This morning we all happened to pass by the snack shop on the corner and saw her and her husband offload peanuts and beans from a small vehicle and move them into the house. We stood to the side for a long time, each person inwardly verifying Madam X’s existence. But was this all? Verifying her existence was like lifting a heavy load. We must carry this heavy load to the end. How could we turn our backs on the issue of her future and her outlook? She wasn’t an old philosopher, nor could she change into a fossil like an old philosopher. So her possibilities for change were infinite. Consequently we must observe her forever, present our conclusions, and make predictions. Otherwise, we won’t have thoroughly verified her existence. It was irresponsible. A living person was ‘‘doing things’’ right under our noses: how could we now and in the future pretend to be ‘‘aware of nothing’’? These words startled the elites, who were intoxicated with their success. They once more summoned their courage, came together, and brainstormed intensely. We already knew that after going through that storm, Madam X had recovered her inner serenity, and now every day, she happily carried on her trade in peanuts and beans without a worry and hardened her heart ‘‘not to see anyone.’’ She just looked at the weights on the steelyard and so forth. Had she thereby become enlightened? Had she remolded herself? Only infantile, ignorant young people would raise this kind of question. Our elites who knew the ways of the world and who had crossed swords with Madam X couldn’t cling to such an illusion. As the proverb says: Despite apparent changes, a thing remains the same. No matter what face Madam X shows, she is always the same: Carrying on her illicit affair in the dark granary and selling peanuts on the corner were simply two aspects of her essential nature. If we think it through, we can see that selling peanuts was ‘‘a continuation of her illicit affair’’ or ‘‘preparation for a new illicit affair’’ or ‘‘an accumulation of energy for a volcanic eruption.’’ Each characterization is apt. Didn’t she whimsically reveal to her sister that she still had enough energy to start all over? In fact, she isn’t there selling peanuts at all; she’s adjusting her secretions and exercising her energy! She’s looking for new quarry with her third eye!
Many of us used to go out of our way to be solicitous of her welfare. Some worked so hard at this that their families broke up (for example,
X’s husband’s good friend). We had high hopes. Though it was clear that Madam X wouldn’t change, nor would we gain anything from it, we persisted in ‘‘sticking it out.’’ This remarkable process revealed our rare value. Even the gods were moved by it (at one time, a genius had proven this by sitting on the roof of a thatched cottage). Some people not only didn’t plan to gain any advantage but actually endured a kind of self-torture, which turned into a mania. How much willpower our people had! With people of this sort, it didn’t matter whether Madam X’s future direction was obscure or bright. We would ‘‘have nothing to worry about.’’
As to the future, there were both pessimistic and optimistic opinions. The pessimists thought: Madam X’s desires would increase, and after a few years, she would possess certain power, and the community’s control over her would weaken. They reached this conclusion not because of Madam X but because of certain people in our community who were really devil-raising viruses. These viruses would spread over time, and our undertaking would be destroyed by them.
Let’s look back for a moment. After the X and Q incident began, a small number of people couldn’t remain calm. They put aside their work and all day long strolled around Madam X’s small house. They talked while enjoying their leisure: the center of their lives had undergone a historic shift. Now it was better-they no longer had to deal with common things like blackboards. They had been fed up with this work some time ago, and long since had wanted to give it up. They hadn’t been born to do this kind of dull work. Their talents should have enabled them to do better things. This X and Q incident allowed them to display their talents: this was really a good opportunity bestowed by heaven. One by one, they quit their jobs, and if they weren’t allowed to quit, they walked anyway. A glorious future tempted them! Missions that would suit their tastes and interests awaited them! They had to come to a decision. If they didn’t take part in a battle with light packs, how could they accomplish anything? First, they had to cut off all escape routes: quitting their jobs was the first step. After that, they would be as agile as snakes and as keen as dogs.
