Ma Jian - The Noodle Maker

‘You’re from the Jiefang District art centre, am I right?’ the manager asked.

‘The newspapers have reported that this act is very popular in Japan.’

The manager’s affection for all things foreign had turned the hairs of his beard blond; his small blue-black eyes were a harmonious fusion of East and West. These eyes were now clearly drawn to Su Yun’s larger-than-average breasts.

‘My act will achieve record-breaking ticket sales for your club,’ she stated calmly.

‘I’ve seen you on stage,’ the manager said, suddenly remembering her performance of the patriotic shepherdess.

‘I don’t expect any share of your profits. All I want is one free ticket.’

‘What kind of act do you have in mind?’ The manager wasn’t interested in her answer, he just wanted an excuse to continue talking to her. In fact the acts for his ‘Everyone is Happy’ show had been finalised months before.

‘What type of background music can you provide?’ she asked.

‘Even if your act is accepted by the censors, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until next year to perform it.’

‘That won’t do. I must perform it within the next three days,’ she said, staring at the beady eyes behind his imported glasses.

‘So what is this act then?’ he asked.

‘Suicide,’ she said.

‘Suicide?’ The manager hadn’t heard of this act before. He had to pause and think for a while. ‘And it’s the latest act from Japan, you say.’

‘Yes, there have been articles about it in the magazines.’

‘Is there real death involved, or is it just performance art?’ the manager asked, removing his glasses.

‘It’s real suicide, in front of an audience.’ After these words left her mouth, she was disappointed by how flat they sounded.

It was a hot day, and the downy hairs on Su Yun’s shoulders were drowning in a thin layer of sweat. A fine rash had erupted on her skin, and her breasts felt awkward and heavy. Her slightly flabby stomach bulged through her tight white skirt like a lump of steamed rice. Sensing a sour dampness seep from her lower body, she crossed her legs, exposing her beautifully shaped calves.

‘How could the audience watch you meet your death without wanting to rush onto the stage to rescue you? he asked, breathing in the milky smells wafting from her body.

At last she had succeeded in letting her play precede her life. When she got home, she took out her notebook, and wrote down everything that was said during the meeting.

MANAGER: You will probably need to register first at the Suicide Prevention Centre. SU SU: They all know me there already. Anyway, they’re so overworked they are ready to commit suicide themselves! MANAGER: Why not just pretend to kill yourself? You don’t have to do it for real the first time. SU SU: No one can tell the difference between what is real and fake any more. How else would I have got away with all my fake suicide attempts? MANAGER: I spent four years in jail without ever once considering suicide. SU SU: You’re older than me. You lack a modern con sciousness. Do you know that in foreign countries there are nudist beaches already? [ The manager is dumb-struck by this astounding news from far-off lands. He stands up and walks from stage left to stage right. The volume of the background disco music gradually increases. ] MANAGER: Which college did you attend? SU SU: The teacher’s college. I majored in politics. MANAGER: That’s one of the country’s finest institutes of higher education. My son graduated from there too. SU SU: It’s not an institute of higher education — it’s just a school where people are locked up and taught to know their place. MANAGER: The teachers are excellent. SU SU: It would be more accurate to call them prison officers. MANAGER: Death is a terrifying thing. SU SU: Mr Manager — I have seen bare wheatfields after the harvest. [ She shakes her head emotively. Her passionate expression is in stark contrast to the beseeching demeanour she wore when she first entered the manager’s office. She lights a cigarette, takes a deep drag and smiles dreamily as the smoke streams from her nostrils. ] MANAGER: I’m afraid that I haven’t yet received notification from the authorities that the term ‘Mr’ can be employed in the workplace. SU SU: Didn’t you hear Premier Deng use the term ‘Mr Manager’ at the state banquet? My death won’t change a thing. The air will still be here for you to breathe. If you understood that you were a mere grain of dust in this life, you would know that suicide isn’t a private matter — it needs an audience. That’s the only reason I’ve come to see you today. If it were simply a matter of killing myself, I wouldn’t need to go to so much trouble. MANAGER: Have you just broken up with someone? [ A light shines onto the backdrop, creating a sunset on the painted sky. ] SU SU: I only came here to talk to you about the show. I should be on my way now, Mr Manager. MANAGER: Can I invite you for a cup of coffee in the club? SU SU: If it’s to continue our discussion about the show. MANAGER: Providing that you write out a will, and that your act promotes the message that socialist civilisation is on a forward march, then — SU SU: You’ll let me die right there on stage! Do you promise? MANAGER: I’m still not entirely clear about your plans. What exactly will this act involve? SU SU: I will hire a wild tiger from the zoo. It will chase me across the stage, I will run away from it, and in the end I will die between its jaws. MANAGER: Aren’t you afraid of tigers? SU SU: I was born in the Year of the Tiger, but of course I’m as afraid of tigers as anyone else. MANAGER: You’re incredible! I will let you do it. I too was born in the Year of the Tiger. SU SU: So you’ve lived twenty-four years longer than me.

At this point, the manager suddenly came to his senses. He stared at the ‘dead’ person sitting before him, and asked her: ‘How much money do you want for this?’

‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘I will give my life away for free. If any part of my body happens to be of interest to you though, you’re free to make use of it tonight. Tomorrow it will be good for nothing.’

The wrinkles on the manager’s forehead suddenly smoothed out.

Three days later, a notice unlike any other that had appeared before was nailed to the entrance post of the Open Door Club.

TONIGHT OUR CLUB IS STAGING THE MOST GROUND-BREAKING SHOW IN THE WORLD: SUICIDE! IMPORTED FROM THE HIGHLY DEVELOPED NATION JAPAN, THE ACT IS BASED ON THE JAPANESE CONCEPT OF HARA-KIRI. THE PERFORMANCE WILL BANISH ALL SENSE OF SOLITUDE FROM THE SUICIDE VICTIM’S HEART. THERE IS NOW A WAITING LIST OF PEOPLE REQUESTING TO KILI. THEMSELVES BEFORE AN AUDIENCE THAT RUNS UNTIL 1997. TONIGHT, THE ACTRESS IS COMRADE SU YUN. DESCENDED FROM A POOR PEASANT’S FAMILY, SHE IS A LEAGUE MEMBER, IN THE PRIME OF HER YOUTH — A STARTLINGLY BEAUTIFUL YOUNG WOMAN. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE THIS CHARMING LADY TAKE HER OWN LIFE, HURRY UP AND BUY A TICKET!

TICKET PRICE: I YUAN

TIME: 3 AM, JUNE 4 TH

That night the club was engulfed by tens of thousands of hopeful spectators. Anyone who managed to buy tickets at the booth squeezed themselves into the crowd and sold the tickets on for ten times the price. Various impromptu street stalls sprang up on the margins of the crowd. One man selling nylon jackets held up a sign that read: IF YOU WANT TO SQUEEZE A PATH TO THE TICKET BOOTH, THESE NYLON JACKETS WILL EASE YOUR WAY, and the tracksuit tops on his fold-up table were sold in a matter of minutes. Soon customers who bought his nylon jackets could be seen swarming through the crowd like red cockroaches. Everyone squeezing out from the ticket booth emerged half their previous thickness. Five unfortunate ticket holders were dragged out from under the crowd’s stamping feet. Four of them were already dead.