Bi Feiyu: The Moon Opera

She decided to go on a diet, starting now.

When fate unexpectedly smiles on her, a woman will often begin a new phase in her life by dieting. Xiao Yanqiu hailed a cab and went straight to People’s Hospital, a place that still held heartbreaking memories for her. In all those years, she’d refused to see a doctor there even when her kidneys were causing her discomfort. People’s Hospital had been the scene of a life-changing event; it was where her heart had been broken. On the second day of Li Xuefen’s hospitalization, Xiao Yanqiu had been forced by the old troupe leader to go to the hospital, where Xuefen had made it clear that she would consider letting Xiao Yanqiu off the hook only if she was satisfied with her rival’s attitude during her self-criticism. Everyone in the troupe knew that the old leader would do whatever was necessary to protect Xiao Yanqiu. He personally wrote a self-criticism for her to read at the hospital, telling her in no uncertain terms that she must perform well in front of Li Xuefen before anything else could be said or done. Yanqiu folded up the self-criticism after reading it, anxiety clouding her judgment. “I wasn’t jealous,” she defended herself, “and I never intended to ruin her looks.” The old troupe leader felt like slapping her, as his eyes turned red from anger at her obstinacy, especially at a moment like this. But he could not bring himself to hit this childish woman. With a sweep of his arm, he said, raising his voice, “I spent seven years in prison, and I have no desire to visit you there.” As she stared at his receding back, she saw that a terrible future lay waiting for her somewhere up ahead.

In the end, she did go to People’s Hospital, where Li Xuefen lay in a hospital bed, her face swathed in gauze. All the troupe’s important people, including the creator of The Moon Opera , had crowded into the room. With her hands clasped low in front, Xiao Yanqiu walked up to Li Xuefen’s bed, eyes downcast. Staring at her feet, she began by swearing, cursing everyone in her family, back some eight generations, reviling them as worse than shit. The room was deathly quiet when she’d finished; no one spoke a word or made a sound, except for Li Xuefen, who coughed dryly behind the gauze. The air in the room turned oppressive. What could anyone say? Xiao Yanqiu had to consider herself lucky that Li Xuefen had not filed a complaint at the Public Security station.

Unable to bear the stifling atmosphere, Yanqiu looked around with tear-filled eyes for someone to come to her aid. The old troupe leader stood in the doorway, glaring at her. Knowing she had no way out, she slowly removed the self-criticism from her pocket, unfolded it, one sheet at a time, and began to read. Like a typewriter key hitting the paper, she spat out one word after another. When she was done, everyone breathed a sigh of relief, for the contents of the self-criticism confirmed the offender’s positive attitude. Li Xuefen pulled the gauze away from her face, exposing reddish-purple splotches of skin shining under a coat of greasy ointment. She accepted the self-criticism and reached for Xiao Yanqiu’s hands. “Yanqiu,” she said with a smile, “you’re still young, you must try to be more broad-minded. You have to change.” Yanqiu managed to get a glimpse of her expression before Xuefen rewrapped her face. That smile was a glass filled with hot but not quite scalding water that splashed onto her heart; with a sizzle, it doused an inner flame.

Xiao Yanqiu emerged from the room into bright sunlight. She walked to the top of the stairs, stopped beside the handrail, and turned back in time to see the old troupe leader heave a sigh of relief. He nodded, and she responded with a smile that turned into a laugh. Then she lost it completely, letting out loud belly-laughs, her shoulders rising and falling like a bearded clown laughing wildly on the opera stage. Everyone nearby heard this unusual racket and stuck their heads out of the wards to gape at Xiao Yanqiu. But she kept laughing, uncontrollably, until her knees buckled and she fell headlong to the landing between the fourth and third floors. People rushed to her side, where she lay on the concrete floor within earshot of the troupe leader, who explained to anyone who would listen, “Her attitude isn’t bad. She still has a good attitude.”

That was twenty years ago. Now, Xiao Yanqiu registered to see a doctor in the urology department. Once she had her prescription filled, she walked out behind the hospital. Twenty years. From a distance, she could see people entering and leaving the in-patient building. It had changed, with mosaic tiles on the exterior walls, but the roof, the windows, and the corridors still looked the same, so maybe it wasn’t that different. Standing there, she realized that, contrary to what people say, life does not reach into the future; rather, it points to the past, at least in terms of its framework and structure.

She arrived home an hour later than usual and saw that her daughter was slouching over the dining room table doing her homework. Her husband was slumped on the sofa, watching TV with the sound off. She leaned against the door frame, grasping her prescription bag from People’s Hospital as she observed her husband with a sense of fatigue. He could tell that something was wrong, so he got up and walked over to her. She handed him the prescription, went to the bedroom, and shut the door behind her. He turned his gaze from her to the bag, from which he took out a box and examined it, filled with uncertainty. The printing was in a foreign language, indecipherable to him, which only worsened the situation.

With a sense of impending doom, he followed her into the bedroom. No sooner had he stepped through the door than she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him to her until their bodies were crushed together, tighter and tighter. He knew at once that she was struggling to bear up under an assault of crippling sadness. The prescription fell from his hand. He stepped backward and banged the door, slamming it shut, and as he held her in his arms, destructive thoughts raced through his mind. Finally she cried out, “Miangua, I’m going back on the stage.”

As if not comprehending what she had just said, he lifted her head to look more closely, a mixture of relief and doubt in his eyes. “I can be on the stage again,” she said. Shoving her away, in a state of shock, he blurted out, “That’s it? That’s what this is all about?”

She stole an embarrassed look at him and smiled. “I feel sad, that’s all,” she muttered through an onset of tears.

He turned and opened the door to go warm up her dinner, only to discover their daughter standing there timidly. Even his bones felt lighter, now that he had escaped the possibility of calamity, but he frowned and said roughly, “Go do your homework!”

Xiao Yanqiu pulled her husband back into the room and waved to her daughter to come in and sit beside her so she could get a good look at her. Born with a large frame and a square face, she did not take after her mother; she was, in fact, a carbon copy of her father. But on this night, to Xiao Yanqiu her daughter seemed prettier than ever, and a more detailed examination revealed that the girl looked like her, after all, just one size bigger. Miangua turned to go into the kitchen, but Yanqiu said, “No need. I’m on a diet.”

He stopped and stood in the doorway, puzzled. “What for? Have I complained that you’re getting fat?”

Laying her hand on her daughter’s head, Yanqiu said, “You may not care if I’m overweight, but no audience would ever accept a fat Chang’e.”

Now when good fortune has smiled on a couple, the first order of business is to put the children to bed. Once the youngsters are asleep, the adults can head to their bed for the celebration ceremony. In this way a happy night is as quiet as water yet lights up like fireworks. The promise of unanticipated delights had Miangua running around the flat, busying himself in one room and another, not quite knowing what to do.