The Moon Opera

6

Chunlai continued to rehearse as before, giving away nothing in front of Xiao Yanqiu, except that she wouldn’t look her in the eye. She listened to what Yanqiu said and did what she told her to do, but she refused to make eye contact. There was a tacit understanding between them, not the sort that exists between a mother and daughter, but the fatal, unspeakable kind that can exist between women.

Xiao Yanqiu had never imagined that such awkwardness could develop in their relationship, could become an issue between them. It was difficult to resolve because it was so elusive. She was eating again, but was tired all the time. Spreading through her body, fatigue was now everywhere, although she could not identity the source. The thought of quitting occurred to her several times, but she could not bring herself to do it. Twenty years earlier, something similar had happened, and she had considered suicide, but was unable to go through with it. Now she reproached herself for that weakness, for not having died back then. The abrupt end of one’s golden years cuts more deeply than death. She had neither lived up to her desires, nor carried out her wish to quit; and now there was nothing she could do—wanting to cry, she had no tears to shed.

Chunlai acted as if nothing had happened, was always composed and relaxed; no wind blew, no grass swayed. She merely kept a proper distance from Xiao Yanqiu, who had come to fear her student, although she would never admit it. If the girl kept up this aloofness, Yanqiu felt, her own life would end; there could be no middle ground. What had been the point of standing at the rostrum, teaching for two decades, if Chang’e could not be reborn through Chunlai?

In the end, Xiao Yanqiu slept with the factory manager, a decision that finally put her mind at ease. It had always been a matter of when, not if. She didn’t feel one way or the other about it; it wasn’t a good thing, it wasn’t a bad thing, just something people have done since time immemorial. What sort of man was the factory boss, anyway? Someone who had enjoyed power and become wealthy, and she would not have been upset if he’d been a disgusting man or if he’d forced her to do it. As it turned out, neither was the case. She wasn’t shy about such things; better to be straightforward and frank than to act coy. If the show was to go on, then the audience had to feel it was worth their while; otherwise, why bother?

On the other hand, she didn’t feel especially good about what she did, and that gnawed at her. From the hours of the banquet up to the moment she put her clothes back on, the factory boss had played the role of a great man, a savior even. But when she was standing there naked, it seemed to her that he had no interest at all in her body. What exactly is a boss? At the time, pretty girls were like goods on a shelf; if something struck a boss’s fancy, he had only to signal with a nod and the clerk would take it down for him. So she stripped, and at that moment, the look in his eyes changed. The effects of her diet were plain to see and, as she could sense, plainly displeasing. He didn’t even try to hide his disapproval. At that instant, she’d have preferred a greedy, lecherous man, a sex fiend even, for then she’d simply have been selling her body. But he wasn’t. He was even more a man of stature and power as he climbed into bed—he leisurely lay down on the Simmons mattress and gestured for her to get on top. Once there, she did all the work. At one point, he seemed pleased with her efforts, for he moaned a couple of times, and muttered, “Oh yeah … oh, yeah.” What does that mean? she wondered. A few days later, he put on a foreign porn flick before she serviced him, and it dawned on her that he was parroting the sound the porn stars made. Where sex was concerned, he had gone global.

What they did could hardly be called making love; it wasn’t even sex. She was just trying to please a man, servicing a man, and she felt so debased that she thought about stopping. But sex is so toxic it doesn’t let you quit just because you want to. She had never felt that way when making love with Miangua, so she just went through the motions, reproaching herself the whole time: this woman is a slut, pure and simple, she chided herself.

It was drizzling as she made her way home. The wet streets glistened, filling her eyes with reflections and refractions from the taillights of passing cars. The glittery reds seemed overheated and unreal, creating a deep sense of desolation. Surrounded by kaleidoscopic lights dancing on the surface of the street, she felt she’d been defiled that evening. Though she couldn’t say how, exactly, she knew it wasn’t physical. At the head of the lane she bent over and tried to throw up, but succeeded only in producing dry heaves, terrible-sounding and foul-smelling noises.

