Professor Zhuang, forever proud, can’t take it anymore. As an eminent professor of a prestigious university, he’s never received such treatment, even when he became ill during a lecture tour outside China. Theoretically, high-level intellectuals are entitled to the same treatment as high-ranking cadres, yet how can this “high-level intellectual” compare to that “high-ranking cadre,” Manager Wang, occupying the bed opposite his? Wang’s bed is always being visited by a division director or a section chief or a cadre of some sort and by a pretty young woman or two now and then. The nightstand by Wang’s bed is piled with expensively-packaged nutritious food. And he is being attended to by a crew of six young men, in three shifts, twenty-four hours a day. Even the doctors and the nurses check the powerful Manager Wang first before coming to see Professor Zhuang, a Chemistry Professor of no inconsequential stature. If they spend half an hour examining Wang, they finish with Zhuang in less than ten minutes. His bedside is all but deserted; his son is engrossed in missile technology research thousands of kilometers away; his daughter is studying abroad, and his wife has to take the crowded bus every day to bring him food and a thermos of hot water. His department cannot be counted on, either. He will be thrilled if the department sends someone down once or twice a month. When a man has fallen so low, his scholarship, his fame, and his self-image prove to be the most useless. Professor Zhuang, however, is unwilling to come off his high horse. Every day he lies in bed facing the wall, indifferent to the comings and goings of those in Manager Wang’s bed. Who knows what kind of manager Wang is? Nowadays “company, inc.” is everywhere; a big business with thousands of employees is a “company, inc.” while anyone and his brother or cousin can hang out their own “company, inc.” sign, too.
One day, Manager Wang’s illness suddenly deteriorated. The doctor sent word that they should expect the worst. Wang’s bedside was surrounded by even more people. Even the high and mighty Deputy Manager Liu came. Liu didn’t want to comfort the dying with insincere and empty words. He was quiet for a moment and then spoke simply, asking Manager Wang if there was anything he would like to request and if there was anything on his mind, and promised everything Wang asked for. Having said all there was to say, Liu stood up to leave and make the necessary arrangements. Up stood all the people who had been attending to Wang, too; they all scrambled to help Deputy Manager Liu, some rushing to open the door for him, some hustling by his side and humoring him with their laugh; the patient was left to himself on the bed. It was quite a sight. Deputy Manager Liu flew into a rage:
“I am not the one dying! Why are you all helping me?”
It was then that Professor Zhuang turned his head and saw Manager Wang, alone on his bed, breathe for the last time. Zhuang, tears streaming down his face, knew he was luckier being a “high-level” intellectual than a “high-level” cadre.
(1985)