This particular bank was the perfect place for a robbery. There was no space in front or behind and the pavement guard railings went right up to the front door, so the vans had to stop on a side road 50 metres away — I paced it out to be sure. While they were carrying the safes they were the perfect target. Those 50 metres — anything could happen. The guards escorted them every step of the way, but so what? They had guns and uniforms, but could they shoot? They looked pretty hard, of course, their faces as taut as bowstrings. But all you’d have to do was give them a fright. Throw a bomb at them — pow! Shit! I’d make a pretty good robber.
Anyone could rob a bank.
I figured Lexus must have hidden some kind of explosive along the street somewhere, so day after day I searched every nook and cranny. One of my dad’s old colleagues found me a job in his company, 800 yuan a month. It was more money than I’d ever earned before, but I turned him down flat. My dad was furious, shouting ‘What job are you going to get then? Tell me that?’ I just smiled and didn’t answer. I didn’t need to answer. I went to the Construction Bank every day. That was my job. It was like a pilgrimage. I hung around, trying to work out what Lexus was thinking. I never dreamed of doing the robbery myself, I swear it on Chairman Mao! I was a good man, an honest one. I just wanted to watch, to know if the job would go the way I had imagined, as if there was a prize for getting it right. I didn’t even want the prize.
October 1st. National Day.
East Chang’An Avenue was heaving, crawling with police. The air was fragile as a light bulb.
A troop of primary school children came by clutching plastic flowers and flags — a bit of colour for the military parade. They were lined up in front so they could get a good view, their faces shining with happiness. One of them was running backwards and forwards in excitement. He can’t have been more than five years old, he’d never seen a parade, never in his entire life. There was so much going on, one fun thing after another. Public holidays always made me happy as a kid. What was the name of that Jason Zhang song: ‘I want to tell the future, I feel so brave today … ’ Shane Cao had sung it too.
There was a bicycle halfway down the side street where the security vans used to park. It seemed to come out of nowhere. Very strange. It was old and battered, like a fossil. It stood there on its stand, quiet, profoundly mysterious, as if somehow it would take off into the air as soon as the van arrived.
It arrived!
Fear gripped me.
The streets were jam-packed with people. But the bike didn’t move. The sea of heads rippled: two cashiers appeared, as if on the crest of a wave. Two good-looking women in bright outfits standing at the bank’s front door. Strange how their uniforms were so bright today. As soon as they came near the bike there would be an explosion, they’d be blown to bits. Even though they were so good-looking. So good-looking it brought me close to tears. They had no idea someone was weeping for them. They strolled blithely past the bicycle. But it didn’t move. It hadn’t moved an inch. Was the money still in the security van? It must be — the door was still shut. A smile crept over my lips. I hurriedly revised the plot. Lexus had timed the explosion for when the van opened. The doors swung wide. No explosion. How stupid of me! The bomb couldn’t go off until the safe was out of the van. Out came the safe. No explosion. Maybe when they got closer. The cashiers picked up the safe and starting heading for the bank, getting closer and closer to the bike. One of their sleeves brushed into it. Still no explosion. The handlebars tilted to one side, as if it was resting. As if it was asleep. What on earth was happening? When was he planning to set it off? Had Lexus forgotten to pack it with explosives? Had something gone wrong with the plan? They’d better sort it out double quick. The fools! The safe was right in front of me. I could read the red lettering. I could reach out and touch it. Go on, go on, somebody grab it! But there was no one there. Where the hell had they got to? It was dead quiet. So quiet it was like I was burning in dry ice.
I could have done the job myself.
Is that what Lexus had meant?
8
After that I was pretty ill.
No sign of Lexus.
One day she came to my house and asked if I’d seen him. I said I hadn’t and — to my amazement — she burst into tears. She cried and cried and threw herself on my chest and she slipped both arms under my armpits, and clamped her hands on my shoulder blades. I boldly stroked her arm. She didn’t pull away.
Somehow she had fallen in love with me. She said seeing me was like seeing him. But I had no money. I wanted money. I wanted to get married, but how could I make this happen? Day after day I racked my brains. but my mind was a total, terrifying blank.
Go on, rob a bank.
The words slipped out. It was very odd.
There was still no sign of Lexus. Sometimes I even doubted whether he’d existed. But when she definitely wanted me, she would slip both arms under mine, clamping her hands on my shoulders.
Are you sure about this?
You can shut the book now.
Do you choose to read on?
Our Bones
1
My parents may have been set in their ways, but they always seemed happy. ‘Life used to be hell, and now it’s good,’ they’d say. ‘How could we ask for more?’ So I never expected them to get into trouble.
It started one evening. My mother was washing the plates. My father was watching the news. Another chorus of economic success. Their lives were better, he supposed, but he’d never bothered to ask himself how.
A voice came through from the kitchen.
‘What would you like to eat tomorrow?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, mystified. ‘Anything.’
‘Anything?’ she laughed. ‘What’s “anything”?’
She came out of the kitchen and waited for an answer. What an awkward question. He had to answer it all the same.
‘Anything means anything,’ he said.
‘Can’t you even name one dish?’
‘How do I know?’ he snapped. ‘What I ate hasn’t even gone down the toilet yet. What do you want me to say?’
‘What about me!’ she flared up. ‘I have to decide what we’re going to eat 365 days a year. When I go to the supermarket it’s like taking an exam.’ She had been a teacher, so this was an appropriate image.
She burst into tears. Choosing meals must have been fun once, but now it just felt like a chore. If they tired of eating at home, then they went out: Chinese, then western, then a ‘Manchu Imperial Feast’, then ‘home-style cooking’. When they’d eaten everything there was to eat in the whole wide world, there they were — back to dinner at home again. But what should they eat? Life was certainly better, but choosing what to eat had got more difficult. In the old days, when there wasn’t much to eat or drink, everything tasted good.
He went into the kitchen and started on the rest of the washing up. She stopped crying after a while, came in and grabbed a tea towel. He gathered up the clean bowls to put them away but she took them from him with a smile.
It was a brilliant smile which made her look young again. Back then he didn’t have time to appreciate her smiles. Like most people, they were short of cash. She tutored and took on extra hours of teaching. He worked long hours at the magazine and parlayed his position as art editor into commissions for painting fans. They lived a spartan life. Only now could they afford to take a bit more care of themselves. How pretty she still was. He told her so.