Read Song of Everlasting Sorrow Online
Authors: Wang Anyi
Song of Everlasting Sorrow (61 page)
Wang Qiyao descended the stairs quietly and went out. The streetlights had just been extinguished. The gloomy sky, portending snow, conveyed a weariness, as if it too had been partying all night. Pedestrians walked briskly past, and Wang Qiyao could see the mark Christmas had left on their faces. She thought:
Everyone but me has been celebrating Christmas, but I don
’
t give a damn!
She bought vegetables, milk, soymilk, and deep-fried twisted doughsticks for breakfast. All the way back she walked past children on their way to school, their faces crimson from the cold as they munched on their cold breakfast. Their parents must have just returned from an all-night party and didn’t have enough time to fix them a hot meal. The sun projected its sluggish rays from beyond the haze. When Wang Qiyao got back, the apartment looked exactly as she had left it. Weiwei was still in a deep slumber. The bittersweet odor of the night before filled the room, leaving her feeling vexed. It dawned on her that it was Weiwei’s day off and she wondered how late she would sleep in. She retreated into the kitchen to make herself breakfast. Through the window, she could see the neighbors across the way busily cleaning their apartment, scurrying in and out. A drying pole with clean laundry was pushed out from another window, which quickly shut again. The clothes looked as if they would never dry in the damp cold air. Then came the boy with the morning paper, ringing his bicycle bell. The
longtang
started to bustle—another day begins.
Everyone but me has been celebrating Christmas, but I don
’
t give a damn!
She bought vegetables, milk, soymilk, and deep-fried twisted doughsticks for breakfast. All the way back she walked past children on their way to school, their faces crimson from the cold as they munched on their cold breakfast. Their parents must have just returned from an all-night party and didn’t have enough time to fix them a hot meal. The sun projected its sluggish rays from beyond the haze. When Wang Qiyao got back, the apartment looked exactly as she had left it. Weiwei was still in a deep slumber. The bittersweet odor of the night before filled the room, leaving her feeling vexed. It dawned on her that it was Weiwei’s day off and she wondered how late she would sleep in. She retreated into the kitchen to make herself breakfast. Through the window, she could see the neighbors across the way busily cleaning their apartment, scurrying in and out. A drying pole with clean laundry was pushed out from another window, which quickly shut again. The clothes looked as if they would never dry in the damp cold air. Then came the boy with the morning paper, ringing his bicycle bell. The
longtang
started to bustle—another day begins.
Weiwei slept well into the afternoon, missing both breakfast and lunch. Wang Qiyao didn’t want to get into a fight with her and let her sleep in. As the clock struck one, Zhang Yonghong arrived. Weiwei turned over and opened her eyes, listening to them talk from under the bedclothes, but she didn’t interrupt. It was rare for Wang Qiyao to see her daughter so peaceful. She asked her if she was hungry, but Weiwei wasn’t. Her face was flushed from sleeping so much and her hair was all messy—she looked like a lazy cat.
“Did you go out for Christmas Eve last night?” Wang Qiyao asked Zhang Yonghong.
Zhang Yonghong looked bewildered. “What do you mean, ‘Christmas Eve’? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Wang Qiyao patiently told her the story of Christmas. Zhang Yonghong listened intently, occasionally asking a few ignorant questions. Weiwei was also listening, but she didn’t say a word. It was a gloomy day and dark inside as well, not the kind of darkness that comes at night, but the kind that seals off the outdoors, leaving people with a feeling of warmth. After listening to Wang Qiyao explain Christmas at some length, Zhang Yonghong exclaimed, “Just think how many exciting things we’ve been missing out on!”
“At least you still have time,” replied Wang Qiyao. “Look at me, I don’t even have that.”
“But you already experienced all of that!” Zhang Yonghong demurred. “How can we compare with you?”
“It is like the theater,” Wang Qiyao consoled her. “The first act may be over, but after an intermission, act two will begin.”
“I hope the intermission doesn’t last too long,” said Zhang Yonghong.
“How could it?” Wang Qiyao replied. “The bells and gongs have sounded. Look at this one!” She pointed to Weiwei, who sank back into her comforter, leaving only her eyes exposed. “She was out being wild all night long!” Weiwei still didn’t say a word.
She told Zhang Yonghong how Weiwei had gone out to celebrate Christmas Eve with Xiao Lin last night. “I don’t even know what time she came back.”
Zhang Yonghong glanced at Weiwei but kept quiet. The room grew a bit darker, and a bit warmer. Wang Qiyao went into the kitchen to boil some water, leaving the two of them in silence, one sitting, one lying down, neither speaking. Weiwei closed her eyes and seemed to fall back asleep. Zhang Yonghong lowered her head, lost in her own thoughts. By the time Wang Qiyao came back from the kitchen, the room had grown so dark you could barely make out the outlines of the two girls. Nobody made a sound for quite some time, each wrapped up in her own concerns. Suddenly, a sharp cackle erupted from the bedclothes. Wang Qiyao and Zhang Yonghong looked over to discover Weiwei had buried her head under the comforter.
