After wiping my face with the washcloth he handed me, I became a little more clear-headed. Clenching my teeth hard, I stood up and, enduring the violent pain, I walked to the door and held onto its frame with both hands. Ah, the stairs had disappeared! The twenty-fourth floor was suspended in midair with nothing below! The elevator cage was still across from us, but could an elevator still be in it? The wind carried the sound of Uncle Lou talking.
“Don’t look everywhere indiscriminately. It will blur your vision. There are too many things in this building. You should sit down in the room and listen more.”
Limping, I returned to the room and sat down. A sentimental feeling gushed from my heart. I don’t remember how many years I had wanted to leave home and go to the temple at West Mountain to study martial arts and live an impoverished, meaningful life. Year after year passed, and I could never fulfill my long-cherished wish (because the mountain was far away, because I had no self-control, and because of feelings for my family). From the time I was a child, I had admired the knights errant who could leap onto rooftops and vault over walls and had looked forward to the day when I could also be as skilled. Later on, I learned that this skill was called “martial arts,” and thus I lived for the day when someone would teach me martial arts. But to study martial arts, one had to go to West Mountain — as far away as the ends of the earth. The train ride took four days and four nights. It was also a rocky mountain with no vegetation. Only by taking a concealed path could one reach the temple on the mountaintop. One of my cousins wanted to study the martial arts, too: he went to West Mountain and then returned, saying he had strolled around for a week in the foothills without ever locating the path up the mountain. He saw someone appear in the middle of the mountain and also saw someone emerge from the mountain, but he was unable to find the path. Later, he abandoned the idea of studying martial arts. I also abandoned the idea several years ago because my legs began aching for no reason; it wasn’t arthritis, nor was it rheumatism. My legs just started hurting, and as time went on, the pain grew worse and worse.
Sitting and sweating in this sauna-like room, I closed my eyes and thought back to some long-ago events. Whenever I recalled something, my legs felt a little more comfortable. Of course, I was listening at the same time. That person’s footsteps were distinct and steady: Could he be a Shaolin martial arts disciple from West Mountain? In my excitement, I opened my eyes. I wanted to ask Uncle Lou. Ah, Uncle Lou was no longer on the windowsill, nor was he in the room. Had he gone downstairs? I hadn’t heard him go down. Had he floated out from the window? I went to the door again and peeped out. What I saw was still the view of the room in suspension. I took several cautious steps forward, and at once I was frightened into crawling down. I didn’t have the courage to stride out toward midair; even if I had studied Shaolin kung fu, I probably wouldn’t have dared. It was too dangerous; I had to rush back inside. I climbed back to the room, stood up, and brushed the dust from my clothes. Just think: this building was twenty-four stories high! I was listening to that person’s footsteps. And I wanted more and more to meet him. He couldn’t be around other people just because he was ugly? This made no sense. How could Uncle Lou have said this?
“Uncle Lou! Uncle Lou!” I shouted.
After a while, a feeble voice answered me. It was as if the voice were coming from a tunnel to the door. “Don’t shout. Don’t. ”
It certainly wasn’t Uncle Lou’s voice. Perhaps it was his nephew from the countryside answering me?
“Uncle Lou!” I shouted again.
“Don’t shout. Watch out — it’s dangerous. ”
The person was on the stairs, which is to say he was in midair. Judging by his voice, he must be hanging in midair. I couldn’t bear to shout again, because I was afraid he would fall. Maybe the one facing danger wasn’t he, but I. Was he saying that I was in danger? I didn’t dare shout again. This was Uncle Lou’s home. Eventually, he would have to return. Perhaps he had simply gone downstairs to buy groceries. It was a nice day. The sun was out, so it was a little hot in the room. So what? I shouldn’t start making a fuss because of this. When I recalled that someone outside was hanging in midair, I started sweating even more profusely. My clothes stuck to my body; this was hard to endure. Since there was nothing to see outside, to while away the time I looked closely at the furnishings in the room. I started with Uncle Lou’s wooden bed.
Next to Uncle Lou’s pillow, besides a flashlight, there was a deck of cards! It looked familiar: it was just like the deck of cards I had lost long ago. I rubbed my sweaty hands on my clothes and went over and picked up the cards. My hands were shaking a lot, and my memory returned to that long-ago afternoon. Ah, it occurred to me that it was Uncle Lou who had stolen them! That old man wearing sneakers and standing in the shadows behind the mosquito net: Who else could it have been? He had taken my treasured deck of cards! So many years had passed, and I had never suspected him, because I thought he was too serious a person to be interested in a plaything like this. These cards had yellowed a little and smelled of the past. Now it was hard to find these old-style cards, which were so simple and enchanting. Look at this black joker: the small mark I’d made on top of it with a ballpoint pen, in case someone stole it, was still visible! Wow, my dear Uncle Lou, I don’t know what to say about you!
I put the cards next to the pillow again. I wasn’t feeling as agitated anymore, and I was no longer sweating. I steeled myself to look out the window again. Although the sky was still a vast expanse of whiteness, the sun now looked the way it usually did. I don’t know why, but I felt that a certain something had already occurred, and so for some reason, I was no longer so worried. Since that kind of thing had happened more than ten years ago, there must also be a reason for what was happening now. I should just wait; I shouldn’t worry for no reason. Listen, the footsteps were still there. The nephew who had come from the countryside and couldn’t see me was so composed. Now he had actually come upstairs. Truly, he was standing at the door and stamping his feet to knock the mud from his shoes. He was going to come in right away. I went over and opened the door.
It was Uncle Lou. Uncle Lou had come back from grocery shopping. He put down the groceries and suddenly stared at the deck of cards on the bed. With an understanding smile, he said: “You noticed. That’s an antique that I packed away long ago! My nephew has left.”
Uncle Lou had changed again to the Uncle Lou he used to be. He was merrily cooking on the gas stove as he related some neighborhood gossip. I walked over and helped him wash the vegetables. When I turned on the faucet, some slippery little creatures streamed into the sink. Before I had time to get a good look at them, they had gone down the drain. Filled with irritation, I was staring at the few stalks of celery. Behind me, Uncle Lou started laughing.
“This neighborhood is ‘a Village in the Big City.’ There are little fish and tadpoles everywhere, as well as leeches and schistosomes. We grew accustomed to them long ago.”
The water was muddy, and it also smelled like mud. Could it be that this water didn’t come from a water tank but from a ditch in the countryside? This was really a weird residential block. I recalled that when I had arrived this morning, I hadn’t seen a single person around. It seemed the people all stayed in their own homes. It was more than ten years ago that Uncle Lou had first wanted to close himself off from others. He had wanted to move here to isolate himself from all of us. I realized, however, that in these years he was still closely connected with us. I couldn’t offer any proof of this, but the atmosphere in this room — the various odd phenomena — hinted at the attention Uncle Lou gave us. This kind of attention might not please people — sometimes it even felt eerie — but I couldn’t deny its presence. While I was watching him cook, a scene from years ago appeared in my mind — the pair of “Liberation” sneakers on the ground. I came to a shocking conclusion: Uncle Lou was everywhere!