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Frontier. Can Xue
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Still talking, they went inside. The gardener was sitting there silently smoking a pipe. He was looking down, not at them. He was a hairy man; his face was covered with a gray beard. José thought this person was certainly like a local, so why did the director say he wasn’t? As soon as she entered the room, the director made straight for the large bed and lay down on it. She was acting as though these two men were her relatives. An idea suddenly crossed José’s mind. Was it possible that he himself was related to the director? If not, then why had he dashed over here—so far away—the moment he saw her tiny advertisement? And then there was this gardener: perhaps it was the same with him. After finishing his pipe, the gardener began cleaning the house. He dusted the furniture with a rag. José noticed that the chair that had caved in beneath him had been restored to its original state—and now looked sturdy again. Curious, he pressed down on the chair with both hands; the chair didn’t sink at all. And so he cautiously sat down again; this time, nothing happened. Two minutes later, José thought to himself that it wasn’t right for him to sit in this room: What if those two were husband and wife? He stood up, about to leave, when the director spoke from her bed, “Mr. José, don’t go. Wait for Ms. Nancy to return.”
“Will she come?”
“Hunh. When she doesn’t find it, she’ll be back.”
“Won’t she find it?”
“Of course not. Where would she look? Where, I ask you? Haha haha . . .”
She began laughing hysterically on the bed, not at all like a sick person. This scared José. As she laughed, the gardener made a face. It was the ugliest expression José had ever seen. His face crinkled, and his gray weed-like beard hid his features until they virtually disappeared. It was disgusting. All at once, José thought these two persons had duped him and Nancy. They were using some tricks to scam them with a tropical garden. And Nancy—with her wishful thinking—was still struggling inside the net they had cast. All at once, an incident floated up in José’s mind: one day, years ago, Nancy had been in high spirits as she told him that she was going to the wharf to meet her auntie. Her aunt lived in Manchuria. Aunt and niece had never met one another, so the aunt had brought many gifts. Nancy blushed excitedly as she looked again and again at the photograph and asked him, too, to look at it carefully. When the ship pulled in, several passengers disembarked. But no auntie. He was terribly disappointed, but when he glanced at Nancy, she didn’t seem to mind at all. She was still glowing, filled with the vitality of youth. All the way home, she told him how delicious the Manchurian salmon tasted. José was surprised to be recalling this incident at this moment: Could the incident from the past be connected to the situation now? “Oh, Nancy, Nancy,” he sighed.
When the institute director stopped laughing, she whispered to the wall. The gardener seemed angry: he was pointing at José, and strange sounds came from his mouth. José couldn’t understand even a word of what he said. He raised his hands and made a chopping motion toward his own neck; a fierce light shot from his eyes. José was standing next to the window, not sure whether to stay or go. Suddenly, he saw Nancy. Just like the director, Nancy ran across with her hair flying, as if being chased by something. She ran over to the large locust tree where the director had stopped. After a while, Nancy’s shouts rang out in the courtyard: “José! José!” José walked out and saw that Nancy’s back was to him; she was braiding her hair. He walked over hastily.
Nancy’s face was covered with bloodstains. The cut near her mouth was still bleeding. She smiled a little, revealing blood on her teeth, but she wasn’t perturbed.
“I was ambushed by a pack of mad dogs. I picked up bricks to hurl at them. Damn, they bit my face—I won’t get rabies, will I? Maybe they weren’t mad; maybe they were just wild. Oh, José, I saw that garden and also the somber gardener. I saw them through the dog’s eyes when it pounced at me. It was so large. I squatted low, and it placed its heavy front paws on my shoulders . . .”
An unusual light flashed from Nancy’s eyes, and her face turned purple from the blood surging up.
“How could that garden—that garden—have appeared in a wild dog’s eyes!?” she shouted loudly. She was hoarse.
Just then, the institute director and the gardener stuck their heads out the door, but Nancy was distracted. She didn’t notice them. She implored José wretchedly to take her home soon.
All the way, she leaned heavily on José, like a little girl suffering from a serious illness. It was just under two miles, but they walked a long, long time. Finally, José could no longer keep going. Every now and then, they had to sit down on the ground. José worried: Why had Nancy become so weak? If the dog had rabies, would she die? When he thought of the crazy dog, he suddenly found the energy to run. Putting Nancy on his back, he raced along.
When they finally reached the residential area, he was about to fall over from exhaustion. Nancy had gone to sleep on his back. Her face was still purple. He set her down on a bench at the side of the road. He intended to ask the apartment manager where to find a doctor. He had no sooner stood up than he saw Lee walking over. He told Lee what had happened.
“Did this happen at the farmhouse over there? Where it’s so desolate all around?” As Lee spoke, he began laughing. “Don’t worry; they weren’t mad dogs. They’re dogs raised by our director. She indulges those dogs and lets them run around in the wasteland all day long. And so they seem to be wild.”
The rock in José’s heart dropped to the ground. He greatly appreciated Lee. But why had Nancy’s face turned purple? He couldn’t understand that.
“That’s because your wife was too excited. Just think about it: she was in the wilderness, running, and besides, she saw the dog’s strange eyes.”
“So you know about the dog’s eyes?!” José was startled.
“It’s no secret. Anyone who has ever come into contact with those dogs knows—our institute director is no ordinary woman.”
Just then, Nancy suddenly came to and said, “Lee, don’t you dare talk about her behind her back! I heard everything.”
At midnight, when José and Nancy were in bed, the skylight was suddenly automatically propped open. They heard wild geese flying by. Hollow and lonely feelings welled up in both their hearts. Nancy whispered, “The frontier is so beautiful.”
Although Qiming was thirty-nine, he didn’t feel old at all. He had no skills; from the time he was young, he’d worked as a janitor in the guesthouse at the Design Institute. Everyone knew him. Sometimes he was a little melancholy, but generally speaking, few people were as optimistic and confident as he was. Qiming had never married; he lived in a simple cabin behind the mailroom of the guesthouse. It was as if the institute administrators had stuffed him indiscriminately into this crude dwelling. But Qiming was quite satisfied with his place. Material life meant nothing to him. For example, he was single, but his heart swelled with erotic dreams. He felt he’d had a lover all along; it was just that they had never lived together. It was because he had a lover that he felt so young. Who could love as he did? Everything he did, he did for the beautiful woman of his memory. He had last seen the Uighur beauty years ago. He still recognized her—of course! The slim girl from back then had now grown up to be a stout housewife, but what difference did this make? Qiming’s yearning for her blazed even more. Aware that someone was staring at her, the stout woman set her satchel down and began dancing with other aunties on the avenue. Qiming stared like crazy. Too bad he didn’t know how to dance. He could only watch from the sidelines. He heard one of the dancing women say in words that he understood: “That guy is awfully ugly, like a savage.” His goddess began laughing uproariously. She flung out her arms and jabbered loudly. After Qiming went home, he was too excited to do anything for the rest of the day. Years had passed; yet, whenever he recalled that meeting, his face