Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

In the longtang they had done away with the routine of sounding a clapper to remind people to put out their kitchen fires and substituted a bell, which rang much colder in the peaceful night. Hearing that bell, Wang Qiyao realized she would have to live with loneliness until the next afternoon tea. The gaiety of their afternoon tea parties did not seem to make up for the loneliness she suffered afterward. She started to go to the late show at the theater. Late-night movies were the only semblance of a night life that remained in the city, flickering embers of the city that used to never sleep. However, half of the seats in the theater would be empty, and the silent streets she passed on her way home were always deserted. The shadows of parasol trees, the tired faces of people waiting for the trolley, the sound of the bell as the trolley rolled to a stop, the streetlamps and neon lights, all spoke of the lateness of the hour. But even in the dead of night, a feeble light was struggling through, like a hidden current that can be felt only by those intent on sensing it.

Now it behooved Uncle Maomao to consult with Wang Qiyao on refreshments the day before the afternoon tea parties, so that he could make the necessary purchases. Sometimes their discussion lasted late into the afternoon, and Wang Qiyao would ask him to stay for dinner, inviting Madame Yan to join them. After a while, Madame Yan would come on her own accord and Sasha, too, would arrive for the occasion. Thus, dinners preceding afternoon teas became routine, and they had to raise the ante at the mahjong games to cover the extra expense. In fact, the mahjong games became indispensable. That was fine for every one except Sasha, who frequently made excuses for not showing up. They understood his problem but no one wanted to speak of it. Wang Qiyao began to notice that sometimes, during a game, Uncle Maomao would refrain from declaring victory even when he drew the tile he had clearly been waiting for, instead throwing the game so that Sasha could take the winnings. She developed a new contempt for Sasha and a new admiration for Uncle Maomao for the discreet attempts to help him.

One day, when Wang Qiyao happened to draw a tile that she knew Uncle Maomao had been waiting for, she put it up for grabs at the center of the table, glancing briefly at Uncle Maomao. After a momentary hesitation, Uncle Maomao took it and announced that he had won big. Wang Qiyao was inordinately pleased that she had guessed right and, moreover, that he had let her do him a favor. To her dismay, Sasha pushed over her entire hand for all to see, exclaiming, “How could you give up a tile that you could have used yourself, just so that he could win?”

Hurriedly shuffling the tiles, Wang Qiyao said that she had sacrificed the match in hopes of drawing a new tile that would give her a perfect hand. Inwardly, she was fuming, Sasha, you have no idea how many times you won at the expense of others!

Madame Yan, however, was offended. “Everyone here should follow the rules of the game! No playing favorites!”

This embarrassed Wang Qiyao even more, and she reiterated her regret at having relinquished a match in vain. This failed to placate Sasha and Madame Yan, and they stopped the game as soon as the round was over. The next time Uncle Maomao came over to discuss refreshments, Wang Qiyao complained, “Sasha may be a man, but he’s pettier than most women.”

“I feel sorry for him,” replied Uncle Maomao. “The guy’s unemployed but bent on having a good time. The government allowance he gets for being the son of a martyr is barely enough for him to play billiards.”

“I am not upset about the money,” said Wang Qiyao. “It’s about playing fair. I didn’t want anyone to chip in for the refreshments; they don’t amount to much anyway.”

Uncle Maomao laughed. “Why should you make such a big deal about it then? Let me apologize to you on behalf of Sasha.”

“Sasha’s not the only one who should apologize,” said Wang Qiyao.

“I apologize for my cousin’s behavior as well,” Uncle Maomao declared soothingly.

Wang Qiyao’s eyes moistened at this. This Uncle Maomao is quite perceptive. He understands everything. She wanted to say something else, but stopped herself when she heard Madame Yan coming up the stairs. Once inside the door, Madame Yan plunked herself down in a chair and declared, “What is wrong with Sasha?”

Seeing that they were finally all on the same page, the other two glanced at each other and smiled.

Instead of refreshments, Uncle Maomao proposed that for their next gathering they should all have coffee at the International Club as his guests. Wang Qiyao realized that this was an attempt at smoothing over ruffled feathers and thought to herself, He means well, but all good things must come to an end. Nevertheless, she went to have her hair set at the beauty parlor the next morning, and, after an early lunch, she put on some powder and lipstick and lightly touched up her eyebrows. She had planned on wearing a light coat over a cheongsam , but then thought this might be too formal and make it look as if she was trying to compete with Madame Yan. Instead, she put on a gray jacket with a poplin facing over a pair of matching wool pants; a subdued floral silk scarf completed the outfit. She was barely ready when Mama Zhang called up from downstairs that the pedicab was waiting in front of the Yan’s townhouse. Clasping her handbag, she arrived at the pedicab just as Madame Yan came out in a black wool coat appropriate to her status and makeup that was quite becoming to her. They climbed into the pedicab, which slowly took them out of Peace Lane. The sun was bright red, the leaves on the parasol trees had thinned out, and the sky appeared unusually high. For a moment Wang Qiyao thought that the person sitting next to her was not Madame Yan but Jiang Lili, but this was just a brief lapse. Her face and lips felt dry to the point of flaking, and her eyelids drooped heavily in the sunlight, as though swollen from too much sleep. Display windows scrolled swiftly past; a trolley swung slowly around the corner before hurtling forward as its bell chimed.

Uncle Maomao and Sasha were waiting for them at the gate of the International Club. Standing there at the entrance, ready to greet them, Sasha looked as if he was hosting the event, and when they alighted, he told them that he and Uncle Maomao were in fact co-hosting the event. The two men led them into the lobby, where the floor shone like a mirror. Outside the French window, the lawn had already wilted; only the chrysanthemums were still blooming in defiance of the cold air. Sofas were arranged around low tables covered with white tablecloths. A waiter in a white suit and red tie came to take their order after they had sat down. Sasha picked out several items as Uncle Maomao looked on smilingly; they appeared to be in complete rapport. In the end, Uncle Maomao picked up the tab. Wang Qiyao thought that Sasha’s deviousness must have come from being thoroughly spoiled. She averted her eyes and looked at the lotus-shaped lamp on the wall; she felt hot and wished that she had worn the other coat, which she could now have taken off. Not having been to this kind of place in such a long time, she had forgotten how to dress. The coffee and cakes were served in fine porcelain, and the tableware and coffeepots were all made of silver. A man spotted Uncle Maomao and Sasha and came over to greet them. Turning to Madame Yan, he asked, “And how is Mr. Yan doing these days?”

As they chatted, Wang Qiyao felt keenly that she was the outsider, and turned her head away to look at a pot of evergreen with red berries. By this time the lobby was filling up with people, the waiters shuttled back and forth, and the aroma of hot coffee filled the air. Sitting there in her inappropriate clothes in the midst of all the merriment, Wang Qiyao found she had nothing to say to the others and deeply regretted being there.