THE GREAT CHARLIE BROWN

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三味書屋DRAGON'S DIGEST

THE GREAT CHARLIE BROWN

The 1980s generation has to grow up sometime

現(xiàn)代都市里文藝青年們的困惑、掙扎和追求

W hen Kongshan said she was com ing to my house that day to eat， I hurried to get some chicken wings to make for her. She hadn't been over many times， and we didn't see each other often—you couldn't exactly say we were “BFFs”. The last time she came was spring of the previous year， or maybe sp ring the year before. The weather still hadn't heated up， and everyone was wearing sweaters. It was evening. As soon as she came through the door she took her thin， long coat off to show a black spaghetti-strap d ress， revealing her shoulders. I asked， surprised， “Aren't you cold？” Kongshan said she wasn't cold， but went straight for the shower， where she turned on the hot water. That day it was just me at home， and Kongshan appeared like a wind and disappeared into the shower behind the white door as the sound of falling water bled into the room. I'd just mopped the foor， and it was still a bit moist. I stood alone outside the shower as the air blew in from every room in the house. It was cool and com fortable.

The oil in the wok was heated， so I threw in the peppers， and then the onions， frying as I went. I added some more oil， heated it， and then threw in the already cut chicken wings，plus a bit of red wine for favour. W hile I was in the m idd le of this， Kongshan arrived. The smell of the chicken and spice was all around the room， but Kongshan's perfume managed to make its presence known in the kitchen atmosphere.

“And what fragrance is that？” I asked.

“Paul Sm ith Rose，” she replied.

I had put thought into what I was going to wear， but I knew that Kongshan would have something to say about it. She w rinkled herbrows as she asked me， “What kind of color combo is that？” I had some drab blue trousers on with a red shirt，underneath it a neon blue cam isole. “You look like a rock band member from the last decade.” Yeah， sure. So I look like a rocker from ages past—as if that's some really negative thing. I can accept that.

“I got you that electronic music you wanted， Portishead. It's a bit jazz， but I think there's some electronic elements in there， too.” When I brought the food to the table，Kongshan took out a CD. I read the yellow label “M ysterious， desolate，cold， and dark， this trashy trip-hop will delight…” I laughed， reading the label as I stuck the disc into the machine. The desolate， cold voice of the girl singing mixed with the drums and noise， just like the crappy spring weather that we were having in Beijing. I suddenly thought， just like the “rockers of ages past”—all those bands that I'd listened to before—the traces had been wiped clean like how a tidal wave washes away all scars on the sand. I'd had hard times in my youth， but I'd gotten through them，and wiped them away. 2010 was an unbelievable year， and this year had just started. There had already been a number of earthquakes， and the smell of Armageddon was in the air. The real Armageddon， however， was that people born in the 1980s were now all entering their 30s.

I'd been mumbling and whining since the previous day， just like before...After being com forted for an hour， I went on MSN and complained more to Kongshan.

“Yes， Yes， why are you complaining…” I'd been at it for an hour when she wrote this.

“Because I'm old.”

“Ah， so… （Said in the whiny style of a Korean soap opera）.”

“I feel like there's no hope， I'm holding back tears.” And I really was holding back tears， rather than just saying it.

“I've already been whining for a year， crying about this and that… Two days ago I played cards with a group of people born after 1985， and I didn't dare tell them my age for fear of killing the mood.”

“That's just it！ I feel like I'm past all that whining and love story stuff. I've grown up， but I'm also not on the level of my accomplished peers.”

“That's right！” M y whining and complaining was always responded to w ith ardour from Kongshan. This is the basis of friendship.

“And I think these people younger than me are also on the path to becoming accomplished.”

“I think I've been cast off by my successful peers. I'm an outsider with people of my own age now.”

