Shifu, You'll Do Anything for a Laugh Page 6

  Another hour passed, and the little cottage remained still as death. The clouds kept gathering, and signs of dusk began to settle around the woods. What's going on? he asked himself silently. They didn't look that robust to me. Could they have fallen asleep in there? No, that's impossible! There's nothing in there but a slat bed covered by a straw mat. No mattress and no blankets. It's cold enough outside, even with a bit of weak sunlight; but once that door is closed, the cottage turns into cold storage. So what are they doing in there? He held off as long as he could before walking up to the door and coughing loudly as a signal for them to wrap things up and come out. No response from inside. Don't tell me they vanished into thin air like the goblins in Roll Call of the Gods? No, that's just some supernatural novel. Could they have turned into mosquitoes like the immortal monkey and flown out the window? Impossible, another supernatural story! They couldn't have. … A murky and utterly terrifying scene suddenly flashed before his eyes. His arms and legs began to quake. My god, not that! If that's what's happened, forget about my road to riches. I'll be lucky if I don't wind up in prison. All of a sudden, nothing else mattered. He raised his hand and knocked lightly on the door.

  Rap rap rap.

  Then he knocked harder.

  Thump thump thump!

  Then he pounded with his fist.

  Pow pow pow!

  Then he pounded with all his might and shouted at the top of his lungs:

  Pow pow pow! Hey, come out of there! Pow pow pow! What are you doing in there? A trickle of blood oozed from a split between his thumb and finger. Still there was no sound from inside the cottage; for a moment, he wondered if his memory was failing him. Did a couple like that really go inside?

  But then the woman's pale oval face suddenly floated in front of his eyes, incredibly lifelike. Her black, mysterious eyes were filled with a haunting look. She had a pointy chin and a bean-sized black mole by the corner of her mouth, out of which grew one long, curly black hair. The image of the man was just as clear. His raised raincoat collar covered his cheeks. He had a high nose, dark chin, and bushy eyebrows; his eyes were gloomy, he had one gold tooth.. ..

  No doubt about it, a cold, hard fact: about three hours ago, a sorrowful middle-aged couple stepped inside this abandoned bus, converted into a little woodland cottage; but now they weren't making a sound, and he just knew that the worst thing imaginable had happened. Bad luck was like a foul-smelling honey bucket, and it had just been tipped over on him. His legs buckled, sending him slumping to the ground right in front of the door.

  After about as long as it takes to smoke a cigarette, he managed to climb to his feet. He took several turns around the cottage, banging his hand against the metal skin from time to time.

  “Hey, you good people,” he raged and pleaded, “wake up and come out of there. I'll give you every penny I made all summer, okay? I'll get down on my knees and kowtow to you, okay? You bastards, you animals, aren't you afraid lightning will strike you dead for taking advantage of an old man? You adulterers, you fornicators, whore, whoremonger, you'll come to a terrible end. I'll call you Daddy, okay? And I'll call you Mommy, okay? Daddy, Mommy, dear ancestors, be merciful and come out of there. I'm a sixty-year-old laid-off factory worker with a wife at home who suffers from stomach problems. That's bad enough, so don't go adding frost to a layer of snow. If dying's what you want, do it somewhere else, not in my cottage. Go hang yourselves from one of those trees, or go drown yourselves in the lake, or go lie down on the railroad tracks. There are all kinds of places to go kill yourselves, so why choose my little cottage to do it? I can tell you're people of means and status, at least a section chief, if not a bureau chief. Is something like this worth dying over? Dying like that is about as meaningful as a bird's feather. It's not worth it. If even people like you don't want to go on living, what about us folks from the lower classes? Bureau Chief, Section Chief, use your head and put yourself in my place. Come out, please come out….”

