“I guess I should go. But you only invited me. Why don’t you ask your uncle along?”
Color drained from the cousin’s face as she stared at Zhuang.
“She’s like that, talking about the living one moment and going on about the dead the next,” Zhuang said.
“Sure, sure. I’ll invite Uncle, too.”
“This is what we’ll do, Zhidie. You and your cousin go check on your father-in-law’s grave. He won’t go unless the new neighbors are punished.”
Left with no choice, Zhuang stalled by saying that they should offer the cousin something to eat first. Saying she wasn’t hungry, the cousin nevertheless sampled all the snacks and fruit that Zhuang brought out, while asking the prices of their refrigerator, tape recorder, modular cabinets, nightstands, and lamps. Her envy was palpable. When they were ready to leave, the old lady told Zhuang to go out for a while, for she had something to say to the cousin. He waited in the yard until the cousin came out with a red face.
“What did she say now?”
“She asked if I’ve taken the medicine Yueqing sent, and if I’m pregnant. She told me not to let my husband drink alcohol. I want my baby to have a good life here with you, but I’m worried he won’t be smart enough to deserve your name.”
Not knowing how to respond, Zhuang changed the subject, telling her some amusing anecdotes about the old lady’s inability to tell the living from the dead.
“She’s old, so it’s not strange for her to be talking like that. For old people, there’s no barrier between the human realm and the underworld, and we mustn’t automatically think that what old people say is crazy talk. It happens in our village quite a bit.”
Zhuang smiled unhappily. “I didn’t expect you to sound like her.”
They rode on Zhuang’s Magnolia out the city’s north gate and headed west toward an earthen trench next to a Han dynasty ruin. The heat made them sweat. After parking the scooter, they walked across a barren field and reached a ridge by the trench, where they saw a stone marker in the distance. The cousin began to wail.
“Why are you doing that?” Zhuang asked.
“If I don’t, Uncle will be angry, and even the ghosts around his grave will laugh at him.” She howled three more times.
Zhuang was surprised to see a new gravesite to the left of Yueqing’s father’s. Cogon grass had yet to grow on the mound, where rain-soaked white paper from funeral wreaths was scattered on the muddy ground.
This must be the new neighbor the old man was talking about. Zhuang’s heart raced.
The cousin was muttering as she crouched down to burn paper money. He walked over to the ridge and asked a man digging dirt nearby who was in the new tomb. The man told him that a young couple and their child had been killed in an accident with a truck. Their kin had buried all three of them in one grave. The information so dismayed Zhuang that his face turned a ghostly white, as he now knew that the old lady had been telling the truth. He hurried over to plant a peach stake on the new tomb before dragging the cousin away.
After they returned, the old lady left for the countryside. Zhuang guessed that Yueqing would be coming back late after the party, so he scrounged up something to eat. As he thought back to what he had learned at the gravesite, he knew he could no longer treat the old lady’s prattle as nonsense; instead, he racked his brain to recall all the strange things she’d said and wrote them down for closer examination. Meanwhile, the sky turned overcast and wind gusts rattled the window, a sign of an impending downpour. He shut the windows before going outside to gather the clothes and bedding drying in the yard. But no rain came after an hour, just surges of dark clouds accumulating and roiling in the sky, and changing shape every minute or so. Sitting alone by the window, he watched them for a long time as they grew in size and formed a figure that was nearly human, running with flowing hair. The figure’s bare feet were so enormous he could almost distinguish upturned toes and detect their swirls. Amused, he tried to write down what he was seeing but could not find the words, so he took a picture before a sudden terror seized him. He turned to glance at the old lady’s room, which increased his fright and unease, so he locked up and went to his apartment in the federation compound.
Niu Yueqing did not return that afternoon and was still out at nightfall. Around ten, someone came to the compound with a message: Old Mrs. Wang had insisted that she stay the night to play mahjong, so she was returning the favor by inviting Old Mrs. Wang and Wang Ximian’s wife over the following day. They had both accepted the invitation.
“Am I expected to do the grocery shopping tomorrow morning?” Zhuang asked.
“That’s what she said.” The man handed him a shopping list.
Zhuang read the list: two catties of pork, one cattie of spare ribs, a carp, a tortoise, half a cattie of squid, half a cattie of sea cucumber, three catties of lotus roots, two catties of chives, one cattie of bean pods, one cattie of cowpeas, two catties of tomatoes, two catties of eggplant, two catties of fresh mushrooms, three catties of thick osmanthus liquor, seven bottles of Sprite, three catties of tofu, a half-cattie each of some Korean side dishes, two catties of mutton, one cattie of cured beef, five preserved eggs, one roasted chicken, one roasted duck, half a cattie each of cooked pork liver, pork belly, and smoked sausage. Also, he needed to bring from the Shuangren fu house a bottle of Wuliangye, ten bottles of beer, a pack of peanuts, dried mushrooms and wood ear, a bowl of sticky rice, a sack of red dates, and a handful of rice noodles. In addition, he had to buy a can of peas, a can of bamboo shoots, a can of cherries, a cattie of sausage, two catties of cucumbers, one ounce of thin seaweed, and three ounces of lotus seeds.
“What a pain,” Zhuang said. “Why not reserve tables at a restaurant?”
“Aunty said you’d say that,” the messenger said. “She asked me to tell you that this is for Wang Ximian’s wife. You can enjoy gourmet food at a restaurant, but the ambience can’t compare with eating at home, where you can have a real conversation.”
She’s convinced I have my eye on Wang’s wife, I guess, he said to himself.
After sending the messenger off, Zhuang thought about inviting Meng Yunfang and his wife, along with Zhou Min and his wife. Since they were going to host a luncheon, that way he could prove to Yueqing that he wasn’t interested in Wang’s wife while giving Tang Wan’er a chance to see his house. With his mind made up, he called Zhao Jingwu and asked him to go shopping with him early the next day.
. . .
At the crack of dawn, he rode over to Zhou Min’s house at 8 Ludang Lane. Tang Wan’er was up, working on her hair in front of a mirror. Zhou Min was crouching beneath a grape trellis brushing his teeth. With foam still in his mouth, he was beside himself with joy when he saw Zhuang walk in. His wife heard them and walked out, still touching up her hair. She blushed as she greeted Zhuang, and then walked to the side to wind her hair into a bun.
“Still fussing with your hair?” Zhou Min asked. “Why don’t you get tea for Zhuang Laoshi?”
That brought her back down to earth; she rushed inside to make tea. The water was so hot, she had to switch the cup between hands as she brought it over. She sucked in air and shook her hands when she laid the cup down. She gave Zhuang an embarrassed smile.
“Did that burn you?” he asked.
“Not really.” And yet she put her fingers in her mouth.
With a good night’s sleep and careful makeup, her face was fair, her skin smooth. She was wearing a figure-hugging pink sleeveless blouse with a scoop neck over a super-short pencil skirt, showing off her slender waist and long, graceful legs.
“Are you going out today?” Zhuang asked.