A Single Swallow Page 18

  “You little bastards. What’re you looking at? Go practice your skills!” he yelled at them. His voice had suddenly grown much thinner.

  Pastor Billy: Metamorphosis from Pupa to Butterfly

  Stella lived in Yuehu during strange times, when half the world was burning with the fires of war. War condensed a whole life into a few moments, compressing the time between stepping out into the world and saying one’s final farewell—the period from birth to death that normally spans several decades.

  During those few years, Stella went through a process of growth that would’ve taken decades in peacetime. Her body grew according to the laws of nature, but her mind couldn’t wait for her body, so it forged a path of its own. The biggest lesson she learned in Yuehu was how to deal with shame. Before, she had thought that if she could shrink herself very small and hide, shame would never find her again. But she was wrong. Shame was a shadow, and no matter how far she traveled, it would follow her. Indeed, even if she ran as fast as she could, she would never be rid of it. So she learned to turn around. Learning is a gradual process, but mastering the act came in a moment of lightning and thunder, and the leap from quantitative to qualitative change took only an instant. One day, she simply understood how to face shame directly. She stood upright, turned around, and met it head-on, only to find that the shame that had followed her so persistently was just an empty shell. Once it had been punctured, it completely deflated. It was only when she faced it head-on that the shame lost its power. And that was when she completed her metamorphosis from pupa to butterfly.

  Stella’s head-on collision with her shame came after Liu Zhaohu won the fight. Those two major events in the sensational history of the camp came about ten days apart. One day the Chinese students were talking around the dining table during breakfast. It was Sunday, so quarters were to be cleaned in the morning, and in the afternoon, everyone planned to go to the market. Since there were no classes, the atmosphere wasn’t as serious as usual, the conversation flowing from one topic to another, covering a few things that excited everyone.

  The first topic was the graduation ceremony to be held the following week. Though this cohort had only been studying in Yuehu for a few months, it was a high-intensity training program, equivalent to a year in a regular military school. They’d learned elite weaponry at a much more advanced level than regular troops did. They were a group of special soldiers, a cut above the rest. There were many guesses as to who would address the graduating students at the ceremony. Someone said they’d heard it was a general from Zhejiang, one of such a high rank that his whereabouts couldn’t be leaked in advance. This rumor inevitably led everyone to think of the names of several high-ranking generals from Zhejiang, like Generalissimo Chiang. Though of course no one dared utter his name—just the thought of it caused trembling in the trainees’ hearts.

  Second, a large-scale field mission was scheduled to start the next day. The next evening after dark, some of them were to set off for a small town nearly two hundred li away from Yuehu and blow up a Japanese munitions and supply warehouse there. According to reliable intelligence, the Japanese had many tons of supplies there. The names of those soldiers taking part in the operation would be announced after dinner. The skills they had learned over the past few months would finally be tested in that mission.

  Also, in four days a theater troupe was to perform at Yuehu. Yuehu was remote, so few people traveled there for entertainment. The play had been a topic of discussion for some time, with new real or imagined details added each day, like a fire, flames growing with each log thrown into it. The new detail that day was that the play would be The Butterfly Lovers: Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai, and Zhu Yingtai would be played by the starring actress of the troupe, the renowned Xiao Yanqiu. The people of Yuehu had invited the troupe several years in a row, but with no success. This year, they hadn’t invited the troupe, but the troupe decided to come at Xiao Yanqiu’s suggestion. Xiao’s husband had been captured by the Japanese when he was traveling to buy the troupe’s costumes. They forced him to serve them, then worked him to death, leaving him vomiting blood on the road. Xiao hated the Japanese fiercely now, and when she heard there was an anti-Japanese training camp in Yuehu, she offered to bring her troupe to entertain the forces. But the conversation that day concerning Xiao Yanqiu took a wrong turn. The road looked harmless at first, but farther down, it led to an abyss.

