His mother, Jian, put in, “Yaning, be patient. Tell her to just wait a few months. When your father becomes the vice director, he’ll ask for a new apartment. They’ll give us one for sure.” She peeled a green leaf off a lettuce, dipped it into the fried soy paste, and put it into her broad mouth.
“I don’t know.” Guhan sighed, twisting his mustache with his fingers, and his close-set eyes squinted at Yaning.
He was sympathetic to his son, whose facial tic made it harder for him to keep a fiancée. If their one-room apartment were larger, he would have let the young couple marry and move in, but there was no extra space for them. An ideal solution would be for him to get another apartment, one of those built recently near East Cannery, where he led the Packing Section; then he could give this old apartment to Yaning, whose work unit, a bookstore, was too small to own any residential housing. What prevented Guhan from applying for an apartment now was that he might be promoted to vice director of the cannery, and any selfish act at this moment might cause animosity among the staff and workers and upset his promotion. His superiors had already assured him that he was the strongest candidate for the position because he had a college degree.
Tong Guhan was a simple man, not very interested in power. But recently he realized that if he were the vice director, he could have moved into a new apartment long ago and said to his son, “Prepare for the wedding!” and he could also have written to his daughter, “Forget veterinary medicine and come back home. I’ll get you a residence card and find you a good job here.” Obviously the solutions to both problems depended on whether his promotion would materialize in time. These days he became anxious. Every morning, when watering the violets, cannas, roses, and cyclamen in his tiny backyard, he’d pray in silence that today he’d be officially notified of the promotion.
It was a sunny day. Buildings, trees, electrical poles, and kiosks were still wet with rainwater; the night before, a thunder shower had poured on the city. The blue trolley-bus Guhan was taking to work was full of passengers, wobbling along River Boulevard like a boat sailing through a harbor. The sunlight slanted in through the trolley’s windows, shining on people’s faces and the backs of the imitation-leather seats. Guhan let both arms, thin and swarthy, remain basking in the sun. He hoped the previous night’s lightning had not damaged the ice-cabinets in his workshop.
On arrival at the cannery, he ran into Fei, a spindly young man who had recently joined the Party. “Good morning, Old Tong,” Fei greeted him pleasantly, his round head tilted to one side. “Did you have a good bus ride?”
“It was all right,” Guhan replied lukewarmly.
“Director Li wants to see you.”
“About what?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Guhan disliked Fei, who seemed too clever and oily. It was rumored that Fei would lead the Packing Section if Guhan left for his new position. The warmth Fei exuded made Guhan feel that the young man couldn’t wait to take over.
He went to Director Li’s office in the back of the factory building. At the sight of him, Li poured him a cup of green tea from a tall thermos bottle and said, “Old Tong, Secretary Liu and I want you to take a trip to Taifu City.”
“What for?”
“To get our money from the coal mine.” Li winked. His eyes were so big that some workers called him Director Ox-Eyes behind his back.
Guhan had heard of the debt. Knowing he had no choice, he said, “Of course I’ll go.”
“You’ll represent our factory as our vice director. I hope they’ll pay us this time, otherwise we won’t be able to operate next year. The apartment building has gobbled up most of our funds.”
“I’ll try my best, Director Li.” Guhan’s face brightened at the mention of his new title.
“I wish you luck, Old Tong. Be stubborn with them.” Li gave him a meaningful look and tapped his cigarette over the ashtray on the desk, revealing the stump of his third finger lost in the Korean War.
Guhan realized the trip was meant to test his ability as a factory leader. Two years ago the coal mine had bought twenty-four tons of canned food from East Cannery, but to date, though dunned every month, the mine hadn’t paid a fen. Despite knowing it was a difficult mission, Guhan dared not show any reluctance in front of Li. He told himself, If they don’t pay the debt this time, I won’t come back. He believed the trip might either finalize or cancel his promotion.
That evening, after dinner, his wife sewed into his underwear a secret pocket in which he could carry cash and national food coupons. Unlike other women in the neighborhood, Jian had always been a housewife ever since they married. Guhan had never cursed or beaten her; for that he was respected by their neighbors. Jian asked him repeatedly when he’d be back, saying she’d miss him, but he couldn’t give her a definite date. He said, “Don’t worry. I can take care of myself. I’ll come back soon.”
One morning in late July, after an eleven-hour train ride, Guhan arrived at Taifu. That very afternoon he went to the coal mine, but found only a few clerks in the office building. An accident, a cave-in, had occurred in a tunnel, and all the leaders had gone to the scene.
The next morning he again went to the office building, which was a two-story manor, constructed of black bricks and red tiles, its doors and windows painted sky blue. On both sides of the front entrance stood a few sunflowers, heavy-headed, soaked with dew, and facing southeast. Several bumblebees were humming among the yellow, toothed petals, darting about. Guhan nodded at the guard, who remembered him. He went up the iron stairs that led to the main office. Manager Ren, a stout man with a double chin, received him. He had heard of Guhan’s previous visit, and after an exchange of greetings, he said they’d wire the money to East Cannery soon.
“How soon?” Guhan asked, taking a puff of a Winter Jasmine cigarette while his other hand fingered his lighter.
“In a week or so.”
“Manager Ren, could you give me a written statement confirming that? Otherwise I won’t be able to go back.”
Ren shook his head and sighed. “We really don’t have a set date. Sorry, I cannot give you a written statement, Director Tong.”
“You see, we’ll go bankrupt if you don’t pay us soon. We owe a construction company thirty thousand yuan, but our coffers are empty. They’re going to sue us if we don’t pay them within a month.”
“Well, fact is I can’t decide this matter by myself. We’ll have a meeting to discuss it.”
“All right, in that case I’ll wait here, at the inn. When will you let me know your decision?”
“Why don’t you go back to Muji? We’ll send you an official letter in a couple of days.”
“I was instructed not to return without the money.”
Guhan was prepared for the difficulty, so he was not deterred by Ren’s equivocal responses. Before leaving, he told the manager that he would have to come back the next day. Ren grimaced, scratching the back of his ear.
The following afternoon Guhan went to the mine’s office building again, but Manager Ren was out visiting the injured workers at the hospital. He left Ren a note, begging him to cherish the friendship between the mine and the cannery and clear up the debt without further delay.
With heavy legs, he returned to Anti-Imperialism Inn. The inn was a pleasant place, compared with the drab surroundings — hillsides spotted with the dark mouths of tunnels, coal piles here and there accompanied by the skeletons of cranes and conveyers, and trains crawling about like giant caterpillars. It consisted of four brick houses that formed a large courtyard, in which there was a small well topped with a winch. A dozen apple trees stood on both sides of the path that divided the yard in half. A few small cages, made of cornstalks, containing grasshoppers and cicadas, hung under the eaves of the northern house. Two or three pieces of radish greens were stuck into each cage — food for the insects, which, when evening settled in, would start chirring. Their metallic chirrups would continue until midnight.