“Will the operation hurt?” Sasha asked abruptly.
Wang Qiyao was taken aback. She said that she did not know either, but it couldn’t possibly be as painful as giving birth.
“How does it compare with having a tooth pulled?” Sasha asked. Wang Qiyao laughed. “How could you make such a comparison?” She appreciated Sasha’s concern, but couldn’t pass up an opportunity to mock him. “It’s not a tooth, you know?”
At this point, the dishes arrived and they started to eat.
“Of all the food I have ever had, those meals you made for me were the best,” remarked Sasha.
Wang Qiyao accused him of only saying such things to flatter her, but he insisted that he meant every word of it — her cooking stood out, not because she used expensive ingredients or made unusual dishes, but because it was home cooking, the kind that one could eat day in and day out and never tire of.
“Of course those dishes were home-cooked, what else could they be? Food made by vagabonds?” joked Wang Qiyao.
“You put it perfectly,” Sasha replied. “Perhaps you don’t believe it, but people like me lead lives that can only be described as vagabond.”
“Of course, I don’t believe you,” Wang Qiyao said.
Ignoring her, Sasha continued, “I am busy from morning till night, acting like I have a hundred places to go, but that’s only because I really don’t have anywhere to go…. My heart is unsettled; I can’t sit still anywhere for long. I feel like there is this fire burning under my seat, and so I have to get up and go. . ”
“What about your grandmother’s place?” Wang Qiyao asked.
Sasha shook his head with a dejected air, but didn’t say a word. Wang Qiyao felt sorry for him but could not think of what to say to comfort him. They ate the rest of the meal in silence. When it came time to pay, Wang Qiyao matter-of-factly took out her pocketbook.
To her surprise, Sasha was furious. “Wang Qiyao, do you really think so poorly of me? I may not be rich, but I can still afford to take a woman out to lunch.”
Wang Qiyao’s cheeks burned and she managed only to stammer, “This is really for me to take care of.”
She was taking an enormous risk with those words, and her eyes betrayed a glimmer of guilt. Sasha held her hand with the money in it, his face suddenly suffused with gentleness.
“This is a man’s business,” he said softly.
Wang Qiyao did not argue with him. After he paid the waiter, they left the restaurant in silence, each barely able to fight back the tears.
As the day of the operation was approaching, Sasha received a call from an aunt in Russia asking him to meet her in Peking. He suggested that Wang Qiyao postpone the operation for a few days until his return, but Wang Qiyao insisted on going ahead with it without him. She told him not worry, explaining that it wasn’t really a big deal.
“Just like pulling a tooth,” she added teasingly.
But Sasha would not hear of it. Wang Qiyao lied to him, saying that her mother would go with her. Although he doubted that she would actually ask her mother, he turned a blind eye and pretended to believe her. Before he left, he forced her to accept ten yuan to buy something nutritious after the operation. Wang Qiyao took the money but later sneaked twenty back into his pocket. She heard the sound of his footsteps going down the stairs and out the back door, gradually growing ever more distant. She sat transfixed, her mind emptied of all thoughts, as the colors of dusk slowly slipped in through the window, engulfing her like a cloud of dark mist.
That was a night of utter stillness. Everything seemed to be the way it was before — no Sasha, no Kang Mingxun, not even Madame Yan. Wang Qiyao took in even the minutest sounds of Peace Lane: footsteps on loose floorboards, doors being shut, parents hollering at their children, even the whoosh of running faucets. Her gaze settled on the potted oleander plant on the balcony opposite, bathed in cold moonlight. She could almost see the gentle hand that tended the plant. In contrast, the sound of water rushing down the pipes had a preemptory air, as though lodging a protest on behalf of Peace Lane. Even though the patch of sky above Peace Lane was narrow and crooked, it remained, far, far away. On clear nights the silhouettes of the buildings stood against the sky like a paper cutout. The buildings might conceal the moon and stars, but they could not prevent their light from shining through, nor could they block out the warmth and cold. Good: it meant that the seasons were still on schedule and people’s lives went on as usual.
Wang Qiyao opened a packet of longan fruit and started shelling them. No patients came on that tranquil night; only the old man from around the corner came around, warning people to mind their kitchen fires, a well-intentioned message coming from an experienced voice. Wang Qiyao had filled a bowl with succulent longan meat, leaving the shells in a heap on the table. The large flowers on the window curtains, somewhat faded, were still distinct. The mice soon kicked off their nocturnal activities, squeaking merrily along. Cockroaches, masters of the night, began scurrying about out of human sight, coming on shift even as people went off to bed. A myriad insects were astir, drawing the sparrows’ attention.
The following day was humid and warm, with a drizzling rain. Wang Qiyao took an umbrella with her. On her way out she looked back at her apartment, wondering if she would be back in time for lunch. When she got downstairs, the unrelenting rain was creating eddies alongside the curb. The seat in the pedicab that she hailed at the entrance to the lane was damp, even though it was shielded by oilcloth curtains hanging down from the canopy. She felt chilly as little raindrops came through and splashed on her face. Through the slits in the curtains she could see the stark branches of parasol trees brushing against the gray sky. She thought of Kang Mingxun — the father of the child she was carrying. It was at this moment that she realized that the “problem” growing in her belly was a child — but that child would soon be gone. Her back broke out in a cold sweat and her heart was racing. In her confusion, she suddenly began to wonder what it was that dictated that this child be removed from the world. Her face was now drenched; the raindrops were deafening as they titter-tattered down on the canopy. I will be left with nothing — not even my baby.
Without her realizing, tears ran down her cheeks. Her knees were knocking together. Never in her life had she felt so anxious. One of the most important decisions in her life would be settled in an instant. Her eyes became fixed on a minuscule hole in the oilcloth: the material was about to tear, but for now it was still held together by a thin web of filaments, through which light leaked in. What could this hole mean? she wondered. Looking through where the oilcloth curtains met the canopy, she saw another slash of the vast gray sky. She was thirty years old, with nothing to show for all that time; she wondered what there would be to look forward to in the next thirty years. This was real despair, but lurking in the depths of this despair was a glimmer of hope.
The pedicab had stopped outside the main hospital entrance. Shivering behind its curtains, the palms of her hands covered in sweat, she gazed blankly at the throng of people coming and going; she seemed to be standing at the edge of a cliff. The rain came down harder; everyone put up an umbrella. Lifting the curtains, the pedicab driver peered at her with curious eyes. This mute gesture of impatience goaded her to decisive action. Her mind was still muddled, and the driver, his face awash with rainwater and sweat, seemed to be looking at her from far away. She heard herself saying, “I forgot something. Take me home.”
Down came the curtain. The pedicab turned around and moved forward with the wind behind it. The rain no longer blew in her face and her mind cleared up. Sasha, you were right, she said to herself. Going it alone is never a good thing.