Boy in the Twilight (2 page)

They would chuckle. “Laifa, what about your mom?”

“She died,” I said.

“Laifa, are you a halfwit?”

I nodded. “I’m a halfwit.”

When my dad was alive, he would say to me, “Laifa, you’re
a simpleton. You were in school for three years, but you still can’t recognize a single character. Laifa, it’s not your fault, it’s your mom’s fault. When she was giving birth, she squeezed your head too tight. Laifa, it’s not your mom’s fault either. Your head was too big, you were the death of her …”

“
LAIFA, HOW DID YOUR MOM DIE
?” they asked.

“She died in childbirth,” I said.

“Which child was that?” they asked.

“Me,” I said.

“How did she give birth to you?” they asked again.

“With one foot in the coffin,” I said.

Hearing this, they would laugh a good long time. “What about the other foot?”

I wasn’t sure about the other foot. Mr. Chen didn’t tell me—all he said was, when a woman gives birth she has one foot in the coffin. He didn’t say where she puts the other one.

“
HEY, WHO
’
S YOUR DADDY
?” they shouted.

“My daddy died,” I said.

“Nonsense,” they said, “your daddy’s alive and well.”

I looked at them, eyes wide. They came over, close to me, and whispered in my ear. “I’m your daddy.”

I looked down and thought for a moment. “Mm,” I went.

“Am I your daddy?” they asked.

I nodded. “Mm.”

I heard them chortle. Mr. Chen came over. “Pay no attention to them,” he said. “You’ve only got one dad. Everybody’s only got one dad. If people had lots of different dads, how would their moms manage?”

·   ·   ·

AFTER MY DAD DIED
, the people in the town, no matter how old they were—the men, I mean—practically all of them told me they were my dad. With so many dads, I started having lots of names, and I didn’t have enough fingers in the evening to count all the new names they gave me during the day.

Only Mr. Chen still called me Laifa. Every time I saw Mr. Chen and heard him call my name, my heart would skip a beat. Mr. Chen would stand in the doorway of the pharmacy, watching me with his hands inside his sleeves, and I would stand there and look at him back. Sometimes it made me snicker. After a while Mr. Chen would wave me away, saying, “Off you go. Look, you’ve still got a load of coal on your back.”

One time, I didn’t go off. I just stood there. “Mr. Chen,” I went.

Mr. Chen’s hands came out of his sleeves and he stared at me. “What did you call me?”

My heart was thumping. Mr. Chen came over. “What did you say just now?”

“Mr. Chen,” I said.

He smiled. “You’re not so dumb, after all,” he said. “You know to call me Mr. Chen, Laifa.”

He called my name again and I smiled just as Mr. Chen had done. “Do you know that Laifa is your name?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Let me hear you say it.”

“Laifa,” I said quietly.

That made Mr. Chen laugh very hard, and I opened my mouth and joined in. After a little more laughing, Mr. Chen
said, “Laifa, from now on, unless people call you Laifa, just don’t answer them, do you understand?”

I smiled. “I understand,” I said.

Mr. Chen nodded. Then, looking at me, he called, “Mr. Chen.”

“Mm,” I went.

“When I call my own name, why do you answer?”

I didn’t know Mr. Chen was calling his own name. I thought it was funny, so I smiled. He shook his head. “You’re still a simpleton, it seems.”

MR. CHEN DIED
a long time ago, and Pug-nose Xu Asan died just a few days ago, and a lot of people died in between. People around the same age as Xu Asan have white hair and white beards, and these days I often hear them saying they’ll soon be dead, so I think I’ll be dead myself soon, too. They tell me I’m older than Pug-nose Xu Asan. “Hey, idiot,” they say, “who’s going to collect your body once you’re dead?”

I shake my head. I really don’t know who’s going to bury me once I’m dead. I ask them who will bury them when they’re dead, and they say, “We’ve got sons and grandsons, wives too. Our wives aren’t dead yet. What about you? Have you got sons? Have you got grandsons? You don’t even have a wife.”

I said nothing. I haven’t got any of those people, so I put my load on my back and went on my way. But Xu Asan had all those people. The day that Pug-nose Xu Asan was cremated, I saw his son and grandson and all the women weeping and wailing as they walked along the street. I followed them to the crematorium with my empty load on my back. It was a lively scene all the way, and I thought how nice it would be if I had a
son and a grandson and other family. I walked along next to Xu Asan’s grandson. The kid was crying louder than anyone, but he asked me as he wept, “Hey, am I your daddy?”

