Madwoman On the Bridge and Other Stories

The Private Banquet

The last long-distance bus reached the town of Maqiao at dusk, and it was at that point that the passengers’ fears were realized: the bus broke down. Fortunately, it broke down at Memorial Arch, only fifty or sixty metres from its destination, and the driver decided to park the bus where it had failed. It turned out, however, that there was also a problem with the switch that opened the bus doors. The driver began by patiently, cool-headedly, pressing one button after another, but his movements became gradually more erratic, until he hit out at the controls with abandon. The bus passengers began to get up and look towards the driver’s seat and those at the back asked those further up front, ‘Why doesn’t he want to open the doors?’ And those up front answered, ‘It’s not that he doesn’t want to. It’s because the doors won’t open.’

Inside the bus, a variety of sounds emanated and subsided: agitated murmuring, indignant calling. Somebody shrewd suggested loudly, ‘We should report a bus like this, and make the company give us half our money back!’ Other passengers excitedly echoed this sentiment, but then a more resigned voice spoke up mildly, ‘This is Maqiao, not Beijing or Guangzhou, you know. If you report something like this, they’ll think you’re mental.’

Then someone in the know about certain particulars of the long-distance bus company’s ownership said, ‘If you want to report it, then you should go straight to Fatcat: that’s Huang Jian. Didn’t you know that he’s the contractor on this line?’

Amidst the general uproar, the bus doors began to clatter. They carried on clattering for quite a while, then suddenly they threw themselves half open. Somebody nearly tumbled down, but it was a young man with good reflexes and he managed to catch the railing, though his luggage got jammed in the crack. The young man had a quick temper and he began to swear. ‘Motherf***er! Why the hell did you only open the door halfway? My bag’s stuck now; hurry up and open it!’ But the driver was in a foul mood himself and retorted, ‘Grandmotherf***er! You think it was easy to get the door open this far? This old dinosaur should have been sold for scrap ages ago. It’s no use swearing at me. If you’re such a bigshot, why don’t you give Fatcat’s old mum a screw?’ The passengers were all anxious to get off the bus, and those at the back didn’t have time to join in the recriminations or bother to help the young man out. They lifted their legs one by one to step over the obstructive duffel bag, pushing violently at one another to squeeze through the narrow space offered by the half-open door.

The station’s PA system operator had wandered off, so the loudspeakers didn’t announce the arrival of the bus. Instead, the gay melody of March Of The Athletes poured out of it. The eagle-eyed members of the crowd waiting for the bus’s arrival spotted the commotion and said to each other, ‘I bet that’s the bus, but how come it’s stopped by Memorial Arch?’ They became restless, and some of them strode quickly towards the bus.

‘You’re late!’ they said, and those disembarking said, ‘Well, yeah, and no wonder. The bus is no good, the roads are no good and they couldn’t even get the door open! It would have been a miracle if we weren’t late!’

It was already the evening of the Little New Year,⁶ and everyone who was coming home for the holidays had done so already. Since Bao Qing refused to join in the rush for the exit, he was the last one off the bus. He carried his suitcase to the bus doors, and outside he glimpsed his primary school classmate Li Renzheng in wellingtons, gripping a long brush in his left hand and hauling a rubber hose with his right. Bao Qing quickly turned his face away and, swivelling his body sideways to fit through the door, stepped off the bus.

Bao Qing was a classic example of what people in Maqiao meant when they spat out the word ‘intellectual’. Intellectuals lacked warmth. Rather than exchanging conventional greetings, they often made the cowardly choice of pretending not to have seen you. This is precisely what Bao Qing did now. Like a thief, he crept around the bus and started walking west. Immediately, Renzheng’s voice called after him, ‘Bao Qing! Bao Qing! You’re back?’ Bao Qing couldn’t very well continue to feign deafness and so, much against his will, he turned around to face Renzheng.

Uncharacteristically, Renzheng was sporting a red baseball cap, and above the brim was an eye-catching line of white letters: ‘Singapore — Malaysia — Thailand. Eight-Day Tour’. Bao Qing chuckled, and asked, ‘What are you wearing that cap for? I didn’t even recognize you. Have you been travelling abroad?’

Renzheng stretched his hand up to touch his hat, and said, ‘I should be so lucky. No, someone gave it to me. My hair is, well, I’ll tell you later.’

Bao Qing did not try to leave, as he could tell from Renzheng’s expression that there was something more he wanted to say. He had assumed it was going to be an explanation about his hair, but this turned out to be quite wrong. Instead, raising his voice, Renzheng suddenly said, ‘Fatcat is inviting you to have a drink with him. He’s told me many times to let him know if you came back, because he wants to treat you to a drink.’

Bao Qing, said, ‘Who? Fatcat? You mean Huang Jian?’ Renzheng was now spraying water from the hose onto the glass of the bus’s rear windows, and said, ‘Of course, Fatcat. Don’t you remember Fatcat?’

Bao Qing was speechless for a while, and in the end he murmured, ‘How could I forget him? A drink, then. I suppose.’

