Vertical Motion

Never at Peace

Mr. Yuanpu had really declined. When Jinglan entered that rundown home and the maid Yunma opened Yuanpu’s bedroom door, he was sitting on a chamber pot, taking a crap, and thinking. Maybe he was merely pretending to think and actually was dozing. Looking closely at him, Jinglan confirmed this from his drooling. Since he’d last seen him, his color had grown much grayer. He seemed a little embarrassed, for he immediately wiped his ass, pulled up his pants, and stood up. The smell of shit filled the room at once. When he rapped on the table, Yunma came in and carried the chamber pot out, closing the door behind her and leaving the smell shut up inside. After he and Jinglan looked at each other in speechless despair, Yuanpu staggered toward the big bed, straightened the rumpled bedding, and then lay down and carefully covered his legs. From the way the bed looked, Jinglan knew that he had spent another sleepless night.

“Have you had breakfast?” Jinglan asked with concern.

“Sure I have. Otherwise, how would I be able to defecate?” He was mocking himself. There were thick mats on Yuanpu’s bed. Jinglan estimated that there were five or six of them, each with cotton batting weighing about ten pounds. Yuanpu had three extremely large pillows. At the moment two pillows were behind his decrepit back, and the other leaned against the side of the bed next to the wall. Yuanpu was half-lying on this large pile of cotton batting, but his face was telegraphing agony, as though the soft cotton batting were rubbing and hurting his body. This old home was much higher than ordinary houses. Many years ago, when Jinglan was a child, there had once been a large window in the wall. A bamboo shade had hung from it. Now only a cursorily whitewashed windowpane remained. Yuanpu had taken this action because in recent years he had found windows increasingly repellant. There were no chairs in the room, so Jinglan sat on the night table at the head of the bed. When he had visited the year before, Yuanpu had told him to sit there. When Jinglan considered his friendship with Yuanpu, he couldn’t help feeling proud of himself. But in recent years, Yuanpu’s decrepitude made him a little uneasy. Yuanpu’s sitting on the chamber pot was especially disgusting. Yuanpu had always been a sanitary person. You could even say he was fastidious. It hadn’t occurred to Jinglan that he could change so much. He certainly wasn’t so ill that he had to stay in bed. He was perfectly capable of getting up and going to the bathroom next door, but for the last six months, he had always asked Yunma to bring a chamber pot to his room. The stench was so bad that even Yunma held her nose when she entered and left the room. Jinglan thought, When all is said and done, there comes a day when people go downhill; even a sagacious thinker like his mentor would not be able to avoid declining day after day. Who could defy the laws of nature? In the past, Yuanpu had suffered only from insomnia, but ten years ago, this hadn’t troubled him at all. Time after time, he and Jinglan had argued all night long in this room, and in the daytime, he was in his usual good spirits. When Jinglan tried to imagine what Yuanpu would look like in two or three years, he smiled sadly.

“Your color is really bad. You ought to exercise more in the courtyard. Exercise would give you a better appetite.” Jinglan couldn’t help saying this, but he soon wished he hadn’t. Yuanpu leaned back on his pillow and listened attentively, but he wasn’t listening to Jinglan: he was listening to the noise outside. When he pulled himself together, Jinglan thought that all traces of senility had vanished from his face. His eyes glittered with bright light. He looked like a young man — absolutely different from the way he had looked a moment ago.

“It’s Yunma,” he said in a low voice. “She’s asked her fellow villagers to come here for meetings every night. If you had come at night, you would have seen the house ablaze with lamps. It’s hilarious.”

Jinglan was astonished. How could anything so preposterous have actually happened? Yunma was Yuanpu’s old servant. Long ago, she had agreed to wait on him until the end. A servant had actually taken advantage of him. After he recovered from his astonishment, he felt melancholy again. It appeared that Yuanpu couldn’t control his own life. Who could help him? How could someone with such self-esteem accept help from others?

“I don’t mind. It gives me pleasure in my old age. You know that I wearied long ago of argument.”

Jinglan wondered: Could he be lying to cover up his embarrassment? He also thought that he was certainly much different than he used to be. Jinglan glanced around the room: decades had passed, and yet this room was the same as always. The only difference was that it looked much gloomier and more rundown. A crab basket in the corner was covered with thick dust. In the old days, he and Yuanpu had gone crabbing in the mountain streams.

“I have to go. I’ll come back another day. I’ll be staying in town longer this time.”

Yuanpu didn’t respond. He was still listening intently to the activity outside. Jinglan waited a little longer. He was uneasy as he rose to leave: he thought his mentor had forgotten he was there.

