“You need to understand that all these problems have put him in a bad mood. It’s normal for a writer to be moody. And he’s the sensitive type, which is why he can act like a child even in his forties. We’ve been married for over a decade, so I’m used to it. I’m just glad he doesn’t smoke opium or fool around outside, so we have to tolerate some of his problems at home. That day you and I wrongly accused him of infidelity because of the letter, he was boiling mad. But the angrier he got, the more secure I felt. Being married to someone like him, I have to be both wife and mother.”
A good wife, but a bit foolish, too, Liu said to herself. “People often say the wife is the last to know when her husband is having an affair,” she said to Niu Yueqing. “You’re his wife and his mother.” She smiled. “But you also have to be his daughter and his courtesan.”
“What nonsense is that? A wife is a wife. How can she be a courtesan? What kind of man would he be, and what kind of woman would that make me? If anyone outside heard what you just said, they’d surely look down on our family.”
Liu Yue stuck out her tongue and said, “I know nothing. Just some rubbish.”
“You know too much, and often what you shouldn’t know. You little tart, whoever marries you will be tormented to death within a year.”
After dinner, she told Liu to get a pen and paper to write out a guest list for the birthday party. When she finished, Niu Yueqing checked the list: Wang Ximian, Gong Jingyuan, Ruan Zhifei, Meng Yunfang, and Zhou Min and their wives, Zhao Jingwu, Hong Jiang, Niu Yueqing’s cousin and her husband, Mr. Wei, the deputy chair of the League of Writers and Artists, Ding at the Artists’ Association, Wang Laihong from the Dancers’ Association, Zhang Zhenghai of the Writers’ Association, as well as Mr. Zhong, Li Hongwen, and Gou Dahai from the magazine. More than two tables.
“Will the banquet be held at a restaurant or here at home? I can’t cook for that many people.”
“The ambience at home is better,” Niu Yueqing said, “and of course you won’t have to cook. My cousin’s husband is a chef who will do the cooking, while old Meng can take care of the noodles and buns. You and I will take handle the invitations and the shopping.”
They proceeded to look up everyone’s number in the phone book and wrote them all down for Liu Yue to call; Niu Yueqing would personally invite those without phones. Then they moved on to the shopping list for food, cigarettes, and liquor, as well as utensils and a coal-burning stove that needed to be purchased.
A melodious call sounded beyond the door: “Junkman! Collecting junk and scraps!”
“The junkman is here, Dajie. Let’s sell him the empty bottles and old newspaper under the rear window so the house will look neat and clean when the guests arrive.”
Niu Yueqing nodded and went with her to bring out the scrap. In the light from the streetlamp at the entrance, they saw the old junkman lying face-up on the straw mat in his cart smoking, clearly enjoying himself as he puffed and blew smoke rings.
“Isn’t it a bit late to be collecting scrap?” Niu Yueqing asked.
Without looking at her, he blew a smoke ring and said, “It’s late, have any scrap?”
Liu Yue burst out laughing.
“Why are you laughing?” Niu Yueqing chided. “Silly girl.”
“We have so many worries, but look at him, he’s enjoying life. I’ve heard he’s good at making up doggerel. Let’s ask him to sing.” She turned to the old man, “Hey, sing for us and we’ll sell you this scrap cheap.”
Still ignoring the women, he exhaled a column of smoke that rose up to the streetlight, where it dispersed like a cloud and highlighted mosquitoes.
“You sleep on a springy mattress, but it feels like a straw mat; I sleep on a straw mat, but it feels like a springy mattress. Two cranes soar in the clouds.”
Liu Yue chattered something in response to the strange words.
“Be more serious, Liu Yue,” Niu Yueqing said. She turned to the old man. “You’ve worked hard today. Where will you stay tonight?”
“I stay where the wind stays.”
“It’s late. Have you eaten?” Niu Yueqing asked.
“What you ate I ate.”
“Go inside and bring out a couple of buns, Liu Yue.”
Reluctantly, she went inside. Without thanking her or stopping the girl, the old man jumped off his cart to weigh the scrap and counted out the money. Niu Yueqing wouldn’t take it, but he kept counting.
“Everyone says you’re good at making up doggerel, old uncle. I have a favor to ask,” Yueqing said. He abruptly stopped counting. Seeing that he was listening, she gave him a brief description of her husband, who worked on cultural propaganda and had had an article published to help someone one out during the People’s Congress election. The former chair was not reelected, and now people were plotting against him. She wondered if the old man could come up with something to spread around that would help her husband appeal the injustice. He did not respond. Liu Yue came out with the buns and handed them to the old man, who offered the coins with one hand and took the buns with the other. Niu Yueqing still would not take his money, so the coins littered the ground as he left with his cart. Niu Yueqing sighed, wishing she hadn’t wasted an explanation on him, but just as she was about to enter the yard, she heard the old man reciting words, one by one, from the far end of the dim alley.
“What’s he singing?” Niu Yueqing asked. “That’s not what I asked for.”
Liu Yue said it was wonderful. Back inside, she waited until Niu Yueqing went to bed before going to the study to copy down the ditty. As expected, it turned out to be quite well known in Xijing’s literary circles. Here was what she had:
Fangzi (房子 house), guzi (谷子 grain), piaozi (票子 money), qizi (妻子 wife), erzi (儿子 son), sunzi (孙子 grandson), 庄子 Zhuangzi, 老子 Laozi, 孔子 Kongzi. After a lifetime of buzz, leaving nothing but a chin with fuzz, huzi 胡子.
When she was done, she undressed and climbed into bed with Niu Yueqing, who was still awake. She touched the girl’s smooth, supple body. “You have a nice body, Liu Yue.”
The caress tickled the girl. They chatted a while before one of them said, “Time to sleep.” They soon drifted off.
The thunderstorm from the night before had cooled things off. Liu Yue had not slept well the night before, and she was exhausted. She slept soundly on this night. Yet she thought she heard something in her dream, and it might have been real. It sounded like someone moaning and whining, clearly not caused by pain; it was fast one minute and slow the next, high one instant and then low; sometimes as rapid as the hoof beats of a horse running down the street, or rain beating down on a sandy beach, at other times as leisurely as an old ox plowing a rice paddy or a kitten licking starchy paste. She didn’t know why, but she went limp at the sound, her arms leaving her at first, followed by her legs, and finally her whole body; there was nothing left but her beating heart, as her body soared, flying up into a shiny white cloud before thudding to the ground. She woke up, exhausted beyond words and drenched in sweat. Strange how comfortable she had been a moment before. Then, feeling a coolness between her legs, she reached down and found that she was wet. She was wiping it with the sheet when she heard Niu Yueqing moaning beside her.