So it was that Bao Qing returned from his distant Beijing home to celebrate the New Year. Going home was just as much trouble as not going home. For Bao Qing, the tradition of returning home for the New Year had become a ceremonial burden. A few years ago, when his mother had still been hale and hearty, she had come to the station to wait for him. It seemed a cruel ordeal to put her through, so he had withheld the exact date of his return from her. Even so, she had waited at the station for two days before Little New Year, a puny, emaciated form, standing in the wind underneath the archway. It made Bao Qing sick at heart to think about it, but he couldn’t refuse to come home, and so his visits became pilgrimages of filial piety. Only the thought of his mother made him return to Maqiao; and since his wife was sure he had no ulterior motives, she had no objections. Thus every New Year, he and his wife set off in different directions. His mother, too, understood the situation, so she hadn’t complained about the absence of her daughter-in-law in recent years. She spoke candidly on the phone: ‘I won’t live much longer. You have a few more years of filial responsibility before you, and after that you can go with your wife to spend New Year in Guangdong. It’s lively there at New Year, and the weather is warm. Just one sweater is warm enough.’

As he walked over the New People’s Bridge, Bao Qing saw his brother-in-law coming towards him from the direction of the meat-processing factory, pushing his bike. He was running and Bao Qing’s elder sister trailed behind him. Evidently, they were late and were now hurrying to make up for it. He could see that his sister was telling her husband off. She was still wearing her white uniform. Bao Qing disliked it when his family made a big fuss over him, so he knitted his eyebrows and stood motionless on the bridge. Just then, a woman in a purple leather overcoat was leading her dog up onto the bridge. At first, Bao Qing didn’t notice her, but then the short, curly-haired dog began sniffing at his shoes and the bottoms of his trousers. Simultaneously, he picked up the same perfume which in summer suffused Beijing’s big department stores, and when he turned his head, Bao Qing found himself looking at Cheng Shaohong. She had assumed a flirtatious pose and gave him a sidelong look. Though he recognized her straight away, he couldn’t recall her name. The boys in town had all known her as Morning Glory. Shaohong took the initiative and pulled the dog towards her and then up onto its hind legs, commanding the curly-haired pooch, ‘Jubilee, bow to the professor.’

Even after all these many years, Bao Qing was flustered to see Shaohong. As a matter of habit, he extended his hand, but seeing that she was not going to take it, he took it back and stared at a button on her overcoat. He said, ‘It’s been many years since we last saw one another. Are you still at the fruit company?’

Shaohong responded, ‘As if there would still be a fruit company! That broke up a long time ago. I work in a private enterprise now. I have to live how I can; I’m not a clever clogs like you going around doing important things.’

Bao Qing responded, ‘Oh, I don’t do anything that important, either.’

Shaohong punched Bao Qing on the arm, and said, ‘No need to be modest. In a small place like Maqiao everybody knows who’s a lightweight and who’s got clout. Fatcat says he saw you on TV.’

Bao Qing waved this off and said, ‘That’s not being "on TV". I was just reading a paper at a conference and somebody took a shot of it.’

Shaohong responded, ‘And yet you’re modest about it. Not too shabby: still as modest now as when you were a kid.’ Some memory had occurred to Shaohong as she spoke, and now, covering her mouth, she made a tittering noise. Bao Qing was embarrassed, for he inferred that she was laughing about his past, although he couldn’t know which particular incident she was remembering. He turned away and watched as his sister and her husband walked up the bridge, apology written all over their faces. Bao Qing said, ‘I have to go now, my family’s here to fetch me.’

He felt Shaohong give him another light slap, this time on the back. Then he heard her say, ‘Fatcat says he wants to invite you for a drink, but you’ve been all hoity-toity with us lately. The last two times he let you decline, but there’s no running away this time.’

It rained on the second day of the new year. An unbroken cloud cover hung over the town, and the roads, where underground optical cables were being installed, became an expanse of mud. Underneath his umbrella, Bao Qing rushed between his relatives’ houses, bearing gifts and New Year greetings. At his uncle’s he heard once again that Fatcat wished to invite him for a drink, and his uncle even encouraged him: ‘If Fatcat asks you to dinner, see if he won’t give your cousin a job at the eiderdown plant or as a ticket-taker on the long-distance buses. You have a lot of prestige, maybe he’ll do you a favour.’

The subject annoyed Bao Qing as soon as it was brought up, but he couldn’t very well lose his temper. Instead, he told his uncle, ‘I don’t have time to eat with him; I’ve even declined the mayor’s dinner, and I’m leaving tomorrow. Besides, I still have to go to the banquet the Education Committee Director Liu’s giving.’

