Can Xue - Vertical Motion

“He’s a guy who really means well and always has to be in the thick of things, even if they’re none of his business.” The ugly old guy sighed, “If he knew that someone as dishonest as the old clerk was mixed up with us, he’d want you to get rid of him, too. What do you say?”

“I guess you’re right. I guess so.”

My owner was agreeing absent-mindedly, but he was still staring at the elevator, as though the black man would suddenly step out of it. I was not pleased with my owner’s behavior. It had never crossed my mind that he could change so much. Sometimes he looked almost like a “scoundrel.” But why on earth was the black man grieving so deeply? It also occurred to me that since my owner was able to get along with people now, perhaps he no longer needed me. I had always thought he did. When I was alone with him, it was the two of us against the world. I reveled in this. Now that this defiance was gone, would he kick me out? After all, he’d agreed to get rid of the old clerk, hadn’t he? The more I thought about this, the more I despaired. If he kicked me out, all I could do was hang out on the stairs, because I couldn’t be so heartless as to abandon him. Someday, he would need me.

I was most repelled by the younger visitor. He didn’t talk, but he was constantly drumming his feet, jiggling the table so much that the soft drinks fell to the floor and made a mess of the rug. You have to remember that this rug was my bed. I really wanted to bite his leg, but this guy was as agile as an acrobat. And so I not only didn’t succeed in biting him, but I also landed on the floor, unable to move, when he kicked me in the back.

My owner said, “My cat always has to get the best of others.”

This infuriated me.

My owner was probably afraid the guy would hurt me again, so he carried me to his bedroom, put me on the wooden bed, and then closed the door. I fell asleep and didn’t even know when those people left.

I woke up at midnight and saw my owner scribbling excitedly at the table, his inspiration gushing like a spring. From behind, he looked like a lunatic. I didn’t understand the things he wrote — newspapers were out of my element — but I did know that this time my owner had climbed to a very high plane and was more exhilarated than other people could ever be. I was happy for him. You have to remember that only a few hours earlier I was worried that he had become a “scoundrel.” His rapid change was beyond my comprehension.

Seeing that I was awake, he walked over and sat next to me, sighing as he talked.

“Old Cat, why did you have to offend my colleagues? You really should stop being so self-righteous. See, you learned a painful lesson this time. I also know that you purposely took the phone off the hook so that my colleagues couldn’t get through. Why did you bother? You must realize that even if they can’t get through on the phone, they can think of other ways to get in touch with me. No one can keep them away. Even though you’re one smart cat, you’d better understand that my thoughts are a lot more profound than yours. For example, these colleagues of mine: you think they’re too vulgar for words, and so you scorn them. I don’t see it that way. They truly care about me; otherwise, they wouldn’t come so far to see me. You mustn’t be hostile toward them; you should think of them as friends. That would be a big help to me. Old Cat, you have to believe me. If even you don’t believe me, what meaning would my life have?”

By the end, he was talking quite tearfully. Although I didn’t appreciate his words one bit, his affection moved me. So I also cried. Both of us wept.

After I had cried for a while, my back also felt much better. I had no reason not to believe my owner. No matter what kind of person he was, I had to believe him, come hell or high water. I made up my mind: even if he sometimes got fed up with being a person of integrity and wanted to be a “scoundrel,” I would still be loyal to him. As he said, he was much more profound than I was, so I’d better not judge his behavior on the basis of superficial things.

After I had thought this through, my back pain vanished. I stood up, climbed onto his lap, and snuggled at his chest. The two of us wept silently again. I wasn’t too sure why I was crying. Was I touched? Was it a mix of sadness and happiness? Or was it a certain regret? Or a certain sympathy? My owner’s tears must have meant something even more complex. Since I couldn’t figure it out, I would just muddle along and stick with him. My owner, who had been so excited in the daytime, was now shedding so many tears that my hair was all wet. He kept repeating in a hoarse voice, “Ai, Old Cat — ai, Old Cat. ”

After this, we went to the kitchen for a great meal of sausage, smoked fish, and milk. While we were eating this wonderful midnight repast, I suddenly felt much closer to my owner. As he had in the past, he raised a glass of beer, and then his hand stopped for a couple of seconds in midair before he finally brought the glass slowly to his lips. He didn’t drink the beer in one gulp, but sipped a mouthful and held it in his mouth, shilly-shallying for a long time before swallowing it. I had long been used to this habit of his, and hadn’t paid much attention to it, but tonight I felt there was something new about it. As I stared at him, I realized that he needed me to understand him thoroughly.

My owner grew uneasy under my gaze. Setting his glass down, he asked, “Does anyone in this world feel an affection that’s deeper than our affection for each other?”

Even so, when all is said and done, I didn’t completely understand him. Perhaps the only thing I could do was wait patiently, wait until everything cleared up of its own accord, wait until the black man who came and went without a trace met up with him again, and divulged even more about the mystery of life.

The compound where Uncle Lou lives has a pleasant name—“Village in the Big City.” Because the power was off that day, I climbed twenty-four flights of stairs to reach his small loft on the top floor. As I stood at the entrance, I was dimly aware that the old pain in my foot was coming back. Damn! Why did I have to seek out Uncle Lou right now? Because I could no longer bear the inner panic. This is what was happening: for several days, as soon as I woke up, I felt strange because I couldn’t touch my face. I stretched my hand out toward the place where my face was supposed to be, but I could touch only my hair. And my hair was coarser than usual: it even pricked my hand. After a while, when I looked in a small mirror, my face returned to normal. Then, in the interval before I looked in the mirror, what was my face like? I put the small mirror back under the pillow, so that as soon as I opened my eyes in the morning, I could look in the mirror. It was strange, for when I looked in the mirror, nothing was there but the bed’s headboard. I touched my face again, but I could still touch only my coarse hair. There were also some grain-shaped things on my scalp, like the coarse sand that adheres to sandpaper. I put away the mirror and waited a while to look again. This time, I saw my face, and there was certainly nothing abnormal about it.

Uncle Lou had been my next-door neighbor when we both lived in an old house. We hadn’t seen each other for a long time, so — standing at his door now — I hesitated a little. It was strange: the door wasn’t closed, and yet, though I knocked several times, no one answered. After pushing the door and entering, I saw Uncle Lou sitting upright in front of the window and looking into the distance. Even after all these years, Uncle Lou didn’t seem to be getting a bit older; although he was more than seventy, his hair was still black. The room was neat and clean, the furniture simple — a bed, a chest of drawers, a dining table, and a few chairs. That was all. The kitchen was in a corner under the slanted ceiling. There was a window, so Uncle Lou could look at the cityscape as he cooked. A few shallots were on the stove, and next to the stove stood a small bamboo basket of eggs. The old man was leading a decent life. This was a relatively large loft, with several windows on the south, north, and east sides. Living here was like living in a glass greenhouse. With the sun high in the sky, it was uncomfortably hot in the room, yet Uncle Lou was relaxed and calm. I really admired him.