Su Tong - Madwoman On the Bridge and Other Stories

The hostess, dressed in a red cheongsam and wearing a golden ‘Welcome’ sash over her shoulder, greeted them and led them to a private dining room called the Paris Hall. Bao Qing entered and then watched as an obese man in a suit rose slowly from his chair. This, apparently, was Fatcat, although it didn’t look like him. Only when Bao Qing noted the wine-coloured birthmark on his forehead was he certain it was him. At first, Fatcat made to embrace Bao Qing, but since the latter shrunk away reflexively, the movement became a handshake. Fatcat’s lukewarm hands held Bao Qing’s in a tight grip and wouldn’t relax their hold.

‘Bao Qing, just feel my heart, feel how strongly it’s beating,’ he said, tugging Bao Qing’s hand and pressing it onto his suit over his chest. ‘Bao Qing,’ he said. ‘I was less nervous about meeting the provincial governor, and that’s the truth.’

Bao Qing laughed, and extricated his hand. Then he remarked, ‘If I had run into you on the street, I certainly wouldn’t have recognized you.’

Fatcat answered, ‘You might not have recognized me, but I sure would have recognized you. You just flashed on TV for a second and I knew it was you.’

A mixed group of guests was present and they immediately chimed in, ‘That’s right. When the boss saw you on television, he recognized you straight away.’

Fatcat pulled Bao Qing down to sit by his side. Except for Renzheng and Shaohong, the others at the table were all his employees. There was a bespectacled girl in a pink sweater who kept looking at Bao Qing evasively but glowingly. Bao Qing was too embarrassed to ask her name, but Fatcat had the foresight to introduce her. She was the daughter of Mr Zhong, a teacher at Maqiao Middle School, and she was now employed as an accountant at Fatcat’s factory. ‘And how is.?’

Bao Qing hadn’t finished his sentence, because he gathered what had come to pass from the general change of expression as Ms Zhong bowed her head. Fatcat kicked him under the table, and said softly, ‘He passed away two years ago. Cancer.’

Bao Qing was silent, remembering how Mr Zhong, the physics teacher, had been the only one of his teachers to take to him, on account of his aptitude for the subject. Bao Qing was at a loss what to say when Ms Zhong stood and raised her glass to him. ‘Mr Bao, when I was a child my father often told me how he had trained a future professor. Now that I’m finally getting to meet you, I want to offer you this toast.’

That was how Bao Qing happened to drink the first cup of wine. On the way over, Bao Qing had prepared his excuses: he had a bad stomach, he was allergic to alcohol, he would be travelling tomorrow — anything so that he might be allowed to abstain from the drinking. But Ms Zhong’s peculiar identity, not to mention her peculiar glances, robbed him of the courage to decline, and now that he had made a start it was difficult to retract. He was able to fend off Fatcat’s employees, but Renzheng’s obstreperous exhortations were harder to decline. Shaohong’s toasts were coercive to a degree, and also contained a barrage of tactless sexual innuendoes, which deeply embarrassed Bao Qing, who didn’t know how to forestall them. Presently, she suggested they all drink with interlocked arms and her audacity shocked him. His face flushed scarlet and he said, ‘We can’t lock arms for no reason.’ Shaohong replied, ‘Of course there’s a reason. It’s a forfeit to punish me for having no judgement back then — I underestimated you, I didn’t realize your potential. Now I regret it, because I could have been Mrs Bao, the professor’s wife, couldn’t I?’

Bao Qing didn’t know how to respond, so he joined in her laughter. But then he leaned back on his chair and refused her encircling arm. At this point, the others started jeering, which embarrassed her and cooled her ardour. Suddenly she could take it no longer, and she spilled the cup out on the floor, saying, ‘Well, it’s not gonna kill me if you won’t drink with me now you’re a bigshot, but I’d like to know who stole my bra once upon a time. Hm?’

Suddenly the room became quiet. Bao Qing had not expected her to play this card and he began to get angry. ‘Are you insane? I can’t believe you would even think to bring up childhood pranks now!’ He raised his voice, ‘Fatcat stole your bra and hid it in my bag. Fatcat’s here, right beside me, and he can testify to my innocence.’

Beside him, Fatcat chuckled and gave Bao Qing a shove. ‘Holy-moley, Bao Qing. There’s no need to take things so seriously. It was a joke. Who can remember the things they did when they were kids? I don’t remember anything about a stolen bra.’

But Bao Qing did not use this opportunity to back down, ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but I haven’t,’ he said sternly. ‘You hid it in my bag when her mother came after you. If you don’t admit it now, then it is I who must live with the blot on my reputation.’

Fatcat looked momentarily uncomfortable, but soon regained his good humour. Laughing, he said, ‘All right then. I remember now. I stuffed it in your bag; we used to let you take the flak. I admit it, OK?’

Bao Qing saw Fatcat make a signal to Renzheng with his eyes and he recalled how many years ago they had also communicated with these signals. Each time he had seen them, he felt a nameless fear grip him. Now he no longer feared the exchange, it just disquieted him. He set his glass down, bottom up, on the table and said, ‘I’ve finished with drinking. I’ve never been able to drink very much and now I’ve had more than enough.’

As he set down his glass, Bao Qing could feel everyone staring at him, their eyes variously revealing displeasure or nervousness. Deliberately ignoring them, he informed Ms Zhong, ‘I have ulcers and hyperglaecemia.’

Ms Zhong nodded and said, ‘Drinking is bad for your health — all the magazines say so.’ Besides passing on this nugget of magazine wisdom, it seemed that the girl wanted to say more, but didn’t dare. She held back for a moment, but then she could curb herself no longer and rashly came out with the following question, ‘Mr Bao, I’ve always wondered about something. You were a good student in those days, so why would you have been friends with Manager Huang and Mr Li?’ The question stunned Bao Qing, and his chopsticks froze over a vegetable platter. Fatcat’s employees half-seriously criticized Ms Zhong for having said something untoward, but in the end it was Fatcat who, in a generous and self-deprecating tone, said, ‘So you’re saying I was a bad student? Well, maybe I was — I can’t pull the wool over her eyes. It’s not my fault she’s so smart; she’s Mr Zhong’s daughter, after all!’

But the girl had hit on a sore point with Bao Qing. She had posed the same reproachful question that his mother and sister had been in the habit of asking, and that he had never been able to answer. The truth was he did not have the courage to analyse his motivations for sticking with Fatcat and Renzheng. He had no way of facing up to his disgraceful choice, nor enough wit to evade the question. His cheeks suddenly blushed a full, deep red, and all he could produce were a few paltry lines: ‘I don’t know either. You know how children are. No reason, really, to speak of.’

Shaohong, who had been sulking, suddenly let off a burst of cold laughter. She said, ‘I know why. It’s like this: have you ever heard the story about the chick who ingratiates himself with the weasel? And why does he do it? He wants the weasel to eat the other little chickies and spare his own life.’ Ms Zhong must have thought that Shaohong had uttered a bon mot, because she clucked with laughter. Then, when she saw no one else was laughing, she realized her error and covered her mouth.