“Even if spring were to move as fast as an Olympic sprint champion can run in the world over there, it wouldn’t be able to catch up with you,” one of us said.
Mouse Girl chuckled.
“You’re so pretty,” another said.
“You’re saying that to please me, aren’t you?” Mouse Girl responded.
“You really are pretty,” we assured her.
“When I walked down the street over there, they would turn their heads to look at me. Now, over here, you turn around to look at me too.”
“It’s called a high head-turn rate.”
“You’re right — that’s what they call it over there.”
“That’s what we call it over here too.”
Mouse Girl chuckled once more. “There and here, everyone calls it a high head-turn rate.”
“The head-turn rate goes wherever you do,” we said.
“You’re sweet-talking me!”
Mouse Girl was wearing the dress she had made out of the pair of pants. The dress was so long that we couldn’t see her feet — all we could see was her dress trailing along the ground.
“The way your dress trails along the ground,” someone said, “it looks like a wedding dress.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Really,” we answered.
“You’re just saying that to humor me, aren’t you?”
“Not at all, it really looks like a wedding dress.”
“But I’m not going off to get married.”
“It looks like that, though.”
“I’m not wearing makeup, and brides always doll themselves up.”
“You may not be wearing makeup, but you’re more dazzling than any woman in makeup over there.”
“I’m not going off to marry Wu Chao.” A melancholy note crept into Mouse Girl’s voice. “I’m going to my burial place to rest.”
Mouse Girl’s tears began to flow, and we fell silent.
“I was too impulsive,” she said. “I shouldn’t have left him.”
She walked on with a heavy heart, saying dejectedly, “How will he manage by himself? It was I who got him into this.”
Mouse Girl wept as she made the long trek across the open country.
“I often got him into trouble,” she said. “When we were hairwashers in the salon, he had his sights set on something better, so he sought advice from the stylist on how to cut hair. He learned so quickly that the manager praised him and said he planned to have him be a hairdresser. Privately Wu Chao told me that once he officially became a hairdresser he’d make a better income, and once he was really proficient he would quit the job and the two of us would rent a space and open up a little salon of our own. There was a girl in the salon who liked him and was always sidling up to him and coming on strong. This got me mad, and I’d give her a hard time every chance I got. Once, we actually started to fight. She grabbed my hair and I grabbed hers, and Wu Chao came over to pull us apart. I shouted at him and asked him if he wanted her or wanted me and got him very embarrassed. I yelled at him so loud that all the clients in the salon turned around to look at me. The manager was furious and told me to clear the hell out. While the manager was still cursing me, Wu Chao went up to him and announced that we were both handing in our notice and told the guy he was an asshole, then came back and put his arm around me and led me out of the salon. I said we still had two weeks’ wages due, and he said the hell with that, I don’t give a shit. That drove me to tears. We walked down the street for a long time, him with his arm around me, and all along I was crying and saying I’d let him down and made him lose face and wrecked his future, because he was just about to become a hairdresser. He had one hand around me and kept wiping away my tears with the other, saying, ‘The hell with being a hairdresser, the hell with losing face, I couldn’t care less about any of that!’
“Later I suggested we look for work at another salon, given that he already had mastered the skills of a hairdresser, but he refused. I promised not to get jealous again and told him if another girl took a fancy to him I’d just ignore it, but he insisted there was no way he would work in a salon. So the only option was to work in a restaurant. The manager said since I was good-looking he’d have me serve in an upstairs private room, while Wu Chao could service the large dining room downstairs. The manager liked how dedicated and nimble he was, and it wasn’t long before Wu Chao was promoted to captain. In free moments he would go chat with the chef and pick up some cooking tips. Once he’d really learned the ropes, he told me, we’d quit and set up our own little restaurant.
“It was often businessmen and officials who booked the private room. There was one time when a whole bunch of them had a bit too much to drink, and one put his arms around me and started squeezing my boobs. I shouldn’t have made an issue of it, I should just have found an excuse to leave the room, but I ran downstairs sobbing to complain to Wu Chao. He could never tolerate anyone taking advantage of me, so he barged into the private room and started a fight. He was way outnumbered, and they got him down on the ground and started kicking him, kicking him in the head. It was only when I threw myself on top of him and begged them to stop that they finally left him alone. The restaurant manager came up and bowed and scraped and apologized to them. They had been the ones doling out abuse, but the manager didn’t stand up for us at all and cursed us out instead. Wu Chao’s face was covered in blood. I put my arms around him and helped him out of the private room, but once we got downstairs he pushed me aside, wanting to go back upstairs and fight another round. He only made it up a few steps before I dashed over and clung to one of his legs for dear life, crying and begging him not to. He came back down and helped me to my feet, and we left the restaurant clinging to each other. His nose was bleeding the whole time, and it was raining outside, and when we got to the other side of the road he didn’t want to go any farther, so he sat down on the sidewalk and I sat next to him. The rain poured down, drenching our clothes, and cars kept driving past and splashing us with the water from the puddles. ‘I want to kill someone!’ he said again and again, and I just couldn’t stop crying, begging him to calm down.
“Once more I’d ruined things for him — he never got to be a chef, and now we were never going to be able to open a restaurant. For two months we didn’t go to work. We never had much money in the first place, and now we could just eat one meal a day, and after two months of that our money was almost gone. We needed to find jobs, I said, but he refused — he said he wasn’t going to take any more abuse. I said that if we don’t have jobs we don’t have money, and without money all we can do is to wait around until we die of hunger. Even if it means we die of hunger, he said, I refuse to be pushed around. I wept, wept with heartbreak, not because I was angry with him but because the world is so unjust. Seeing me weep, he went out, and it was very late that night when he got back, bringing me two big, steaming-hot stuffed buns. Where did he get the money to buy these buns? I asked. He had spent the day collecting discarded cans and plastic bottles and selling them to a recycler, he said. When he left the room the next day, I went out with him. Why are you coming with me? he asked. To pick up bottles and cans with you, I said.”
“It looks like we’re there.”
We had all walked a long road and now we had arrived at the funeral parlor. As we swarmed inside, a hum of amazement arose in the waiting room. Seeing so many skeletons crowding in, the crematees turned to one another in confusion. “What are these things, and why have they come here?”
“I guess they just got here late,” one among the plastic chairs said.