Zero and Other Fictions Page 3

  Lai Suo took his feet down off the railing and changed his position as he continued to hear the squabbling among the dead.

  “I’m in a bad mood.”

  “So what?”

  Lai Suo’s dad worked very hard. He was more or less illiterate and he wasn’t very strong, but he had a family to support. During the day he worked in a malt sugar plant that supplied the Japanese military. Barechested, Lai Suo’s dad would jump up on a large metal vat that was filled with glutinous rice powder and a great deal of water. He would vigorously stir the contents of the vat with a wooden paddle not unlike an oar. The sweat would drip off of him like rain into the vat. After half an hour, he would add a bucket of green malt, cooking the mixture over a coal fire. Then Lai Suo’s dad would jump to another vat that contained the syrup produced the night before. He stirred the syrup until it emitted steam, and only then would he jump down. Jumping up on and down off the vats dozens of times each day had made his legs quite muscular, though his upper body remained as scrawny as ever.

  “Ah Yun can help make some money right away,” said Lai Suo’s mom, taking away the bottle. “Ah Suo is smarter, so let him stay in school.”

  “What good does it do to go to school?” replied Lai Suo’s dad.

  “You are at a disadvantage because you had no schooling.”

  “Mom, you always wanted me to go to school,” interrupted Lai Suo on the balcony, “but maybe Dad was right.”

  “Why am I so disadvantaged?” said Lai Suo’s dad angrily. “With no money, I get no respect. I ought to have done with it.”

  “I haven’t had a good day since I married you.” Lai Suo’s mom was also angry. “All you can do is drink, drink away any good opportunity.”

  “Did Ah Quan”—Ah Quan was a distant relative who tried to get Lai Suo’s dad to go to Taipei to do business—“tell you if he is making money?”

  “Not right now, but the future’s uncertain.”

  “We can talk about the future later.”

  Lai Suo’s dad should see Ah Quan today. He wears a 20,000-yuan suit and drives a Mercedes-Benz. His dyed hair is black and oily, and though over 60 years of age, he still leers lasciviously at the little butts of the nightclub hostesses in their hot pants.

  “Ah Suo will one day amount to a good deal more than you.”

  “That’s his business.”

  Lai Suo’s dad finally gave in and agreed to let their son study in public school. He even bought him a pair of sneakers to wear to school, which no doubt cost a pretty penny. On rainy days, Lai Suo would walk barefoot and carry his shoes.

  “Don’t think I’ll be buying things for you,” threatened Lai Suo’s dad. “If you do badly in school, I’ll give you a beating.”

  “Why scare the child?”

  “I work hard to make money with no thought of my age.”

  What was the point in bringing up all this? In the end, Lai Suo became furious, stood up, and in a rage hurled the remaining peanuts down onto the street. He walked into the living room, where his children were sitting in front of the television.

  “We finished our homework a long time ago, Dad.”

  “Your mom?”

  “She went to bed.”

  Not wishing to wake his wife, Lai Suo gently closed the door. He was exhausted today and had something to do the following day. Yep, tomorrow he had to take the day off, because his cousin was ill and in Xu Hospital. His cousin’s wife had called and said that his cousin was always thinking of sneaking out (he had another woman outside whom he hadn’t been in touch with for several days and was certainly very worried). As a result, she decided to hide his leather shoes; after all, she figured if he dared to go out on the street in his pajamas and slippers, she might as well admit defeat and have done with it. What else could she do? Listening on his end of the phone, Lai Suo shook his head without replying. Why should he get mixed up in other people’s business, especially when he had more important things to do? He had to go see Mr. Han—it had been thirty-six hours since his face appeared on the television news. As far as he was concerned, that stretch of time was equal to several decades for other people. Therefore he had to make things clear. But what exactly did he have to make clear? Who could say after such a long time? He had three children and Mr. Han was nearly seventy, an age by which some people have false teeth. Had he heard the joke about dentures? Perhaps he should just shake his hand and say, “Mr. Han, it’s been a long time.”

  “Ah Suo, why have you been sitting alone on the balcony for so long?”

