The Moon Opera Page 5

  Looking back, Xiao Yanqiu had suffered the consequences of jealousy for two decades, though she had not been jealous of Li Xuefen—never, not for a single day. Now, however, as she looked at her student, jealousy was unavoidable. It was the first time she’d experienced the lethal power of that emotion and it was as if she was seeing blood flow. She hated herself for being jealous, and could not permit herself to be this way; she decided to punish herself by digging her fingernails into her thigh. The harder she dug, the more she had to control herself, and the more she tried to control herself, the harder she dug. In the end, the sharp pains in her thigh brought an eerie sense of release.

  Xiao Yanqiu stood up, determined to help Chunlai rehearse, vowing to give the girl all she had to offer, leaving out nothing. Standing in front of Chunlai and holding her by the hand, she explained things patiently and corrected what needed to be changed, from her gestures to the look in her eyes. She proceeded little by little, determined to transform the girl into the Xiao Yanqiu of twenty years before. A setting sun cast the giant shadow of a plane tree on the window, caressing the glass and murmuring encouragement. The rehearsal hall grew darker and quieter, but neither teacher nor student thought to turn on the lights. Each gesture, each movement was repeated over and over in the dim light. As Yanqiu tended to every detail, down to the last knuckle of each finger, her face was mere inches from Chunlai, whose sparkling eyes were extraordinarily bright in the dim hall, enchanting and gorgeous. Xiao Yanqiu suddenly felt as if it was she herself who was standing before her, the lovely, graceful Xiao Yanqiu of two decades earlier. She was mystified; it was like a dream, like gazing at the moon in the river. Everything in front of her was uncertain and illusory. She stopped and cocked her head to fix her unfocused, almost misty gaze on the girl. Not knowing what was happening to her teacher, Chunlai also cocked her head to study Xiao Yanqiu, who moved behind her, cupped the girl’s elbow with one hand and held the tip of her small finger with the other. She stared at Chunlai’s left ear, her chin nearly pressing against the girl’s cheek, so close that Chunlai could feel the warm, moist breath from her teacher’s nose. Xiao Yanqiu freed her hands and, without warning, caught Chunlai in an embrace. Her arms seemed to have a mind of their own. They held the girl tightly, crushing Yanqiu’s breasts against Chunlai’s back; Yanqiu then rested her face on the nape of her student’s neck. Stunned by what was happening, Chunlai did not dare move, not even to breathe. But a brief moment later, she was inhaling and exhaling great gulps of air and, with each one, her breasts brushed against the arms that held her. Yanqiu ran her fingers slowly over the girl’s body, like water splashed on a glass desktop, flowing in all directions. Chunlai came to her senses when the fingers reached her waist. Not daring to shout, she pleaded in a tiny voice, “Teacher, please stop.”

  Xiao Yanqiu regained her composure. It was like waking from a dream, after which she was overcome with shame and dejection, although she wasn’t sure exactly what she had just done. Chunlai picked up her bag and ran out, leaving Xiao Yanqiu standing alone in the middle of the empty hall, the sound of her student’s frantic footsteps echoing in her ears. She wanted to call the girl back, but knew there was nothing she could say to her at a moment like this. She was mortified. It was getting dark outside, but night had not yet taken over. She stood with her arms hanging limp, feeling lost, not knowing where she was.

  On the way home, Xiao Yanqiu was struck by a feeling that it had been a bizarre day. The streets felt strange, so did the colors of the streetlights, and the way people walked. She felt like crying, but had no idea what there was to cry about. It is hard to cry when you don’t know what for and that thought brought a lump to her throat; that lump, inexplicably, sent pangs of intense hunger through her body. It was an insane yearning, as if a dozen hands had risen inside her stomach and pulled at it in all directions. When she reached a small roadside eatery, she decided to stop. With an unfathomable sense of hostility, she walked in. Then, menu in hand, she chose only greasy, oily dishes, and when they came, she wolfed down three huge meatballs with a vengeance. And she didn’t stop there, but kept at it, chewing and swallowing until she could hardly breathe.

