Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

When she told Sasha about her pregnancy, suspicion flickered in his eyes. He started to ask incisive questions that showed he knew nearly as much as any gynecologist. Traps were laid for Wang Qiyao, but she was careful to sidestep them, and there was nothing he could do. She marveled inwardly at his calmness. This was certainly no Kang Mingxun. It was fitting that he, of all men, should own up to the responsibility. After all the questioning was over, Sasha still did not believe her, but he kept quiet. They continued their dinner and went on to bed.

Later Sasha, sprawled on the bed, placed his ear to Wang Qiyao’s belly. When she demanded to know what he was up to, he giggled. “I’m asking the baby its name.”

“Well, you won’t get an answer out of her!” Wang Qiyao retorted.

They spoke in double entendres because what they really wanted to say was out of bounds. All Wang Qiyao knew was that this time Sasha came into her with unusual force and her own climax was correspondingly intense — all of which made her feel that he truly deserved what was coming to him, and her conscience was eased.

For the next two days Sasha made no allusion to their discussion, behaving as if nothing had happened. Wang Qiyao could not restrain herself from asking, “What are we going to do?”

“What’s the hurry?” Sasha casually replied.

Wang Qiyao was compelled to suppress her impatience and play along with him, but she was determined not to let him get away. Anger allowed her to see matters in simplistic terms, and she was able to joke: “Let’s have this child and take it with us to Russia to live on bread.”

“And what if the child prefers Chinese pancakes and fried dough to Russian bread?” Sasha rejoined.

Half suspecting that her secret had been discovered, Wang Qiyao did not dare carry the joke any further. However, her resentment gave her strength. Meanwhile, two more days went by. Sasha came as usual and, after lunch, sat picking his teeth. As the sun shone on his face, one could see the tiny blood vessels beneath his skin. After a while he nonchalantly announced that he would take her to the hospital the following day.

“Which hospital?” Wang Qiyao asked.

“The one in Xujiahui.” He said he had made a special effort to find a doctor who had studied in Russia. Feeling that an enormous load had suddenly been lifted off her shoulders, Wang Qiyao heaved a sigh of relief, and was then struck with a spell of dizziness.

They took a public bus to the hospital. Sasha — deliberately it seemed — let two buses pass by before taking the most crowded one. Wang Qiyao rarely went out, much less took the bus. Not being used to pushing and shoving, she let other people go ahead of her. The door closed behind her as she got on board, pinching her heels. By that time Sasha had made his way deep into the crowded isle, out of Wang Qiyao’s sight. There she stood at the door, unable to move forward or backward, pushed and grumbled at by all the passengers getting on and off. By the time she got off at Xujiahui, her hair was disheveled, a button had fallen off her dress, and her shoes were dirty from being stepped on; she was beating back the tears and her lips were quivering. Sasha, the last to emerge from the bus, asked her how she was feeling. She gritted her teeth, swallowed her tears, and said she was all right.

Quickening her steps to keep up with him, she made a point of always getting ahead of him, as if to say, “Don’t you even think about getting away.” Sasha, who had a few more tricks left up his sleeve, was compelled to get down to business. They found themselves at the imposing gate of the hospital, which was marked with a red cross. Sasha led her twisting and turning down many a corridor before they found his friend, the resident doctor, who was resting in his office, having just finished his rounds. He stepped in first to talk to the doctor before motioning for Wang Qiyao to come in. Wang Qiyao, seeing that the doctor was a man, blushed with embarrassment. He asked her several questions and told her he needed a urine sample before the examination. Wang Qiyao wandered furtively around the building like a thief, too intimidated to ask where the restroom was. When she finally found it, a janitor was cleaning it and she was forced to wait outside. As soon as she entered, she was overcome by the harsh smell of Lysol and began to vomit, though nothing but acrid liquid came out. Soiling the freshly scrubbed bathroom filled her with shame and dread. She started to cry, so hard that she was afraid all the pent-up grievances inside her might explode in a scream of anguish. Stuffing her handkerchief in her mouth, she doubled up, racked with spasms of sobs. The back window, on which she leaned to steady herself, offered a vista of undulating rooftops. On some of them, rice was spread out on mats to dry. The sun shone on the rooftops, even on the grains of bug-infested rice. A flock of pigeons rose and glided in circles, their wings flickering in the light. Wang Qiyao stopped sobbing, even though her tears continued to flow. The pigeons wheeled round and round, up and down, growing more distant and then closer, like seagulls soaring over the ocean of rooftops. Wang Qiyao straightened up, wiped away her tears, walked out of the bathroom, and went downstairs.

Sasha did not return to Wang Qiyao’s apartment until two o’clock in the afternoon. She was giving an injection to a patient, and had another one waiting. On the table, the blue flame of the alcohol burner was licking the box of needles. Her sheets and bedding had been taken off the bed and were being sunned on the balcony, the floor had just been mopped, and the furniture was freshly wiped. Wang Qiyao herself had changed into a blue smock with white polka dots, her hair was neatly combed and tied back in a pony tail — she looked like an entirely different person. When Sasha entered, she asked if he had had lunch and offered him some water. In the presence of strangers, Sasha had to stifle his anger. He had no idea what Wang Qiyao wanted out of him. As soon as the patients left, he sprang from his chair. He was still smiling as he asked her what she had against that doctor that made her run off as soon as she laid eyes on him, not even bothering to tell him she was going. Wang Qiyao tried to explain by saying that after she had gone to the bathroom, she couldn’t find her way back to the doctor’s office. Sasha said it was his fault, he should have gone with her to help her find her way. Wang Qiyao insisted that she should take the blame; she always had a terrible sense of direction.

“Getting mixed up about where you are going isn’t so bad…” replied Sasha, “but you should be careful about getting mixed up about the person you should be with.”

At that, Wang Qiyao stopped talking and flashed an awkward smile. She paused for a moment before asking Sasha if he wanted anything to eat. Sasha twisted his head away sulkily and said no. The blue tendons on his neck were bulging. His behavior reminded Wang Qiyao once again that he was still a child, four or five years younger than she and Kang Mingxun, who had conspired to take advantage of him. She went over to fondle his silky, feather-soft hair, which brushed gently against her palm. They were both silent.

There was a long pause. Then, avoiding her gaze, he asked, “Just what do you really want from me?”

These heart-wrenchingly bitter words carried a plea. Wang Qiyao realized that, as much as she had been wronged, she had not been dealt as bad a hand as Sasha. But she was helpless, whereas Sasha had options. Her hand lingered in his hair and she marveled at its colors.

“Sasha, do you know the old saying, ‘Husband and wife for a night, husband and wife for life?’” she asked.

Sasha kept quiet.

“Sasha, don’t you want to help me?” she prodded gently.