PEOPLE ABOUT THE SAME AGE
as me are tired of being my dad now. They used to give me all kinds of names, but sooner or later they put the question to me point-blank, they ask me what my name is. They say, “What
is
your name? When you die, we want to know who it is has died … Think about it: when Xu Asan died, all we needed to do was to say Xu Asan died, and everyone would understand, but what do we say when you die? You’ve got no name at all.”

I know what my name is. My name is Laifa. It used to be that Mr. Chen was the only person who remembered my name, and once he died, nobody knew my name. Now they all want to know what I’m called, but I won’t tell them. They roar with laughter and they say: An idiot is just an idiot pure and simple. He’s an idiot in life and an idiot when he’s lying dead in his coffin.

I know I’m an idiot. I know I’m getting old and will die soon. Sometimes I think: It’s true what they say. I don’t have a son or a grandson, and when I die nobody will weep and wail and see me off to my cremation. I still don’t have a name of my own, and once I’m dead they won’t know who has died.

These days I often think of that dog I used to have, that skinny little dog that later grew up to be big and strong. They used to call it Dummy, too. I knew they were cursing it when they called it Dummy. I didn’t call it that. I called it Hey.

In those days streets weren’t as wide as they are now, and houses weren’t as tall. Mr. Chen would stand in the doorway of the pharmacy. His hair was still black then. Even Pug-nose Xu
Asan was young in those days. It was before he was married. “A man like me, in his twenties …,” he would say.

But my dad was dead. I had been delivering coal on my own for years by then. As I walked along the street, I’d often see that dog, so small and skinny, mouth open, tongue hanging out, licking this and that, wet all over. I’d seen it around a lot, so when Pug-nose Xu Asan lifted it up and showed it to me that time, I recognized it right away. Xu Asan had stopped me in the street. He and a few other people were standing outside his house, and Xu Asan said, “Hey, do you want to get married?”

I stood on the other side of the street and watched them snickering, and I snickered myself. “The dummy wants a woman,” they said. “He smiled.”

“Do you want to get married or not?” Xu Asan asked.

“What for?” I said.

“What for? To live with you … sleep with you, have meals with you … Would you like that or not?”

I nodded. That’s when they brought out the dog. Xu Asan picked it up by the scruff of its neck and thrust it toward me. Its four legs were scrabbling around and it was barking madly. “Hey, hurry up and take her. She’s yours,” he said.

They stood there, roaring with laughter. “Come on, dummy! Come and collect your mate.”

I shook my head. “That’s no woman.”

Xu Asan shouted at me, “If it’s not a woman, what is it?”

“It’s a dog, it’s a puppy,” I said.

They roared with laughter. “This dummy knows about dogs … He knows about puppies.”

“Rubbish.” Xu Asan glared at me. “This is a female, look here …”

Xu Asan lifted the dog’s rear legs and yanked them apart to show me. “Did you get a good look?” he asked.

I nodded. “Female, right?” he said.

I shook my head again. “It’s not a woman,” I said. “It’s a bitch.”

They went off into gales of laughter, and Pug-nose Xu Asan laughed so hard he had to squat down. The dog’s rear legs were still clamped between his hands, and it barked furiously as its head scraped the ground. I just stood there with a smile on my face. After a moment Xu Asan stood up again and pointed at me. “He could tell this dog is a bitch,” he said to the others. Then he squatted down and cackled as loud as a cicada chirping. As soon as he relaxed his grip, the dog dashed off.

From that day on, whenever Pug-nose Asan and the others saw me, they would say, “Hey, your girlfriend … Hey, your girlfriend fell into the cesspit … Hey, your girlfriend is having a piss … Hey, your girlfriend pinched some meat from my house … Hey, looks like your girlfriend’s pregnant …”

They were laughing away nonstop. When I saw what a good time they were having, I laughed along with them. I knew they were talking about the dog. They were looking forward to the day when I would take that dog into my house as though she were a woman and spend my life with her.

