The Ancient Ship. Zhang Wei

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СКАЧАТЬ face, Jiansu discovered that the left eye wasn’t completely closed, and that made his heart lurch. He stayed perfectly still, except for his hand, which he passed over the slightly open eye. It didn’t flicker, and he breathed easier. Duoduo’s prominent Adam’s apple moved in concert with his loud breathing. He had, for some reason, placed a cleaver on the windowsill near him. Although there were rust spots on the back edge of the blade, it appeared to be quite sharp. The blood drained from Jiansu’s face when he spotted the cleaver. He stood there a while longer and then left quietly.

      The Midautumn Festival was only a few days away, and the accounts had been settled. The factory had brought in an astonishing amount of income, especially since becoming mechanized. In a week’s time the mill went through at least a thousand more pounds of mung beans than before. Each time Duoduo came by to inspect the millstone he left in high spirits. He had his bookkeeper tally up the mechanized production and was told that at this rate profits would soar. So, since midautumn was nearly upon them, he decided to host a dinner for Li Zhichang, who had contributed so much to the mechanization process; Technician Li; Sui Buzhao; and especially Sui Jiansu. He hired the government chef, Fatty Han, the finest cook in all of Wali.

      When he was in a good mood Duoduo was a generous man; this was one of those times, so he told the night workers they could come in shifts to enjoy some good food and spirits. Rumor had it that Fatty Han had 160 different tofu recipes. Maybe that rumor had influenced Zhao Duoduo, for this time the ingredients he supplied the chef included a dozen or more baskets of broken glass noodles from the previous spoiled vat. That didn’t bother Fatty Han, who merely shed the vest he normally wore, now that he had a more difficult meal than usual to prepare, and was naked from the waist up. He devised twelve dishes for each table: There were reds and there were greens; there were dishes so sour it made the guests shiver and others so sweet the room was filled with the sound of smacking lips. Not long into the meal, the diners’ shirts were soaked with sweat as they contentedly caught their breath. After the meal, Duoduo told his bookkeeper to determine how much it had cost. The dozen or so baskets of noodle pieces were not worth much, and most of the money had gone to the purchase of sugar and vinegar, plus the pepper the chef had stolen from the municipal cafeteria.

      The eating and drinking continued until two in the morning, with three shifts taking part. Jiansu drank cautiously that night, keeping his eye on all the others. Sui Buzhao, who was mightily drunk, was bending the ear of Technician Li, passing on stories about Uncle Zheng He. Zhao Duoduo’s face was dark, almost purple; still sober, he toasted Jiansu. “The people of this town are too shortsighted,” he said. “They laughed at me, saying I was wasting my money by putting a Sui on my payroll. But I knew what I was doing. I figured that if I had a member of the Sui clan working with me, there’s no way this factory could have a spoiled vat.”

      Jiansu drained his glass and glowered at Zhao Duoduo. “You’re good at account keeping,” he said in a soft voice before sitting down and glancing over at Li Zhichang.

      “The girls are getting drunk!” someone shouted as Jiansu quietly left the table. He walked into the processing room feeling the effects of alcohol, his face turning pink. He saw that some of the giggling girls’ faces were also slightly red. But they kept working, just a bit wobbly, pulling the strands this way and that; harmony reigned. Enveloped by mist, Jiansu lit a cigarette. Daxi was the first to spot him, but she pretended he wasn’t there and pulled the noodles like a madwoman, the best she’d ever looked at work. The swarthy man with his metal strainer, sitting high above them, was singing as he worked. It was a song no one knew, but they were all pretty sure it was not for mixed company. Naonao was drunker than any of the others. At first, like them, she swayed as she worked, but then she began to spin and fell in a heap, happily chatting away. Parts of a woman’s body that ought not to be exposed were, but just for a moment, before she straightened her clothes and stood up. Now she was steady on her feet, but Jiansu began to sway and had to support himself with his hand on the wall. The swarthy man above was still banging his ladle and singing his off-color song. With difficulty, Jiansu walked out the door and somehow made his way back to where the others were still drinking. He leaned up against his uncle.

      Just before he fell asleep Jiansu vaguely heard his uncle say something about “a leak on the port side” and immediately felt as if he were sailing on the high seas. That continued for a while, and when he heard his uncle say, “We’re in port,” he woke up. The first thing he saw after opening his eyes was Zhao Duoduo, neck stretched taut as he listened intently to Li Zhichang, whose voice gradually reached Jiansu. What he heard sobered him up in a flash. He was talking about buying a used piece of machinery from the prospecting team and turning it into a generator, which would light up all of Gaoding Street. He said he’d already spoken with the street director, Luan Chunji, Party Secretary Li Yuming, and Fourth Master, who had given his approval. At this point Li Zhichang grew animated, talking about how he wanted to apply scientific principles to the entire noodle factory. Pouring the starch into hot water, the sedimentation process, and sifting would all be accomplished by machines. The first step would be to install variable gears, large and small, and though others might not believe him, three or four of the gears had to be the size of peaches.

      Given his experience in the old mill, Duoduo was eager to believe what he was hearing. He toasted Li Zhichang. When Jiansu coughed loudly, Li turned to look. Jiansu glared back. That had the desired effect: Li stopped talking. A few minutes later, Jiansu got up and walked off. A moment after that, Li made his excuses and left.

      Together the two men stepped onto the concrete platform of the drying floor, where they were refreshed by a cool breeze. Neither spoke. They stood there for a long while before Jiansu reached out and took Li’s hand, squeezing it tight. “What do you want from me?” Li asked.

      “I want you to give up your plans.”

      Li freed his hand. “I can’t do that,” he said, “and I won’t! We’re buying the machinery, end of discussion. And the variable gears will be installed. It’s something I have to do. Lights will shine in Wali, you have my word on that.”

      Jiansu’s eyes flashed in the starlight as he pressed forward and said in a low voice, “I’m not talking about a generator. I’m talking about putting variable gears in the noodle factory. I want you to stop that.”

      “That can’t be stopped,” Li replied stubbornly, “none of it can be stopped—the mechanization plan must go forward.”

      Jiansu held his tongue and ground his teeth. Li gave him a puzzled look, and when Jiansu’s hand sought out Li’s, it was feverish. Li pulled his back in alarm. Jiansu gazed at the little window far off on the other side of the river. “The noodle factory is mine,” he said, seemingly to himself, “mine and Sui Baopu’s. Listen to me, Zhichang. When the Sui clan takes back the factory we’ll go ahead with your damned plans.” Li took a couple of steps backward and gasped. “You don’t believe me?” Jiansu said. “It won’t be long. But don’t tell anyone.”

      Li kept retreating and wringing his dark hands. In a quaking voice, he said, “I won’t tell, I won’t tell a soul. But I won’t give up my plans for the gears, not unless Sui Buzhao tells me to, only him.”

      With a sneer, Jiansu said, “Then go ask him. But you’ll have to wait until he returns from his sailing trip with Uncle Zheng He.”

      The conversation ended there.

      As promised, Li Zhichang did go to see Sui Buzhao, who was hesitant, and Li knew that Jiansu had already spoken with him. At that moment he understood the depth of the enmity between the two families. So long as the Zhao clan was running the factory, his gears would turn only in his mind, day and night, making sleep all but impossible. There were times when golden gears seemed to be turning just above his head, and he’d excitedly reach up to touch them. There was nothing to touch, of course. In his dreams he’d hook his finger around one of them and give СКАЧАТЬ