By the time she arrived home, her daughter was already in bed. Miangua was sunk down in the sofa with the TV on, waiting for her. She avoided his eyes, unable to bring herself to look at him. Instead, she went straight to the bathroom, head down, to shower. But the thought of how such unusual behavior might make him suspicious led her instead to the toilet, where she sat down, but with no results from either end. She examined her body, front and back, to make sure there were no telltale signs before she felt confident enough to leave the bathroom. Despite her fatigue, she put on an energetic show so her husband would not detect anything. But he did. Wondering why she was in such high spirits, he asked, “Have you been drinking? Your face is red.”

Xiao Yanqiu’s heart skipped a beat. “You’re seeing things,” she said as lightly as she could manage.

“No, it is red,” he insisted.

The conversation was heading somewhere she didn’t like, so she changed the subject: “Where’s the girl?”

“Went to bed a while ago.”

She still couldn’t face him, for his gaze would have been her undoing. “Go on to bed. I’m going to take a shower.” She avoided the word, “sleep” but “go to bed” said the same thing. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he was rubbing his hands gleefully. For no apparent reason, she felt a stabbing pain in her chest.

Once in the shower, Xiao Yanqiu turned up the water until it nearly scalded her. That was what she wanted, to hurt herself. The pain, tangible and real, was mixed with a subtle pleasure, bordering on self-abuse. She let the water run as she rubbed herself vigorously, digging deep into her body with her fingers, as if wanting to extract something from it. Afterwards, she went into the living room to sit on the sofa, her skin bright red and tender. At around eleven o’clock Miangua walked in, wrapped in a towel. Obviously he hadn’t gone to bed. “You look preoccupied. Did you find a purse on the street?” he said, wearing a hopeful smile. No response. “Hey,” he said, incongruously, “it’s the weekend.”

Yanqiu shuddered and tensed, but did not move, so he sat down and snuggled up to her, his lips touching her earlobe. When he bit down gently and reached for the familiar place, she reacted, surprising even herself, by pushing him away so hard he fell off the sofa. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed. It was a sound that scratched the quiet night, abrupt and hysterical. Miangua was staggered, at first embarrassed, then angry; but he did not want to disturb the oppressive silence. Her chest rose and fell like a sail that has caught the wind. Tears welled in her eyes; staring at her husband, she cried out, “Miangua.”

It was a sleepless night. Yanqiu stared wide-eyed into the darkness. One eye looked to her past, the other to her future, but all she could see was darkness. Several times she nearly reached out to rub her husband’s back, but she stopped herself. She was waiting for the day to break; once dawn came, yesterday would be over.

When she wasn’t rehearsing, Chunlai was quiet as a glass of water. During breaks, she’d sit off by herself, her long, curved eyebrows raised, her luminous eyes darting here and there, looking both alluring and at ease. She had a quiet beauty with an easy grace, and her movements gave the impression of a frail willow swaying in the wind. But girls like her could erupt without warning; she could raise a three-foot wave on a windless day, and the news she brought on one particular day was like thunderbolts crackling above Xiao Yanqiu’s head.

Shortly before the sound rehearsal, Bingzhang summoned Xiao Yanqiu to his office. He looked very unhappy. Chunlai was sitting there reading the evening paper. The girl’s presence told Xiao Yanqiu that something had happened.

“She’s leaving,” Bingzhang said.

“Who’s leaving?” Xiao Yanqiu was confused. She glanced at the girl, clearly puzzled. “Where to?”

Chunlai stood up, but was still reluctant to look at her teacher. She stared instead at the tips of her shoes, reminding Xiao Yanqiu of what she herself had been like twenty years before, when she had stood at Li Xuefen’s bedside. But what they were thinking and feeling at each of those moments could not have been more different. After a long pause, Chunlai spoke up. “I’m leaving,” she said, “I’m going to be on TV.”

Xiao Yanqiu heard every word but understood nothing. A discordance existed between those two statements. This was bad news, but just how bad she could not be sure. “You’re going where?”

