Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

Wang Qiyao thought he was the perfect candidate. She would have been racked with guilt doing this to anyone else, but had no such qualms when it came to Sasha. This was a role he had been born to play.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said to Kang Mingxun.

But when he inquired about this, she refused to say more. He was not to worry about it — she would handle everything. Kang Mingxun was disquieted. He had some inkling of what she was up to; he was hesitant to ask but also felt he ought to press her for an explanation. Fortunately, Wang Qiyao was adamant about not revealing her plan, instead simply instructing him not to come around anymore. They embraced as usual when he said good-bye, but on this occasion he felt his heart being torn to shreds and could not let her go. Her body was connected to his very heart and soul, and so could never be separated from him. He wept till he ran out of tears, his throat went hoarse, and he lost his voice. Emerging at last into the street, he was annoyed that his bicycle refused to budge, until he realized he had forgotten to undo the lock. He got on his bike and rode down the street, swerving left and right; it took some time before it dawned on him that the blurry haze of lights shining into his eyes as he moved was headlights, and that he was going the wrong way against the traffic. He experienced what the dying felt in their last moments on earth — while his body still clung to life, his soul had already departed.

Over the ensuing days he wandered repeatedly back to Peace Lane, without knowing what he was searching for — the place was noisy, as usual, with people and cars coming and going. He asked himself if it was possible that Wang Qiyao really lived there and saw at the entrance to the lane, as if for the first time, her sign advertising injections and inoculations — somehow he couldn’t quite figure out how the name on the sign related to himself. Spring Festival was approaching and the streets were crowded with people busy purchasing things for the New Year, but he was no more concerned with these things than with a fire blazing on the other side of the river. For several days on end he visited Peace Lane twice a day — morning and night — but he never ran into Wang Qiyao, nor anyone from Madame Yan’s household. Not once did he see a single familiar face: it was as if Wang Qiyao was a drop of water that had disappeared into the ocean. Wandering back and forth, he was consumed by a feeling of emptiness. He promised himself that he would not come back, but sure enough, the next day, back he came. This went on until one afternoon, around three o’clock, he saw Sasha. Bag in hand, Sasha walked at a hurried pace into the lane. Trying to look casual, Kang Mingxun strolled in and out of several stores across the street, all the while peering at the entrance to the lane. It was only after the streetlights came on and there was still no sign of Sasha that he wearily climbed onto his bike and slowly rode away, to return no more.

Sasha had always regarded Wang Qiyao as one of the many women who were fond of him. He knew he had a pretty face that women liked. Their affection for him was always mixed with the tenderness and solicitude shown by a mother toward her child. Over time Sasha grew even more gentle and sensitive, as if he had been born to fulfill their fantasy. He loved women the way children love the parents who nurture them. He loved their generosity and honesty, their simplicity and credulity. They never failed to repay a kindness. Women, how insubstantial they are! Incredibly, they value, above all else, tender feelings. Sasha did not own a thing — in this sense he was a true member of the dispossessed proletariat — yet he had an endless abundance of tender feelings, as much as anybody might care to have. His memories of his Russian mother were hazy, and he had no sisters. His sole experience with the opposite sex was with these older women, who loved him more than they loved themselves. What they asked of him was tenderness, in return for which they showered him with their beneficence. In their arms, Sasha was an adorable little kitten, gentle beyond imagination. He could also be peevish at times — provoked by their suffocating adoration — on occasion he might even scratch them with his claws, but even then he did it gently.

Sasha took to women as a fish takes to water. However, he was, after all, a man with an encompassing worldview, harboring many desires, some of which lay beyond his reach, although this did not prevent him from setting his sights on them. Sasha was always awkward and ineffectual around other men. With them, neither his pretty face nor his status as heir of the Comintern counted for much. His attitude toward men was one of diffidence and fear. He was always too tense in their company, and they came to look down on his hypersensitivity. Sasha was a threat to none, but jealous and resentful of all. On this point women’s adoration was no help at all. In fact, they only exacerbated his self-loathing. He came to believe that the only reason he hung around with them was that he was good for nothing else. Consequently, Sasha was at heart a misogynist — to him women were mirrors reflecting his own ineptitude. Sometimes he would look for an opportunity to retaliate, but his little acts of revenge were gentle, nothing to raise the alarm. His feelings for Wang Qiyao were, however, somewhat different and had as much to do with Kang Mingxun as with her. Sasha had no doubt that if it had not been for Kang Mingxun, Wang Qiyao would have fallen in love with him. Now that the two had fallen out, as he sensed, he grew excited rather than upset, because it meant that he was now on equal footing with Kang Mingxun.

One might suppose that Sasha was deserving of pity, but Sasha himself had no idea of what he was getting into. Taking Wang Qiyao’s sudden affection and Kang Mingxun’s retreat as a mark of his victory, his vanity was greatly flattered. As a trophy won, Wang Qiyao took on additional importance to him. When he noticed that she was lethargic and listless in her appetite, he had his Russian friends make bread for her. He willingly played the part of her assistant, making cotton balls and sterilizing needles. This aroused some guilty feelings on Wang Qiyao’s part, but remorse immediately gave way to the image of Kang Mingxun, her apron around his waist, protective sleeves on his arms, his forehead oily and perspiring, trying so hard to please her. Her resolve stiffened — she could not afford to turn back, she could only move forward.

The first time she went to bed in Sasha’s arms, she noticed, as she caressed his body, how fair his skin was — almost transparent — and that his muscles were slight and soft. He was only a boy. Running her fingers gently through his hair as he lay lost in deep sleep, his hand resting on her breast, she was astonished to discover that his feather-light hair was not evenly colored. This amused her, and teardrops fell from her eyes. She saw too — what his eyeglasses normally kept hidden — the long, fan-like lashes over his eyes and the delicate flanks of his nose, which twitched faintly. She felt remorse at taking advantage of him, but, lacking an alternative, she could only apologize to him silently. She comforted herself with the thoughts that he did not have parents to answer to, and that, sheltered by his position as the heir to veteran revolutionaries, he could afford to take this rap. At the same time, though, Wang Qiyao found Sasha intimidating. She had not expected the child-like Sasha to be so experienced with a woman’s body; he was obviously well practiced, and she nearly lost control of herself. She was not a novice herself when it came to men, but Director Li was in the distant past, and intimacies with him, always rushed, had left little impression on her. Moreover, she was young then and was much too preoccupied to pay attention to her own sensations. With Kang Mingxun she had had to play teacher. Sasha was the first man who made her feel the thrill of being a woman, yet that thrill was somehow repulsive to her. During those moments a thirst for revenge overrode her guilt and she could only think, Sasha, you deserve every bit of this.