  6

  Chunlai continued to rehearse as before, giving away nothing in front of Xiao Yanqiu, except that she wouldn’t look her in the eye. She listened to what Yanqiu said and did what she told her to do, but she refused to make eye contact. There was a tacit understanding between them, not the sort that exists between a mother and daughter, but the fatal, unspeakable kind that can exist between women.

  Xiao Yanqiu had never imagined that such awkwardness could develop in their relationship, could become an issue between them. It was difficult to resolve because it was so elusive. She was eating again, but was tired all the time. Spreading through her body, fatigue was now everywhere, although she could not identity the source. The thought of quitting occurred to her several times, but she could not bring herself to do it. Twenty years earlier, something similar had happened, and she had considered suicide, but was unable to go through with it. Now she reproached herself for that weakness, for not having died back then. The abrupt end of one’s golden years cuts more deeply than death. She had neither lived up to her desires, nor carried out her wish to quit; and now there was nothing she could do—wanting to cry, she had no tears to shed.

  Chunlai acted as if nothing had happened, was always composed and relaxed; no wind blew, no grass swayed. She merely kept a proper distance from Xiao Yanqiu, who had come to fear her student, although she would never admit it. If the girl kept up this aloofness, Yanqiu felt, her own life would end; there could be no middle ground. What had been the point of standing at the rostrum, teaching for two decades, if Chang’e could not be reborn through Chunlai?

  In the end, Xiao Yanqiu slept with the factory manager, a decision that finally put her mind at ease. It had always been a matter of when, not if. She didn’t feel one way or the other about it; it wasn’t a good thing, it wasn’t a bad thing, just something people have done since time immemorial. What sort of man was the factory boss, anyway? Someone who had enjoyed power and become wealthy, and she would not have been upset if he’d been a disgusting man or if he’d forced her to do it. As it turned out, neither was the case. She wasn’t shy about such things; better to be straightforward and frank than to act coy. If the show was to go on, then the audience had to feel it was worth their while; otherwise, why bother?

  On the other hand, she didn’t feel especially good about what she did, and that gnawed at her. From the hours of the banquet up to the moment she put her clothes back on, the factory boss had played the role of a great man, a savior even. But when she was standing there naked, it seemed to her that he had no interest at all in her body. What exactly is a boss? At the time, pretty girls were like goods on a shelf; if something struck a boss’s fancy, he had only to signal with a nod and the clerk would take it down for him. So she stripped, and at that moment, the look in his eyes changed. The effects of her diet were plain to see and, as she could sense, plainly displeasing. He didn’t even try to hide his disapproval. At that instant, she’d have preferred a greedy, lecherous man, a sex fiend even, for then she’d simply have been selling her body. But he wasn’t. He was even more a man of stature and power as he climbed into bed—he leisurely lay down on the Simmons mattress and gestured for her to get on top. Once there, she did all the work. At one point, he seemed pleased with her efforts, for he moaned a couple of times, and muttered, “Oh yeah … oh, yeah.” What does that mean? she wondered. A few days later, he put on a foreign porn flick before she serviced him, and it dawned on her that he was parroting the sound the porn stars made. Where sex was concerned, he had gone global.

  What they did could hardly be called making love; it wasn’t even sex. She was just trying to please a man, servicing a man, and she felt so debased that she thought about stopping. But sex is so toxic it doesn’t let you quit just because you want to. She had never felt that way when making love wit
h Miangua, so she just went through the motions, reproaching herself the whole time: this woman is a slut, pure and simple, she chided herself.

  It was drizzling as she made her way home. The wet streets glistened, filling her eyes with reflections and refractions from the taillights of passing cars. The glittery reds seemed overheated and unreal, creating a deep sense of desolation. Surrounded by kaleidoscopic lights dancing on the surface of the street, she felt she’d been defiled that evening. Though she couldn’t say how, exactly, she knew it wasn’t physical. At the head of the lane she bent over and tried to throw up, but succeeded only in producing dry heaves, terrible-sounding and foul-smelling noises.

  By the time she arrived home, her daughter was already in bed. Miangua was sunk down in the sofa with the TV on, waiting for her. She avoided his eyes, unable to bring herself to look at him. Instead, she went straight to the bathroom, head down, to shower. But the thought of how such unusual behavior might make him suspicious led her instead to the toilet, where she sat down, but with no results from either end. She examined her body, front and back, to make sure there were no telltale signs before she felt confident enough to leave the bathroom. Despite her fatigue, she put on an energetic show so her husband would not detect anything. But he did. Wondering why she was in such high spirits, he asked, “Have you been drinking? Your face is red.”

