Xu Zechen: Running Through Beijing

Dunhuang stood up. “Hey, man.”

“I guessed it was you, Dunhuang.” Bao Ding sat down across from him, starting to grin but then stopping himself. His face was a mass of bruises, and there were scabs at the corner of mouth and eye. “Nice duds, are they new? A man ought to look good.”

“Your face. . ” Dunhuang glanced at the guard five meters off.

“It’s nothing. Got into a fight with a Hubei guy. Cock-sucker was messing with a friend and I got sick of it, got into it with him. It’s almost better.”

“How’s your hand?”

“That’s fine — I wouldn’t have taken on the Hubei punk otherwise.”

“I thought I might not be able to find you.”

“I think they’re transferring me soon, they can’t keep me here past seven months without charging me. How are you doing?”

“Not bad, I’m selling DVDs. I haven’t gotten together enough money yet,” he said, lowering his voice, and his head.

“Are you nuts? I told you before, don’t even think about it. I know what’s what, even if I’m convicted it’s only a year or two, I’ll survive. Don’t kill yourself on my account. I’ve got room and board, you worry about yourself. Just bring me a carton of smokes from time to time.”

“I brought some. Also some food and stuff, stomach pills.” Dunhuang lowered his voice again.“And something to grease palms with, if you need it.”

“Either way, it’s cool,” Bao Ding said. “Did you find Qibao?”

“Yeah, she helped me buy all this stuff. Picked out these clothes, too. She’s been busy lately, so she couldn’t come with me.”

As he spoke, Dunhuang stared at a smudge on the glass, thinking it was probably year-old fly shit. Silence seemed to spread outward from his own ears, then he heard Bao Ding say, “She’s not bad, huh?”

“Yeah, she’s nice.”

Bao Ding started laughing, then put a hand to his face and stopped. “It’s fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about it, I’m a big boy. Just concentrate on making money.”

“Okay.”

“Remember, whatever happens, don’t let it get to you.”

“Okay.”

“Go on back.”

“Okay.”

They finished before their visiting time was up. Dunhuang watched Bao Ding being taken back through the door, walking stiffly, the scraping of his shoes on the concrete a little chilling. Go on back, he’d said, as easy as that. Qibao. Qibao. Dunhuang looked at the empty doorway, and silently cursed Qibao— You know what, you really are the child of a fox spirit. The guard yelled, “He’s gone!” and Dunhuang realized he was still sitting there dumbly. He quickly stood.

He took it upon himself to do a little palm-greasing on his own, and was a long time about it. Standing outside the prison gates, smoking, he was totally exhausted. By the time he paid for the bus to get back to the city he was nearly penniless.

The sun went down as the bus reached Hangtian Bridge. Dunhuang got off and headed for Qibao’s place. Her phone was off, she was most likely asleep. She distinguished night from day not by the clock or by the sun, but by when she felt sleepy. Whenever she was sleepy it was night; the sun could be shining, but she’d pull the curtains and crash. She was a savage, fearless little creature, going her own way. Dunhuang rang the bell downstairs over and over, but no one answered. Fuck, she was a deep sleeper. He rang again, and finally someone answered the intercom — Qibao’s roommate, the girl with legs as skinny as chopsticks. Qibao called her Bony Beauty, but Dunhuang thought The Skeleton was more like it. Plenty of go in that skinny body, though, she was always bringing men home with her. Dunhuang didn’t see the appeal of lying on top of a rack of ribs.

“Who’s trying to break the buzzer,” Bony Beauty said nastily. Dunhuang announced himself, and her tone softened a bit. “Qibao’s not here.” He asked where she’d gone, and the girl said she didn’t know, try asking her cellphone.

“Try asking her cellphone”—nice. Would I be here if that had worked? Dunhuang assumed she was pissed off because she’d had to push some guy off her to answer the intercom. Just hanging around seemed boring, so he went to the supermarket, bought a pack of stickers, and started making ads. He changed the wording: “All movies, any movies.” Once he’d finished, he started pasting them nearby, choosing quiet corners and unobtrusive spots. The sanitation workers were campaigning against advertising like his, calling it “urban psoriasis,” and posting stickers in obvious places was just asking to have them torn down. He stuck some on the mailboxes in the lobby of the apartment building. It was nine thirty by the time he was done, and Qibao’s phone was still off. He was starving, so he went to Malan Noodles for a bowl of something, then took his time sauntering back. She still wasn’t home. This time Bony Beauty didn’t snap at him, but said, “I’m sure she’ll be back any minute, want to come up and wait?”

Dunhuang said he’d stay downstairs, he was afraid he’d have to listen to Bony Beauty’s caterwauling. He sat down on a low wall in the garden outside the building, put his head on his knees, and was asleep in two minutes, his body a rigid triangle. When he woke it was one in the morning and Qibao was standing in front of him, reeking of booze. “What are you doing here?”

Dunhuang stood, his bones creaking. He felt a nameless indignation gathering in his gut. “Where else should I be?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were coming. I went out with friends.”

“What the hell kind of friends don’t need to sleep at night?”

“Just drinking buddies okay? Here, help me upstairs.” Qibao made to take his arm. Dunhuang shook it off, saying, “I’m not fucking going anywhere!”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why should I keep my voice down!?” Dunhuang was shouting, a little hysterically, “What the fuck is everybody sleeping for? Wake the hell up!”

Lights came on in several windows, and heads poked out: “Who’s yelling? Let us sleep, you asshole!”

Dunhuang pointed at them and shouted: “You’re the fucking assholes!”

“What’s wrong with you!” said Qibao. “Come upstairs!”

“I’m not fucking going,” said Dunhuang, then turned and started walking off. Qibao called after him but he ignored her, lengthening his stride. Qibao followed him out of the compound onto the street, saying: “Dunhuang, if you don’t stop this instant I’ll kill you so help me God!”

Dunhuang stopped. “Go ahead then. Kill me now.”

Qibao walked around in front of him and saw that he was crying. She softened, handing him a tissue to wipe his face. “I know you’re upset about Bao Ding,” she said. “I really did go have dinner with friends tonight, and my phone battery died this afternoon. Cross my heart.”

Dunhuang lit a cigarette, his heart choked with weeds. “Go back home,” he said to her, then started walking. He didn’t know what Bao Ding would have done if it was he who’d been let out, and Dunhuang was still inside. He smoked one cigarette after another, tossing the butts aside. Qibao followed behind him, picking up each butt he tossed, and in that way they eventually arrived at Suzhou Bridge. More than an hour of walking — she hadn’t walked so much in all her years in Beijing. Her feet were aching; she felt she couldn’t take another step. She flagged a taxi on the night shift, and pulled up alongside Dunhuang.

“Get in,” she said, showing him her handful of cigarette butts. “If you want to keep up this stupid act, you can forget about seeing me again.”

Dunhuang looked at the cigarette butts in her hand — thirty in all. He opened the cab door and got in.