She refilled her pipe and sucked on it like a toothless old man. “Birdman Han planted a dragon seed,” she said, “but all he got for his efforts was a flea! Why did Geng Lianlian send you here?”
Jintong stammered, “She asked me to invite you to take a tour of the Eastern Bird Sanctuary.”
“That’s not the real reason,” Ji said as she picked up her mug of tea and took a drink. She banged it down on the table and said, “What she really wants is a bank loan.”
5
On one glorious spring day, Ji Qiongzhi elevated Jintong’s status in the eyes of others by leading a delegation of Dalan’s most influential officials and, by special invitation, the managers of the Construction Bank, the Bank of Industry and Commerce, the People’s Bank, and the Bank of Agriculture on an inspection tour of the Eastern Bird Sanctuary. Lu Shengli, a woman of majestic bearing, dressed very simply that day, but any discerning individual could see that this very simplicity was in itself a fashion statement, and that her “simple” clothes were all designer imports.
Forty or more expensive sedans pulled up at the gate of the Eastern Bird Sanctuary, where a pair of red palace lanterns three meters in diameter, filled with more than a hundred silver-throated skylarks, hung. Parrot Han had trained the birds to start singing as soon as they heard the sound of automobile engines. The lanterns vibrated with the skylarks’ songs, natural music of unsurpassed and unforgettable beauty. The arched roof of the gate was home to more than seventy nests of golden swifts, also trained by the magical hand of Parrot Han. A wooden plaque standing alongside the gate gave the English name of the swifts and a Chinese and English detailed description of the birds. Of special note was the fact that the nearly transparent nests were famous for their high nutritional value; a single nest sold for 3,000 yuan. For this occasion, Geng Lianlian had secretly installed several hundred audio speakers on nearby trees, which flooded the area with taped birdcalls. Just inside the gate, four wooden plaques proclaimed: Birds Call Flowers Sing, one gigantic word on each plaque. At first, the observers assumed that the word “sing” was a mistake, but they quickly realized that it was the perfect choice, since the flowers of the Eastern Bird Sanctuary did in fact appear to be singing as they swayed along with the nearly deafening birdcalls. A flock of well-trained wild chickens performed a welcoming dance in the middle of the courtyard, pairing off as couples one minute and spinning in the air the next, in perfect cadence with the music. These can’t be wild chickens! They’re nothing less than a flock of young gentlemen (for the sake of aesthetic continuity, Parrot Han had trained only male birds), a flock of young dandies forming a multicolored chorus line that dazzled the observers’ eyes. Geng Lianlian and Jintong led the visitors into the sanctuary’s performance hall, where Parrot Han, wearing ceremonial dress with embroidered red flowers, waited impressively, baton at the ready. Once the visitors were inside, a young female attendant threw a switch, flooding the hall with light, and twenty tiger-skin parrots on a horizontal perch directly opposite the entrance sang out in unison: Welcome welcome, hearty welcome, welcome welcome, hearty welcome! The visitors responded with ecstatic applause. Before the sound had died out, a flock of little siskins flew out, each carrying a folded pink slip in its beak, which they dropped into the hands of the visitors. Opening their slips, the visitors read the following: Greetings to your honorable personages! Your advice and guidance will be much appreciated. The recipients clicked their tongues in amazement. Next came two mynahs dressed in red jackets and little green hats; waddling up to a microphone at the center of the stage, one of them announced haughtily, Ladies and gentlemen, how do you do! The second mynah translated into fluent English. Thank you for honoring us with your presence. We welcome your precious advice — more translation. The director of the Municipal Trade Bureau, who knew English well, commented, Pure Oxford English. Now, for your enjoyment, we offer a solo rendering of “The Women’s Liberation Anthem,” sung by Hill Mynah. A hill mynah in purple dress bird-walked up to the microphone and bowed to the audience, so deeply that they could see the two yellow flaps on the back of her head. She said, today I’m going to sing a historical song, which I respectfully dedicate to Mayor Ji. I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you. Another deep bow exposed for the second time the two flaps, as ten canaries hopped out onto the stage to sing the opening bars in their lovely voices. The hill mynah began to rock as her voice rose in song:
In the old society, this is how it was:
A dark, I so dark dry well, deep down in the ground.
Crushing the common folk, women at the bottom,
At the very, very bottom.
In the new society, this is how it is:
A bright, I so bright sun shines down on the peasants.
Women have been freed to stand up,
At the very, very top.
