by Qiu Miaojin
“Where do I go to find that part of me? I forgot how to rely on other people ages ago!” she said.
5
Xiao Fan was the most desperate woman I’d ever seen. Despair was in her past and in her present. Everything about her screamed despair. Because of her despair, I loved her. Because of her despair, I was shaken. Because of her despair, I was overwhelmed, and because of her despair, I left her. Her despair was her beauty.
I secretly looked forward to seeing her during my weekly shift. By day, she worked at the offices of the Youth Corps. By night, she and her fiancé and a few friends ran a bar. Every Saturday at six p.m., we’d work together. The two of us made a good team. By the time her shift began, she’d be overworked already. She often arrived looking thin and pale. Naturally concerned, I’d stare at her out of the corner of my eye. She smiled at me. It was a tired smile.
She’d ask me why I was sitting next to her, and I’d say because you’re smart. She’d also ask me why her. I’d say because you’re so beautiful. She said maybe you don’t know that I have nothing to offer you. I said doesn’t matter, other women don’t want me. She said you can’t handle me. I said let’s cross that bridge when we get there.
She sat on my bike, waiting for her fiancé to pick her up. I insisted on giving her a lift home. She didn’t think I’d be able to move with her on the back. I got on the bike, and we went for a ride. She was so light. We ran a red light and made a sudden turn. And with that, she became a little kid screaming in delight. She said she’d never ridden so fast before. We rode up a giant bridge, taking the steep lane for motorized vehicles. All around us, cars were zooming past. We were on the only bicycle. I was drenched with sweat. It was a dangerous and slow journey, and she was behind me, shouting go, go, go. . . .
Her capacity for happiness was limited, and yet she seemed happy. She always seemed happy. Her happiness was natural, infectious. Having been endowed with an intuitive understanding of others, she knew how to give and take. She was the epitome of graciousness. The art of courtesy, as she so ably demonstrated it, was a musical instrument in the hands of a virtuoso.
As I carried her on my bike, her weight became my own, and for a time, she was a part of me. During my grueling ascent of the bridge, a cool breeze encircled us. The surrounding riverbed was visible beneath the limpid waters, and the twilight sky was a gentle pink. To our left was the sun, tiny and round, its rays forming striations of color.
Xiao Fan and I inhaled deeply. All was peaceful. I let up on the pedals, slowing down as much as I could. I wished the bridge would never end. With her close behind me, I could tell that her breathing was irregular: She’d gotten overexcited. I had seen this day coming, when we would drop the façade and find ourselves at a loss for words. In a calm and matter-of-fact tone, she asked whether I’d still see her if she quit her job. She was older and worldly-wise, sober and heavy-hearted.
I could see into the depths of her soul. I knew her type. Insight was my natural gift. Just go on managing your bar. I’ll come see you. Doesn’t matter what time you get off, I said. A flock of white pigeons flew overhead, and in that instant, having been shown a glimpse of absolute freedom, I found courage. I wanted to fall madly in love. I already knew I would take the love in me that no one else wanted and give it all to this woman. All my memories of Xiao Fan and I together were to be captured in this single bleak picture.
She knew I was secretly in love with her. She knew my demons. She knew I was trying to figure out the inner workings of her soul. She knew that I understood her, that she could trust me. She even knew that I would vanish; I could hear it in those words on the bridge. I could tell that she was not one who was easily moved, but that I had moved her. She hid too much. She begrudged my absence before things even began. Her feelings for me were complicated.
During the lowest point following my split with Shui Ling, I disappeared for a month. Didn’t report for duty. Didn’t get in touch with anyone. I was at home, incapacitated. Out of the blue, I got a phone call. It was Xiao Fan’s soft, courteous voice on the line. I heard her say, “I don’t know why I’m calling you, and I really don’t know if there’s any point in me calling you, but I just wanted to make sure you were still alive.” (At this point, I was certain that she was crying, and that she was stifling the sound.) “So it’s just for my benefit, okay? You haven’t shown up for work all month. I sense that something’s going on with you, but I know very well that I have no business telling you what to do. You always have to have your way. You’re always looking after me, and whatever it is I need, you’re there to offer it. But you never tell me what’s going on inside of you. Something bad happens, and you hide at home, alone, wallowing in misery. So tell me, what can I actually do to help you? Or should I wait for you to feel better on your own and show up for a shift with a smile again? You make me feel so helpless.” Her voice betrayed a nasal congestion from crying, and she seemed to be struggling to maintain her composure as she spoke.
On the most intense night of all, I finally went to the bar to find her. I was already drunk, but she didn’t ask questions. She just sat with me and kept me company, telling me all kinds of anecdotes about what had happened while I was away and what was going on in her life. I laughed as I listened. I laughed so hard that my entire body shook violently. Tears of laughter streamed down my face the whole time. With firmness as well as understanding, she looked me straight in the eye. I stared back as she rattled on. Through my tears, I was laughing hysterically, and I thought about how I had always longed to be loved like this. . . .
