Chinese Literature and Culture Volume 16: Chinese Literature and Culture, #16

Volume 16

Love of Life and Fear of Death

VOLUME EDITOR

Chu Dongwei

CONTRIBUTING EDITORS

Craig Hulst

Fraser Sutherland

CONTRIBUTORS

Chu Dongwei

Craig Hulst

Wang Xiaomu

Yang Yingchuan

TRANSLATORS

Chu Dongwei

Li Qinmei

Zhang Hong

CHINESE LITERATURE and Culture Volume 16

Edited by Chu Dongwei, Guangdong University of Foreign Studies

Copyright © 2019 Chinese Literature and Culture through Chu Dongwei.

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目录

Love Forecaster

by Wang Xiaomu, translated by Zhang Hong

The Vengeance of a Girl

A Commentary on Wang Xiaomu’s Love Forecaster

by Craig Hulst

No Turning Around

By Yang Yingchuan, translated by Li Qinmei with edits by Chu Dongwei and Fraser Sutherland

CLC Editorial Board

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Editorial: Love of Life and Fear of Death

by Chu Dongwei

WE ALL LIVE AND WE all die.

It is the process between the start of life and end of it that is all that matters.

In certain contexts, it is shameful to love your life and fear death, as reflected by the Chinese idiom tan sheng pa si, but to love life and fear death is only too natural as dictated by our animal heritage.

In this volume, we have two stories that contrast with each other. In the former, Wang Xiaomu’s Love Forecaster, we see how humans love life and can possibly spoil it; in the latter, Yingchuan’s No Turning Around, we have a human that fears death as a consequence of inflicting death (as he imagines); in the former, we see how love can sour, and in the latter how human nature can stay dignified with so much love in the deep fear of death.

Life is a one-way ticket, in either case; there is no return. As observers of other people’s lives and readers of other people’s stories we may perceive some meaning the way Craig Hulst does in his commentary on Love Forecaster.

As always, a note of thanks must go to the translators, Zhang Hong and Li Qinmei, involved in this volume, for their painstaking work, and to the contributing editors, Fraser Sutherland and Craig Hulst for making the translations read well, and the School of Interpreting and Translation Studies of Guangdong University of Foreign Studies for continued support given to Chinese Literature and Culture.

Love Forecaster

by Wang Xiaomu, translated by Zhang Hong

Wang Xiaomu , or Wang Jun is a member of China Writers Association, a participant of the 18th workshop of the Lu Xun Academy of Literature. She has published over two million words in writing. Many of her stories are republished in story selections and magazines of selected stories. She has published two story collections, which include Perfume Composite and Man at Dai Mei’s Window.

Part One

SHE TAKES A DRINK OF water, puts the mug on the bedside table, and says, I am pregnant.

He gives no reply. After three seconds or so, she sees a yellow-brown hue rolling stickily around on his face, just like smoke refusing to dissipate in a closed room. This is not what she visualized. Last night, she made all kinds of guesses regarding his reactions to her telling the news: he would be amazed, or be happily surprised, or seem to be wakened from a dream, or weep and laugh like a boy at the same time. After this, he would be sure to go down to one knee and propose marriage to her, just like those heroes in TV, and then he would rush out to buy a ring for her. The ring needn’t be a diamond one, and even if it was made from a coin by a street craftsman, she wouldn’t care.

Oh, he says, taking out a packet of cigarettes and lighting one. The white cigarette smoke shrouds the yellow-brown hue on his face, through which only the acne scars and faint black stubble on his pointed chin can be seen. Normally in the past, as long as she saw the black stubble, she couldn’t help stroking it. The faint prickles would stimulate blood in her to suddenly fill her heart, and then quickly spread all over her body as many arrows shooting in all directions.

Suddenly her eyes get warm; she feels she’s on the verge of tears. Being cold-shouldered is not only a sort of grievance, but also a sort of humiliation. He stubs the cigarette out in the ash tray, holds her shoulders and says, Honey, I’m sorry! It comes all of a sudden and I didn’t know what to say for the moment. I’m very happy! Really happy. I’m gonna be a dad.

As usual, he begins to kiss her hair, ears, neck, and the part below her neck. Finally, she forgets everything and begins to stroke his chin with her eyes closed. While she is caressing his chin, he puts her on the bed...

This is an inn called Happy Bay deep down the alley. The room is just big enough for a double bed, a nightstand and two chairs, in which it is barely possible for two people to turn around at the same time.

She has been brought to this inn by him about ten times. Each time they spend three hours or so here. She knows nothing about the room price, for she thinks it is not worth inquiring about. Everything is arranged by him while she just watches him bustling around. From him she has learned everything between a man and a woman. She feels she has found the right man she can lean on. Leaning on him is like propping herself against a grooved heavy stone wall, which will never fail her. So, she often sends her involuntary moans of pleasure flying through the door and falling towards the entrance of the staircase as if she were scattering petals.

