk of an abandoned bus was transformed into something that looked like a military transport in a subtropical jungle. Master and apprentice stepped back to admire their work; the faint smell of paint made them happier than they could have expected.
“Shifu,” Lü Xiaohu said, “it's done.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Should we set off some firecrackers to celebrate?”
“Let's not.”
“As soon as the paint dries, you're open for business.”
“What do we do if there's trouble, little Hu?”
“Don't sweat it, Shifu. I've got a cousin at the Public Security Bureau.”
On the night before he opened for business Ding was so excited he didn't sleep a wink. His wife was so excited she couldn't stop hiccupping. They were both out of bed at four in the morning, and as she prepared his breakfast and lunch, she kept asking him what sort of job he'd found.
“I already told you,” he said impatiently. “I'm going to be an advisor to some peasant entrepreneurs in the suburbs.”
“I saw you and little Hu whispering back and forth,” she said between hiccups. “I doubt you were talking about being an advisor. Don't go getting involved in any shady practice at your age.”
“Can't you find something good to say this early in the morning?” he replied angrily. “Come along with me if you don't believe me. You can let those peasant entrepreneurs feast their eyes on your esteemed countenance!”
His comment took the wind out of her sails, and she shut up.
From his vantage point under a tree, he watched a bunch of old folks hard at work on their morning exercises: airing caged birds, strolling, practicing Tai Chi, doing Chi Kung, some voice training. The sight of all those contented people depressed him. If he had a child – son or daughter, it made no difference – he wouldn't be here sitting under a tree early in the morning, laid off or not; he was like the fool who saw a rabbit run into a tree stump and break its neck, then spent his days after that waiting for a second rabbit to do the same. A layer of mist hung over the man-made lake as an orange glow appeared in the east. An old man doing voice exercises seemed to rock the woods:
“Ow-ke – ow-ke -”
Waves of melancholy washed over him, like the ripples on a breezy lake. But only for a moment. A new stage in his life was about to begin, and the new life, like the woman who bought the little pigs, filled his mind with too many lustful thoughts for him to get sentimental. In the hour or so before sunup, the woods were filled with the songs and chirps of birds; the air had a minty quality that cleansed his lungs and lifted his spirits. It didn't take long for him to see how wrong he'd been to come out so early. At this time of day, only old folks were out, and they preferred the area around the lake to the cemetery; even if they came to the cemetery, they weren't the clientele he was waiting for. But that's all right, he consoled himself. I'll count this as my morning exercise. After breathing the foul factory air for decades, it's time I gave my lungs a break with some fresh air. Picking up his camp stool, he strolled through the woods and around the cemetery to familiarize himself with the area. The discarded birth control paraphernalia he spotted on the ground made him more confident than ever that he'd chosen the right path.
Around noon, several couples in bathing suits and large towels draped over their shoulders walked over from the lake, looking very much like lovers in search of a spot to get naked together. But when they passed by him, he suddenly became tongue-tied, and all those catchy phrases that Lü Xiaohu had created and that he had committed to memory stuck in his throat. Hearing the sounds the couples made in the dense woods, all roughly the same, but discernibly individual, was like seeing his own folding money swept away by the wind, filling his heart with a mixture of regret and despondence.
That night he went to see his apprentice and, with considerable embarrassment, told him what had happened during the day.
“Shifu,” Lü Xiaohu said with a laugh, “what's there for a laid-off worker to be embarrassed about?”
He scratched his head. “Little Hu, you know I'm a grade-seven worker who's spent most of his life in the company of-iron and steel. I never thought I'd come to this in my old age.”
“If you don't mind my saying so, Shifu, you still don't know what it means to be hungry. If that day comes, you'll know that in a contest between face and belly, your belly will win every time!”
“I see what you're saying, but for some reason I can't open my mouth.”
“It's not your fault,” his apprentice said with another laugh. “You're a grade-seven worker, after all. Tell you what, Shifu, I've got a plan…”
At noon the following day, old Ding returned to the spot he'd picked out the day before, carrying a piece of wood on his back. Anyone entering the cemetery from the hill had to pass this way. Though it was a secluded area, it was surrounded by open space. From where he sat, in the mottled shadows of a tall poplar, he had a clear view of people swimming in the lake. With all the birds off somewhere, the only sound was the constant chirping of crickets, which sent their cool droppings down on him like raindrops.
Finally, a couple came walking up the path. They were in full view: the woman was wearing a sky-blue bikini, her milky white skin glistening between the leafy shadows; the man wore a pair of stretch trunks and had a hairy chest and legs. Giggling as their hands roamed all over each other, they drew nearer and nearer; the sight of all that cleavage and the mole on her belly made old Ding feel like a voyeur. He also noticed with disgust that the man's belly button protruded instead of sinking in and that his trunks looked as if he'd hidden a potato in the front. When they were only a few feet from him, he picked up the piece of wood at his feet and raised it up high enough to cover his face, which felt as if it were on fire. The red lettering was aimed at the couple. He watched the woman's long, slender legs and the man's hairy ones stop in their tracks and listened as the man read the sign aloud:
“A quiet, secluded, safe cottage in the woods. Ten yuan per hour, includes two soft drinks.”
The woman giggled.
“Hey, there, old man, where's this cottage of yours?” the man asked audaciously.
Old Ding lowered the board to reveal the top half of his face. “There,” he stammered, “over there.”
“Can we take a look?” The man grinned at the woman and said, “I am a little thirsty.”
The woman gave him a seductive look out of the corner of her eye. “You can die of thirst for all I care!”
With a sly look and a smile at the woman, the man turned to old Ding and said:
“Take us over to see the place, old man.”
He stood, noticeably agitated, picked up his stool, put the board under his arm and led them through the cemetery to the abandoned bus.
“This is your little cottage?” the man exclaimed. “It's a damned iron coffin!”
Old Ding unlocked the brass lock and swung the heavy door open.
The man bent at the waist and went inside.
“Hey, Ping'er,” he shouted, “it's goddamned cool in here!”
The woman looked askance at old Ding, a slight blush on her face, before sticking her head in to take a look. Then she went in.
The man stuck his head out. “It's too dark in here. I can't see a thing!”