The song ended amid thundering applause. Lianlian and Jintong sneaked a look at Ji Qiongzhi to gauge her reaction. She sat there calmly, neither clapping nor shouting her approval. Lianlian began to squirm. “What’s with her?” she asked softly, giving him a nudge with her elbow. He shook his head.
Lianlian cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention. UI now invite our honorable guests to the dining room. Since the Eastern Bird Sanctuary is a new enterprise and has limited funds, we can offer only a modest meal. Our chef has prepared a ‘hundred bird banquet’ in your honor.”
The pair of avian masters of ceremony rushed up to the microphone to announce in unison, “Hundred bird banquet, hundred bird banquet, delicacies galore. From ostrich to hummingbird. Mallard and blue horse chicken. Red-crested crane and long-tailed turtledove. Bustard and ibis, hawfinch and mandarin duck, pelican and lovebird. Yellow roc, thrush, and woodpecker. Swan, cormorant, flamingo
Ji Qiongzhi walked out before the mynahs could list all the birds on the menu, her face hard as iron. Her subordinates fell in behind her with demonstrable reluctance. She had no sooner entered her car than Lianlian stomped her foot in anger and cursed, “What a witch! A goddamned deadbeat!”
The next day, the relevant portions of a meeting of the Municipal Government were sent to Geng Lianlian. “A bird sanctuary?” Ji Qiongzhi was quoted as saying. “They’ll not see a penny of government money as long as I’m mayor of this city!”
Lianlian giggled at the news. “That old fart. We’ll keep riding the donkey and singing our song, and see what happens.” She then directed Jintong to send the gifts they’d already prepared to the homes of the people who had come to the show, Ji Qiongzhi not included. The gifts included a pound of swallow’s nest and a bouquet of peacock feathers. For the most important visitors — that is, bank managers — an additional pound of swallow’s nest.
Jintong hesitated. “I… can’t do something like that.”
Within the space of a second, Lianlian’s gray eyes turned into those of a snake. “Can’t do it,” she said icily. “Then I'm afraid Fll have to ask Uncle to look for work elsewhere. Who knows, maybe that precious teacher of yours will find you an official position somewhere.”
“We can have Uncle be a gateman or something,” Parrot Han volunteered.
“Shut your mouth!” Lianlian hissed. “He may be your uncle, but he isn’t mine. I'm not running an old folks’ home here.”
“I’d advise you not to kill and eat the donkey after the milling’s finished,” Parrot muttered.
Lianlian flung her coffee cup at Parrot’s head. Yellow rays shot from her eyes, her lips parted savagely, and she said, “Get out of here, get the hell out, both of you! Anger me, and I’ll feed you to the eagles!”
Feeling his soul fly off in terror, Jintong cupped his hands in front of his chest. “It’s all my fault, Niece, I should die a thousand deaths. I’m not human, I’m the scum of the earth. Don’t take it out on my nephew. I’ll leave. You fed and clothed me, and I’ll pay you back, even if I have to become a garbage collector or scavenge empty bottles for their deposit.”
“That’s some drive you’ve got,” Lianlian mo
cked him. “You’re a damned idiot. Anybody who spends his life hanging by his mouth on women’s nipples is lower than a dog. If I’d been you, I’d have hanged myself from a crooked tree long ago. Pastor Malory planted a dragon seed, but all he harvested was a flea. No, you’re no flea. A flea can at least jump high into the air. At best you’re a stinking bedbug, and maybe not even that. You’re like a louse that’s gone hungry for three years!”
