I was still jiggling the key. It was stuck and time was slipping away. Suddenly, I heard footsteps outside. They stopped at the door. Then the jangle of keys. Something was being inserted into the lock. The outer metal door clanged. I continued jigging until I realised with a pulse of frustration, pulling at it wildly, that I couldn’t get it out. It broke. Auntie was now opening the inner door and I just managed to flip the cloth back over the safe in time, pulling the corner straight. She closed the doors as I put the old magazines and vase back on top. They
weren’t in the right position, so I shuffled them around before lifting the flowerpot up off the floor. My hands were shaking so violently I nearly dropped it. The curtain was pulled across the doorway, thank God.
A second later, Auntie switched the light on and made for my room. I was lying on the floor, breathing heavily, counting out loud: ‘Forty-four, forty-five.’ She scooped the curtain up in her hand and poked her head through, not seeing my foot pushing the cardboard box back into place.
‘Why have you got the light off?’
She pulled the curtain back, letting the yellow glow flood in.
‘I’m doing my push-ups.’
‘Wasting your time instead of studying, in other words.’
She forced me to my feet and appeared to be looking for something. Then she casually pushed aside the cardboard box and grabbed the vase. She was probably about to move the flowerpot and magazines, pull off the cloth and check inside the safe. I needed to say something urgently, anything.
But at that moment she turned and said, ‘What’s the matter? Didn’t I tell you to go and study?’
At once my face turned red, but I didn’t move.
‘Go.’
The order had been issued and I left, wet with sweat. I sat on the edge of the sofa like a prisoner with his head laid out on the guillotine, waiting for her to storm back out and let me have it.
I imagined choking her to death. I wasn’t yet sure who I was going to kill, but if anyone, why not her? It would be too easy, though, too expected. I hated her. But she wasn’t worth the energy.
When she emerged she was merely stuffing some old clothes into a bag.
‘I’m going to visit your uncle and mother tomorrow. Do you need me to bring back some money?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I said.
I collapsed and she left. For a long time afterwards it felt as if she was still there. I went to my room, but it didn’t look as if the cloth had been touched.
T
he next morning I checked again on the key broken off in the lock. It looked like a little dick caught in the jaws of a vagina. It struck me that I needed a pair of pliers. I’d buy some on the way back from school.
Today we were having our graduation pictures taken.
The light was soft and dappled, which made the campus look cleaner than usual, cheerful even. The pictures were being done under a row of trees. Everyone was gathered together, chatting. I stood by myself. First we were to have our individual shots, then the group photo. I watched my classmate Kong Jie. She was wearing one of her stage outfits, made from white silk, a pink skirt and a blue necktie. She kept running her hands through her sweaty hair. The sun was beating down on us, making her look even whiter, as if she was being photographed in a winter wonderland.
When Kong Jie wasn’t in school, her mother followed her everywhere like a pathetic mutt. At least, that’s what she told me. After her father died, she became her mother’s sole property, locked up indoors, made to repeat scales on the piano like on a production line. Her
mother installed herself in the front row of Kong Jie’s every performance, examining the audience’s reaction at the end before leading her daughter away. Until one time when the entire audience gave Kong Jie a standing ovation and her mother finally pulled her into her arms and wept with happiness.
The only secret Kong Jie ever kept from her mother was the purchase of a little puppy. Or at least it was while she tried to find a way to broach the subject with her. But by the next morning she realised she was never going to be allowed to keep it. Every day she gave it to a different friend to look after, until she came to me. My aunt was away so much she’d barely notice. It was perfect. That is, until I ended up killing it. I got so mad I kicked it, and it died in Kong Jie’s arms. She dug it a grave using a spoon, the tears dribbling down her cheeks. I told her someone else did it.
Just then she caught me looking at her and came over, thinking I wanted to speak to her. There was a sweet empathy in her eyes, like a mute gazing on another mute, a deaf person gazing on another deaf person. We’d both lost our fathers. Maybe that was it.
‘You look unhappy,’ she said.
‘It’s my aunt.’
I imagined her laid out in the snow, legs open, me hovering over her. My heart thumped. I couldn’t bear
to look straight into her charcoal eyes, but I tried to stay casual.
