Two Lice

I came out of the clinic feeling better. The doctor had said I was fine, so I probably was. There were still a few hours before the end of the workday — for once I had a little time to myself. I found a small restaurant for lunch, then went to a bathhouse to soak and unwind properly.

Soaking in a tub is a genuine luxury. I used to go every weekend, but after Xiaobao was born, I had never found the time again.

After the bath, settled in the rest lounge with a bottle of beer and a football match on the big screen, I could hear a cluster of girls in a far corner whispering: "Look — a cute one. Go on, you go." A moment later one of them stood and walked toward me.

She dropped onto the seat beside mine. "Here alone?"

I answered as plainly as I could: "Yes, but I'm only here for a bath. I'm just resting before I go. Not looking to spend any more."

Perhaps my tone wasn't firm enough — she seemed to read it as mock-modesty and showed no sign of leaving. She edged closer. "Spending or not doesn't matter. I just saw you sitting here alone and wanted to chat."

I tried once more: "I'm not much of a conversationalist. I'd hate to waste your time."

She laughed — a bright, unguarded laugh. "Waste what time? Look at this lounge — it's empty. I really just want someone to talk to."

I studied her more carefully. She was young, with a small face; small eyes, nose, and mouth — except that her irises appeared outsized, probably coloured contacts. Her eyebrows were invisible behind a blunt fringe that covered them completely. Her hair was dyed purple, and the purple sat oddly against her light, unremarkable complexion.

I was still casting around for an excuse to send her off when she spoke again: "Let me tell you a joke. There were two lice living in a woman's hair. One day the woman started using hair dye. The chemicals were too strong — they killed one of the lice. The other louse, terrified, immediately moved house. It made its way down, further and further, until at last it arrived in a dark, warm forest that looked just like where it had come from. It thought it had found its new home. But that very same night it moved right back out again — because in the dark, it had come face to face with a one-eyed giant serpent. Ha ha ha ha ha!"

She was convulsing with her own joke. I could not laugh at all. To the louse's suffering, a human being's response is only laughter. But when you are the louse, there is nothing funny about it — only terror.

She was still laughing. "Not funny to you?"

Her joke unsettled me, and her laughter irritated me further. I waved her off. "All right, you've told it — now go."

That genuinely offended her. The laughter vanished. Her face went blank, then cold. "I haven't finished. Do you want to know what happened to the other louse?"

I cut her off: "I'm not interested. Move away from me."

She seemed not to hear. Her eyes fixed on me, and her voice dropped into something poisonous: "The woman didn't let the louse go. Because that louse deserved to die."

As she said it, she leaned her face toward mine. Then she flipped aside her purple fringe.

Her forehead was covered in cuts. Fresh, dark red — welts where the skin had just scabbed over, crossing and tangling to form four lopsided Chinese characters: WU WEI'S GRAVE.

I knew that handwriting. It was unmistakably mine. But I had never carved anything on her forehead. She pressed her face nearer still — purple hair, enormous dark irises. The longer I looked, the more her face resembled the giant face in the cave.

The shock sent me lurching backwards; I toppled off the sofa onto the floor. She sprang off the sofa after me and pinned me under her: "Don't rush off. Let me show you something."

I struggled but couldn't move. I watched her mouth open slowly, a small mouth that stretched and stretched until it reached the corners of her ears. From the gaping opening I could see two rows of pointed teeth, and behind them the vocal cords began to vibrate violently.

"Ring — ring — ring!" The same piercing ringtone as before, rising from those vibrating cords.

I woke up. At my desk in the office. The phone beside me ringing without pause. I picked it up, and the voice on the other end was the same — impossibly hoarse, impossible to assign a gender:

"That box. Must not be opened."

Seconds later, a message appeared in the company group chat:

Finance Manager Sun: Meeting today at 4:45, regarding the recent work schedule. (2022-02-21)

I was back at the afternoon of February 21st.