Doing their business is no different from before. He collapses on top of her body gasping. After taking a rest, he gets off the bed and slips on slippers. These black-colored public slippers of the inn are very hard. They seem to be able to cut your feet. With his slippers flip-flopping he goes into the bathroom to take a shower. The sound of water splashing on the floor seems to bring out some hard stones as well as some white fat. The fat, when there is only a slight rise in temperature, gives off a rotten smell. She feels a little sick and dizzy, and hence has to close her eyes. The towel placed under her hips gets moist. She feels this world is a mixture of water and rice congee. Fuzzy faces, turbid water. Someone pushes her into the water of the river; she wants to grab onto something. But there is nothing for her to grab except the mud and sand carried down by the river. Thrashing around in the muddy water, she wants to shout for help, but in vain, no matter how hard she tries.

She can tell that he has finished bathing, for the flapping noise of his slippers are getting nearer. Then come the rustling of clothes being put on and the tinkling of his keys and belt buckle colliding. He says something to her. Did he tell her to take a bath or ask how she felt? Well, she recalls he said that he’s going to get a thermos of hot water, for there was no water in it. She also recollects that he came over, put her head in position on the pillow, and she grunted, or perhaps moaned, and later came the faint sound of a shutting door.

She is still in the yellow turbid water, desiring to swim out of the waters and find a place where she can take a rest. Suddenly, in the middle of the river a hillside rises up. Yet its sharply tapering slope is very narrow, very slippery. She must climb up. This is the only way out. Not knowing where she gets her strength from, she succeeds in doing so without making much effort. So slippery is the hillside that she is still likely to slide into the river. At this moment, a square fence appears on the hillside. She gets hold of the fence. But under her weight the thin fence is making cracking and splintering sounds. It may give way at any time. She has to take a deep breath and keeps her balance by putting partial weight on the fence. Out popped some black heads from the river, which might be snakes or crocodiles.

What wakes her up are the chaotic steps from the staircase, which are so heavy that the cobwebs on the window curtain are trembling. Some people are going upstairs. She shouts his name, You Jia, You Jia! but gets no reply. She pulls out the moist towel under her hips and throws it onto the bedside table. The towel is piled on the mug giving off a fishy smell. That sickness is not gone and she also feels a bit hungry. She puts on her clothes to look for You Jia. She assumes he might be outside making or answering a phone call. Nobody is in the corridor. At the end of the corridor is an electric water heater, and under the heater stands a lone thermos. She recognizes it. It’s the one from their room – it has a pink body with daffodils in full bloom. She goes downstairs and asks the woman innkeeper, who is dozing in the mild sunshine, where he is. Oh, he left a long time ago. Don’t you know that? Did you turn off the air-conditioner in your room? she replies impatiently.

Ignoring the innkeeper’s question, she leaves the inn and takes out her mobile phone. She finds her hands trembling; it’s an uncontrollable trembling. She wonders, What’s the matter with myself？Am I going to fall ill? Or is this only a subconscious response to some approaching big disaster?

You Jia’s mobile phone is powered off; she keeps dialing his number. Now her hands stop trembling, but her face flushes, and the flush spreads from her face to her neck. His phone is still off. She is tempted to fling her phone onto the marble blocks on the street floor. But on second thought, if she smashes her phone, she has to buy a new one. Now that her boyfriend is gone, if her phone is smashed, isn’t she going to suffer double loss? She suppresses the impulse to fling her phone. Many people are coming and going in the street; most of them are busy enough with their own affairs. Some passersby are laughing, some passersby are frowning, and some sellers are crying out for attention.

Gradually, she begins to realize that she has been abandoned! Abandoned by the guy who just now treated her affectionately in the bed. If he was going to break up with her, why did he do the deed for the last time? The humiliating deed! She gnashes her teeth with hatred glaring up inside her.

She remembers many people have told her a saying that to forbear is to have a knife stabbed in your heart[1]. They are all kind-hearted people, including her teachers, parents, friends etc. But some matters can be endured, and some absolutely not. If a person endures the unendurable, it is cowardice, and it is dragging out a shameful life. Such a life is destined to be hopeless and meaningless. She vows she will make You Jia pay for what he did. She will not let him off!

She goes back to her own apartment and lies in her bed. Except for this matter, she can’t think of anything else to do. She wants to dream so as to forget all the past things. Even if she can’t forget them, she can ask the god or goddess of dreams for some advice about what to do at present, and what to do with the little one in her belly.

Bang! Bang! Come the sounds of someone pounding at her door. Thinking the sounds are in her dream, she turns to the other side and immediately falls back to sleep. Later, the sounds repeatedly interrupt her dreams. Half-awake, she walks to the door and opens it. There stands a guy saying, Sister Qianqian, what’s wrong with you? You’ve shut yourself in your room for two days.

Oh, two days? She slightly opens her eyes. The light dazzles her so much that her eyes hurt bitterly. She turns around, goes back to her bed, and lies in it, saying, Xiaolei, don’t mind me, go about your own business. I’m just tired.

Xiaolei is the younger brother of Xiaomin, her college classmate and good friend. Xiaomin has gone to Tibet to serve as a volunteer teacher. Before she left, she entrusted Xiaolei to her and asked him to move in next door to Qianqian. She felt it was funny.