Read Song of Everlasting Sorrow Online
Authors: Wang Anyi
Song of Everlasting Sorrow (50 page)
Wang Qiyao didn’t know that Jiang Lili was sick. Before taking ill, Jiang Lili had been in charge of running a socialist education program in the suburb of Chuansha and came home only four days a month. It had been quite some time since she and Wang Qiyao had seen each other. But then one day Wang Qiyao walked past Jiang Lili’s
longtang
and ran into her mother-in-law, who was on her way out to buy noodles. Wang Qiyao went up to greet her; although the old lady couldn’t remember ever having met her, she was friendly, and liked being close to people, and moreover had been having such a difficult time with her daughter-in-law, that once she got started talking, there was no stopping her. Wang Qiyao was utterly flabbergasted by the news of Jiang Lili’s illness and the color immediately drained from her face. Instead of comforting old Mrs. Zhang, who was in tears, Wang Qiyao headed straight down the
longtang
toward Jiang Lili’s apartment.
longtang
and ran into her mother-in-law, who was on her way out to buy noodles. Wang Qiyao went up to greet her; although the old lady couldn’t remember ever having met her, she was friendly, and liked being close to people, and moreover had been having such a difficult time with her daughter-in-law, that once she got started talking, there was no stopping her. Wang Qiyao was utterly flabbergasted by the news of Jiang Lili’s illness and the color immediately drained from her face. Instead of comforting old Mrs. Zhang, who was in tears, Wang Qiyao headed straight down the
longtang
toward Jiang Lili’s apartment.
She walked past the silent crowd outside the bedroom, pushed open the door, and went into see Jiang Lili. The curtains were drawn and Jiang Lili was sitting up in bed leaning against a pillow, reading
Life in a Branch of the Communist Party.
When she saw Wang Qiyao she smiled. That was an expression Wang Qiyao was not accustomed to seeing on Jiang Lili’s face, whose brow was usually knit in anger. There was something pitiful about her smile at that moment; it was as if she was looking for forgiveness. The sight was enough to move Wang Qiyao to tears. She sat down on the side of the bed, her heart quivering; it was hard to believe the toll this disease had taken on her friend in so short a time. The truth about her illness had been kept from Jiang Lili, who was told she had hepatitis. Afraid that Wang Qiyao would have reservations about being so close to her, she explained that it was a chronic form of hepatitis and assured her that it was not contagious—that was why she didn’t need to be placed in isolation. She inquired after Wang Qiyao’s daughter and asked her to bring the little girl to visit sometime, repeating once more that she was not contagious. Wang Qiyao was too grief-stricken to speak; she could see that Jiang Lili was drained by talking, and soon excused herself. Meandering aimlessly down the sunny streets, she bought several things she did really did not need and didn’t get home until around lunchtime. Not feeling hungry herself, she warmed up some leftovers for her daughter and sat down to knit a winter hat. Her mind gradually settled as she knitted; once she had calmed down, her first thought was to go see Mr. Cheng.
Life in a Branch of the Communist Party.
When she saw Wang Qiyao she smiled. That was an expression Wang Qiyao was not accustomed to seeing on Jiang Lili’s face, whose brow was usually knit in anger. There was something pitiful about her smile at that moment; it was as if she was looking for forgiveness. The sight was enough to move Wang Qiyao to tears. She sat down on the side of the bed, her heart quivering; it was hard to believe the toll this disease had taken on her friend in so short a time. The truth about her illness had been kept from Jiang Lili, who was told she had hepatitis. Afraid that Wang Qiyao would have reservations about being so close to her, she explained that it was a chronic form of hepatitis and assured her that it was not contagious—that was why she didn’t need to be placed in isolation. She inquired after Wang Qiyao’s daughter and asked her to bring the little girl to visit sometime, repeating once more that she was not contagious. Wang Qiyao was too grief-stricken to speak; she could see that Jiang Lili was drained by talking, and soon excused herself. Meandering aimlessly down the sunny streets, she bought several things she did really did not need and didn’t get home until around lunchtime. Not feeling hungry herself, she warmed up some leftovers for her daughter and sat down to knit a winter hat. Her mind gradually settled as she knitted; once she had calmed down, her first thought was to go see Mr. Cheng.