  His wife had not gone to sleep. She was wearing pink Triumph-brand underwear; her entire body exuded a fragrant warmth. She had used this method, among others, to have three children by him as well as to buy two houses at government auction. When her relatives from the country came to Taipei, she would take them out on the town to listen to music and eat in restaurants. The country people were stunned by the imposing style of the city and would be left speechless, their mouths hanging open. At such times, Lai Suo’s wife was always excited and her tone of voice was unusually tender, making eyes at Lai Suo, who looked helpless. That night Lai Suo’s wife would be overly enthusiastic. She was nearly forty with a fat belly, but laughed and shouted like a young girl and crushed Lai Suo under her nearly sixty kilos till he could scarcely breathe.

  “I’m eating peanuts.”

  “Peanuts cause too much internal heat,” she said. “You have been acting strangely the last few days. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve had a lot on my mind,” said Lai Suo, lying down. “Oh yeah, tomorrow I won’t be going to the factory—I’m going to the hospital to see my cousin Ah Zong.”

  “Why do you want to go see him? He has to disturb others with the slightest little illness. What’s with him anyway?” She didn’t like Lai Suo’s family. “Well, I’m not going—I have a pile of laundry to wash tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” replied Lai Suo, breathing a sigh of relief. “I want to go to bed a little early.”

  But his wife wasn’t going to let him off so easily. She pressed closer to Lai Suo and he could smell the heavy, hot fragrance of her body.

  “Do you remember when we first met?”

  “Yeah (mmm).”

  “You told me I was nice.”

  “Yeah (mmm).”

  “The first time you kissed me, you wanted me to close my eyes. Do you remember?”

  “Yeah,” said Lai Suo, “yeah, yeah.”

  6

  At that time, the Taipei-bound bus stopped in the middle of the bridge. The Danshui River, which was always dirty, flowed below. At the head of the bridge a black-and-white police car was stopped. Squeezed in among the passengers on the rush-hour bus, Lai Suo, dressed in his Sunday best, looked as if he were suffering. “Those who want to get off, move forward; the rest of you, don’t block the door,” said the female bus conductor angrily. “Why do you just stand there?” Lai Suo didn’t reply until they were in front of the Shiji Restaurant: “I, I want to get off here.”

  Lai Suo did in fact get off the bus and bought a basket of apples by the roadside. The apples looked as if they had just been taken out of cold storage, but a sick patient probably wouldn’t notice the deep purple tone. Ah Zong would say that it was enough for him to come and he shouldn’t have brought the apples. His cousin, who was sixty, still had a ruddy face. Every day he got up at five or six and went to Beitou to soak in the hot springs, after which he would walk to his mistress’s house at the foot of the mountain for breakfast. When he returned home, his wife would be bustling about in the kitchen and Ah Zong would walk gingerly up behind her and slap her rump. His wife would shout and his cousin would say, “What’s cooking for today?” with an innocent expression on his face.

  A little while later, Lai Suo placed the basket of apples on the floor of the phone booth across the street from the seven-floor Xu Hospital. Just then there was no activity at the hospital door; if the patients weren’t all asleep, then they must have all died. Lai Suo hadn’t had
time to find out when the doctors arrived for work, when the patients got up, or if they had breakfast upon rising in the morning. He opened the phone book, which was three centimeters thick, and ran his finger over it.

  “Is that the TV station?”

  “That’s right,” said a young woman, yawning.

  “Are you doing an interview with Mr. Han like the papers said?”

  “You’ve got the wrong number—this is the dining hall. You should call the information desk.”

  “But you ought to know if Mr. Han Zhiyuan is going to be there.”

  “What Han Zhiyuan? It’s either the arts program or the soap opera,” the girl said, becoming impatient. “I know all the famous singers and movie stars here. What does your Han Zhiyuan do? Don’t you know the number of the information desk?”

  “He, he just returned from Japan.”

  “That’s strange. The only one who just came back from Japan is Deng Lijun. Let me give you the number for the information desk.”

  “Thanks!” said Lai Suo, as he deposited a one yuan coin and dialed the number.

  “Hello, Information Desk,” said Lai Suo, before the other party could say anything.

  “Hello, Information Desk,” said the girl at the desk.

