Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

“Jiang Lili is dying. . ” Those were the first words out of her mouth.

Mr. Cheng was taken aback.

“. . she has a malignant tumor,” she added hastily.

At that time cancer was not yet common and people did not know much about it. In fact, no one back then even used the word “cancer” instead referring to people who had such conditions as having a “malignant tumor.” The thing had a frightening reputation, and although many people had heard of it, no one ever imagined it would strike them or someone close to them. But once it did, it was enough to break one with terror. Jiang Lili had actually been suffering from a liver disease for quite some time, only no one knew it. Because she had always looked pale, was a notoriously picky eater, and had a short temper, no one really noticed when her health started to deteriorate. Even Jiang Lili herself ignored the symptoms at first. Growing up in a well-to-do family, she always enjoyed the best food, which gave her a good constitution and a strong immune system, which over time lessened her sensitivity to illness. She realized that she didn’t have much of an appetite, was easily exhausted, and felt some discomfort around her liver, but it was nothing she couldn’t tolerate and she just wrote her symptoms off as a minor ailment. Then one day she suddenly found that she could not get out of bed; she was too weak even to lift up a piece of paper, and her husband, Old Zhang, carried her off to the hospital on his back.

The diagnosis was swift. They held her for observation over three days, during which time they kept her on an intravenous glucose drip, before Old Zhang was allowed to carry her back home. As Jiang Lili clung to her husband’s back, she could smell the strong scent of Old Zhang’s hair oil and a feeling of warmth filled her heart. She pressed her face against her husband’s neck and wanted to tell him something, but couldn’t find the words. The tenderness she felt was so unusual that she felt it was ominous. All Old Zhang could think of doing was to call in his family from Shandong province so that they could help out. One could not ask for more genuine and generous folks, but for some reason Jiang Lili always felt alienated around them. Filled with sadness and compassion, they would sit outside her bedroom, whispering from time to time. They resembled mourners at a funeral, and the atmosphere in the apartment became stifling. Jiang Lili felt suffocated by this air of bereavement and her tiny bit of tenderness evaporated, as did her will to resist the disease. There she lay, surrounded by a cast of strange faces carrying on in strange rural accents who crept in whenever someone opened the door. Several times she got so annoyed that she broke down and screamed at them, accusing them of trying to hasten her death. Her husband’s family received these outbursts with understanding, taking them simply as the ravings of a sick person going through terrible suffering.

Wang Qiyao didn’t know that Jiang Lili was sick. Before taking ill, Jiang Lili had been in charge of running a socialist education program in the suburb of Chuansha and came home only four days a month. It had been quite some time since she and Wang Qiyao had seen each other. But then one day Wang Qiyao walked past Jiang Lili’s longtang and ran into her mother-in-law, who was on her way out to buy noodles. Wang Qiyao went up to greet her; although the old lady couldn’t remember ever having met her, she was friendly, and liked being close to people, and moreover had been having such a difficult time with her daughter-in-law, that once she got started talking, there was no stopping her. Wang Qiyao was utterly flabbergasted by the news of Jiang Lili’s illness and the color immediately drained from her face. Instead of comforting old Mrs. Zhang, who was in tears, Wang Qiyao headed straight down the longtang toward Jiang Lili’s apartment.

She walked past the silent crowd outside the bedroom, pushed open the door, and went into see Jiang Lili. The curtains were drawn and Jiang Lili was sitting up in bed leaning against a pillow, reading Life in a Branch of the Communist Party. When she saw Wang Qiyao she smiled. That was an expression Wang Qiyao was not accustomed to seeing on Jiang Lili’s face, whose brow was usually knit in anger. There was something pitiful about her smile at that moment; it was as if she was looking for forgiveness. The sight was enough to move Wang Qiyao to tears. She sat down on the side of the bed, her heart quivering; it was hard to believe the toll this disease had taken on her friend in so short a time. The truth about her illness had been kept from Jiang Lili, who was told she had hepatitis. Afraid that Wang Qiyao would have reservations about being so close to her, she explained that it was a chronic form of hepatitis and assured her that it was not contagious — that was why she didn’t need to be placed in isolation. She inquired after Wang Qiyao’s daughter and asked her to bring the little girl to visit sometime, repeating once more that she was not contagious. Wang Qiyao was too grief-stricken to speak; she could see that Jiang Lili was drained by talking, and soon excused herself. Meandering aimlessly down the sunny streets, she bought several things she did really did not need and didn’t get home until around lunchtime. Not feeling hungry herself, she warmed up some leftovers for her daughter and sat down to knit a winter hat. Her mind gradually settled as she knitted; once she had calmed down, her first thought was to go see Mr. Cheng.

That night Mr. Cheng saw Wang Qiyao all the way downstairs when she left. They strolled along the Bund for a while; inside they were both deeply troubled but they kept their conversation away from what was bothering them. A few aquatic birds were flying low over the river and they heard the faint sound of a ferry’s whistle sounding as it made its way to Pudong on the other shore. With their backs to the water, they couldn’t help gazing up at the grand fortress-like buildings created by the British during the days of the treaty ports. The overweening style of the architecture could be traced back to the Roman empire; it was designed to look down over everything, impressing viewers with an air of tyrannical power. Fortunately, behind these magnificent buildings was an expanse of narrow streets and alleys that led to the longtang houses, whose spirit was democratic. The Huangpu River too stood as a symbol of democracy. The ocean breeze, coming in through the mouth of the Suzhou River, tries to blow inland, but is thwarted by the tall buildings along the Bund, which turn it back, causing it to increase in intensity. It is a good thing that the surface of the river is wide enough for the wind to spread out so that the opposing currents do not collide too violently; the consequence, however, is that the wind constantly rages around the Bund at all hours of the day and night.

“How’s your daughter?” Mr. Cheng inquired.

“She’s fine,” said Wang Qiyao.

But then she suddenly implored: “If something should happen to me one day, I would like you to take care of her.”

Mr. Cheng found himself smiling. “Jiang Lili is the one with the incurable disease, so why are you seeking a guardian for your child?”

The mere thought of Jiang Lili made their hearts heavy. After a few minutes, Wang Qiyao said, “It’s better to make arrangements now rather than later.”

“And what if I refuse?” asked Mr. Cheng.

“It’s not your place to refuse; I’ve already chosen you.”

There was a solemn despair in her tone that prevented her words from sounding flippant. Mr. Cheng turned to face the river, which glimmered faintly in the dark. He recalled how the three of them, Jiang Lili, Wang Qiyao, and himself, had gone together to the Cathay Theater to see a movie. How many years ago was that? How could it be possible that we are already approaching the end of the story? But the end is nothing like what they had imagined. It seemed as if nothing had been truly resolved, and yet everything was resolved.