That night Mr. Cheng saw Wang Qiyao all the way downstairs when she left. They strolled along the Bund for a while; inside they were both deeply troubled but they kept their conversation away from what was bothering them. A few aquatic birds were flying low over the river and they heard the faint sound of a ferry’s whistle sounding as it made its way to Pudong on the other shore. With their backs to the water, they couldn’t help gazing up at the grand fortress-like buildings created by the British during the days of the treaty ports. The overweening style of the architecture could be traced back to the Roman empire; it was designed to look down over everything, impressing viewers with an air of tyrannical power. Fortunately, behind these magnificent buildings was an expanse of narrow streets and alleys that led to the
longtang
houses, whose spirit was democratic. The Huangpu River too stood as a symbol of democracy. The ocean breeze, coming in through the mouth of the Suzhou River, tries to blow inland, but is thwarted by the tall buildings along the Bund, which turn it back, causing it to increase in intensity. It is a good thing that the surface of the river is wide enough for the wind to spread out so that the opposing currents do not collide too violently; the consequence, however, is that the wind constantly rages around the Bund at all hours of the day and night.
longtang
houses, whose spirit was democratic. The Huangpu River too stood as a symbol of democracy. The ocean breeze, coming in through the mouth of the Suzhou River, tries to blow inland, but is thwarted by the tall buildings along the Bund, which turn it back, causing it to increase in intensity. It is a good thing that the surface of the river is wide enough for the wind to spread out so that the opposing currents do not collide too violently; the consequence, however, is that the wind constantly rages around the Bund at all hours of the day and night.
“How’s your daughter?” Mr. Cheng inquired.
“She’s fine,” said Wang Qiyao.
But then she suddenly implored: “If something should happen to me one day, I would like you to take care of her.”
Mr. Cheng found himself smiling. “Jiang Lili is the one with the incurable disease, so why are
you
seeking a guardian for your child?”
you
seeking a guardian for your child?”
The mere thought of Jiang Lili made their hearts heavy. After a few minutes, Wang Qiyao said, “It’s better to make arrangements now rather than later.”
“And what if I refuse?” asked Mr. Cheng.
“It’s not your place to refuse; I’ve already chosen you.”
There was a solemn despair in her tone that prevented her words from sounding flippant. Mr. Cheng turned to face the river, which glimmered faintly in the dark. He recalled how the three of them, Jiang Lili, Wang Qiyao, and himself, had gone together to the Cathay Theater to see a movie.
How many years ago was that? How could it be possible that we are already approaching the end of the story?
But the end is nothing like what they had imagined. It seemed as if nothing had been truly resolved, and yet everything was resolved.
How many years ago was that? How could it be possible that we are already approaching the end of the story?
But the end is nothing like what they had imagined. It seemed as if nothing had been truly resolved, and yet everything was resolved.
Wang Qiyao and Mr. Cheng also discussed whether they should try to persuade Jiang Lili to move back to her mother’s house, where she could have some peace and quiet and would be able to eat better. They didn’t know that the day before their visit, Jiang Lili’s mother had visited her and was nearly driven out of the house by her daughter. By that time, Jiang Lili’s father was back in Shanghai and had divorced Jiang Lili’s mother, who got the house and a share of his assets. He and his mistress from Chongqing were renting a house on Yuyuan Road. Jiang Lili’s brother, who had never married and had no friends, still locked himself in his room every day after work listening to music. He was still at home, living like a stranger under the same roof with his mother; they often went for days without even seeing one another. The woman servant was Mrs. Jiang’s only company, but she too viewed Mrs. Jiang with contempt; with her own active social life, even she had little time to spend with her mistress.
