Yu Hua - Boy in the Twilight - Stories of the Hidden China

At such moments Pingping would scowl at him and say, “Don’t talk about that.”

When there were a lot of people in the room, Pingping would sit on a little round stool, her hands on her knees, watching us talk with a smile on her lips. When we felt maybe we were neglecting her and asked, “Pingping, why don’t you say anything?” she would say, “I enjoy listening to you guys talk.”

Pingping liked to listen to me summarizing the plot of some recent movies, or Shen Tianxiang telling fishing stories, or Wang Fei comparing different brands of refrigerators, or Chen Liqing singing one of the latest hit songs. What she did not enjoy was Lin Meng’s conversation. It wouldn’t take long for her husband to say, “Pingping wants to fall asleep in my arms every night.”

Pingping’s eyebrows would arch in a frown. We would burst out laughing, and Lin Meng would point at his wife and say, “If I don’t take her in my arms, she won’t be able to sleep.

“But once I take her in my arms,” Lin Meng would continue, “she starts breathing down my neck. It tickles …”

At this point, Pingping would say, “Don’t talk about that.”

“Then it’s me who’s unable to sleep.” Lin Meng would give a big laugh and finish what he wanted to say.

The problem was, Lin Meng’s comments on this subject would continue, and would not stop so long as we were there. He’s the kind of guy who likes to have us gathered round him, rolling about in stitches, and he would stop at nothing to achieve this kind of effect. He would recite the complete catalog of nicknames that Pingping gave him when they were in bed, leaving us doubled up in laughter.

The list began with “Darling,” followed by “Precious,” “Prince,” “Knight,” and “Horsie.” Those were the more refined names. Then there were the ones inspired by food items, like “Cabbage,” “Tofu,” “Sausage,” and “Potato,” and also some names that we found peculiar, like “Perky” and “Droopy.”

“Do you know why she calls me ‘Perky’?”

He knew we didn’t understand, so he stood up when he asked us this, very full of himself. Pingping got to her feet also. She looked furious and had gone completely pale. “Lin Meng!” she cried.

We were expecting her to really let loose, but all she said was “That’s enough.”

Lin Meng sat back down with a long belly laugh and looked her in the eye. She returned his gaze, then turned and disappeared into another room. All of us felt very uncomfortable, but Lin Meng acted as though nothing had happened, waving his hand dismissively. “Never mind her,” he said.

He then returned to his question. “Do you know what she means by ‘Perky’?”

Not waiting for us to shake our heads, he pointed below his belt. “This guy here.”

We began to laugh. “And ‘Droopy’?” he asked.

This time our eyes automatically fixed on his crotch, and he pointed at the spot again. “Same thing.”

It’s true what they say, you just have to be prepared to make adjustments when you’re married. After Pingping had lived with Lin Meng for a couple of years, she had gotten used to her husband’s bullshitting, and when his tongue was wagging she would no longer say to him “That’s enough,” but would look down and play with her fingers, already resigned, it seemed, to Lin Meng’s indiscretions.

Not only that, but on occasion she would make some similar comments herself — of a much more restrained kind, needless to say. I remember one day when we were sitting in their house and everybody was saying how charming Lin Meng looked when he laughed, Pingping broke in: “It’s when he’s happy at night that he looks his best.”

We didn’t immediately pick up on what she meant, and we looked at Lin Meng and then at Pingping, unsure whether to laugh. “When he needs me,” she added, for clarification.

We had a good laugh at that, and Pingping, realizing she had said something she shouldn’t have, flushed bright red. Now that he had become the object of amusement, Lin Meng gave a weak, embarrassed chuckle, and he did not knock his head against the door as usual. He went quiet whenever somebody made a joke at his expense.

So we knew one or two things about their sex life, and even more about other aspects of their marriage. Lin Meng was a lucky man, in our view. Everyone agreed that Pingping was an attractive woman, and it was obvious how understanding and capable she was and we had never seen her get into an argument with Lin Meng over anything. When we visited them, she would always be prompt in pouring water into our teacups and quick to deliver matches to any pair of hands that was preparing to light up a cigarette. After Lin Meng got married, his leather boots were always shining and he dressed with increasingly good taste, all thanks to Pingping. In the past, he had been the most slovenly member of our circle.

SO THERE I WAS, recalling these vignettes of them as a couple, and when I arrived at their apartment on this particular morning, it seemed to me it had been a long time since I had last visited. When Pingping opened the door, I found that she had changed. She had put on some weight, it seemed, or maybe she had lost some.

It was Pingping’s hand I saw first. A slender hand grasped the frame, and then the door opened. When Pingping saw me she seemed to give a start — because she hadn’t seen me for a long time, I assumed. I walked in with a smile on my face, only to discover there was no sign of Shen Tianxiang or Wang Fei or Chen Liqing — no sign of Lin Meng, even. “Lin Meng?” I inquired.

Lin Meng was not at home. He had left for the factory at seven thirty in the morning. Shen Tianxiang, Wang Fei, and Chen Liqing would also be at work at this hour. There was only me and Pingping … “Is it just the two of us?” I said to her.

In the apartment, was what I meant. I noticed how Pingping’s face tightened when I said this and I thought to myself, Is that a smile? “What’s the matter?” I asked.

Pingping looked at me uncomprehendingly. “Were you smiling at me just now?” I said.

Pingping nodded. “Yes.”

Her skin tightened once again. It was me who smiled then. “Why do you smile in such a strange way?” I said.

All this time Pingping had been standing in the doorway. She had never closed the door and her hand was still clutching the doorframe. Her posture seemed to indicate she was simply waiting for me to leave. “Do you want me to go?” I said.

At this, she detached herself from the doorframe and turned to face me, her hands moving this way and that as though she couldn’t find a suitable place to put them. I had never seen Pingping in this state, standing completely rigid, her smile unrecognizable as a smile. “What’s up with you today?” I said. “Are you about to go out or something?”

She shook her head helplessly. “If you’re not in a hurry,” I said, “I’ll sit down.” I sat down in the sofa but she kept on just standing there. I laughed. “What are you doing?” I asked.

She sat down in a chair, her face angled away from me. She was breathing heavily, it seemed, and her legs stirred restlessly, as unable to find a comfortable position as her hands had been just a minute before. “Pingping, what’s the matter with you?” I said. “Today I come to visit, and you don’t pour me a glass of water and you don’t peel me an apple — are you tired of me, or what?”

Pingping shook her head vigorously. “No, not at all. Why would I be tired of you?”

She smiled, and got up and fetched me a glass of water. This time her smile looked like a smile. “We don’t have apples today,” she said, passing me the glass. “Would you like a prune?”

“I don’t eat prunes,” I said. “That’s something you women like. Just water is fine.”