Jia Pingwa - Ruined City

“Mr. Zhong,” he said, “you just rest and worry about getting better.”

“Zhidie,” Zhong said, “how can I ever thank you? Nothing is easy in the city except when it’s time to die.”

“We don’t have to wait that long. You got sick, and everything’s been taken care of.”

“Yes, I’m lucky,” Zhong said, “I’m truly lucky. Zhidie, they just handed me the decision to present my case to a higher authority. That decision is more effective than hundreds of doses of medication.”

“The Job Assignment Office will give their approval soon. I’ll bring your assignment certificate letter in its red plastic cover tomorrow, and you’re on the road to recovery.”

“Ah, an assignment letter,” Zhong said. “An assignment letter. Is that all I’m worth? Zhidie, do you think that’s all I want?” He broke down and sobbed. Zhuang, too, was choking on his tears.

Zhuang slept well that night. Liu Yue, dressed only in panties, walked back and forth outside his bedroom door. He was dimly aware of her before falling back to sleep. Even when she brushed his lashes with the tip of her hair, all he said was, “Let me sleep.” Then he turned over and was fast asleep. At one point she pushed him, pulled back the blanket, and tapped him.

“Go away,” he said angrily.

“Look outside,” she said. “Do you know what time it is? The phone has been ringing off the hook. Dajie is getting mad. Are you going to answer or aren’t you?”

He finally woke up. The sun was high on the window sash. He hurried over, picked up the phone, and sped to the hospital on his motor scooter, without washing his face or rinsing out his mouth.

Editor Zhong was lying in bed, visibly thinner, and nearly unrecognizable without his glasses. At five in the morning, he had coughed up so much blood it filled half a spittoon. The emergency doctor complained about Niu Yueqing, Zhou Min, and Gou Dahai, who were there to help with the care, saying that the patient had been in stable condition since coming to, and there was no reason he should be coughing up blood. That was a bad sign, for it could signal ruptured blood vessels in the stomach. The internal bleeding had to be stopped. “He was in such high spirits the day before that he ate dumplings and took a walk around,” Niu Yueqing said. “Everyone was saying it was a miracle. How could it have turned around so suddenly?” The doctor asked what had gotten Zhong so worked up. When Zhou Min said it was about his job title, the doctor scolded them for telling him at a time like this. Even a healthy person can suffer all sorts of problems when excited. The bleeding stopped after a series of rescue treatments, and Zhong regained consciousness. He gave Zhou a key to his room at the magazine, asking him to bring him the case under his pillow. When it was brought over, he held it and sobbed. Though puzzled, no one tried to pry the case out of his hands.

“Mr. Zhong,” Niu Yueqing said, “you prefer your old hard pillow over the soft one here, don’t you?”

He shook his head.

“Maybe Mr. Zhong’s savings are in there,” Zhou offered. “Why don’t you give it to me for safekeeping? I promise nothing will happen to it.”

Zhong would not budge. By nine o’clock, he said he wanted to see Zhuang.

“Why hasn’t Zhidie come to see me? Go find him and bring him over.”

When Zhuang arrived, Niu Yueqing took him aside and whispered what this was about. “Don’t mention the job title again. The doctor said he shouldn’t get excited and that he mustn’t cough up blood again. He won’t let go of the case that was under his pillow. Does it contain his money or his bank deposit book? He and his wife never got along, so maybe he doesn’t want her to have it. But we have to tell her now that he’s in this condition. If he won’t let us keep it for him, what would keep her from taking it? But then what’s the point of us keeping the case for him if he’s not going to make it?”

“Let me see him first,” Zhuang said as he walked up and took Zhong’s hand. “I’m here, Mr. Zhong.”

Zhong opened his eyes and smiled. “I wasn’t going to die before you got here.”

Zhuang teared up. “Don’t talk like that. Don’t think about anything. There’ll be a miracle, Mr. Zhong. There will be.”

Zhong nodded. “That’s what I thought, too. I should have been dead long ago, so I am a miracle.”

A tear rolled down his cheek, nearly disappearing in the creases, leaving a shiny trail as if a snail had crawled over his face. “I’m not going to make it this time, Zhidie. I can sense that I’m dying. Do you think I’ll die a worthy death?”

“It’s been tough all these years, but you have lived a full life in spite of it. The social value you created has given your life great worth. You’re truly a man who has lived a pure and noble life. You’re better than any of us. That’s why you’re a miracle.”

“You’re better than me,” Zhong said, showing signs of fatigue. He rested awhile before continuing, “But I’m finally going to have the certificate, along with this case. It’s a shame I couldn’t help produce the desired result with the lawsuit. People will laugh at me.”

“No one would dare laugh at you. People are amazed and astounded by you,” Zhuang said, noticing the color draining from the old man’s face and his labored breathing. He knew Zhong would not last long, so he held back tears and asked: “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Zhong?”

“Hold on, old Zhong,” Li Hongwen said. “I sent a telegram to your family. They’ll likely get it this morning. In a little while the head of the department will be here, and many writers have inquired about your condition. They all said they’ll come see you.”

“No, I don’t want anyone to come,” Zhong said, waving his hand for everyone but Zhuang to leave. Though they were puzzled, they had to abide by his wish. When they were gone, he handed the case to Zhuang and said: “No one lives forever, Zhidie, and I’m not afraid of dying. I just don’t want someone to suffer from the grief. She wanted to come but has a broken leg, and I’ll probably be dead by the time she arrives. So please give her this case, along with the issue of the magazine dealing with the lawsuit. And that’s everything I have. Don’t ask me who the person is. You’ll know when she comes.”

Zhuang took the case; it felt heavy in his hands. Sensing he was deceiving the old man, he wanted to tell Zhong everything before he died, but he could not bring himself to do it. He would rather be tormented for the rest of his life over the guilt of lying to the old man and squandering his emotional attachment than to have the man leave for another world with the despair of learning the truth. Nodding to Zhong, Zhuang watched as his body convulsed violently; he waved his hands in front of his chest as blood gushed out through his tightly closed lips. It spread evenly, like fireworks in the sky, some drops landing on the white wall while others rained down on his head, face, and body. Zhuang did not call out or wail; instead, he quietly watched Zhong, who had a series of strong spasms before a smile blossomed and slowly froze on his face.

When Zhuang walked out with the case in his arms, the others rushed up and asked, “How is he?”

“He’s gone,” Zhuang said as he walked down the hallway with the case and out of the building, where he stood still. The blistering sunlight stung his eyes so much he blinked several times, but he couldn’t keep them open.

The others went into the room, followed by doctors and nurses. They watched quietly while the nurses removed the breathing tube from Zhong’s nose and picked up the two ends of the bed sheet to tie into a knot. Two nurses pushed a gurney in and moved Zhong, now bundled in the white sheet, onto it. “Is his family here?” one of them asked. When no one responded, she asked again, “Are any of you family?”