The voice on the album accompanied us throughout our meal. The person I married—friends all call him G randpa Q—sat at the same table as us. Grandpa Q believed that the Warring States poet Qu Yuan was the model for Lin Daiyu， one of the main female characters in Dream of the Red Chamber， which I had relayed as fact to Kongshan， which she approved of. She was like the reincarnation of Lin Daiyu： emotional， cold， and dark. M aybe that included me， too. I'd been through the vicissitudes of decades （not just the run-up to my 30s for nothing） and in one year （which I can't remember precisely， a refection of my age） I had a great discovery： the power that guides our ability to decide the direction of our lives isn't something else—it's words. Words that for us are intuitive， innate， that provoke a certain kind of f rst reaction， enter into our commonly used vocabulary，and we fnd ourselves using them unconsciously. These words determ ine whether or not we like something， they determ ine everything. “Alone， lonely，and cold，” she would say. “A frail chrysanthemum opens late，” I would say. “Wilted，” she would say. “Not the concern of the solitary and sad，”I would say. “He lowers his head and laughs， as a dark fower blooms，” she would say.

After spending a lot of time and effort I discovered these words weren't favorites. M ost people liked words like “vigorous”， “successful”，and “moneyed”. Kongshan and I weren't 100 percent on the same page. When she was in high school，she read a lot of French novels， and then in university M ishima Yukio and Tanizaki Junichiro made her view herself as such， whereas I was too busy sw imm ing in Russian tears and vodka—walking through the psyches of those murderers became normal. We thought in the same vein： the words we both loved were all negative.

“How's work？” Asked that guy I married， Grandpa Q， face and voice warm.

“Eh， I'm busier when rent goes up，”Kongshan rep lied.

Kongshan had a very good job； she worked at a powerful media company，but the salary they gave her wasn't enough to get her to stop worrying about her 3，000 RMB monthly rent. She originally lived in Beijing's Wudaokou suburb in an apartment she shared w ith others. When I helped her move out， there were cockroaches everywhere， and books were piled to the ceiling. The rent on that eightsquare-meter room went up to 2，000 RMB， and so she moved to Wangjing， where for the same money she managed to get her own one-bedroom fat. A year later， that fgure became 3，000， and after looking all around she found that there weren't any comparable places below 3，000.

“In addition to going to all those press conferences， I can sometimes sell stuff we've already printed to marketing websites， 400 RMB for 1，000 characters，” said Kongshan， amused with herself.

“When you think about it， the people born in the 1960s were very lucky. They got all those preferential government policies， went to university for free， then the state gave them a job and a house. Peop le born in the 70s did well， too. You have it the worst，those of you born in the 80s. You get nothing，” Grandpa Q sighed.

“Yeah. Like Yazhuang and Caiwang. They were in the same course during undergrad， but Yazhuang spent almost ten more years fnishing his PhD. He's going to be competing w ith people born in the 80s. Caiwang has a house， is in charge of his own department，and Yazhuang has nothing，” I said， raising an example. Caiwang was Kongshan's supervisor， and was big in the media now.

“So I'm saying， you have to look at people's ‘effective' age， like Yazhuang. You could say he's in the same lot with the 80s kids now，” said Kongshan.

“Okay， okay， well I want to do a PhD. After I fnish， w ill that make me a 90s kid？” I was pumping my feet.

“Yep.”

“Not you， don't go throw in w ith the 90s kids，” said the guy I married， G randpa Q.

“I w ill， I will. I want a job， not just being a housew ife.”

“Well， you can be one of the kids from the turn of the century，” said G randpa Q， laughing. “You know，around 1900. Some women went out to work， others stayed at home.”

The weather was very cold， the f rst time in a few years the cold had extended to May. “Beijing's spring is very short，” peop le often say， but that year it was very long. At the end of March I bought a number of short-sleeved outf ts， thinking I could wear them soon after， but I still wore a quilted cotton jacket for a whole month after that. Taking off a jacket like that and wearing short sleeves is something I'm used to every year， but this year， after sw itching out of it I discovered that I didn't have enough sweaters to face this long， bleak， cold，dark spring.

