The Seventh Day (18 page)

“You’ll hear the rest of it from one of the later arrivals,” she said knowingly. “I didn’t really want to die,” she added. “I was just angry.”

“I know,” I replied. “When the policeman stretched out his hand, you stretched out yours.”

“You saw that?”

I didn’t, but the people with the ten-yuan sunglasses did. I nodded all the same, to confirm that I saw it.

“I’d been standing there a long time, and the wind was so strong and so cold, I maybe just got frozen stiff. I wanted to grab his hand, but my foot slipped—I might have stepped on some ice….There was saturation coverage in the papers, I’m told.”

“For three days,” I said. “No more than that.”

“That’s still a lot. What did the papers say?”

“They said your boyfriend gave you a knockoff iPhone, not a real one, and so you killed yourself.”

“That’s not right,” she said. “The thing was that he deceived me, claiming it was a real iPhone when it was a fake. If he hadn’t given me anything, I wouldn’t have got mad. I just couldn’t stand him lying to me. The papers are just making things up. What else did they say?”

“They said that after giving you the fake iPhone your boyfriend went back home to tend to his father.”

“Well, that was true.” She nodded. “But I didn’t kill myself over some fake merchandise.”

“The journal you had on your QQ space was published in the papers too.”

She sighed. “I wrote that for him to read, and wrote it that way on purpose, because I wanted him to come back right away. I would have forgiven him if he had just apologized.”

“But instead you climbed to the top of the Pengfei Tower.”

“He never had the guts to respond to me. The only thing I could think of was to climb the Pengfei Tower. That would make him show up, I thought.”

She paused for a moment. “Did the papers say anything about him being upset when I died?”

I shook my head. “They had no news about him.”

“The policeman told me my boyfriend had rushed back and was down below, in an awful state.” She looked at me, perplexed. “That’s why I reached for the policeman’s hand.”

I hesitated for a moment. “He didn’t come, I don’t think. At least, none of the papers said he had.”

“So the policeman lied to me too.”

“He said that to save you.”

“I know.” She gave a little nod. “Did the papers mention him later?”

“No.”

“He kept his head down the whole time, the little creep,” she said bitterly.

“Maybe he never heard,” I said. “Perhaps he never went online and never saw what you wrote in your journal. He wouldn’t have seen our papers where he went.”

“That’s true,” she admitted. “He can’t have known.”

“He must know now,” I said.

I walked with her a long way. “I’m tired,” she said. “I’d like to sit down on a chair.”

The open land on all sides created an enormous emptiness around us, and the sky and the earth were all we could see. There were no trees in the distance and no river flowing; we heard no rustle of breeze through the grass and no sound of footsteps.

“There are no chairs here,” I said.

“I’d like to sit down on a wooden chair,” she continued. “Not a concrete one or a metal one.”

“You can sit down on whatever kind of chair you like,” I said.

“I already have the chair in mind,” she said, “and I’m already sitting on it. It’s a wooden bench. You have a seat, too.”

“All right,” I said.

As we walked, we sat on the wooden bench that we had imagined. She seemed to be sitting at one end and I at the other, and I felt her looking at me.

“I’m tired,” she said. “I feel like leaning on your shoulder….
Forget it, you’re not him. I can’t lean on your shoulder.”

“You can lean on the back of the bench,” I said.

As she walked, she leaned back. “I’m leaning against the back of the bench,” she said.

“Do you feel better now?”

“Yes, I do.”

We walked on in silence, and it seemed as though we were relaxing on a wooden bench.

A good deal of time seemed to pass, and in her imagination she rose from the bench and said, “Let’s go.”

I nodded, and together we left the bench of our imagination.

It seemed as though we were walking on at a more rapid pace.

“I’ve been looking for him all this time,” she said morosely. “But I can’t find him anywhere. By now he should know what happened to me. He won’t be lying low any more, surely. He must be looking for me.”

“The two of you are separated now,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s there and you’re here.”

She bowed her head. “That’s true,” she said.

“He must feel terrible,” I said.

“He’s bound to,” she said. “He loved me so much, he must be looking for a burial plot for me now, so I can have a good resting place.”

Saying this, she gave a sigh. “He’s got no money,” she went on. “And his friends are just as poor as he is. How will he work up the money to buy me a burial plot?”

“He’ll think of something.”

“That’s true,” she said. “He’d do anything for me, and he’ll figure it out.”

A smile of relief appeared on her face, as though she had recovered a sweet memory from that departed world.

“He used to say I was the prettiest girl in town,” she murmured. “Is it true that I’m pretty?”

“You’re very pretty.” I was sincere.

She smiled happily, but then a vexed look crept over her face. “I’m worried,” she said. “Spring is coming, and then summer. My body will rot and then I’ll just be a bunch of bones.”

“He’ll get you a burial plot soon,” I reassured her. “That way you’ll have a resting place before spring arrives.”

“You’re right.” She nodded. “That’s what he’ll do.”

We walked on in silence, the silence of death. We said nothing more, because our memories made no further progress. Those memories of a departed world were of many colors, empty but also real. I felt the silent motion of the desolate young woman by my side and sighed over the heartache that other world had left her with.

Then it seemed we had reached the end of the open country. She came to a halt. “We’re here,” she said.

To my amazement I now saw another world, one where streams were flowing, where grass covered the ground, where trees were thick with leaves and loaded with fruit. The leaves were shaped like hearts, and when they shivered it was with the rhythm of hearts beating. I saw many people, some just bones, some still fleshed, walking back and forth.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“This is the land of the unburied.”

Two skeletons sitting on the ground playing chess blocked our path, as though a door were in our way. We stood in front of them as they argued, each accusing the other of trying to take back his move. The sounds of their quarrel continued to escalate, like flames that rise higher the more they leap.

“I’m not playing with you anymore!” the skeleton on the left said, making a gesture of tossing aside the pieces.

The skeleton to the right made an identical gesture. “Well, I’m not playing with you!”

Mouse Girl spoke up. “Stop quarreling, you two! You were both trying to change your moves.”

They stopped arguing and looked up at her, opening their empty mouths. That must mean they’re smiling, I thought. Then they noticed there was someone else next to Mouse Girl, and two pairs of empty eyes began to take stock of me.

“Is this your boyfriend?” the one on the left asked.

“Your boyfriend’s too old for you,” the one on the right said.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” said Mouse Girl. “He’s not old, either. He just got here.”

“I could tell that from the flesh on him,” the one on the right said.

“You must be in your fifties, right?” the one on the left said.

“Forty-one,” I answered.

“Impossible!” said the one on the right. “You must be at least fifty.”

“No, I really am forty-one,” I said.

“He knows our story, right?” Left Bones said to Right Bones.

“He ought to, if he’s that age,” Right Bones said.

“Do you know our story?” Left Bones asked.

“What story?”

“Our story over there.”

“There are lots of stories over there.”

“Yes, but ours is the most famous.”

“What story’s that?”

I waited for them to tell me their story, but they stopped talking and concentrated on their chess game instead. Mouse Girl and I took a step over the gap between them, as though we were stepping over a threshold.