Ha Jin - The Bridegroom - Stories

In late April, Mr. Shapiro went back to Texas for a week to attend his stepdaughter’s wedding. After he returned, he stopped dating the girls altogether. Perhaps he was scared. He was wise to stop, because he couldn’t possibly contain himself all the time. If he did something indecent to one of the girls again and she reported him to the authorities, he would find himself in trouble, at least be fined. Another reason for the change might be that by now he had befriended an American woman named Susanna, from Raleigh, North Carolina, who was teaching English at Muji Teachers College. This black woman was truly amazing, in her early thirties, five foot ten, with long muscular limbs, and a behind like a small cauldron. She had bobbed hair, and most of the time wore jeans and earrings the size of bracelets. We often speculated about those gorgeous hoop earrings. Were they made of fourteen-karat gold? Or eighteen-karat? Or twenty-karat? At any rate, they must have been worth a fortune. Later, in the summer, she took part in our city’s marathon and almost beat the professional runners. She did, however, win the Friendship Cup, which resembled a small brass bucket. She was also a wonderful singer, with a manly voice. Every week she brought four or five students over to teach them how to eat American food with forks and knives. When they were here, they often sang American songs she had taught them, such as “Pretty Paper,” “Winter Wonderland,” and “Silent Night, Holy Night.” Their singing would attract some pedestrians, which was good for business, so we were pleased to have her here. Mr. Shapiro gave them a twenty-percent discount, which outraged us. We wondered why he kept a double standard. We had a company policy against discounts, but it must apply only to Chinese employees. Still, we all agreed Susanna was a good woman. Unlike other customers, she gave us tips; also, she paid for her students’ meals.

One afternoon in late May, Susanna and four students were eating here. In came a monkey-like man, who had half-gray hair and flat cheeks. With a twitching face he went up to Peter, his fist clutching a ball of paper. He announced in a squeaky voice, “I’m going to sue your company for ten thousand yuan.”

This was the first time I ever had heard a Chinese say he would sue somebody for money. We gathered around him as he unfolded the paper ball to display a fat greenhead. “I found this fly in the chicken I bought here,” he said firmly, his right hand massaging his side.

“When did you buy the chicken?” Peter asked.

“Last week.”

“Show me the receipt.”

The man took a slip of paper out of his trouser pocket and handed it to Peter.

About twenty people formed a half-circle to watch. As the man and Peter were arguing, Mr. Shapiro and Susanna stepped out of his office. Seeing the two Americans, the man wailed at Peter, “Don’t dodge your responsibility. I’ve hated flies all my life. At the sight of this one I puked, then dropped to the floor and fainted. I thought I’d recover soon. No, the next evening I threw up again and again. That gave me a head-splitting migraine and a stomach disorder. My ears are still ringing inside, and I’ve lost my appetite completely. Since last Wednesday I haven’t gone to work and have suffered from insomnia every night.” He turned to the spectators. “Comrades, I’m a true victim of this capitalist Cowboy Chicken. See how skinny I am.”

“Like a starved cock,” I said. People laughed.

“Stop blustering,” Peter said to him. “Show us your medical records.”

“I have them in the hospital. If you don’t pay me the damages I’ll come again and again and again until I’m fully compensated.”

We were all angry. Feilan pointed at the man’s sunken mouth and said, “Shameless! You’re not Chinese.”

Baisha said, “Ten thousand yuan for a fly? How could you dream of that? Even your life isn’t worth that much.”

When a student had interpreted the man’s accusation to Mr. Shapiro and Susanna, our boss turned pale. He moved closer and managed a smile, saying, “Sir, if you have concrete evidence, we’ll be willing to consider your demand.”

The student interpreted those words to the man, on whose face a vile smile appeared. We were angry at Mr. Shapiro, who again was acting like a number-one Buddha. If you run into an evil man, you have to adopt uncivil measures. Our boss’s hypocrisy would only indulge this crook.

“Excuse me,” Manyou cried and arrived with a bowl of warm water. He put it on the counter and said to the man, “I’m going give your fly a hot bath, to see if it’s from our place.” He picked up the insect with a pair of chopsticks and dropped it into the bowl. We were all puzzled.

A few seconds later, Manyou announced, “This fly is not from Cowboy Chicken because, see, there isn’t any oil on the water. You all know we only sell fried chicken.”

Some spectators booed the man, but he wouldn’t give way. He fished out the fly with his hand and wrapped it up, saying, “I’m going take you to court no matter what. If you don’t offer a settlement, there’ll be no end of this.”

With a false smile Jinglin said to him, “Uncle, we’re one family and shouldn’t be so mean to each other. Let’s find a quiet place to talk this out, all right? We can’t negotiate in front of such a crowd.”

The man looked puzzled, flapping his round eyes. Jinglin hooked his heavy arm around the man’s neck while his eyes signaled at me. Reluctantly the crook moved away with him.

I followed them out the front door. It was slightly chilly outside, and the street was noisy with bicycle bells, vendors’ cries, and automobile horns. A few neon lights flickered in the north. After about fifty paces, we turned in to a small alley and then stopped. Jinglin smiled again, revealing his rotten teeth, and he took out a small pocketknife and a ten-yuan note. He opened the knife and said to the man, “I can pay you the damages now. You have a choice between these two.”

“Don’t make fun of me! I asked for ten thousand yuan.”

“Then I’ll let you taste this knife.”

The man wasn’t frightened by the two-inch blade. He grinned and asked, “Brothers, why help the foreign devils?”

“Because Cowboy Chicken is our company, and our livelihood depends on it,” I answered.

Jinglin said to him, “You’re the scum of the Chinese! Come on, choose one.”

The man didn’t lift his hand. Jinglin said again, “I know what you’re thinking. I can’t stab you with such a small thing, eh? Tell you what — I know your grandson who goes to the Second Elementary School, and I can catch him and cut off his little pecker with this knife. Then your family line will be gone. I mean it. Now, pick one.”

The crook was flabbergasted, looking at me and then at Jinglin, whose fat face became as hard as though made of copper sheet. With a trembling hand he took the money and mumbled, “Foreign dogs.” He turned and hurried away. In no time he disappeared in a swarm of pedestrians.

We both laughed and walked back to the restaurant. Across the street, three disheveled Russian beggars were playing the violin and the bandora. Unlike most Chinese beggars, who would cry woefully and accost people, those foreign musicians were reserved, with just a porkpie hat on the ground to collect money, as though they didn’t care whether you gave or not.

We didn’t tell our boss what we had done; we just said the man was satisfied with a ten-yuan note and wouldn’t come again. Susanna and her students applauded when they heard the news. Peter reimbursed Jinglin the money on the spot. Still, Mr. Shapiro looked suspicious and was afraid the man would return.

“He won’t trouble us anymore,” Peter said, smiling.