After Kongshan and I went out，the cold air went straight through my trousers， rem inding me that not wearing long underwear was a m istake. Kongshan just wore leggings and a frilly dress. I know that she didn't have long underwear—the mark of fashionable people is to never wear that stuff. Thus， although we got to the bus stop， she decided we should take a cab. In the cab， we talked about our views of the world and the universe， as well as new things we'd learned reading. I said that I'd heard that some girl in some county only had a high school education， and being average looking， still managed to marry the village party secretary and had two children. After the village secretary went to the county level， she divorced him and married the county magistrate. After the magistrate went to the city， she remarried again， again，again， until she ended up marrying someone at a high-level department and became emp loyed there. In light of the fact that even women who meet the basic requirements of “good education， looks， and fnances” are everywhere， legions of men are still not in a rush to marry them. The girls looking for that “right guy” are single because the “right guy” isn't around—they've already been snatched up. Kongshan angrily asked how this girl pulled it off.

“So， is she just really shady or low？” Kongshan asked.

“Well， you know. It's how people do things，” I replied. “She probably didn't think she was being shady.”

“You know， after reading Julia K risteva， I feel like I'm pretty shady， or at least low.”

“Once you start thinking about yourself like that it's over. You're not shady.”

“Working every day， it's the same shady stuff. Even if I can stay in a fvestar hotel， or dine on some M ichelinlevel cuisine， I feel like I'm pretty low. Like a maid for rich people. The media all just use everything they have to try to curry favor with rich people，which I think is the same， so low. I wonder if my colleagues that work with me feel the same， that it's so low. They seem all so excited， they think they're part of society now， w rite books like How to be a Classy Girl.”

These are my principles： don't have boss； don't cater to anyone， especially the rich peop le and fall over yourself trying to kiss the pinkie ring； don't wake up every day and go straight to the news. You don't have to maintain real-time awareness of what other peop le tell you is the important stuff happening around the world at each instant.

Liu Liduo has a PhD in classical Chinese literature from Peking University, and m ainly w rites poetry and fiction. Her poem s have been published in Poetry Journal （《詩刊》） and other top poetry m agazines in China. Rom ance stories in ancient literature and legends serve as much of her inspiration for her essays and short fiction works；She's also an acute observer of m odern urban lifestyles. She recently published the essay collection Revival （《還魂記》）and the urban rom ance novel, Who Is The One？ （《誰能與共》）. This story is selected from a digitally published short story collection under the sam e nam e on Douban.com.

During the course of our heated conversation， the taxi took the long，long way around. Our ride should have on ly been a little over 20 RMB， but it came out to 35. I wasn't thinking about it， though， and paid quickly. The taxi driver shooed us out of the cab and drove off before we'd even gotten a f rm stand on the street.

The weather was cold desolate. Kongshan went into a bookstore that she frequented. Downstairs， there were all kinds on offer， 40 and 50 percent off. She looked f rst at A History of Foreign Sinology， leafng through the f rst few volumes. Kongshan was in good spirits. “Don't you want to go upstairs？” I asked her. “I'll check this out f rst，” she said， “I'm going to buy a lot here.”

I understood Kongshan's logic. During the econom ic crisis， we discussed this topic. Everything was expensive， but books were relatively cheap， on average 20 or 30 a volume. So if you bought 200 to 300 RMB worth of books， you could stay at home for half a month without having to go out and spend money. So we decided to read books to pass the crisis. The kinds of books she read were very different from the kind I read. She loved theory and cu lture， and I loved anecdotes and stories. This is the difference between the Pisces and the Taurus. When she was putting Research into Institutions throughout Chinese History， Abnormal Psychology，and Japanese Aesthetical Sense into her cart， I was reading 1948： Protest of Shanghai Club Dancing Girls. “Ah， that one's nice. Yeah， check it out， at half price， it's on ly 13 RMB.” I still didn't buy it， and instead bought some books w ritten by some poser foreigners who thought they understood China，an English-Chinese bilingual book：Annotated Review of the Literature and Life of Jin Shengtan， Research into the Song and Tang Style Prosein M ing Dynasties， and upstairs： The Complete Annotated Four Book s. M aybe I buy the lamest books of anyone.

At a certain point in my life I started to become lame and just went with it （just like I'm now old， and just go with it）. I hadn't read any books by foreigners for a few years—except for foreign Sinologists. Those foreigners really pen some interesting stuff. Looking at it， you wonder where the hell they get their perspectives on China from. They turn everything into fairy-tales， just repeating old stories and stripping them of all traces of realism. They turn boring trials that Chinese people are forced to sit through， plays for festivals and the birthdays of old people， into exciting spectacles that all must cry out in joy to observe. It's a real circus. When these silly fools， these foreign posers，go and try to do research on classical China， it's like me， aging and cast off by mainstream society， trying to make my way—just really not “with it”.