‘I can’t take it any more,’ I said, then I walked off.
They’d tacked up some white cloth where the photos were being taken and put a chair in front of it. Someone would sit down and everyone saluted them with their eyes. Then it was my turn. I was already feeling pretty awkward when the photographer looked up over the camera and said, ‘You need to brush your hair. It’s a mess.’
Laughter erupted around me. My lip quivered, my cheeks flushed, but I straightened up and pointed my chin fuzz right at the lens, clenched my cheeks and stared it down, cold and mean. I wanted this to look like a mugshot. I wasn’t trying to look good, this was going to be the image everyone would remember me by. The picture that would be plastered all over the papers. For my aunt and my mother.
When they were done I walked away. I was never going to see this place again.
I
had a hundred
yuan
left after buying the pliers. Might as well buy the rope and knife while I was at it. You had to get a certificate to buy a combat weapon, so at first I thought of purchasing a fruit knife, but the shopkeeper gave me a conspiratorial smile and I realised I needn’t
be so careful. He led me into the back room and took out a box of army switchblades. I chose the cheapest one. I was going to strangle my victim with the rope, but if they fought back I might need a knife. Plus, a switchblade would lend the whole event a ceremonial feel.
I hid it in my bag and threaded my way through the crowds. As I walked I couldn’t resist the temptation to slip my hand back into my bag and push the button. Click, it flipped out; click, back in. It made me feel dizzy. I’m the Angel of Death. I could kill any one of these people. The way I saw it, those who get killed are the ones who are worth the effort. These people weren’t right. The spindly man walking towards me, combing his hair? No, he wasn’t right. None of them were right.
Back at home I used the pliers to pinch hold of the broken-off key, but no matter how hard I tugged and yanked, it just wouldn’t budge. After an hour, I was furious and began attacking the safe with the pliers instead, until the bit between my thumb and forefinger started throbbing and tears started rolling down my cheeks. I had to keep at it. I couldn’t go through with it without money.
At 1.30 the neighbour’s door banged shut. It was Old He, heading out. Things may not have been going well, but my plan wasn’t ruined yet. I grabbed my bag and opened the door. I was going to follow him.
Mr He had a worn-out hunting dog who walked by lifting his legs in a languid, funny way, like a dignified mare. Every once in a while they stopped, Mr He to scratch his arm while the animal smeared his flea-infested back all over his master’s leg. He lay down periodically, refusing to continue, to which the old man responded with a gob full of phlegm and a kick to his stomach: ‘Useless dog, hurry up and die.’ He snorted a response and Mr He whipped the sorry mutt with his leather belt before he pulled himself up onto his unsteady feet. Mr He had to keep throwing biscuit crumbs onto the road ahead just to get him to walk on.
I understood the guy’s particular kind of loneliness. He was used to being someone important in the military academy, looking down on people. It wasn’t death that scared him, more like the way time seemed to stretch out endlessly. He hardly slept. He was up early every morning walking the dog, coming back as the sun rose, when he would make a big fuss over breakfast. Then he would walk to the sentry box to collect the newspaper, which he read fastidiously all morning, taking in each and every word before launching into the operation that was lunch. Then came the hour-long nap and another walk with the old dog. Mr He wasn’t a nice guy, no nicer than my aunt, but he wasn’t the right victim either.
I couldn’t be bothered to follow him any more so I went home, shoved some soapy water in the lock and had another go with the pliers. I stood there, anger rising up in me like steam building in a bottle, slowly expanding and pressing against me until I exploded under the pressure. Gripping the pliers, I attacked the lock, but it fought back.
I lay down on the bed and tried to calm myself, but panic gripped me. I got up and lay back down again, repeating the cycle, each time thinking I’d come up with a solution, only to descend deeper into my anxiety. The last time I got up I felt so impotent, all I could think of was how much I wanted to punish it. So I pissed into the lock. Then I grabbed the base, hunched one shoulder up like a bull, roared three times and turned it upside down. It crashed to the floor. It was too much to hope that the force might’ve popped it open, but I did notice that the underside had a plastic bag glued tightly across it. I ripped away the bag and found some bubble wrap and old newspapers, inside which was a round, flat piece of jade carved with the image of a Buddha. It was shiny like a mirror. The room was dark, so I went to find some light and watched as the Buddha danced under the rays. He laughed with his mouth, eyes and eyebrows. Even the red birthmark on his temple was laughing – laughing so that the rolls of fat and robes
covering them were billowing like waves.
