Dry Milk

by Huo Yan

  But John Lee hadn’t left. Stopping the car not far away, he emptied his pocket of coins and paid them into a parking meter. Enough to last the night. He didn’t want to go back to the house. With her gone, the house no longer had any meaning.

  He traced her footsteps and found himself once again in the narrow lane. He began to tread softly. He wasn’t tailing her; he felt this deep down, but also knew he was unable to stop.

  Jiang Xiaoyu had entered an apartment block, punching a pin number into the security panel at the entrance. The door sprung open and she slipped in, pressing the button for the sixteenth floor.

  The apartment block must have a side entrance, he thought. He set off to walk around it. Sure enough, he came across a small entrance where the rubbish bins were lined up. The door was not locked. He went in and pressed 16.

  He got an odd feeling as soon as the lift door opened. He had been here before. The voice-activated hall light flicked off. He dared not take another step. The place seemed so familiar.

  From a door marked 16B John Lee heard the sound of a voice he knew.

  ‘All packed up? See you back here tomorrow?’

  ‘Um. You’ve set everything up over there?’

  ‘The money’s in the account. Enough for us to leave for Australia.’

  ‘That old man hasn’t managed to get hold of you, has he? I’m just a bit worried we’ve gone too far.’

  ‘Baby, don’t stress about it.’ John Lee heard Ye Xiaosheng kiss Jiang Xiaoyu on her cheek, and imagined the rasp of the man’s stubble on her soft skin. ‘They’ll get along fine. They’re survivors. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have kept things together in New Zealand for so many years. Anyway, whenever I remember how he was looking at you all the time, I think that we deserve his money.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have been able to put up with him if you weren’t here.’

  He heard the sound of a cigarette lighter. With the greed of an addict, Jiang Xiaoyu took a suck or two on the cigarette before passing it to Ye Xiaosheng.

  ‘You know, honey, our success is entirely down to you. And you didn’t suffer any harm. Old men like him might well have evil intentions, but they don’t have the courage to put them into action. In any case, that imbecile of a woman was there all the time keeping her eye on him.’

  ‘And after all that, he didn’t even tell me she was his wife.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s why I say that he was trying to cheat us as much as we’ve cheated him. Don’t worry about it. I’ve taken care of the whole thing. I’ve been talking with a lawyer. Just blame it on a box of business cards he took for genuine.’

  John Lee had edged closer, and he could hear through the thin door so clearly that the tremor in their voices, the sound of their lips meeting, the smack of their kisses all reached him. These sounds were soon followed by moans from Jiang Xiaoyu, and, as he had so often heard in his own house, the rustle of her clothes dropping to the floor.

  Something deep within him that had come back to life was slowly dying once more. The blood in his veins began to dry up, and the intervals between the beats of his heart lengthened, but each beat now seemed to strike at his chest with the force of a hammer intent on shattering it.

  It was afternoon before Jiang Xiaoyu returned to the house.

  John Lee had not slept. He averted his face from her, not wanting to show his bloodshot eyes.

  The woman was still asleep, snoring loudly. John Lee busied himself in the kitchen. He had rushed off to the supermarket as soon as it opened, and filled up the boot of his car with groceries as if bringing home provisions would calm him down.

  Jiang Xiaoyu was walking restlessly about the house, and the rate at which he chopped the vegetables kept pace with her footsteps. He stayed quiet, but out of the corner of his eye caught sight of a red mark on her neck.

  He cooked her favourite meal: pan-fried salmon, adding extra butter and lemon to the recipe. The salmon steaks changed colour in the pan, and even when hot oil spattered onto his hand, he hardly noticed it.

  He set the table for three, the reflection of his exhausted face distorting in the silver cutlery. He filled three glasses with red wine and, with his back turned away from her, dropped the white medicine into the furthest glass, agitating it so the powder dissolved.

  ‘Xiaoyu, you’re leaving tomorrow. Uncle’s cooked you a farewell banquet.’ He placed the glass in front of her.

  He picked up his own glass, and placed the third in the woman’s hand. ‘We wish you success in the future. Our time all together has been a happy one, hasn’t it?’

  Jiang Xiaoyu’s face was flushed red, as it had been the first time they met. She hung her head as low as possible.

  ‘A toast. How fortunate that we should have met here in New Zealand.’ The three of them clinked their glasses. ‘It was destiny that brought us together.’

