Xu Zechen - Running Through Beijing

“Three or four hundred phone calls, just for this?” Qibao laughed, somewhat lewdly.

Dunhuang rolled off her. “Bao Ding told me to look after you.”

“Could you not keep fucking bringing him up? He doesn’t own me. We just slept together, it’s nothing. What right does he have to tell you to look after me?” She sat up and started getting dressed.

“Are you leaving?” Dunhuang sat up too, and began retrieving her clothes from the floor. “I’ll see you out.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Qibao said, tossing the clothes back on the floor. “I’m not leaving, I’m staying here tonight!”

And she meant it. They went out for dinner, and came back together. They watched an old Stephen Chow movie, Hail the Judge , then had another round in bed. In the late-night stillness, Qibao held Dunhuang. She said, “Holding you feels really solid.”

“I’m skinny now,” Dunhuang said. “If I were fatter it would feel even more solid.”

“Shut up, you joker! I mean, when I hold you I feel anchored. Sometimes, when I’m alone, I can’t cry, even when I want to. You know what I mean?”

“I hardly have time to laugh, why would I cry?”

“You men — you’re stupid!”

“Why don’t you just find someone to marry?”

“Oh it’s that easy, is it?”

“Is it hard? If no one else is willing, I guess I could be convinced.”

“Dream on! What about money? With you I’d be eating sand.”

“That’s true.”

They didn’t say anything else, and fell asleep in each others’ arms. Dunhuang dreamed that Xiaorong was standing on a pedestrian overpass, shouting his name, the way he’d once shouted hers. Tears were streaming down her face as she called, and then she floated off the bridge like an old piece of clothing. Dunhuang woke covered in sweat. Qibao was sleeping soundly, her head in his armpit, smacking her lips lightly. Seen this way, eating even in her dreams, Qibao really looked only twenty-three. Dunhuang held her tightly. Just like she’d said — he wanted to cry but couldn’t.

* * *

Dunhuang tried not to think about Bao Ding. Restock. Sell DVDs. Call Qibao when he missed her. When she wanted to come over he’d go home and wait there. When she wanted him to come out he’d put down whatever he was doing and run or take the bus to where she was. His routines were regular but hers weren’t — it was impossible for a fake ID seller to have routines. She had a lot of friends she went carousing with, and she came home at all hours — sometimes, when he called at midnight, she was still out. He urged her to be careful, it wasn’t safe for a girl to come home too late by herself. She said she’d be happier dead anyway.

He had been sorting DVDs when she said that. “That’s a nice way to talk. What if you were assaulted?”

“Do you mean for money or for sex?”

“What do you think?”

“If they’re after money I don’t have any. If they’re after sex. . well it’s about time to start shopping around, anyway.”

“You’re determined to drive me crazy!”

Qibao was intently painting her toenails black, and didn’t even look up. “Look at you, worried about this, worried about that. Even if no one else drives you crazy you’ll do it to yourself.”

That made Dunhuang pause, and he put down what he was doing. He was fucking twenty-five years old — when had he become such a nag? But after he berated himself he couldn’t help adding, “But seriously, how about we rent a place together? You could quit the ID business — they’re coming down harder on it lately.”

“Hell no,” Qibao said, kicking her legs in the air. “You stay in your place, I’ll stay in mine. I’m not interested in controlling anyone, and I sure as hell don’t want to be in anyone else’s pocket.”

“Look at where you’re living — that girl’s screeches are horrible.” Dunhuang was talking about the roommate. One night, Qibao told him to come over because her roommate wasn’t going to be home. He went, but in the middle of the night the girl came back after all, and brought a guy with her. Then it was shouting and moaning all night, as though she’d brought back a dozen guys — Dunhuang hadn’t slept a wink.

“God, so she yells a bit when she’s happy, what’s wrong with that? Not everyone’s like you, plowing away in silence.”

Dunhuang held his peace, watching Qibao minister to her toes. “I just care about you. You’re my girlfriend, after all.”

“Whoo! Lucky me.” She continued applying nail polish. It was hopeless.

Back to sorting. His hand paused over The Bicycle Thief , as he thought of the girl in Zhichunli. He hadn’t heard from her in days. He remembered the last time she called was three days after he’d given her The Bicycle Thief . She said she watched it. She wanted another violent movie and another horror, and two of something else while he was at it. He asked, What something else? She said, something like The Bicycle Thief . He asked her if she liked it, and she suddenly said she’d have to call back later, someone was at the door. About five minutes later she called again, saying sorry, but that she was busy, and she would call again some other time. Then she hung up. Dunhuang had waited, but she never called again. He waited a few more days, then tried calling a couple of times, but she never picked up. Then he’d found Qibao, and was too distracted to think of the girl again.

He worked it out — seventeen days. It wasn’t normal. He dialed her number, and she still didn’t answer. He decided to go have a look, and asked Qibao if she wanted to go.

“Go where?” she asked.

“To see a girl.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll go, to keep an eye on you.”

When he said he was running there she complained, “It’s on the other side of Zhongguancun, are you nuts? If you can’t afford the bus I’ll pay for it.”

“Forget it then, you can stay home.”

Qibao grumbled for a while, then said, “Okay, I guess misery loves company.”

Dunhuang briefly explained the girl’s situation, then they were out the door and moving. As they passed Pacific Computer City Qibao began running out of steam. They managed to stagger across the Zhongguancun bridge, but then Qibao plopped herself down on the street and refused to move, insisting they get a taxi. She wouldn’t go back, and wouldn’t let him keep running. Misery loves company indeed. Dunhuang had no choice but to get a taxi. “You’re crazy,” she said, once they were in the cab.

They buzzed up from downstairs, but no one answered. “Stop flattering yourself,” said Qibao. “She’s ignoring you.” Dunhuang wouldn’t give up, however, and waited by the door. At last someone went in, and they went in after. They climbed to the top floor, and saw two wide white strips of paper pasted over the girl’s door. Qibao looked at him with satisfaction, “See? You’re being gallant for nothing.”

“What the hell do you know,” Dunhuang said. “Why would her apartment suddenly be sealed?”

“Ask the police department.”

Dunhuang stood in front of the door for a while, trying to peer through the peephole, but it was blocked. He was baffled. Qibao dragged him back downstairs. He sat down on the steps outside the door and insisted on having a cigarette. As he was lighting it, a middle-aged woman came downstairs, and he asked her if she knew why the apartment on the top floor had been sealed. The woman shook her head, saying she didn’t know, and went on her way. He asked another person passing by, who had even less of a clue.

“What’s going on?” asked Qibao. “Why are you so concerned?”

“I just want to know what she thought of the movie I gave her.”