Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

Compared with this, the happiness of the young could only be described as “getting wild.” The thing that is beguiling about Latin dance is its ability to take raw emotion and channel it into precise movements, giving it a rational, almost philosophical expression. It takes a special understanding to appreciate Latin dance, and this was why the older dancers held themselves somewhat aloof. This was back in the days before disco became popular in China, but the young people were already getting impatient. When they danced, their movements were coarse and impulsive, and they liked numbers with a fast tempo that made it easier to gloss over their mistakes in front of others — and themselves. They were overeager for the excitement of dancing and did not care whether they knew how to dance; all they wanted was to get out on the floor; the rest they could worry about later. They failed to understand the principle of restraint, which is what makes excitement grow and endure. Their inclination was to squander everything; the money they made was never sufficient to cover their expenses, nor was a single night of song and dance ever enough. And so they danced night after night, drawing on the happiness that was their due, not realizing that they were depleting their accounts prematurely. Nevertheless, their excitement was contagious; one could hardly sit still beside them without feeling one’s heart pounding and blood racing.

On one occasion the district political consultative committee organized a dance, and Xiao Lin, who was able to get tickets, took a few friends along. It was here that Wang Qiyao first witnessed true Latin dance. This dance stood out from the others because more than half the dancers were past fifty. Wearing everyday blue and gray outfits, those who knew each other sat together, chatting. The dance was held in a dining hall and the air was filled with the smell of grease. The floor, which had been mopped and sprinkled with powder, only managed to look squalid. The ceiling was stained yellow from accumulated smoke, but the molding was a Renaissance-style floral pattern, the hall was lined with Roman columns, and a semicircular French window looked out into the garden. The blazing lights did nothing to hide the age of the building. Under their glare, one could count every old-age blemish on peoples’ hands and faces. The static-laden music sounded hollow and pathetic as it rang out through a four-speaker boom box in the large open hall, and everyone looked tiny under the great dome.

Only after several bars of music had been played did a few couples make their way onto the dance floor. Under the large domed ceiling, they looked as if they were Lilliputians. But these little people were great dancers with decades of experience, and they burned up the floor with their consummate skill. Their demeanor was cool, but they all knew exactly what they were doing. Thirty years away from the dance floor — yet they had not forgotten a step, for they had been properly trained and had spent the necessary time practicing. And even though this was a kingdom of little people, the look on their midget faces was expressive of a solemn dignity. Can you tell what they are thinking? Do you know what they see? Something unfathomable. Their expressions contained a mixture of sorrow and joy; but what was it that aroused these feelings? The young people all fought their shyness of the dance floor; when they did dance, they felt intimidated in this atmosphere enshrouded by a somber gravity. The graying dancers were timeless, like the hall itself. Latin dance has this truly amazing power to transcend time — to transform the old, timeworn, dejected, battered, foul, and rotten into something noble and ethereal.

Wang Qiyao encouraged Weiwei and her friends to dance while she sat off to one side watching. A draft stole in from the French window. She felt as if the scene before her had been transported from thirty years earlier — the only difference was that, having gathered thirty years of dust, it looked somewhat grayer. She even fancied that she could see whole strands of dust drifting down from the old curtains onto the scene before vanishing without a trace. Once more of the young people got up to dance, however, the scene grew livelier.

A few of them were really decked out; although they looked out of place and their dancing skills were dubious, they certainly grabbed your attention. All it takes to liven up the atmosphere is a little eye-catching youthfulness. Some of these young people are dancing frantically, getting all out of rhythm but still carrying on till the bitter end, when the music stops. Some mistake dancing for walking and end up traipsing all over the hall. In the middle of the dance two men suddenly come in carrying two cartons of soda pop, instructing everyone to show their ticket stubs before claiming their bottle. Impatient dancers walk straight across the floor to get theirs. The hall suddenly fills with the sound of bottle caps popping. A few even take the liberty of going over to the boom box to stop whatever is playing in mid-song and put on their own tape instead, leaving no time for the dancers either to stop or to get in step up with the new tune. Before long it turns into a free-for-all, with people dancing the four-step to folk melodies, and the formerly decorous scene evaporates.

Wang Qiyao was sitting by herself when she was asked to dance, as it turned out, by an older gentleman. By then things were getting a bit out of control and everybody seemed to have the right to ask anyone they wanted for a dance. Slowly Wang Qiyao was led out onto the floor, surrounded by people who were oblivious to all but their own movements. Dancing to the same song, everyone did it their own way. The older gentleman wavered a bit before finally getting into rhythm; his steady steps were like a coral reef in a tumultuous sea. Wang Qiyao could ascertain the kind of person he was from the way he danced: an honest, dutiful, hard-working man with solid assets and a virtuous wife, the sort who would set foot in a dance hall only for social engagements related to his work. Back in the old days he was the kind of man that parents of unmarried girls kept a sharp lookout for. Now his hair was gray and he no longer dressed the way he used to. At the end of the dance he saw Wang Qiyao back to her seat, gently shaking her hand and bowing slightly before turning to leave. Right after that came the last song of the evening, the theme from Waterloo Bridge , “Auld Lang Syne.”

Besides dances organized by different work units, there were also dance parties held in people’s homes. All that was needed for these was a large room and a tape player. Zhang Yonghong’s latest boyfriend, Xiao Shen, was a frequent organizer of such parties and held them at his friend’s house. He invited Wang Qiyao to one of them, saying he wanted her to teach them how to dance. Wang Qiyao insisted that she had nothing to teach them; but she went anyway. Xiao Shen’s friend lived in the Alice Apartments, in a ground-floor flat two doors down from where Wang Qiyao used to live. Although it was dark when they arrived and the surroundings had dramatically changed in the years since she had last been there, Wang Qiyao recognized the place as soon as she set foot inside the compound. She thought it strange that over the years she had never once been back — if it hadn’t been for the dance party that night, she might never have gone back as long as she lived. The place was only three or four bus stops away from where she now lived, but it felt like a world separated by mountains and oceans. Occasionally, when her thoughts drifted to the Alice Apartments, it had seemed a previous life.

Xiao Shen’s friend’s apartment, though also on the ground floor, had a different layout from Wang Qiyao’s old place. It had two bedrooms and an extra area in the living room. His parents and sisters had, one after the other, emigrated to Hong Kong, so he was the only one left in Shanghai and had the entire place to himself. It was clean and had all the amenities, but didn’t have a lived-in feeling. The friend didn’t boil hot water for tea for the guests, but simply set out bottles of soda and beer on the table. By the time Wang Qiyao and the others arrived, several couples were already dancing slowly to the music. It was hard to tell the host apart from the guests, as people seemed to know each other very well. Everyone helped themselves to ice cubes from the refrigerator; when the doorbell rang whoever was closest opened the door; new arrivals made themselves right at home. One guest, apparently uninterested in dancing, even went to take a nap in the master bedroom.