Read Song of Everlasting Sorrow Online
Authors: Wang Anyi
Song of Everlasting Sorrow (70 page)
Prosperous Shanghai was in every sense of the term a place where power was everything; people without money or power had no place here. Long Legs, in spending money on his friends, was actually paying his dues in this power market. The flashing neon lights, the new fashions that came and went with blinding speed, and now new additions—like pop songs and discos—made Shanghai a place frothing with incessant excitement; would you be willing to sit and watch it pass you by? For people like Long Legs, who spent their days and nights sauntering through the city’s splendor, every day was like Christmas: how could they be expected to endure a boring, uneventful lifestyle like the common herd? Even with their eyes closed, they could still differentiate light from the dark. Walking down a dark, shady street, they could sniff out through the walls where all-night dance parties were raging and where people were only sleeping. They were the sharpest sort of people—how could they possibly settle for “ordinary”? Only after understanding this can one sympathize with the sufferings of Long Legs as he sat there by himself in that park; then one would know what he was thinking without even having to ask.
The park was actually only around a half-hour’s ride from downtown, but it was another world; there even the wind and the air were lonely, not to mention the people. He wondered what his friends were doing.
What was Zhang Yonghong doing?
When he was with her, all he thought about was how to please her. Now that he was alone, he found himself thinking about his future with her. This was a state of mind quite alien to him. To people like Long Legs, who got through life by means of hustling, the future is something that arrives on its own and there was no point in thinking about it. Now that he sat down to ponder it, Long Legs discovered that his mind was blank. His confusion about the future was partly because he simply didn’t know, but also because he had no plans. His mind went in circles as he realized that he and Zhang Yonghong had no real future to speak of—all they had were the days ahead of them. These days could be reduced to eating out and going to dance parties and on shopping trips—things that made up the essence of life, the most important things—but all of those things required money. And so his thoughts came full circle.... Everything came back to money.
What was Zhang Yonghong doing?
When he was with her, all he thought about was how to please her. Now that he was alone, he found himself thinking about his future with her. This was a state of mind quite alien to him. To people like Long Legs, who got through life by means of hustling, the future is something that arrives on its own and there was no point in thinking about it. Now that he sat down to ponder it, Long Legs discovered that his mind was blank. His confusion about the future was partly because he simply didn’t know, but also because he had no plans. His mind went in circles as he realized that he and Zhang Yonghong had no real future to speak of—all they had were the days ahead of them. These days could be reduced to eating out and going to dance parties and on shopping trips—things that made up the essence of life, the most important things—but all of those things required money. And so his thoughts came full circle.... Everything came back to money.
When Long Legs made his return, it was with a new, completely refurbished appearance. He was in high spirits, smiling from ear to ear, had a sharp new haircut, and was wearing fresh clothes, and his wallet was stuffed with cash—even his posture was better than it had been in years. He wanted to invite everyone out for barbeque at the Beer Garden, the new restaurant that had just opened in the Jinjiang Hotel. It was an early autumn night. The candles on the tables flickered in the wind, as did the flames in the barbeque pit, the wine inside the glasses had a shiny luster, and the faint smoke from the pit faded into the breeze. Tears almost came to Long Legs’ eyes as he thought:
Am I dreaming?
The canvas canopy above them was like a sail, billowing up from time to time, as if carrying them off to some warm place far, far away. That was how an evening in Shanghai ought to be—all other occasions were the dregs of this one. Such a sudden departure followed by a dramatic return surely meant adding an exciting new chapter to his family myth. On nights like this, in a place as beautiful as a crystal palace, people tended to believe whatever they were told—adults too need a place to exercise their imagination. A few insects nibbled gently on people’s feet on the lawn, all around them was Western-style architecture, the leaves of French parasol trees hung down over them, and melodious music played. But all of this was only secondary: what was most important was inside their hearts—what they were feeling in their hearts! They didn’t seem to be people at all, but celestial beings. But the words deep inside Long Legs’ heart didn’t form complete sentences, his song was out of tune; his knees were knocking gently and his fingers tapping against his leg could not keep time. What’s intoxication? This was intoxication. It had only been a few days, but Long Legs had already experienced two different lives.
Am I dreaming?
