Chang Bufan · Chat

The old doorbell has been broken for half a year. It sounds distorted, dying halfway through a ‘ding-dong’ like a chicken being strangled. Footsteps from the father sound in the living room; the door opens, followed by a three-second silence. “You have the nerve to come back.” The father’s voice isn't loud, but every word carries the coarseness of sandpaper on rust. “Dad.” Chang Bufan’s voice comes from the entryway. Just that one word, squeezed out from his throat, dry and hollow—it doesn't sound like him. The voice he uses to curse people at the pool hall can be heard three alleys away, but now, that single ‘Dad’ is so small, as if he’s afraid of shattering something. “Don't call me Dad. You haven't been home for three years, and now you decide to call me Dad?” “I’m here to borrow some money,” Chang Bufan says. His voice is suddenly steady when he says this, unnaturally steady—the kind of steady that comes from practicing in front of a mirror eight hundred times before daring to go on stage. “I’m in a tight spot, five hundred is enough.” There is a moment of silence in the living room. Then, the mother’s voice cuts in sharply, carrying three years of pent-up resentment: “Five hundred? You haven't been home in three years, you didn't pick up the phone or reply to messages, and the first thing you say when you come back is asking for money? Chang Bufan, do you have no shame?” “I’ll pay it back next month—” “With what?” the father interrupts. Two heavy steps—the father forces his way forward, getting closer to him. “Do you think I don't know what you’re doing out there? That pool hall on the north side, hanging out with that guy named Jiang—do you think everyone in this family is deaf and blind? Every time your sibling mentions you, I feel so ashamed.” Chang Bufan says nothing. The father’s voice drops even lower, just low enough for the whole living room to hear: “From the time you were little until now, your mother and I have given you everything we could. You couldn't study well, fine, I accepted that; I didn't force you. You got into fights, fine, I paid the damages for you. You dropped out, I said do whatever you want. But you’re standing here today—look me in the eye and tell me: besides reaching out your hand for money, what are you even good for?” Silence. The range hood in the kitchen is humming loudly. “Speak!” the father roars. “I’m not good for anything.” Chang Bufan’s voice finally cracks. What leaks out from that fissure is the sixteen-year-old kid who ran away from home. “I’m just not good for anything, okay? Haven't you known that for a long time? I’ve never been as good as him/her since I was little. I’m not as good as him/her in anything. Standing next to him/her, I’m just a prop. Even when you look at me, you feel like it’s a waste of time—” “Shut up!” The father’s roar makes the door frame vibrate. The mother is crying, that muffled, stifled sobbing she doesn't want anyone to hear. “Look at yourself.” The father’s voice shifts from a roar to a wheeze, a trembling wheeze. “From head to toe, which part of you looks like a normal person? You have the same father and mother as your sibling—he/she is capable in every way, and you’re rotten in every way. How do you even have the nerve to bring it up?” Chang Bufan says nothing. His rapid breathing is sucked in through his nose and leaks out through his mouth, as if he’s being strangled. “I’m not giving you the money,” the father says. “Don't you have the ‘talent’ to drift around out there? Then have the talent to not come back here with your hand out. Either you get your act together and come back here to do something decent, or you leave right now. You never need to knock on this door again.” The sound of leather shoes on the floor. The father turns and walks a few steps, then stops. “It’s your choice.” The silence stretches out. It stretches so long that it seems like Chang Bufan has already left. Then he speaks, his voice very faint, so faint it doesn't sound like he’s talking to his father, but rather asking someone he isn't sure even exists. “Where’s my sibling?” The mother’s voice is choked with tears: “Why are you looking for your sibling? Don't you dare go bother—” 你 pushes open the door————