This is a real fucking eye-opener, Dunhuang thought as he rummaged. He suddenly seemed laughable to himself — a little clown of a DVD peddler. He filled his backpack and a suitcase then dragged them laboriously across the mountains of movies, feeling even more silly. One pack and one suitcase, only a drop in the bucket to these guys. Kuang Shan must have felt the same way in the beginning, but at least it drove him to open his own shop.
* * *
The prices at Boss Feng’s were even cheaper than Cosmic, and Dunhuang continued to restock there. The clampdown was continuing and he kept a low profile on the streets, out of the sights of the police and city management. Every few days he made the rounds to his old customers: the PKU dorms, the office building at Changhong bridge, and a few other places — in and out, wherever he saw an opening. He continued to get a few calls from old customers as well. If something didn’t feel right he just stayed at home, or went out shopping with Qibao. Or he’d accompany her on deliveries, though things were bad for the fake ID business, too, and her work came in fits and starts. Things between them were good one moment, bad the next — good when they were together, bad when one of them disappeared. But Qibao preferred that to going around joined at the hip.
He still hadn’t gone for a drink with Kuang Shan; he didn’t feel like listening to his woes. Kuang Shan had called him once to tell him that Xiaorong’s belly was starting to show. Laying on his bed and imagining what that must look like, Dunhuang was even less inclined to visit. After a few days of “catching his breath,” Kuang Shan started selling DVDs with Xiaorong. They would start from square one, he said, and Cosmic would rise again. Dunhuang spotted him at the gate of the Forestry University. He’d been planning to sell DVDs there, but when he saw Kuang Shan he stayed on the bus and kept going.
Life was dull for quite some time. The weather was hot, and it was uncomfortable both indoors and out. Outside, the sun scorched him until he was short of breath. Inside, the heat seemed to pass straight through the brick walls and concrete roof. He was uneasy, it felt like something was about to happen. And then something did.
* * *
It was noon and he was drinking beer in a small restaurant outside of Weixiuyuan when the phone rang. The caller’s voice sounded strange and he wouldn’t reveal who he was, only asking where Dunhuang was. When Dunhuang told him the “West Gate Chicken Wing” joint, the caller hung up. Apprehensive, he rushed to pay the bill and leave, but at the door found someone blocking his way. When he looked up his mouth dropped open — it was Bao Ding.
“Going somewhere?” Bao Ding said with a grin.
“You scared the crap out of me, I thought it was a sting!” Dunhuang turned and yelled to the server, “Bring a menu, we’re ordering!” She was in the midst of clearing his table, and looked at him blankly. “Something wrong with your ears?” he said. “Ten bottles of beer!”
They sat down, and Dunhuang asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting out?”
“Didn’t know myself,” Bao Ding answered. He guzzled an entire bottle of chilled beer, then belched once and farted twice before continuing. “Remember last time I told you I got into a fight inside, protecting some other guy? Well that guy was from Changping, he was in for knocking up some girl he shouldn’t have. Turns out his big brother’s some kind of official. Anyway, he had some strings to pull, and the brother got the guy sprung. I was included in the deal and came out with him — he’s a stand-up guy.”
“You don’t blame me, do you?” Dunhuang asked.
Bao Ding punched his shoulder. “You’re messed up in the head, kid! What the hell is that guy to me? He’s got a political background — at most I’ll be buddy-buddy with him over a few drinks, and that’s it. You and I aren’t like that, we don’t count for shit — there won’t even be headstones on our graves! Why would I blame you? If I did I wouldn’t have come to meet you.”
Dunhuang knew Bao Ding didn’t play mind games with his friends, and he let it go. He was out, that was the main thing. Bao Ding ordered one of everything he’d been missing, and they ate and drank and talked. He said the Hubei bastard would have a hard time of it, they were sure to extend his sentence, and it served him right for starting fights when he was already in jail. Bao Ding was lucky he stepped into the fight when he did, otherwise who knew where he might have been transferred to. He told a few fragmentary stories of funny things that had happened in jail, some of which Dunhuang had experienced himself, some of which he’d only seen on television, and some were even better than on TV. One guy who was a little wrong in the head kept yammering on about how he was going to commit suicide. He had his heart set on hanging himself but had no rope, and early every morning he would go around to the other prisoners’ bunks and collect threads and lint, meaning to accumulate enough to braid himself a noose. Another guy collected all the dead insects he could, even lice. He squashed them flat and kept them, saying he’d eventually use them to piece together a map of the world.
By the time they’d put down fifteen bottles of beer Bao Ding was a little drunk. When they were paying the bill he suddenly asked, “Where’s Qibao?”
“She might be making a delivery,”said Dunhuang.“I’ll tell her to come over.” He called Qibao’s number but her phone was off. “Why don’t you go back and have a nap first?”
“Yeah,” said Bao Ding. “This beer has gone to my head.”
17
Bao Ding slept all afternoon in Dunhuang’s room and woke at dusk. Dunhuang wasn’t there. Under the bed was a pair of delicate women’s slippers. He picked them up and smelled them for a while before putting them down and knocking them back under the bed with his heel. Before he finished a cigarette, Dunhuang was back. He was carrying an assortment of bags full of clothes he’d bought for Bao Ding, everything he’d need from head to toe, including a pair of leather sandals. “You’re dressing me up for my wedding,” said Bao Ding. Dunhuang said, “You said a man’s got to look good.”
“Kid, I was talking about you,” Bao Ding said.
The landlady wasn’t home, so Dunhuang told Bao Ding to wash at the spigot in the yard while he kept watch at the main gate. It was dark by the time Bao Ding finished washing and dressing — he hardly recognized himself. “Damn,” he said. “It’s good to be out.”
They ate dinner out. Dunhuang stuffed five hundred kuai in Bao Ding’s pocket.
“What the hell is this?” Bao Ding asked.
“I’m going to deliver some DVDs in a bit,” Dunhuang said. “If you go out, you ought to have something in your pocket.”
“Fuck, kid, are you trying to corrupt me?”
Dunhuang chuckled. “I never said a word.”
After they parted, Dunhuang called Qibao again, but her phone was still off. That damned girl. .
Bao Ding wandered out, hands in his pockets, with no particular destination. Haidian district hadn’t changed much. A string of cars were parked outside the sports arena; the wealthy were inside exercising, the young were singing karaoke. Same as always. Bao Ding’s sudden freedom left him feeling empty, and he decided he needed something to do. He got on the number 332 bus. He rode all the way to Xizhimen, the last stop, then left the station and continued wandering. The streets were packed with people — what an enormous jail you’d need if you wanted to lock them all up. He followed the footsteps of others: turning around, going straight ahead, crossing the street, straight again, turning, crossing the street, and then he was standing in front of a small nightclub. Bao Ding looked at the flickering, shimmering neon and laughed. He shuffled his feet—son of a bitch, they’re all trying to corrupt me. So that empty feeling had just been telling him to come here. Before jail he visited once or twice a month, it was a safe place.