Xu Xiaobin - Dunhuang Dream

Yes, it happened one morning over ten years ago, you could say something from a previous age, and therefore never clear. She woke early with the presentiment that something was going to happen. She went to her older sister’s room. Her slender sister always slept comfortably, her blanket pulled tight around her. It was a sign of chastity. By contrast, Xiao Xingxing’s mother always scolded for the way she slept. She would throw off her blanket and sleep with her legs apart or she would squeeze the blanket between her legs. In short, she wasn’t the sort of girl people liked. Besides, she was another girl in the family, and so no one regarded her birth as an important matter.

Her father was the only exception. At the time, her father was preoccupied with carrying out a political campaign aimed at the members of the Communist Party in the early 1950s. He didn’t even look at her until ten or more days after she was born, but that one look was decisive in that her father gave her a lifetime of love. To him, she was a beautiful baby. But because her father never expressed his feelings for her, she harbored a sense of inferiority for a long time. She sometimes thought her feelings of inferiority stemmed from her slender sister, Xiao Yueyue, who was so gentle and refined. Xiao Xingxing, however, felt that her breasts and butt were too big, her waist too narrow, and her legs too thick. Everything was wrong.

That morning was like any other. Xiao Xingxing dawdled around at home until the last minute, and then amid the mutterings of her mother and grandmother, rolled out the door like a gust of wind. Her book bag, gloves, surgical mask, and scarf cut a colorful figure in the cold wind. She rushed to the subway entrance — that was when the first subway line had started running — looking at her watch and chewing the last bite of mantou as usual. On the platform, she suddenly heard a noise sweep toward her and before she could turn around, she felt a violent blow on her shoulder that nearly sent her over the white warning line. She saw the gazes of the other passengers freeze as several young men pounced on a young man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, who was running very fast. The heavy thuds of the men’s boots echoed throughout the subway. Then a shrill voice, like metal on glass, shrieked: “Catch the counterrevolutionary! Catch the counterrevolutionary!” In the end, the young man had been flung down and beaten senseless at the subway exit. His eyes, which had moments before been bright and shining, were now a bloody pulp. Xingxing covered her face with her hands. At that moment, she caught a faint glimpse of the cold light from a pair of handcuffs, the sight of which pierced her to the heart. Three trains passed and still she trembled.

From then on, whenever she saw that viscous dark red color, she would feel like vomiting. It was a color followed by death. She felt that the color concealed a mysterious omen. Sure enough, three days later, she saw the notice at a bend in a desolate street, the far-off notice that she’d never forget.

She once again felt as if everything had been blotted out by that dark red nightmare.

17

Xingxing woke up very late.

The first thing she did upon getting out of bed was to look in the mirror. Her eyes were swollen. Her entire face looked pale and puffy.

“What’s Weiwei up to? And Mousheng?” She filled her bowl with leftover porridge, took a couple of pieces of Yunnan rutabaga, and ate without much of an appetite. She felt it strange that she thought of her husband and son only during the day, in the morning just after getting out of bed. But night belonged solely to the past, to her secrets.

Mousheng had counseled her many times not to go: “If you have to go, at least wait till I’m on vacation so that we can go together. I’ll have no peace of mind if you go alone.” “If the two of us go, what about the child? I’m a painter; I have to get out.” When Mousheng put her on the train, he said, “If you decide you don’t like it, just come home. Don’t be too thrifty. If you need money, I’ll send it. Away from home, things are not that sanitary. Be careful what you eat. Write often. . don’t worry about the boy. . have a good time and enjoy yourself.”

Sometimes Mousheng was so caring and solicitous. Xingxing knew that many women envied her, but they didn’t know the real Mousheng. She consoled herself with the thought that no marriage was perfect. She really feared every day becoming the same. She felt the frightening triviality of routine slowly eating away at her soul, increasing her inertia. She began to put on weight and was incapable of painting for a long time. One day, as Mousheng asked the same question he asked every day with his usual zest, “Xingxing, what are we having for dinner tonight?” she blew up for no apparent reason.

Man is not an emotional or rational creature, but rather a creature of habit. How terrible it was to be a creature of habit!

“Dear Mousheng, How are you?” she sat down and wrote. Picking up her pen, she felt a profound fatigue. She wrote “Dear Mousheng, How are you?” several times, and each time tore up the letter she was writing. But then Weiwei’s plump, grinning face appeared before her.

Dear Mousheng, How are you?

Being in Dunhuang is like being in a Buddhist land. My old mental haze seems to have dissipated somewhat, only to be replaced by a new kind. But one thing is for sure: when I get back, I’ll paint things that will surprise you. How is Weiwei? Is he still picky about his food? I hear there is a new medicine called “male dragon for healthy bones,” which is good for children. Why not give him some? Don’t keep him covered all the time. His cough comes from being covered, not from the cold .

Do you miss me? A kiss for you. Kiss Weiwei for me .

Xingxing July 9

When she finished the letter, she felt as if she had fulfilled some obligation. She heaved a sigh.

18

At lunchtime, Zhang Shu showed up with a live fish and two Yellow River melons.

The fish Xingxing cooked was delicious, and Zhang Shu ate three bowls of rice. As he ate, he kept his eyes fixed on her. She noticed but paid no attention.

“Xingxing.”

“Huh?”

“I was wondering who was lucky enough to be your husband.” Zhang Shu did his best to make it sound like a joke, but his awkwardness only confirmed that he was serious.

“My husband is just an ordinary guy.”

“What does he do?”

“He teaches management in a university.”

“That puts him in a favored position today. Why doesn’t he go into business? Don’t people say these days that nine out of ten million people are failures here and the other one million leave the country on business?”

Xingxing laughed. “Maybe he’ll go into business. What about your wife? What does she do?”

“She’s the director of PR at a big company.”

“Now that’s really the job of the moment,” said Xingxing, regaining some of her liveliness. “She must be very pretty.”

“People say she’s pretty.”

“What do you mean ‘people say’?”

“. . everyone’s appreciation of beauty is different. What I mean is when a husband and wife have been together for a time, looks don’t really matter.”

“Do you have any children?”

“A son. He’s nine.”

“That’s it. There’s no way for us to become in-laws.”

“You have a son, too?” he said, startled.

“Yes, and he might become your son’s rival in love someday!” She laughed, which wiped away her inner unhappiness.

“Can I ask how old you are?” He couldn’t believe she was already a mother, but he didn’t want to be presumptuous by asking a woman’s age, so he tried to make it sound like a joke.