Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

The following day they took the afternoon train back to Shanghai’s North Station, arriving at ten in the evening. The square in front of the station was bustling with people. Lining the square in every direction were lamp posts that shone a murky yellow light onto the swarming crowds. Weiwei and Xiao Lin walked ahead, with Wang Qiyao lagging a few steps behind. Every so often Xiao Lin would turn around to make sure she was okay and didn’t need any help. Wang Qiyao said she was fine, thinking scornfully that she wasn’t so old as to need his help. After they had crossed the square and stood at the curb, they were still surrounded by an endless stream of people. Arriving home, they found the apartment covered in a layer of dust, even though they had been gone for only three or four days. Several moths, hatched while they were away, fluttered around the room.

That year saw the revival of Christmas celebrations in living rooms scattered around Shanghai. On Christmas Eve the lights stayed on in those houses till well past midnight. People played Christmas songs on their pianos all night. Festivities such as these invariably involved food and drink, but with Christmas candles and music setting the mood, even the most mundane food and drink took on a special air. There were no Christmas trees to speak of, as there was no place to buy them. For midnight chimes, one had to rely on the time signal coming over the radio, a lonely sound in the still of the night, but even so it made Christmas Eve stand out.

The people who celebrated Christmas were not necessarily Christians; in fact, most could barely tell you who Jesus was. The majority had come to know about this holiday from Christmas cards sent to them from abroad. True churchgoers, who had been living their lives according to the gospel, probably didn’t give much thought to Christmas. They were, for the most part, quite old and had long fallen behind the times. Christmas was observed by the city’s trendiest residents. The sharp eyes of these residents scanned the city for what it lacked and nothing escaped them. They pushed their city aggressively into the mainstream to bring an end to its isolation. Christmas at this time had not yet won mass acceptance, but you could already sense its power and sincerity. The finest china was trotted out, a new tablecloth was laid on the table, fresh roses were put in the vase, and the smartest people were invited as guests — one look and it was clear that these were the new masters of this city. “Merry Christmas” rolled off their lips as they came inside. It was a bit cold out and there was no heating, but they were in such high spirits that they didn’t care; everyone wore spring clothes. Eating and dancing, they would start to warm up and lose their inhibitions. Christmas Eve celebrations generally began around nine o’clock. As most of the people who had stayed home were preparing for bed, others who had gone out were on their way home, and dances were wrapping up elsewhere; at Christmas parties guests were only just arriving. With all the lights out in the neighbors’ homes, the radiance emanated by those parties resembled a beacon light — never again would the city lose its way.

During these years Shanghai was like a huge sponge that, having been dried up too long, opened its pores to soak up all the pleasure it could. There was still a long way to go before it was saturated. There was more darkness than light in the sky above the buildings; behind those tightly closed windows and doors, most people were sleeping — such paltry sums of pleasure were not enough to go around. If that pleasure were to flow down the street, it would only leave the ground a bit damp. You don’t realize how much pleasure this city needed! Old as those living rooms may have been, they were still functional and large enough to accommodate the singing and dancing of Christmas Eve parties. The pianos were all out of tune, but they were all classic instruments made by J. Strauss & Son. And what about the piano tuners of yore? They needed to be tracked down one by one to resume their old profession — all the old pianos in the city were counting on them. Otherwise what would come of the Christmas songs? And what about all those sonatas and serenades: how would they ever manage?

Weiwei went with Xiao Lin to his classmate’s place for Christmas, leaving Wang Qiyao home alone. She wondered, What Christmas is there to celebrate on a dark gloomy night like this? Sitting down under the lamplight to knit a baby’s wool jumpsuit, she was suddenly struck by the silence all around her. The sounds of people talking and moving about that normally filled the air had completely stopped. Could they have all gone out to celebrate Christmas? At that moment she heard the clock chiming; counting to ten, she realized how late it was. How stupid the whole Christmas holiday was! Who wants to sit together with a bunch of people and listen to the clock strike midnight? Doesn ’ t it strike midnight every night? Wang Qiyao went to bed well before Weiwei crept back in later that night. When she got up the next morning and set out for the market, Weiwei was still fast asleep, her new boots and clothing strewn around the bed, looking as if she had been on an all-night revel.

Wang Qiyao descended the stairs quietly and went out. The streetlights had just been extinguished. The gloomy sky, portending snow, conveyed a weariness, as if it too had been partying all night. Pedestrians walked briskly past, and Wang Qiyao could see the mark Christmas had left on their faces. She thought: Everyone but me has been celebrating Christmas, but I don ’ t give a damn! She bought vegetables, milk, soymilk, and deep-fried twisted doughsticks for breakfast. All the way back she walked past children on their way to school, their faces crimson from the cold as they munched on their cold breakfast. Their parents must have just returned from an all-night party and didn’t have enough time to fix them a hot meal. The sun projected its sluggish rays from beyond the haze. When Wang Qiyao got back, the apartment looked exactly as she had left it. Weiwei was still in a deep slumber. The bittersweet odor of the night before filled the room, leaving her feeling vexed. It dawned on her that it was Weiwei’s day off and she wondered how late she would sleep in. She retreated into the kitchen to make herself breakfast. Through the window, she could see the neighbors across the way busily cleaning their apartment, scurrying in and out. A drying pole with clean laundry was pushed out from another window, which quickly shut again. The clothes looked as if they would never dry in the damp cold air. Then came the boy with the morning paper, ringing his bicycle bell. The longtang started to bustle — another day begins.

Weiwei slept well into the afternoon, missing both breakfast and lunch. Wang Qiyao didn’t want to get into a fight with her and let her sleep in. As the clock struck one, Zhang Yonghong arrived. Weiwei turned over and opened her eyes, listening to them talk from under the bedclothes, but she didn’t interrupt. It was rare for Wang Qiyao to see her daughter so peaceful. She asked her if she was hungry, but Weiwei wasn’t. Her face was flushed from sleeping so much and her hair was all messy — she looked like a lazy cat.

“Did you go out for Christmas Eve last night?” Wang Qiyao asked Zhang Yonghong.

Zhang Yonghong looked bewildered. “What do you mean, ‘Christmas Eve’? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Wang Qiyao patiently told her the story of Christmas. Zhang Yonghong listened intently, occasionally asking a few ignorant questions. Weiwei was also listening, but she didn’t say a word. It was a gloomy day and dark inside as well, not the kind of darkness that comes at night, but the kind that seals off the outdoors, leaving people with a feeling of warmth. After listening to Wang Qiyao explain Christmas at some length, Zhang Yonghong exclaimed, “Just think how many exciting things we’ve been missing out on!”