Massage

by Bi Feiyu

  ‘Of course I’m in a hurry,’ she said. ‘The way I am now, who would want me? Who would be in a hurry if not me?’

  She had gone too far. They’d climbed down off the bed, and she was already talking about ‘the way’ she was. She might have meant something entirely different, but to him it sounded like a reproach; she was chiding him – isn’t it the case that he was happy to have sex with her, but when it came to talking about marriage, not a word.

  But he needed the money. So after a protracted silence, he relented and muttered, ‘You want to get married, we’ll get married.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she said, unaware of her tears, as she was reminded of the pressure from her parents and the awkwardness caused by Xiao Ma’s unexpected move. And for what? All because of you! She was overcome with grief. You got your wish when I came to Nanjing, but you can’t appreciate the difficult situation I’m in. You don’t realise how well I treat you. ‘You want to get married, we’ll get married.’ What a demeaning, cold thing to say! Choking up, she screamed, ‘I came with you all the way to Nanjing and this is what I get? “You want to get married, we’ll get married.” Does that sound like it came from a human being? You can marry a stool, or a chair, or the sole of your shoe. You can go marry yourself. And you can go fuck yourself!’

  There was no way Wang could bring up the subject of a loan now. He was miserable. ‘How can you say something like that?’ he said softly. ‘How am I going to go fuck myself?’

  Xiao Kong rubbed her eyes. ‘Go fuck yourself.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Jin Yan

  THEIR CO-WORKERS AT the centre were unaware that Jin Yan and Tailai’s romance had begun. She abruptly put an end to her fanatical pursuit of him and turned overnight into a proper, well-behaved lady. Their co-workers were hardly ever again witness to her blatant attacks; she was mostly quiet these days. Now they worried about him, concerned that something terrible was about to happen.

  In fact, flamboyant Jin Yan was incapable of breaking the mould of a typical blind couple, which can be summed up in the phrase, ‘seeking quiet amid chaos’. And that was pretty much what they did; they found a secluded corner, where they sat quietly, hugging and kissing, and then wordlessly held hands. Normally, when young people are in love, they are on the go all the time, taking in a movie, going to coffee shops, visiting scenic sites. They chase one another, flirt, and fool around, all of which young blind couples would like to do but cannot. Too many obstacles. So what did Jin Yan and Tailai do? They restrained their bodies and passion, and turned themselves into a form of waiting. Holding hands, they engaged in shared waiting. Their wait was endless, their embraces endless, their kisses endless, and they never called attention to themselves. If no clients showed up, they could sit like that all day, not in the least bored. They parted only when they had clients, and, before they left, they touched the other’s face and whispered, ‘I’ll be right back.’ Or, they said nothing, letting go reluctantly, as if they could spend the rest of their lives just like that. Even as the distance spread, their index fingers would still be linked.

  In the broadest terms, Jin Yan’s romance did not really deviate from the norm, though there were differences because she was, after all, unlike other girls. She turned lethargic as she initiated another period of waiting. Waiting for what? For her wedding. She waited and she thought, and whenever she sat next to Tailai, her thoughts invariably drifted to her wedding and stayed there.

  Jin Yan’s brain functioned like a hard disk, a repository for data on weddings. If not for her disability, she could have been a wedding consultant. Her extensive knowledge provided limitless space for fantasies; strictly speaking, she was not so much in love as imagining her wedding.

  A Chinese-style wedding was not her favourite, for its most noticeable trait and flaw is its focus on eating. The guests bring cash gifts, so they must eat back what they’ve given. It also involves drinking, and that usually brings trouble. Some of the men drink too much and steal the limelight, diverting attention from the point of the banquet; that is the biggest pitfall of a Chinese wedding, since it precludes the possible effect of the moon encircled by stars. Besides, it is vulgar. Even though the Chinese claim their country is a land of courtesy and propriety, one must admit that they know nothing about either. Just see how a Chinese wedding wraps up: tables littered with dishes and glasses, a filthy, jumbled, clattering mess. On the other hand, a Chinese wedding has its own charm, and that is the bridal chamber. Jin Yan coined a catch-all term for the bridal chamber: the man show. Very sexy.

