Jia Pingwa - Ruined City

Liu came over to watch him play. “Grab a knife barehanded? I think you’re going to lose. People say lucky in love, unlucky in cards. You’re not going to win anything.”

“Tiles worth eighty thousand, that’s a winner,” Meng Yunfang announced. “I wonder which girl has been caught in Hong Jiang’s web this time?” Hong blushed and played the wrong tile. Criticizing his terrible play, Liu Yue slapped him on the head.

“Hong Jiang is a bookstore manager. He’s good-looking and dresses well, so how could all the girls not fall for him? Of course he’s lucky in love.”

“Don’t spoil his Hong Kong hairdo, Liu Yue,” Meng said. “Like women’s feet, men’s heads should be looked at but not touched. I thought you had your hooks into him. In my view, it’s hard for him to find a good girl. That’s just the way things are. Handsome guys can’t get pretty girls. I don’t think Hong Jiang’s wife is as good-looking as Liu Yue. So then Liu Yue would have trouble finding a handsome husband. This is what we call ‘A guy with a limp gets to ride a fine horse.’”

Liu Yue was so put out that she pounded Meng with her fists. “An ugly mind goes with an ugly look.”

Niu Yueqing criticized Liu Yue for saying that.

“It’s my fault,” Meng said. “I’ve let her say whatever she wants, and now she doesn’t know her place.”

“You’re always doing divinations, Yunfang. Why don’t you see what will come of Zhao and Zhou’s visit?”

“I will need my equipment for that. You don’t have the perpetual calendar, so I can’t convert the dates.”

“I have a coin. Why don’t you use that?” Liu Yue took a shiny copper coin on a keychain out of her pocket to show him. Zhuang stared at the coin and said, “Let me see that.” She refused. Niu Yueqing played a tile and asked her husband to make his move. With his eyes still on Liu Yue, Zhuang reached for the tile from the end of his line, prompting Meng to hit him on the hand. “Be careful. Don’t go to the ladies’ room when you want to use the toilet.”

Zhuang regained his composure and looked at the tiles carefully.

“How many times do I have to flip the coin?” Meng said. “How about this? Yueqing, give me a three-digit number off the top of your head. I’ll use ‘Master Zhuge’s Pre-Battle Divination Method.’”

“Three-seven-nine,” she said.

Figuring the numbers with his left hand, Meng said, “‘Minor good luck.’ Not bad.”

Niu Yueqing’s face lit up. “Good. Now watch me win. Playing mahjong requires a lot of energy. You see, I won. I’m going to be the ‘lord’ now.”

Meng was upset. “Go ahead,” he said before shuffling the tiles. “You can be the sow for all I care.” A cat was meowing in the yard, making one bleak sound after another. Hong asked if they had a cat. He told them to keep it away from feral cats when it was in heat. He added that he had a Persian he’d bring over in a few days.

“How could we have a cat?” Niu Yueqing said. “I don’t like cats or dogs. It’s the neighbor’s cat, a big headache for me, because it attracts feral cats that meow nonstop.”

“Ai-ya! I took the lid off the vat of pickled vegetables to let in some sunlight this afternoon, but I forgot to put it back,” Zhuang said as he ran out onto the balcony and called out to Liu Yue, “Come help me move the vat so the cat won’t take our vegetables.”

When she came out, he shut the balcony door and asked in a low voice, “Where did you get that coin?”

“I found it in the bathroom. It looked so nice I tied it to my key chain.”

“It’s mine. Give it back.”

“Yours? There was a string attached to it, and I’ve never seen you wear anything around your neck.”

“I’ve been wearing it for a long time. I don’t take it off. But how would you know?”

“I’ve never heard of a man wearing a coin around his neck. You look so angry. Could this be a token of love from some woman while we were staying at Shuangren fu?”

“Stop the nonsense,” he said as he grabbed her hand and reached into her pocket. When he took the coin out, she tried to snatch it away, so he put it in his mouth with a smug look. In the meantime, the other three players had finished laying the tiles out. Impatient for him to return to play, Meng called out, “How hard can it be to move a vat? Are you playing or not, Zhidie?”

He went back inside, the coin secure in his pocket. “This is a fine year for pickled vegetables, Yunfang. I’ll put some in a plastic bag for you.”

Zhao Jingwu and Zhou Min returned around midnight, saying they had managed to see Bai Yuzhu. Bai was not going to be the convening judge, but he knew all about the charges, which had everyone at court talking. Naturally, they all had different views. The statement had originally been sent to the criminal court, but it was transferred to the civil court because of the absence of a criminal element. Both the presiding judge and the trial judge, Sima Gong, were Bai’s friends, and he would talk to them about dismissing the case. He had kindly suggested that they see Sima Gong first, and even went with them. Sima was aloof, so they told him that Zhuang had wanted to come see him personally but was stricken with a stomach problem on the way there and had returned home. They also told him that Zhuang had asked them to see Sima on his behalf and had sent along a copy of one of his books. Zhou had come up with that idea and had bought the book at a night market stall. He had then signed Zhuang’s name. After leaving Sima’s house, they went back to see Bai, who said he had wanted to meet the hugely famous Zhuang Zhidie, but had never had the opportunity. He was happy that he could establish a friendship with Zhuang’s friend over the case. He went on to tell them what a fan of Zhuang’s works his son was. The young man, a soldier in charge of divisional public relations, had written some stories and essays and could use some guidance from Mr. Zhuang.

“We can’t help him with other things, but this is no problem,” Niu Yueqing said. “You can all help the young man publish his works.”

“Yes.” Zhao took out four manuscripts. “Judge Bai gave us these things his son has written, saying the army has a stipulation that five works published by provincial or municipal presses can earn a soldier a third-class merit, and three by the national press will earn him a second-class merit. His son sent him these four, hoping to get them published in Xijing. Bai has been trying to find an entrée into the publishing world. So we brought them back, boasting that we can guarantee publication.”

“That’s good,” Zhuang said. “So go ahead.”

“We can’t do it,” Zhao said. “It’s up to you.”

“All right, leave them with me. I’ll take a look at them tomorrow,” Zhuang said with a laugh. “What else does he want?”

“He said that Sima Gong is a bit eccentric,” Zhao said. “He’s reserved and he doesn’t smoke, drink, or play mahjong. Bai could work on him to help us, but it would be much harder than with others. He does, however, have a fondness for calligraphy and paintings, which he collects. Bai said we should try to acquire a scroll for him. I agreed to give it a try. Why don’t we go see Gong Jingyuan’s son one of these days and get that one by Chairman Mao? That would pretty much seal the deal.”

They decided that Zhou Min should get to know Bai Yuzhu better, through frequent visits to the man’s house, while Zhuang read the articles and found a way to get them published in a hurry. Zhao and Zhuang would go see Gong Xiaoyi about the scroll. Once they got it, Zhuang would pay Sima Gong a personal visit. It would be best if they could invite Sima and Bai out for dinner. Zhou would talk to Bai to see if that could be arranged. When the plan was settled, Zhuang said, “We ought to see if there’s a listening device under the table.” That got a laugh.