Mu Xin - An Empty Room

Whenever I had some free time to cross the river and visit Jiefu, I couldn’t help but think of the boy. What if I photographed him and asked Jiefu to select the few best ones to pass as if they were my own childhood photos? I felt a lightness thinking of this way to defy that catastrophic fire which had destroyed what should never have been destroyed. But my joy was soon overshadowed with worries: how could I convince Weiliang to change his hairstyle and clothes to correspond to the time period of my childhood?

The idea ebbed and flowed in my mind like the tide. Soon I simplified it to this: To ask Jiefu to take a photo with both Weiliang and me in it, which would be like juxtaposing my own images from two time periods. I could also claim without misgivings: This is me with my young friend Weiliang who looks like me as a child. But would Weiliang consent to the photograph? Children are naturally suspicious of adults.

A beautiful Sunday in spring arrived, and I realized I hadn’t crossed the river for a while.

Nothing had changed in the small town, and nothing looked foreign. Jiefu had retired several years ago. We usually met in the city as he enjoyed the bustling pace of the place as he aged. We’d meet at a restaurant downtown for drinks so that he could revisit his old neighborhood and quench his nostalgic thirst. He had become very carefree about life and yet he was fastidious about certain details. When he moved, he drew me a map with directions of his new address, though of course I remembered every detail of his town.

Jiefu moved from the north part of town to the south. He lived in a new apartment complex. The place was so large and clean that it seemed almost dreary. He was so excited to see me that he bounced around awkwardly, repeating himself several times. I was touched by his childlike affection.

As we smoked, we compared his old neighborhood with his new one. I asked him, “Do you know if Weiliang and his family are still living in the same place?”

“Yes, they’re still there.”

“Do you see him at all?”

“Quite often. The boy enjoys chess and I’m giving him lessons.”

“Now that’s where he and I differ. I never liked chess as a child.”

He laughed as if admitting a mistake. “How can the two of you be the same in everything!”

“Do you think I can see him today?”

“He’ll come this afternoon. It’s Sunday, isn’t it? He always comes in the afternoon,” he said. Then he added as if talking to himself, “I’ll ask him to come.”

I followed Jiefu out the door into the hallway. As he gave a handful of candies to a little girl, asking her to be his messenger, I cautioned him, “Don’t tell him. Don’t let him know that I’m the one who wants to see him.”

Jiefu turned around and said, “It’s the same old you who knows all his whims.”

The little messenger soon returned, giving her report while chewing a candy and leaning against the door frame. “Weiliang. . he’s eating his lunch and says he’ll come after the movie.”

She waved a movie ticket in her hand and disappeared.

Jiefu insisted that we go to a restaurant where we could not only eat seasonal food, but also sit by the window so we could see the river and enjoy the willow branches dancing in the wind, smell the sweet aroma of rape flowers blowing across the water. After we were seated I told him about my secret wish that still ebbed and flowed like the tide.

“I think you’ve been thinking far too much,” Jiefu said. “Taking photos isn’t such a big deal. You can either take pictures of the boy or take pictures with the two of you together. Give a few to him and he’ll be the one to say thank you.”

“But it’s not like photography in the usual sense of the word as I’m thinking of using his photos to replace mine that were burned. Perhaps I’d even use his photo in a book. . ”

Jiefu became silent, which shook my confidence. I considered abandoning my strange idea.

He lit a cigarette and began to speak slowly. “Your idea, I believe, is neither right nor wrong. Weiliang only outwardly resembles your childhood self. In other respects he is entirely different. I. . I believe these childhood photos might be useful for you in the years ahead, but not to him. . ”

I smiled a helpless smile. “It is troubling. Am I being selfish, using his childhood like this? If so, I’d rather settle with the idea of being an orphan.”

The light in his eyes dimmed, and then suddenly flashed. “No, no it isn’t that. Let’s do it this way. We should take the photos today and then find a first rate portrait artist to paint from the photos and change the style of dress to that of the 1930s. This will be you. Remember how much you liked that navy-blue soldier’s shirt with big turned-over collars, and in cold weather you’d wear that traditional burgundy silk jacket, with a French hat tipped across your head?”

The old man glowed, wildly gesticulating.

“Here, please eat, eat. . All I want is the photograph of a child’s face.”

“This would be so easy to paint!”

“No. . no, I want a photograph not a painting. The image in a painting is a reflection of the painter. An artist who draws a portrait that doesn’t reflect his inner being is a boring painter — I wouldn’t like his work.”

The food on the table was turning cold. We quickly ended our meal in case the little guest was already waiting for us.

Jiefu was, after all, much more experienced than I was. On the way back to his place, I accepted his suggestion: We’d take the photos first and decide what to do with them later.

The little guest had not arrived yet. Jiefu cleaned the chessboard, then lit an incense stick, inserting it into a vase. Beyond the half-rolled bamboo blinds a ferry boat sounded its long horn.

When Weiliang arrived, my enthusiasm instantly vanished.

I realized that it had been three years since I had last seen him. Jiefu saw him frequently. He retained the impression of the boy three years before in his mind and didn’t notice any changes since then.

The two of them became absorbed in a chess game while I watched intently. In his eyebrows, his nose, his forehead, Weiliang betrayed no resemblance to my childhood self. The dissimilarities as a whole constituted Weiliang — a good-looking youth in a village town who was completely different from me. His life would be more stable and fortunate.

there was a time when our research institute owned two vehicles, a jeep and a minibus, and Li Shan was the only driver.

Li Shan was the institute’s driver for three years. During his first two years he was cheerful and carefree, but sometime during his third year he became reticent. He would often be seen taking a nap in one of the vehicles. My co-workers hardly noticed the change in him. Since he had given me driving lessons, I approached him to see how he was doing. He told me that his married life wasn’t harmonious. Not a rare thing, of course. People fall in love and get married, then life together relentlessly exposes each spouse’s true nature to the other. If two rocks constantly rub against each other, each loses its rough edges — the man and woman henceforth live in uneventful mediocrity (“till death do we part” being the name of the drama). I put my hands on Li Shan’s shoulder and consoled him: “Don’t worry. Things will get better. Give it time. With time and patience, everything will be fine.” He looked at me vaguely, which I took to be either an acknowledgment of gratitude or a sign of annoyance.

As I’ve gradually come to understand, Hong Lou Meng ( The Dream of the Red Mansion ) is a great novel not only because of its multi-layered meanings that have been widely commented on, but also because of this fascinating truth it reveals: any organization with one or two hundred employees interacting on a daily basis is similar to the kinship structure in Hong Lou Meng . Our institute was relatively small in size, with somewhere between one hundred and two hundred people. On the surface things seemed peaceful and prosperous, but in reality the workplace had disintegrated. Each resented the other and everyone blamed one another. This opaque, confusing, tension-filled atmosphere had been developing for a long time. Consequently, everyone had learned to play a specific role in the daily drama. Sometimes they hurt others to benefit themselves; sometimes they hurt others to no benefit at all. The pleasure derived from benefiting oneself wasn’t always obtainable, but the pleasure derived from hurting others was easily obtainable at any time.