By the time Bao Qing left his uncle’s home, the rain had become very heavy, so he took a short cut through the little alleys. As he passed Maqiao’s second Primary School, which he had attended long ago, he automatically glanced through the school gates. What he saw, however, was not the familiar sight of the school, but rather Fatcat’s eiderdown plant. Four red lanterns hung from the factory gates, making up the words, ‘Happy New Year Wishes!’ On both sides, the walls of the factory grounds were pasted with the conspicuous slogan ‘Demand Quality From Management, Reap Profit From Quality’. Bao Qing stood beneath his umbrella and listened to the sound of the raindrops as they struck the red-brick building’s gutters and the plastic awning over the propaganda board. The sound was so desolate that Bao Qing shuddered, and then he felt a strange sensation of resentment. ‘So he bought the school and made it into a factory. That’s new money for you! New money!’

Fatcat’s invitation hung like a shadow over Bao Qing as he paid his various family visits. Using the weather as an excuse, he had resolved to decline Fatcat’s invitation to dine at Prosperity Restaurant. His mother did not encourage him to go, for she could still remember the humiliating price her son had once paid for the privilege of Fatcat’s friendship. As Bao Qing was making excuses on the telephone, he heard his mother denouncing Fatcat: ‘Now he treats you like a human being, but back then he treated you like you were his servant; actually worse than any master would ever treat a servant. He used to ride on your shoulders and shit.’ Bao Qing did not want to hear his mother prattle on about the matter, so he motioned for her not to hover by the phone while he spoke. She moved a few paces away and sat down, remarking, ‘He’s rich. So what? There’ll be great food. So what? Leave it for the folks who like that sort of thing.’ His mother’s attitude reminded Bao Qing that he could safely shift all blame onto his mother. Into the receiver, he said, ‘Of course I don’t wish to offend, but I’m off to Beijing tomorrow and my mother says she simply won’t let me eat my last meal anywhere but home.’

Bao Qing presumed that, with this, he had successfully declined the invitation, but that evening, just as the whole family was sitting down to dinner, they heard the sharp squeal of motorcycle brakes outside, followed by the sound of knocking on the door. Bao Qing’s sister went to open it and came back to inform him that it was Renzheng. She reported furthermore that he refused to come in and was insisting that Bao Qing go out to speak to him. As soon as Bao Qing went outside, he saw Renzheng standing stiff and perfectly upright in the rain. He had removed his helmet and Bao Qing saw that he was now half bald. There were only a few tufts of hair closely pressed to his brow, dripping from the rain. He stood there in the rain with a mixed expression of terror and disquiet, seasoned with a pinch of mystery. ‘Well, Mr Professor, don’t you think your high horse is a little too high? Your old classmate is just asking you to have a drink with him, not to pass through fire and brimstone. So how come it’s so hard to get you to agree?’

Renzheng had been sent to pick Bao Qing up for Fatcat. Apparently, he had no delusions as to Bao Qing’s feelings about the matter, and so had prepared some ploys to make him to submit. ‘Bao Qing, if you don’t give in, I’ll just stand here and wait.’ Renzheng lifted his head and looked at the sky. ‘I don’t mind if I get wet. In any case, I’ve never heard of someone being rained to death.’

Bao Qing’s mother was the first to falter; pitying Renzheng, she sent Bao Qing’s sister out with an umbrella, saying, ‘When a man is that devoted, you’d be wrong not to go. People will talk. They’ll say my Bao Qing goes round with his nose in the air now that he’s made good — it’ll make a terrible impression when it gets round.’ Then, just as he was on the point of leaving, his mother picked up a piece of smoked fish with her chopsticks and stuck it in Bao Qing’s mouth. So it was that he left the house chewing fish.

Bao Qing held the umbrella with one hand and hugged Renzheng’s waist with the other as they passed through the streets of Maqiao in the freezing wind and bitter cold. It was the holidays, but night in this small town exuded an unseasonal gloom. Bao Qing could feel the little patch of warmth that was Renzheng’s waist: even through the poor-quality, rain-soaked leather he wore, Bao Qing could feel his body heat. The situation seemed both strange and familiar. Suddenly, the memory of a New Year’s night many years ago came back to him with great clarity: he, Fatcat and Renzheng had ridden two bicycles into the county capital to see the concert of some famous singer. On the way back, Renzheng’s bicycle tire had burst. Fatcat had then compelled him to change bikes with Renzheng, and they had left him behind like unloaded cargo. Bao Qing remembered that he had pushed the useless bike 15 kilometres alone.

Bao Qing had not realized that Shaohong would also be among Fatcat’s guests, but there she was, gorgeously decked out and the first thing he saw as they entered Prosperity Restaurant. She stood fixing her make-up in a mirror on the second floor, in the hallway leading to the private dining rooms. There was an excessive gravity about the way she made herself up, as if she were a folk singer preparing for the stage. Seeing Bao Qing, she tossed her lipstick hurriedly into her bag, and said loudly and sharply, ‘What, so you agreed to come? Even without a cortege of eighteen sedan chairs?’

Bao Qing could say nothing and instead forced a smile. Then he complimented Shaohong: ‘You look very nice tonight.’

She responded, ‘Like hell I do. I know what you’re thinking: you think I’m made up like an escort girl, don’t you? Well, that’s exactly what Fatcat intended: I’m to keep you company through dinner, drinks and then right on through the night. He told me it’s an honour for me to bask in the companionship of the great professor!’