  He yelled himself hoarse, and still not a sound from inside the cottage. Crows returning to their nests as the sun was setting noisily circled in the sky above the poplars, like a gathering cloud. He picked up a big rock and tried to smash down the metal door. A resounding clang ended in the rock splitting in two; the door suffered no damage. So he hunched up his shoulder and used his body as a battering ram. The door barely moved, but he was thrown back at least three meters and sat down hard on the ground. His shoulder hurt like hell. He could barely raise his arm. It felt like his clavicle was broken.

  9

  He rode his clunky bicycle down from the mountain in a daze, never once hitting the brake, as if death were the only solution. He was heading straight into a northeast wind that billowed his coat and nearly froze his abdomen as the wind whistled past his ears; it was as if he were riding the clouds and soaring through the mist. The garbage bag on the rack behind him blew open, sending soiled paper and plastic bags into the air with a loud whoosh. As he skirted the lakeshore, he didn't see the cancer-battling celebrity. A flock of gray swans wheeled in the air, as if looking for a spot to land on the frozen lake, the ice blanketed with dust and dirt. He rode into town, totally numb. The streetlights were already on; a constant explosion of broken glass drove his heart up into his throat. A police car cruised past, lights flashing, siren off; he nearly fell off his bike in terror.

  Muddle-headed though he was, he managed to make his way to the door of his apprentice, Lü Xiaohu, and had just raised his hand to knock when he spotted a drawing pasted on the door; it was a sketch of a boy with anger in his eyes. Old Ding turned to get out of there just as he saw his apprentice coming up the hallway carrying a plucked chicken. The sight of the dead chicken's pimply skin in the murky light raised goose bumps on his skin. His legs buckled, causing shooting pains in his newly healed broken leg, and he sat down hard on the steps. Lü Xiaohu stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Shifu,” he asked anxiously, “what are you doing here?”

  Like a little boy who's been picked on, then suddenly sees his daddy, old Ding felt his lips begin to quiver and tears spill from his eyes.

  “What's the matter, Shifu?” his apprentice asked as he rushed up to help old Ding to his feet. “Has something happened?”

  His knees buckled, and he knelt at the feet of his disciple.

  “Little Hu,” he sobbed, “something terrible . ..”

  Quickly opening his apartment door, little Hu dragged him inside and sat him down on the sofa.

  “Shifu, what's happened? Your wife hasn't died, has she?”

  “No,” he said weakly. “It's much worse than that… .”

  “Tell me, what is it?” Little Hu was getting worried. “Shifu, tell me before I die of anxiety.”

  “Little Hu,” he sobbed, wiping his tears, “I'm in big trouble”

  “What is it? Tell me!”

  “A man and woman went in around noon today, and they still haven't come out… .”

  “So? Just collect more money from them.” Little Hu breathed a sigh of relief. “This is good news.”

  “What do you mean, good news? They died in there….”

  “Died?” Little Hu was stunned; he nearly dropped the hot vacuum bottle he had in one hand. “How'd that happen?”

  “I'm not sure”

  “Have you seen their bodies?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know they're dead?”

  “They must be … they went in over three hours ago, and at first I heard the woman sob. Then no more sound.” He showed his apprentice his injured hand. “I tried to break down the door, I pounded on the windows, I shouted, and hurt myself doing it, but no sound inside, not even a whisper… .”

  Little Hu laid down his vacuum bottle and sat on a stool across from the sofa. He took out a pack of cigarettes, put one in his mouth and lit it. With his head lowered, he took a deep drag, then looked up. “Shifu,” he said, “take it easy.” He took out another cigarette, handed it to old Ding, and lit it for
him. “Maybe they fell asleep. That sort of activity can tire a person out.”

  Old Ding nervously rubbed his knees with his hands as he sat there gazing hopefully into the eyes of his apprentice.

  “My fine young apprentice, you don't need to try to reassure me,” he said sorrowfully. “I knocked till my knuckles were bloody and yelled myself hoarse. I made enough noise to wake the dead. But nothing stirred inside, nothing… .”

  “Couldn't they have slipped out while you weren't looking? That sounds plausible to me. Shifu, you should know that there's nothing people won't do to get out of paying what they owe.”

