On Saturday, Beina and I went to the mental hospital. She couldn’t pedal, and it was too far for me to carry her on my bicycle, so we took the bus. She had been there by herself two weeks ago to deliver some socks and a pair of woolen pajamas she’d knitted for Baowen.
We arrived at the hospital early in the afternoon. Baowen looked healthy and in good spirits. It seemed the bath had helped him. He was happy to see Beina and even cuddled her in my presence. He gave her two toffees; knowing I disliked candies, he didn’t offer any to me. He poured a large mug of malted milk for both of us, since there was only one mug in the room. I didn’t touch the milk, unsure whether homosexuality was communicable. I was glad to see that he treated his wife well. He took a genuine interest in what she said about their comrades in our factory, and now and then laughed heartily. What a wonderful husband he could have been if he were not sick.
Having sat with the couple for a few minutes, I left so that they could be alone. I went to the nurses’ office upstairs and found Long Fuhai writing at a desk. The door was open, and I knocked on its frame. Startled, he closed his brown notebook and stood up.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I said.
“No, Uncle, only because I didn’t expect anyone to come up here.”
I took a carton of Peony cigarettes out of my bag and put it on the desk, saying, “I won’t take too much of your time, young man. Please keep this as a token of my regards.” I didn’t mean to bribe him; I was sincerely grateful to him for treating Baowen well.
“Oh, don’t give me this, please.”
“You don’t smoke?”
“I do. Tell you what, give it to Dr. Mai. He’ll help Baowen more.”
I was puzzled. Why didn’t he want these top-quality cigarettes if he smoked? Seeing that I was confused, he went on, “I’ll be nice to Baowen without any gift from you. He’s a good man. It’s the doctor’s wheels that you should grease.”
“I have another carton for him.”
“One carton’s nothing here. You should give him at least two.”
I was moved by his thoughtfulness, thanked him, and said goodbye.
Dr. Mai happened to be in his office. When I walked in, he was reading the current issue of Women’s Life, whose back cover carried a large photo of Madame Mao on trial — she wore black and stood, handcuffed, between two young policewomen. Dr. Mai put the magazine aside and asked me to sit down. In the room, tall shelves loaded with books and files lined the walls. A smell of rotten fruit hung in there. He seemed pleased to see me.
After we exchanged a few words, I took out both cartons of cigarettes and handed them to him. “This is just a small token of my gratitude, for the New Year,” I said.
He took the cigarettes and put them away under his desk. “Thanks a lot,” he whispered.
“Dr. Mai, do you think Baowen will be cured before the holiday?” I asked.
“What did you say? Cured?” He looked surprised.
“Yes.”
He shook his head slowly, then turned to check that the door was shut. It was. He motioned me to move closer. I pulled the chair forward a little and rested my forearms on the edge of his Bakelite desktop.
“To be honest, there’s no cure,” he said.
“What?”
“Homosexuality isn’t an illness, so how can it have a cure? Don’t tell anyone I said this.”
“Then why torture Baowen like that?”
“The police sent him here and we couldn’t refuse. Besides, we ought to make him feel better and hopeful.”
“So it isn’t a disease?”
“Unfortunately, no. Let me say this again: there’s no cure for your son-in-law, Old Cheng. It’s not a disease. It’s just a sexual preference; it may be congenital, like being left-handed. Got it?”
“Then why give him the electric bath?” Still I wasn’t convinced.
“Electrotherapy is prescribed by the book — a standard treatment required by the Department of Public Health. I have no choice but to follow the regulations. That’s why I didn’t give him any of those harsher treatments. The bath is very mild by comparison. You see, I’ve done everything in my power to help him. Let me tell you another fact: according to the statistics, so far electrotherapy has cured only one out of a thousand homosexuals. I bet cod liver oil, or chocolate, or fried pork, anything, could produce a better result. All right, enough of this. I’ve said too much.”
At last his words sank in. For a good while I sat there motionless with a numb mind. A flock of sparrows were flitting about in the naked branches outside the window, chasing the one that held a tiny ear of millet in its bill. Another of them dragged a yellow string tied around its leg, unable to fly as nimbly as the others. I rose to my feet and thanked the doctor for his candid words. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill and said, “I’ll take special care of your son-in-law. Don’t worry.”
I rejoined Beina downstairs. Baowen looked quite cheerful, and it seemed they’d had a good time. He said to me, “If I can’t come home soon, don’t push too hard to get me out. They won’t keep me here forever.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
In my heart I was exasperated, because if Dr. Mai’s words were true, there’d be little I could do for Baowen. If homosexuality wasn’t a disease, why had he felt sick and tried to have himself cured? Had he been shamming? It was unlikely.
Beina had been busy cleaning their home since her last visit to the hospital. She bought two young drakes and planned to make drunk duck, the dish she said Baowen liked best. My heart was heavy. On the one hand, I’d have loved to have him back for the holiday; on the other hand, I was unsure what would happen if his condition hadn’t improved. I dared not reveal my thoughts to anybody, not even to my wife, who had a big mouth. Because of her, the whole factory knew that Beina was still a virgin, and some people called her Virgin Bride.
For days I pondered what to do. I was confused. Everybody said that homosexuality was a disease except for Dr. Mai, whose opinion I dared not mention to others. The factory leaders would be mad at me if they knew there was no cure for homosexuality. We had already spent over three thousand yuan on Baowen. I kept questioning in my mind, If homosexuality is a natural thing, then why are there men and women? Why can’t two men get married and make a baby? Why didn’t nature give men another hole? I was beset by doubts. If only I could have seen a trustworthy doctor for a second opinion. If only I had a knowledgeable, honest friend to talk with.
I hadn’t yet made up my mind about what to do when, five days before the holiday, Chief Miao called from the Public Security Bureau. He informed me that Baowen had repeated his crime, so the police had taken him out of the hospital and sent him to the prison in Tangyuan County. “This time he did it,” said the chief.
“Impossible!” I cried.
“We have evidence and witnesses. He doesn’t deny it himself.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know how to continue.
“He has to be incarcerated now.”
“Are you sure he’s not a hermaphrodite?” I mentioned that as a last resort.