“Aha, so you have recovered from your disease? Are you telling everybody that you have severe diabetes?” The fat woman pushed my hand away and staggered to the wall to observe me. She said calmly, “I remember you living by fishing for little shrimp in the past. You were bent down next to the brook. You slept under a dead Chinese scholar tree, all wrapped up in old cotton wadding. On that tree there were several odd-looking bird nests. The birds went into panic whenever the wind came … You once gave my nephew a bamboo hat. He’s lost consciousness ever since he put on that hat. You’ve destroyed his life. I’ve been waiting to settle accounts with you.”
“I’m thirty-six. They say I’m still a young man. The problem started the year I was five. Hey, have you ever heard of a disease called snake’s-head craziness? It causes sores on the fingers. I had it once. It caused an infection in the lymph nodes all over my body.” I blushed when I said that and kept my eyes on the ground timidly. I always feel embarrassed when I touch on the fundamental problem.
“You are learning a skill. That’s good. I’m her aunt, and I’ve watched her grow up. The night you squatted with her under the cotton rose tree, I was spying on you in the corridor. I was thinking: What a good day you picked! I even pointed my flashlight at you, hoping I could dazzle your eyes and have some fun with you. You just can’t accept the fact that my niece has lost her sexual ability, right? What I mean is that she has never had sexual ability. Why did I point my flashlight at you? Because she never keeps me, her aunt, in her mind. For more than a decade, she has been telling people that I’ve disappeared, and she even forces others to believe her stupid presumption. She has been sabotaging my little plans in secret all that time. Did you notice the window facing the corridor that humid night? I was behind that window the whole night, observing you two. I flashed the light repeatedly to scare you. I am the memory of this family. I’ll die after everyone else.” She glanced at me sexually, her wrinkles becoming moist. “Do you have any interest in arecas? All the residents in the building keep their senses with my arecas. In fact all those rooms are empty. I’ve felt my way into each one of them. There’s not a single soul here. Sit close by me, I’d love to soothe the wound in your heart. I am a massager of the human soul.” She squatted down against the wall. Her voice became as soft as a little chick’s, and her eyes dimmed down. She beckoned me to squat down with her and clasp her hand, because she was having trouble breathing. She might have died if I had made any mistake.
I was delighted. This was everything that I could hope for. I immediately started my complaint. I love to start from the very beginning, which is closer to the fundamental problem, and thus more meaningful.
“I plan to start with the fundamental thing,” I said solemnly, then I peeped stealthily at her. She was distracted, her facial expression extremely serious. I felt excitement rise in my heart.
“Thirteen friends have said the same thing to me: ‘How can a young guy turn out like this? Think of the past, he was so valiant and bright!’ They were stunned, they felt pained, then they presented me with a memorial album and an umbrella. Now I’m going to touch on the fundamental problem — my whole story, cause and effect, origin and development. But before that, I’d like to raise an important issue. Wait a minute, please answer a question for me: Have you ever had snake’s-head craziness?”
The fat woman complained that some insect had crawled into her ear, so she felt curiously itchy. Shrugging her shoulders, she offered again to massage my soul. “I understand you.” She sniffed my palm and put on an unfathomable smile. Pressing one ear against the dirty brick wall, she said, “There’s all kinds of noise. When did you change your occupation? My niece told me that you’ve become a doctor? You’re certainly very flexible.”
“Oh, yes, this is exactly what I am going to say — why I believe that the profession of doctor is the most suitable for me, and why I don’t feel that being a butcher fits me. The decision was an accident. It was caused by my mother. You know that my mother died when I was eight. Day and night, she dug in the garbage heap. She belonged to such a miserable class, and I despised her. At my house, there were always many female guests. They covered their eyes to play blindman’s buff until each one of them was black and blue from tumbling and falling. Mother would boast while chewing odd-tasting beans: ‘My child is studying law.’ But in fact, I was thinking how to sabotage their game. I planned to pee in their plates, I planned to steal money from one of them. Outside the house, the sun was whistling, the little tree was swinging and swaying neurotically. I feared going out on sunny days, because I always stepped on my own shadow. My eyelids drooped constantly, and I always felt like peeing. I was doomed if someone gave me a slap on the back. ‘What are you listening to?’ Mother asked, putting her hairy arm on my shoulder. ‘The shouting of the sun.’ ‘Aha, this child is studying law.’ I walked into the corridor, hoping I would meet a person or even a cat — whenever I’m left alone, I long to meet something. I hate monotonous days. It’s a piece of luck that I have this corridor. It’s always so dim, and this is exactly what I like. Seeing a ball of stuff rolling by, I yelled, ‘Excellent!’ Mother and her female guests all peeped out to see what was the matter. But there was nothing happening, only my vision was blurred, and my throat felt itchy. ‘He’s doing research.’ Pointing at me, Mother told the group, ‘There’s certainly much to do in it.’ Spontaneously, they raised one finger: ‘Hush.’ Then they all returned to their hide-and-seek.
“I’m going to tell you in a minute how the idea of acting roles came to me — that was the product of a brainstorm. I once ploughed a piece of vegetable garden, do you believe me? Inside a broken trunk full of earth, I planted rows of Chinese cabbage very neatly. When the sun started shouting, I was engaged in an experiment on fertilizer production. I was very serious, yet very confused. While working, I was looking around. Every now and then, I would drop the rakes and spades, pretending not to be doing anything. I opened the window a crack and turned an ear to listen to the sun. When I felt tired, I would go to the house for a rest. But when I came out again, I found all my cabbages gone, only some traces of digging left in the earth. This happened several days running.
“Finally, I caught the saboteur. She was a woman who lived in a glass wardrobe. She was like a column of smoke. Day and night, she clutched an ice bag. According to her, this was her therapy. When she discovered that my therapy (planting Chinese cabbage) interfered with her therapy, she was determined to stop me. She complained that the smell I created in the corridor had caused a malfunction of her urinary system. ‘It’s no good to ignore the existence of others,’ she warned me, while tapping on the glass. ‘If you feel restless, you may talk to me. I will find some time to receive you. I’m not a rigid person bent solely on profit. Talking to others cheers me up and reminds me of my past.’ She opened her mouth exposing her decayed teeth. Her face looked blue inside the wardrobe. ‘What do you think of me? Not ugly at all, right?’ Several times I intended to move, yet stopped short, because she ordered me to. From her wardrobe, she pointed at me and commanded: ‘Halt!’ My legs felt weak, and I stopped. My back was sweating. ‘I have a classmate living downstairs. You’ve been evolving designs on her.’ She gave a snort of contempt and then nodded her head.