The alcohol kicked in. I vomited everything up in the bathroom. I told her not to worry, that I didn’t want her to see this disgusting side of me. After I threw up, I came back and hid in a corner of the room. I lost control and burned myself. I thought she wouldn’t notice, but when I looked over, she was standing at the bar, watching me as she poured a drink. There were tears welling in her eyes.
6
Six months later, I moved into Xiao Fan’s apartment. She took me in like a stray dog. The months that I lived with her were, in all my four years, probably the only time I was truly happy. They were like a dying man’s final glimpses of the world.
I was haunted by despair, pain, confusion, and loneliness, which threatened to drag me out of a world filled with the promise of the future and engulf me at any moment. For the time being, I was wide awake and living each day to the fullest, marking the dawn of a new era in which I was truly living the good life. This newfound ardor was all Xiao Fan’s doing, and like a moth to a flame, I reveled in it, allowing the desires that had once been dammed to run recklessly wild. I loved her ferociously. And in my total abandon, I relinquished all self-respect. I stooped to a new low.
Xiao Fan was the only woman I ever made love to. Of all my memories, my memory of her is the single most beautiful. It should be evident by now that I can’t conceivably depict this woman. In writing this much, I’ve already condemned myself to failure and done her an injustice. It amounts to nothing more than a sham, and I’ve gritted my teeth trying all the while. There’s a raw passion that still lives in my blood, still courses through my veins. The mere thought of her fills me with enough desire to send me into a mad frenzy. Yet this memory is also the saddest and most painful of all, for I never really knew this woman’s heart, and I never would.
7
“Xiao Fan, what’s wrong? What happened?”
I’d been waiting for her in my room. The lights were out, and I was lying in bed when I heard the sound of the key turning. I bolted out of bed. It was midnight. She walked through the door, her face deathly pale. She went into her room and changed her clothes. She came back out, emotionless. She went into the kitchen and started to boil water. I followed her around anxiously, and every now and then, she gave me a wan smile. She sat down at the dining room table and stared ahead blankly. She looked haggard. Usually when she got home, she’d knock on my door and we’d chat. But that night, she was out of sorts, zombie-
like. I had the sinking feeling she’d been dealt a severe blow, and my heart started pounding.
“What are you looking at?” she demanded, sounding amused and tired at the same time. It was as if she’d suddenly realized she had an audience.
“I’m looking at you, trying to figure out what happened.” There was a hint of indignation in my voice.
She was silent. “Stop looking at me,” she said sulkily.
She stood up, then shook her head and sighed, glaring at me. She poured herself a glass of milk in the kitchen, then headed straight to her room, slamming the door behind her. I heard the lock turn. Not another word.
This was her way of handling things, setting up a zone that I wasn’t allowed to enter. In the few months we’d lived together, we’d spent hundreds of hours talking. I’d gotten to know her well—so well that I more or less knew how her mind worked, and if I closed my eyes, I could imagine how she would respond to a situation. She was generous that way, letting me analyze her. But there was an off-limits zone where she hunkered down in need of solitude. She was like someone who carried a gun everywhere she went, taking it to bed with her, even when someone was sleeping beside her.
I pounded on her door impatiently. In that act of ignorance, I threw away my self-respect. I barged in. Whenever I intruded on her privacy in this way, she’d put up with it for a while before kicking me out. The absurdity of my logic notwithstanding, I couldn’t bear the thought of her suffering alone, so I’d go to her door begging, and sit there waiting.
“Would you please leave me alone?” The door opened to reveal her sitting on the bed. In the dimness, I could see her head hanging low and her hair dangling over her eyes. Her voice hinted that she was trying desperately not to lose her patience.
I watched her calmly and said nothing.
“Well?” She stared up at the ceiling, doing her best to keep her composure.
“Did you have a fight with him?” I had to ask. “You should be used to me not talking about it. When you don’t say anything, that’s when it’s time to worry.” She turned and looked squarely at me as I sat down at the foot of the bed.
“This is a natural cycle. People have to slow down and do nothing for a while. There’s no point in being active. That’s just how it works. You have to lie there and do nothing for a while. You can’t sleep because you have nightmares, and you wake up feeling even more tired than before. I knew you were outside my door. In the back of my mind, I knew that I should open the door, but I couldn’t get up. Whenever I think about the past, my head starts spinning, and I can’t focus or remember well. Then I start thinking about death. This hasn’t happened in a long time. God, I wish I were dead!” She ended with a cynical laugh.
“Why don’t you lie down and get some rest? I’ll sit beside you and keep you company.” I helped her under the covers.
“Just now, in the car, the two of us went completely berserk. He wants me to marry my boss. As soon as he said it, I tried to get out of the car, but he grabbed my hand and wouldn’t let go. He flew into a rage and slammed the car into the median barrier. I clawed him with my nails and broke free from his grip, and got out of the car and ran back here. Ah, it’s been ten years of this. I’ve been trapped for ten years. What have I done to deserve this? Though we’ve been together this long, he won’t marry me. I don’t even know the real reason why. Isn’t that ridiculous?