Finally Chunlai showed her hand. “I don’t want to be an opera singer any longer.”

Now Xiao Yanqiu understood. She sized up her student before inclining her head and asking, “What is it you don’t want to do?”

Again the girl fell silent, leaving Bingzhang to explain things to Yanqiu. “One of the TV stations needed a host, so she applied. That was a month ago. She had her interview, and she got the job.”

Xiao Yanqiu recalled seeing ads placed by the TV station in the evening paper during the narration phase. It had, in fact, been a month, and the girl had, without a word, gone about securing the job. Stunned by the news, Yanqiu swayed, as if being pulled off her feet. Not knowing what she ought to do or say, she reached out for Chunlai’s shoulder, but quickly withdrew her hand. By then she was breathing heavily. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?”

Chunlai looked out the window, but said nothing.

“Don’t even think about it!” Xiao Yanqiu said, raising her voice.

“I know how much time and energy you’ve spent on me, but I’ve worked very hard to get where I am today. So don’t stand in my way.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Then I’ll quit the academy.”

Yanqiu raised her hands in a meaningless gesture. She looked first at Bingzhang, then at Chunlai. Her hands began to tremble; heartbroken, she grabbed the girl’s lapels. “You can’t,” she said softly. “Don’t you know who you are?”

“Yes, I do,” Chunlai answered, her eyes lowered.

“No, you don’t!” Yanqiu said, shooting pains stabbing her heart. “You don’t know how good a Qingyi you are. I ask again, do you know who you are?”

The corners of the girl’s mouth twitched, like an attempted laugh, but there was no sound. “The Chang’e understudy.”

“I’ll go talk to them. You’ll be Chang’e and I’ll be your understudy. Please, you mustn’t leave.”

Chunlai looked away. “I can’t take the role away from my own teacher.”

She sounded as determined as she’d been a moment before, but now seemed to leave a bit of room for negotiation.

Yanqiu grabbed the girl’s hands. “You won’t be taking it from me. You have no idea how wonderful you are, but I do. It’s not every day a Qingyi is born. Wasting talent like yours would incur heaven’s wrath! You’ll be Chang’e, and I’ll be your understudy. Promise me.” She covered the girl’s hands with her own and repeated urgently, “Promise me.”

Chunlai raised her head to look at her teacher, something she hadn’t done in a long time. Xiao Yanqiu returned her gaze, studying the look in her student’s eyes; she saw doubt and misgiving, which told her she was prepared to make a fresh start. Yanqiu fixed her attention on the girl, as if the look in Chunlai’s eyes would vanish if her gaze left the girl’s face. Bingzhang, who was also watching the girl, detected a subtle change. He was sure he was right; he now knew exactly what to say to the girl and how to say it. So he gestured for Yanqiu to leave, but she was immobile, trance-like. Not until he laid his hands on her shoulders did she return to reality. On her way out the door she stopped to look back. “Go on, now,” Bingzhang said softly. “Go on.”

Xiao Yanqiu returned to the rehearsal hall, where she stared at the window in Bingzhang’s office. It was now the window to her life. The rehearsal was over and the hall was deserted, leaving her the lone figure in the large, now empty space to wait anxiously. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in, filling the air with a soft orange glow and a filigree of dust motes that lent an uncanny warmth to the hall. Leaves on the potted plants seemed to grow bigger under the setting sun, their outlines blurred. Yanqiu paced up and down, hugging herself; then the window opened to reveal Bingzhang’s head and arm. She could not make out his face, but she saw him wave vigorously. Then he balled up a fist, which was the sign she’d been waiting for. She steadied herself by holding on to the practice bar against the wall, tears wetting her eyes, before she slid to the floor, where she sat and cried. How close she’d come to seeing all her efforts wasted; she felt as if she’d survived a disaster. They were happy, comforting tears. Supporting herself with her hand on a chair to stand up, she then sat down and sobbed, savoring a feeling of consolation. As she dried her eyes she reproached herself for not having been more upfront with Chunlai when the opera cast was formed. If the girl had had a role to play, she’d not have gone looking for other work. Xiao Yanqiu asked herself why she hadn’t handed over the role at the beginning; why, at her age, she was still fighting over a Qingyi part. Why had she refused to accept the role of understudy? This was so much better. Now Chunlai could take her place. Chunlai was her second self. As long as Chunlai gained the fame she deserved, Yanqiu’s lifework could be passed down through her. As these thoughts coursed through her mind, she felt she’d shed a heavy burden; the pressure and the gloom in her heart vanished. Give it up, give it up completely. She heaved a long, deep sigh, feeling suddenly reinvigorated.