“What are you laughing at?” Wang Qiyao asked.
At first there was no answer, but after a while Weiwei offered a giggly response. “What, I’m not allowed to laugh?”
Wang Qiyao paid no heed to Weiwei’s antics. She turned to Zhang Yonghong and asked how things were going with her boyfriend. Zhang Yonghong seemed reluctant to get into the subject and simply said they had broken up. Wang Qiyao had known that this was going to happen, but still was surprised. She wanted to say something, but realized that she had already gone over everything before. But then Zhang Yonghong started to open up. She listed all the bad qualities of the last boyfriend, and each item on her list was a deal breaker.
When she reached the end of her recital, Wang Qiyao smiled. “Zhang Yonghong, you’ve really built up a lot of experience when it comes to judging people. You see right through them, don’t you?”
Oblivious to the irony, Zhang Yonghong responded in a dejected tone, “That’s right. There must be something wrong with me. After ten minutes of passion, nothing about them seems to sit right with me.”
“You’ve had too much, you know,” remarked Wang Qiyao. “It’s like medicine. If you take too much, you build up a resistance and the medicine becomes useless. After too many boyfriends, it is difficult to stick with any one.”
“In any case, I dumped him when I had had enough,” Zhang Yonghong said.
That’s what she said, and her voice showed the pride that she felt deep down in her bones. After all, she was the one who was picky and not the other way around, and she was the one doing the dumping, showing that she still had other options. Wang Qiyao could tell what she was thinking and knew that the day would come when she would look back with regret. She looked at Zhang Yonghong’s colorless, almost transparent, face and saw there the shadow of emaciation; her experiences had begun to leave their mark on her. The affairs were over and done with, so she claimed, but they remained etched on her face. How does a woman get old? This is how. Rouge is useless as the vicissitudes of life draw their lines, the result of which is age. The more you try to hide it, the more it shows. Wang Qiyao watched Zhang Yonghong as she wound the yarn ball with her delicate fingers. The nail polish emitted a seashell-like glow and the veins in her arms showed lightblue under the light, giving one the impression of too much effort expended. Wang Qiyao felt sorry for her. Zhang Yonghong started to retell some of the rumors she heard on the streets—all sex scandals and murders. Weiwei’s head emerged from the comforter and her eyes widened as she listened.
Wang Qiyao chided her. “Did you go out for Christmas Eve, or did you work the night shift? What are you doing? Waiting for us to serve you?”
To Wang Qiyao’s surprise, Weiwei did not talk back. This lack of reaction was very unlike her. Wang Qiyao glanced at Weiwei, but she just lay lazily in bed without moving.
Before long it was truly nightfall. As soon as they turned on the light, the entire room filled with a radiant glow. Even when Zhang Yonghong announced her departure, Weiwei still didn’t get up. Wang Qiyao saw Zhang Yonghong as far as the landing and went into the kitchen to make dinner. Only when she saw the thick fog outside the north window and heard a crisp rustling sound did she realize that it was snowing. Gazing out the window, she thought how much it really did seem like Christmas. She heard Weiwei calling to her from the bedroom. At first she ignored her, but finally she went in to ask her what she wanted. “Don’t tell me you want me to bring your dinner to you in bed?”
Instead of answering, Weiwei pulled the comforter up to her chin. “Xiao Lin proposed.”
Wang Qiyao sat down slowly. “When did he say he wants to get married?”
“During the Spring Festival,” Weiwei responded, her back to her mother.
Although Weiwei’s relationship with Xiao Lin had seemed a set thing, they had never discussed marriage. Wang Qiyao had known it would be coming sooner or later, but now that it was here it still took her by surprise. She thought,
Weiwei
’
s getting married—how times flies!
She couldn’t tell if she was happy or sad and for a moment didn’t know how to respond. She sat there in a daze for she didn’t know how long, until she heard Weiwei saying with irritation in her voice, “His parents have invited us for dinner next week. So, do you approve or don’t you?”
Weiwei
’
s getting married—how times flies!
She couldn’t tell if she was happy or sad and for a moment didn’t know how to respond. She sat there in a daze for she didn’t know how long, until she heard Weiwei saying with irritation in her voice, “His parents have invited us for dinner next week. So, do you approve or don’t you?”
Wang Qiyao snapped out of her trance. “What’s there for me to approve? The two of you have decided this on your own. Since when have you ever asked me for advice?”
But Weiwei pressed her for an answer.
Wang Qiyao heaved a light sigh. “How could I be against it? This is a good thing!”
“What do you mean, ‘a good thing’?” Weiwei asked.