“He was two years ahead of me when I got into junior college. We were in this die-hard group of seven people from the same club. We’ve been together ever since. The year we graduated, we decided to get engaged. Then, one day, he went missing. Not even his widowed mother or his little brother knew where he was. There was no news from him for a whole year. On the wedding date we’d set, I came down with hepatitis. It put me in the hospital for three months. I lost about twenty pounds, which is why I’m this skinny. During that time, I bawled my eyes out and didn’t talk to anyone.
“Then I got a job at a company. It was because of my mother that I accepted the boss’s advances. She liked him. He was much older than me. He was a mature, considerate man—with a lot of money. He could help me provide for my family. He was like a father, the way he’d cook for me. He was so kind to me that I felt guilty because I didn’t love him one bit. He’s continued to pursue me this whole time that I’ve been engaged.”
Xiao Fan sighed as she took my hand and started playing with it. I ran my fingers through her hair. By sharing her experiences, she’d brought the two of us closer. And since I could apprehend her feelings at that very moment, I felt relieved.
“He reemerged a year later, and I learned that he’d gone to Mount Dongbu to teach at an elementary school. After jilting me, he didn’t say a word. He just met up with me every day and went to grad school as usual, as if nothing had happened. I couldn’t reject him. Do you understand? That liver disease nearly killed me. I was terrified. Then I realized how weighed down my heart had been. But after that, even though he’d come back, I didn’t know how I felt anymore. I felt empty. I thought if I just worked and worked, I’d save up enough money to buy my parents a nice house. But I never imagined he would leave me again.
“One night, when he was taking me home, he put a ring on my finger and said, ‘This is to make up for my past behavior—oh, and by the way, weren’t we planning to get married?’ Ever since that night, I’ve been living in a continuous state of anticipation, waiting for the day to come. The past is repeating itself, but even as I wait, I have faith. Is that great or what?” She stopped abruptly. Her question was directed at me.
“Are you tired? Don’t you want to rest for a while?” I couldn’t refrain from planting a kiss on her forehead.
She continued as if she hadn’t heard me. Whenever she told stories, she exuded an allure beyond her twenty-six years. Her beauty sent undulations through me, riveting me, taking hold of me. It was not a sensual beauty but one born of wisdom, perhaps a moral beauty. Her words showed that her fate was out of her hands, that when karma began to flow, despair was only natural. She understood the workings of destiny, the forces that had come to define her. She had seen all the world had to offer and was entirely capable of playing the hand she’d been dealt. And still she managed to retain a sensitivity that allowed her to penetrate the deepest aspects of human nature. That was why she and I got along so well. I was amazed at how she responded to me by treating me the way I treated myself. It was due to her social maturity.
“Just look at us and tell me if we’re a good match. We never tell each other what we’re thinking. Whenever we go out, we don’t talk about anything except our day-to-day needs. We have to be around friends whenever we’re together. That way, we can act wild and crazy and say stupid things. I doubt he really thinks about anything. He isn’t self-aware like you and I are. He just goes and does things. Sometimes I don’t know why we’re together. Whenever I feel down, I can talk to you, but I could never talk to him. . . .”
I got under the covers and lay down beside her. She climbed out to put on a movie—a tearjerker—in the background.
“I’ve always been a loser. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been hopeless at everything. I envy people like you. You and him both. You guys are self-confident and successful at everything you do. You’re both so free-spirited. You can go anywhere and say to yourself, Now I want to go here or there. You guys are amazing. In the past, I felt like I was amazing too because I was with him, so then I hid behind him, where it was safe. I don’t know when I started to accept my place, my permanent inferiority. Wherever I go, it’s never because I want to go there, it’s because I’m following the amazing people around me. I’m too enamored of your amazingness!” The last part came with a bitter laugh.
She rolled over and timidly wiped her tears. I’d never seen her show such grief before. The look of anguish on her face was unfamiliar to me. She almost never cried. That gentle exterior concealed her true mettle. Despair was a fire inside of her, steeling her, incapable of immolating her, and
so she was neither fragile nor self-pitying. She was resilient to the point of ruthlessness, toward herself as well as others, so much so that the love I gave her was stepped on, even trampled on.
Because of despair, she would never submit to anyone or anything.
Curiously enough, her grief caused me profound agony—physical agony. I felt sharp pangs inside me. My entire body grew hot. My heart was palpitating. What I experienced was not mere physical torment but full-on sexual arousal. What I hungered for was her naked body. I was practically throbbing. . . .
I pulled her close and kissed her eyelids, her back, her neck and shoulders. She was stunned, and her body tensed. Wordlessly, she yielded to it. The vibrant sounds of music filtered through the shadows, and the curtain wafted gently. The dusk light formed a layer of camouflage as the occasional car passed. There was a palpable sensation in the air. Pulling herself free, she rolled over, sulkily telling me not to get her worked up. She said no one could handle the burden. She said it wouldn’t be fair to me. I wrapped my arms around her from behind and turned her over to face me. I held her tightly in my arms, and from there, plunged headlong into the throes of passion. . . .
Her scent has been ingrained in me ever since, and I can still recall it at any given moment.
“Look at me. Now tell me, what do you want me to do?” she asked devotedly.
The reason Xiao Fan accepted me was because I didn’t reject her. And because it wasn’t love.
