Ma Jian - The Dark Road

‘Take a break,’ the husband says, handing her a plate of rice and fish. ‘Have something to eat.’

‘Thank you,’ she replies, her snot dripping onto the floor. She looks at the deep-fried fish, but has no appetite to eat it. Through the tent’s open door she sees windows light up in the dark lane, and whispers to the infant spirit: It’s time to leave. Your daddy and sister will be getting hungry. I’ll make a soup for them with the turnip and squid Cha Na gave me. She glances down at the fish again and whispers: All right, little Heaven, I’ll have some, just for you. Then she picks up the fish with her chopsticks, takes a bite, and studies the paper funeral objects displayed below the portrait of the deceased: miniature cars, fridges, houses and wads of American dollars — all the things that she herself hopes to acquire one day. As she looks down at the discarded chopstick wrappers and cigarette butts on the floor, she senses someone’s gaze fall on her. She turns round and sees a tall bespectacled young man in a black suit and tie.

‘How beautifully you sang!’ he says. ‘I wish I could have recorded you.’

‘That wasn’t singing, it was just wailing!’ Meili replies. She looks down at the coffin and imagines the woman inside listening to their conversation. She saw many corpses at the funerals her grandmother took her to, so isn’t afraid of them.

‘Well, how beautifully you wailed, then! Where did you study?’ The young man’s hair smells freshly blow-dried. Meili has become familiar with the smell of scorched hair and lacquer. She visits the hairdresser once a month now for a wash and blow-dry, and walks out looking like a film star.

‘The songs were passed down through my family,’ Meili says, then shudders at the thought that her grandmother is now as motionless and lifeless as the woman in the coffin.

‘You sound like that Hong Kong singer, Anita Mui. I’m very happy to meet you. My name is Zhang Tang. Just call me Tang.’

‘Anita Mui is a superstar! How can you compare me to her?’ Meili turns her head away to swallow the remaining food in her mouth.

‘She was my aunt,’ Tang says, pointing to the corpse. ‘She died of pancreatic cancer. I’m sure the pollution was to blame.’

Meili wipes her mouth with a napkin. ‘Your accent isn’t strong. Where are you from?’

‘I grew up here, but went to university in Europe. I graduated last year.’ When he closes his mouth his two front teeth protrude over his lower lip.

‘Europe? I’ve dismantled lots of computers and phones from there. Is it a nice country?’

‘It’s not a country, it’s a continent! France, Italy, Germany — they’re all part of Europe. I was studying in England.’

‘Well, those countries must be much better than China. They dump their rubbish on us, and we treat it like treasure. How lucky you were to go there. Why on earth did you come back?’

‘I love this place. When I was a child, it was idyllic. There was a beautiful lotus pond near the harbour and every house had a clean well. My friends and I would go to Womb Lake after school and fish for carp and shrimp.’

‘I live right by the lake. It’s squalid. The rivers are so polluted that just six months after we arrived, our boat rotted away.’ Meili doesn’t want to continue the conversation. She steps off the dais and pretends to read the messages on the flower wreaths.

‘I’d like to give you an Anita Mui CD,’ Tang says, following her.

‘Don’t bother. I’m twenty-six now — too old to think of being a pop star.’ She puts her plate on the ground and, trying to get rid of him, says: ‘Could you move away a little? I think I should sing a last song.’

‘I can’t,’ Tang says, pushing his gold-rimmed glasses further up his nose. ‘It’s my turn to stay by the coffin.’

The husband walks over and hands her a paper cup of tea. Wanting to make an escape, Meili gulps it down in one and says, ‘Boss, my throat is sore. I don’t think I can perform any more laments.’

A few minutes later she strolls out of the tent, whispering to the infant spirit, I bet you’re even more afraid to come out after hearing Mummy wailing like that! She thinks of how the dead woman will be given a proper burial tomorrow so that her soul can rest in peace until its next incarnation. Nobody wailed when her grandmother died and her mangled remains entered the earth, so her spirit is doomed to wander for eternity as a rootless wild ghost. Meili puts the cash she was paid into her pocket and examines the business card Tang gave her before she left. As they were saying goodbye, he told her that his sister-in-law is looking for a nanny, and asked if she’d be interested in the job. She thinks of Nannan, and hopes she’s home by now. For the last few days, she’s gone to the train station after school to collect discarded ticket stubs which Kongzi then sells to business travellers who claim the cost back on expenses.

Mother loses herself in the lampless winding lane. She passes a tricycle covered in a yellow cloth which in the faint light from a window above looks like a dusty cream cake. At last she sees a bright street ahead, and quickens her pace. In the distance, she hears a pop ballad lilt from the mourning tent: ‘ Has anyone told you they love you or shed tears over the poems you wrote? …’ After crossing the street, she takes two lefts then a right, and comes to the lotus pond near the harbour. The plastic rubbish heaped around its edge emits a cold, deathly light. She walks down towards the lake and follows the stone path that leads straight to their gate.

When she opens the front door, she sees Kongzi stuffing clothes into a bag, and asks him where he’s going.

‘My father died,’ Kongzi says, quietly enough for Nannan not to hear him.

‘When?’

‘Three months ago, on his birthday.’

‘Was it an illness or an accident?’

‘He drank some fake wine and it perforated his stomach.’

‘But if you go back to the village, the police will fling you in jail. My brother said that they have evidence you took part in the riots. Your family have always begged you not to go home. They didn’t contact you when he died, did they? They were probably afraid you’d want to attend the funeral. Anyway, he’s been buried for months, so what’s the point of going back?’ She puts her arm around him and takes him to sit down on the bed. Her heart softens. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, Kongzi. I know you would have liked to have attended his funeral, but I’m sure your father wouldn’t have wanted you to put yourself in danger.’ She rests her head on his shoulder. This is the first time they’ve touched since his arrest.

Kongzi punches his chest and wails like a strangled cat: ‘What an unfilial wretch I am! I should be garrotted, stabbed ten thousand times…’ Nannan runs out into the yard and sits in a corner with her eyes closed.

‘After my grandmother died, my mother fell ill and had to have an operation, but I didn’t go back to see her,’ Meili says, stroking his back. ‘Don’t leave tonight. It would be too hot-headed. See how you feel in the morning.’

‘Enough,’ Kongzi says, putting his hands over his ears.

‘Well, you sit here quietly and I’ll get supper ready.’ She wipes the table and sets out plates of marinated peanuts, deep-fried shrimp and mini tomatoes. ‘So who told you he died?’ she asks. ‘Who arranged the funeral?’ She tries to picture Kongzi’s father, but all she sees in her mind’s eye is the dead woman in the black coffin.

‘I phoned home to ask if they’d received the ham and dried fish I sent them for Spring Festival, and my mother told me the news. There was a proper ceremony. The County Party Secretary sent a wreath, and a Communist Party flag was draped over the coffin.’