  “Is Mr. Han Zhiyuan doing an interview at your station this evening?”

  “Yes. It’s on Newsmakers tonight at eight o’clock. Don’t you take the TV Guide?”

  “No,” said Lai Suo, “but I would like to get a copy.”

  “You can call this number,” said the girl. “Tell them that Miss Ma at the TV station referred you. Don’t forget. That way you won’t miss a program like Newsmakers. Is there anything else?”

  Not bad, the girl was doing his work for him. Receiver in hand, Lai Suo chuckled with his back to the door of the phone booth. Lai Suo had a way of dealing with salespeople (newspapers, magazines, soy sauce, makeup). He listened patiently to the end of their lengthy spiels (he even looked as if he had been sold), then he would coldly bring everything to a halt: “You have a point, but we already subscribe, we already have it, I have always used that brand.”

  “Thank you,” Lai Suo finally said. “I’ll be sure to call and tell them that Miss Ma at the TV station referred me. Do I get any preferential treatment?”

  7

  Lai Suo stepped out of the phone booth. The hospital on the other side of the street appeared to be coming to life. Several people came out of the hospital door and looked in all directions. A taxicab pulled up and stopped in front, and two people got out—the first patient of the day. From his side of the restless street, Lai Suo couldn’t tell which of the two was ill. Those who had looked up and down the street got into the cab. The driver turned to look at them before they were gone in a flash. Lai Suo stood at the side of the street, but with no break in the traffic, he had to head back down the sidewalk to the traffic signal forty of fifty meters away. The sidewalk was planted with acacias fenced off with an iron railing. Under the trees stood a Taipei municipal trashcan in the shape of a bird on which was written: “I love to eat fruit peels and paper scraps.” Lai Suo searched his pockets but couldn’t find anything to stuff in the bird’s mouth. I love to eat fruit peels and paper scraps, repeated Lai Suo to himself, we all love to eat fruit peels and paper scraps.

  The traffic light suddenly turned green, and Lai Suo hurried across the street to the red brick sidewalk on the other side. The hard rubber soles of his leather shoes were perfect for the streets of Taipei. As to the streets of Taipei—when it was put to a municipal official, he said that his idea was simply to drop an atomic bomb on the buildings and start over. It was a joke! But back to the original topic, Lai Suo’s leather shoes with their thick rubber soles positively shone in the morning light, and they went with his good suit and the red brick sidewalk.

  He arrived at the hospital only after taking the long way around.

  The nurse wearing glasses at the reception desk looked as if she had just woken up. She eyed the basket of apples Lai Suo had placed on the desk, and said, “What is your relationship to the patient in room 201?”

  “Cousin.”

  “Those are nice shoes,” said the nurse, poking her head out. “Too bad they’re too small.”

  “My shoes are too small?”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “Would you like an apple?”

  “Thanks,” said the nurse, “but I’ve already eaten. Take the elevator on the right.”

  He could hear his cousin Ah Zong’s voice through the door of his room. It was a voice filled with pleading, threats, curses, and suppressed anger.

  “Okay! But when can I get out of the hospital?” he asked.

  “The doctor says you’ll be released when you’re released,” his wife replied.

  “Doctor!”

  Lai Suo pushed open the door. His appearance put an end to their bickering. Lai Suo, who had been sitting in a Western-style restaurant near the television station waiting for his food, clearly recalled what had just transpired. At that time he had pressed his face to the brown smoked-glass window, wondering what was going on outside. It was gloomy outside—the pedestrians and cars resembled floating spirits. But what had happened to the sun behind him when he pushed open the door and came in? Perhaps it had died. Lai Suo moved his face away from the window (a passerby had glanced at the window—obviously he couldn’t see inside, because he fixed his hair facing Lai Suo). He couldn’t stand the stupid look of the fellow. How much better it would be if the windows were blue or green. You’d suddenly find yourself standing on a vast golf course, hitting a green ball into a green hole; then you’d widen your green eyes and lift your green leg.…

  “Ah Suo, you arrived in the nick of time,” said his cousin as he excitedly scurried back and forth on the blue carpet in his bare feet. He was wearing a pair of silk pajamas and his puffy face was all red. His fleshy belly and double chin wiggled constantly.

