Ha Jin - The Crazed

“You’re crazy, you want to hurt others?”

“No, I want to live an active life. You will understand what I mean someday.”

She gave a wry smile, her nose wrinkled. “What makes you think there’s still a future tense for us?”

My heart shrank in pain, but I managed to say, “Meimei, you know how much I love you.”

“Love alone is not enough.” She was biting the left corner of her mouth, her eyes dimmed.

“What else do you want?”

“I want to make my life in Beijing. How can you join me there if you give up this only opportunity?”

I couldn’t answer.

She got to her feet and bent down to pull up her nylon anklets. “You still have a day to decide whether you’ll take the exams,” she said without looking at me.

“That’s out of the question.”

“All right then, let’s stop here. Good luck with your official career.” She stepped toward the door and held its handle. She seemed to be hesitating whether to walk out. I noticed that she had gained some weight, probably six or seven pounds, but she was still slim with a thin waist and a straight back.

Before I could stand up, she spun around and took two steps toward me. She said almost furiously, “I know why you’ve given up.”

“Why?”

“Because there’re all kinds of talents in the capital, and you’re afraid to compete with others in your field. You’re such a coward that you don’t have the guts to go to Beijing!”

Gagging, I started to cough, hunching over the desk with my hand rubbing my chest. I wanted to yell at her to defend myself, but couldn’t get a word out. She stared at me for a few seconds, then walked out the door.

“Wait, stay a while, Meimei!” I brought out finally. No response came from the corridor.

I lurched to my feet, biting back the cry that was fighting its way through my cramped throat. The sound of her footsteps faded away, then vanished. I flopped down on the chair and buried my face in my arms on the glass desktop.

Before she returned from Beijing, I had planned to make love to her, assuming that our intimacy could help me persuade her or at least induce her to see my view. I even bought a packet of “extra-sensitive” condoms. But once she was back, the ambience of mourning prevented me from getting intimate with her. I dared not even sneak a kiss when we were with others. I only managed to squeeze her hand a few times and pat her behind twice after the memorial service. Besides fear and propriety, I simply couldn’t get hold of her — she was never home.

Finally I realized that she had just issued me an ultimatum. I felt wounded. She had changed, become colder or more rational than before, though I was unsure whether the change had stemmed from her heart or was a mere pose she had struck to deal with me. What upset me more was that she wouldn’t even consider my position at all. Whatever I said had seemed to make no sense to her. Worst of all, her word coward stung me to the heart.

Seeing me, Ying Peng said, “You did a fabulous job with the investigation letter, Jian. Banping owes you a dinner now. I’ll let him know about your help after he joins the Party.” She patted her hair and apparently remembered something. “Oh yes, I want to talk to you.”

I knew this was about my new decision, so I broached the topic indirectly. “Secretary Peng, I have changed my mind about the exams. I’ve decided not to take them.”

“Are you sure?” Her face glowed so happily that the large, hairy mole on her chin seemed mobile.

“Absolutely,” I said.

“All right. In that case I’m going to call the Graduate School to withdraw your application. But I have to tell you that you can’t work at the Policy Office.”

“Why?” I was astounded.

“Let me be candid about this, Jian. The Policy Office wants a Party member for that position, because they have access to lots of classified documents. At least you must be a prospective Party member, like Banping, for them to consider you for that job.”

I was stupefied and for a while couldn’t say a word. Three weeks ago the office hadn’t required Party membership for the position at all; why such a new restriction? It must be Ying Peng herself who had brought about the change.

“I’m sorry, Jian,” she went on. “If only I could be more helpful. You’ve never applied for Party membership. It’s impossible to consider you for that job even if you turn in your application now.” Despite her regret, she seemed unable to contain her happiness. Even her voice had grown crisp.

I swung around and staggered out of the office, my head reeling. The instant I closed the door, I overheard her pick up the phone and call the Graduate School to cancel my name as an examinee. Never had I imagined that the most crucial decision in my life was based on a shaky assumption, on a mirage. What a swellheaded fool I was! Why had I never doubted the feasibility of changing myself from a piece of meat into “a knife”? And why was I never seriously concerned about all the odds against my entering officialdom if I didn’t belong to the Party? Meimei was right — I hadn’t known my place in this world.

For a whole day I couldn’t do anything. My chest was so full that I felt as if I were suffocating; I couldn’t stop hiccuping, filled with gas. Should I take the exams tomorrow? I didn’t feel like it. Besides, Ying Peng had already withdrawn my name. If I wanted to reenter, I would have to get her approval first, which she was unlikely to give. Why was she so eager and so glad to have my candidacy revoked? I wished I had known.

Having heartburn, I didn’t eat lunch. Yet however hard I castigated myself for my foolhardiness, I still believed in living a life different from Mr. Yang’s. I would never go to Beijing through Ph.D. candidacy. At the same time I felt trapped, all at sea about what to do. If only I could have made up with Meimei. I wouldn’t mind admitting to her that I had been a high-minded fool. I needed her and mustn’t lose her. In my heart there was the burning desire to win her back, though I was uncertain what I could offer her so that we could be reconciled.

After dinner I went to the Yangs’ to look for Meimei. Her mother answered the door. Mrs. Yang looked tired, a little unkempt. Yet her face lit up as she talked to me. She wore a yellow shirt and a maroon skirt, her bare feet in a pair of mauve sponge-rubber slippers. She didn’t seem very grief-stricken over her husband’s death.

After she poured me a cup of tea, I asked her if Meimei was in. She looked surprised and said, “You didn’t see her today?”

“No.”

“I thought she was with you.”

“The last time I saw her was yesterday afternoon.”

“Really? She went out this morning and won’t come back till midnight, she told me.”

Something must have gone awry. With whom is Meimei spending her time today? I wondered. Does she have some friends in town?

A pang suddenly seized my heart and my nose turned stuffy, but I took hold of myself. I told Mrs. Yang that there was some friction between Meimei and me, mainly caused by my decision not to take the exams. Without comment she listened to me explaining my thoughts; now and again her eyes flashed at me sympathetically. She didn’t seem to disapprove of my decision, though I was unsure how much she understood of my reasons.

After I was done talking, for a moment the room fell into silence. I remembered something that had weighed on my mind for a long time. Regardless of propriety, I asked her, “Do you know a woman by the name of Lifen?”

Her eyes expanded. “What about her?”

“Mr. Yang often mentioned her when he was delirious.” I tried to keep calm, though my heart was thumping.