Five Spice Street

After the writer enumerated everything significant about P, he also told Madam X that she had become everyone’s friend and soon she would have a lot of visitors. The writer estimated that almost the whole street (including the elites and even the geniuses) yearned to bare their hearts to her and establish even closer relationships. It was only past misunderstandings and estrangements that prevented them for the moment from coming to her home: they were all waiting for her to declare herself. As a first gesture toward the people, should she post an announcement or publish something in the blackboard newspaper? If she felt this didn’t suit her, she could just open her doors and windows, place a vase on the windowsill, and sit there to show her inner transformation. Everyone would understand. She should know how magnanimous the people are. Hadn’t she done a lot of ‘‘extremely improper’’ things, and had we acted too harshly? Seeing her with brand-new eyes, we not only overlooked her improprieties but connected them with the wave of the future! It was only because she’d taken the initiative to cast Q off that we hypothesized that there was a P. If she was still trysting with Q in the granary, if they were still ‘‘deeply attached,’’ perhaps everyone would be ‘‘profoundly enlightened.’’ She should realize that Five Spice Street was a rare, sweet place. The road was so wide! The architecture so ancient and solemn! Only in this miraculous place could her existence be so respected; only here could she freely and lightheartedly develop herself.

The writer finished speaking and noticed that Madam X was no longer in the house. He found her in the snack shop. He was about to repeat his suggestion that she open the door and put a vase on the windowsill when she suddenly complained: ‘‘Haven’t they paid me what they owe me yet?’’

‘‘Who?’’

‘‘The fucking photographers! Who else? I won’t be tricked again! Huh!’’ With that, she turned deaf and mute again. The writer could not revive her.

Soon after, another big event occurred in Madam X’s life. The wall of her house that faced the street seemed on the brink of collapse from years of wind and rain. Madam X thought carefully for a morning and decided to apply to the community for repairs. She wasn’t hopeful. It also contradicted her desire that the people ‘‘forget’’ her. Why then did she apply? Here, we will inform the reader that certain of Madam X’s principles were not invariable; they might change several times a day. She thought of her application as if ‘‘watching a play,’’ as if the wall on the brink of collapse didn’t belong to her but to someone else. ‘‘Let’s see how they deal with it,’’ she gloated. Then she didn’t think of it again. From that day on, she just locked the front door and went around to the back door to go in and out.

However, the community was excited by her application. Everyone recognized that this was the first time Madam X had taken the initiative to establish a relationship with the people! She had become one of us! Could a fish survive without water? Could a melon leave the vine? In the end, Madam X couldn’t exist without the community. We had been absolutely correct in electing her our representative. If she had established a direct relationship with us earlier (for example, had she made an application the day she moved here), maybe she would have become the representative much earlier! Her strange principles had prevented her from doing so, and she had kept the people at arm’s length. Actually, we had always considered her one of us, and all our former suspicions were dispelled when she submitted her application. Now people feel close to her, think of her as a family member, and warmly call her ‘‘our Madam X.’’ As for the wall, the people thought it a pretext, an excuse to get close. The main thing was that her application was unprecedented! Dr. A urged the writer to make a big-character poster that very night: ‘‘Especially big news that is creating a stir on the whole street.’’

‘‘That wall can last at least another fifty years,’’ the widow said, her saliva flying. ‘‘It’s almost ‘indestructible.’ Why did she make this application? She’s always been vain and mischief-making, unable to be serious. But we still welcome this pose. This is no different from opening doors, placing a vase on the windowsill, and then sitting at the window. She always takes a roundabout way.’’