Their little house came to feel like a huge lonely place. All of the flowers and plants in the courtyard had withered and died, leaving behind broken branches and rotten leaves. Eventually even those dead plants gave way to garbage and dirt, making the courtyard appear even more desolate. It was a good thing that Mrs. Jiang was not a sensitive person who took special notice of her surroundings, otherwise she would have suffered more. She only wondered why time hung so heavily on her hands. Her immediate reaction when she first heard about Jiang Lili’s illness was to shut herself up at home and cry her heart out. For simpleminded women like her, incapable of seeking understanding, crying was an effective way to relieve anxiety. Tears gave her a measure of consolation, and usually elicited a positive response. Once her tears had dried, she would find new hope and feel much better. Wiping her face, she changed into going-out clothes, but as soon as she got to the door she started to feel apprehensive about her outfit. She was afraid that her nice clothes might offend her daughter and son-in-law’s good Communist beliefs. She went back inside to change into a plainer outfit before setting out again.
All the way to her daughter’s house she was weighed down by heavy thoughts. She disliked visiting her daughter and had been there only a couple of times. During each visit her three grandsons had looked at her as if she was a monster. Her daughter never treated her with respect; she didn’t even bother to open the door for her when she arrived or to see her off when she left, and couldn’t seem to open her mouth without saying something hurtful. The only one who had some manners was her son-in-law, a genial man, but
him
she regarded with disdain. She had difficulty understanding his Shandong accent and could not abide the smell of onion and garlic always on his breath. She treated him with indifference; he, for his part, not being in the habit of ingratiating himself, had simply put up with her giving him the cold shoulder.
him
she regarded with disdain. She had difficulty understanding his Shandong accent and could not abide the smell of onion and garlic always on his breath. She treated him with indifference; he, for his part, not being in the habit of ingratiating himself, had simply put up with her giving him the cold shoulder.
Mrs. Jiang saw her daughter’s illness as the perfect opportunity to assert her own rights. Strutting into the apartment with an authoritative mien, she went straight into Jiang Lili’s bedroom, completely ignoring the rustic crowd outside. Within less than five minutes, she had already listed more than a dozen things that she thought were wrong about the household and voiced an equal number of suggestions. Her criticisms negated virtually everything as it presently was, and even she knew that her suggestions were impossible to carry out. Initially, Jiang Lili tried her best to put up with her, but her mother kept on pushing. Taking her daughter’s silence as acquiescence, Mrs. Jiang became even more animated; she flailed her arms about, declaring that she was going to change the bedding and give her daughter a proper bath. She looked as if she was getting ready to revamp their entire living situation. Jiang Lili had no patience to argue with her: she simply flung the bedside lamp across the room. Emboldened by the commotion, Jiang Lili’s Shandong mother-in-law rushed inside to find the room in total chaos. The glass thermos had been shattered, the medicine spilled all over the floor; Mrs. Jiang, her face ghostly pale, was still trying to reason with the patient as if she were a normal person, but Jiang Lili kept throwing everything within her reach, including her blanket and pillows. The mother-in-law grabbed the blanket and, throwing it around Jiang Lili, tried to restrain her that way, while Jiang Lili struggled in her arms like a threshing flail. She had no recourse but to urge Mrs. Zhang to go home and come back after Jiang Lili had calmed down. Jiang Lili collapsed the moment her mother was out the door. After that incident, her mother-in-law made a point of clearing all visitors with Jiang Lili before letting them in.
When Mr. Cheng and Wang Qiyao went to see Jiang Lili, they were turned away at the door. Mrs. Zhang came outside to explain that Jiang Lili was not receiving visitors because she was weak and needed her sleep. The old lady felt so badly about turning them away that she could barely bring herself to look them in the eyes, as if this was somehow her fault. Although neither of them dared say so out loud, each had an idea about why Jiang Lili refused to see them, and both were vexed. Jiang Lili’s decision not to let them in was a form of reproach—an eternal condemnation from which they would never be free. Neither dared to look into the old lady’s eyes—they even avoided one another’s eyes as they parted hastily and went back to their respective apartments.
