Ha Jin - The Bridegroom - Stories

Then, out of the blue, Huang Baowen proposed to her. I found myself at a loss, because they’d hardly known each other. How could he be serious about his offer? I feared he might make a fool of Beina, so I insisted they get engaged if he meant business. He came to my home with two trussed-up capons, four cartons of Ginseng cigarettes, two bottles of Five Grains’ Sap, and one tall tin of oolong tea. I was pleased, though not very impressed by his gifts.

Two months later they got married. My colleagues congratulated me, saying, “That was fast, Old Cheng.”

What a relief to me. But to many young women in our sewing machine factory, Beina’s marriage was a slap in the face. They’d say, “A hen cooped up a peacock.” Or, “A fool always lands in the arms of fortune.” True, Baowen had been one of the most handsome unmarried men in the factory, and nobody had expected that Beina, stocky and stout, would win him. What’s more, Baowen was good-natured and well educated — a middle school graduate — and he didn’t smoke or drink or gamble. He had fine manners and often smiled politely, showing his bright, straight teeth. In a way he resembled a woman, delicate, clear-skinned, and soft-spoken; he even could knit things out of wool. But no men dared bully him because he was skilled at martial arts. Three times in a row he had won the first prize for kung fu at our factory’s annual sports meet. He was very good at the long sword and freestyle boxing. When he was in middle school, bigger boys had often picked on him, so his stepfather had sent him to the martial arts school in their hometown. A year later, nobody would bug him again.

Sometimes I couldn’t help wondering why Baowen had fallen for Beina. What in her had caught his heart? Did he really like her fleshy face, which often reminded me of a blowfish? Although we had our doubts, my wife and I couldn’t say anything negative about the marriage. Our only concern was that Baowen might be too good for our adopted daughter. Whenever I heard that somebody had divorced, I’d feel a sudden flutter of panic.

As the head of the Security Section in the factory, I had some pull and did what I could to help the young couple. Soon after their wedding, I secured them a brand-new two-bedroom apartment, which angered some people waiting in line for housing. I wasn’t daunted by their criticism. I’d do almost anything to make Beina’s marriage a success, because I believed that if it survived the first two years, it might last decades — once Baowen became a father, it would be difficult for him to break loose.

But after they’d been married for eight months, Beina still wasn’t pregnant. I was afraid that Baowen would soon grow tired of her and run after another woman, as many young women in the factory were still attracted to him. A brazen one even declared she’d leave her door open for him all night long. Some of them frequently offered him movie tickets and meat coupons. It seemed that they were determined to wreck Beina’s marriage. I hated them, and just the thought of them would give me an earache or a sour stomach. Fortunately, Baowen hadn’t yet done anything outside the bounds of a decent husband.

One morning in early November, Beina stepped into my office. “Uncle,” she said in a tearful voice, “Baowen didn’t come home last night.”

I tried to remain calm, though my head began to swim. “Do you know where he’s been?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I looked for him everywhere.” She licked her cracked lips and took off her green work cap, her hair in a huge bun.

“When did you see him last?”

“At dinner yesterday evening. He said he was going to see somebody. He has lots of buddies in town.”

“Is that so?” I didn’t know he had many friends. “Don’t worry. Go back to your workshop and don’t tell anybody about this. I’ll call around and find him.”

She dragged herself out of my office. She must have gained at least a dozen pounds since the wedding. Her blue dungarees had become so tight that they seemed about to burst. Viewed from behind, she looked like a giant turnip.

I called the Rainbow Movie Theater, Victory Park, and a few restaurants in town. They all said they had not seen anyone matching Baowen’s description. Before I could phone the City Library where Baowen sometimes spent much of his weekends, a call came in. It was from the city’s Public Security Bureau. The man on the phone said they’d detained a worker of ours, named Huang Baowen. He wouldn’t tell me what had happened. He just said, “Indecent activity. Come as soon as you can.”

It was a cold day. As I cycled toward downtown, the shrill north wind kept flipping up the front ends of my overcoat. My knees were sore, and I couldn’t help shivering. Soon my asthma tightened my throat and I began moaning. I couldn’t stop cursing Baowen. “I knew it. I just knew it,” I said to myself. I had sensed that sooner or later he’d seek pleasure with another woman. Now he was in the hands of the police, and the whole factory would talk about him. How would Beina take this blow?

At the Public Security Bureau I was surprised to see that about a dozen officials from other factories, schools, and companies were already there. I knew most of them — they were in charge of security affairs at their workplaces. A policewoman conducted us into a conference room upstairs where green silk curtains hung in the windows. We sat down around a long mahogany table and waited to be briefed about the case. The glass tabletop was brand-new, its edge still sharp. I saw worry and confusion on the other men’s faces. I figured Baowen must have been involved in a major crime — either an orgy or a gang rape. On second thought, I was sure he couldn’t have been a rapist; by nature he was kindhearted, very gentle. I hoped this was not a political case, which would be absolutely unpardonable. Six or seven years ago, a half-wit and a high school graduate had started an association in our city, named the China Liberation Party, which eventually recruited nine members. Although the sparrow is small, it has a complete set of organs — their party elected a chairman, a secretary, and even a prime minister. But before they could print their manifesto, which expressed their intention to overthrow the government, the police rounded them up. Two of the top leaders were executed, and the rest of the members were jailed.

As I was wondering about the nature of Baowen’s crime, a middle-aged man came in. He had a solemn face, and his eyes were half-closed. He took off his dark-blue tunic, hung it on the back of a chair, and sat down at the end of the table. I recognized him; he was Chief Miao of the Investigation Department. Wearing a sheepskin jerkin, he somehow reminded me of Genghis Khan, thick-boned and round-faced. His hooded eyes were shrewd, though they looked sleepy. Without any opening remarks he declared that we had a case of homosexuality on our hands. At that, the room turned noisy. We’d heard that term before but didn’t know what it meant exactly. Seeing many of us puzzled, Chief Miao explained, “It’s a social disease, like gambling, or prostitution, or syphilis.” He kept on squirming as if itchy with hemorrhoids.

A young man from the city’s Fifth Middle School raised his hand. He asked, “What do homosexuals do?”

Miao smiled and his eyes almost disappeared. He said, “People of the same sex have a sexual relationship.”

“Sodomy!” cried someone.

The room turned quiet for at least ten seconds. Then somebody asked what kind of crime this was.

Chief Miao explained, “Homosexuality originated in Western capitalism and bourgeois lifestyle. According to our law it’s dealt with as a kind of hooliganism. Therefore, every one of the men we arrested will serve a sentence, from six months to five years, depending on the severity of his crime and his attitude toward it.”