As soon as he left the room, Yunma grabbed his arm and drew him to her room, which was across the hall from Yuanpu’s. A lot of miscellaneous stuff was piled up all over: it seemed to be the old woman’s hobby. Yunma stared at Jinglan. He was puzzled and so he took the initiative to find something to talk about. He brought up Yuanpu’s present condition, hinting that Yunma should keep the house quiet: this was essential if the elderly Yuanpu were to spend his last years in tranquility. From what Yunma told Jinglan, Yuanpu’s condition was worrisome: he was absolutely different from the way he was in the past. She had worked here more than thirty years: her service should have been appreciated. But for more than two years now, Yuanpu had been unusually strict with her. Her mother was more than eighty and needed care, so she had brought her here. This house had plenty of empty rooms, and she herself was in good health: she could take care of two elderly persons at once. She had settled her mother into a room upstairs. In the beginning, Yuanpu was happy about this, too. He went upstairs every day to chat with the old woman about household trivia. They were from the same generation and got along well. Her mother had a good impression of Yuanpu, too, saying that he was modest and unassuming, easy to be around. But before long, Yunma realized something was wrong. Yuanpu went upstairs too often — sometimes two or three times a day — and not about anything important, either. This made her mother uncomfortable. Yunma asked her mother if Yuanpu had suddenly started “looking for romance in his sunset years”? Her mother denied this. At first, she didn’t want to talk about it. Later on, she said that what the old geezer was interested in was something else, for several times he had tried to goad her into betraying her daughter. He had also told her a lot of tales about her daughter, even saying that Yunma was “treacherous.” He told her to be wary of her. Yunma intended to ignore Yuanpu’s words, for she thought he must have been mentally ill — a condition caused by old age. Furthermore, he was just telling tales about her: this didn’t hurt her. But Yuanpu became more and more peculiar — and more intensely so. Later, he not only went upstairs four or five times during the day, but he also rapped on her mother’s door at midnight. This wasn’t a problem for him, of course, because for decades he had slept very little at night, and yet he still had a lot of energy. But it troubled her mother a lot: once awakened, she couldn’t go back to sleep. After several days of this, the old woman could no longer bear it, and so she had packed her things and returned to the countryside. Not long after that, she died. And so Yuanpu’s relationship with Yunma immediately took a turn for the worse.

Irritated, Yunma turned deathly pale as she spoke. Sitting there, Jinglan kept sensing something spooky in this room. He shivered: Who in fact was lying? He squirmed uneasily in his chair.

“Six months ago, he began insisting that he had to have his bowel movements in his room. He said that he couldn’t walk easily and couldn’t use the toilet. But nothing was wrong with him: one night, I saw him go upstairs, just as fast as a thief! He did this in order to punish me. Tell me: How can I continue staying here?”

At this point, Yunma was staring at Jinglan, as if waiting for his answer. Jinglan thought it over and over and then said irresolutely, “I don’t know. I can’t help you. Sorry. I’m inexperienced in this kind of thing. Maybe you should talk it over with him. Or maybe I could ask a doctor to come. It seems he’s become a little obtuse.”

“Do you believe doctors?” Yunma’s eyes shone. “Let me tell you: you must never believe doctors! It was a doctor’s cure that killed my mother. If she hadn’t left. ” Suddenly terrified, she stopped talking.

When Jinglan walked out of Yunma’s room, he saw a hand closing Yuanpu’s door across the hall. Who could that be? Jinglan suddenly got it, and he turned back to say to Yunma: “Was he outside listening to us?”

“Naturally. There’s no way to keep anything from him.” Yunma smiled faintly.

=

As he walked along the road, Jinglan felt uneasy. The shadows of the house shrouded his mind. His respected mentor had actually reached this stage. He had never expected this. He felt obligated to help him, but unfortunately Yuanpu didn’t want his help. Maybe he was even mocking him for not understanding the world! Hadn’t Yunma also felt that he was ridiculous? Anyhow, he must give up the idea of helping Yuanpu. Then Jinglan began doubting his former impressions of Yuanpu. Over the decades, his mentor had never appeared decrepit in spirit. He loved arguing, never wearying of it. While arguing, his very being glowed with an unusual luster. Jinglan was always involuntarily drawn to his mentor’s brilliance. And so, although Jinglan had left here years earlier, he still came back once a year. Actually, his mentor was the only person he couldn’t leave behind. Could it be that his former impressions were all false? How could someone like Yuanpu have lost his mind? The configuration of Yuanpu’s brain rose before Jinglan’s eyes. He saw a tree whose leaves had all fallen. Its trunk and branches could be distinguished clearly, for they were bare. This kind of person was anything but out of his mind. But which image revealed the real Yuanpu? Was it the one who sat at his desk and thought all day and night? Or was it the one who dozed on the chamber pot and tiptoed like a thief through the house? He definitely couldn’t believe what Yunma said; it was likely all slanderous. But her motive didn’t seem to be to slander Yuanpu; it seemed more likely that she meant to scare Jinglan and make fun of him. What sort of confused state had Yuanpu’s life turned into? Jinglan thought, too, that he shouldn’t trust what he’d seen with his own eyes. His mentor was still as strong as an indestructible city wall. He could sense this while sitting in front of him, even though he had changed on the outside.

