“Whoo! Lucky me.” She continued applying nail polish. It was hopeless.
Back to sorting. His hand paused over The Bicycle Thief, as he thought of the girl in Zhichunli. He hadn’t heard from her in days. He remembered the last time she called was three days after he’d given her The Bicycle Thief. She said she watched it. She wanted another violent movie and another horror, and two of something else while he was at it. He asked, What something else? She said, something like The Bicycle Thief. He asked her if she liked it, and she suddenly said she’d have to call back later, someone was at the door. About five minutes later she called again, saying sorry, but that she was busy, and she would call again some other time. Then she hung up. Dunhuang had waited, but she never called again. He waited a few more days, then tried calling a couple of times, but she never picked up. Then he’d found Qibao, and was too distracted to think of the girl again.
He worked it out — seventeen days. It wasn’t normal. He dialed her number, and she still didn’t answer. He decided to go have a look, and asked Qibao if she wanted to go.
“Go where?” she asked.
“To see a girl.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll go, to keep an eye on you.”
When he said he was running there she complained, “It’s on the other side of Zhongguancun, are you nuts? If you can’t afford the bus I’ll pay for it.”
“Forget it then, you can stay home.”
Qibao grumbled for a while, then said, “Okay, I guess misery loves company.”
Dunhuang briefly explained the girl’s situation, then they were out the door and moving. As they passed Pacific Computer City Qibao began running out of steam. They managed to stagger across the Zhongguancun bridge, but then Qibao plopped herself down on the street and refused to move, insisting they get a taxi. She wouldn’t go back, and wouldn’t let him keep running. Misery loves company indeed. Dunhuang had no choice but to get a taxi. “You’re crazy,” she said, once they were in the cab.
They buzzed up from downstairs, but no one answered. “Stop flattering yourself,” said Qibao. “She’s ignoring you.” Dunhuang wouldn’t give up, however, and waited by the door. At last someone went in, and they went in after. They climbed to the top floor, and saw two wide white strips of paper pasted over the girl’s door. Qibao looked at him with satisfaction, “See? You’re being gallant for nothing.”
“What the hell do you know,” Dunhuang said. “Why would her apartment suddenly be sealed?”
“Ask the police department.”
Dunhuang stood in front of the door for a while, trying to peer through the peephole, but it was blocked. He was baffled. Qibao dragged him back downstairs. He sat down on the steps outside the door and insisted on having a cigarette. As he was lighting it, a middle-aged woman came downstairs, and he asked her if she knew why the apartment on the top floor had been sealed. The woman shook her head, saying she didn’t know, and went on her way. He asked another person passing by, who had even less of a clue.
“What’s going on?” asked Qibao. “Why are you so concerned?”
“I just want to know what she thought of the movie I gave her.”
“You mean The Bicycle Thief? That’s it?”
“What else could it be? If I disappeared one day — no body, no nothing — what would you think?”
“An asshole like you, you’re sure to have run off with some girl!"
"Wouldn’t you be sad?”
“What fucking good would that do? Who knows why people disappear, what if it’s something good? Maybe the apartment wasn’t sealed because of her, but because of someone else. For instance, she could be the mistress of a corrupt official or a rich businessman’s concubine, and she got tired of the cushy life.”
“But what if she was depressed or agoraphobic, and something bad happened?”
“Whoa, ‘agoraphobic’—did you get a master’s degree behind my back? She’s probably depress-a-phobic because she can’t spend all her money!”
“Yeah, probably so.” Dunhuang stood and glanced up at the windows on the top floor. After a while he said, “‘Mistress’. . ‘concubine’. . can’t you be a little more positive?”
“What’s wrong with mistresses and concubines? Plenty of people would jump at the chance.”
It wasn’t an argument worth having, so Dunhuang ignored her — he thought she was the one being brainless now. Qibao saw he was giving her the cold shoulder so she did the same in return. They took a cab in silence back toward Weixiuyuan. As they were passing Zhongguancun, Qibao said she wanted to stop and get yogurt.
“Okay,” said Dunhuang, “let’s have the driver drop us off at the supermarket.” The fight was over.
13
That night, Dunhuang had another dream like the last one. Xiaorong shouting his name as she floated off the bridge. It was all perfectly clear in his dream, as though he were in a slow-motion scene in a film, too slow for him to grab her. Just before Xiaorong reached the ground, her face became that of the girl in Zhichunli. Dunhuang awoke scared. He’d never been superstitious, but something struck him as wrong about the sealing of the Zhichunli apartment. And that dream was strange. But what could he do? The next morning, as soon as he woke up, he called Xiaorong. She was distant at first, but she soon sounded normal. “What’s up,” she asked, throwing the ball immediately in his court.
He hemmed and hawed, then said, “I just wanted to tell you, I found Qibao.”
“You found her, that’s great!” she said. “That’s great. Bring her over to meet me, let’s do it today.”
Dunhuang decided he’d spring for dinner at Ancients. Qibao didn’t want to go, saying meeting his “adopted sister” was like meeting the family, but he finally convinced her, as a favor to him.
It was the same table as last time. Xiaorong saw them the moment she walked in, and was quietly surprised by Qibao’s beauty. Kuang Shan came in after, and only noticed her as they approached the table. He stopped and pointed his finger at her, appearing to be deep in thought. “You. . We’ve met before.”
Qibao stood up and said, “Yes, we had dinner together once.”
“Right, that’s right, with a bunch of friends. What’s your name? I guess Beijing’s still way too small,” Kuang Shan said.
“So this is Qibao,” said Xiaorong. “She’s awfully pretty, and so young!”
“Hi Xiaorong,” said Qibao. “Dunhuang’s always saying nice things about you.”
“About me?” Xiaorong started laughing. “What’s there to say! I’m practically an old maid.”
“You are not!” said Dunhuang.
Qibao chimed in, “You have real elegance, just the kind of feminine maturity that men like. That’s not something that ages!”
“I’m afraid it does,” replied Xiaorong. “This one’s practically lost interest in me.”
Qibao pointed at Kuang Shan. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, thinking the grass is greener.”
Kuang Shan waved this off. “I certainly don’t! I’ve hardly even looked over the fence.”
“Waiter, we’re ready to order,” Dunhuang said. “A half-and-half spicy pot, two plates of winter melon, and two plates of mushrooms. You guys order the rest.”
The pot boiled, and roiling steam cut off Dunhuang from Xiaorong. Though neither of them felt any danger in staying silent, they still kept the conversation going, avoiding awkward pauses. Dunhuang talked to Kuang Shan about the DVD trade, while Xiaorong waxed solicitous about how Qibao was getting along in Beijing, then moved on to cosmetics and snack food — conversation was livelier than they’d feared. Halfway through the meal, however, Kuang Shan had to leave — business at the shop, they’d been doing inventory. Dunhuang urged him to stay, but Xiaorong said, “Let him go if he needs to go, they’re waiting for him at the shop.” The three of them continued eating, and she said, “Qibao, have some more, should we get some tofu strips?” Qibao’s youth was most evident in the way she ate: head down, chopsticks flying, picking out her favorites. As she was absorbed in the food her phone rang, she went out to take the call and didn’t come back for nearly ten minutes. When she did, she said a friend was having a birthday party, and had asked her to go right over.