She didn’t walk right up to him but stopped a short distance away, waiting for him to notice her. His gaze swept over and folded back, settling on her, his face showing surprise.
“You seem a bit thinner.”
He watched her approach, smiling as he said. Mrs. Yang turned back and saw it was her, with a face full of puzzlement:
“You two know each other already?”
“We just met for the first time yesterday.”
Mrs. Yang’s mouth was slightly open, her expression astonished. Cheng Cheng quickly changed the topic:
“Was the speech smooth?”
“Very wonderful. It was just too short; we all wanted to hear more from you.” Mrs. Yang said to him with a smile.
Xia Hui smiled, turned his head to look at Cheng Cheng: “You really should have come with us yesterday; that bar was great.”
Cheng Cheng didn’t speak, lowering her head to look at her boots. The air condensed between them. After a while, Mrs. Yang said:
“Sorry, I have something to do; I’ll leave first.” As she left, she gave Cheng Cheng a contemptuous glance.
Cheng Cheng asked Xia Hui: “Did I interrupt your conversation?”
“Of course not. You rescued me. Couldn’t you tell?”
“I thought you were long accustomed to it, handling any situation with ease.”
“I’ve always reminded myself not to become like that.”
“Why?”
“A writer must write because they feel maladjusted to this world; if they’re adapted to everything, what is there left to write?”
“Writers are all willful, aren’t they?”
“This doesn’t count as willful.”
“Then does suddenly canceling interviews and refusing to attend the banquet count?”
“Oh, waiting for me here.” He laughed, “I almost forgot you work here.”
“I just think since you’re already here, why not attend?”
“To be honest, I now refuse literature festivals of this caliber; this time I just came by to see old friends.”
He crushed the empty paper cup in his hand and walked over to throw it away,
“Tomorrow evening I have to fly to Paris; my French edition just came out, and several major newspapers want interviews.”
He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled,
“I want to give myself half a day off; I wonder if Miss Cheng can approve?”
“Where do I have the authority to approve?” She said with a smile.
“But I don’t want to make things difficult for you.” He stopped smiling and looked at her sincerely.
“No. I’m just responsible for some miscellaneous conference affairs.” She said.
The staff came out, announcing that the second half of the meeting was about to start, and asked everyone to return to the venue. Xia Hui watched people gradually walk in, turned his head to her and said:
“Okay, I have to go.”
“Now? You’re leaving now?”
“Yes, slip away quietly while they haven’t sent another lobbyist.”
“I’m not a lobbyist.” She muttered softly.
“Okay, you’re not.” He put on his coat, draping the slipped scarf over his shoulder.
He didn’t leave immediately, still standing in place. She lowered her head, shifting her feet, moving them into the frame of the square tile.
“Is this job important to you?” He put his hands in his pockets.
“Hm?” She paused for a moment, shook her head, “I’m just here temporarily to help.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Then why not come with me?”
“Where to?” She lifted her eyes.
“Let me think,” he said, “Go get your coat, I’ll wait for you at the main entrance.”
After Lulu died, she took a long leave, then quit her job at the community library. She used to be quite good at remembering numbers, able to recite the long codes on book spines. But after Lulu died, she suddenly couldn’t remember anything, and seeing long strings of numbers made her very irritable.
She still lived in that apartment. She had agreed with the landlord to stay until the end of the month, and to clean the house when she left.
No matter how Xiao Song persuaded her, it was useless; she said she just wanted to be alone, slowly sorting things out.
The landlord had already posted the rental notice, and people kept coming to view the house; they hadn’t read the newspapers, nor met the Singaporean girl next door, so they didn’t know what had happened here.
They just saw the walls of the room covered with Lulu’s Polaroid photos.
“She went back to her country.”
She explained. For a brief moment, she felt that Lulu might have really gone back. Dying in a foreign land, perhaps it was a way of leaving the foreign land.
When Chen Bin came, she thought it was another person viewing the house, but he said he was looking for Lulu, couldn’t get through on the phone, so came to check.
The Chinese association where Chen Bin worked was responsible for organizing some conferences and exhibitions related to China. Recently, they were planning a Chinese literature festival, and Lulu had promised to help him.
“Lulu doesn’t seem to participate much in such activities.” Cheng Cheng said.
Lulu had always looked down on any activities related to Chinese people, finding them vulgar and decadent.
“That’s right, but this literature festival invited many famous writers,”
Chen Bin said.
“Including Xia Hui. You probably don’t know Lulu well; she’s a literature enthusiast, has read all of Xia Hui’s books, and said she must get his autograph this time.”
“I’ve heard her mention it.” Cheng Cheng said. She didn’t know why she was lying.
“I really can’t believe she’s gone…” Chen Bin’s eyes reddened.
Cheng Cheng suddenly had an intuition: Lulu must have slept with him. They sat in silence, mourning the deceased for a while, and when leaving, Chen Bin asked if she was willing to replace Lulu and help.
“There’s pay, though not much.”
Cheng Cheng agreed.
Xiao Song strongly opposed it; he believed anything related to Lulu was very dangerous.
“I just want to meet more people.” She couldn’t tell him how lonely she was after Lulu died.
No one saw them leave the venue. She worried someone would chase after them, so she walked quickly, with him following behind.
There were few pedestrians on the street, and rarely any cars passing by. The swept-up snow was piled along the roadside, like half-built snowmen.
Two discarded Christmas trees lay beside the trash bin. She rarely came to Manhattan’s Upper East Side; the streets here were unfamiliar, with a strange desolation, like stage sets.
Listening to the footsteps following behind, she felt like she was in a movie.
They crossed the intersection and walked to Central Park. Large expanses of snow were intact. Boots stepping on it kicked up thick snow powder. Startled squirrels scampered up trees, standing on branches watching them.
“Hey, can we stop?” He panted from behind.
She stopped, turned back to look; he was already dozens of meters away.
“Running so fast, it’s like two fugitives!” He quickly walked up.
“That’s right, we are escaping prison.”
“Why are you so excited? Your desire to escape seems even stronger than mine.”
“No way?” She pulled up her collar, buttoned the top button of her coat,
“Where are we going now?”
“Find a place to sit for a while, okay?”
“Then we have to keep walking; there’s a cafe ahead.”
Approaching noon, there were few people in the cafe; a very old man sat in the corner reading The New York Times. When ordering, he let her decide for him.
The waitress with a ponytail quickly brought the drinks: her coffee, his English tea.
“I remember skipping school as a kid.” She tore open the sugar packet, pouring half into the coffee.
“You skipped school too? I thought you were always a good student.”
“Actually, only once or twice.”
“For what?”
“For nothing. There were two students in the class who often skipped school. I was curious about what they did outside while we were in class, so one day I ran out with them.”
“And then, what did you do?”
“Seems like nothing; I can’t remember, just remember running out like that.”
He laughed: “So today is the same? I’m like that student who often skips school?”
“Ah, I didn’t mean that,” she looked at him, probing, “Are you?”
“Yes, I started skipping in second grade,” seeing her surprised face, he smiled knowingly, “At that time, classes were suspended for the revolution; couldn’t attend even if you wanted to.”
“What year was that?”
“1966. The whole of China skipped school.”
“It’s really hard to imagine; it sounds like another world.”
“I’m someone who came back from another world.” He said.
“Alas, okay.” She picked up the cup and found the coffee was already finished.
