by Tie Ning
He hugged her, and naturally she hugged back. The urge to run away disappeared, and her heart calmed down. It was the first time she was close enough to breathe in his scent, a healthy light smell of mutton mixed with the lingering fragrance of Tide detergent. For many years after, she’d persist in using Tide for the comfort of its distinctive smell, which always reminded her of the Austin airport, Mike’s hug, her racing heart, and the fleeting confusion caused by it.
When they left the airport, it was already dark. Mike drove Tiao home, and his parents gave Tiao a friendly welcome. His father, a graceful man with a scholarly bearing, who was a professor at the University of Texas, told Tiao, “We all saw your picture. Now I want to tell you that you’re even more beautiful than the picture.” Puzzled, Tiao looked at Mike, and he explained that it was a group picture from that conference. Mike’s mum took Tiao to her room and told her it was Mike’s sister’s room before she got married, and her clothes were still hanging in the wardrobe. She said that as long as the clothes were there, she could feel as though her daughter were still living at home, so she liked having them, but, really, a daughter can never manage to take all her stuff out of her parents’ house. Then she led Tiao out of the room and showed her the guest bathroom.
Mike’s parents made a very good impression on Tiao; their sincerity and effortless hospitality put her at ease. They said to her, “It’s the weekend, and maybe Mike has made plans for you, so we’ll say good night right now.” After his parents said their good-nights, Mike took Tiao to his father’s study. He showed her an exquisite folding fan, explaining that it had been brought back from China by an ancestor and passed down to his father. Carefully he opened it to its full length of over a foot, a mass of brilliance immediately appearing before Tiao’s eyes. A group of lively, colourfully dressed girls were embroidered on the fan, and their bean-sized faces of inlaid ivory shone with a soft and delicate luster. Tiao had never seen a fan like it—the fine embroidered clothing and the ivory-inlaid faces made those festively dressed girls look like they were about to walk off the fan. Tiao felt pride at her countryman’s superb craftsmanship, particularly in front of Mike. Mike said his interest in China started with this fan, and also with food. In his childhood, whenever he and his sister were reluctant to finish what was on their plates, his father would say, “Do you know there is a country called China in the Far East? Many people there still don’t have enough to eat.” Mike said it was very hard for him to associate these two things with China, a country that could make such an exquisite fan but couldn’t afford food. A little bit uncomfortable, Tiao didn’t respond to Mike’s comment. Although not having enough food was a thing of the past, and Mike’s father meant well by teaching his children to value food, Tiao still felt herself the object of pity. Maybe she thought too much with the deep-rooted insecurity of a third world citizen. Her uneasiness came precisely out of her sense of being pitied; she didn’t like to be pitied. Noticing Tiao’s quietness, Mike said, “What’s wrong, Tiao? I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
Tiao said, “I wasn’t sad.”
“Then why were you so quiet?”
“I was listening to you.”
“No, you weren’t listening to me; you were spacing out,” Mike said. Tiao had to admire his careful observation. She said, “Okay, I’ll stop spacing out and listen.”
“Do you want to see my room?” Mike asked.
“Yes, I do.”
They came to his room, which had a few pieces of simple furniture, and a bed only partly made. The top drawer of his dresser was half open, revealing the neatly folded underwear, leaving the impression that Mike had forgotten to close it after looking for clothes. The neatly arranged undergarments and well-organized dresser gave Tiao a comfortable and warm feeling because she had similar habits. Even Mike’s messy bed seemed natural, because it was a clean disorderliness. Then she saw a paper cup on top of the bureau. Mike took it down and asked, “Remember this cup? It’s the one you used in Beijing.” Tiao looked at the cup without remembering at all and saw the light red outline in the shape of a new moon, the imprint of her lipstick. She hadn’t expected Mike to keep the paper cup and bring it back to the States, which she hoped was just his exaggerated way of demonstrating that he missed her. Already she had the sense she would not be able to return his feelings for her. She allowed for his age, twenty-seven, when she was already thirty-four. To keep the cup a woman used might seem normal to a twenty-seven-year-old, but a thirty-four-year-old woman wouldn’t necessarily be excited by the gesture. She cautioned herself and suggested to Mike that they go back to the living room.
