Five Spice Street

The image of Madam X’s adulterer (that’s the way everyone referred to Mr. Q) was the most shocking of all. Out of a sense of duty, the much-admired widow had torn open a letter of his to Madam X. The letter revealed that the first time Mr. Q looked at X’s face, he saw only one immense continuously flickering saffron- colored eyeball. Then he swooned and couldn’t see a thing. To the very end of the scandal, he never got a good look at Madam X. He didn’t because he couldn’t. When Madam X was in front of him, all he could see was one saffron-colored eyeball, and when that eyeball flickered, hot tears welled up in his eyes. How could he see clearly? Perhaps his letter was deliberately mystifying, designed to win favor with Madam X’s odd, shadowy mentality. Maybe it was code or double-talk.

The odd thing is that Madam X’s confession echoed his, and it preceded their acquaintance. (This information is supplied by Madam X’s colleague. Madam X loved unburdening herself in nonsensical ways and could hold nothing back. She was uninhibited with this woman, whose temperament was diametrically opposed to hers. If it had been possible, she would have ‘‘unburdened herself to the whole world.’’) Back then, she sat in her gloomy room, happily preening and boasting, ‘‘The reason my eyeballs are so exceptional is that I pay them close attention. I’m not kidding. I observe them constantly in a mirror-even when walking, I always carry a small round mirror and constantly take it out for a look. I’d really love to see what they’re like when I’m sleeping. It’s impossible, but I just wonder what they’re up to. What is so hard at work behind these lenses? I’ve done research on their excretions. I have a microscope, which I bought especially for this purpose. I’m simply fascinated and have made a lot of headway. I’ve also collected some mirrors for my little darling Bao (note: her only son). When he gets a little older, I want to get him interested in his own eyeballs. Everyone says that eyes are windows to the soul, but no one thinks about this window. They forget this window and let it collect dust until it’s changed beyond recognition.’’ She blinked as she talked, and kept raising her eyebrows for emphasis.

Although she stressed this often, her colleague saw no proof of her supernatural ability, nor did anyone else on the whole of Five Spice Street-including her husband, who cherished his wife very much. Was Mr. Q the only person who recognized Madam X’s supernatural power? Maybe this isn’t exactly right, because the world is a lot larger than Five Spice Street. Moreover, judging by the coal worker’s statement, didn’t X have a certain indefinable ‘‘sex appeal’’? Who could guarantee that men outside Five Spice Street wouldn’t notice her supernatural sexual power when smitten by her? How could you dismiss this possibility just because her husband didn’t see it?

Or-another take on it: we certainly aren’t suggesting that Mr. Q’s perception of Madam X’s supernatural power amounts to understanding her completely and profoundly. Rather, he understands her only superficially, in a one-dimensional way. Q has one major failing: he doesn’t like to inquire into another person’s background and never asks about anyone’s business. He prefers to be alone, where he can speak his thoughts out loud and fancy himself a passionate lover. Mr. Q and Madam X became acquainted by chance and later consorted with each other for six months, but he’s never known her real age. In this respect, Mr. Q isn’t like Madam X’s husband, who assumes she’s twenty-two, but probably is closer to the truth in postulating that she’s twenty-eight or twenty-nine. Of course, this is partly out of selfishness and desire, but we won’t go into this for the moment.

Speaking of Mr. Q’s superficial understanding of Madam X and the absurdity of their relationship, we can illustrate this with a dialogue supplied by Madam X’s colleague.

X: I don’t have to look for you intentionally. You’ll surely come. (X playfully affected a drowsy expression.)

Q: Through the crowds of people, I’ve always walked toward your eyes. I’m confused and muddled, seeing nothing, including you. (Q was acting like an idiot, like a dolt.)

X: We’ll meet each other every Wednesday at a certain intersection. Even if we wanted to avoid this, we couldn’t.

Q: Perhaps I’ll turn into a long-tailed pheasant; then I’ll be able to perch on a high tree limb.