Yu Hua: The Seventh Day

The young women in the firm were jealous of her. At midday, in clusters of four or five, they would eat lunch by the window and quietly discuss her endless series of unhappy affairs — co mmunicating a romantic history in which fact and fiction were inextricably mixed. Her love interests — all sons of city officials, apparently —were said to have passed her off as rapidly as a baton in a relay race. Sometimes, as she walked past these young gossips, she’d realize they were circulating rumors about how she had been dumped by these leaders’ sons, and she would always send a carefree smile their way, for their gossip and tattle were like scattered raindrops that require no umbrella. Far from having been dumped, she was actually the one who had rejected others’ advances, but, proud and aloof, she kept this to herself, because she had no real friends in the company. On the surface she maintained cordial relations with everyone, but in her heart she was a loner.

Suitors pursued her avidly, sending her flowers, giving her presents — s ometimes she would be offered several such gifts at the same time, but she would always decline them with a courteous smile. One of our coworkers wouldn’t take no for an answer. After trying unsuccessfully for more than a year to induce her to accept his offerings, he ended up declaring his love in the most drastic and dramatic terms. As people were heading off to the elevator at the end of work one day, he knelt down in front of her with a bouquet of roses in hand. Everyone was startled, but soon burst into a round of applause. She turned to him with a smile. “If you kneel down to propose to me,” she said, “you’ll be on your knees all the time when we’re married.”

“I’m willing to kneel for you all my life,” he answered.

“All right, then,” she said. “You kneel here for the rest of your life, and I’ll stay single the rest of my life.”

So saying, she walked around him and into the elevator, and as the doors closed she gazed back toward the office with a smile. If she had noticed me then, she would surely have seen an uneasy expression on my face, for her callousness — or maybe just her composure — made me shiver a little.

The cheers and applause, no longer appropriate, quickly subsided. The kneeling suitor looked around in embarrassment, unsure whether he should stay kneeling or get up right away and make his escape. Much stifled mirth ensued, as women snickered and men looked at each other and chuckled. The onlookers crowded into the elevator and a huge burst of laughter — along with a few coughs — broke out as the doors closed.

When I left the office soon after, the man was still kneeling on the floor, and I wanted to console him but didn’t know quite what to say. He wore a wry smile and seemed on the point of making some kind of comment, but ended up saying nothing, simply bowing his head as the flowers lay helplessly on the floor.

Too embarrassed to stay, I entered the empty elevator, and as it made its descent my spirits dropped as well.

The next day the poor man didn’t show up for work. The office rang with peals of laughter and everyone was talking about how he knelt to beg for Li Qing’s love. Men and women alike said they were burning with curiosity on their morning commute, eager to see if he was still kneeling when they came out of the elevator. His absence was a disappoint ment, as though life suddenly had lost a lot of its interest. That afternoon he tendered his resignation, arriving in the lobby downstairs and placing a call to one of his coworkers.

“I’m busy right now,” the colleague said.

He waved his hands in the air the minute he put the phone down. “He’s resigned,” he announced loudly. “He doesn’t dare come up, so he asked me to collect his things and take them down to him.”

After a round of laughter another coworker’s phone rang. “I’m in the middle of something,” he answered loudly. “How about you come up?”

Laughter again rippled around the office, even before he had time to announce who had called. After a moment of hesitation I stood up and walked over to the suitor’s desk. I sorted the things on top of his desk into different categories, then emptied the drawers of their contents, and finally fetched a cardboard box to put all the stuff in. During this time he called a third coworker. “Yang Fei is packing up your things,” I heard the colleague say.

When I walked out of the building with the box under my arm, I found the man standing there with an exhausted look on his face. He didn’t look me in the eye but simply said “Thank you” as I handed him the box, and then turned and left. As I watched him cross the road with his head down and disappear in the flow of pedestrians, a disconsolate feeling surged up in my heart. He had worked for the company for five years, but in the end his coworkers treated him no differently from a stranger in the street.

After I returned to my desk, a few people came over to inquire what he had said and how he looked. I didn’t raise my eyes from my monitor. “He just took the box, that’s all,” I said.

That day our office — all ten thousand square feet of it — was overflowing with cheerful spirits. I had been working there for a couple of years, and this was the first time I had seen so many people in such a good mood. They recalled the scene of him kneeling on the floor and remembered other ridiculous things he had done in the past, such as how he had once been robbed when walking in a park. Two strangers approached him in broad daylight and asked, “Have you seen any police around?”

“No, I haven’t,” he said.

“Are you sure?” they pressed him.

“Absolutely,” he replied.

That’s when they put knives to his throat and demanded his wallet.

The office workers found this story hilarious, and it seemed as though I was the only person who didn’t laugh. Later, I just tried to concentrate on my work and made a conscious effort not to listen to their gossip. There were a couple of times when I had to make photocopies and Li Qing’s glance happened to rest on me as I got up. She was sitting diagonally opposite and I turned my head away and didn’t look in her direction again. Later, several men went up to her and said ingratiati ngly, “No matter what, kneeling at your feet is worth it.”

She responded with sarcasm. “You guys want to give it a try too, do you?”

Amid a chorus of laughs, the men had to beat a hasty retreat, saying, “Oh no, we wouldn’t dare.”

I couldn’t help but grin. She had always maintained a cordial tone and this was the first time I had heard her speak so cuttingly. Somehow it made me glad.

Of the young men in the firm, I was probably the only one not to have tried my luck with her, although sometimes I had felt tempted. I knew I was attracted to her, but self-doubt made me rule out any thought I might have a chance with her as sheer impossibility. Our desks were not far apart, but I had never initiated an exchange. I simply drew some satisfaction from her figure and voice being within close proximity. It was a happiness hidden in the heart, a happiness that nobody knew, that she did not know either. She was in public relations and I was in sales, and occasionally she would come over and ask me some work-related question. I would look at her normally and respond in a businesslike fashion. I enjoyed these moments, for then I could appreciate her beauty at ease. After she had dealt so unsparingly with the kneeling suitor, I hesitated to look her in the eye. But still she would come over and ask me things about work, and she did so more frequently. Every time, I would answer with lowered eyes.