Bi Feiyu - Three Sisters

But for him even that little bit was too much to ask. Sex isn’t throwing a party, or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or embroidering flowers; the last thing you want is refinement, restraint, timidity, or politeness. No, sex is an insurrection, with one side triumphing over the other. Though understandably unhappy, his wife did not dare let her feelings be known. How could she talk about it with anyone? People would have called her stupid and smutty. Lucky for her the heavens were just and Wei lost his virility. He was a changed man, and she, it seemed, was a different woman, since now she could boldly say no.

Although one’s post may be little more than an empty title, it can have real consequences. As his status at school changed, so did his status at home, but the change was subtle and occurred slowly over time. In any case, his wife felt that she could now be a different person, feeling a sense of liberation that propelled her to rise above him. In turn, the subtle change in their relationship returned to take root in their bedroom dynamics. This is common among couples; what starts out in bed often ends up in bed.

The ill-fated moment came in the summer of 1979 when Wei experienced a failure, a rare occurrence. It was an alarm signal, and yet he paid little heed. That failure was the beginning of a terrible situation, for over the ensuing months his appendage rebelled and failed, and rebelled again only to fail one more time until it met with total destruction and never rose again.

It was during a winter snowfall when he comprehended the severity of the situation as that thing between his legs turned into a gentle little bird. On the outside, nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the previous two years; life wasn’t all that bad even after he had lost his official position.

In reality, however, everything changed, especially in bed. Wei was worried and puzzled. Don’t they say that one feels free with no official duties? Then why was it soft for him without those duties? Energy wasn’t the problem, and he could not figure out what had happened to him. He was, after all, someone who had seen the world and weathered many storms, so on another snowy evening he laid his cards on the table. “Why don’t we get a divorce?” he said to his wife.

She responded with unusual vigor: “Do you think those two ounces of hanging flesh are all I want from you?” She meant well, but that stung even more, since it implied that she’d given up on his “two ounces of flesh.”

But Wei did not let his dejection show. At moments like this a man must be resilient; he had to carry on and look energetic. He appeared to be more cheerful and outgoing, which was why he enjoyed chatting up the women at school. He favored topics with a sexual undertone as if that were the only way he could show he still had it and that nothing was amiss. But when he was alone, he knew he really didn’t have to wear himself out acting like that. No one would know anyway, particularly now that he no longer had extramarital affairs. Of course, he couldn’t even if he wanted to. So who would know? No loss of face there. Still, while Wei could control his thoughts, he could not keep his tongue from wagging in front of the women teachers. It felt good to talk about it even if he could no longer do it.

To his surprise, his loose talk turned out to be a real blunder this time. Doesn’t Teacher Qi have a sense of humor? I’ll have to talk to her about that.

Qi’s husband showed up at his door that night with murder in his eyes, which were as red as a rabbit’s. He held a kitchen knife in each hand, one big and one small. His arms shook and his lips trembled. Wei knew what this was all about the moment he opened the door, and he smirked inwardly at the sight of Qi’s husband.

What do you think you’re doing? You’re out of your league here. You want to play games? Well, you’ve come to the right place.

Smiling, he said, “Little Du, why are you being so formal when visiting a colleague? And there’s no need to bring gifts. Come in, come in and have a seat.” Draping one arm over Du’s shoulder, Wei escorted him inside and shut the door. Then he took the knives from him, laid them on the table, and offered him a cigarette while he brewed some tea.

Wei sat down, crossed his legs, and started chatting in an amicable tone. He told Du that his wife was doing a good job at school and that the responses from other comrades were encouraging; everyone liked and respected her.

After that, Wei changed the subject and told Little Du about plans for the school. “Construction of a natatorium and an all-weather athletic field and the renovation of the library’s second floor will all begin next semester. Everything is moving in the right direction. Since society is taking great strides toward progress, we have to do the same. Everyone knows that making no progress is the same as backpedaling, a truth that can be applied to any place and time.”

Wei, who had not occupied a leadership position for a long time, was surprised to discover that talking like this made him feel like a leader again. He had regained the tone and gestures of an official. But the crux of the matter was that a leadership mentality had come back—the damn thing had returned.

For his part, Little Du acted respectfully. Wei was somewhat unfocused, but that did not affect his speech, which became more lucid and decisive as he went along; his professional level had not fallen, and he was now sure that he could be entrusted with leadership work at the section level. Little by little, Little Du’s anger subsided; he had lost his righteous edge and began nodding his head in response.

Finally, Wei stood up, smoothed the front and back of his jacket, and picked up the knives, which he wrapped in a copy of People’s Daily before handing them back.

“Stop by whenever you like, and next time no gifts. There’s no need for that.” Du was about to say something, but was stopped by Wei, who added with a smile, “My door is always open.”

After seeing Little Du off, Wei turned and saw his wife, her face contorted by a sneer. He returned to reality as the illusion of being a section-level leader evaporated. He felt like explaining but didn’t know where to start, so, with a nod, he said, “It’s all right. I cracked a joke about Teacher Qi this afternoon. Everything’s fine.”

Her face stayed frozen in the sneer. “I know everything’s fine. How could I not know? You may not be good at much, but you’ll never have a ‘lifestyle issue’ now.”

Wei’s face darkened at her insinuation. “Tan Meihua!” he shouted.

She ignored the tone of rebuke as she turned and went into the bedroom, closing the door with a final comment, “A dog never gets out of the habit of eating shit.”

Deeply hurt, Wei Xiangdong felt a deep loathing for Tan Meihua and for his home life. But he was Wei Xiangdong, a man who knew how to turn grief into vigor by redoubling his devotion to work.

Wei had requisitioned an extra-long flashlight with added weight and heightened brightness, and every night after nine-thirty he took it along to inspect the athletic field, the brush behind the bleachers, the art studio, the music room, the grove of trees to the left of the laboratory, the dining hall, and the area around the pond. For the most part, he seldom had to turn on his flashlight, for little escaped his keen eyes, even in the dark. He’d developed a sort of sixth sense so that most of the time, even when there was no sign or evidence, his innate perception helped him identify a spot where a couple was kissing or touching in the dark. Once he verified it, his flashlight would snap on, sending a blinding searchlight across the night sky and nailing the suspects to the ground. More precisely, the white light acted like a loudspeaker or a hood descending upon the suspicious objects. The dark mass on the ground would separate immediately to reveal itself—a panicky boy and girl exposed by the powerful flashlight.