=

Jinglan had already spent nine days in his hometown. Every day he went to the riverside and sat on the flood-control dike to look at the distant sails. Deep down, he felt a little at loose ends, and he also felt some melancholy that he couldn’t dispel. These last few days he hadn’t gone back to see his mentor, and he kept reproaching himself. The river here was a little old and its water was dark. But Jinglan could see its energy in the strength the boatmen exerted to row the boats. He knew this river well. First thing this morning, he’d been uneasy because he would leave this evening. At about noon, what he’d been expecting occurred at last. The man approaching him was Yunma’s cousin.

“He’s going to die in a couple of days.” Both his facial expression and his tone were indifferent.

“What happened?” Jinglan asked.

On the way to the house, Jinglan was on the verge of tears, but in the end he didn’t cry. Upon entering the house, Yunma’s cousin went directly to the kitchen, where a lot of people were gathered. When Jinglan went into the bedroom, he saw Yuanpu sitting on the bed, repairing a lock. All kinds of small tools were spread out on the quilt. Jinglan let out a sigh.

“Did they ask you to come?” Yuanpu asked without raising his head. “Don’t worry. I won’t die. I just fell. It isn’t serious. I fooled all of them. As soon as they came in, I pretended to be on my last legs.”

“But when I came in, you didn’t do that.”

“That’s because I knew it was you. When I saw Yunma’s cousin go out, I guessed you would come.”

He finally finished repairing the old-style copper lock and opened it a few times with the key. Then he put it and the tools into an iron box which he placed beside the bed. He looked toward the door and made a face, signaling Jinglan to open the door a crack.

The courtyard was noisy: a large coffin was being carried in. Yunma directed the porters to place the coffin under the oil-cloth rain shed. Jinglan noticed that she was dressed all in black. She looked refined and clean.

“This time, your joke has gone too far.” Jinglan turned around and said, frowning in disgust.

“It doesn’t matter. Yunma is an old hand at this. In the end, will it be she or I who wins this battle of wits? What do you think? This issue is just like a lock and this key. I think you’d better leave. This kind of environment is hard on you. And don’t come back next year, either. Why make yourself uncomfortable? Come, help me shift my legs a little. I’m already dead from the waist down because of my fall, yet my upper body is still vigorous.”

His legs were very heavy, bewilderingly so. Even when he shoved them energetically a few times, Jinglan couldn’t move them. All he could do was climb into the bed, bend down, and shift them with both hands. His face turned purple. After he had arranged Yuanpu’s legs and covered them with a quilt, he and Yuanpu looked at each other. He noticed that Yuanpu’s eyes were a little damp, and he felt his emotions surge.

“Go on, go on! Why haven’t you left yet?!” Yuanpu was energetically waving his hand, perhaps to cover his embarrassment or perhaps because he was weary.

Jinglan walked into the courtyard, where Yunma had just arranged the coffin. Looking at Jinglan, she gave him an unearthly smile. She said, “Come back again next year. Mr. Yuanpu always cares about you.”

“This. ”

“Do you mean the coffin? This is just for looks. How can he die? He can fool the others, but he can’t fool me. Are you going now? Come back next year for sure. For sure! You’re all he thinks of!”

Jinglan quickened his pace, but Yunma was behind him, seeing him off. She was excited. She opened her mouth a few times, wanting to say something, but in the end she said nothing. She just silently watched Jinglan walk into the distance.

=

As Jinglan got back to the street, he thought he had no reason to despise Yunma. He had seen that his mentor seemed content with his lot in that eerie house; it was hard for others to understand what was so wonderful about his life. It seemed that Jinglan himself now had no choice but to consider himself one of the others. After all, he returned only once a year. Although he had thought of himself as his pupil, in the end, he hadn’t mastered some things — for instance, he didn’t understand Yuanpu’s relationship with Yunma at all. He could only understand the Yuanpu of the past — and evidently there was no connection between the mentor of the past and the mentor of the present. Had this change occurred only when he had a premonition that he would die soon?

Jinglan kept going, intending to thrust all of this behind him. Then he changed his mind and decided to board the boat and leave at once. He walked to the wharf. As it happened, a boat was waiting. No sooner had he entered the cabin and fallen onto the cot than the boat started up. Half-dazed, he heard the water grumbling below and felt it was a little absurd to have left immediately.

At midnight, he awoke with a start and walked onto the deck. When he looked up, he saw a large meteor fall from the sky. He looked down: everything was inky black. The events of the past few days once more weighed heavily on his heart. The boat had already gone a long way. For some reason, Jinglan felt that this was not like leaving, but instead like sailing straight toward the dark center of his hometown. It was a place where he’d never been before.