Xu Zechen - Running Through Beijing

“Of course! I got myself a cell phone!”

Xiaorong was so angry she swore at him. “Go to hell!” and then hung up. Dunhuang was still laughing cheerfully. He sent her a text, Damn it’s nice to know someone’s looking out for you! Even going back to jail would be worth it. She sent back, In your dreams! Who’s looking out for you? You don’t even look out for yourself! Dunhuang felt happy anyway, and for the rest of the day he went around grinning, somewhat disconcertingly, at people he didn’t even know.

The cell phone was soon put to use. While he was selling DVDs outside the south gate of Peking University, two students asked if he had Run Lola Run . He went through his bag and, sure enough, found a copy. He’d never seen the movie, but had stuck it in his bag because of the red-haired girl running on the cover — he just liked how it looked. One of the students said, “Thank god, we’ve finally found a copy. Good movies are damned hard to find.”

A light went on in Dunhuang’s head, and he asked, “So that’s a good movie?”

The other student answered, “Of course, it’s a classic. We looked through all the DVD shops in the neighborhood and couldn’t find it. Do you have any more copies? Our whole class needs to watch it, the professor assigned a critique.”

“How many copies?”

“Twenty or thirty, at least, what do you think?” one said to the other.

“That should do it.”

Dunhuang’s heart leaped in his throat. I’ll be damned, that’s some cash. He quickly asked if tomorrow was too late, he could bring them over. The students said that was fine, the sooner the better, they would buy them for the other students. They exchanged phone numbers, and the students said they’d contact him after class the next day. Dunhuang called Xiaorong, who happened to be near their re-supply shop, and when she came home that night she brought back thirty copies of Run Lola Run . The next day the two students called him, and, sure enough, they bought all thirty.

Thirty in one stroke. Dunhuang was thrilled. It was like before, when he’d get a whole pile of fake ID orders at once. As the students were walking away he ran after them, saying they should call him if they needed more DVDs in the future. As long as he had it in stock, he’d deliver right away. He was afraid they’d lose his number, so he wrote it down on two pieces of paper and gave one to each of them.

Later on, the two students — one was named Huang, the other Zhang — really did call him with orders. First it was Der Himmel über Berlin , then two different versions of Spring in a Small Town : Fei Mu’s original version, and the Tian Zhuangzhuang remake. They had all been assigned as subjects for critiques, and between the three films he sold a total of ninety-eight copies.

Their living arrangement came to an end after twenty-one days. That evening was no different than any other, except for a high wind. High winds are nothing special in Beijing — it’s a rare day when the branches aren’t tossing. But it was really blowing that night. It sounded like a crowd of children was weeping outside the window. There was something wrong with Xiaorong’s windows, they rattled heavily, as if the crowd of children wasn’t just weeping, but pounding on the glass, too. Xiaorong was tucked into bed by ten past eleven, flipping through an old magazine. Her phone beeped to indicate an incoming message, and when she looked at it, her expression became complicated. When Dunhuang emerged from the bathroom she was still bent over the phone, scanning the message over and over, but not actually reading it at all. Instead, she was waiting for Dunhuang.

Dunhuang was wrapped in a towel, and nothing else. He didn’t see the point, he’d just have to undress again for bed. When he entered the bedroom Xiaorong said, “He’s coming.” Dunhuang unwrapped his towel and said, “That’s right he’s coming. And here he is.”

Xiaorong waved the phone at him. “He’s coming over around midnight.” Seeing Dunhuang’s stunned look, she added quietly, “He’s coming to apologize.”

Dunhuang felt coolness on his lower body as the towel began sliding all the way off. He grabbed hold of it and rewrapped himself. He understood. Xiaorong’s head hung low and he couldn’t see her expression behind her bangs. He turned slowly and retrieved his clothes from the back of the chair — his underwear, shirt, sweater, long underwear, and jeans, and his socks and shoes from the floor. Holding his clothes, he went into the bathroom to get dressed. The heat of the shower hadn’t dispersed, but as he dressed he felt goose bumps rising on his upper arms. When he was done, he folded the towel and put it neatly away and collected his toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream, and razor before coming out. He put these things into a shopping bag with a few other small items, then stuffed that bag into the backpack he’d carried the first time he came into the apartment. He discovered that, after only a few short days, he’d somehow accumulated too much stuff to fit in the pack. No matter how simple and trivial life was, it still swelled up on you, expanding pointlessly. In the past, he’d only very occasionally had the sense that his life might be superfluous. But now — as if he was perched out at the very edge of the world, as if he were a hateful tumor hanging perilously from the side of life — it abruptly seemed that absolutely everything about him was unnecessary. He found the largest Carrefour shopping bag in the house and determined to collect his pointless belongings. Once he was done, he would make himself scarce before the other guy came. It was only right. Everything in order, he hoisted his pack, picked up the shopping bag, and made to leave. Xiaorong finally spoke.

“Take the DVDs with you.”

He said nothing, and continued toward the door. She jumped out of bed and dragged him back by the strap of his pack. He turned and saw her bare legs — in fact her whole lower body was bare, the patch of fur dark at her crotch. Unashamed, Xiaorong took his hand and placed it on her bare thigh, then slid it upwards and inwards. Dunhuang felt the hair, curly, smooth, clean, and gleaming brightly.

“We’ve been together ten years,” she murmured, her other hand feeling for Dunhuang’s jacket zipper, pulling it gently up and down. She liked the sound zippers made. “All I want now is to go back home, to have a family. I want my own house and my own child. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

Dunhuang smiled at her and said, “You should go back.” His hand was still on her skin; she had goose bumps from the cold. The weather forecast had said that another sandstorm was on the way, the temperature was dropping. Perhaps winter would return tomorrow.

“Take the DVDs,” she said again. “Call me when they’re sold and I’ll bring you some more.”

He thought about it, and said okay. He removed his hand and took the bag. Some were regular DVDs, some were porn. He went out the door laden with his three bags, like a traveler setting out on a long journey. As he left he finally saw her tears fall.

The wind outside was so brutal it nearly tipped him over. He considered looking up to see if Xiaorong was watching from the window, but checked himself in the act. Lowering his gaze, he went out the compound gate into the teeth of the wind. His hair wasn’t completely dry, and the wind felt like cold water splashed on his head. He wanted a cigarette. A few days ago, Xiaorong had forbidden him from smoking after he brushed his teeth in the evening. He hadn’t understood the logic. Now it felt as though several days’ worth of cravings were hitting him all at once. He broke into a run beneath the stuttering streetlamp and found a wall that blocked the wind where he could light up. He tossed his bags down and slumped to the ground. After chain-smoking five cigarettes the pack was empty, but he wanted more. It was past midnight. He stood up, dusting off his chilled butt, and went to buy another pack.