The hostess, dressed in a red cheongsam and wearing a golden ‘Welcome’ sash over her shoulder, greeted them and led them to a private dining room called the Paris Hall. Bao Qing entered and then watched as an obese man in a suit rose slowly from his chair. This, apparently, was Fatcat, although it didn’t look like him. Only when Bao Qing noted the wine-coloured birthmark on his forehead was he certain it was him. At first, Fatcat made to embrace Bao Qing, but since the latter shrunk away reflexively, the movement became a handshake. Fatcat’s lukewarm hands held Bao Qing’s in a tight grip and wouldn’t relax their hold.

‘Bao Qing, just feel my heart, feel how strongly it’s beating,’ he said, tugging Bao Qing’s hand and pressing it onto his suit over his chest. ‘Bao Qing,’ he said. ‘I was less nervous about meeting the provincial governor, and that’s the truth.’

Bao Qing laughed, and extricated his hand. Then he remarked, ‘If I had run into you on the street, I certainly wouldn’t have recognized you.’

Fatcat answered, ‘You might not have recognized me, but I sure would have recognized you. You just flashed on TV for a second and I knew it was you.’

A mixed group of guests was present and they immediately chimed in, ‘That’s right. When the boss saw you on television, he recognized you straight away.’

Fatcat pulled Bao Qing down to sit by his side. Except for Renzheng and Shaohong, the others at the table were all his employees. There was a bespectacled girl in a pink sweater who kept looking at Bao Qing evasively but glowingly. Bao Qing was too embarrassed to ask her name, but Fatcat had the foresight to introduce her. She was the daughter of Mr Zhong, a teacher at Maqiao Middle School, and she was now employed as an accountant at Fatcat’s factory. ‘And how is.?’

Bao Qing hadn’t finished his sentence, because he gathered what had come to pass from the general change of expression as Ms Zhong bowed her head. Fatcat kicked him under the table, and said softly, ‘He passed away two years ago. Cancer.’

Bao Qing was silent, remembering how Mr Zhong, the physics teacher, had been the only one of his teachers to take to him, on account of his aptitude for the subject. Bao Qing was at a loss what to say when Ms Zhong stood and raised her glass to him. ‘Mr Bao, when I was a child my father often told me how he had trained a future professor. Now that I’m finally getting to meet you, I want to offer you this toast.’

That was how Bao Qing happened to drink the first cup of wine. On the way over, Bao Qing had prepared his excuses: he had a bad stomach, he was allergic to alcohol, he would be travelling tomorrow — anything so that he might be allowed to abstain from the drinking. But Ms Zhong’s peculiar identity, not to mention her peculiar glances, robbed him of the courage to decline, and now that he had made a start it was difficult to retract. He was able to fend off Fatcat’s employees, but Renzheng’s obstreperous exhortations were harder to decline. Shaohong’s toasts were coercive to a degree, and also contained a barrage of tactless sexual innuendoes, which deeply embarrassed Bao Qing, who didn’t know how to forestall them. Presently, she suggested they all drink with interlocked arms and her audacity shocked him. His face flushed scarlet and he said, ‘We can’t lock arms for no reason.’ Shaohong replied, ‘Of course there’s a reason. It’s a forfeit to punish me for having no judgement back then — I underestimated you, I didn’t realize your potential. Now I regret it, because I could have been Mrs Bao, the professor’s wife, couldn’t I?’

Bao Qing didn’t know how to respond, so he joined in her laughter. But then he leaned back on his chair and refused her encircling arm. At this point, the others started jeering, which embarrassed her and cooled her ardour. Suddenly she could take it no longer, and she spilled the cup out on the floor, saying, ‘Well, it’s not gonna kill me if you won’t drink with me now you’re a bigshot, but I’d like to know who stole my bra once upon a time. Hm?’

Suddenly the room became quiet. Bao Qing had not expected her to play this card and he began to get angry. ‘Are you insane? I can’t believe you would even think to bring up childhood pranks now!’ He raised his voice, ‘Fatcat stole your bra and hid it in my bag. Fatcat’s here, right beside me, and he can testify to my innocence.’

Beside him, Fatcat chuckled and gave Bao Qing a shove. ‘Holy-moley, Bao Qing. There’s no need to take things so seriously. It was a joke. Who can remember the things they did when they were kids? I don’t remember anything about a stolen bra.’

But Bao Qing did not use this opportunity to back down, ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but I haven’t,’ he said sternly. ‘You hid it in my bag when her mother came after you. If you don’t admit it now, then it is I who must live with the blot on my reputation.’

Fatcat looked momentarily uncomfortable, but soon regained his good humour. Laughing, he said, ‘All right then. I remember now. I stuffed it in your bag; we used to let you take the flak. I admit it, OK?’

Bao Qing saw Fatcat make a signal to Renzheng with his eyes and he recalled how many years ago they had also communicated with these signals. Each time he had seen them, he felt a nameless fear grip him. Now he no longer feared the exchange, it just disquieted him. He set his glass down, bottom up, on the table and said, ‘I’ve finished with drinking. I’ve never been able to drink very much and now I’ve had more than enough.’