Cupping his hands over his ears, Jintong fled the Eastern Bird Sanctuary, but no matter how fast he ran, Lianlian’s razor-sharp verbal barbs cut him to ribbons. In his confusion, he ran into a field of reeds, all yellow and withered, since they hadn’t been cut down the year before; the new reeds had already grown half a foot. He burrowed deep into the field, and was, for the moment, cut off from the outside world. The dry plants rustled in the wind; the bitter odor of new plants rose from the muddy ground at his feet. His heart was nearly breaking, and as he tumbled to the ground, he began to wail piteously, pounding his cumbersome head with his muddy hands. Like a little old lady, he cried out between sobs, “Why did you let me be born, Mother? How could you raise a worthless piece of garbage like me? You should have stuffed me down a toilet right after I was born. Mother, I’ve lived my life like something that’s neither human nor demon! Adults picked on me, children picked on me, men picked on me, women picked on me, the living picked on me, the dead picked on me … Mother, I can’t go on, it’s time for me to depart this world. Old man in Heaven, open your eyes, strike me dead with a bolt of lightning! Mother Earth, open up and swallow me down. Mother, I can’t take it any longer! She cursed and reviled me right to my face …”
Once he’d cried himself out, he lay down on the muddy ground. But that was so uncomfortable he had to get right back up. He blew his nose, red from crying, and wiped his tear-streaked face. It had been a good cry, and he felt much better. His attention was caught first by a shrike’s nest in the reeds, and then by a snake slithering out between them. He froze for a moment, but then congratulated himself for not giving the snake a chance to crawl up his pant leg. The shrike’s nest took his thoughts back to the Eastern Bird Sanctuary. The snake shifted those thoughts to Geng Lianlian, and his heart slowly filled with rage. He gave the nest a hard kick, but since it was tied to the reeds by horsetail grass, not only did it stay where it was, but he nearly lost his balance. He ripped the nest loose, threw it to the ground, and stomped on it with both feet. “Lousy goddamned bird sanctuary! Son of a bitch! Here’s what you get! I’ll stomp you out of existence! Son of a bitch!” All that stomping gave him courage and increased his anger, so he bent down and broke off a reed, accidentally cutting his palm with the razor-sharp leaf. Ignoring the pain, he raised the reed high over his head and took out after the snake, which he found slithering amid the purple buds of young reeds; it was racing along the ground. “Geng Lianlian,” he shouted as he raised the reed over his head again, “you venomous snake! You messed with the wrong person, and now your life is mine!” He swung the reed with all his might. He wasn’t sure if he hit the snake on the head or on the body, but he was sure he hit it somewhere, because it immediately curled up, raised its black-streaked head, and began hissing. It stared at him with its malicious gray eyes. He shuddered and his hair stood on edge. He was about to strike out with his reed again when the snake slithered toward him. With a cry for his mother, he threw down the reed and ran out of the patch as fast as his legs would carry him, oblivious to the cuts on his face from the sharp leaves brushing against him. He stopped to catch his breath only when he was sure the snake hadn’t followed him. There was no strength in his limbs, his head was swimming, and he felt weak all over; and his empty stomach grumbled. Off in the distance, the arched gate of the Eastern Bird Sanctuary sparkled in the bright sunlight. The honking of cranes soared up to the clouds. In days just past, this would be lunchtime. The sweet fragrance of fresh milk, the smell of bread, and the redolence of quail and pheasant sought him out all at once, and he began to regret his impulsiveness. Why did I leave? What would it have cost me to hand out a few gifts? He slapped himself. It didn’t hurt, so he did it again. This time it stung a little. He hauled off and slugged himself, and leaped into the air, it hurt so much. His cheek throbbed. Shangguan Jintong, you’re a bastard who’s let his obsession over face cause nothing but suffering! he cursed himself loudly. His feet carried him in the direction of the Eastern Bird Sanctuary. Go on. A true man knows how to stand tall when he should and bend when he must. Apologize to Geng Lianlian, admit you were wrong, and beg her to take you back. What good does face do when you’ve sunk this low? Face? That’s a luxury for the well-to-do, not for the likes of you. Just because she called you a stinking bedbug doesn’t make you one. Or, for that matter, a louse. He berated himself, he begrudged himself, he grieved for himself, he forgave himself, he felt his own pain, he enlightened himself, he talked himself around, he taught himself a lesson, and before he knew it, he was standing at the gate of the Eastern Bird Sanctuary.
He paced irresolutely. Every time he got up the nerve to go in, he held back at the last minute. When a true man says he’s setting out, a team of four horses can’t hold him back. If there’s no place for me here, there’ll be one somewhere. A good horse doesn’t turn and eat the grass it’s trampled on. I do not lower my head even if I die from hunger; I stand tall before the wind as I die from the cold. I’ll fight over a good showing, but not over bread. We may lack food, but we don’t lack will. Everyone has to die sometime, and we must leave a name for history. He recited one cliché after another to strengthen his resolve, but he’d taken no more than a few steps before he returned to the gate. Jintong faced a dilemma. He hoped against hope that he might bump into Parrot Han or Lianlian there at the gate. But then he heard Parrot Han call out something, and he ran behind a tree. And so he remained, just outside the gate, until the sun went down. Gazing up at the house, he saw soft light streaming out of Lianlian’s window, and melancholy set in. He continued gazing, but nothing came to mind, and in the end he turned and dragged himself off in the direction of town.