  Ding shook his head. “That's not possible, absolutely impossible. First of all, the door is bolted from the inside. Besides, I never took my eyes off the place. I'd have seen a pair of rats scurrying out of there, let alone a pair of full-sized humans.”

  “Rats, you say. How about this?” Little Hu said. “They tunneled their way out.”

  “My fine apprentice,” old Ding said, his voice cracking tearfully, “forget your wacky theories and help me figure out what to do. I beg you!”

  Little Hu lowered his head and puffed away on his cigarette. Deep lines creased his brow. Old Ding stared at his apprentice without blinking, waiting to hear his ideas. Little Hu looked up.

  “Shifu,” he said, “I think we just say to hell with it. You've earned a tidy sum this year. Now we wait till next spring and come up with another money-making scheme.”

  “Little Hu, we're talking about the loss of two lives….”

  “So? That's not our fault,” he said angrily. “Once they decided to die, there was nothing we could do about it. What kind of fuck-ups were they?”

  “They looked like educated people to me, maybe party officials.”

  “That's even more reason to stay clear of them. With people like that, you know they're having an extramarital affair. No one will shed a tear over their deaths.”

  “But,” he stammered, “what if they tie this to me? As the saying goes, you can't bury bodies in the snowy ground. The police will know it was me right off.”

  “What are you getting at? Don't tell me you're thinking of going to the police yourself.”

  “Little Hu, I've given this a lot of thought. You know what they say: the ugly bride has to face her in-laws sooner or later.”

  “Are you really thinking of going to the police?”

  “Maybe, they might still be able to save them.”

  “Shifu, this is pretty much the same as setting yourself on fire!”

  “My fine apprentice, didn't you say you have a cousin who works at the Public Security Bureau? Will you take me to see him?”

  “Shifu!”

  “I beg you, I need your cousin's help. If I did nothing, I don't think I could get another good night's sleep ever again.”

  “Shifu,” Little Hu said in a somber tone of voice, “have you given any thought to possible consequences? What you've been engaged in will seem sordid to people, and it won't take much digging to find a law that'll send you away for a couple of years. And even if that doesn't happen, you can look forward to a hefty fine. And when those people fine you, you know you've been fined. I wouldn't be surprised if the money you've earned over an entire summer, plus the fall, won't be enough to pay it off.”

  “I have to live with that,” old Ding admitted painfully. “I don't want that money. From now on, I'll go begging before I do anything like this again.”

  “And what if you're looking at jail time?” his apprentice asked him.

  “That's why I want you to speak to your cousin,” he said weakly, his head sagging. “If it's jail time I'm looking at, I'll just go get some rat poison and put an end to everything.”

  “Shifu! Shifu!” Little Hu said. “All that stuff about a cousin with the police, I just said that to boost your confidence.”

  Old Ding stood there woodenly for a moment, then sighed and rose shakily to his feet. After carefully stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray, he looked over at his former apprentice, who was staring at the wall, his head cocked to one side, and said, “Then I won't trouble you anymore.”

  He turned and hobbled to the door.

  “Shifu, where are you going?”

  He looked back over his shoulder.

  “Little Hu,” he said, “you and I worked together for a while. After I'm gone, if it's not too much trouble, would you check on my wife from time to time? If it is, don't worry about it.. ..”

  He reached out and opened the door. A cold wind filling the hallway hit him full in the face. He shivered as he reached out to hold on to the dusty banister and walked off into the dark.

  “Wait up, Shifu.” He turned and saw his apprentice standing in the doorway. Light streaming out of the apartment made his face appear to be brushed with gold dust. He heard him say, “I'll take you to see my cousin.”