  That day, a student at Liu Zhaohu’s table said he had a relative who was a salt merchant in Yuyao who’d met Xiao Yanqiu in a teahouse there after a performance one night. Xiao’s troupe was based in Yuyao. No one could confirm this, but its veracity wasn’t really important—the man told his relative’s story as if he’d been there himself. He said Xiao was even more beautiful offstage, that after she removed her makeup, her skin was fair and bright and soft, so dewy that the lightest touch produced moisture. He also said she had a mole shaped like a teardrop under her right eye. His words made those seated at the table restless. The idea of a fingertip caressing water from her face had already made their minds stray, but the teardrop mole inspired love and pity within them. These strong young men had been living in isolation in the valley for several months. Just the talk of a woman was enough to make their voices crack. One of the older students, who was married, shook his head and said how lonely it must be for someone as beautiful as her to sleep in an empty bed. They all fell silent, as if experiencing the loneliness of that solitary bed.

  Then Number 520, Snot, gave a long sigh. “One night with Xiao Yanqiu, that would be worth dying for,” he said dreamily. Snot was the youngest in the group. But his real age was only revealed by the cook after Snot died. His words were like sprinkling a few drops of water onto hot oil. Everyone around the table exploded. Someone said, “Snot, you’re barely weaned. What woman have you ever seen, besides your mother?”

  Upset, Snot said, “Even so, haven’t I seen a dog fuck a bitch? What’s the difference?”

  Roaring with laughter, everyone joined in. “Listen to this suckling. Let’s check to see if his cock is fully grown yet.” Embarrassed and furious, Snot threw his bowl down and ran out the door, his face flushed.

  It had just been mindless chatter around the table, originating in the crotch and going straight out of the mouth without passing through the brain at all. No one knew then that hormones were explosives. The guys just kept tossing one match after another and then put the matter in the back of their minds afterward. It was only after hearing the explosion at dinner that night that they understood the blaze they’d caused.

  Even after Snot ran out, they didn’t let him off the hook. Someone chased him and, standing in the doorway, shouted, “Hurry! Find someone to practice with, mama’s little boy. You don’t want to turn Xiao Yanqiu off, do you?”

  Snot ran through the courtyard and out toward the river. His skull was burning as if ten lamps were lit inside it. His face was so hot, he felt his skin would burst. He wanted to put his head underwater and soak it for a while to douse the fiery oil inside him. He didn’t realize the devil had already tied a rope around his ankle and was pulling him toward hell’s door. Dazed, he went to the river and scooped a handful of water. Just as he was about to splash his face, he suddenly stopped. A few paces away, he saw a young girl squatting on the stones beside the river, rinsing a basket of herbs. The herbs were probably newly picked. She was scraping the roots and leaves with her nails to remove the wet soil. It was hot, and the girl was only wearing a thin blouse. Her head was lowered, revealing a white neck covered in a layer of fine peachy fuzz. Snot felt the oil lamp in his skull overturn. The hot liquid began to flow down his body to his loins, and there it exploded, blowing his body apart, separating his brain from his limbs.

  His head was the first part to see the devil. It said to his body, Go! Hurry! You don’t have eyes, so you can’t see the devil.

  The body said, I might be dead tomorrow. What do we need eyes for?

  The head said, If you don’t leave now, it
will lead to a big disaster.

  The body said, I don’t care. I’m not going to die without having a taste.

  Snot ran over to the girl and grabbed her waist. He caught her scent, strange and fragrant, not like anything he’d smelled before. Not like flowers, grass, brewer’s yeast, or rice. It was light at first, but when he breathed it in again, it was strong, like smoke and fire, as if it could burn three houses at a time or ten haystacks. The girl was shocked. Turning, she saw the number 520 stitched onto the chest of his tunic.

  “You . . . What are you doing?” she asked, eyes wide with horror.

  Snot panicked. He had thought about what to do, but not what to say. He didn’t know he’d need to talk. The girl struggled as if for her life, trying to push his hands away.