However, according to the observers’ report, after these persons quit their jobs, they didn’t act as they had planned. They used the X and Q incident as the excuse to leave home, and after circling around X’s small house a few times, they went into their blockhouse — the public toilet. They didn’t discuss strategy. They just squatted for a long time telling ribald jokes and made obscene conversation for the whole day. They labeled this conversation: theoretical discussion. It was precisely this ‘‘theoretical discussion’’ that caused them, with bulging bloodshot eyes, to attack Madam X twice on a secluded street corner. Although they didn’t accomplish their goal, they still disgraced the community. Their fake discussion caused certain people to desecrate our ancient, elegant language. Because of this, one or two of them replaced such traditional phrases as ‘‘spare-time recreation’’ and ‘‘connubial harmony’’ with such low- class slang as ‘‘screw’’ and ‘‘bang.’’ These dirty words hung from their lips the whole day: they said them over and over again to show their virility and defy tradition. In fact it was amusing and showed their low self-esteem. Everyone who ran into them on the street was disgusted, as though he’d eaten maggots by accident.
They not only quit their own jobs but agitated, provoked, and sneered at those who didn’t. They wanted to mess up our rank and file. Every day, others went to work and got off work on time: they sneered that they were ‘‘robots,’’ ‘‘klutzes,’’ and were ‘‘born with crucifixes.’’ Those who worked hard ‘‘were dumb oxen,’’ ‘‘losers,’’ ‘‘had no prospects,’’ blah, blah, blah. They even goaded a certain person into destroying his tools, saying that they wanted ‘‘to smash to smithereens this thousand-year-old ball and chain’’ and wanted to ‘‘struggle for freedom.’’ Their so-called freedom was no more than to live calmly on other people’s hard work while they themselves squatted in the toilet and drew filthy doodles and used unbearably dirty language to besmirch our ancient culture. Even this wasn’t enough: they sang tragic songs about Madam X’s future and said that Q himself was the reason her future was tragic! They resentfully lambasted Q, claiming he was ‘‘a dabbler,’’ ‘‘not thorough,’’ ‘‘a neuter,’’ and so forth. As they cursed him, they walked grandly past X’s window, where they fawned, made eyes at her, tapped on the lattice, and dropped slips of paper inside. Some even climbed in the window and stole mirrors or pasted love letters on the door. One parent hanged himself from a tree outside the door because his child had disgraced him this way.
After the pessimists expressed their opinions, they dispersed, and let the setting sun draw out their long, thin shadows. They were numb and didn’t talk anymore. What could be said? The end of the world was coming. We could only close our eyes and wait.
On the opposite side: the great majority of the people took an optimistic attitude toward Madam X’s future (this was also Five Spice Street’s future). They thought Madam X was a unique eccentric who couldn’t change, and though she deliberately opposed our people, someday she’d melt into our generous embrace and disappear. From the very beginning, this trend had become more and more obvious. Right. She was still selling peanuts at the intersection, but her existence and her position were less visible. While we were busy, we didn’t even ‘‘pay any attention to her.’’ Someone even ‘‘swept her from his field of vision with a wave of his hand.’’ Especially in the winter, when snow covered the roofs and the street, X, curled up all alone in the cold, couldn’t provoke any response, no matter what disturbance she caused. In this season, our people ‘‘fought a great war against the cold’’; ‘‘our spirits as red as fire,’’ we were ‘‘struggling grandly against nature.’’ In such a time, who would pay any attention to Madam X’s mosquito-like moaning? X’s excuse was that the ordinary people ‘‘could not understand the profundity of her voice.’’ Actually, we understood it all too well. Both the elite and the ordinary people had seen through her superficial tricks long ago and were quickly distracted from it. They felt ‘‘it wasn’t worth further probing.’’ Though still in the dark, she did everything to ‘‘attract people’s attention’’! We believe that someday she will have ‘‘used up’’ her energy and will never be able to ‘‘attract people’s attention.’’ We can imagine one or two curious guys going into her little room at dusk on a snowy day and bringing their ears close to her mouth. They listen carefully for hours, but what can they hear? Only monotonous, repetitive murmurs that don’t come from the heart but from her abdomen-indistinct and intermittent. Perhaps the only sound comes from their own fantasies, so that finally they rush out, stamping their feet, cursing, and vowing never to give X the time of day again.