‘How about your life now? Is someone looking after you?’
‘I’m looking after myself.’
‘Nie Gannu and his wife are very concerned about you. So’s Old Tian. I heard you’d been released, but the building in which you used to live was pulled down long ago. Later, we heard you were living somewhere around Shaojiu Lane. Old Tian often went there for a stroll, in the hope of bumping into you. Someone said you’d moved out into the suburbs, but no one knew where.’
‘That’s right. Later, I moved to Chaoyang Menwai.’ I wanted to change the topic, so I asked:
‘Are you all right now? Why have you not been back on the radio?’
‘It’s a long story. I’m at Shuangqiao State Farm. They’re giving me time off for family business.’
He seemed to notice my surprise, and added, ‘It’s not important, nothing political. They say I’m a fake doctor and I’m harming my patients. They say I’m practising without a licence. Let’s not talk about it. Perhaps it will be over in a few months and they’ll let me go home. They’re still allowing me to examine reform-through-labour prisoners. I have my own room, only I no longer get paid.’ He gestured at his bundle: ‘Today I’ve come to sell my books. I’ve already sold all the best ones. These are the ones they don’t want.’
I looked at the bundle and felt sorry for him, but he didn’t seem to mind. He said, ‘It’s no problem. Mother and the children get living expenses anyway. I’m just trying to get some money.’
I admired his tenacity. However, I felt it unwise to stay too long in the deserted lane. I told him I needed to return to the market to do some shopping. But he held me back:
‘First leave me an address.’
He fished a ballpoint from one pocket and an envelope from the other. Indicating the envelope, he said with a smile:
‘See, Shuangqiao State Farm.’
I had no choice but to write down my address. However, I told him I never received guests and was living with my younger son. My daughter was working as a farm labourer in the suburbs and usually there was only me, I was often out buying food and not necessarily in the house. We hurriedly parted.
I had given my address to a few acquaintances, including my brother’s son, but nobody had ever come to see me or written to me. I had long since forgotten about the encounter at the Fulong Temple.
Now, three or four months later, staring at the careful writing on the envelope, I couldn’t help thinking back on that meeting. Perhaps it was from Mr Sha? I opened it. But it was from another friend, Qin, who had probably got the address from Sha.
The letter read, ‘Qin asks you to go to the Peace Restaurant at three o’clock on such-and-such a day for a cup of coffee.’
Should I go? The only person I could have discussed it with was my younger son. The child had long forgotten his father’s friends, so what could he say? I had to make my own decisions about everything. Even so, I showed him the letter. He thought it wouldn’t do any harm. He told me to be careful not to say too much and to be aware of the surroundings. He was trying to join the Young Communist League, so as an ordinary person who had made mistakes I would do well to follow his advice.
I made my way to the Peace Restaurant at Dongan Market. I spied a tall thin man at the door. It was Old Nie. I hurried across and we smiled at one another.
‘Did you guess?’ he asked.
‘Who else could it have been?’
‘Let’s go in and sit down.’
‘Such a luxurious place? Why don’t we go for a walk instead. I’ve never been in such a place.’
‘Why not go in and have a look?’
I followed him in, looking timidly from side to side. Noticing, he joked, ‘It’s rather like when we were doing underground work in Shanghai. But now we’re afraid of our own people.’
We both smiled bitterly.
We found a compartment and sat down.
‘What do you want?’ he asked.
‘Just a coffee.’
He also ordered a coffee, together with a plate of Western cakes.
‘The reason I asked you to come was because you have an old friend who has gone to great lengths to discover your whereabouts.’
‘Who?’ I was surprised anyone would dare make inquiries about us.
‘Xiong Zimin. I went to see him when he was attending the Third National People’s Congress. He asked me if there was any news about Zhang Guangren* or Zhang’s family. I just shook my head. Then he said, “How could that be? Surely they can’t have locked up his wife and children? What crime have they committed?” All I could say was that his wife had been freed, we had seen her. Then, he told me to find you no matter what, and to tell you to go and see him.’
‘Where do I go?’
‘Write to the National People’s Congress and ask them. I’m worried he might have gone away now the Congress is over. But he left a message telling me to find out about Old Hu and request a meeting. He was furious. He said when we went to prison for the revolution, we were at least allowed to visit prisoners and send them things.’
The conversation upset me. It implied I was to blame for not rushing about on F’s behalf. But how was he to know that when I had asked to see F or tried to send him things, the Ministry of Public Security had flatly refused to stretch the rules.
I told Old Nie all this. I also told him about my long-standing secret guess that F was perhaps no longer of this world … At this point, I broke into tears.
‘That’s hardly likely, you needn’t worry. I’ve heard he’s been to hospital. We thought they would release him, but they didn’t. Nothing is going to happen, they won’t do anything. Take things philosophically, don’t be pessimistic, things can’t get worse. The best thing is to ask again to be allowed to see him, to write to him, and to send him things.’
To contain my emotion, I raised the coffee cup to my lips.
The previous winter, the children and I had gone to see Dagger Society at the Tianqiao Theatre. I had spotted Old Nie and his wife. He had just been transferred back to Beijing from the Great Northern Wilderness, where he had undergone reform through labour. He had not yet had his rightist hat removed. He was embarrassed and didn’t dare approach us. He just shot us a distant smile, and then dashed off into the auditorium. During the intermission, Big Sister Ying sought us out for a chat. It turned out his daughter had insisted he come to see her perform, it was his first outing. She asked about us, and I answered in as few words as possible. After the performance, I saw them again at the exit and Big Sister Ying again fought her way through the crowd and said she would come to see us in a few days’ time. Third Sister (their relative) saw me but gave no greeting. In the past, she had always been warm, and had sympathised with F. But her troubled life over several years had left her cold and haggard. I could understand, so I fought my way to the front and left ahead of them.
This meeting was different. Sitting opposite me was a dignified senior cadre, neatly and fastidiously dressed, untrammelled by convention, a suitable guest at such a top-grade establishment.
‘I suppose you often come here,’ I said. ‘Have you got your old job back?’
‘I don’t care whether I get it back or not, I wouldn’t go anyway, all I do is collect my salary each month.’
‘That’s good, you can do creative work at home.’
‘I no longer write, I just read. Recently I read Zhuangzi. It was interesting, I understood things I’d never understood before.’
I