It was the smell of food that drew him instinctively to the night snack market in town. Originally the site of a martial arts training center, it was now the place where tasty snacks were sold. When he arrived, the shops were still open, their neon lights flashing on and off. Shop owners lolled about in their doorways, spitting watermelon seed husks effortlessly into the street as they waited in vain for customers. The scene on the cobblestone street, was more welcoming, the asphalt glistening with water, both sides alight with warm red electric lamps. Proprietors of roadside stands were dressed in white uniforms and high hats, their faces shone. A plaque at the entrance proclaimed:
SILENCE IS GOLDEN
HERE YOUR MOUTH IS FOR EATING, NOT FOR TALKING
YOUR COMPLIANCE WILL BE REWARDED
He never dreamed that the snow market regulations would find their way to this little snack market. Pink mist rose above the street, thanks to the red lamps, framing the shop owners as they signaled passersby with their eyes and their hands, lending the area a mysterious, furtive aura. Clusters of boys and girls in bright clothes, arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder, cuddling together and passing looks, but scrupulously observing the no-talking ban, were part of a grand spectacle, sharing in the strange, joyous mood of what was neither a game nor a joke, resembling tiny clutches of birds, staggering along, pecking here and there, buyers and sellers alike caught up in the seriousness of the moment. The moment Jintong stepped onto this street of silence, he experienced the rush of returning to his roots, and momentarily forgot his hunger and the humiliation of that morning. It felt to him that the silence had broken down all barriers between the people
Sometime after midnight, damp, cold winds from the southeast covered him like the skin of a snake. He had walked from one place to another, eventually winding up back in the night market, which had closed up for the night. The red lamps had been turned off, leaving only a few dim streetlights shinin
g down on the street, now cluttered with feathers and snakeskins. Sanitation workers were sweeping up the garbage; some young hooligans were engaged in a wordless fistfight. They stopped when they saw him and simply stared. The hooligans exchanged glances, one of them gave a signal with his eyes, and they swarmed around Jintong. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself on the ground being freed of his suit, his shoes, everything but his underwear. Then, with a loud whistle as a sign, his tormentors vanished like a school of fish in the ocean.
Jintong went off looking for the thieving hooligans, up one dark lane and down another”, half naked and barefoot. Maintaining the silence was no longer a concern to him, as he cursed one minute and wailed the next. The sauna-softened soles of his feet took a beating from the shards of brick and tile on the ground, while the freezing night air cut into his skin, made tender by the Thai masseuse. At that moment he realized that people who have spent years in Hell aren’t especially bothered by its agonies, but such is not the case with those who have lived in more heavenly circumstances. Now he felt as if he’d been consigned to the lowest level of Hell, that he was as miserable as he’d ever been. Thoughts of the scalding water in the sauna baths made the bitter cold seem as if it had penetrated the marrow of his bones. Thinking back to the days of passion spent with Old Jin, he reminded himself that he had been naked then too; but that was being naked for fun. And now? Walking the streets late at night, he felt like a zombie.
Dogs had been outlawed in the city by municipal order. A dozen or more abandoned dogs — fascist-like German shepherds, mastiffs with the bearing of lions, loose-skinned Shar-Peis, and other breeds — had come together to form a pack, making its home in garbage heaps. Sometimes they were so stuffed with food they poisoned the air with their farts; at other times they were so hungry they could barely drag themselves along. The dogcatchers of the Municipal Environmental Protection Bureau were their mortal enemies. Not long before, Jintong had heard that the son of Zhang Huachang, the MEP Bureau chief, had been singled out from the hundreds of children at a kindergarten, taken off by a pack of savage dogs, and eaten. At the time, Zhang’s son was playing on a carousel when a black wolfhound soared like an eagle from a high chain bridge, landing precisely in the seat occupied by the poor little boy; it grabbed his neck in its jaws as a motley collection of mongrels emerged from hiding places as a protective unit for the wolfhound. They swaggered unhurriedly past the petrified kindergarten teachers and carried the bureau chief’s son off with them. The famous radio personality, Unicorn, ran a series of broadcasts about this frightful incident on the local radio station, concluding with the astonishing view that the dog pack was disguised members of a society of criminals. Back when Jintong had been neatly dressed and was eating like a king, the news had made no impression on him. But now he could think of nothing else. The city was just then promoting “Love your city, keep it clean month,” and garbage collection had become a priority, so the dogs had been reduced to skin and bones. Dogcatchers were armed with imported automatic rifles with laser gunsights, forcing the dogs to spend the days down in the sewers, not daring to show themselves above ground, emerging only at night to scavenge for food. They’d already killed and eaten the Shar-Pei belonging to the owners of a furniture shop, and Jintong, with his inviting naked flesh, was in danger of becoming the next course.