After we were done with the dumplings and cleared the table, Banping brewed a pot of jasmine tea. We started talking about the possible causes of Mr. Yang’s stroke. We believed that apart from his pathological condition, something else might have set off his collapse. We all offered our guesses. Weiya suggested something I hadn’t thought of before. She told us that Secretary Peng had pestered Mr. Yang continually ever since he had returned from Canada. “I’ve heard that the school demands he pay the money back,” she said rather mysteriously.
“What money?” I asked.
“The dollars he spent for his Canadian trip last winter.”
I was surprised. As his prospective son-in-law, why hadn’t I gotten wind of this? Before I could say anything, Anling piped in, “How much did he spend?”
“About eighteen hundred dollars,” said Weiya.
“Goodness, who can pay off such an amount!” Anling turned to me and went on, “How much does he make a month?” At last her hands stopped folding a toffee wrapper into a crane.
“One hundred and ninety yuan,” I answered.
“That translates into how many dollars?”
“About thirty,” Weiya told her.
With his chin propped on his hand, Banping said, “But I heard that Secretary Peng tried to persuade the school not to make him pay it back. She said she had helped Mr. Yang out.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Weiya brought out.
“Neither do I,” I agreed.
Five months ago Mr. Yang had gone to Canada for a conference on comparative literature. He had arrived at Vancouver too late to give his talk; yet seizing the opportunity, he visited San Francisco on his way back. Indeed, such a “sight-seeing trip” was inappropriate, yet making him pay for the fare and the hotel would ruin his family financially. Many leaders of our university had visited North America, Japan, Hong Kong, Africa, and Europe without accomplishing a thing, but they had never bothered about the expenses. And they often reminded us of how much the country spent for our education, saying it took at least seven workers or twenty-four peasants to support one college student.
Banping sighed and said, “Anyway, it’s so hard to live a scholar’s life nowadays — you always have too much to accomplish and too little to live on.” He lifted his cup and sipped the piping hot tea. “Worst of all, as a poor scholar your fate is never in your own hands. That’s why I don’t want to stay here.” He looked me in the face and sighed again.
I well understood his gaze. Unlike him, I would stay in academia. If I couldn’t get into the Ph.D. program at Beijing University, I’d soon begin teaching here. Truth be told, I didn’t mind what he said. He only meant to justify his decision to pursue an official career; also, he couldn’t help but lament our teacher’s collapse.
Banping had decided to serve as a junior clerk in the Provincial Commerce Department after graduation. The position could be lucrative, but I felt he had made a mistake, because he, gauche and slightly dense, might have a tough time surviving in official circles and might never rise to a high post. Our graduate program had admitted him mainly because he had memorized some classics and excelled in the political exam that required no thoughts of one’s own. Some people considered him a complete blockhead. He really ought to remain at the university, where he could at least hold a secure job. I asked him half jokingly, “Did you get Anling’s permission to enter government service?”
“You bet I did. If I weren’t going to the Commerce Department, she’d divorce me for sure.”
Both his wife and he laughed. “Get out of here,” she said, raising her small fist to shove his shoulder. Her smile revealed her lopsided teeth and made her eyes almost disappear.
“Why would you go to the Commerce Department?” I asked Banping. “You’ll have to grow another pair of eyes on the back of your head if you want to survive there.”
“I have my reasons.”
“What are they?” I asked.
“Yes, tell us,” Weiya urged.
“All right, number one, the Commerce Department has housing. They’ve promised me a three-bedroom apartment with a big balcony, all together more than a hundred square yards, which none of the young faculty here can even dream of. Number two, that department controls most of the merchandise produced in this province, so it’s a temple where companies and factories have to pay tribute — I’ll have lots of stuff to eat and drink. Are these two reasons not enough?”
“More than enough,” I said, nodding while thinking, He’s so materialistic. He shouldn’t have studied literature and written a thesis on ancient ballads.
“How big is the balcony?” I asked him.
“About the size of this room.”
“Wow, you can grow a kitchen garden on it.”
“Exactly.”
“We plan to do that,” added Anling.
“Yes, we’ll get some earthen pots,” Banping said.
“And a few sacks of fertilizer too,” I echoed.
Weiya tittered, then asked him, “Why don’t you go to the Policy Office? Doesn’t it want a graduate student from our school too?”
“It must have more advantages,” I said.
“That office is a bigger temple,” he explained. “In fact, it has some kind of control over all the departments at the Provincial Administration. Every clerk in that office is powerful because he works directly for the top leaders, who are lazy and depend on the clerks to think for them.” He pointed his thumb at me as if I were to become such a clerk. “You write their speeches, suggest ideas, and even handle small matters on their behalf. So you rub elbows with those big shots every day. If one of them is pleased with your work or just takes a shine to you, within a couple of years you’ll be an official of considerable stature. On top of that, you’ll learn about the workings of the government and gradually you’ll know how to run the province.”
“Well”—I snapped my fingers—“brother, if I were you I’d snatch the opportunity, to become an expert in governance.”
Without catching my mockery, he replied, “I don’t want to work there, though. So far I’ve only talked about the bright side of the picture. Let me tell you about the downside. If a leader happens to dislike you, or if any of your colleagues informs your superiors against you, or if you get involved in one of the factions, which is unavoidable, then you’re done for. Sooner or later they’ll kick you out of the office and banish you to a godforsaken region. They may even stick a criminal name on you and slam you into jail. Ah, it’s hard to protect your ass at a place like that.”
“How come you know so much about this?” I asked, quite impressed.
“A fellow townsman of mine told me about it. He works at the Provincial Administration.”
Weiya picked up, “If the Policy Office wanted a woman, I’d definitely go.”
Her serious tone surprised me. She looked at me with a straight face. I couldn’t tell whether she was expressing her genuine wish or just trying to enliven the conversation.
“That’s not a place for me, though,” Banping continued. “I don’t have the ambition or the charming personality, and my mind is too slow. I wouldn’t survive in the Policy Office. My goal isn’t high — all I want is a stable, comfortable life, which the Commerce Department can give me.”
I was amazed by his self-estimation. Obviously he was not as dense as I’d thought. I had sensed he possessed some kind of peasant cunning, but never had I expected he knew so clearly his place, needs, objects, and limitations. I bantered, “Come on, of course you have a great personality, or how could Anling have chosen you as her groom?”
“He tricked me!” his wife exclaimed. “You don’t know what a big liar he was. He made all sorts of promises. He said he’d take me to Golden Elephant Park every month after we got married. But he’s done that only once in a whole year.”