  Xiao Yanqiu’s heart skipped a beat. “You’re seeing things,” she said as lightly as she could manage.

  “No, it is red,” he insisted.

  The conversation was heading somewhere she didn’t like, so she changed the subject: “Where’s the girl?”

  “Went to bed a while ago.”

  She still couldn’t face him, for his gaze would have been her undoing. “Go on to bed. I’m going to take a shower.” She avoided the word, “sleep” but “go to bed” said the same thing. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he was rubbing his hands gleefully. For no apparent reason, she felt a stabbing pain in her chest.

  Once in the shower, Xiao Yanqiu turned up the water until it nearly scalded her. That was what she wanted, to hurt herself. The pain, tangible and real, was mixed with a subtle pleasure, bordering on self-abuse. She let the water run as she rubbed herself vigorously, digging deep into her body with her fingers, as if wanting to extract something from it. Afterwards, she went into the living room to sit on the sofa, her skin bright red and tender. At around eleven o’clock Miangua walked in, wrapped in a towel. Obviously he hadn’t gone to bed. “You look preoccupied. Did you find a purse on the street?” he said, wearing a hopeful smile. No response. “Hey,” he said, incongruously, “it’s the weekend.”

  Yanqiu shuddered and tensed, but did not move, so he sat down and snuggled up to her, his lips touching her earlobe. When he bit down gently and reached for the familiar place, she reacted, surprising even herself, by pushing him away so hard he fell off the sofa. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed. It was a sound that scratched the quiet night, abrupt and hysterical. Miangua was staggered, at first embarrassed, then angry; but he did not want to disturb the oppressive silence. Her chest rose and fell like a sail that has caught the wind. Tears welled in her eyes; staring at her husband, she cried out, “Miangua.”

  It was a sleepless night. Yanqiu stared wide-eyed into the darkness. One eye looked to her past, the other to her future, but all she could see was darkness. Several times she nearly reached out to rub her husband’s back, but she stopped herself. She was waiting for the day to break; once dawn came, yesterday would be over.

  When she wasn’t rehearsing, Chunlai was quiet as a glass of water. During breaks, she’d sit off by herself, her long, curved eyebrows raised, her luminous eyes darting here and there, looking both alluring and at ease. She had a quiet beauty with an easy grace, and her movements gave the impression of a frail willow swaying in the wind. But girls like her could erupt without warning; she could raise a three-foot wave on a windless day, and the news she brought on one particular day was like thunderbolts crackling above Xiao Yanqiu’s head.

  Shortly before the sound rehearsal, Bingzhang summoned Xiao Yanqiu to his office. He looked very unhappy. Chunlai was sitting there reading the evening paper. The girl’s presence told Xiao Yanqiu that something had happened.

  “She’s leaving,” Bingzhang said.

  “Who’s leaving?” Xiao Yanqiu was confused. She glanced at the girl, clearly puzzled. “Where to?”

  Chunlai stood up, but was still reluctant to look at her teacher. She stared instead at the tips of her shoes, reminding Xiao Yanqiu of what she herself had been like twenty years before, when she had stood at Li Xuefen’s bedside. But what they were thinking and feeling at each of those moments could not have been more different. After a long pause, Chunlai spoke up. “I’m leaving,” she said, “I’m going to be on TV.”

  Xiao Yanqiu heard every word but understood nothing. A discordance existed between those two statements. This was bad news, but just how bad she could not be sure. “You’re going where?”

  Finally Chunlai showed her hand. “I don’t want to be an opera singer any longer.”

  Now Xiao Yanqiu understood. She sized up her student before inclining her head and asking, “What is it you don’t want to do?”

  Again the girl fell silent, leaving Bingzhang to explain things to Yanqiu. “One of the TV stations needed a host, so she applied. That was a month ago. She had her interview, and she got the job.”