As they returned to the living room, Mike asked with some excitement, “Are you tired?”
Tiao said, “No, I’m not tired.”
“Let’s go out, then,” Mike said. Tiao glanced at her watch, and it was eleven.
They left the house and went to Austin’s famous Sixth Street for a wild night. On weekends Sixth Street never slept. It was a streetful of bars and nightclubs and people, with all sorts of activity—late-night pizza stands, rock and roll bands, portrait artists, Mexican-American gangs driving low-riders, those special cars popular in the seventies in Los Angeles, which bounced as they went, and also formal dance night, when high school students could wear adults’ tuxedos or gowns and rent hotel rooms. Mike pulled Tiao by the hand and snaked through the crowds in the bars, each place bubbling with enthusiasm and playing music loud enough to strike someone deaf. He dragged Tiao to the famous Amy’s Ice Creams shop to taste the exotic cinnamon ice cream. The employees in the shop kneaded all kinds of ingredients into the ice cream and tossed it onto stainless steel counters the way country people in northern China kneaded and tossed floured dough. Tiao found it both exhilarating and satisfying to watch. They stood on the street eating sausage pizza, Mike’s favourite, each of them holding one palm-sized slice. Tiao liked that, too. For a moment she thought about Youyou, those sweet times they cooked crazily to make up for the delicacies they couldn’t have. Back then she never would have predicted that someday she would be standing on a street in a foreign country with a stranger at midnight, heartily chewing delicious pizza. Yes, Mike was a stranger to her, a strange American man, but she liked him more and more. His energy, his youth, even the concentration he had when he was eating, all broke down her reserve and her nagging awareness of her age, with an irresistible force. The experience was utterly new to her, to be with a man eating and wandering the streets late at night, out simply for pleasure. On this night alone, it was exactly what she longed for. Her heartbeat seemed especially strong and her legs full of energy. With great appetite, she polished off two slices of pizza in a row, and chose to go into the bars with so much noise that conversation was impossible. Mike tried to shout above the din, but she couldn’t hear a word, just watched his mouth and face busily moving around. Finally they fled the bars and set out for home holding hands. They walked onto a bridge with the deep, dark Colorado River flowing underneath. Mike said, “What is happiness? Happiness is to be in your hometown, holding your sweetheart’s hand, and eating your favourite food! That’s me right now. I’m very happy.”
In your hometown, holding your sweetheart’s hand, and eating your favourite food … sounds good.
Tiao looked at Mike on the bridge and his happy face moved her, but she was also reminded of her own hometown. She wasn’t sure whether she was happy, because, of the three ingredients included in Mike’s recipe for happiness, she had only the delicious food. She couldn’t say she was happy, but she enjoyed going around a little drunk. When they finally admitted to each other that it was time to go home and sleep, the sky had already started to light up.
They slept in their own rooms for two hours, got up, and showered. Then they ate breakfast quickly and took off again.
They drove to San Antonio, near Austin. On the American highway, they sang Chinese children’s rhymes. “‘Eat the milk. Drink the bread. Beneath your arm, carry the train. Ride on a briefcase, inst
ead. Afterwards, get off the case. Eastward, then, turn your face. There you’ll see a man bite a dog. Pick up the dog. Give a stone a whack, but then the stone will bite the dog back …’”
“‘A little car is honking, beep, beep, beep, Chairman Mao sits in the backseat.’”
“‘The car is coming but I don’t care. I’ll give the car a phone call over there. The car turned around, and ran my little feet down.’”
Mike demonstrated for Tiao how he could drive with his knees, showing off, and his efforts to please Tiao made her feel tenderly toward him.