I too laughed, laughed so that tears gathered in my eyes. I wanted to pick up the phone and tell someone, anyone, about how I’d managed at least to unlock the strange mind of my petty aunt and her secret hiding place. She’d been almost stupidly clever. She didn’t trust anyone, not even herself. She believed the most dangerous place to be the safest. She’d stuck her most precious possession on the
bottom
of the safe.
Just then Old He returned and I checked the time on my mobile: 6.30 – dinnertime exactly. That’s right, fucking army guy.
T
he next morning I went to the market and wandered around for some time before picking out a shopkeeper who looked as if he might know a thing or two about antiques. He had a bony face and white hair and he peered out from behind a pair of thick glasses. I decided that if he gave me a reasonable price I’d just take it and leave. But he examined the Buddha without saying anything. I asked him how much it was worth and he um-ed and ah-ed, started to utter something and swallowed it. He looked at me uncomfortably. I kept pushing him until he spoke.
‘Young man, how much do you think it’s worth?’ ‘I’m asking you. You’re the expert.’
He traced the Buddha’s outline with his thumb. ‘Yes it’s made out of jade, but it’s a bit cloudy.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Five hundred.’
I took the Buddha back. ‘Five hundred? Go buy yourself some instant noodles.’
‘Then how much do you think it’s worth?’
‘Ten thousand.’
‘What!’
‘Watch me sell it for twenty thousand if you don’t believe me.’
He laughed. ‘You’re a funny young man.’ He was mocking me, so I started to walk off until I heard him call out after me: ‘Three thousand. Let’s be serious. Three thousand is a reasonable price.’
‘Ten thousand.’
He muttered again to himself before offering five. I looked the old guy straight in the eye and enunciated, ‘Fifteen.’
‘There you go, you started with ten thousand and now you want fifteen.’
‘Twenty thousand.’
He flapped his hands helplessly. I heard him muttering behind me and organising his thoughts, so I walked outside and hid behind a tree, from where I could see his shop door. Within seconds he popped his head out like a little mouse and looked around him. He spotted me and started waving his hands wildly.
‘You! Come over here!’
‘You want to buy it?’
‘Yes, for ten thousand.’
‘What do you take me for?’
I walked off. I was playing hardball, but if I’m honest I had no idea how much it was worth. If he didn’t come after me it would be no big deal. I’d just go back. I had
thick skin. But I could tell from the way he was acting that it was worth some serious dosh. The old guy was running after me, clanking like a rusty bike chain. He couldn’t catch up and I was only walking, so I stopped.
‘If you’re serious, go get the money. I’ll wait for you here.’
He ran back, leaving his dignity behind him. He stopped at the door and looked round to check that I was still waiting. An obscene smile spread across his face and he held up one finger. I made a show of putting together my thumb and index finger.
Got it.
After returning with the money, he wanted to check the jade Buddha again to be sure I hadn’t swapped it for another one. Then he handed me a bundle of notes. Ten thousand. I pushed it back and he held out another bundle. I stuffed one bundle in my bag and the other in my pocket.
‘You’re not going to count it?’ he asked.
‘It’s all there.You’re just worried I’m going to change my mind.’
At that moment a beggar came shuffling up to us carrying a metal bowl. I peered in, only five- and ten-cent coins. I unceremoniously dumped one of the ten thousand
yuan
bundles into his bowl. The beggar looked up at me and his neck stiffened. It seemed for a moment as if he was going to cry, but no tears came so I kicked him,
which seemed to jolt him awake. He dropped his stick and disappeared like the wind. The shopkeeper was stunned. He must have realised I didn’t give a shit how much the Buddha was worth. I only needed ten thousand.