  They took a long time eating. Once, John Lee tested out Ye Xiaosheng’s name, and watched a flash of anxiety pass across her eyes before she changed the subject. He left it at that.

  The woman was covered in fermented bean curd she had been trying to spread on a piece of bread, and John Lee gently helped her wipe her hands clean. He had never been so solicitous of her in front of Jiang Xiaoyu.

  Once the meal was over, Jiang Xiaoyu offered to help him dry the dishes. He washed with painstaking care, watching the indistinct reflections of the two of them in the wet plates. As he stacked them up, he decided that he would give her another chance. Surely she didn’t intentionally lie to him.

  ‘Let’s go out into the garden to sit for a while.’ Having finished washing the last plate, he rinsed his hands in cold water to wake himself up.

  Though several months had passed, the smell of burnt grass lingered. John Lee took a seat in the wooden chair and removed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He offered one to Jiang Xiaoyu. ‘A cigarette?’

  Jiang Xiaoyu hesitated, before hanging her head again. ‘Uncle, I don’t smoke.’

  ‘Oh.’ He put the packet back in his pocket. ‘Ye Xiaosheng left them here. I thought you smoked.’

  In the darkness he saw her fingers twisting the material across her knees. He held up the cigarette lighter and struck it, looking intently at the expression it illuminated on her face. She was as beautiful as ever. He would remember forever the first time he saw her, soaked to the skin and trembling. At that moment, he had wanted to hold her in his arms and stroke her shoulders, to say to her: ‘Don’t be scared. Now that you’re here in New Zealand, everything will get better. Trust me.’

  Jiang Xiaoyu was lost in thought, gazing at her feet as she swayed her legs. The green of the lawn stretched all the way to the foot of the mountain. In the distance the flashing lights of Auckland’s Sky Tower were suspended in space. The occasional sounding of a ship’s horn interrupted their awkward silence.

  The wind had risen, and the night had turned cold. Jiang Xiaoyu hugged herself, yawned once, and said: ‘Uncle Lee, I’m off to bed. I’ll be leaving early tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure.’ John Lee stared at the far-off lights. Reflected in his eyes, their various colours merged into a single red tone.

  John Lee looked at the time. He had worn his wristwatch, a 1970s model, for more than a decade now. It had marked his passage through time without ever making a mistake.

  Eleven p.m. By now, he thought, the medicine would have done its work. He had showered, scrubbing his entire body so that the smell of soap emanated from every pore.

  John Lee put on his favourite cardigan, combed his hair in the mirror, ruffled it and then flattened it with his cap. He forced himself to stand up straight, pulling in his stomach and pushing back his shoulders, as if he was seeing himself thirty years ago.

  He put on his woven calfskin shoes, his best pair. He had made a point of polishing them this morning, and placed them out in the garden beneath Jiang Xiaoyu’s underwear on the clothesline, which she had not had time to collect, and which swayed like flowers in the wind.

  John Lee p
ushed open his bedroom door and followed the dim corridor until he reached her door. He tapped softly with his knuckles, but there was no response. Without hesitation and with a smile on his face, he turned the handle and pushed the door open, leaving it slightly ajar behind him. In the half-light of the bedroom he could see Jiang Xiaoyu lying on her bed. She had fallen asleep in her clothes.

  Now, finally, he found the courage to envelop her body with his hands. Her exposed skin was so smooth, the texture of silk. His hands roved up and down her, like a child trying out a slide.

  Jiang Xiaoyu stirred but showed no sign of waking. He felt emboldened, and bent over and lightly kissed her forehead. He covered the red mark on her neck with his hands, wanting nothing to ruin his impression of complete beauty.

  John Lee tugged on her shoulders so that she lay flat on her bed, making it easier for him to remove her clothes. One by one he undid her buttons, with the deliberation of someone engaged in a solemn ritual.

  Every button was undone. He could see her black lace panties, sexy and mysterious. His hand followed the line of fabric and pushed its way underneath. He stroked her with the care of a man seeking a treasure.

  He felt the blood pulsing through his body. He was as hard as iron. He tried to control himself, to slow things down, in case it all happened too quickly.

  ‘Why did you try to cheat me? I’ve always liked you. You must have known that.’ He took his hand out of her underwear and brushed it over her face, stopping at her lips as if he was afraid of the answer.