As he set down his glass, Bao Qing could feel everyone staring at him, their eyes variously revealing displeasure or nervousness. Deliberately ignoring them, he informed Ms Zhong, ‘I have ulcers and hyperglaecemia.’

Ms Zhong nodded and said, ‘Drinking is bad for your health — all the magazines say so.’ Besides passing on this nugget of magazine wisdom, it seemed that the girl wanted to say more, but didn’t dare. She held back for a moment, but then she could curb herself no longer and rashly came out with the following question, ‘Mr Bao, I’ve always wondered about something. You were a good student in those days, so why would you have been friends with Manager Huang and Mr Li?’ The question stunned Bao Qing, and his chopsticks froze over a vegetable platter. Fatcat’s employees half-seriously criticized Ms Zhong for having said something untoward, but in the end it was Fatcat who, in a generous and self-deprecating tone, said, ‘So you’re saying I was a bad student? Well, maybe I was — I can’t pull the wool over her eyes. It’s not my fault she’s so smart; she’s Mr Zhong’s daughter, after all!’

But the girl had hit on a sore point with Bao Qing. She had posed the same reproachful question that his mother and sister had been in the habit of asking, and that he had never been able to answer. The truth was he did not have the courage to analyse his motivations for sticking with Fatcat and Renzheng. He had no way of facing up to his disgraceful choice, nor enough wit to evade the question. His cheeks suddenly blushed a full, deep red, and all he could produce were a few paltry lines: ‘I don’t know either. You know how children are. No reason, really, to speak of.’

Shaohong, who had been sulking, suddenly let off a burst of cold laughter. She said, ‘I know why. It’s like this: have you ever heard the story about the chick who ingratiates himself with the weasel? And why does he do it? He wants the weasel to eat the other little chickies and spare his own life.’ Ms Zhong must have thought that Shaohong had uttered a bon mot, because she clucked with laughter. Then, when she saw no one else was laughing, she realized her error and covered her mouth.

Fatcat looked at Bao Qing’s expression and turned to glare at Shaohong. He was agitated and angry. ‘Motherf***! You always complain that other people don’t know how to talk properly, but look at the kind of s*** that comes out of your mouth!’ What surprised Bao Qing was that Fatcat’s exceptionally crude way of reprimanding Shaohong provoked no reaction from her whatsoever. Fatcat’s language was both foul and rough: ‘You festering c***! You think you’re the only one around smart enough to open your mouth. Would it kill you to shut up sometimes?’

Shaohong said, ‘Fine, then I won’t say anything. Naturally, I’m unworthy to speak to the professor and anything I say is crap.’

Fatcat said, ‘Of course it’s crap. You’re here so that everyone can have some fun. And look what happens, just because you can’t talk like a normal person and keep talking crap.’

Shaohong rose slightly. ‘Fine, then I won’t say anything else. I’ve made everybody unhappy; I’m off.’

Fatcat gave an angry shout, and said, ‘You think it’s that easy, huh? Off? You can go to hell, but you can f***ing bet you’re not leaving this room. Renzheng! Pour her more wine! The big cup! She has to drink a forfeit — three big cups!’

Bao Qing would never in his wildest dreams have thought that Fatcat could treat Shaohong in this way. His common sense told him that their relationship was in all likelihood no ordinary one. His relatives had kept him posted about the extraordinarily self-indulgent private life Fatcat had begun to lead following his sudden rise to wealth, but Bao Qing had never imagined Shaohong could act so submissively towards him. He was also taken aback by Renzheng’s attitude — he had presumed that he would try to calm Fatcat, but he said nothing, just picked up the rice wine bottle to bring it over to Shaohong. Bao Qing rose and almost instinctively rushed at Renzheng to wrest the bottle from him. Renzheng smiled evasively and said, ‘Don’t worry about it. You don’t know how much she can drink.’

Bao Qing replied, ‘She’s a lady. There can be no question of forcing her to drink.’ They were grappling with one another when Shaohong suddenly grabbed the bottle herself and banged it down heavily on the table. She said, ‘If we’re going to drink, then let’s get on with it, and if I die from it, then that’s not a problem. People’s value depreciates, like everything else. If I go and sell myself for a f*** I wouldn’t even get enough money for the alcohol. So if the drink doesn’t kill me, I’ll be making a profit!’

At this point, a waiter opened the door to the room and, taking fright, poked his head in to have a look. Fatcat screamed at the door, ‘Screw off! If you come in again I’ll have your boss sauté you!’ In case this threat alone was unconvincing, Fatcat grabbed a porcelain spoon and threw it at the waiter, making everyone near by jump. They heard a bang as the spoon shattered against the wall like a miniature bomb and covered the floor with its shards.

Dead silence prevailed in the room and three words popped into Bao Qing’s mind: The Hongmen Banquet⁷. On the one hand he realized that he was being overanxious, but he was also sensitive enough to be certain that the atmosphere of the banquet was growing increasingly destructive. Unable to stay seated, he told Fatcat, ‘Since I have to leave tomorrow, I’ll need to be getting home a little early.’

