Su Tong: Madwoman On the Bridge and Other Stories

Wenqin looked at her wristwatch, ‘Oh, nonsense. It’s only three thirty now; much too early to leave school. Don’t run away. People will think that I’m dragging you off to do something awful.’ Still trying to subdue the madwoman and protect herself from her flailing hands, Wenqin finally managed to catch her tightly by the elbow. In desperation, she grasped at straws and told the madwoman, ‘I don’t mean to be unfair. If you do me this favour, I’ll give you my black scarf with the golden flowers. When you came for your injection, didn’t you keep saying how you admired it?’

This one sentence carried more weight than the dozens preceding it. Wenqin felt the madwoman’s resistance fade away as soon as she finished speaking. A silk scarf had conquered her. Her eyes glazed over for a moment, as if she were trying to picture the scarf she had just been promised. Then she laughed. ‘My cheongsam, with a black silk scarf. A black silk scarf! Wouldn’t they look smart together?’ She smiled at Wenqin, then said abruptly, ‘Fine. I’ll hold you to that. And don’t tell me you regret it later or I’ll think you’re a welcher.’

Now that it was already too late to take back her promise, Wenqin was a little discomfited. Frowning, she said, ‘Who says you’re soft in the head? You earn a silk scarf just for lending me your cheongsam — seems to me you’re shrewder than anyone else I know.’

At half past three in the afternoon, the madwoman was seen following Wenqin off the bridge. With one hand she gingerly held the hem of her cheongsam while the other hand was clasped tightly in Wenqin’s. They walked towards The East is Red Street. From the back, they could have been two women of equal intellect, their steps imbued with a similar grace. They looked like sisters out for a walk.

Li the tailor had a hunched back. On his head he wore an army cap, and a tape measure hung around his neck. He was drowning in the shop’s disorder, the clothes and cloth piled and hanging everywhere. The shop didn’t seem to belong to the same era as the spotless street outside, and Li’s apologetic expression acknowledged this. Whenever a female customer entered, Li would rise obsequiously from behind his sewing machine, like someone from a grass-roots unit welcoming an important leader for a visit. But it was different when Wenqin came; with her he somehow achieved a surprising role reversal. As soon as she arrived, he began acting like a spoiled woman himself. At first he acted deliberately coy, tilting his head to see who was standing behind her, and when he saw that it was another woman, he heaved a sigh of relief and asked, ‘So you’ve brought along another customer for me today? That’s nice.’

Wenqin had brought not only a roll of red velvet, but also a woman in a white velvet cheongsam. She prodded the madwoman towards Li, and told him, somewhat incoherently, ‘Make me a cheongsam. a cheongsam! I’ve talked to you about it before — the white velvet cheongsam. I’ve even brought her along!’

‘A person is a person, a cheongsam is a cheongsam. Tell me exactly what you want.’ First, though, the tailor took a look at the strange woman: she was in her thirties and pretty at first glance. But she did not bear close examination well: at second glance she looked strained, and yet a third revealed a kind of torpor in her. The tailor’s eyes lit up, but she was not looking at him, instead she was fanning herself and having a look about the shop, casually criticizing all the clothes: ‘You call this clothing? So ugly!’

The light in the tailor’s eyes faded and he stared hard at her cheongsam. ‘I’m not dreaming, am I? Is history going backwards now? I didn’t think anyone still showed themselves in public looking like that!’

Wenqin, standing behind the madwoman, gestured to her head, which the tailor misinterpreted. ‘Hard to deal with, eh? What, you or her? I’m not afraid of difficult customers — that’s for other people. You know all about the quality of my work.’ Wenqin gave up, and without further explanation threw the bolt of red velvet onto the sewing table. Prodding the madwoman again, she said, ‘Take this as the pattern. Make me one like hers.’

‘What’s got into you? You want to have a cheongsam made now? Well, I won’t do it. Even if I did, you’d never dare wear it.’ The tailor seemed to want to keep her in suspense. ‘Last time I made you bell-bottoms, but I haven’t seen you wearing them.’

‘How do you know I haven’t worn them? I don’t wear them for you ,’ she started in a bullying tone, then suddenly switched back to sweetness and light. ‘Oh, what does it matter anyway? First, you’re not my boss, and second, you’re not my husband. You’re my tailor, so your place is just to do the job. Besides, where is it written that if I have clothing made I have to wear it outside the house?’

‘I make clothes for you, and then you’re too scared to wear them? I suppose you want to be named a model worker, afraid of being criticized by your superiors?’ the tailor said. ‘You mean you’ll only wear it at home? Just for your husband? What a waste!’

‘You dirty old hunchback! What business is it of yours who I wear it for?’ Wenqin picked up a piece of chalk and threw it at him. ‘Let me tell you something: a lot of the clothes I’ve ordered are stored in my chest. Even if I don’t wear them, I can still take them out and look at them. They make me feel better.’

‘After all the work I put into that clothing, you let it rot away in a chest? When I think how demanding you were when I was making it: if the end of a thread was too coarse you kicked up such a fuss! And then you take it all home to stick in a box?’ The tailor looked as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to laugh. He stared at Wenqin, and suddenly his face hardened. ‘Well, I won’t make clothes for you, not any more. The money I earn off you is like a traitor’s reward: I end up holding myself in contempt.’

‘Oh, yes? Or maybe you don’t even know how to make a cheongsam!’ Wenqin was clearly irritated. She held it in check for a moment, and then went on baiting him. ‘And here was I thinking you were the best tailor in the city! Best tailor my arse, if you can’t even make a cheongsam.’

‘I never said I was the best in the city, did I? In a profession like this, it doesn’t matter who says they’re the best; it’s the clothing that does the talking in the end.’ After clowning about, the tailor grew more serious. Avoiding Wenqin’s eyes, he squinted sideways at the madwoman, sizing her up as she stood by the shop window. ‘Has the lady comrade come here to stroll around? Why doesn’t she take a seat?’ Still the madwoman stood by the window, stretching one of her hands into the window display to fondle something.

‘Never mind her,’ said Wenqin, ‘she can’t sit still. Just tell me how we should go about taking the measurements.’

‘You’re a little fuller than she is. Chest, waist and hips will all be different. What choice do we have? Get her to take her cheongsam off and put it on yourself. That’s the only way to do it if you want accurate measurements.’

The madwoman raised her head and walked daintily around, pointing at the clothing hanging on the racks with her sandalwood fan. She pointed at a tawny army uniform and said, ‘The People’s Liberation Army.’ Then she pointed at a white shirt and said, ‘Red Guards.’ Then it was blue trousers: ‘Junior Red Guards.’ A black skirt: ‘Old women.’ In the course of pointing at all the clothes she reached a dress with blue polka dots that reminded her of her daughter, Susu. She turned around and asked Wenqin, ‘What time is it? Shouldn’t Susu be on her way home?’

Wenqin glanced at her wristwatch and said, ‘No rush, no rush.’ But her body tensed, and with a glare at the tailor she said, ‘I’m not in any mood to chatter the day away here. Hurry up and get started. I have a million things to do at home and I must get back.’