Dunhuang rolled back on top of her. “Damn, ball-and-chain, that’s good thinking. That’s exactly how I felt when I’d just gotten out and had no cash.”
“Piss off,” Qibao said, pushing him away. “I came to Beijing when I was eighteen; what mud puddle were you playing in back then?”
“I was trying to pass my tests, studying molecular formulas. Hydrogen plus oxygen is water.”
“Wow, you should be a college professor.”
“I thought so, too, but they didn’t want me.”
Qibao started laughing. “You’re full of yourself right up to the eyebrows.” Dunhuang laughed too. This damned girl had to have been squeezed out by a fox spirit, not another woman. No question.
15
Qibao bought Dunhuang a whole new set of clothes; from every angle he looked like a proper gentleman. She said, “You ought to look like a proper gentleman, both for yourself and for Bao Ding, you don’t want the prison guards to die laughing.” Besides cigarettes he brought a bite to eat, anything more and Bao Ding would have no place to keep it, and he wouldn’t be permitted to keep it anyway. He also brought a little medicine — Bao Ding had stomach problems — and some cash. When he got there, Bao Ding would tell him which guards to give it to. Dunhuang couldn’t even be sure Bao Ding was still in the same place. If he’d been moved, Dunhuang would have to make another trip.
The guard at the gate didn’t remember Dunhuang. There was no need to explain himself, he just passed some cigarettes to the police who’d brought him, and was taken in to see the head of the prison, where he handed out more smokes. They checked, Bao Ding was still there. Then he was following a guard through rooms and corridors that he still recognized. The place hadn’t changed in the past few months, neither had the faces and expressions of the guards — even the half-footprint on the wall where the corridor turned was still there. The grass in the prison yard was shining slickly, and moss was starting to appear on the shaded stone steps. The riflemen in the watchtowers cradled their guns, gazing into the distance. Dunhuang heard many people shouting slogans in unison, and the sound of marching footsteps like countless knives chopping vegetables. He was able to distinguish that sound from the general stillness of the yard, something he had never been able to do before: back then, he’d either been locked up in silence, or he’d been part of the vegetable-chopping brigade. You only ever heard one thing: either silence, or chopping.
“Wait here,” said the guard.
Dunhuang sat on a nearby chair. He was in a big room fitted with an iron barrier and thick glass, like you’d see on TV — always looking a little different, but feeling the same. A while later he heard someone say, “Go in!” and Bao Ding came in through a door on the other side of the barrier. He’d lost a lot of weight.
Dunhuang stood up. “Hey, man.”
“I guessed it was you, Dunhuang.” Bao Ding sat down across from him, starting to grin but then stopping himself. His face was a mass of bruises, and there were scabs at the corner of mouth and eye. “Nice duds, are they new? A man ought to look good.”
“Your face. . ” Dunhuang glanced at the guard five meters off.
“It’s nothing. Got into a fight with a Hubei guy. Cock-sucker was messing with a friend and I got sick of it, got into it with him. It’s almost better.”
“How’s your hand?”
“That’s fine — I wouldn’t have taken on the Hubei punk otherwise.”
“I thought I might not be able to find you.”
“I think they’re transferring me soon, they can’t keep me here past seven months without charging me. How are you doing?”
“Not bad, I’m selling DVDs. I haven’t gotten together enough money yet,” he said, lowering his voice, and his head.
“Are you nuts? I told you before, don’t even think about it. I know what’s what, even if I’m convicted it’s only a year or two, I’ll survive. Don’t kill yourself on my account. I’ve got room and board, you worry about yourself. Just bring me a carton of smokes from time to time.”
“I brought some. Also some food and stuff, stomach pills.” Dunhuang lowered his voice again.“And something to grease palms with, if you need it.”
“Either way, it’s cool,” Bao Ding said. “Did you find Qibao?”
“Yeah, she helped me buy all this stuff. Picked out these clothes, too. She’s been busy lately, so she couldn’t come with me.”
As he spoke, Dunhuang stared at a smudge on the glass, thinking it was probably year-old fly shit. Silence seemed to spread outward from his own ears, then he heard Bao Ding say, “She’s not bad, huh?”
“Yeah, she’s nice.”
Bao Ding started laughing, then put a hand to his face and stopped. “It’s fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about it, I’m a big boy. Just concentrate on making money.”
“Okay.”
“Remember, whatever happens, don’t let it get to you.”
“Okay.”
“Go on back.”
“Okay.”
They finished before their visiting time was up. Dunhuang watched Bao Ding being taken back through the door, walking stiffly, the scraping of his shoes on the concrete a little chilling. Go on back, he’d said, as easy as that. Qibao. Qibao. Dunhuang looked at the empty doorway, and silently cursed Qibao—You know what, you really are the child of a fox spirit. The guard yelled, “He’s gone!” and Dunhuang realized he was still sitting there dumbly. He quickly stood.
He took it upon himself to do a little palm-greasing on his own, and was a long time about it. Standing outside the prison gates, smoking, he was totally exhausted. By the time he paid for the bus to get back to the city he was nearly penniless.
The sun went down as the bus reached Hangtian Bridge. Dunhuang got off and headed for Qibao’s place. Her phone was off, she was most likely asleep. She distinguished night from day not by the clock or by the sun, but by when she felt sleepy. Whenever she was sleepy it was night; the sun could be shining, but she’d pull the curtains and crash. She was a savage, fearless little creature, going her own way. Dunhuang rang the bell downstairs over and over, but no one answered. Fuck, she was a deep sleeper. He rang again, and finally someone answered the intercom — Qibao’s roommate, the girl with legs as skinny as chopsticks. Qibao called her Bony Beauty, but Dunhuang thought The Skeleton was more like it. Plenty of go in that skinny body, though, she was always bringing men home with her. Dunhuang didn’t see the appeal of lying on top of a rack of ribs.
“Who’s trying to break the buzzer,” Bony Beauty said nastily. Dunhuang announced himself, and her tone softened a bit. “Qibao’s not here.” He asked where she’d gone, and the girl said she didn’t know, try asking her cellphone.
“Try asking her cellphone”—nice. Would I be here if that had worked? Dunhuang assumed she was pissed off because she’d had to push some guy off her to answer the intercom. Just hanging around seemed boring, so he went to the supermarket, bought a pack of stickers, and started making ads. He changed the wording: “All movies, any movies.” Once he’d finished, he started pasting them nearby, choosing quiet corners and unobtrusive spots. The sanitation workers were campaigning against advertising like his, calling it “urban psoriasis,” and posting stickers in obvious places was just asking to have them torn down. He stuck some on the mailboxes in the lobby of the apartment building. It was nine thirty by the time he was done, and Qibao’s phone was still off. He was starving, so he went to Malan Noodles for a bowl of something, then took his time sauntering back. She still wasn’t home. This time Bony Beauty didn’t snap at him, but said, “I’m sure she’ll be back any minute, want to come up and wait?”