The canvas canopy above them was like a sail, billowing up from time to time, as if carrying them off to some warm place far, far away. That was how an evening in Shanghai ought to be—all other occasions were the dregs of this one. Such a sudden departure followed by a dramatic return surely meant adding an exciting new chapter to his family myth. On nights like this, in a place as beautiful as a crystal palace, people tended to believe whatever they were told—adults too need a place to exercise their imagination. A few insects nibbled gently on people’s feet on the lawn, all around them was Western-style architecture, the leaves of French parasol trees hung down over them, and melodious music played. But all of this was only secondary: what was most important was inside their hearts—what they were feeling in their hearts! They didn’t seem to be people at all, but celestial beings. But the words deep inside Long Legs’ heart didn’t form complete sentences, his song was out of tune; his knees were knocking gently and his fingers tapping against his leg could not keep time. What’s intoxication? This was intoxication. It had only been a few days, but Long Legs had already experienced two different lives.
Long Legs hadn’t come by in several days and Wang Qiyao was almost certain he was a fraud; but when he showed up at last, she was confused again. Long Legs didn’t bother explaining where he had been; instead he carelessly put down a bag of gifts on which DUTY FREE was printed in both Chinese and English. Wang Qiyao wondered where he had been, but instead of inquiring about that, asked him why he hadn’t brought Zhang Yonghong along. Even before she had finished her question, Zhang Yonghong came up the stairs—she had been out in the
longtang
making a phone call. As it turned out, Old Colour was there too, and the four of them sat down to chat. After his brief absence, Long Legs looked around Wang Qiyao’s apartment and felt quite moved:
It hasn
’
t changed one bit.
He felt as if he had been gone an eternity, but all the people and things here were still the same; it was as if they had all been awaiting his return and he felt a warmth surging into his heart.
longtang
making a phone call. As it turned out, Old Colour was there too, and the four of them sat down to chat. After his brief absence, Long Legs looked around Wang Qiyao’s apartment and felt quite moved:
It hasn
’
t changed one bit.
He felt as if he had been gone an eternity, but all the people and things here were still the same; it was as if they had all been awaiting his return and he felt a warmth surging into his heart.
In order to get his life back, Long Legs had become a swindler. Two nights earlier, in a
longtang
off Lujiazui Road in Pudong, he was exchanging money with a client when he secretly replaced a stack of ten twentydollar bills with one dollar bills. There was nothing new about this type of scam, but for Long Legs it was the first time: a shameful blemish on his record as a currency trader. On the ferry from Pudong back to Puxi, Long Legs gazed up at the moon veiled in clouds and his heart sank. If he hadn’t had nowhere else to turn, he would have never gone down that path. Part of Long Legs’ good-natured disposition was his purity, but now that purity had been tarnished and his heart ached silently. At that moment he looked out across the water and saw the lights and majestic architecture of Shanghai on the opposite shore. The buildings were like a mountain range rising before his eyes, gilded by the lights of the city. The night was calling out to him and oh, how it captivated his soul!
longtang
off Lujiazui Road in Pudong, he was exchanging money with a client when he secretly replaced a stack of ten twentydollar bills with one dollar bills. There was nothing new about this type of scam, but for Long Legs it was the first time: a shameful blemish on his record as a currency trader. On the ferry from Pudong back to Puxi, Long Legs gazed up at the moon veiled in clouds and his heart sank. If he hadn’t had nowhere else to turn, he would have never gone down that path. Part of Long Legs’ good-natured disposition was his purity, but now that purity had been tarnished and his heart ached silently. At that moment he looked out across the water and saw the lights and majestic architecture of Shanghai on the opposite shore. The buildings were like a mountain range rising before his eyes, gilded by the lights of the city. The night was calling out to him and oh, how it captivated his soul!
Chapter 4
AGAINST THE CLAMOR of the city, who could hear the prayers being uttered in Peace Lane? Who would notice people whose dearest wish in life is not to be praised for merit but only to avoid making mistakes? Here a lean-to shed has been added on to the terrace and the courtyard roofed over to make a kitchen. If you were to look down upon the rooftops of the city, you would find them in utter disarray, worn and dilapidated, structures built on top of structures, taking up every bit of free space. This was especially true of the older
longtang,
like Peace Lane—it’s a miracle that they haven’t collapsed yet. About a third of the tiles were broken, patched over in places with bits of felt, the wooden frames on the doors and windows were blackened and rotting, with everything in view a uniform ash gray.
longtang,
like Peace Lane—it’s a miracle that they haven’t collapsed yet. About a third of the tiles were broken, patched over in places with bits of felt, the wooden frames on the doors and windows were blackened and rotting, with everything in view a uniform ash gray.