But Fatcat shook his head and said, ‘You can’t go.’ Bao Qing felt one of Fatcat’s hands restrain his arm like a handcuff. ‘We’re not finished drinking. No one can go until we’ve finished drinking.’

Bao Qing said, ‘I am finished drinking. I can’t take any more.’

Fatcat said, ‘It’s up to you if you drink or not, but Shaohong offended you, so she has to drink the forfeit. And as I haven’t shown you a good time, I have to drink a forfeit, too. Renzheng and Ms Zhong were invited to make pleasant company, and for failing to do a good job of it, they have to drink forfeits too!’ Then Bao Qing heard Fatcat roar to those outside, ‘Where the hell have you gone? Hurry up and bring more drinks! And don’t bring them by the bottle — bring a crate in!’

Bao Qing felt like he was sitting on a bed of needles and deeply regretting giving in to his pity for Renzheng and foolishly getting on the motorcycle. When a waiter arrived carrying the crate of liquor, Bao Qing felt a twinge of dread. He asked Fatcat, ‘What’s that for? One bottle will be quite enough, make them take the crate back.’

But Fatcat patted Bao Qing on the shoulder, ‘We won’t necessarily drink the whole crate, but it’s my habit to do this for my guests. Don’t get flustered; you’re an intellectual, so my policy allows an exemption. If you’ve had enough, then fine — don’t drink if you don’t want to.’

Bao Qing said forthrightly, ‘I have had enough to drink. I’m setting off tomorrow. I’ll have to change buses and connect to a train, so I need to go home early tonight and get some rest.’

Fatcat said, ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Are you worried you won’t get back to Beijing? If you miss your bus because you’ve been drinking with me, I’ll have them take you there direct, in an Audi.’

Bao Qing smiled but shook his head, gritted his teeth, stood up and said, ‘I’m afraid I can’t stay. I’ll have to bid you farewell.’ He watched as Fatcat’s expression turned sombre. This time, Fatcat didn’t try to stop him, but the others at the table looked at Bao Qing with expressions that were almost fearful.

Renzheng looked at Fatcat, then suddenly took a big stride towards the door to block it. He spoke quietly, ‘Bao Qing, don’t make us lose face. You can’t go now.’ Bao Qing saw that Renzheng’s expression was one of desperate entreaty, and at such close quarters he noticed the crow’s feet at the corners of his bloodshot eyes; his half-bald pate, too, seemed to tell a tale full of misery. The two men confronted each other at the doorway.

Shaohong staggered over to them, hooked her arms around Bao Qing’s neck and pulled him towards the chair. She said, ‘I have to say, the great professor is really fastidious. I said the wrong thing. OK, so I had to drink three big cups to make up for it, and you’re still not satisfied. Maybe you want me to do a striptease?’

Before Bao Qing could refuse, Fatcat chuckled and clapped his hands, ‘Good idea! Her forfeit will be a striptease.’

The liquor had obviously made Shaohong speak lightly, but now that she was expected to perform, she sobered up and became mulish. ‘You know Ms Zhong is still an unsullied maiden. How could I possibly dance in front of her?’

‘Don’t make excuses. We’ll have Ms Zhong go outside for a moment,’ Fatcat said. Ms Zhong turned bright red, stood up and made to leave, but Shaohong held her back, ‘You’re really going to pretend an old woman like me is an innocent girl? Pah! You think I’ll let you see a free strip? What about money? Where’s the money?’

Fatcat turned in his chair, grabbed a briefcase from a small table and said, ‘The money’s right here. What’s your price for tickets plus tip?’

Bao Qing saw the joke was reaching the point of no return, so he took Fatcat by the hand and said, ‘That’s enough nonsense. It’s all my fault; I’ve made everybody unhappy. Why don’t I drink a forfeit, too?’

Bao Qing sensed that he needed to make a sacrifice, so he took a drink. As soon as he did, the atmosphere at the table warmed up substantially. Bao Qing had intended to go as soon as the atmosphere returned to normal, but Fatcat made his driver fetch a damask box, declaring that he wanted to show Bao Qing something. He opened the box and Bao Qing saw a coloured porcelain vase lying inside. Fatcat said, ‘You’re the expert. Make an estimate. How much is this vase worth?’

Bao Qing said, ‘I’m in geology, not art appraisal,’ but Fatcat responded, ‘Don’t be so modest. In any case, you know more about it than any of us.’

Renzheng came over and carefully removed the vase for Bao Qing to have a look at. Bao Qing glimpsed an inscription in the floral design which said Tang Yin,⁸ but his expression was suspicious. ‘This was painted by Tang Bohu?’

A little nervously, Fatcat answered his question with another, ‘Why, aren’t Tang Bohu vases valuable?’

