Can Xue - Five Spice Street

After that, the women of Five Spice Street were despondent about men for a while. ‘‘I might become an ascetic. I can’t take despondency and dejection anymore.’’

One after another, the women said, ‘‘By comparison, my husband is much more dependable. Although he’s ordinary and dull and provides no spiritual satisfaction, he’s solid and won’t give me much trouble. For years, I’ve planned to do something to show him my appreciation. Tomorrow morning, I’ll do it.’’

The next morning, each did something good in her home: some placed the photograph of herself and her husband in a gilt-edged frame and hung it in the most prominent place in the room, where previously photos of deceased ancestors or parents had hung; some took out the husband’s best clothes and dressed him up and then took the day off so the two of them could stroll around on the street as if celebrating a holiday; while others deployed their best cooking skills and made wonderful lunches and invited guests to eat with them, with everyone drinking until intoxicated. Afterwards, they felt relaxed and shoved Q to the back of their minds. But the good mood didn’t last past midnight.

In the still of the night, with the dim street lights flickering, women were inclined to feel romantic, but they could not awaken the husband in their arms. Thus, they returned their unbroken affection to the pre-metamorphosed Q and recalled the strong impression he had made the first day he came to Five Spice Street. They yearned for him so much they went limp and tears covered their faces. Why hadn’t he sought them out that afternoon? He should have known that any one of them had already made up her mind to become one with him in spirit. And then how wonderful and how powerful he would have been. They cursed his detestable momentary slip. That slip had affected their whole future. That slip had changed the fate of all the women and of Q himself. But for that momentary slip, wouldn’t the lame woman have thrown away her cane long ago and become a graceful lady? Wouldn’t the widow have had one more success-one more follower? Wouldn’t the old widow and the forty-eight-year-old good friend and others have regained youth in their later years and become even more ambitious? And Q himself: wouldn’t he have become not only a real man but also one commended by society? Losing a good opportunity served this guy right. How many ways out had been offered to him! Suppose that he had wanted to keep his chastity and independence. Suppose he hadn’t become so involved with Madam X. He’d still be all right as a man, and wouldn’t have turned into a dead insect in the crack of a tree. And the women would have some consolation and something solid to cling to at midnight. They wouldn’t have to fill the emptiness with memories or wistful dreams. Maybe they could also secretly hide his picture under the bed. When their husbands couldn’t satisfy them, they could furtively look at it for spiritual support.

But now all the possibilities were gone: this guy Q had messed everything up. At midnight, the women were suffering unspeakably. Even the writer could not describe it. Without a new ideal object, they would never be satisfied. Public projects suffered because blackboard work was delayed by women whose insomnia made them sleep until noon. Other women wished only to please their husbands and for several days missed work in order to stroll around with them, thereby undermining our serious work ethic. Noticing what was going on, Dr. A-the brainpower of our community- closed his door and stayed home for several days, neither eating nor sleeping. Finally, he thought of a new project based on X’s new lover, P, which soon put an end to this improper behavior.

Dr. A called his doctrine ‘‘empathy’’ and ran all over proclaiming it. He built up P’s image to substitute for Q’s disappearance, as well as to stimulate the women’s hormones, so that once again they could feel self-confident and strong and be doubly enthusiastic about their life and work.

‘‘Empathy is omnipotent,’’ he proclaimed. ‘‘If a woman’s child dies prematurely, she can rebound only by having another.’’

Dr. A had become an authority. From the night he had climbed to the mountaintop and talked with the gods, he had established himself as a genius surpassing both the writer and the widow. From then on, his voice rang out like a large bell. This was the voice Five Spice Street longed to hear. Everyone wanted his own eardrums to feel the impact of this voice, for it made each person indescribably happy. Q had shamefully vanished without the permission of our women, and we no longer wished to analyze him. With Dr. A’s help, we shook off our affection and set up a new idol.

Now for Madam X’s husband. From the previous description, we get this impression: This husband was impotent, a yes-man, and a sycophant. In the long years of living with Madam X, he had lost his gender and become a kind of eunuch. This was a confirmed fact before they came to Five Spice Street. Heaven only knows how Madam X contrived this situation and why her precious husband accepted it. But even this pitiful creature struggled to express himself and made his true feelings known to his good friend: he confided that he had his individual ‘‘hobby.’’ But it turned out to be nothing more than hopscotch-hardly proving he wasn’t impotent.

He had served as X’s nursemaid from beginning to end. This was plain as day. Just look at what he did in the home: he was the gatekeeper, served as guard, hung the curtains, and purchased the microscope and mirrors. All were inexplicable. And he was so earnest about it. In what ways was he like a man? Despite his agony, he rarely poured out his feelings to others. Only once did he confide to X’s younger sister that he ‘‘just wanted to escape to an uninhabited place and live quietly with X’’ because ‘‘there was so much dust on the streets, he could hardly breathe.’’ Of course, this wish did not come true, nor would it. All he could do was keep it to himself.

The widow’s profound view of sex suggested that this husband had been totally created by X. If he left X under the guidance of a suitable patron (the female colleague, for example), he might regain ‘‘a lot of sex drive,’’ or at least recover his masculinity. What were the consequences of his androgyny? No woman on Five Spice Street was the least bit interested in him. We’ve mentioned this already but must add something about his temperament. He was not nearly as warm and feeling as Q. He was arrogant toward women and was also a tightwad and a snob. Shunning other women, he announced that all his feelings were reserved for X. Once the widow saw through his ruse, our women really despised him. Everyone knew he was a doll (we don’t want to deny the facts or swear that black is white), but how could this help him? Was it any different from ‘‘rubbish coated in gold and jade’’? Had he been plain-looking, at least that would have been easier on our eyes! Sometimes the Creator likes to oppose people. We had summed him up in the dark room but had no way to classify him. Finally, the female colleague shouted:

‘‘To begin with, he couldn’t be considered a person, so how could you sort him out? Dear X and I have been intimate friends for more than ten years. I’ve never considered him a person, and definitely not a man. I’ve gone in and out of their home, and I’ve always taken him to be something like a curtain. How could a man not react to my feminine charms? This impression has been confirmed over more than ten years of friendship. I didn’t try to attract him. In more than ten years, I’ve never even laid eyes on him. I still don’t know what he looks like. I’m not like some people, pretending to be a genius while trying to seduce him. Others have flirted with him in broad daylight and shown him some flesh, but that didn’t succeed, either.’’