  10

  They squeezed into a phone booth, with wind whistling all around them, to call the cousin at home. Whoever answered the phone said he was on duty at the station house. Old Ding's former apprentice said happily:

  “Great, Shifu. Do you know why I didn't want to take you to see him? You have no idea how arrogant his wife is. If a poor relation like me goes to their house, her nose is bent out of shape, and her face turns all weird. Like any dog, the bitch sees people like us as her inferior. It's more than I can take. We may be poor in material wealth, but not in our ideals. Isn't that so?”

  Old Ding said emotionally:

  “Little Hu, I'm sorry to put you through all this.”

  “But my cousin's a great guy. A little hen-pecked, that's all.” Then, in a singsong voice, he added, “When a man's wife rules, he sleeps with the mules!”

  They stopped first at a sundries shop to buy two cartons of China-brand cigarettes. Old Ding went for his wallet, but his former apprentice pushed his hand away.

  “Shifu,” he said, “I'll take care of this. You can't afford it.”

  When he saw how much the cigarettes cost, he gritted his teeth and said, no matter how much it pained him:

  “I should be paying for this, little Hu.”

  “Just leave things to me for now.”

  When they walked into the police station, old Ding reached out involuntarily and held on to the hem of his former apprentice's shirt. He felt cold all over, and his palms were sweaty. As it turned out, one of the two duty policemen was the cousin, a young man with slitty eyes and a long neck. He picked up his pen and wrote down everything they told him in a notebook.

  “That's it?” he remarked impatiently, tapping the notebook with the tip of his pen.

  “That's it...”

  “Quite a fertile imagination,” he said coldly, looking at old Ding out of the corner of his eye. “Made quite a bundle, did you?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “Cousin,” old Ding's apprentice said, smiling broadly as he laid the plastic bag containing the cigarettes in front of the policeman, “won't you please look into this for the shifu here? If those two took sleeping pills, we might still be able to rescue them. Ding Shifu taught me everything I know. He's a provincial model worker who once had his picture taken with Deputy Governor Yu. But when he was laid off recently, this was the only way he knew to put food on the table.”

  “And what if they took rat poison?” The cousin looked at his watch, got to his feet, and said to the other duty policeman, who was playing computer games off in the corner, “Little Sun, I'm going over to the lake to look into a possible suicide. You take care of things here.”

  After visiting the bathroom and picking up all the equipment he'd need, the cousin went out to the garage and returned with a motorized three-wheeler. Once old Ding and his apprentice were seated, they drove out of the station compound.

  It was right around dinnertime, but it felt much later, owing possibly to the chill in the air and the paucity of traffic. With the vehicle's lights flashing and siren blaring, they sped along, w
ith old Ding clinging to the icy railing, his heart in his throat, just waiting for him to open his mouth and spit it out.

  They were soon in the outskirts of town, where the road quality began to deteriorate, although the cousin fought the impulse to slow down, as if to demonstrate his driving skills; the three-wheeler was now more like a bucking bronco. Old Ding was bouncing around so badly, his poor tailbone felt as if it were being pricked by needles.

  Once they were on the asphalt road skirting the man-made lake, the cousin had no choice but to slow down, since the surface was fraught with serious bumps and hollows. He skillfully negotiated the course, but couldn't avoid all the hazards. Once, the three-wheeler stalled as they came perilously close to flipping over.

  “Goddamned corruption road!” he cursed. “They paved it less than a year ago, and look at it now!”

  Old Ding and his apprentice climbed down off the three-wheeler and pushed it down the road. When they reached the edge of the cemetery, they had to leave it before going any farther. The headlight pierced the inky darkness and illuminated a narrow strip of the cemetery and surrounding trees.

  “Where is it?” the cousin asked coldly.

  He tried to answer, but his tongue seemed petrified, and he merely grunted. His apprentice pointed in the direction of the cemetery. “Over there.”

  The three-wheeler's headlight lit up the little path through the cemetery, but it was clear that they'd have to walk. So the cousin turned off the light, reached into his backpack and took out a flashlight that ran on three double-? batteries. Flicking it on to light the way down the gray path through the trees, he said impatiently: