Chapter Thirty-One The Green Hat Is a Tightening Spell

Wang Dong and I set up a fruit stand at the very spot where he had sold fruit over a decade ago. We were selling fruit again. I was entirely unskilled at this trade and had become more or less Wang Dong’s assistant, moving things back and forth at his direction, spinning like a top and never pausing for a moment. Winter arrived. Often, in the howling north wind, shrouded in desolation, I curled up in front of the fruit stand and watched as those who once humbly called me “Brother Kuan” passed by without a sideways glance. The sting of the world’s cold indifference pierced my pride like needles.

My father passed away three days before New Year’s Day. He left peacefully, just as my grandfather had years ago—quietly, without a sound.

What a coincidence—on the day Yang Bo and I married, it was also three days before New Year’s Day. In the blink of an eye, five years had gone by.

I buried my father at Wanyun Cemetery, with my grandfather to his right, my mother to his left, and my brother not far away, keeping watch over them.

On the day of the burial, I didn’t cry. My heart was as calm as a still pond, though I felt an emptiness, as if something had suddenly been taken away.

What was missing? A person… No, many people, many family members. But it was more than that—I had failed to fulfill my promise to my father. I had vowed to let him live in a spacious, bright house. I promised my grandfather that too. But my grandfather never saw his ideal house, and neither did my father. As for the house—I did once own my own home, but it left with Yang Bo. That house never matched my father’s or grandfather’s expectations, but it was mine, once. One day, on a whim, I returned to that house. As if sleepwalking, I reached for my keys, and a boy emerged, asking whom I was looking for. I told him, “I used to live here.” The boy looked at me with disdain and said, “Not anymore. The owner sold it to us.”

My heart shattered—not because Yang Bo, coldly, had sold the home that had witnessed our life together, but because she used the money as her dowry. She was getting married to Xizhen at the end of the year! I learned that Xizhen had divorced his wife because of Yang Bo’s interference. Now, I know Xizhen is marrying Yang Bo and bringing along a three-year-old son, and Yang Bo will become the child’s stepmother, helping Xizhen raise a boy who isn’t her own. It was reminiscent of how my brother and I took in Laishun, except our situation was different. We took in a child without a home—she, on the other hand, had destroyed a complete family and then threw herself, like a moth to a flame, at that once-happy child and the man besotted with her. A whore—a complete whore. Only now do I realize how foolish I was back then. Why did I hand her over to Xizhen? I should have kept her by my side, forcing her to gaze, in agony, at that ghostly temple of love, struggling in despair until she knelt at my feet, begging, licking my toes that protruded from broken shoes. And when I’d had enough of her misery, I would have waved her away: “Go seek your so-called love.” By then, perhaps used to my torment, she would have returned to me, pleading for shelter. Maybe, softhearted, I’d have taken her back, like the monk Tang Sanzang taking in Sun Wukong—a housekeeper isn’t bad: cooking, washing socks, polishing shoes, doing everything. At night, she could even help relieve my fire. Not bad at all.

Thinking that the woman I once loved so deeply, after sharing a bed with me for so many years, would put that dreaded cuckold’s cap on my head sends chills down my spine. Should I beat up Xizhen? After fighting with that bastard for so many years, I finally lost—he took the woman who used to be mine! But then again, I feel relieved. After all, he’s only wearing shoes I’ve worn out. I can’t say for sure if Yang Bo slept with him before we married, but she was definitely my first wife. All he took home was secondhand. Even so, I still can’t untangle the knot in my heart. I was cuckolded not by anyone else, but by that married man, Xizhen! I must have revenge. Perhaps, right after the divorce, I was numb—like being struck unexpectedly, not feeling the pain at first, only realizing the extent of the injury when the numbness faded.

As a child, I loved watching women being denounced for infidelity. Lin Baobao’s mother was paraded and criticized so often that I got bored and went to watch the scenes across the main road. Once, Lin Zhiyang went with me, and he jumped with excitement: “Damn, this is way better than ours—they have stories! Ours is so dry, no juicy tales.” That day, the accused was a beautiful woman in her thirties. A man with a Red Guard armband dragged her by the hair, displaying her face to the crowd. He declared that she was a new breed of prostitute, who had slept with three men in just two months, and, more seriously, used her charms to seduce a revolutionary cadre. Initially, the cadre resisted her advances, but she took his hand and shoved it down her pants, telling him, “Come on, I just washed.” Who could resist such seduction? The cadre was thus dragged down by her. But, the speaker emphasized, it was her fault first—she took “his thing” and put it in “her thing.” I was too young to understand and asked Lin Zhiyang. His face turned as purple as pig’s liver. “Dakuan, it’s so damn wild.” He couldn’t explain it either, clutching his pants and leaping like a monkey.

After chanting slogans with the adults, I went home. My grandfather asked whether I’d been to the struggle session across the road. I said yes, it was fun—a woman put a cadre’s “thing” into her “thing.” My grandfather, crouching in the shadow by the west wall, muttered that the woman was Ma San’s sister, from a poor family, with a paralyzed husband and three children. The men she took up with paid her thirty jin of grain coupons and helped with manual labor. In the end, it was her husband who reported her. Men would rather starve than wear the cuckold’s cap. “Ah, damn this life,” he concluded.

My grandfather was right. Being cuckolded is like the tightening band on Sun Wukong’s head—making a man’s head ache every so often.

Once, I asked Wang Dong, “Is it true that men can never let go of being cuckolded?”

Wang Dong, thinking I was poking fun at his past, rolled his eyes. “Who cares these days? How many men don’t have a green glow over their heads?”

I said, I wasn’t talking about him—I’d been “greened” too and still feel stifled.

Wang Dong jumped up. “Damn, I was right all along! I told you Yang Bo was trouble, you didn’t believe me—now you do, right?”

I said, I hadn’t wanted to tell him, it wasn’t good for her future, but now it didn’t matter—she hurt me too much.

“Who did it?” Wang Dong’s eyes gleamed, like a toad crawling out of mud. “Don’t tell me, let me guess… Hell, what’s there to guess? If it wasn’t that slick-haired Xizhen, I’ll write my surname upside down!” “Even upside down, it’s still Wang,” I said wryly. “It was him. All those years I was married to Yang Bo, he kept pursuing her. Back then, I was disappointed in her—didn’t care if someone else made advances. Of course, I was poor, poorer than now, couldn’t support her. Kids from her kind of family can’t compare to us. I could stomach hardship; she couldn’t—it’s understandable. I’m not excusing her. I wasn’t a saint myself, sowing wild oats everywhere. But now, looking back, no matter how useless I was, she was still my wife. How could she do that? The worst part is, she was the one in the wrong, and I was so stupid I gave her the house! Now I have nothing. Yangyang’s out now—I can’t let him wander the streets. He needs a home. One day I’ll remarry, and Yangyang will too. Even Laishun is old enough to find a wife. How will I ever afford a house? Borrow from Kuai Bin and Ke Zhi? Impossible. They say, ‘Help in emergencies, not in poverty.’ Who’d lend me that much now? Don’t talk to me about brotherhood—that’s nonsense. Besides, with my pride, I’d never ask them…”

“That’s enough,” Wang Dong shook his head like a rattle drum. “You’ve gone on and on—what’s your point? The more you talk, the more confused I get.”

“Sigh, even I’m confused…” I wiped my face, which tingled as if ants crawled under my skin.

“I got your point at first,” Wang Dong’s toad eyes widened. “You want to get back at Xizhen?”

“I’m not that low,” I said, staring at a line of black clouds above, “There’s a saying: ‘If the bitch doesn’t wag her tail, the dog doesn’t come sniffing.’ I know who I want to deal with. Still, if I hit the grass and startle the rabbit, he’s collateral.”

Wang Dong flicked his tongue like a snake. “You should—you absolutely should! Your situation isn’t the same as mine. Back then, Shufen and I weren’t married; anyone could have slept with her. But Yang Bo? That’s different… Since we’re being honest, I won’t hide it—I got married while you were inside! Maybe you already knew. That whore, ‘Erguotou,’ and Old Liu were fooling around behind my back. I didn’t let them off! I tormented Old Liu, then drove ‘Erguotou’ nearly to suicide. Deal with her, don’t let that whore live easy. In fact, I’ll hire a few guys, pay them to find her, and on her wedding day, destroy her tools for seducing men!”

Yang Bo’s pitiful scream echoed in my ears, and I exploded, smashing a watermelon over Wang Dong’s head. “Get lost!”

Wang Dong got up, staring at me in confusion. “Second Brother, what did I do wrong now?”

I said nothing, gazing at the row of clouds above, torn by the wind, slowly forming the shape of a knife.