  “I just want to see . . . take a look,” he stammered.

  He suddenly hated himself. He felt that the girl’s eyes had pierced through him, seeing what a baby he really was, not knowing a thing. His brain had lost control of not only his hands and feet but also his voice. “What haven’t I seen? Don’t play coy with me,” he shouted. His voice sounded very coarse, and when the words left his throat, a few bloody scratches trailed in their tracks. He barely recognized his voice as his own. Trembling, he tried to unbutton the girl’s blouse. His hands shook so hard he couldn’t do it. He’d never realized the buttons on a girl’s blouse were so complicated. Finally, he skipped the buttons and simply tore the fabric.

  Her hands and feet weren’t strong. All she had was her teeth. She bit his hand hard. With a yelp of pain, Snot released her. A plum blossom bite mark appeared on the back of his hand, first pink, then turning a deep red.

  “Your commanding officer! I’ll . . . tell your commanding officer!” she panted, pulling away from him.

  Snot lifted the front of his shirt and dabbed his bleeding hand. Taking a step forward, he tripped the girl, knocking her to the ground. “You won’t dare. You can’t afford to lose face like that. You think I don’t know who you are? You can hide the awful things about yourself from everyone else, but not from me.”

  She was stunned. She felt like the sun was trembling in the sky and the ground beneath her was melting, as if it couldn’t support her weight. She was falling, deeper and deeper, all the way to the center of the earth.

  I’ve hidden so long and traveled so far, but that damned shadow is still with me. It eventually caught up, she thought.

  When I finished the second worship service that day, I went straight to the kitchen to see Stella. She was usually in the kitchen by this time, helping the cook prepare dinner, but she wasn’t there. When I asked the cook where she was, she pouted and said, “She’s been sitting out there alone all afternoon.”

  Going into the backyard, I saw Stella sitting on a bench beside the oleander. She had her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, as if in a trance. Her expression was strange. Her features were still, and a brassy, yellowy tinge had fallen over her face. She looked almost like a statue. She seemed to be pondering profound philosophical questions like the origin of man and the nature of the universe, not tolerating the slightest disturbance.

  I stood behind her for a long time. Finally, I cleared my throat.

  “Why didn’t you come to church today?” I asked. She had never failed to sit through a worship service since coming to Yuehu the second time. She didn’t go because of God, but to please me. I said “sit through a worship service” because it was not that she worshipped but because I never knew how much she actually absorbed.

  She turned, but didn’t answer. After staring for a long time, she finally said, “Pastor Billy, how many cheeks do you think a person should have?”

  I looked at her blankly.

  She snorted and said, “You forgot the story you told? Turn the other cheek?”

  I understood. She meant the verse in the Gospel of Matthew: “Whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.” I’d taught that in Bible class the previous week.

  “What made you think of that?” I asked curiously.

  Her lips twitched, and I thought she was going to say something, but she swallowed it.

  “I’m just asking,” she said.

  “Stella, you know Jesus isn’t actually talking about your face, right? It’s just a metaphor.”

  She interrupted me before I could finish. “I know. He’s talking about how many times someone should forgive others.”

  It seemed as if she’d thought of something. She stood up and walked out.

  “Twice. The right cheek once and the left cheek once. That’s enough,” she said.

  She walked along the road, and the sun had begun to slant. The days were still long in September, and the light had yet to change colors. She could hear hints of autumn in the cries of the geese as they flew overhead. She walked slowly that day, calmly. She even took time to rest under a tree and watch a bird carry a fat worm in its beak to feed its nest of chicks above. She’d already decided what she was going to say, and her heart felt settled. She said to herself, I’ve already hit bottom. I can’t go lower.

  She later told me that as she walked on the road that day, it felt like there was an operation she’d been waiting to perform, and though she hesitated for a long time, it was finally going to be done. She wasn’t operating on others, but on herself. She said that it was like one of her hands festered with pus and blood, infecting whatever it touched. She finally understood that she couldn’t save both her hand and her life. The only way to save her life was to amputate the hand. You both know that this was a metaphor. She’d learned to use many such metaphors from the Gospels.