  Tailai’s father must have talked to the guests beforehand, for as soon as the banquet is over, they walk off in twos and threes, picking their teeth and belching along the way. The master of ceremonies leads Jin Yan and Tailai into their bridal chamber, where they sit side by side on the edge of the bed. His mother, a woman with a face creased with wrinkles and a broad smile, has a few words for her son before she backs out of the room and closes the door from the outside. Through her red veil, Jin Yan can see the flame on the candles flicker before straightening out, sweet and charming, a soft yellow. The pagoda-shaped candles are bright red with gilded patterns for double happiness on the sides.

  The candles burn brightly but, when dwarfed by the size of the room, appear dim and light up only half the bride’s face, leaving the other half hidden in mysterious darkness. That is why candles are perfect, their unique quality of shrouding one side of everything, like a woman covering half her face with a pipa lute. The bright side of the bride’s face is unique; it is deep, deep scarlet, lustrous from its redness, red from its lustre. Her blouse and veil are made of red satin, which come alive under the candlelight, but so briefly, that they surge forward like a torrential wave. The scene in the room gives the illusion that the candles ignore everything else in order to light up only the bride or, to be more precise, only one side of her face. All else is in darkness, the candles’ mission is to highlight the bride, to make one side of her beautiful. Bright red. Comfortably warm. Sitting primly on the edge of the bed, she looks bashful, alluring, serene and quiet, like the reflection of a flower in water.

  Tailai has led her into the chamber with a band of red satin, a red, bowl-sized satin flower in the middle. Another band of red satin is tied to him, like a rope attached to a prisoner in ancient China, and rather comical. Also on his chest is a red, bowl-sized satin flower. After being taken to the wedding bed, she finds the edge, not with her hands but by shifting her buttocks. She sits down. All is quiet except for one thing, and that is her heart, lub-dup, lub-dup, lub-dup. What is she to do? Her heart is not in sync with the silent world; she could die of shame.

  Jin Yan is not shy, and never has been. On the contrary, there is something almost manly about her, an expansive, bold, even reckless quality. If not for her eyesight, she might truly have become one of those women who boldly sail the open seas. But this is, after all, a wedding—no, not a wedding, a marital union. She wants to be a blushing bride on this, the day of her marital union, even if she has to learn how.

  At last Tailai moves close enough for their shoulders to touch, and hers drop so suddenly that her bracelet slips from forearm to wrist. The bracelet has a natural lustre, sleek and glistening, like congealed fat, or like the special aura given off by a bride. He rubs his fingers over the bracelet for a while before covering the back of her hand with the palm of his. All she can do is squeeze the handkerchief in her hand, refusing to let go.

  Now comes the high point of the night. He removes the veil covering her face and head, at which moment, Jin Yan, the bold young woman, is actually bashful. He kisses her, no, not kisses, but touches her lips with his; they touch lips. His lips and mouth are burning hot.

  ‘Am I nice?’ she asks, a question she was determined to ask.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then be gentle.’

  Everything is done in a covert, indirect manner,
including the odd things they say, all of which display a reticence that only makes the situation exciting and titillating. She blows out the candles, as if angry.

  A Chinese wedding may not be her favourite, but she finds the bridal chamber infinitely fascinating; it is unfathomable, bewitching, even rather eerie and intoxicating, and yet quiet and serene, impossible to imagine. Sex, of course, is the most important activity inside a bridal chamber, but sex must be secondary to the special affection between the couple, who are now husband and wife, but could also be brother and sister. Westerners cannot understand how the bridegroom could be the bride’s brother or the bride the bridegroom’s sister. This is wrong. This is incest. But that is not how the Chinese look at it; for them it’s not wrong at all. In fact, it is something entirely Chinese, understood only by Chinese, and appreciated by Chinese alone. Jin Yan is a fan of this Oriental style of sexuality and affection. The ancients referred to the three most important events in a man’s life: his wedding night, the moment he passes the imperial exam, and running into an old friend in a strange city. There is a reason why the wedding night is placed first, which is why she finds its attraction impossible to resist. To savour this particular night, she has retained her virginity and has said no to Tailai, no matter how hard he has tried, how often he has begged. No, no. She refused to have sex with him before they were married; she wanted to wait till this night and, as described by the famed writer Eileen Chang, reach a state of ecstasy with him.

