Ha Jin - The Crazed

“I’ve never met her and don’t know if she’s dead or alive,” she said in a level voice.

“Mr. Yang talked a lot about her, saying that finally he met her again.”

“That’s just his fantasy. He didn’t know her whereabouts either, I’m positive about that.”

Misery overcame me. I grew quiet, uncertain whether I should talk more about this unpleasant subject, which I shouldn’t have brought up with her.

“Love is always a unilateral effort, ridiculous,” she said. “That woman dumped him like a used dishrag, but he couldn’t forget her all his life. I’m sure he loved her more than me. I was hopeless against her, my invisible enemy, and I couldn’t find a way to win his heart, no matter how hard I tried.” She grimaced, her chin wrinkled. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

I didn’t say a word as I remembered how harshly Mr. Yang had rebuked her in his dreams.

She sighed. “I only hope Meimei won’t repeat my mistake. What a hell a marriage can be.”

“I love her,” I said.

“I’ve known that from the very beginning.”

Silence set in again. I wondered if I should leave.

Then she asked, “Do you want to see your teacher’s ash box? I brought it back yesterday evening.”

“Yes,” I answered, amazed by her question. She was indeed a tough woman, not distraught by what I had just told her. She must have been hardened to thoughts of her loveless marriage.

I got up and followed her into my teacher’s study, which was also their bedroom. On the wall hung a pair of calligraphic scrolls, one of which said Learn with zest and the other Teach without fatigue. The room smelled fusty, with a tang of tobacco. On the tiny desk, whose top was three by two feet, sat a cinerary casket with gilt corners and brass clasps. On the front of the box was a large photo of Mr. Yang wearing a woolen pullover, his hair combed tidily and less gray; his eyes bulged slightly, as though he had just cried; the wrinkles on his jaw looked so tight that they seemed about to vibrate. In this picture I could feel his determination to hold together his life and his world, though he might already have been verging on a breakdown.

Tears came to my eyes; I tried but couldn’t force them back. I sat down on his chair and buried my face in my arms. Despite my shame of tears, I went on weeping noiselessly as Mrs. Yang put her palm on my head and patted it gently. “All I want is not to live a life like his,” I said.

“I understand.”

“I don’t want to die full of hatred.”

“I know he had an awful life.”

“Do you think Meimei has lost faith in me?”

“Don’t be silly. Pull yourself together, Jian. Give her some time, she’ll come around.”

Although not convinced by her words, I ordered myself, Stop crying! She’ll tell Meimei about this. Stop!

A few minutes later I calmed down, wiping my face on my sleeve. Outside the window, alongside the fence made of wooden boards, the dozen sunflowers my teacher and I had planted together were half dead, their broad leaves wilted by the heat. I had watered them every other day before my trip to the countryside.

When I returned to the dorm, a letter from Meimei was lying on my bed. My roommates were not in, so I couldn’t know when she had come. I opened the envelope and saw her squarish handwriting on the ruled paper.

6/1/1989

Jian,

It’s time for us to part, since we have different dreams and have to travel separate ways. This is a painful decision for me, but it’s necessary. Good luck with your life and career.

Meimei

I was so upset that my brain turned numb, though my scalp went on smarting. I sat in the darkness for two hours on end, unable to think coherently. A pair of geckos were resting on the window screen like two question marks, growing bronze against the moonlight. Above them were some lace-wings, motionless as if glued to the mesh. It was so sultry that even mosquitoes were too exhausted to fly, although crickets were shrilling metallically outside. If only there had been someone I could talk with about this whole mess.

You folks are disgusting!” Mantao said to me and spat on the concrete floor. “The People’s Army’s tanks have rolled into Beijing ready to attack the students, but you’re still going to hold the dance party this evening.”

“It’s time to show a right political attitude, Comrade Jian Wan,” Huran butted in. He was lying in bed wearing nothing but his underwear, while Mantao and I sat at our desk.

I said, “Even if they paid me a hundred yuan I wouldn’t make an appearance there, but we were ordered to attend.”

“If I had a bomb, I would plant it in that building,” Mantao said. His chubby face puckered as though he had accidentally chewed on a grain of sand.

“Come on, don’t be so nasty,” I said, tapping my cigarette over a chipped cup that had a broken handle and served as our ashtray.

Despite strong opposition from some of us, the college had refused to reschedule the farewell party for the departing graduate students. Every department had taken measures to make sure there’d be enough attendees. The party was to be held in a small assembly hall in the basement of the main classroom building at seven o’clock.

When I arrived, many graduate students were already there. Above the door to the hall stretched a long scroll proclaiming GO ANYWHERE OUR MOTHERLAND NEEDS US! Inside the hall, colorful balloons and golden streamers hung from the ceiling, fluttering a little whenever somebody passed beneath them. Eight frosted-glass lampshades, affixed to gilt chains and resembling huge round loaves of bread, rendered the white walls yellowish. Some people sat on the slatted benches arranged in a large horseshoe, but most stood around, chitchatting with drinks in their hands. The room was droning like the inside of a train station.

Weiya was over there with a group of female graduate students, some of whom were drinking soda pop directly from the bottle. She had on a sleeveless black dress, with a tiny white chrysanthemum pinned to the right side of the bodice. Her outfit seemed to indicate that our teacher’s death was still on her mind. As I was wondering where she had gotten the fresh flower, she saw me and smiled. I waved, then went over. Unwittingly she touched the mum on her chest, her hand thinner than before, as if translucent. Secretary Peng was in a corner talking with Professor Song, who was wearing an eyeshade over his left eye, having suffered a detached retina recently. She glanced at Weiya and me from time to time.

“Are you all right?” Weiya asked me in a concerned voice.

“Not really.”

“You don’t look like your usual self. What happened?”

“Meimei and I have broken up.”

A lull followed while she gazed at me, her eyes dimming with feeling. She whispered, “I never thought Mr. Yang’s death would affect both of us so much.”

“My world has fallen apart,” I said, wondering how differently her life had changed from mine. Probably for her the change was for the better. She had benefited from our teacher’s death, hadn’t she? At least his death had set her free. In spite of my bitter thoughts, I noticed that as I was talking with her, a peculiar kind of calm was settling over me, almost like the feeling of security. Whenever I was with her, the same kind of placidness would come upon me, whereas with Meimei I couldn’t help but get excited and restless. This must be one of the reasons why I had felt drawn to Weiya. I understood she might have ended her relationship with Mr. Yang willingly, and nobody should blame her for that. What else could she have done? Still, I was amazed that she could be so at ease. She looked as innocent as a little girl, but on the other hand, she was a woman with a lot of self-assured grace. If only I could have despised her.