Day after day they would talk that way, and every time they would look at me and go ha-ha and tee-hee. So the next time I saw the dog, I felt kind of funny. The dog was as small and skinny as ever, its tongue always hanging out, licking this and that in the street. I would walk past with my load on my back, and when I got close I couldn’t help but stop and look. One day, quietly, I called it. I said, “Hey.”

When it heard me, it gave a few barks, so I offered it half a steamed bun left over from lunch. It grabbed the bun between its teeth and ran off.

After I fed it that half bun, it remembered me, and every time it saw me it would bark and I’d have to give it a bun. Once this happened a few times, I remembered to stuff my pockets with things to eat, so I could make it happy when we met in the street. And as soon as it saw me put my hand in my pocket, it knew what was coming and would raise its front legs and bark and jump up on me.

Later, the dog would tag along with me every day. I would walk in front carrying my load, and it would patter along behind. At the end of the block I would look back and there it would be, barking and wagging its tail. A block later, there would be no sign of it and I wouldn’t know where it had gone. I’d wait for a while, and suddenly it would appear and start following me once more. Sometimes it would run away and not come back until after dark. I would already be in bed, and it would run back, sit outside my door and bark. I’d have to open the door and show myself, and then it would stop barking, wag its tail, and patter away again.

When I was walking along the street with the dog at my heels, Pug-nose Xu Asan and the others would chuckle. “Hey, out for a stroll with the wife, are you?” they’d say. “Hey, are the two of you going home now? Hey, when you’re in bed together, who cuddles who?”

“We don’t spend the night together,” I’d tell them.

“Nonsense,” Xu Asan would say. “Husband and wife are always together at night.”

“We’re not,” I said.

“You dummy,” they said. “That’s the whole point of being a couple.”

Xu Asan made as though to turn off a light. “Click! When the light goes off, that’s when the fun starts.”

Pug-nose Xu Asan and the others wanted me and the dog to be together at night, and I thought about that, but it never worked out that way. As soon as it got dark, the dog would patter off and I didn’t know where it went. It would come back at dawn, scratch on the door, and wait for me to open it.

But during the day we’d be together, me carrying the coal and it walking by my side. When I made a delivery, it would roam around the neighborhood, and when I came out it would soon catch up with me.

After a few days, the dog got rounder and plumper, and grew taller too. When it ran alongside, I could see its belly swing back and forth. Xu Asan and the others noticed this too. “This bitch, have a look at this plump little bitch,” they’d say.

One day they stopped me in the street and Xu Asan pulled a long face. “Hey, how come we haven’t got our candy yet?” he said.

The dog barked when they blocked my path. They pointed at the shop across the street. “Do you see that?” they said. “The glass jar on the counter, the one with all the candy in it? See it? Off you go.”

“What for?” I said.

“To buy candy,” they said.

“Why candy?” I said.

“For us to eat,” they said.

“Damn it,” Xu Asan said, “you haven’t given us the wedding candy yet! Wedding candy! Don’t you get it? We were your matchmakers, weren’t we?”

So saying, they stuck their hands in my pockets and groped around for some change. This got the dog all riled up; it was growling and lunging. When Xu Asan aimed a kick at it, it ran a few paces back, barking away, and when he took two steps closer, it dashed off. They found some cash in my chest pocket, helped themselves to two twenty-fen notes, and stuffed the rest back. Holding my money aloft, they crowded into the shop opposite. The dog ran back as soon as they were gone, and scampered away again as soon as they came out. Xu Asan and the others stuffed a few bits of candy in my hand. “This is for the happy couple,” they said.

Off they went, laughing and chewing their candy. By this time it was almost dark, and I headed home clutching the candy they’d given me. The dog raced back and forth, now ahead, now behind, barking madly and making a lot of noise. It barked all the way home, and didn’t stop even when we reached the door. It stood there and didn’t seem to want to leave, its head cocked, looking up at me. “Hey, stop that barking,” I said, but it just kept on. “Why don’t you come in?” I said.

It didn’t move and just carried on yowling. But when I waved my hand, it stopped all its ruckus and trotted inside.

From then on, the dog lived in my house. I went and got a pile of straw and laid it in the corner of the room: that was its bed. I thought it over that evening and felt that having a dog move into your house really was a bit like taking a wife. In the future I would have a companion, just as Mr. Chen said. “Finding a companion, that’s what marriage is,” he used to say.