  Xiao Yanqiu recalled seeing ads placed by the TV station in the evening paper during the narration phase. It had, in fact, been a month, and the girl had, without a word, gone about securing the job. Stunned by the news, Yanqiu swayed, as if being pulled off her feet. Not knowing what she ought to do or say, she reached out for Chunlai’s shoulder, but quickly withdrew her hand. By then she was breathing heavily. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?”

  Chunlai looked out the window, but said nothing.

  “Don’t even think about it!” Xiao Yanqiu said, raising her voice.

  “I know how much time and energy you’ve spent on me, but I’ve worked very hard to get where I am today. So don’t stand in my way.”

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Then I’ll quit the academy.”

  Yanqiu raised her hands in a meaningless gesture. She looked first at Bingzhang, then at Chunlai. Her hands began to tremble; heartbroken, she grabbed the girl’s lapels. “You can’t,” she said softly. “Don’t you know who you are?”

  “Yes, I do,” Chunlai answered, her eyes lowered.

  “No, you don’t!” Yanqiu said, shooting pains stabbing her heart. “You don’t know how good a Qingyi you are. I ask again, do you know who you are?”

  The corners of the girl’s mouth twitched, like an attempted laugh, but there was no sound. “The Chang’e understudy.”

  “I’ll go talk to them. You’ll be Chang’e and I’ll be your understudy. Please, you mustn’t leave.”

  Chunlai looked away. “I can’t take the role away from my own teacher.”

  She sounded as determined as she’d been a moment before, but now seemed to leave a bit of room for negotiation.

  Yanqiu grabbed the girl’s hands. “You won’t be taking it from me. You have no idea how wonderful you are, but I do. It’s not every day a Qingyi is born. Wasting talent like yours would incur heaven’s wrath! You’ll be Chang’e, and I’ll be your understudy. Promise me.” She covered the girl’s hands with her own and repeated urgently, “Promise me.”

  Chunlai raised her head to look at her teacher, something she hadn’t done in a long time. Xiao Yanqiu returned her gaze, studying the look in her student’s eyes; she saw doubt and misgiving, which told her she was prepared to make a fresh start. Yanqiu fixed her attention on the girl, as if the look in Chunlai’s eyes would vanish if her gaze left the girl’s face. Bingzhang, who was also watching the girl, detected a subtle change. He was sure he was right; he now knew exactly what to say to the girl and how to say it. So he ges
tured for Yanqiu to leave, but she was immobile, trance-like. Not until he laid his hands on her shoulders did she return to reality. On her way out the door she stopped to look back. “Go on, now,” Bingzhang said softly. “Go on.”

  Xiao Yanqiu returned to the rehearsal hall, where she stared at the window in Bingzhang’s office. It was now the window to her life. The rehearsal was over and the hall was deserted, leaving her the lone figure in the large, now empty space to wait anxiously. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in, filling the air with a soft orange glow and a filigree of dust motes that lent an uncanny warmth to the hall. Leaves on the potted plants seemed to grow bigger under the setting sun, their outlines blurred. Yanqiu paced up and down, hugging herself; then the window opened to reveal Bingzhang’s head and arm. She could not make out his face, but she saw him wave vigorously. Then he balled up a fist, which was the sign she’d been waiting for. She steadied herself by holding on to the practice bar against the wall, tears wetting her eyes, before she slid to the floor, where she sat and cried. How close she’d come to seeing all her efforts wasted; she felt as if she’d survived a disaster. They were happy, comforting tears. Supporting herself with her hand on a chair to stand up, she then sat down and sobbed, savoring a feeling of consolation. As she dried her eyes she reproached herself for not having been more upfront with Chunlai when the opera cast was formed. If the girl had had a role to play, she’d not have gone looking for other work. Xiao Yanqiu asked herself why she hadn’t handed over the role at the beginning; why, at her age, she was still fighting over a Qingyi part. Why had she refused to accept the role of understudy? This was so much better. Now Chunlai could take her place. Chunlai was her second self. As long as Chunlai gained the fame she deserved, Yanqiu’s lifework could be passed down through her. As these thoughts coursed through her mind, she felt she’d shed a heavy burden; the pressure and the gloom in her heart vanished. Give it up, give it up completely. She heaved a long, deep sigh, feeling suddenly reinvigorated.