  To Jin Yan, the greatest defect of a Chinese wedding is not the eating and drinking. No, it is the absence of something that, to her, should make every girl’s heart flutter: a white wedding dress.

  How could she not wear a white wedding dress? Something that lovely is not just clothing, it is the stuff of a young maiden’s dreams, something that lays over her skin. It is a new, special skin that falls away like a cicada’s cocoon, totally transforming a girl. It can be simple, it can be elaborate; it can be extravagant and luxurious, providing the girl with a graceful pose and charming walk. Jin Yan has been infatuated with the idea of a white wedding dress for another reason besides its dreamlike quality: she has a wonderful figure, one she would call alluring if you asked her. With such a striking figure, not to drape it in a white wedding dress once would be a waste. She has a typical northeastern Chinese woman’s body, with a characteristic slenderness, fully displayed on her arms. They are tall and straight, which she knows is an inaccurate expression for arms, but she insists on thinking of them this way. Just think how lovely it will be when her sleeveless dress with its low-cut neckline shows off her curves and her smooth, slender arms, just born for a wedding. Jin Yan will love the way her arms look, even if the bridegroom cannot see them and she will have only a blurred view. At least she can prove that she has everything a woman ought to have, which to her is of the greatest importance.

  There is only one slight imperfection: she has been gaining weight. That is unavoidable for the blind, who cannot exercise, and spend much of their time inactive. She can tell that flab is accumulating on the outside of her upper arms, which were once straight, sleek and soft.

  In order to wear a white wedding dress, Jin Yan has secretly learned everything there is to know about the dress, and has found six areas that require her attention:

  1. No red accessories for the white dress. So no red shoes, which symbolise walking into a fire pit, bad luck. In addition, no red flowers, red belt or red underwear.

  2. The bride does not bow after putting on her white dress; she nods slightly if necessary, not because she is reserved, but to avoid showing too much cleavage.

  3. No petticoat for the dress and not too much movement at the hemline.

  4. After putting on the dress, the bride should hold her bouquet while walking but remember to pause after each step.

  5. The veil must be worn during the ceremony, and only the bridegroom is allowed to remove it.

  6. The man stands to the right of the woman, contrary to the Chinese custom.

  It won’t matter if it is a bright spring or a cool, pleasant autumn day. The most important element is sunlight shining down on everything, a rainbow sprinkling the world with its colourful rays, like a light rain or feathers to brighten every flower petal, every smiling face, even every exposed tooth. The sun will highlight the colour of everything, making the green of the earth greener, the red redder, the purple more purplish, and the yellow even more yellow. A splendid array of colours. That’s how plants are unique: whatever their colours, they always match the other vegetation, and no one will consider it gaudy, no matter how splashy or loud. All their friends and family are there, standing on the lush green lawn; everyone is happy and well dressed, the sunshine highlighting their broad foreheads, clean-shaven chins and high, straight noses. Then the ‘Wedding March’ begins to play. Taking her hand, Tailai opens the door of the hall, and she walks with him to the lawn. The grass underfoot is spongy; they take slow, graceful steps. Everyone moves away; family and friends part to make room for them as if they are walking down a lane. Her train trails across the grass; she is graceful, lovely, bashful but proud, and so happy she is about to faint. They reach the centre of the lawn, surrounded by applause and best wishes.

  Tailai’s dark-blue suit presents a contrast to her white dress and makes it sparkle under the sun, like ice, like snow. Jin Yan is as pure and clean as jade.

  The most attractive parts of a man’s suit are the shoulders. Tailai’s shoulders, which are not particularly broad, spread out nicely thanks to the tailoring, making him look taller. Leaning against his chest, she shows off her bosom, her breasts in perfect symmetry, with just a hint of cleavage, which, at that moment, is bathed in sunlight, enhancing her bridal glow. And then there are her shoulders, which are unique, the fleshy parts full and round, the bony parts fetchingly slim. A wind blows past her, saddened that it is unable to linger, but that sadness has nothing to do with Jin Yan. She is proud of herself.