But though it was falling apart on the outside, the spirit of the place remained; its inner voice, though stifled, was still audible. But amid all the noises of this city, just what did this voice amount to? There was never a moment of peace and quiet in the city; the day had its sounds, as did the night, and between them they drowned that voice out. But it was still there—it couldn’t be silenced because it was the foundation upon which the hubbub and commotion fed; without it all of those noises would have been nothing but an empty echo. But what did this voice say? Two words:
to live
. No matter how loud the noise became, no matter what a rumpus it made, or how long it carried on, it could never find those two words. Those two little words weighed a ton, so they sank, and sank—all the way down, to the very bottom; only immaterial things like smoke and mist could float up to the surface. It was impossible to listen to this voice without crying. The prayers whispered in Peace Lane went on day and night, like an ever-burning alter lamp, but they weren’t burning on oil: inch by inch, they were burning thoughts. In contrast, the chaotic noises echoing in the city’s air were nothing but the scraps and leftovers of life, which is why they could be so liberally strewn about. The prayers concealed throughout those thousands of Shanghai
longtang
rang out louder and clearer than all the church bells in Europe: they created a rumbling thunder that seemed to emerge from the earth itself, the sound of mountains crumbling. A shame we had no way of participating in this ourselves, but just looking at the abyss they created was enough to make the heart grow cold. See what they have done to this place! It is hard to say whether this was a form of construction or destruction, but whatever it was, it was massive.
to live
. No matter how loud the noise became, no matter what a rumpus it made, or how long it carried on, it could never find those two words. Those two little words weighed a ton, so they sank, and sank—all the way down, to the very bottom; only immaterial things like smoke and mist could float up to the surface. It was impossible to listen to this voice without crying. The prayers whispered in Peace Lane went on day and night, like an ever-burning alter lamp, but they weren’t burning on oil: inch by inch, they were burning thoughts. In contrast, the chaotic noises echoing in the city’s air were nothing but the scraps and leftovers of life, which is why they could be so liberally strewn about. The prayers concealed throughout those thousands of Shanghai
longtang
rang out louder and clearer than all the church bells in Europe: they created a rumbling thunder that seemed to emerge from the earth itself, the sound of mountains crumbling. A shame we had no way of participating in this ourselves, but just looking at the abyss they created was enough to make the heart grow cold. See what they have done to this place! It is hard to say whether this was a form of construction or destruction, but whatever it was, it was massive.
What Peace Lane prayed for was peace itself. You could hear it even from the bell that was rung every night to warn people to mind their kitchen fires. Peace is not something ordinary, but Peace Lane had an ordinary heart and its prayers were quite humble as well; these modest requests, however, were not easily granted. No major disaster had befallen Peace Lane in many years, but little things kept coming up, such as someone falling off the balcony while bringing in their laundry, another getting electrocuted when he turned off a light switch with a wet hand, pressure cooker explosions, rat poison accidentally ingested. If all these, who died wrongful deaths, had cried out, their howls would have been deafening. So how could one not pray for peace and security?
In the early evening, when the lights came on, you could see in all the windows the watchful eyes of frightened people looking out for signs of trouble. But whenever something bad did happen, no one ever saw it coming. This was where Peace Lane had gone numb and where it displayed its pragmatism. The residents were never prepared for the closest dangers. Yes, they understood the dangers of fire and electricity, but beyond that they had no imagination. And so if you were to see the people of Peace Lane praying, they would be like idiots reciting a book from memory, chanting with their lips but not their minds, repeating the same incantations over and over again. Meanwhile the flowerpot sitting on the windowsill was just an inch away from falling down, but no one ever bothered to move it; the termites had already done their work on the floors, but no one ever seemed to care; illegal structures kept being added one on top of the other, causing the foundation to sink, yet another one was about to be built. During the typhoon season, when Peace Lane shook and rattled and it appeared as if the entire neighborhood was going to pieces, people curled up in their rooms, complacently enjoying the cool breeze brought by the storm. What people in Peace Lane prayed for was to be able to live in a fool’s paradise—they would rather turn a blind eye and never ask questions. The pigeon whistles sounding in the morning sang of peace, announcing the good but never the bad; but even if they had, would that have made a difference? You might be able to escape it in the first round, but would you escape in the second? Put that way, those prayers must imply an acceptance, a sort of Daoist resignation to reality. For want of anything else to pray for, night after night they pray for peace, but that was just wishful thinking.