I felt bad for Kongshan carrying this giant， heavy bag of books， and suggested we go to Hualian Market via taxi. “Why would we take a taxi？ Let's just walk， it's close.” Kongshan wasn't having it.

“I'm afraid you'll be tired with all those heavy books.”

“There was a time I went w ith Corgi and we each had a huge pickle jar. We still went shopping all afternoon， going into every store.”

“Okay.”

We walked along the pedestrian path， and I suggested that I take one of her bags， but Kongshan was unwilling to let go of her big environment-friendly bag w ith its 500-coloured pencil advertisement printed upon it. “I'm the great Kongshan，” she said. I completely believed her. That frail body contained massive amounts of energy. Kongshan wasn't just powerful， she was energetic enough to generate electricity.

“Come w ith me to that store， I want to fnd a bag I can take to work.” We crossed the road together， and com ing upon the light rail， she suddenly had a different idea.

We turned around and went into the Korean store. There had been a time previously when we stopped in while passing the store， and Kongshan bought a bag she liked. For this reason，Kongshan had high hopes， so we went to the secluded store on the second foor， and she took a look， but there were none she liked.

“I want to eat something.” I said.

“Then let's go have a cup of m ilk tea.”

“I said I want to eat something.” I said.

“Ah， so you want to eat， then what do you want to eat？”

“I want some thin， hard chocolate， or something sweet， I'm not sure.”

“There's a 7-11 over there.”

We'd already crossed the road and passed the light rail， and the Hualian M arket was in front of us. “Let's go to Snoopy，” said Kongshan. “Uh， isn't that the same as Charlie Brown Café？” I asked. “You know it，” said Kongshan.

We'd met up here before， but that was a long time ago， maybe a year or two. At that time Kongshan still lived in Wudaokou. When I was lonely， I'd go to Wudaokou， and see her at the same time. Occasionally， we'd meet up to do something else， like the time we went to IKEA. W hat I didn't expect was that Kongshan would bring home a totally busted cabinet for 60 percent off. Even with the discount， it was more than 1，000 RMB and was made out of those cheap， tacky IKEA particle boards. The door was bent，and almost couldn't be put on right. Even the installation workers looked at it from a few angles and asked，“W hy would you buy this？” On the same side of the cabinet， there had to be one door that opened left， and one that opened right.

“This cabinet is like a M ondrian painting，” said Kongshan， as she spent the entire night happily stroking the thing.

We walked into the Charlie Brown Café. They were in the m idd le oftheir afternoon tea promotion： one coffee and one pastry for 46 RMB. Kongshan wanted a coffee， and I wanted a pastry， so we split the bill.

“Sure you don't want anything？” said the girl behind the counter with a sm ile？

“No.”

We walked up to the second foor， and sat there w ith our caramel macchiato and marble cheesecake. Kongshan pushed the cup toward me. “You drink it.”

I'm not totally com fortable w ith the closeness that lots of girls have w ith each other. For example， when Kongshan or Corgi are out， they always want to hold my arm. It takes me a while to get used to it each time. I think of when we were younger—girls used to hug each other all the time， walk shoulder to shoulder and arm in arm. Oh， the past seems farther and farther from me. （There's the age thing again.）

“The f rst thing Culi ever said to me was： ‘Hey， can you help me organize these recordings？' I still remember it now. She probably thought that I was an intern. But on that topic， even when I was an intern， I never helped anyone organize recordings，” said Kongshan.

“I was so low， when I was at work， I helped anyone do anything. That was m y f rst job. Then， after a lot of effort， I got out of that BS IT job. Second， I was at that cultural unit， which I really liked at f rst. Never would have thought that after a while I'd quit because of my pasty boss w ith his weird， white beardless face.”