  “You tell me who is sick,” he said, out of breath, “you tell me who’s sick.”

  If you’re not sick, what are you doing in the hospital? Lai Suo, who had been sitting in the restaurant, smiled happily to himself.

  “Ah Suo, not only has your cousin not recovered from his illness, but his nerves are being affected,” said his wife, pointing at his head. “Just look at his crazy behavior.”

  They kept on bickering. Lai Suo got tired of standing so sat down on the sofa, placing the apples he’d brought to one side.

  “Have an apple, you two.”

  “Great, Ah Suo, shut him up with an apple.”

  “What do you mean by that?” raged Ah Zong, sitting in bed. “Not only won’t she let me put on my shoes or make a phone call, but she also insists that I shut my mouth.”

  “Look at how anxious he is,” said his wife, taking a seat. Lai Suo looked at them sympathetically. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t in the mood. He had something important to take care of—he would soon go to the restaurant to eat and wait, wait as long as necessary.

  The lunch hour had passed and Lai Suo was still sitting there. He wanted to do something. Perhaps he should call home, but his wife would ask too many questions. She’d want to know what was happening in Taipei (she had been there only the week before). What were those loose women wearing? Was the supermarket offering a 20 percent discount? If so, he should bring something home. But what? It didn’t matter. It would just be a knotty problem for him, and that was something he didn’t want, at least not now—today he couldn’t take the risk. He wanted to go and see Mr. Han. He had to get ready. He wanted to be radiant with wellbeing and wanted to talk with confidence and composure; otherwise, why was he dressed in his best suit?

  In terms of clothes, Lai Suo was dressed not nearly so nicely when he got married. The Lai family had never thought much of dressing up. “Eating your fill is the most important thing,” Lai Suo’s dad had taught them. “If you have money, you don’t have to buy this or that; when disaster comes and you have to f
lee, can you eat your clothes?” Lai Suo’s dad seemed to be fleeing throughout his entire life and had been scared witless by the American bombers. He lived to seventy-two, when his heart gave out in a special ward in the Veterans Hospital. Before he died the ward was quiet, save for the purr of the air conditioner in the window. At that time, even the roar of a 747 overhead was inaudible in the hospital.

  8

  Perhaps he really was sleeping. That head of his that had experienced so much anxiety and distress was leaning back against the Naugahyde booth under the soft, feeble light of the restaurant. Two sunken cheeks, a few strands of gray hair hanging over his forehead (his bald head, dull), sagging wrinkles, and pale, dry lips. That was the real Lai Suo. Lai Suo, whose inner strength was nearly exhausted; Lai Suo, who had been born as a member of the human race, glorious, progressive, cooperative, and favored, awake or sleeping, sad or happy (he laughed like a bashful young girl), had deeply experienced the seven emotions and the six sensory pleasures.

  At the sound of a voice speaking through a microphone, he opened his eyes.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s show is about to get under way.”

  To his surprise, Lai Suo discovered people seated at the nearby tables. The show was starting at six o’clock. Goodness! He had spent the whole afternoon sitting there; a whole afternoon and he hadn’t done a thing except sit there. He was about to meet Mr. Han. At that historic moment, he wasn’t prepared at all. He ought to at least say something, like the words spoken by Mr. Han at the airport—brief, apropos, and filled with emotion. He must have prepared a draft before boarding the plane and revised it while flying over the Pacific. Finally, when the cabin door opened, he adjusted his tie and cleared his throat.

  “Sir, would you care for something to drink?” asked the waitress.

  “Anything is fine, maybe a coffee.”

  Although time was short, the TV station across the street could be reached by an underground pedestrian walkway in five minutes. He’d have to pay his bill ten minutes before and with five minutes in the bathroom, he’d have just enough time. He didn’t have to draft a long speech—Mr. Han would remember him and would even grasp his hand excitedly, and with tears streaming down his face, he would apologize to Lai Suo and for the rest of his life would regret that incident. So, even though he would say this, what would Lai Suo do? He’d best just bear his misfortune; besides, he was already used to it.