The wind whistles across the street and down the alleys, picking up handfuls of dead leaves along the way. Sunlight, also in handfuls, seemed reluctant to leave the long, winding
longtang
behind. Summer was gone, autumn waning. The houses at the end of
longtang
had their doors and windows all tightly shut. The sweet-scented oleander shed its petals; stories that never got a chance to be told were swallowed back down and kept quiet. This was the moment when the Shanghai
longtang
showed their solemn side; their solemnity carried weight and from it you could feel the pressure of time. This
longtang
had already built up its own history and history always shows a stern face, making the
longtang
put its frivolous side away. How unruly it used to be!—Seductive eyes peeking out of every corner, one false step and you would be ensnared.
longtang
behind. Summer was gone, autumn waning. The houses at the end of
longtang
had their doors and windows all tightly shut. The sweet-scented oleander shed its petals; stories that never got a chance to be told were swallowed back down and kept quiet. This was the moment when the Shanghai
longtang
showed their solemn side; their solemnity carried weight and from it you could feel the pressure of time. This
longtang
had already built up its own history and history always shows a stern face, making the
longtang
put its frivolous side away. How unruly it used to be!—Seductive eyes peeking out of every corner, one false step and you would be ensnared.
But now the story seems to be coming to an end. Even those who attempt brazen acts with a smiling façade are met with sober, straight faces: the time for equivocation was over. The tide was receding and the rocks would soon be exposed. Counting on one’s fingers, one finds that the Shanghai
longtang
have quite a few years on them—a few more and they’ll be treading on thin ice. Going up again to the highest point in the city and looking down, one sees that the crisscrossing
longtang
neighborhoods are already beginning to look desolate. If these had been large imposing building, that desolation might be mitigated by their grand proportions. But
longtang
buildings all have low walls and narrow courtyards, filled with ordinary people carrying out their mundane tasks: could places like these be thought of as desolate? Desolation takes on a comical aspect in such places, and that only makes the people living there all the more dejected. Putting it in harsher terms: the whole place bore a certain resemblance to a heap of rubble. With the leaves falling in early winter, all we see are broken bricks and shattered tiles. Like an aging beauty who retains her alluring profile, it can no longer bear scrutiny. Should you insist on searching for a trace of her former charm—after all, not everything is erased—you would have to look for it in the turn of the alley. Left here, right there, as if glancing coquettishly from side to side, but the eyes that are so flirtatious are also getting on in years, they have lost their luster and are incapable of grabbing hold of your attention. Soon, sleet began to come down—that was the frigid past accumulated over generations—turning to water before it even hit the ground.
longtang
have quite a few years on them—a few more and they’ll be treading on thin ice. Going up again to the highest point in the city and looking down, one sees that the crisscrossing
longtang
neighborhoods are already beginning to look desolate. If these had been large imposing building, that desolation might be mitigated by their grand proportions. But
longtang
buildings all have low walls and narrow courtyards, filled with ordinary people carrying out their mundane tasks: could places like these be thought of as desolate? Desolation takes on a comical aspect in such places, and that only makes the people living there all the more dejected. Putting it in harsher terms: the whole place bore a certain resemblance to a heap of rubble. With the leaves falling in early winter, all we see are broken bricks and shattered tiles. Like an aging beauty who retains her alluring profile, it can no longer bear scrutiny. Should you insist on searching for a trace of her former charm—after all, not everything is erased—you would have to look for it in the turn of the alley. Left here, right there, as if glancing coquettishly from side to side, but the eyes that are so flirtatious are also getting on in years, they have lost their luster and are incapable of grabbing hold of your attention. Soon, sleet began to come down—that was the frigid past accumulated over generations—turning to water before it even hit the ground.
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