Wang Qiyao did not reply. Instead she got up and walked over to the corner of the room, where she cleared the things lying on top of her camphor chest, and opened the lid. One after another, she took out wool blankets, down quilts, eiderdown pillows—whole sets of beddings, which she put in a neat pile.
“I prepared all of this for you years ago.” As she spoke, tears trickled down her cheeks. Weiwei also cried, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything sweet.
The WeddingThe trousseau Wang Qiyao prepared for Weiwei could just as well have been prepared for herself. Each and every article was a mark of striving for a bright future—but bright futures come by chance and cannot be counted on. Everybody is supposed to have one, and this gives people something to look forward to. The dragons, phoenixes, and peonies woven in jacquard on the damask bedding, the broad-pleated furbelows, and the vines and branches in cutwork—all these were blueprints for the future. Most of the women crowding around the linens section of the department store were there to buy articles for trousseaus, whether for themselves or for their daughters. They might shop ten stores only to emerge empty-handed, so when they finally find what they have been looking for, they make it into a big event! Who can fathom their dedication?
Wang Qiyao had never prepared herself a trousseau—she had bypassed that moment in her own history. Now, stepping back and taking everything in from a distance, she discovered that she had arrived at a place in life where none of that mattered anymore. She was now in a position to prepare a trousseau for Weiwei, but sometimes she wondered just what business it was of hers. Her enthusiasm fluctuated; but over time she managed to purchase enough items to fill two or three chests. Opening the chests to air out the clothes under the blinding glare of the summer sun, she could barely bring herself to look at these brand-new items: these had no history, no roots, only a future of which she could not partake. She opened the windows to let in the sunlight and fresh air. The room filled with the distinctive smell of those new things untouched by human hands, and for a split second she was filled with the kind of joy that lets one momentarily forget oneself. New things always fill people with delight, with the excitement that comes just before something is about to begin.
As Weiwei took the trousseau bundle from her mother’s hands, she felt as if a great fortune had suddenly been bestowed on her and contentment filled her heart. She went through the articles on a daily basis, examining them and discussing them with her mother. Whenever they suspected that a fabric might not be what it was alleged to be, they would conduct a little test. To see if something was pure wool, they would tease out a small clump and, setting it on fire, watch the rate at which it burned. They looked like children as they huddled together, gazing intently at the flames.
Zhang Yonghong also came over to inspect Weiwei’s trousseau. As she looked the items over, she secretly compared them to her own trousseau. At some point unknown to the others, Zhang Yonghong had started to put aside half the money she normally spent on clothes for her trousseau. Although her boyfriends came and went like fleeting clouds, her trousseau grew with the passing months and years as steadily as if vows of everlasting love had been exchanged. It was only when accumulating items for her trousseau that Zhang Yonghong could faintly make out her future, a future that otherwise utterly bewildered her. One of the items in Weiwei’s trousseau was a bed net made of beaded gauze; Wang Qiyao spread it out with the help of Zhang Yonghong, who took the other end. When Weiwei crawled inside, she really did look like a bride through the sheer netting. As Wang Qiyao and Zhang Yonghong exchanged glances, a feeling of commiseration welled up between them, and they quickly looked away.
Then it was time for Weiwei to have new clothes made. Wang Qiyao picked out some woolen suit material in magenta and asked Madame Yan for a good tailor. The day the tailor came over to take the measurements, he was besieged with vociferous opinions about the design from Wang Qiyao and Zhang Yonghong, as well as Madame Yan, who had brought him over.
Thoroughly exasperated, the tailor demanded, “Excuse me, but who’s the tailor here, you or me?”
They all laughed. “Okay, okay! We’ll keep quiet from now on!”
But before long they were at it again. Weiwei, the only one who remained silent, stood with demure composure as they maneuvered her around—that day she was the star of the show. The lead role had fallen into her lap and she accepted the part in a muddleheaded way. You could say that she had no clue as to what marriage really was, but storybook romances with happy endings always seem to fall into the laps of people like that; the more one pursues the perfect marriage, the more elusive it becomes. This is what they mean when they say, “Follow love, and it will flee; flee love, and it will follow thee.” They also spent a great deal of time trying to figure out what shoes would match the magenta suit. At first it seemed logical that she should wear white shoes, but these made her look top-heavy and somewhat provincial. Black was the next color they tried, but although the proportions seemed right, the somber color had a deadening effect that took away from her gorgeous outfit. After racking their brains and running all over Shanghai, they finally found a pair of leather shoes in a slightly deeper shade of magenta: that did the trick, and they looked perfect on her. Next came the issue of hairstyle. Wang Qiyao had the final say here. She suggested that Weiwei get a permanent wave one month before the wedding, then go back for a trim every other week after that. By the time of the wedding, her hair would look naturally curly and no one would be able to tell that it had been permed, and it would look just right whether put up or hanging down.
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