Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

Zhang Yonghong didn’t say anything more. The two of them sat facing each other in silence for a while before Zhang Yonghong took her leave.

In the meantime, Weiwei’s boyfriend Xiao Lin was at a critical phase in his preparation for the college entrance exams, which naturally meant that he had less time to spend with her. Wang Qiyao noticed how bored and lonely Weiwei was and couldn’t help worrying that all this talk of “preparing for the exam” was merely an excuse. But then again, she realized that her daughter was not in immediate danger of becoming an old maid; even if it didn’t work out with Xiao Lin, she would still have plenty of opportunities to find a proper man. But she was still worried. At ten o’clock that night, after Weiwei had already showered and gone to bed, Xiao Lin unexpectedly called out to her from the longtang below. Weiwei went down in her nightgown and didn’t come back up. Wang Qiyao figured that she wouldn’t go far in her nightgown, but went to check up on her under the pretext of going to buy mosquito-repellent incense. At the end of the longtang she saw two figures standing at the intersection under the streetlight. There was a bicycle between them and they were talking. Weiwei was, as was her wont, acting silly, bearing her fangs and brandishing her claws to show how tough she was; the sound of her laughter carried deep into the night. Wang Qiyao sneaked back home. As she opened the door and stepped inside she felt calm, but was also struck with a feeling of emptiness. The feeling was set off by the empty room, where the only other presence was her shadow. The mirror on her nightstand was even more unbearable; standing outside the mirror and reflected within it was the same lonely soul. She should not have looked. Just as she was standing there, she heard Weiwei come flapping up the stairs in her slippers.

“Why did Xiao Lin come by so late?” asked Wang Qiyao.

“He got sick of studying and needed a break. He thought seeing me would help him relax.”

“Next time invite him up for some watermelon,” suggested Wang Qiyao.

“Who cares about watermelon?”

The next time Xiao Lin came over, he called Weiwei outside again for another evening chat under the streetlight. This time, however, Wang Qiyao walked over to them and told Weiwei that she had to pick up a few things at the store. She said she had left the door open and asked if Weiwei and her friend could go back and keep an eye on the place. Weiwei felt she had no choice but to drag Xiao Lin home, grumbling the whole time about how senseless her mother was to have forgotten to lock the door. The two of them went upstairs and talked about all kinds of things, and in the absence of Wang Qiyao they both felt much more at ease. Xiao Lin walked around the apartment; pointing at the walnut chest, he commented, “This is an antique.”

He went over to the mirror on the nightstand. “This is too, and it’s still in good shape.”

“Since when do mirrors go out of shape?” Weiwei replied.

Xiao Lin laughed but didn’t argue with her. Examining a pearly bed curtain he concluded that this too was an antique.

“So, to you,” Weiwei retorted, “our house is a second-hand store?” Xiao Lin knew she had misunderstood him, but didn’t try to explain. It was at that moment that Wang Qiyao came upstairs carrying several blocks of ice cream; she went into the kitchen for plates and spoons to serve them. The two young people were a bit edgy after their last exchange and neither spoke. Wang Qiyao asked Xiao Lin a series of questions, such as how his preparation for the exam was going and where the exam was to be held. Weiwei took the liberty of answering most of the questions for him. Xiao Lin couldn’t seem to get a word in edgewise and resorted to staring down at the floral patterns and gold rims on the plates; he was thinking to himself how rare it was to see such fine china these days. Xiao Lin may have been young, but he had a deep nostalgia for the past and was fond of everything old, not because he had ever enjoyed those things, but precisely because he had never had the opportunity. Everything he knew of the old days he learned from stories his parents told him; it was inevitable that they should have a few good memories, living in that old apartment of theirs. Xiao Lin saw in the things at Wang Qiyao’s apartment the remains of the old days; though they were just odds and ends, he could perceive that they were real.

“From now on, just come up when you want to talk to Weiwei,” said Wang Qiyao. “Don’t worry about being polite. What’s the point of standing outside under the streetlight like that — do you want to feed the mosquitoes?”

Xiao Lin laughed but Weiwei retorted, “He’s not trying to be polite — he doesn’t even know you.”

Wang Qiyao felt Weiwei’s comments were a bit out of line and ignored her. She took the dirty dishes into the kitchen and Xiao Lin got up and said goodnight.

From that point on, Xiao Lin stopped calling up to Weiwei through the window and would come directly upstairs, calling out to her from the staircase. Wang Qiyao would always find some excuse to go out so that they could have some time alone. When she eventually returned, it was only to fix them some snacks. When they were done eating, it would be time for Xiao Lin to go home. Those peaceful evenings they spent together were crucial to Xiao Lin, who was facing a potentially life-changing exam. They took his mind off the stress and allowed him to focus on some of the smaller details in life, which had nothing to do with fate, but are the underpinnings of fate. Under normal circumstances, they usually go unnoticed — the stuff of everyday life. Wang Qiyao had a talent for making everyday life special. She could transform things usually taken for granted and make one feel as if they were a gift. When that happened you would think: As bad as things may get, I will still always have this gift . To your average person, like Weiwei, the benefit of such a gift was negligible, because they have no aspirations in life. But to people eager for success, like Xiao Lin, it was magic.

During the final stretch before the exam, Xiao Lin came by almost every day. He was extremely nervous and, out of anxiety, became more gregarious than usual. Because Weiwei was childish and often pretended to understand even when she didn’t, Xiao Lin directed most of his remarks to Wang Qiyao. He told her that his father was an orphan and had been raised in a Catholic orphanage founded by Xu Guangqi. One day an elderly man came to the orphanage school, saying he would adopt whoever was best at memorizing passages from the Bible — the boy he wound up adopting was Xiao Lin’s father, who received a first-rate education and went on to study in America. All he ever wanted was for his children to have the opportunity to go to college and have successful careers. But neither of his two older children were fated to go to college — one was sent down to the countryside and the other became a factory worker. Now all of his hopes rested on Xiao Lin.

“Parents tend to exaggerate when they speak of their aspirations for their children,” Wang Qiyao laughed. “I’m sure all they want is what’s good for you, so you shouldn’t worry too much about them. Just concentrate on doing your best. What’s more, Xiao Lin, they only want a college education for you because that’s what you’re cut out for; in the end, their only hope is to help you achieve your own dreams. But if you spend all your time worrying about them, you’ll end up overlooking yourself.”

She wanted to lighten his load without relieving him of his responsibility, so that he could go into the exam without too much psychological baggage. Her words had the intended effect; Xiao Lin seemed to brighten up and grow calmer. But once this topic had been broached, there was no turning back: Xiao Lin went on to tell Wang Qiyao about his mother. She had been born into a middle-class family that skimped to scrape enough money together to put her through the Chinese-Western Girls’ Middle School. Sitting beside them, Weiwei began to grow impatient. She begged Xiao Lin to take her out for a walk, and he had no choice but to cut short his conversation with Wang Qiyao, albeit with a great deal of reluctance. Weiwei pranced down the stairs with Xiao Lin trailing behind her.