Dieting is a lot like ilness. Getting well can be like extracting thread from a silkworm cocoon, whereas falling ill is like the toppling of a mountain. Xiao Yanqiu had been off her diet only a few days when the red needle on her scale bounced back, dredging up more than a pound, like a free gift with each purchase. She’d been in a better mood for days, but as her weight returned, so did her regrets. An opportunity she’d fought so hard for was lost almost before she knew it, a realization that led to a new and crippling sadness. She would stare at the needle on her scale, and her mood would plummet if it edged upward. But she knew she mustn’t allow herself to grieve over the results; she had to beat back the sorrow as soon as it began to form, pinch off every last trace of it. At first, she had thought that her promise to give up the Chang’e role would have a calming effect. But no, her desire to be on stage was stronger than ever. Be that as it may, she’d made a promise in front of Bingzhang, and that promise was like a sword that cut her in two. One half remained on the shore, while the other half was submerged in water. When the water self tried to come up for air, the shore self unhesitatingly pushed her down even farther. The shore self could feel the underwater self fighting for air, while the water self witnessed the cold cruelty of murder. The two women’s eyes turned red from anger as they glared at each other. Xiao Yanqiu struggled both in the water and on the shore until she was utterly exhausted. So she decided to gorge herself, like a drowning person gulping down water. Her weight shot up; the regained pounds not only betokened her promise to Chunlai, but effectively stopped her from coveting the role. For the first time in her life Yanqiu realized that she could really eat, that she had an amazing appetite.

Everyone spotted the changes in Xiao Yanqiu, a taciturn woman who had given up dieting just when her efforts were beginning to show results. No one recalled hearing her talk about what she was up to, but they saw her face regain its luster and her voice rediscover its depths. Some assumed she had not recovered from “tattooing” her voice that time, for a proud woman like Xiao Yanqiu did not give up easily. But the abandoned diet was not the greatest change in her. Nearly everyone noticed that she took herself out of the picture once the full cast rehearsal started. For all intents and purposes, Chunlai was the only one rehearsing now, while Xiao Yanqiu sat in a chair facing the girl to prompt and occasionally correct her. Xiao Yanqiu looked happy, too happy, in fact, as if she had snatched the sun out of the sky and stored it in the fridge at home. Given the circumstances, she had no choice but to put on a show, to overact. As she devoted all her energy to Chunlai, she looked less like a performer and more like a director, or, to be more precise, Chunlai’s personal director. No one knew for sure what she was up to; they had no idea what was ripening and flowering in her head.

Every evening she dragged herself home, exhausted. The fatigue lingered, roiled, and flooded through her body, like thick, suffocating smoke from burning leaves after an autumn rain. Even her eyes were tired; they would lock onto something and stay there, too weary to move on. She often stood up straight and breathed in deeply to rid her chest of the imagined smoke and mist. But the air never reached the right spot, so after a while she gave up.

The dazed look in Yanqiu’s eyes did not escape the attention of Miangua, for whom his wife’s lethargy was cause for serious concern. She had rejected him twice in bed already. Once she’d been cold and detached, the second time it was a case of nerves. The way she acted, you’d have thought that he didn’t so much want to make love as to stab and make her bleed. He dropped a hint here and there, and sometimes was quite direct, but she remained oblivious. There had to be something terribly wrong with the woman’s heart, for nothing seemed to touch her.