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

The thin-faced man went inside again. There was a buzz of conversation around me, but Kunshan stood silent. His cigarette was clamped tightly between his lips, and its smoke made his right eye squint.

The thin-faced man came out. “Shi Gang says not to worry. He says five minutes is plenty.”

People were smiling, looking forward to the moment when Shi Gang would come out and trade blows with his adversary. Kunshan’s face darkened and his cheek muscles tightened. He nodded. “Okay, I’ll wait.”

It was then I left him, abandoning the vantage point I had been steadfastly defending for so long. Many times someone or other had tried to elbow me away from my place next to Kunshan, and only with the utmost effort had I been able to retain my position. But Shi Gang so intrigued me I just had to take a look in the bathhouse. There, amid the hot steam, I saw a dozen or so people soaking in the bath and a few others standing around the edge with their clothes on. I could hear them talking about the impending showdown. I studied them carefully, unsure which was Shi Gang. I remembered the thin-faced man had said he was soaping himself, so I had a look at the wiry, broad-shouldered man who was standing in the middle of the bath, wiping soap from his hair with a towel. After brushing away the soap, he sat down on the edge of the bath and rubbed his face. The soap had run into his eyes and he rubbed them a bit, then twisted his towel dry and gave them another gentle rub. I heard someone call Shi Gang’s name. “Do you want us to help you?” he asked.

“No need.”

It was the man rubbing his eyes who answered, so I knew I’d identified him correctly. I watched with excitement as he got up and walked toward me, still toweling his hair. I made no effort to step aside, and when he bumped into me he put out a supporting hand, as though concerned I might fall over. Then he went into the changing room. I followed him, and so did the people who were already dressed. I watched as Shi Gang dried himself and unhurriedly put on a shirt and trousers. Then he sat down on a bench, slipped his feet into his shoes, and began to tie his shoelaces. “Do you really not want us to help?” somebody asked.

“No need.” He shook his head.

He got to his feet, and took down a canvas boiler suit that was hanging on the wall. He rolled it up and wrapped it around his left arm as though it was a bandage, and with his left hand he took a tight grip of the two loose ends. Then, picking up his towel, he went over to a tap, turned on the water, and thoroughly soaked the towel.

It was afternoon by this time, and the shadows had begun to lengthen, so now the spot where Kunshan and the others stood was in the shade. They watched as Shi Gang emerged into the bright sunlight. With the rolled-up boiler suit wrapped around his elbow it looked almost as though he had a basketball tucked under his arm. His right hand gripped the sodden towel, which dripped water like a leaky tap and made a damp patch on the ground.

I had been standing next to Shi Gang, and when I noticed that the people next to Kunshan were beginning to withdraw, I retreated a couple of steps and took shelter underneath a tree. Kunshan marched two steps forward, leaving the shadows for the sunlight. He squinted at Shi Gang, and I looked at him too. The sunshine illuminated him from behind, making his hair gleam. But no light fell on his face and he did not squint, but looked at Kunshan with a frown.

Kunshan took the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it on the ground. “So you’re Shi Gang,” he said. The other man nodded. “Is Shi Lan your sister?”

Shi Gang nodded again. “That’s right.”

Kunshan smiled. He transferred the cleaver from his right hand to his left and took another step forward. “You’re a big boy now,” he said. “Quite a nerve you’ve got, too.” As he said this, he swung a fist at Shi Gang, who ducked the blow. Kunshan looked at him in surprise. “Playing hard to get, are we?” he said.

He aimed a kick at Shi Gang’s knee with his right foot, but Shi Gang jumped out of the way, once again neutralizing the threat. A look of astonishment appeared on Kunshan’s face. He chuckled, then glanced at us spectators. “He’s good.”

As he turned his head, Shi Gang went into action. He lashed Kunshan’s face with the dripping towel and we heard a huge, resounding slap, louder by far than the sound of a hand hitting a face. Kunshan gave a yelp, and the cleaver fell to the ground. He clutched his face with his right hand and stood rooted to the spot. Shi Gang took two steps back and twisted the towel tightly once more, then fixed his eyes on his opponent. When Kunshan spread his arms, we saw that beads of water now spotted his face; his left eye and cheek were bright red. He bent down to pick up the cleaver, grasping it in his right hand while clutching his face with his left. Brandishing the cleaver he flailed out at Shi Gang and, when Shi Gang took evading action once again, Kunshan kicked him in the leg, forcing him to beat such a hasty retreat that he almost slipped and fell. No sooner had he regained his footing than the cleaver was again arcing toward him. With no time to get out of the way, Shi Gang raised the arm encased in the boiler suit. Kunshan’s cleaver thudded into his arm, and at the same moment Shi Gang’s towel smacked Kunshan in the face.

I have never seen such a ferocious fight. Time and again the cleaver thudded into Shi Gang’s arm, and time and again the towel whacked Kunshan’s face. The canvas boiler suit served as Shi Gang’s shield; when he couldn’t dodge he could at least raise his arm. Kunshan used his left hand to ward off Shi Gang’s weapon: when the soaking towel whipped toward his face, it just as often hit his hand. The two men leapt back and forth between the sunlight and the shade, like fighting crickets in the thick of mortal combat. Again and again we heard howls of pain, and their hoarse pants grew heavier and heavier, but they showed no signs of stopping and seemed to want to fight to the bitter end.

During the course of the battle, my bladder got so bloated I had to pee. I couldn’t find a toilet in the refinery, so I dashed out into the boulevard and had to run practically all the way to the ferry wharf before I found one. On my return I forgot about the old man’s sentry duty at the entrance, and when I raced in through the gate I thought I heard him shouting and cursing behind me, but I couldn’t care less. When I finally made it back to the bathhouse they were still engaged in their unremitting struggle, thank God.

I have never seen such a protracted fight or such tireless protagonists. The way they jumped back and forth, they must practically have run the marathon. Some felt they couldn’t afford to wait for the final outcome and left, only to be replaced by others on their way to the night shift, who eagerly seized plum spots where they had a good view of the action. Twice I noticed Shi Gang’s towel was so dry it had become a soft and feeble weapon. Each time friends promptly handed him a newly soaked replacement. Shi Gang would then lash Kunshan’s puffy face so that it swelled all the more, while Kunshan’s cleaver sliced the boiler suit on Shi Gang’s arm into ribbons of cloth, like the end of a mop. It was then we heard the sounds of stir-frying from the cafeteria next door and I noticed people were clutching mess tins.

Shi Gang’s wet towel struck Kunshan’s right hand, knocking the cleaver to the ground. This time he stood motionless, looking at Shi Gang as though in a daze. His eyes and face were red and swollen, and it seemed he couldn’t see Shi Gang clearly, because when Shi Gang took two steps to his right Kunshan continued to look at the spot where he had been standing. After a moment or two, he took a corner of his jacket and cautiously rubbed his sore eyes. Shi Gang stood to one side, his arms hanging loose, his mouth half open, panting as he watched. A minute later, the towel dropped from his hand, and after eyeing Kunshan a moment longer, Shi Gang raised his right hand and gingerly removed the boiler suit from his left arm. That thick canvas suit was now a bundle of rags. Shi Gang took it off and threw it on the ground. We could then see that his left arm was badly cut up. Clutching his left arm with his right hand, he turned and walked off, several of his friends falling in behind. Kunshan was no longer rubbing his eyes — he was simply blinking, as though to test his vision. It was then I saw the sky had reddened with the glow of sunset.