IN THE RIVER!

DROWNED THEMSELVES!

To this day, if I close my eyes, I can see them fishing the bodies out of the dark river at the end of Fragrant Cedar Street as if it were yesterday. Every man who knew how to swim dived into the black, foul-smelling water. People thronged the neglected Stone Pier, where a single streetlamp lit faces that shimmered like the surface of the water. The Shu and Lin families from number 18 were central figures in the drama, and folks took particular notice of Old Shu, who dived to the bottom, came up for air, then dived again, over and over, while Old Lin stood watching on the bank, a chess piece in his hand. Some said it was a horse. Qiu Yumei leaned against an electric pole and sobbed into her hands, hiding her face.

Shu Gong was first out of the water. Old Shu flung his son over his shoulder and ran up and down Fragrant Cedar Street. Black, foul-smelling water spewed from the boy's mouth. Then they fished out Hanli, and Old Shu did the same with her. She looked like a lamb rocking back and forth on Old Shu's shoulder, but no water emerged from her mouth, not even when he had run all the way to the upstairs flat at number 18. She didn't even twitch. Old Shu laid Hanli's body on the floor and felt her pulse. "Nothing," he announced. "She's past saving."

Shu Nong elbowed his way up through the crowd to see what the drowned Hanli looked like, oblivious to the noisy babble all around him. Instinct told him that Hanli was dead. He looked down at her water-soaked body, still dripping as it lay on the floor, each drop the same blue color as her glossy skin. Hanli's staring pupils were more captivating than cat's eyes poking through the darkness. She was really, really blue, and Shu Nong was struck by the realization that all the females he peeked at were blue, even the dead ones. He assumed there was something blue about women and death. What was going on here?

Hanli's death became the topic of conversation on Fragrant Cedar Street 's lanes and byways. People still loved her, even after she was dead, and they told anyone who would listen that like a tender flower growing in a dank cellar, she was fated to die young. This, you must realize, effectively captures the complex and veiled relationships among the people at number 18. The residents of Fragrant Cedar Street were incapable of glossing over the influence of Old Shu and Qiu Yumei on their children, so the suicide pact of Hanli and Shu Gong was overlaid by a film of tragic romanticism.

From then on, the black lacquer gate at number 18 remained shut to outsiders. Milk deliveries were placed in a small wooden box outside the gate, and if you peeked through a crack, all you saw was a dark building. It was just a feeling, but number 18 seemed off-limits in the wake of the Lin girl's premature death. By looking up, you could, if you were observant, see a change in Qiu Yumei's upstairs window: now it was sealed with sheet metal, which made it look from a distance like the door of a pigeon cage.

Sensitive folks tried to guess who had sealed the window, thereby forcing the trashy Qiu Yumei to spend her days in darkness. "Who did it?" they asked Hanzhen. She said she didn't know, adding, "Go away, and leave my family alone." So they asked Shu Nong, but he wouldn't answer, although his crafty eyes said, Oh, I saw, all right. Nothing gets past me. I see it all.

Let's say it's the night of Hanli's death, and Old Lin drags some used sheet metal and his tool pouch into Qiu Yumei's room, without knocking first. He bangs his hammer against the windowsill three times: bang bang bang.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Sealing up the kennel door."

"Damn it, you'll block out the light."

"It has to be sealed up, and you know why."

"No. Have you gone mad?"

"Keep your voice down. I'm doing it for your own good."

"I'll suffocate in here. No one seals a southern window."

"I'm worried that Hanli's spirit will come looking for you. The river is right outside that window."

"Don't try to frighten me, it won't work. I did nothing to offend Hanli."

"I'm worried you might sleepwalk your way right out that window to your death."

Qiu Yumei climbed out of bed, then sat back down. She buried her head in the quilt and sobbed. "Go ahead, seal it," she said in a muffled voice, "if that's what you want." But Old Lin was too busy nailing up the sheet metal to hear her. He was so good with his hands that in no time the window was sealed airtight. Like I said, from a distance it looked like a pigeon cage in the dark.

How does it feel to return from the dead? To Shu Gong, the attempted suicide was a bad dream from which he awoke drenched. His family stood in the doorway, gawking at him. He felt terrible. "Bring me some dry clothes," he said to his mother. "I want to change." But Old Shu pushed Mother outside. "No changing. Since you didn't drown, you can just dry out on your own. Being wet shouldn't bother someone who can defy death. Go on, dry out, you turtle-egg bastard!"

Shu Gong lay there spent, thinking back to when they were sinking to the bottom of the river, to how Hanli's fingers groped frantically for him and how he pushed her away. He didn't want to die strapped to Hanli, whose finger reached out like a slender fish to peck him on the face before slipping away. Hanli was well and truly dead. He was still alive. Loathing and contempt lay in his father's eyes and in his as well, as they were reflected in the old-fashioned wall mirror; he also saw in them a cold enmity and guardedness. "Get out of here, all of you," Shu Gong demanded. "We have no use for one another, dead or alive." He jumped up and slammed the door shut to remove them from his sight. Slowly, he took off his wet clothes and opened his dresser.

Creak. The door opened, and Shu Nong slipped into the room. He leaned against the doorframe to watch Shu Gong change clothes. "I saw the two of you," he blurted out.

"Get the hell out of here." Shu Gong modestly held up his clothing to cover his nakedness.

"I saw."

"Saw what?"

"Everything."

"So you went and told everybody?" Shu Gong walked over to the door and bolted it, then grabbed Shu Nong by the hair with one hand and clapped the other one over his mouth to keep him from shouting. He slammed his brother up against the wall and heard it give and then snap back. Shu Nong's frail little body slumped to the ground as if it were made of sand. Whoosh! The breath escaped from Shu Gong's mouth all at once. This was the way to handle things now that something lost had been restored to him. This is how to do it: flatten that disgusting Shu Nong.

I saw Shu Nong out walking one cold early-winter day. He was dragging his schoolbag behind him; with his long, spiky hair, he looked like a porcupine. He was kicking dead leaves on his way home. Whenever there was some kind of commotion, he headed toward it, stood on the perimeter for a moment to see what was going on, then walked off. Once it became clear that there was nothing much to see, he was gone. Hardly anything captured his interest.

Shu Nong was being chased down the street, cradling an air rifle. His pursuer was the man who shot sparrows. "Grab him!" he shouted. "He stole my rifle!" The weapon was nearly as tall as Shu Nong, who finally got tangled up in it and fell in a heap in front of the stone bridge, where he lay rubbing the wooden stock for a moment while he caught his breath; then he tossed the rifle aside and crossed the bridge.

"Don't chase him," someone at the bridgehead teahouse said. "That boy's not all there."

If you knew Shu Nong, you'd realize how wide of the mark this comment was. Shu Nong was all there, all right, and if you have ever been to Fragrant Cedar Street, you know that this is the story of a very clever boy.