Su Tong: Madwoman On the Bridge and Other Stories

It had taken a moment for the Shaoxing woman to realize what she was seeing. Now she rushed towards the madwoman and clutched her by shoulders. The madwoman raised her sandalwood fan and tried to fend her off, cheongsam rustling as she swayed this way and that to evade those grubby, gnarled hands. The fan was beautiful but impractical as a weapon, and the slippery white velvet cheongsam even less threatening. In the end the madwoman was no match for the Shaoxing woman, and she stood with her arms by her sides and suffered the brooch to be removed.

It was a remnant of a bygone era, a butterfly-shaped brooch executed with exquisite craftsmanship. The butterfly’s wings were outlined in blue enamel and inlaid with several gemstones shaped like grains of rice. Its precious wings dominated the front of the cheongsam, secured at the back by a clasp, skilfully designed to prevent theft. No matter how hard she tried, the Shaoxing woman was unable to undo it.

‘Who made this? They must have made it so difficult to undo on purpose,’ she complained, then she went on to complain about the madwoman: ‘And what can I say about you? I don’t care how vain you are, or how much you love to wear your cheongsam, you mustn’t ever wear this brooch when you go out. I know just about every stick your family owns, and the only valuable thing left is this brooch. If you lose it, it’ll be too late to start wailing. Now help me take it off. I’m not going to swipe it, I’ll just take care of it for you and give it to Susu tomorrow.’

Still the madwoman didn’t cooperate, and the Shaoxing woman practically had to force the brooch off. Finally she tore some sealing paper off a milk bottle, wrapped the brooch in it, and concealed it in her bosom. ‘There are lots of bad people about, looking to prey on people like you. Don’t you understand?’ The Shaoxing woman peered vigilantly all around and, finding no bad people in sight, gave a sigh of relief. Brusquely she nudged the madwoman towards the end of the bridge with the cart, saying, ‘On a chilly day like this, you shouldn’t stand out here and freeze. Go home now, go home.’

But the madwoman obdurately refused, saying, ‘I’ve lost my key. I’m going to wait here for Susu and go home with her.’

The Shaoxing woman frowned at her. ‘Even if you’re ill, how can you just forget from one day to the next how to do the simplest things? What does it matter if you don’t have the key, just go next door to Li Sannian’s, and climb in through your window from their courtyard.’

But the madwoman shook her head, and said, ‘I won’t go to Li Sannian’s. They won’t let me. His wife says, "The troll! The troll’s coming!" as soon as she sees me, and their youngest son starts crying and throws things at me.’

It took a moment before the Shaoxing woman understood this, but then she remarked levelly, ‘You can’t really blame them, not when you get yourself all dolled up like that. If a child ran into you in the dark, of course he’d think you were a troll. But grown-ups shouldn’t say these things; it’s wrong to bully someone like you. I’ll take you home. We’ll go through Li Sannian’s together, and see if she dares swear at you then.’

But the madwoman persisted shaking her head, saying, ‘I won’t go through her house. I can’t climb through the window. I’m wearing my cheongsam; I can’t get through the window.’

‘Well, that ‘s true enough. A thing like that is no good for anything but making an exhibition of yourself.’ The Shaoxing woman glared disapprovingly at the madwoman’s cheongsam. She fingered the neckline for a moment and patted the waist. Then she asked, ‘Can it be comfortable to wear it that tight? It’s really more than just ordinary vanity with you, isn’t it? I was just remembering how, when you were young, you used to wear a cheongsam even when you went to measure out the rice. Wiggling along, carrying the rice in a straw bag.’

The madwoman objected, ‘It wasn’t a straw bag. It was a woven craft bag. They were made for export, but I got one surplus.’

‘A straw bag for export is still a straw bag — don’t try and impress me with your fancy foreign garbage,’ the Shaoxing woman retorted harshly, ‘The reason you’ve had such hard luck is that your thinking is rotten through and through. If you think wrong, you act wrong, you rub people up the wrong way. It’s not all your own fault that you’re ill, though, half of it is your own problem and half is other people’s. If I were your mother-in-law,’ the Shaoxing woman ran on, lifting one hand as if to hit her, ‘I would beat you. I’d beat you every day, and when I was tired I’d get my son to beat you. I might beat you half to death, but at least I’d make sure you knew how to be a good wife!’

The madwoman reacted instinctively to the Shaoxing woman’s hostile tone and gesture, retreating and raising one hand as if to shield herself. The Shaoxing woman was usually so kind: why would she want to hit her? The madwoman could not distinguish between rhetoric and reality. Bewildered, she backed away from the cart, and the hem of her cheongsam caught under one of its wheels. The madwoman cried out loudly and freed the hem, craning her neck to examine it for grime. Just then, a bespectacled man was passing by. He jumped off his bicycle and eyed her for a moment, then he grinned, straddled his bike again and rode off.

When the madwoman noticed the man, her eyes kindled and she waved vigorously after his retreating figure: ‘Mr Zhang! A real scorcher, isn’t it?’ It distracted him and he made as if to stop, then decided against it, the hesitation nearly causing him to fall off. He had to put his foot down hurriedly, coming to a stop by the end of the bridge. The madwoman and the Shaoxing woman both looked at the man, or rather at his back. He was clad in khaki trousers and a tunic, with sagging shoulders. The strange, sunken-looking figure hesitated for a long moment on the bridge before glancing back with undisguised interest, but in the end he kept silent and rode hurriedly away.

‘Do you know him? And if you don’t, why did you call him Mr Zhang?’ the Shaoxing woman asked, looking after his receding figure reproachfully. Then she turned back to the madwoman. ‘See how you’re always accosting people? No wonder they say you act badly. You’re indecent, that’s what you are.’

The madwoman exclaimed, ‘Who’s indecent? You’re the indecent one. I know him. Mr Zhang — he was the make-up man for the ensemble. He used to do my make-up.’

‘Make-up, make-up! Is that all you can talk about?’ All the time, the Shaoxing woman was nudging the madwoman towards the end of the bridge, saying, ‘You have a nerve, calling a woman my age indecent. Still, your mind’s gone soft, and I’m not going to quibble with you. You doll yourself up like that and stand on the bridge if you want to. What do you think you look like? A painting? That would be all right — a painting for people to look at — but why is this painting looking back at them ? Do you have any idea how people think these days? There are so many bad sorts. If they gang up on you, you won’t be able to report them, and even if you did, they’d ignore you. Why don’t you go home?’

At first the madwoman dodged her, then the Shaoxing woman caught her by her cheongsam and started tugging at it. The madwoman’s heart bled for her beloved cheongsam and she began to resist, swatting the Shaoxing woman’s hands as if they were flies. But they were strong and persistent, and the madwoman grew flustered. She raised her sandalwood fan and struck out at the Shaoxing woman’s arms once, then twice, but when she saw the anger in the Shaoxing woman’s eyes she didn’t dare continue. Instead she forcibly thrust the old woman away. The Shaoxing woman staggered back, features twisting into a ghastly expression. She stamped her bound feet, gave her clattering milk cart a shove towards the end of the bridge, and said sharply, ‘Fine. Don’t listen to me then. Hit me with your fan. Just stand there like a peacock flaunting your feathers. No wonder people are cruel to you. You reap what you sow. Even a peacock doesn’t spread his tail for just anyone.’