“The f rst job was at a French magazine. Caiwang hooked me up. But he just gave me the intro， an opportunity. In fact， that magazine almost never hires anyone without experience. That day， I went， I had some stilettos on， m y bag was on point， I talked about foreign publications with the interviewer，and she hadn't heard of most of them. I made her understand： I'm fashionable， and I know about foreign magazines.”

“See， you're good at interviewing. This is why I have no job.”

“Eh， the most I can brag about m y interview history is when I， a more or less literary person， almost took a job at a big four accounting f rm. You know， I don't know accounting，but I'm very logical. A fter round after round of interviews， they actually wanted to hire me.”

Kongshan didn't actually talk much. I'd been out with her many times and she on ly said a few necessary phrases in front of strangers. I didn't know she was such an ace at interviews. However， for PKU graduates， anything can happen. So many of my course mates have hidden surp rises that I'm used to it by now.

“So…” I said. “You ended up at the magazine.”

“Oh， the magazine？ That wasn't on purpose. Every time I went to an interview I gave it my all， that was the only exception. That time， I'd just quit my second job at that famous f rm， and been at home for three months. M y current boss， Bai M ang， came to me. I really didn't take it seriously，said I didn't have time， or postponed the interview， repeatedly. One day he called me and said he was downstairs. He took me to a café， and bought me a coffee. I usually get the interviewer to talk a lot to fnd what kind of person they're looking for， but that day Bai M ang didn't say much. I couldn't fgure out if he wanted someone professional or someone artistic.”

I'd never really taken a good look at Kongshan's lips， and today was the f rst time. Kongshan's lips hard ly moved as she talked. She had previously described herself as a “stutterer”. I focused all my attention on this aspect of her. The movement of her mouth was slow， almost halting，like a kind of dance， every movement putting you on edge， like a black-andwhite silent f lm. I kind of spaced out as I tried to remember where it was that I'd seen this before.

“The second day， I wasn't feeling great， and I apologized on MSN， said that I wasn't doing too well the previous day. Bai M ang said， ‘Oh， sorry， me too， I couldn't get myself together，' all that..”

“Which means that he was looking for someone artistic.”

It's a bit like The Devil Wears Prada，where a female intellectual who mistakenly enters the fashion industr is saved by a male intellectual.

When we got up to go， the waitress came over and told us， “The second cup is half-price.”

“Ah， we're good. We're going to go in a bit.”

“Okay， then what were you drinkin I'll take a note and you can get your next cup half-price in a bit，” she said We went through a secret passage we'd discovered the previous round. On the second foor of Charlie Brow Café， there is a green arrow that points to the bathroom. However， if you follow the green arrow and go through a hallway， and then pass a security door， you're inside Hualian Market. That is to say， all of Hualian Market is in Charlie Brown's toilet. W regard this as a metaphor.

During winter of last year， I'd seen a brand of coat I really liked. That brand was now doing a 70 percent of promotion， but the coat was nowhere to be seen. It was only 600 RMB back then…A coat that nice doesn't last in stock until stuff goes on sale. Hearts full of regret， we went to look elsewhere. We used to think that ever girl had to have a few dresses from Fairyfair， even if they weren't that great looking. However， after I bough a few， I lost interest. Even worse， a lo of the stuff on 70-percent discount was really cheap-looking， the kind of stuff nobody would consider buying unless it was on sale. We looked last a the Hotwind area， where Kongshan had bought this really nice pair of sk blue lacquer leather shoes last year. There was nothing this time. A pairof white leather gloves caught her eye，but they were a few hundred RM B， so we left them.

“Let's go eat.”

This time we were eating for real， not just having pastry. We picked a Thai restaurant and ordered kaijeow （Thai omelette）， some squid， a plate of m int fried rice， and some tom yum soup. W hen the soup came we asked for an extra spoon so that we could split it.

“I don't ask about peop le's ages now， because I'm afraid they'll ask me about m ine. Starting this year， nobody will m istake me for a student anymore. I'm even more unmarriageable now. Last year on International Workers' Day， m y mum gave me a call， telling me to get married before the national holiday. I asked her， ‘To whom？' She said， ‘It doesn't matter， you've got fve months， you can't fnd someone？ O r you could go abroad， where people don't talk about age…'”

“Yeah， and nobody m inds a woman who doesn't work. It's hard for me to exp lain to people all the time. M y mother's also not happy. ‘W hy don't we go abroad to study？ We can get you married off in the p rocess.'”

