The Crazed

32

Seeing me, Ying Peng said, “You did a fabulous job with the investigation letter, Jian. Banping owes you a dinner now. I’ll let him know about your help after he joins the Party.” She patted her hair and apparently remembered something. “Oh yes, I want to talk to you.”

I knew this was about my new decision, so I broached the topic indirectly. “Secretary Peng, I have changed my mind about the exams. I’ve decided not to take them.”

“Are you sure?” Her face glowed so happily that the large, hairy mole on her chin seemed mobile.

“Absolutely,” I said.

“All right. In that case I’m going to call the Graduate School to withdraw your application. But I have to tell you that you can’t work at the Policy Office.”

“Why?” I was astounded.

“Let me be candid about this, Jian. The Policy Office wants a Party member for that position, because they have access to lots of classified documents. At least you must be a prospective Party member, like Banping, for them to consider you for that job.”

I was stupefied and for a while couldn’t say a word. Three weeks ago the office hadn’t required Party membership for the position at all; why such a new restriction? It must be Ying Peng herself who had brought about the change.

“I’m sorry, Jian,” she went on. “If only I could be more helpful. You’ve never applied for Party membership. It’s impossible to consider you for that job even if you turn in your application now.” Despite her regret, she seemed unable to contain her happiness. Even her voice had grown crisp.

I swung around and staggered out of the office, my head reeling. The instant I closed the door, I overheard her pick up the phone and call the Graduate School to cancel my name as an examinee. Never had I imagined that the most crucial decision in my life was based on a shaky assumption, on a mirage. What a swellheaded fool I was! Why had I never doubted the feasibility of changing myself from a piece of meat into “a knife”? And why was I never seriously concerned about all the odds against my entering officialdom if I didn’t belong to the Party? Meimei was right — I hadn’t known my place in this world.

For a whole day I couldn’t do anything. My chest was so full that I felt as if I were suffocating; I couldn’t stop hiccuping, filled with gas. Should I take the exams tomorrow? I didn’t feel like it. Besides, Ying Peng had already withdrawn my name. If I wanted to reenter, I would have to get her approval first, which she was unlikely to give. Why was she so eager and so glad to have my candidacy revoked? I wished I had known.

Having heartburn, I didn’t eat lunch. Yet however hard I castigated myself for my foolhardiness, I still believed in living a life different from Mr. Yang’s. I would never go to Beijing through Ph.D. candidacy. At the same time I felt trapped, all at sea about what to do. If only I could have made up with Meimei. I wouldn’t mind admitting to her that I had been a high-minded fool. I needed her and mustn’t lose her. In my heart there was the burning desire to win her back, though I was uncertain what I could offer her so that we could be reconciled.

After dinner I went to the Yangs’ to look for Meimei. Her mother answered the door. Mrs. Yang looked tired, a little unkempt. Yet her face lit up as she talked to me. She wore a yellow shirt and a maroon skirt, her bare feet in a pair of mauve sponge-rubber slippers. She didn’t seem very grief-stricken over her husband’s death.

After she poured me a cup of tea, I asked her if Meimei was in. She looked surprised and said, “You didn’t see her today?”

“No.”

“I thought she was with you.”

“The last time I saw her was yesterday afternoon.”

“Really? She went out this morning and won’t come back till midnight, she told me.”

Something must have gone awry. With whom is Meimei spending her time today? I wondered. Does she have some friends in town?

A pang suddenly seized my heart and my nose turned stuffy, but I took hold of myself. I told Mrs. Yang that there was some friction between Meimei and me, mainly caused by my decision not to take the exams. Without comment she listened to me explaining my thoughts; now and again her eyes flashed at me sympathetically. She didn’t seem to disapprove of my decision, though I was unsure how much she understood of my reasons.

After I was done talking, for a moment the room fell into silence. I remembered something that had weighed on my mind for a long time. Regardless of propriety, I asked her, “Do you know a woman by the name of Lifen?”

Her eyes expanded. “What about her?”

“Mr. Yang often mentioned her when he was delirious.” I tried to keep calm, though my heart was thumping.

“I’ve never met her and don’t know if she’s dead or alive,” she said in a level voice.

“Mr. Yang talked a lot about her, saying that finally he met her again.”

“That’s just his fantasy. He didn’t know her whereabouts either, I’m positive about that.”

Misery overcame me. I grew quiet, uncertain whether I should talk more about this unpleasant subject, which I shouldn’t have brought up with her.

“Love is always a unilateral effort, ridiculous,” she said. “That woman dumped him like a used dishrag, but he couldn’t forget her all his life. I’m sure he loved her more than me. I was hopeless against her, my invisible enemy, and I couldn’t find a way to win his heart, no matter how hard I tried.” She grimaced, her chin wrinkled. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

I didn’t say a word as I remembered how harshly Mr. Yang had rebuked her in his dreams.

She sighed. “I only hope Meimei won’t repeat my mistake. What a hell a marriage can be.”

“I love her,” I said.

“I’ve known that from the very beginning.”

Silence set in again. I wondered if I should leave.

Then she asked, “Do you want to see your teacher’s ash box? I brought it back yesterday evening.”

“Yes,” I answered, amazed by her question. She was indeed a tough woman, not distraught by what I had just told her. She must have been hardened to thoughts of her loveless marriage.

I got up and followed her into my teacher’s study, which was also their bedroom. On the wall hung a pair of calligraphic scrolls, one of which said Learn with zest and the other Teach without fatigue. The room smelled fusty, with a tang of tobacco. On the tiny desk, whose top was three by two feet, sat a cinerary casket with gilt corners and brass clasps. On the front of the box was a large photo of Mr. Yang wearing a woolen pullover, his hair combed tidily and less gray; his eyes bulged slightly, as though he had just cried; the wrinkles on his jaw looked so tight that they seemed about to vibrate. In this picture I could feel his determination to hold together his life and his world, though he might already have been verging on a breakdown.

Tears came to my eyes; I tried but couldn’t force them back. I sat down on his chair and buried my face in my arms. Despite my shame of tears, I went on weeping noiselessly as Mrs. Yang put her palm on my head and patted it gently. “All I want is not to live a life like his,” I said.

“I understand.”

“I don’t want to die full of hatred.”

“I know he had an awful life.”

“Do you think Meimei has lost faith in me?”

“Don’t be silly. Pull yourself together, Jian. Give her some time, she’ll come around.”

Although not convinced by her words, I ordered myself, Stop crying! She’ll tell Meimei about this. Stop!

A few minutes later I calmed down, wiping my face on my sleeve. Outside the window, alongside the fence made of wooden boards, the dozen sunflowers my teacher and I had planted together were half dead, their broad leaves wilted by the heat. I had watered them every other day before my trip to the countryside.

When I returned to the dorm, a letter from Meimei was lying on my bed. My roommates were not in, so I couldn’t know when she had come. I opened the envelope and saw her squarish handwriting on the ruled paper.

6/1/1989

Jian,

It’s time for us to part, since we have different dreams and have to travel separate ways. This is a painful decision for me, but it’s necessary. Good luck with your life and career.

Meimei

I was so upset that my brain turned numb, though my scalp went on smarting. I sat in the darkness for two hours on end, unable to think coherently. A pair of geckos were resting on the window screen like two question marks, growing bronze against the moonlight. Above them were some lace-wings, motionless as if glued to the mesh. It was so sultry that even mosquitoes were too exhausted to fly, although crickets were shrilling metallically outside. If only there had been someone I could talk with about this whole mess.