Bao Qing said, ‘That’s not what I meant. I think there might be a problem with the vase.’ Bao Qing took the vase and looked it carefully up and down; finally he could not suppress his laughter. ‘You’ve been cheated. I’m not an art expert, but they’ve written Jiaqing reign⁹ on this vase. By that time, Tang Bohu had been dust for years; so how come he was still painting vases?’

Fatcat blanched, ‘Take another look, carefully.’

Bao Qing, ‘No need. You’ve definitely bought a fake. It might even be that the vase itself is counterfeit as well as the attribution. How much did you pay for it?’ Bao Qing didn’t hear what Fatcat said in response. He raised his head and saw that everyone was staring at him with wide-open eyes, as if they were waiting for him to retract his comments. Fatcat’s expression was exceedingly strange: part of it was embarrassment, but a greater portion was rage.

He gave an oblique, squinting look at Renzheng, whose face had already paled, ‘I’ll go to Shanghai tomorrow and find Sanzi. He’s the one who vouched for it — he guaranteed it was real.’

Fatcat snorted and said, ‘How much was your kickback?’

Renzheng, panicking, shouted, ‘If I got one single penny, may lightning strike me dead; may the first passing car run me down.’

Fatcat sat down, staring sternly at Renzheng, who had dropped his head while looking up with an expression of pure innocence. Fatcat dropped the matter for the moment and rocked back on his chair, looking around the gathering, ‘Oh, stop all looking like your daddy just died. I’m the one who’s lost money — what the hell is it to you?’ He waved his hands dismissively and said, ‘Never mind. It’s only two hundred thousand yuan. I’ve been in business for long enough; it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been cheated. I get cheated out of two hundred thousand, fine; but I’ll earn back two million.’

Everyone sat in silence; only the dishes on the table still sent off their warm fragrances. Bao Qing realized that he was at the root of all the unpleasantness and it filled him with regret. Bao Qing stood up and offered Renzheng a toast. He had been wearing a frozen, funereal expression, but now he bounded up as if there had been some pleasant surprise.

‘I’ll drink a forfeit! A forfeit!’ Bao Qing felt that, indirectly, he had also harmed Shaohong, and so he offered her a toast as well.

Shaohong, said ‘Now this’s more like it. You’re not even red in the face; you can keep drinking.’ Bao Qing noticed that Ms Zhong’s gaze seemed to linger on him. It wouldn’t be right to ignore Ms Zhong, so he offered her a toast, once again with reference to her father, his teacher, saying that he had always remembered his kindness, but that when he went home it was always so busy with his family that he had never got around to visiting him.

Ms Zhong said nothing, so Shaohong put in her tuppence worth, ‘You can still go and see him now. Go and check out his grave.’ He knew Shaohong was taunting him, but still he explained earnestly to Ms Zhong, ‘I won’t have time this visit. I’ll go next time.’

Bao Qing returned to his seat, labouring under a misconception that he had now done his best to carry out his obligations. He took up his soup spoon, intending to take a sip of chicken soup, but a liquor glass was suddenly extended to him from the side, bumping against his soup bowl.

It was Fatcat. ‘Bao Qing, we haven’t drunk yet. Why don’t you have soup and I’ll have wine? We’ll have a little drink, OK?’

Bao Qing put his bowl down and picked up his wineglass, saying, ‘If I have any more I’ll fall down.’

Fatcat said, ‘And if you fall over I’ll get a car to send you home. You’re drinking in Maqiao and you still worry about getting home?’

The liquor was stronger than Bao Qing. In his forty years, it was the first time he had drunk so wildly and he began to throw up. He remembered Renzheng taking him to the bathroom where he threw up out of the bathroom window and saw that the rain outside had stopped. The night was bluish, and you could vaguely hear the sound of firecrackers coming from the town. Bao Qing remembered he was about to go home: ‘I want to go home. My mum must be worried out of her mind.’

Renzheng said, ‘You’ll go when Fatcat lets you go. Have another drink with him and ask him to let you go.’ He was half pushing and half carrying Bao Qing. Renzheng remembered an autumn day when they had pushed him in the river. He hadn’t been able to climb the bank by himself, and in the end it was Renzheng who had felt sorry for him and hauled him out of the water and onto the bridge.

Suddenly, Bao Qing said to Renzheng, ‘Renzheng, I know you’re a good guy.’ But this displeased Renzheng and he spat out curses fuelled by alcohol, ‘What f***ing use is it being a good guy? If you don’t have money, a good guy turns into a bad guy soon enough.’