On two separate occasions after that Mr. Cheng and Wang Qiyao paid visits individually to Jiang Lili’s house. Mr. Cheng was rebuffed a second time. After leaving in disappointment, he walked east on Huaihai Road until he came upon a bustling wineshop, with common laborers sitting around square softwood tables. Outside the entrance was a pot of “stinky tofu” simmering in a pot of boiling oil. Unable to resist the aroma of food and wine, he took a seat at one of the tables and ordered a small bottle of rice wine and a plate of shredded tripe. The others sitting at his table were strangers, and each ordered basically the same thing—one or two dishes and a bottle of wine. As they ate, the conversation of the party at the next table grew louder and louder. Once the rice wine had got into his system, Mr. Cheng felt warm and his eyes began to sting; before he knew it, tears were trickling down his face. No one around him seemed to notice. The smoke from the steaming wok enveloped everyone at the table in a hot, oily mist; no one could see clearly, and Mr. Cheng was free to wallow in his misery.
At this very moment, Wang Qiyao was sitting on the side of Jiang Lili’s bed. Wang Qiyao had arrived at the mouth of the
longtang
leading to Jiang Lili’s just as Mr. Cheng left it, and Jiang Lili had asked her in.
longtang
leading to Jiang Lili’s just as Mr. Cheng left it, and Jiang Lili had asked her in.
Wang Qiyao’s first impression when she entered the bedroom and saw Jiang Lili was how much better she looked compared to the last time. Jiang Lili’s hair had been carefully combed back behind her ears, she was wearing a freshly laundered white shirt, her cheeks were a rosy red, and she was sitting up in bed, propped up on a pile of pillows. Instead of greeting Wang Qiyao, she turned her back to her. Wang Qiyao sat down on the edge of the bed, wondering what to say; Jiang Lili’s profile showed clearly that she was crying. The curtains were half-drawn and the westering sunlight crept in, gilding her hair, clothes, and the blankets, giving the room a melancholic air. After a long interval, Jiang Lili suddenly laughed, “Don’t you think the three of us are ridiculous?”
Wang Qiyao, at a loss for words, gave a little laugh in response.
Hearing this, Jiang Lili turned around and gazed at her. “He was here earlier, but I wouldn’t let him in.”
“He really feels badly,” explained Wang Qiyao.
Jiang Lili’s face tightened. She exclaimed indignantly, “What the hell do I care if he feels bad?”
Wang Qiyao did not dare to respond. It suddenly dawned on her that Jiang Lili’s rosy cheeks, which were by now bright red, were the sign of fever. She extended her hand to feel her friend’s forehand. Jiang Lili pushed it away violently, but from the touch of her hand Wang Qiyao knew that she was burning up. Sitting up in bed, Jiang Lili leaned over and pulled a loose-leaf binder from the drawer of the desk next to the bed and flung it at Wang Qiyao. Inside were lines of handwritten poetry. Wang Qiyao recognized the poems as Jiang Lili’s and was immediately taken back to their high school days. Those pages could have been burned to ash and she would have still recognized the flowery language—it had Jiang Lili’s name written all over it. But as maudlin as they were, the words still exuded a touching sincerity. There is something about great romantic poems that always awakens nausea in the reader—a combination of sincerity and exaggeration that leaves the reader at a loss as to whether he should laugh or cry. Wang Qiyao had never been able to stand this kind of poetry, and that was why she didn’t want to be close to Jiang Lili. However, staring at those poems that moment, she was overcome by tears. She realized that even if this had been a show, the way Jiang Lili had invested her entire life into it had made it all real. Behind every line of poetry, whether good or bad, she could see the shadow of Mr. Cheng. Jiang Lili snatched the folder from Wang Qiyao’s hands and, quickly flipping through the pages, read aloud the most absurd sections, often bursting into laughter before she could finish each line. Her mother-in-law peeked through the crack in the door to see what all the commotion was about. Jiang Lili laughed so hard that she could no longer sit straight and doubled over on the blankets.
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