  She stopped at the door to the Chinese students’ dorm. The door was closed, and an armed guard stood on its steps.

  “I’m looking for your commander—the highest-ranking officer,” she said to the guard.

  He was shocked. Security was tight here, and few outsiders were allowed in. Most of the Chinese students knew me, but only a few had seen Stella, because she never came this way, not wanting to see Liu Zhaohu.

  “Who are you?” the guard asked.

  “You’ll find out later,” she said.

  “Our commanding officer can’t see you.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s in a meeting. If you have something to say, you can tell me.”

  The guard wasn’t lying. The commanding officer really was in a staff meeting, discussing the final details for that night’s mission.

  “I can’t tell you. It’s too heavy for you to pass along.”

  She said it without emotion as she stepped toward the courtyard. The guard stepped in front of her, blocking the way.

  “The commanding officer has ordered that no random person be allowed beyond this point.”

  Stella glared at him and said, “I’m not random. You can’t afford to delay my business.”

  Seeing that he still refused to move, she picked up a stone from the side of the road and smashed it into the door. The Chinese students’ dorm was a house that had been loaned to the camp by a well-off family. The two panels of the door were made of black wood, and they were very thick. The stone banged against them like dull thunder, leaving a dent in the door.

  The guard came to himself and leveled his gun at Stella. She was stunned. She’d thought through what might happen, but had neglected the gun. It was a surprise. There was no time. The gun was faster than she was. Wherever she went, the gun followed. She had no choice but to risk everything.

  She faced the guard and yelled, “If you’re not afraid of your commanding officer, then shoot.”

  Those having dinner inside heard the commotion and ran to see what was happening. Liu Zhaohu was among them. When he saw the guard aiming his gun at a young woman, he came nearer. When he saw who she was, his face blanched in fright. He didn’t dare take the gun from the guard, afraid of discharging it. He could only walk carefully to the center of the guard’s field of vision.

  “Don’t shoot,” he sai
d.

  He noticed his lips were trembling, and his voice was strained.

  The guard glanced at him. “Do you know her?”

  Liu said, “She’s from my village. She’s not a spy.”

  Stella laughed coldly. She said, “From your village? And what else? If you want to tell them, then tell them everything.”

  Liu didn’t answer, but asked, “What’s going on?”

  Stella pushed him aside and walked into the courtyard, saying, “I want to see your commanding officer.”

  Hearing this, the crowd quickly called for the captain. When he arrived, he told the guard to put the gun down, then told Stella, “If you have something to say, say it. Why did you smash the door?”

  Stella pointed at the guard and said, “You’ll have to ask him that. If he’d allowed me in, would I have smashed the door? I have an issue, but I’m not looking for you. I’m looking for the commanding officer.”

  The captain said, “I’m the commanding officer.”

  The crowd had gradually formed a circle around the captain and Stella. The atmosphere was tense, and Stella’s head was pounding. They were a group, but she was alone. She couldn’t deal with a group, only an individual. Their eyes were all over her torso, front and back, and she knew that Liu Zhaohu was nervously pacing back and forth close by, anxious about why she’d come here. She also knew that the man squatting by the big water drum behind her was Snot. His legs must have grown soft when he saw her, just as his face must have turned ashen gray. They were sizing her up, betting she wouldn’t dare speak, since she risked losing face if she did. But they had made a mistake. They had pushed her too far. She could handle ten steps, but they had taken eleven, and that final step pushed her to the bottom of the chasm. From the bottom of the chasm, the sky looked different. She had actually found the crack in the darkness. She finally understood that no matter how important face was, it was not more important than life. She understood, but they didn’t. They didn’t know what sort of earth-shattering things a person was capable of once she had dared to give up her face.