When he returned from the bathroom, Bao Qing kept Renzheng’s advice in mind: have one more drink with Fatcat and go. Taking the initiative, he proposed a toast, but Fatcat said, ‘Farewell toasts have to be three cups.’ Bao Qing vaguely knew that he was being toyed with, but he didn’t know whether it was because Fatcat had had too much to drink or because he was annoyed with him. But clearly he was being toyed with. ‘Never mind’, he thought. ‘I’m not afraid of you now. I don’t depend on you for my livelihood. I’ll put up with it for a while and then go.’ But things did not turn out as he’d anticipated. His body was acting unreasonably and impatiently. It was soft and intractable. The gravity of the earth was exerting an extraordinary force on him, and Bao Qing suddenly slipped off his chair and fell to the floor. He sat by Fatcat’s feet and drank the last cup of wine. What Bao Qing saw were Fatcat’s black leather shoes and piercingly white cotton socks. The shoes had a little streak of mud on them that made Bao Qing feel uncomfortable. Sometimes, the so-called corridor of memory can be bridged in a single step. The past had stealthily crept up on him and now Bao Qing heard a crude, familiar voice. The voice carried violence and threats in its commands. ‘Wipe the mud off! Wipe it off! Wipe it off!’ It was Fatcat’s voice when he was young: ‘Faster! Wipe the mud off!’ Bao Qing obediently took a napkin, just as he had been forced to do many years ago, spat lightly on the shoes and said, ‘I’m wiping. I’m wiping.’

Bao Qing heard the ebb and flow of their laughter, but he had no time to look up, for he was too absorbed in the task of shining Fatcat’s shoes. He saw that they had become glistening and new, and were now emitting a luxurious sheen. Then he heard a crisp bang and felt a slap on his face; Fatcat had struck him. The abruptness and unexpectedness of the blow ensured the slap was powerfully felt. Bao Qing had to put his hand out not to keel over. At the same time, he heard Fatcat snarl irritably, ‘Why have you only shined the left shoe? What about the right shoe? Hurry up! Shine the right shoe!’

Professor Bao Qing returned to Beijing on the third day of the new year. Everyone in Maqiao knew that his New Year’s visits were brief and hurried. Once again, it was his sister and her husband who accompanied him to the station, and once again they encountered Renzheng there. Bao Qing turned his back to him and blatantly ignored him, but Renzheng ran over and squeezed a big paper bag into his hands saying, ‘It’s wine, a present from Fatcat. The Wuliangye brand.’

Bao Qing was determined to fight off Renzheng’s hands and said, ‘I don’t drink. Take it back to him. He already made enough a fool of me last night.’ Renzheng held the wine up, carefully selecting his words.

‘He had a drop too much last night, but he asks you not to take it to heart. This is high-quality wine, a token of goodwill for you to take back to Beijing.’

Spitefully, Bao Qing responded, ‘I don’t drink. If I take it back to Beijing, I won’t drink it. Why can’t you guys get that through your thick skulls no matter how often I tell you?’

Renzheng winked and said, ‘That’s true. You intellectuals don’t drink all that much.’ He took a look at Bao’s sister and smoothly slipped the wine into her hands. He said, ‘Well then we’ll just let your brother-in-law take it home. In any case, I can’t take it back to Fatcat. He’d have my head.’

Frostily, ignoring Renzheng, Bao Qing took out his cell phone and phoned his wife from the station waiting room. Renzheng took the hint, but just as he was about to leave, Bao Qing’s hand restrained him, pulling him all the way down the steps. ‘Renzheng, you’re a good guy. When I was making such a fool of myself yesterday, why did you just stand by and watch? Tell me the truth: did I shine Fatcat’s shoes? Did he actually slap me?’

Renzheng’s eyes were sparkling, but what he said was, ‘No, no. Nothing like that.’

Bao Qing watched Renzheng’s expression nervously, ‘Don’t play dumb with me. Why didn’t you stop me when I was shining his shoes? He used the drink as an excuse to go crazy and you just watched as he slapped me!’

Renzheng waved his hand and said, ‘Hey, nothing like that happened. You shined his shoes, you say? You think he slapped you? We’re all grown-ups now — Fatcat would never have made you shine his shoes, let alone slap you. Besides, he would never dare to bully you any more.’

Bao Qing instinctively rubbed his cheek, thinking, Well, it doesn’t hurt, but I wasn’t in a very clear state of mind at the time. He looked at Renzheng suspiciously, ‘It seems drunken people all make fools of themselves, and there isn’t any stopping them. Or am I perhaps remembering things wrongly? Did you shine his shoes? Were you the one he hit?’

Bao Qing watched Renzheng lift up his head, and on his face was a remarkable expression; a mixture of wiliness and pride that was hard to describe. ‘No, I didn’t shine them, sure as I’m my mother’s son. Ever since we were kids, I haven’t shined his shoes for him, not even once. And he’s never slapped me, either.’ Suddenly he laughed and poked Bao Qing in the stomach. ‘Don’t let it stick in your throat. You can’t make a fuss over what people do when they get drunk. Forgive him this once. A great spirit forgives the trespasses of his inferiors.’ Without knowing why, Bao Qing suddenly covered his face with his hands. Then he heard Renzheng sigh: ‘You can never tell what changes time may bring. You’ve both made good. Out of all of our friends and classmates, you’re the only one who can stand up to him. If he hadn’t been drunk, he would never have dared to slap you.’

As they were speaking, the long-distance bus emerged from the depot. A crashing noise gave Bao Qing a fright, until he realized it was the sound of the doors opening automatically. The holiday was over and everyone glowed with health. Even the bus had celebrated the New Year, for it seemed that the doors had been fixed.