I knew that Kongshan's English was quite good. She was always interviewing people like Rupert M urdoch， Karl Lagerfeld， and the like. Her English was great because she'd simply taught herself and practiced a lot. One time， she wrote an essay for one of her classmates， and the teacher few into a rage： “Where did you copy it from？ How do you expect me to believe you could write something like this without any errors？”

“Going abroad requires money. Money for the test， money for the ticket. Even if you get a scholarship，you should have a few thousand euro in hand in case something goes w rong. You see，” Kongshan said while sm iling coldly， “all the money I spend， I have to earn myself.”

Kongshan's parents were formerly local offcials， but when she was in her fourth year of university， there was a scandal， and although they weren't imprisoned， they lost their jobs and the fam ily lost all its resources. Lady Kongshan had to give up on her plans， and returned to her hometown after graduation for a year to work，and save money for her graduate education. She continued to hold on to her things， her nice clothes that she'd accumulated over a number of years. I laughed. “You're destined to be a great w riter， one who's come to Beijing after her family has fallen， like Cao Xueqin， or Lu Xun. Even in Shanghai， there was Eileen Chang.”

“Uh， not Eileen Chang. Things stopped going well for her a long time ago.”

“It's the same thing. They all had a heart like yours， ‘the lady'. Nobility in the bones， you know. So， you can't stand being in a position that's ‘low'…”

“So， for someone like this to buy so many things. It's like you're blowing your monthly rent every single day.”

After we walked out of the Hualian Market， both of Kongshan's hands were full of stuff. She bought a bottle of Vidal Sassoon and a potted p lant that looked pretty weak， using the bag that came free with the VS for extra storage. She also had the giant bag of books over her shoulder. Even so，when she saw the cart selling pirated foreign-language books， she shouted that she wanted to buy some.

“Check this out！ History of Western Philosophy， by Bertrand Russell！ Do you want to see it？ Oh， an econom ics book by the author of Imperial Drill. Oh， this one's good， 1984.” The old man with the card excitedly introduced the books to us， trying hard to remember the names of books he'd memorized. H is pricing scheme was simple： thick books for 20， medium 15， thin 10.

Kongshan picked out a pile that was as least as tall as her arm， w ith me fanning the fames by her side. She haggled the price down to about 15 for thick and 7 or 8 for thin books. “I never sell this cheap！” The old man clearly hesitated as he took the money from her. “With this much stuff， I have to take a cab home.” Kongshan stu ffed all the books into a p lastic bag as she said this. It was already night，probably at least ten in the evening. I helped her hail a taxi. She had so many things， so heavy， that I was afraid she wou ldn't be able to carry them. However， she managed to pick them up all at once， or sling them over her somehow or other， held on tight to every single piece， and stuff herself into the taxi that I'd called.

The weather was cold， and the wind kicked up. W hen Kongshan was stu ffng herself into the cab， I saw her dress fapping outside the car. The car door closed， and the dress was gone. I turned and went m y way， to the brightly-lit subway station. The giant four-storey Charlie Brown was watching over me from behind. In my hand I had some natto I'd bought—they lower blood pressure and keep your veins soft—as well as some yogurt and vegetables for my spouse. The never aging， never dying Charlie Brown watched over me from behind. - TRANSlATED BY MOY HAU （梅皓）

Au thor's Note： Six years have passed since I wrote this story. It was largely based on reality—half a day I'd spent w ith m y good friend, the conversation we had, the books we bought, the places we went, and the food we ate. It nearly brought me to tears when I read it today. “Kongshan”is still single and life still casts great pressure on her, though the apartment she rents is much larger and she becam e the director of an esteem ed m agazine. Not long ago, she sold hund reds of her designer bags online. Maybe, beh ind all the consum ption and read ing, we are just trying to cure the pain and anxiety, something ubiquitous in an urban life.

“So not have a job because I'm not low？” I thought about this.