Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

The next morning a clean-shaven Mr. Cheng, wearing a sharp outfit, arrived at the Jiang house. The girls had already made themselves up and were sitting in the living room. You could tell from their eyes — a bit puffy and bloodshot — that the three of them had been up all night. The sun was slightly wet and sticky, shining down on the waxed wooden floor — the wax itself appeared to be on the brink of melting. Jiang Lili’s mother personally prepared tea and snacks; even she was wearing a new outfit. The feeling was that of the morning after a rip-roaring New Year’s Eve. The shreds of firecracker paper had all been swept away, and although the New Year had only just begun, a sense of weariness had already set in. It would be unreasonable to expect the celebratory mood to last for an entire year. They revisited the night before, each adding their own take on what had transpired, constantly expanding on and correcting what the others were saying — as if they wanted to relive that moment. The bright lights and dazzling carnations from the night before were unreal under the muggy sun, everything that had happened seemed faint and distant. And so they tried even harder to recall every little detail.

The morning passed but they carried their conversation over to lunch. The table also made it seem like it was New Year’s Day. There was a new tablecloth and the chinaware was the special set reserved for the New Year. However, the excitement at the table barely concealed a feeling of let down; more than half the day had passed and nothing new had yet occurred. Afternoons are always lethargic: it is difficult to get one’s energy up and everything feels a bit off. The dust was sticky in the gray light. Having sat in silence for a while, Jiang Lili got up and walked over to the piano in the corner of the room. She toyed with different melodies, off and on, as a kind of encouragement to push them forward. With nothing else to do, Mr. Cheng walked over to the piano and, leaning against it, asked Jiang Lili if she knew how to play this or that song. Jiang Lili used the piano to answer him. She couldn’t play all of them, but she knew passages from almost every one. It was as if she was acceding to his every wish, and the two started genuinely to enjoy themselves. A young lady at the piano and a gentleman standing right beside her made the very picture of affluent domestic bliss.

Sitting on the sofa on the other side of the room and looking at them, Wang Qiyao suddenly realized that her days in the spotlight were over. Oh, the glory of yesterday! The sound of the piano grated on her ears — it seemed to mock her and pierced her to the heart. Jiang Lili at the piano looked elegant and aloof despite being so plain; even Mr. Cheng seemed to have grown distant at that moment. Wang Qiyao grew depressed — not an unusual feeling in the wake of a grand event with its frenzy of emotions and excessive hopes. She stared out at the garden on that winter day; the branches of the lilac trees were all intertwined, impossible to disentangle; the sun shone brighter and the air grew brisk. No one was thinking about the night before, everything appeared relaxed and free of purpose. That was simply how things went in Shanghai: even the greatest excitement lasted only an instant. Wang Qiyao told herself that it was time for her to go back home. Mr. Cheng turned around at this moment. “Wang Qiyao, come over and sing us a song!” he said.

Wang Qiyao could no longer contain her resentment. She turned red and laughed sardonically, “I’m no artist like Jiang Lili. What am I supposed to sing?”

Jiang Lili continued to concentrate on playing, but Mr. Cheng felt uneasy after hearing Wang Qiyao’s response. He came over to her and suggested, “What do you say to catching a movie together?”

“I’m not going!” Wang Qiyao declared in a fit of pique.

Mr. Cheng decided to try something else. “I’d like to invite you two young ladies to dinner at a Western restaurant.”

But Wang Qiyao begged off; she turned her head away, tears in her eyes. Mr. Cheng was truly considerate, but it was precisely his consideration that rubbed her the wrong way. The two of them sat in silence. The sound of Jiang Lili’s piano playing no longer grated on Wang Qiyao’s ears. It had become a soft, heart-rending melody.

From that day Wang Qiyao started to date Mr. Cheng. She would tell Jiang Lili that she was going back home to visit, but she would turn back around as soon as she got to the end of the longtang . On two occasions when she came back from the movies late at night she could hear the sound of Jiang Lili’s piano ringing out through the expansive night even before she reached the door; it was Lili’s way of talking to herself. She had resumed her piano lessons, having finally found something that pleased Mr. Cheng, and something through which she could express her feelings. Wang Qiyao would tiptoe into the house, but Jiang Lili always heard her and stopped her in order that she might share in the latter’s feelings. Even the moon outside the window was affected by Lili’s outpourings. Jiang Lili had settled on Wang Qiyao as her confidant, and Wang Qiyao could not escape. When she mentioned the possibility of moving back home, Jiang Lili would not hear of it. If Wang Qiyao went back home, she said, then she was going too. There was no way she could stand being separated from Wang Qiyao. Jiang Lili had always been somewhat melodramatic, but her feelings were nevertheless real and Wang Qiyao had to take her seriously. She was also aware that although she had made no promises to Mr. Cheng, she was depriving Jiang Lili of her chances. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she didn’t know how much Jiang Lili was in love, but Jiang Lili made sure that she knew all about it. Wang Qiyao’s ideas about ethical behavior didn’t come from romance novels, nor did they involve complicated principles; simply speaking, they were reciprocity, respect, and trust — if you do me a good turn, I owe you one. Wang Qiyao felt guilty around Jiang Lili and behaved even more solicitously to her than before. She began treating her like a real sister.

“How come Mr. Cheng never stops by anymore?” Jiang Lili once asked.

The look on Jiang Lili’s face left Wang Qiyao no choice but to stop accepting Mr. Cheng’s invitations to go out alone with him. Consequently, he was again forced to visit the Jiang house frequently. Jiang Lili couldn’t have been happier; Wang Qiyao felt she was compounding a blunder, but was helpless to do anything else. The only salve to her conscience was that she never made Mr. Cheng any promises. She relied on this to maintain a balance. But a non-promise is a very thin line. She was walking a tightrope. Skill was everything, as was maintaining her composure.

Then one day a shy and anxious Mr. Cheng suggested that she pay another visit to his photo studio. The invitation had an implied meaning — if she pretended not to understand it, they could still keep up a semblance of normality; but should she refuse, then all the cards would be laid out on the table. Wang Qiyao wanted to keep things hazy; it was too early for conclusions. Her ambition had lately been rekindled, thanks perhaps to Mr. Cheng’s adulation.

This visit to Mr. Cheng’s photo studio also took place on a Sunday. The day before Mr. Cheng tidied the place up, wiping away all the dust. He placed fresh flowers — two roses amid a bunch of baby’s breath — on the dressing table, on which a small framed photo of Wang Qiyao was also displayed. In the photo, taken during her first visit, Wang Qiyao appeared several years younger, but it had actually been less than two years. The scene outside the window remained the same. It was as if those two years had left their mark only on Wang Qiyao; everything else was untouched. The flowers and the photo were both there to greet her — especially the latter, which needed no explanation. They were the sincere offerings of an honest man. Wang Qiyao pretended not to notice anything. Emerging from the powder room with light makeup, she sat down before the camera and the lights went up. Their minds flew back to that Sunday afternoon two years earlier. The lighting was the same, but they had been strangers then, two faceless souls like the countless others seen from the window wandering the streets below. Now, though the future was still unknown, at least they had some sort of understanding between them, which was very rare in their world. And even though it had been quite some time since Mr. Cheng had shot Wang Qiyao, they weren’t at all uncomfortable; in fact, they behaved as if they were old partners.