Jia Pingwa - Ruined City

“Did you smoke some opium, Xiaoyi?” Zhuang asked. “Why don’t you show us? We’ve never seen what it looks like.”

“So you know?” Xiaoyi said. “Well, you gentlemen are not strangers, so I’ll show you.” He displayed a lump that looked like black dirt, saying that he put a small ball in a cigarette to smoke. He had run out of heroin, the best stuff. He offered the opium to Zhao and Zhuang, who turned him down.

“You’re writers, gentlemen, can you contact some government offices for me?”

“What for? Is there something we can do?”

“All the fake stuff out there that harms the consumers. The fake heroin raises blisters and makes users’ hair fall out.”

“Why don’t you write that up and I’ll send it to the police?” Zhuang said. “They can launch an investigation.”

“You’re joking,” Xiaoyi said with a laugh.

“I have something to say to you, Xiaoyi, though you’ve probably heard enough. You can eat and drink anything you want, so why must you smoke opium? Your father has told me he worries about you. People treat you differently. It’s an expensive and, most importantly, harmful addiction. You’re still young. Don’t you want to get married?”

“I’m not upset by what you say. I know you worry about me, but you don’t know how wonderful it feels. After I smoke, I can have anything I want and do anything I like. To be honest with you, I hate my father. He’s so rich, he can lose two or three thousand a night at a mahjong table, but he hardly gives me anything. I hate Xiaoli, a girl I dated for five years and slept with, because she up and left me. I hate my boss, who spreads rumors about me. For giving me the job, he got ten scrolls from my father, and yet he fired me without a second thought. I know the more I smoke, the harder it is to quit, but I can achieve my dreams and aspirations only after smoking opium. Don’t try to stop me. You have your way of life and I have mine. You’re probably like my father, who is so well known that the mere mention of your name can cause a tremor, but I’m sure I live a freer life than either of you. But believe me when I say I will never be a social pariah. I don’t steal, rob, rape, or kill. I would never harm anyone. I’m my father’s son, and he’ll have to treat me as a son no matter how unhappy he is with me. His works are worth enough for me to smoke for the rest of my life.”

“Of course. That’s why Xiaoyi is so lucky,” Zhao said. “I know you have some of your father’s works with you. I also heard that someone from Hanzhong gave you a long scroll of Mao Zedong’s calligraphy. Is that true?”

“You’re amazing, Brother Zhao. You know everything about me. Did you mention that to my father?”

“We’re brothers, I would never betray you. Liu Yezi and Fatso Wang have long wanted to stop supplying you with opium, because they’re afraid your father will sue them if he finds out about them. Wasn’t I the one who talked to them?”

“You’re a real friend, Brother Zhao. Chairman Mao’s calligraphy is excellent. The moment you see it, you will know it was from the hand of someone destined for greatness. I do have the scroll.”

“Great. I’m going to be frank with you. I came here today with your Uncle Zhuang to have a look at it. He’s a writer who doesn’t care about calligraphy, but he’s writing an article about Mao Zedong’s poetry and calligraphy, so he would like to get his hands on the real thing. When he mentioned that, I said it was no big deal, because Xiaoyi has one. I told him that personal loyalty is so important to Xiaoyi that he’ll give it to you. He has no use for it.”

“I wouldn’t take it without giving something in return,” Zhuang said. “Come to my house, Xiaoyi, and take whatever you like.”

“Mao’s calligraphy is surely much more valuable than one by some governor. On the other hand, it’s not a cultural relic, either. But can you sell it even if it is a cultural relic from the revolution? You’d have to turn it over when the government saw it, and you wouldn’t get a cent for it,” Zhao said.

Xiaoyi just snickered.

“What are you laughing at?” Zhao asked.

“You’re not strangers, so I’ll tell you the truth. I can let you have anything by my father, but not this scroll. Someone offered five thousand for it, and I wouldn’t sell. I also love Chairman Mao. He’s no longer alive, but he’s still a deity, and anything by a deity can help ward off evil spirits at home.”

Zhao looked over at Zhuang, who shook his head, so Zhao said: “Well, if that’s the way you feel, we won’t press you. But you can’t let your Uncle Zhuang leave empty-handed. Why don’t you give him some of your father’s scrolls?”

Xiaoyi brought out an armload of calligraphy from a cabinet and selected three that had been turned into scrolls. “This is my fund for opium. You have no idea how strictly my father controls things. It wasn’t easy to get my hands on these.”

“I owe you, Xiaoyi. I’ll speak with Liu Yezi and ask her to give you a good price when you buy from her.” Zhao wrapped the three scrolls in newspaper, tucked it under his arm, and walked out with Zhuang.

. . .

After the two men left, Xiaoyi took a long wooden case from the cabinet and opened it to look at Mao’s calligraphy, before wrapping it back up and locking the case, which he then put at the bottom of the cabinet. Zhao Jingwu has brought Zhuang Zhidie for this , he said to himself, which can only mean that the calligraphy is a true treasure . He would sell it only if absolutely necessary. Opium prices had been going up steadily, and he would need to sell the scroll when he ran out of money. The thought of opium triggered his craving, so he took out his only packet of heroin and dumped the powder onto aluminum foil. He lit a match to heat the underside of the foil before using a paper tube to suck it all in, followed by an orangeade to keep every tiny whiff of the heroin from escaping from his windpipe. Then he lit a Marlboro and lay down to smoke; he was soon in a different world, where he fantasized the arrival of Xiaoli.

“You’re here, Xiaoli. Where have you been? I thought you’d never come to see me again.”

“I miss you. I miss you so much. But you didn’t come for me,” Xiaoli said with a pout before pressing herself up to him; rubbing her breasts against his face and reaching for his crotch, she said she wanted to eat that sausage. Xiaoyi took off his clothes and then hers. She wanted everything done for her, insisting that he undress her. She was wearing a lot. He took off one item after another and then another, until finally a petite figure emerged. They tried different acrobatic positions. He asked her if she had ever been on a boat. She said no, so he dumped a sack of soybeans on the bed, spread them evenly, and placed a board on top. They then got on the board and started in, making the board roll back and forth. But she climbed off the bed and her expression changed; she looked like a savage dog. Xiaoyi blew up.

“So you don’t want to make love with me, is that it? Did you come with that guy Zhu something? How is he better than me?”

“Yes, I screwed him the moment you walked out the door. He’s better than you. He’s a superman, and it was wonderful beyond words.”

He picked up a knife and threatened to kill her. She said go ahead, so he killed her with one flick of the knife. She fell, her snowy body still writhing on the floor, while the gush of blood split into two streams like branches and flowed over her nipples. When the blood reached her thighs, it appeared to be blocked and rose up to form a ridge. He pricked the ridge and created a white path for the blood to flow down. Then he plunged the knife into her chest and plucked out her heart. So, Xiaoli, your heart is as hard as a rock . She screamed and died. One spot on her dead body was still stirring, impossibly beautiful, and her scream was so exciting that he laughed and laughed over the pleasure it brought.