Читать книгу The Pearl Jacket and Other Stories - Shouhua Qi - Страница 21

Li Ang

She is a woman in her mid-thirties. Average looking. Her pale, smooth skin, though, gives her plain face a touch of attractiveness, especially when she fixes her hair into a nice roll high in the back of her head.

She has two kids. Both are boys. The older one is in grade school; the younger has just started kindergarten. She doesn’t want to try again for a daughter. Instead she is thinking of going back to work.

When she got married years back she worked as an accountant. Later when she gave birth to the first son, she didn’t feel comfortable letting someone else take care of him. Her husband would rather she take care of their son herself and didn’t mind losing the extra income she was making. So she quit her job. During all these years her husband has done well with his business and has saved up some money. They have bought an entire floor of an apartment building as their home and lived a smooth, comfortable life. She is rather careful in managing finances, though, so they will not be caught short.

For example, she never leaves much cash at home. She always deposits extra money in the post office nearby and then withdraws a certain amount now and then for expenses. In addition to participating in investment pools with friends and relatives, she has a long-term deposit account with the post office with a monthly deposit of about 1,000 yuan. That way there will be money for the two boys’ education.

She goes to the post office regularly. Although it is right around the corner once she comes out of the alley, she always makes sure she is properly groomed and dressed each time she goes there. It is a habit of hers. Even when she goes to the small grocery right next door to buy soy sauce and things, she doesn’t want to appear unkempt.

Since she goes to the post office often and since she has to wait while her deposit or withdrawal is being processed, she begins to notice the employees working there. It’s all so natural. Before she knows it, she begins to notice the director of this suburban post office more than anyone else.

He is a fortyish man, medium build, a bit on the heavy side, but looks fit. An honest face that shows signs of having been through things. Nothing striking. Yet there is an air of calmness, of confidence, of substance and depth that compels her eyes to linger on him a bit longer.

When her eyes meet his occasionally, she knows he is noticing her, too. Once, when a clerk hands him a bunch of deposit slips for signatures, he turns hers over to the front side and looks at her name and address carefully. She notices her own face reddening at the moment.

She continues to go to that post office regularly for the next two or three years. She is busy every day taking care of her husband and two kids and her big home. Only when she goes to the post office and sees the director of the post office there does she feel that there is someone in the world whom she wants to see. Most of the time when he is conscious of the look in her eyes, he will glance back.

Then, one winter afternoon, she went shopping with her sister-in-law. When she hurried back it was already past 6 pm. The relative babysitting the boys told her someone from the post office had called several times saying a check she had asked the post office to process on her behalf had been returned. The caller left a phone number and asked her to call back.

She looked at her watch: It was already past 6:30pm. She hesitated. Then the babysitter said: The caller said he would wait no matter how late.

She dialed the number. The man at the other end of the phone had been waiting and knew right away who she was. He explained the check had been returned because a clerk had put an erroneous amount on her deposit slip. He asked her to come back the next day with her seal to correct the error.

She recognized the voice as that of the post office director, inquired about the proper procedures, and then asked, politely, his name so she could take care of this smoothly the next day. The director said his last name was Zhang.

The next day when she went to the post office, she noticed a stranger sitting where the director used to sit, bent over things on the desk. She asked for Mr. Zhang to process the returned check. A female clerk took the seal from her without saying a word, went about correcting the error, and returned the seal to her a short while later when it was all taken care of.

She stepped out of the post office. The rare winter sun felt warm. As she walked slowly in the warm sunshine toward her home, she had this odd feeling: She would never see that post office director again for the rest of her life. He must have been transferred, or have been promoted to the general office, she thought. Yet before he left, he called her on account of that error on the check and waited for her return call after the post office had closed.

He said his last name is Zhang, she murmured.

(n.d.)