  ‘Why did you leave me with nothing?’ John Lee bent over and pressed his lips to her face, kissing her all over. It had been a long time since he had had a proper kiss, and now he seemed clumsy and out of practice. Slowly, Jiang Xiaoyu’s eyes began to open. Seeing John Lee on top of her, she pushed as hard as she could to get him off her. He clamped onto her wrists. She began kicking frantically with her feet. He pressed down on her thighs with his knees, rendering her still.

  He kissed her, his saliva moistening her cheeks, and as his lips ran across her face, he heard her shout, ‘Let me go!’ He paid no attention. He was beyond pity.

  He could feel her tears. She was a small creature, bound up tight but pointlessly trying to break free. He no longer trusted her and forced himself to continue, like a hunter would.

  He pushed her bra upwards, exposing her breasts. Their fullness forced him to think of the woman’s shrunken flesh. Having no desire to see her emaciated body, he had grown used to making love with the lights out.

  He bit down on her nipples like a murderous warrior, and Jiang Xiaoyu let out a scream of pain. Unmoved, he became even rougher. His fingers forced their way inside her, against all resistance.

  He wanted to tear her apart, but nothing could stitch up the wound he had suffered at her hands.

  The sound of the television in the living room was getting louder and louder, and the warped dialogue of the old opera that came to him kept him from distinguishing the sounds of the real world. He had nothing to his name now, and no fear that anyone could take something from him.

  A noise came from the corridor, muffled by the carpet.

  The door opened a crack, letting in a beam of light, followed by a shadow.

  Jiang Xiaoyu’s eyes were wide open, staring at whatever was behind him. She seemed about to say something, but he covered her mouth. Both of their lips had been bitten, and blood covered their teeth. He could taste her saltiness.

  She raised her feet and kicked out. She had pulled his cap off his head, his greying hair gelled in place. He had no time to pick up the cap, but forced his body to become even harder.

  In the dim light of the bedroom, the shadow fell onto the wall, faintly.

  Jiang Xiaoyu had stopped resisting. Her eyes were wide with terror. She was at last scared of him, John Lee thought, at last experiencing fear, and this was the cost of her deception. The thought inspired pity in him once more, her wide eyes softening him. With one hand still stopping her mouth, he supported her body with his other hand so he could slow himself down a bit.

  John Lee began to enjoy the activity, and the expression on his face relaxed. His eyes narrowed in pleasure. Looking at the girl beneath him, so soft and smooth, he felt protective of her once more.

  Somewhere behind him, there was a sudden, ugly thud.

  His movements slowed, his strength left him, and his anger and resentment flowed out of the new wound.

  He slowly turned his head and saw the woman, a broken red wine bottle in her hand. Her face was fixed in an expression of alarm and she was trembling, her eyes wide open.

  It was the expression she had on her face thirty years ago when he had forced himself on her; with her fingernails digging into his back he had ignored the pain and pushed on further. He tried to avoid looking at her, but the terror that flashed in her eyes was imprinted on his mind. They were like two captured animals fighting to the death.

  The red wine dripped onto the carpet and formed a puddle.

  The woman shrank back into a corner of the room and curled up, her head cushioned in her right arm, the fingers of her left hand scratching at the wall, boring their way into the plaster, gathering a film of white fragments. She stuffed her trembling fingers into her mouth like a child who had done something bad.

  Jiang Xiaoyu lay spread out on the bed, naked, staring helplessly at the ceiling, tears flowing silently from her left eye.

  John Lee felt around to the back of his head with his hand. He could not tell what was blood and what was wine.

  All he could feel was that he was sinking.

  Duncan M. Campbell is a New Zealander who has taught modern and classical Chinese language, literature and history at the University of Auckland, Victoria University of Wellington and Australian National University. His research concentrates on the literary and material culture of late imperial China. In 2015 and 2016 he was Curator of the Chinese Garden at the Huntington Library in San Marino, USA.

  Huo Yan was the recipient of the Rewi Alley Fellowship at the Michael King Writers Centre, Auckland, in 2013. Dry Milk was written as a result of this residency.

  This translation was commissioned jointly by the New Zealand China Friendship Society and Victoria University of Wellington’s Confucius Institute. Duncan M. Campbell thanks George Andrews and Luo Hui for their support.

  The Giramondo Publishing Company acknowledges the support of Western Sydney University in the implementation of its book publishing program.