Five Spice Street

The second day that Mr. Q and Madam X met, after the lame woman encountered Mr. Q from the window, a miracle occurred. At first, she felt that ants were biting her legs, and then, ‘‘without knowing where her strength came from,’’ she actually began all at once to lean on both crutches and wobbled out the door. We don’t know whether she had heard where Mr. Q lived or not-we aren’t even sure whether she’d heard anything about Mr. Q. However, she immediately ‘‘recognized him.’’ Now, calling upon a blurry memory, she headed toward Mr. Q’s home. Soon, she arrived at the small house with the melon rack. Q’s wife was sitting there, listening to the bees sing, with a little red flower in her hair, her head swaying back and forth. She didn’t even notice the lame woman who had stopped in front of her. She never paid much attention to outsiders. She thought her no more than a passerby waiting for someone in the doorway. She opened her eyes a little, then closed them again, absorbed in the singing of the bees.

‘‘Hellooooo,’’ the lame woman dragged out the sound sullenly. Q’s wife thought it was the wind calling uneasily in the open country, for the wind was always doing this.

‘‘Are you deaf?’’ Extending a thin, bony hand, the lame woman tapped her on the shoulder. Only then did Q’s wife turn around in surprise and look at her with a sulky, aggrieved expression.

‘‘The shadow streaking across in front of us is a wild dog.’’ She was staring hard at Mrs. Q. ‘‘I’ve had experience with this: that was ten years ago, one twilight when the peas blossomed.’’

The woman now made eye contact with her. Skimming over her small puppet-like face were inauspicious dark clouds, but they quickly vanished.

‘‘Something troubling you?’’ She gave the lame woman a compassionate look, indicating she should take the chair in front of her. ‘‘Not everyone’s in a good mood like me. I hear of troubled people everywhere-truly wretched. Who are you?’’

‘‘Me? How could you know about me? I’ve heard the story about you and the wild dog. It has only three legs-right? Me? You know, I’ve been paralyzed in both legs for ten years, and as I was lying there, I heard a lot of things-so many that my head nearly exploded. When I was confined to bed, I saw you and the dog. Today, all at once, I’ve walked over here: it’s really weird. The doctors say it’s dangerous for me to lose my temper; I have a pain in my chest.’’ ‘‘It’s too bad. This morning, I was thinking of weaving a crown of willow twigs to wear on my head. Beside the pond in back there are some weeping willows.’’

‘‘Go to hell!’’ The lame woman stood up and, pointing with a crutch at the melon rack, told her off. ‘‘What’s this? These ragged things hanging in front of the door: aren’t they counterfeit? You’re all nothing but walking corpses. It makes me dizzy just thinking of it!’’ She left in a rage.

Mrs. Q couldn’t understand her outrage; she thought the woman bizarre. She grew timid whenever a stranger appeared. She couldn’t make friends with anyone, for people were always bad-tempered and she didn’t dare get close. In truth, she shouldn’t have been born in this world, for there were too many threats all around. Luckily she had Q, her husband, her reliable friend who did away with the world’s dangers for her. And so, for the first time in her life, she grew worried: where was Q? Where was her passionate boy? She changed her shoes, went to the path, and looked around. She heard only the wind whimpering. She looked again and again, and suddenly was ashamed of herself: she felt she was being unfair to him. This was disgraceful. After she calmed down, she went back to the melon rack to listen to the bees. But the bees were no longer singing: they were just whirling around in a crazy circle. The woman’s head felt a little heavy, and her eyes a little blurred. Who on earth was that person? It seemed she had frequently been confronted with those blazing black eyes. When she went to the well to draw water, a lynx was squatting there. The path was always littered with wild animals’ footprints. Could it be a portent? No, so why was she pulling a long face? She remembered her trunk that held all kinds of treasures- including some the lame woman could never imagine! Well, then, sing some songs. She was hoarse.

The lame woman walked far away, her crutches still echoing…

It was really a terrifying day.

The bees didn’t sing again that day.

‘‘A fortune-teller came.’’ She braced herself to joke with her husband.

‘‘Recently, I haven’t been too interested in fortune-telling.’’ In high spirits, Q was looking at his wife. He kissed her little ears and smiled absent-mindedly.

“You’re wonderful!’’ Gasping in admiration, she threw herself into his arms. ‘‘How about paying a little more attention to our bees and getting them to sing all the time?’’

5. THE FAILURE OF REEDUCATION