  ‘Do you take Jin Yan to be your wife?’

  ‘I do, of course.’

  ‘Do you take Tailai to be your husband?’

  ‘Of course,’ Jin Yan says. ‘I do.’

  Since they both are willing, Tailai places a tiny lock on Jin Yan and she does the same with him, and oh, the tiny lock has a lovely name: it’s called a ring. There is a pair of them, from her to him and from him to her. They are a tender warning and reminder: you are mine now. Made of platinum, they will never corrode, sparkling bright as new even after ten thousand years.

  Now Jin Yan is locked to Tailai; Tailai is locked to Jin Yan. They will not be apart again. Jin Yan is Tailai’s kite, tied to his ring finger, no matter how high the sky or how far the horizon. But he is not her kite. Instead, he is a yo-yo, which quickly reverses itself to hurry back into her hand, no matter how far out she tosses it. Merry laughter erupts on the lawn, touching everyone’s heart.

  Surrounded by their friends and families, the bride and bridegroom are asked to share their story. He is too shy to say anything, but the bride is eager to tell everyone in a loud voice how she chased after him. But for maximum effect, she opts to describe it as nabbing him, and everyone laughs uproariously. People from the northeast of China love to be funny, both men and women; they would not be called northeasterners otherwise. After her witty remark, she decides that she and Tailai will sing. She will choose the best songs, ten altogether, each the most representative song of that year. The significance lies in the number ten, which symbolises a lifetime. They will sing, holding hands, until the sun sets in the west, until the last lingering hint of colour disappears from the sky, when each lamp lets out its finest, most brilliant light.

  She will have to take off her wedding dress, but it will still be her wedding dress; hung up, it will be like the beginning of a legendary tale – once upon a time.

  Then, as she thinks about her wedding dress, a preposterous idea begins to churn in her head: why not have a Western-style wedding, since she is so fond of that style of dre
ss? And if they are going to have a non-Chinese wedding, why not have the ceremony in a church? She has never been to church, but has seen them in movies; to her, the loveliest part of a church is its interior, not its exterior. A church is heaven on earth, with its many arches holding up the vault, lending it an impressive air that is solemn, solid and sacred, but pure at the same time. The organ begins to play songs of praise and eulogy that swirl atop the stone floor, the lingering strains reverberating between heaven and earth. As her fantasy continues, she sees herself walking into church with him, nearly floating above the floor, while the dazzling colours of the stained-glass windows fill her head. She knows that above her is heaven and below her the earth, and between the two are her wedding and her love, both of which are filled with the sound of organ music.

  Why not have a church wedding then? Yes, why not? After hearing an ad on ‘Voice of Jinling’, Jin Yan placed a call to Romance Wedding Company on a Tuesday afternoon. The pleasant salesgirl patiently listened until Jin Yan was finished before asking her an unexpected question. ‘Are you a Christian?’ Confused, Jin Yan did not know how to answer, prompting the girl to use the more popular expression. ‘Do you believe in God? Only one of you needs to.’ It was a serious question, one she had not considered. She snapped her phone shut the moment she understood its significance; she could not say she did, because she didn’t. But saying no did not bode well. To make sure the wedding company did not call her back, she turned off her phone. The possibility of even more difficult questions frightened her.

  On the other hand, the salesgirl’s questions reminded her that either the bride or the bridegroom must believe in something if they expected a formal wedding.

  What did she believe in? She mulled the question over for a long time, but still did not know what to believe. She had believed in light, but light had rejected her. She had once believed in her eyes, but they had rejected her. As her eyesight deteriorated, her field of vision shrank and her world grew increasingly dark, increasingly narrow; the world had rejected her. The blue sky rejected her, white clouds rejected her, green mountains rejected her, green water rejected her, even her own face rejected her. What was she expected to believe in? All she could do was probe and speculate. For a woman whose life depends on probing and speculation, it is hard to believe. As she played with her mobile phone, Jin Yan said to herself, Not believing in anything is right. No beliefs means fewer disappointments. From now everything will be fine, like facing an open sea or blooming flowers in the warmth of spring.