The young coal worker confirmed that he ‘‘felt pressure in every part of his gut.’’ He couldn’t even pass gas. The most important thing was: Madam X had been absent without a reason, and this concealed innumerable dangerous portents. No, he wasn’t the least bit intoxicated over today’s election. He couldn’t see anything worth being intoxicated over. He had long ago learned about X. More often than not, when everyone was intoxicated with her, she didn’t notice it at all! At first, he had employed a lot of measures to attract her attention, but they were all ineffectual. One day, he ran into her on the street and greeted her. She just called him ‘‘a newcomer.’’ Of course, not being intoxicated wasn’t the same as wanting to abandon his efforts. The election process was half of what he wanted to do. But Madam X hadn’t shown up, and so the other half hadn’t yet been put into effect. If he couldn’t get Madam X to appear at the meeting, then the whole thing was unfinished and anti-climactic.
The heavy responsibility of making the request of Madam X fell to the writer. ‘‘Because you’re a stenographer and this matter is fit for a stenographer to deal with,’’ everyone said solemnly. So the stenographer stayed at the snack shop from morning until evening and explained to Madam X the significance of being a representative. Now and then, he also broke in on what she was doing, so that she couldn’t focus on her work, and forced her to turn her attention to him. Finally, the lady compromised and agreed to go to the meeting place with the writer. But she had one request-namely, that she would just do two somersaults on the platform and then come back. She ‘‘definitely wasn’t going to waste time on this shit.’’ She went, and the whole group stood up, filled with deep esteem. With one leap, she charged up to the platform. Ping-pong, ping- pong: she turned two somersaults and then rushed for the door and left. There was no trace of her. It was as if the crowd had awakened from a dream: they sighed with emotion, and one after another they said: ‘‘Marvelous! Super! What skill! It can’t be done without years of practice!’’
The writer had completed his historical mission. So now, X’s husband’s good friend and the young coal worker had nothing more to say. Although X didn’t make a speech, the result could be ten times better than a speech! You have to know that Madam X was a celebrity now. The actions of celebrities of course were somehow unusual. Doing the somersaults was the embodiment of her unique style. ‘‘The wave of the future’’ should have this kind of show. Otherwise, how could it be called the wave of the future? Of course, now, except for intellectuals like the writer, it was hard for people to understand the significance of Madam X’s somersaults. Some people put on a show for the enjoyment of audiences decades or centuries later. We encourage and welcome this kind of performance, as well. As long as the somersaults were skillful, we considered them a lofty art. On our Five Spice Street’s cultural stage, now every kind of flower is really flourishing!
After Madam X left, everyone began singing and dancing festively. A large group of cameramen also arrived, and took a lot of manly-type photographs, both of people alone and of groups. Women were also in the pictures as foils. In the electric atmosphere, everyone elected a ‘‘grand king of beasts’’ (this was the men’s leader). They were almost unanimous in choosing Dr. A. Everyone saw that, after the test of time, he was a real tough guy with some softness mixed in. He was always refined and courteous in dealing with women and never lost his temper or put on airs. He never mentioned his scholarship: how humble he was! How far-sighted! All right, Dr. A became the grand king of beasts. The photographers told him to mess up his hair and to let ‘‘intrepid rays of light shoot from his eyes.’’ They took several shots and then told him to comb his hair neatly, rest his chin on both palms, and ‘‘look solemn.’’ They took several more photos. Finally, they told him to turn a somersault for a photo, but he sternly turned them down.
He told everyone very plausibly: turning somersaults suits only artists and the wave of the future. How could someone like him-a serious philosopher-do this? That could hurt his image. It was not that he wasn’t able to do it; in fact, he could do it a lot better than Madam X could. But this was what he had loved as a child a long time ago. Now he wasn’t interested in pretending to be young. He had been growing his hair long because he was going to the mountain. Very soon, he would leave the dear people here. But he wouldn’t forget everyone’s earnest hopes. Rather, he would ponder everyone’s hardships, and he would also come down from the mountain frequently and get together with them. He would help the people rid themselves of worries and resolve their difficulties. He asked everyone to preserve these photos. Looking at his photo was the same as looking at him. This way, he would live forever among them.
The photographers’ arrival interrupted the meeting’s agenda. Everyone crowded forward desperately, wanting to be photographed and get a picture to hang in his house. No one cared a bit about the meeting itself. They had come to the meeting only to be photo- graphed-to embody their handsome manliness! They didn’t want to lose this singular opportunity! Seeing this struggle, the writer was furious. Gasping for breath, Dr. A also crowded over. He sighed from the bottom of his heart and said to the writer: How difficult it is for ordinary people to appreciate art! He planned to write a book and make detailed notes about Madam X’s two splendid somersaults. He asserted that this book would be unique. Of course, this book wouldn’t be written for today’s readers. It would be for readers hundreds of years from now.
‘‘We can’t abandon Madam X,’’ Dr. A said. ‘‘We can’t abandon any of the things that we don’t understand now. History tells us: the things that can’t be understood are usually the loftiest. I’ve known this a long time. It can’t be wrong. For example, the two somersaults just now: I tape-recorded them. I always think things through thoroughly beforehand. Beginning tomorrow, I’ll play this tape dozens of times a day until it becomes a conditioned reflex. Then I’ll leap from feeling to reason. We made too many mistakes in the past. If everyone adopted my prudent attitude toward the wave of the future, the philistinism we’ve seen today would never appear.’’
After repeatedly saying, ‘‘Philistines,’’ he went home to work on annotations. The room was still noisy. One photographer’s face was black and blue from being shoved by the crowd. The writer couldn’t continue watching. He also shouted, ‘‘Philistines,’’ and went home.
After turning her somersaults, Madam X went back to the snack shop without paying the least attention to the commotion she had caused. As she worked, she was humming ‘‘The Lonesome Little Boat.’’ Just as she dumped a basket of peanuts into a wooden barrel, she suddenly saw two bolts of lightning flash by, kecha kecha. This really frightened her. She set the basket down, jumped back, and asked fiercely, ‘‘Who is it?’’ Hiding outside the door were two photographers. Shrewdly, they didn’t make a sound. Their faces were filled with the joy of adventurers as they waited for Madam X to lose her temper and jump out: they wanted to get two frontal shots. But after asking that question, Madam X seemed to have no thought of jumping out. They waited several hours without getting a chance to photograph that histrionic scene. As their legs were going numb, someone inside said, ‘‘My work is finished now. I can strike a pose, but you have to pay me for it.’’