The Fat Years

were two entrances and exits to the Jingkelong supermarket, so she could still give him the slip. But she had always pretended that she didn’t know they were watching her, and so they were not especially vigilant.

The more she talked, the more alarmed I became. I thought perhaps she was being oversensitive or overimaginative, but then, she really could be under surveillance. Didn’t I see those smokers that day in the National Art Museum garden?

“Are you certain no one is following you?”

She stopped, turned to look behind her, and to the left and right. “You see, nobody there.”

We were standing on the wide-open Xindong Road and saw there was no one in sight. I felt quite ashamed. Little Xi had gone to so much effort to see me, but I was worried only about her getting me into trouble.

“What’s wrong? Relax, there’s no problem,” she said.

“Little Xi, what are you going to do?” I asked as we stood there on the pavement.

“I’ll certainly do something,” she quipped. “Let’s see, maybe I’ll leave Beijing this afternoon.”

I stopped for a moment, expressionless and a little stunned.

“You want to eat, or what?” she said with a grin.

We started walking again toward Happiness Village Number Two.

It was a warm spring day and the air was filled with the scent of locust-tree blossoms. They gave off a powerful, sensual aroma that made me feel an intense love. All I wanted to say was “Little Xi, let’s be together, let’s stop tormenting ourselves, and let’s just have a good life together.”

But I didn’t dare say it. I didn’t have the guts.

Little Xi worked quickly and skillfully in the kitchen while I stood beside her, clumsily assisting. She’d taken off her jacket and I could see the uneven scar tissue on her shoulder where she had been hit by the army jeep. She really is a good person, despite her drawbacks, I thought to myself.

“Lao Chen, our old friends have all changed now,” she said suddenly while she was chopping the bok choy.

I remembered that she had said something similar that day in the park. So I asked her, “How have they changed? Tell me how.”

“They’ve become… they’ve all become very satisfied,” she said after a short pause. “Lao Chen, are you satisfied?”

I felt she was testing me, so I asked her, “Little Xi, why are you so dissatisfied?”

This really was our conversation.

Little Xi paused, expressionless for a moment, and then challenged me in turn. “Lao Chen, do you remember how it felt back then? When you were here, in 1989, when I had the old restaurant in Wudaokou with my mother? And later in the 1990s, when we opened up the new restaurant-do you remember what we talked about? Do you remember why we were angry, why we struggled, what our ideals were? Do you remember, Lao Chen?”

And I asked her back tenderly, “Little Xi, why can’t you forget? This is a different age.”

She looked at me with an expression of vague disappointment, and after a while she said, “I’ve already forgotten too much. When I was locked up in that mental hospital for so long, I forgot so many things. I don’t want to forget anymore.”

Just as I wanted to ask more questions, Little Xi seemed to want to drop the subject. “Let’s just eat lunch,” she said, and lowered her head to continue chopping the bok choy.

When lunch was served, Little Xi was still relaxed, but she had already come to a conclusion about me-I was one of those people around her who had changed.

Just before eating, she took her medicine and told me quite frankly, “It’s an antidepressant the shrink gave me, but I don’t think it does any good. When I finish this batch, I’m not going to take any more.”

I told her how good I thought her shredded potatoes with chili peppers and bok choy with vinegar were. She said it was really great to be able to cook me a meal. But really, I sensed that she was saying good-bye.

At the kitchen table, I decided to make a final attempt to redeem myself in her eyes. I now had an idea of what she was thinking. She was feeling that everyone around her was different and she was the only one who was still angry. I sounded her out. “You know, Little Xi, some people are better at pretending about life, and pretending is a good way to protect their real selves.” When I saw her eyes light up, I knew I’d hit on something.

“Obviously, if you pretend for a long time, then you’re not going to be able to distinguish between what is true and what is fake,” I continued. Little Xi listened quietly.

I followed this line of argument, making it up as I went along. “Lu Xun said that some people are nostalgic for a ‘lost good hell’ because there’ll always be a bad hell that’s worse than that lost good hell. That goes without saying. But between a good hell and a counterfeit paradise, which one will people choose? No matter what you might say, many people will believe that a counterfeit paradise is better than a good hell. They know perfectly well it’s a counterfeit paradise, but they don’t dare expose it. As time goes by, they will even forget that it is a fake paradise. They start arguing in defense of this fake paradise, asserting that it is actually the only paradise. But there’s always a small number of people, even if they are only an extremely small minority, who will choose the good hell no matter how painful it is, because in the good hell at least everyone is fully aware that they are living in hell.”

I wasn’t sure what exactly I was trying to say, but the more I spoke, the more I felt I was making good sense. Little Xi listened attentively. On the mainland, if you mention Lu Xun, a writer some liken to Dickens or even Joyce, it will strike a chord with people of a certain age and education. At the very least, what I said had brought Little Xi closer to me.

She looked thoughtful for a while before asking, “Are you saying that I’m too nostalgic for my lost good hell, and therefore I’m refusing to accept our counterfeit paradise?”

“I’m talking about two choices,” I answered rather disingenuously.

“Between a good hell and a fake paradise-which one would you choose?” she asked.

She had gone straight to the heart of it. She had asked the key question, and I had to be particularly careful. I wanted to bring us closer together, so I equivocated. “Perhaps… if necessary… I’d be willing to try considering the good hell.”

This made Little Xi smile. If she’d been standing nearer, I could have kissed her, but unfortunately, the kitchen table was between us.

“Lao Chen, can I give you a hug?” she asked.

I moved around to the other side of the table and held her as tightly as I could.

“Welcome back to our good hell!” she said.

I so badly wanted to say, “Little Xi, let’s be together,” but the words stuck in my throat.

Just then the intercom buzzed. Little Xi immediately stiffened and I released her. Little Xi, I thought, they’ve caught up with you, and there’s no way out this time.

Readying myself for trouble, I went to the door. When I looked back at Little Xi, she was still standing totally motionless and holding her breath.

I pushed the intercom button and shouted, “Who is it?”

A man’s voice at the other end sounded startled. “Er… is this Mr. Chen?”

I saw Little Xi hurriedly put on her coat, pick up her canvas bag, and come up to listen in.

I shouted again into the intercom, “What is it?”

“Mr. Chen… wait a minute please…” The man seemed to have moved away from the intercom.

“Is there another door out of here?” asked Little Xi. I shook my head.

Then a woman’s voice came over the intercom. “Lao Chen, open the door! Please open the door,” she shouted.

“Who is it?” I yelled back.

“It’s me!”

Then I realized it was Wen Lan’s voice.

“It’s a friend of mine,” I told Little Xi.

Little Xi opened the apartment door and said, “I’ll hide in the corner of the hall, and then you can open the front gate.”

I didn’t think that was necessary, but before I could say anything, she had already bolted out.