Can Xue - Five Spice Street

When it comes to Madam Xs age, opinions differ here on Five Spice Street. One persons guess is as good as anothers. There are at least twenty-eight points of view. At one extreme, shes about fifty (for now, lets fix it at fifty); at the other, shes twenty-two.

The one who says shes about fifty is a much-admired forty-five- year-old widow, plump and pretty. Her husband died years ago. Its said that she often sees Madam X making herself up in her room, applying powder an inch thick that completely masks the wrinkles in her neck-a neck almost without flesh. What is the widows vantage point for spying? She indignantly refuses to divulge it. The writer would like to interject something about this lovely widow. Shes classy, a cut above others, and plays a pivotal role in this story. Shes influenced the writer his whole life, and he, in turn, has always paid her special respect.

The one who says Madam X is twenty-two is himself twenty-two. In his words, one foggy morning, he chanced to meet Madam X by a well; unexpectedly, she gave him a winsome smile, revealing a mouthful of white teeth. And from the uninhibited melody of her laughter, the sturdiness of her teeth, the sexiness of her appearance, and various other factors, he concluded that Madam X couldnt be a day over twenty-two. This guy works in a factory that produces coal briquettes, and thats what he said to a neighbor as he squatted in the public toilet after getting off work and washing away the coal dust. Hmmm, the neighbor wondered. On closer examination, why did he say precisely twenty-two, and not twenty-one or twenty-three? Neighbors see each other all the time, so why hide behind this chance meeting? There must be something shameful. Not to mention words that always mean trouble, like foggy and sexiness. Clearly, we must discount much of what he said.

And then there are the twenty-six other opinions, each with some validity. One respectable middle-aged man is worth mentioning. Hes a good, loyal friend of Madam Xs husband. Whenever someone mentions his good friends wife, he pulls at the persons sleeve and solemnly proclaims that Madam X is thirty-five, because hes seen her ID card with his own eyes (Xs family were outsiders on Five Spice Street). His voice would quaver. He would grow livid, but no one appreciated his chivalry. Instead, they thought he was poking his nose into other peoples business; he was a hypocrite; maybe he had even tasted the sugarplum as well. The man grew thinner by the day from this vilification. Dyspepsia gave him bad breath. The one who divulged this was the widows good friend, a graceful and charming forty-eight-year-old woman.

Once at twilight, these longtime doubts and suspicions seemed to reach a resolution, but it was short-lived. In fact, there were two resolutions. The crowd was split into contending factions. No conclusion could be reached.

It was dusk on a sultry summer day. After dinner, everyone was sitting out on the street to enjoy the cool breeze when suddenly two balls of white light, like meteors, streamed in the air and Madam Xs white silk skirt that shone all through with light flashed in front of them. The little boy was also dressed in white, but no one could tell what the material was. When their astonishment subsided, people clamored. The faction of young and middle-aged men led by the young coal worker asserted that Madam X was about twenty-eight. And judging from her graceful, slender figure, the smooth softness of her arms and legs, and various other factors, they decided that indeed she was even younger. But the crowd of young and middle-aged women led by the much-admired widow asserted that Madam X was more than forty-five. Through close inspection, they discovered that her neck had been disguised. Indeed, in several places there were pores as large as grains of rice and layer upon layer of flabby skin. They accused the men of shamelessly peeking under the womans skirt. Enlightened, the men inquired with great delight into the particulars of the womens close inspection. The commotion went on for about two hours. Madam Xs husbands good friend constituted a faction by himself: he took on the whole crowd, and several athletic young men knocked him to the ground. He burst into tears. When it was over, the widow hopped onto a stone table and, thrusting out her full breasts, shouted that she wanted to uphold the values of traditional aesthetics.

Madam Xs age became a major issue on our street. When anyone left a group, he stood his own ground, and so at least twenty- eight different views flourished. No one wanted to argue continuously anymore. Madam Xs husband, a thirty-eight-year-old stud, also-without rhyme or reason-simply accepted the young coal workers view that his wife was twenty-two and not thirty-five, as his good friend had insisted on the basis of her ID card. Weighed down by habit and inertia, he was always tender and affectionate toward his wife. Its said that from the very beginning he couldnt see a single blemish in her. Consequently, we judged his opinion the most unbelievable, because it seemed that he didnt use his eyes to look at the truth; he let his imagination run wild. His head was filled with optimism. (These are the widows words; the facts narrated later bear out the brilliance of her perception.)

The mystery of Madam Xs age wasnt resolved, and later, more and more doubts arose. The day after hearing that Madam X and a certain Mr. Q, an office clerk, were involved in a furtive, sneaky way, the much-admired widow secretly entered her room and stole a look at her ID card. She noticed that the column with her age had been artfully altered, but the evidence left by the alteration not only confirmed the widows estimate, it proved it precisely. At the same time, another of Xs husbands friends-a young man with sideburns declared that Madam X wasnt thirty-five, but thirty-two, because he and Madam X had been born in the same year and had been childhood sweethearts. Their parents had even considered betrothing them. As for X, in her youth, she had always been shy and tender with him. It was only because he hadnt yet understood male- female relationships that he hadnt allowed their relationship to develop. How could X suddenly have become three years older than he? Several other guys also tried to muddy the waters. Apart from the twenty-eight opinions already noted, one said she was thirty-seven and a half, another said forty-six and a half, another said twenty-nine and a half, and the last claimed twenty-six and a half. With the addition of a half-years difference, the issue became very profound and philosophical.

Though the matter remains unresolved, lets take her husbands good friends investigation into her ID card and postulate that shes thirty-five. This is expedient for a number of reasons: we dont have to consider her a young girl (after all, her son is already six years old), nor do we have to consider her an older woman (even though some, like the widow, calculate she was about fifty, which didnt necessarily mean that she was an older woman-a subtle difference. The widow is precise and knows the nuances of language). As for her husband, hes free to think shes twenty-two if he likes. No one has the right to interfere. We can only wait for him to wake up on his own (the widows words). The stream of drivel from the young coal worker and the guys who deliberately muddied the waters is worth even less. They were merely satisfying their own needs without offering an ounce of sincerity.

The controversy about her age was part of a generally vague and contradictory image of Madam X. She is a middle-aged woman, very thin, with white teeth, a neck thats either slender or flabby, skin thats either smooth or rough, a voice thats either melodious or wild, and a body thats either sexy or devoid of sex. When this obscure image takes us by surprise and discloses its true face, everything unfathomable becomes clear, but only for an instant. Lets put it aside for now.