Five Spice Street

After the pessimists expressed their opinions, they dispersed, and let the setting sun draw out their long, thin shadows. They were numb and didn’t talk anymore. What could be said? The end of the world was coming. We could only close our eyes and wait.

On the opposite side: the great majority of the people took an optimistic attitude toward Madam X’s future (this was also Five Spice Street’s future). They thought Madam X was a unique eccentric who couldn’t change, and though she deliberately opposed our people, someday she’d melt into our generous embrace and disappear. From the very beginning, this trend had become more and more obvious. Right. She was still selling peanuts at the intersection, but her existence and her position were less visible. While we were busy, we didn’t even ‘‘pay any attention to her.’’ Someone even ‘‘swept her from his field of vision with a wave of his hand.’’ Especially in the winter, when snow covered the roofs and the street, X, curled up all alone in the cold, couldn’t provoke any response, no matter what disturbance she caused. In this season, our people ‘‘fought a great war against the cold’’; ‘‘our spirits as red as fire,’’ we were ‘‘struggling grandly against nature.’’ In such a time, who would pay any attention to Madam X’s mosquito-like moaning? X’s excuse was that the ordinary people ‘‘could not understand the profundity of her voice.’’ Actually, we understood it all too well. Both the elite and the ordinary people had seen through her superficial tricks long ago and were quickly distracted from it. They felt ‘‘it wasn’t worth further probing.’’ Though still in the dark, she did everything to ‘‘attract people’s attention’’! We believe that someday she will have ‘‘used up’’ her energy and will never be able to ‘‘attract people’s attention.’’ We can imagine one or two curious guys going into her little room at dusk on a snowy day and bringing their ears close to her mouth. They listen carefully for hours, but what can they hear? Only monotonous, repetitive murmurs that don’t come from the heart but from her abdomen-indistinct and intermittent. Perhaps the only sound comes from their own fantasies, so that finally they rush out, stamping their feet, cursing, and vowing never to give X the time of day again.

The question of whether Madam X would melt and dissolve was raised not only by herself but, mainly, through the insight of our elite. To change heaven and earth, all we had to do was turn aside our mysterious vision. One day, drinking tea under the eaves, we spoke of her as of an ancient barbarian. She had gradually vanished from our memories and our field of vision. Indeed, in our annals, there was only a brief note about her, a historical reference-written as a small footnote to our people’s great achievements. As an individual, she is now so abstract and vague that the only thing left is a symbol (that is: X). Someday, even the symbol will disappear from conversation, and she will exist only in the brief note in the dusty annals of history. To later generations, that note will be a riddle that can never be solved. As always, the tide of history rolls to the east. So splendidly bright is the rising sun!

After imagining this pleasant vision, we didn’t rest on our laurels but remained very cautious and adopted suitable countermeasures aimed at X’s last struggles. Our vision told us she was about to dissolve, but this wasn’t at all the same as her ‘‘having already been finished.’’ So we had to redraw the diagram. We all acknowledged the ironclad fact of her existence and knew that she would still furiously show up. For example, the day before yesterday, she announced a premonition: a new person would take Q’s place in her life. She waited in high spirits for this new person so as to ‘‘experience’’ sublime feelings again, to ‘‘purify herself’’ and ‘‘be even more exuberant,’’ blah, blah, blah. It was clear that she intended to bob up like a cork again. None of us was afraid: we felt happy from the bottom of our hearts about her bobbing up like a cork. Wasn’t this a good opportunity for us to unfurl our spirit again? We hid at home and made our preparations. We even chose the place for her. This time, it wasn’t the granary, but a lonely valley. We would call it ‘‘love in the valley,’’ a significant title. As for the man, we called him Mr. P. Ah, before our Madam X dissolved, there was still a long, hard row to hoe! Our hearts were kind and bountiful, and our minds sensible and far-sighted. If this were not so, how could we have systematically reached the point where ‘‘the clouds parted and the fog dispersed,’’ and ‘‘a new vista appeared’’?