San Antonio, full of tropical flavour, lay before them. Gigantic plants, sweet-scented flowers, and a green river leisurely meandering through the town and then circling around it, all made San Antonio romantic and sentimental. Walking on the riverbank, they waved casually at the passengers on a river cruise, who looked so relaxed and peaceful surrounded by the flowers that decorated the boats. Just then Mike suddenly embraced Tiao, kissed her tentatively but passionately, and Tiao couldn’t help kissing back. Everything happened so quickly but seemed entirely natural to Tiao. Their lips pressed together, and for a moment Tiao’s mind went blank. Suddenly applause rose from the river. It was the passengers on the cruise, who cheered, “Go! Go!” for them. Tiao heard the applause from the cruise, which made Mike hold her even tighter. Her legs felt limp—it was as if she were floating, and a serenity and joy that she had never felt before filled her whole body. The river, flower fragrance, and applause from the cruise … all of it allowed her and Mike to kiss each other openly and without self-consciousness, passionate and innocent, full of fervour and grace. She felt on the point of being smothered by him, but even the threat of death couldn’t stop her. She forgot shyness, unashamed of kissing Mike in public to the sound of applause. It was such a pure thing, and she’d so longed for such essential purity. Maybe this is my compensation, she thought.
He finally loosened his hold on her. Trying to catch her breath, she smiled at him, and he, also gasping, returned her smile. He said, “You blushed. I love to see you blush.” He took her in his arms again and whispered in her ear, “You have no idea how lovely you are. You have no idea how young you are!” He kissed her again and she kissed back.
At the site of the Alamo Mission, he told her when he saw a policeman, “I’m going to kiss you and make this policeman jealous.” Then he gave her a long kiss.
In a Mexican restaurant, he told Tiao as he saw a waiter pass, “I’m going to kiss you and make this muchacho jealous.” He kissed her for a long time.
In the famous Double D Ranch House Grill & Bar—where the waitresses were known for their big breasts—when he saw the waitress he said, “I’m going to kiss you and make Ms. Big Breasts jealous.” He gave her a long kiss.
He chattered nonstop with excitement—truly nonstop. He cupped her face with both hands and then stroked the nape of her neck with its covering of fine hair. He said, “How delicate and soft your skin is! You’re my xiruan, my exquisite one. You’re just my xiruan!” Tiao couldn’t help being touched by the word “xiruan.” She told him that in Chinese, in addition to meaning soft and delicate, xiruan also was used to indicate things that were easy to carry with you, valuables or jewellery. Mike said, “Then I was right. You’re my little xiruan. Little xiruan.”
They didn’t drive back to Austin until very late.
They said good night to each other, took a shower, and then went back to their own rooms. They said their good-nights a little bit stiffly, with some nervousness—as if they didn’t know how to go back to before, the time before they went to San Antonio.
They hadn’t slept much already for a day and night, but Tiao didn’t feel tired. She didn’t want to lie down; she stood in front of the mirror looking at herself.
Mike opened the door quietly. He opened the sides of his big, loose-fitting bathrobe, like a pair of white wings, and enfolded Tiao against his chest.
2
They kissed again, as if it were the continuation of their kisses on the bank of the San Antonio River. They kissed very deeply, so deeply that both could hardly contain themselves. With his height and strength, Mike took control and steered Tiao towards the bed, and Tiao felt dizzy and staggered, which aroused Mike more. They stumbled onto the bed and he kept whispering in her ear, “My little xiruan, my little xiruan …”
All of a sudden, Tiao strangely became not so xiruan. She stiffened, rose from the bed, and stood up resolutely. Surprising herself with her own strength, she grabbed Mike and shoved him in the direction of the door. She kissed him passionately but also forced him to leave with equal determination. She got him to the door, reached out a hand to open it, and gently pushed him out. Then she locked the door.
Feeling a bit confused, she leaned against the door and listened. She knew that Mike was still there, and she had a moment of regret. She had only a vague understanding of why she’d rejected him. She heard Mike knocking on the door gently, apparently not wanting to wake his parents but persisting. Trying to ignore him, she held her breath and pretended she’d gone to bed. Then a note slipped through the space under the door. She picked up the note and, holding it against the door, read the big Chinese characters: “I love you. Please let me tell you in person!”
This was something she was afraid to hear because she didn’t know what to say. When she read these words, so clearly set down, she suddenly understood that the one she loved was not Mike. She loved Chen Zai. It was the kind of love that ran deep and long in her and couldn’t be torn out. Maybe when she’d been discarded by Fang Jing, left on the bench at the waiting room, when she was crying her heart out in front of Chen Zai, she had already fallen in love with him; when Chen Zai was about to get married later and asked her opinion, she was in love with him. But never had her love and yearning been like it was now, so certain and turbulent, so tender and strong. She felt happy and sad at once because of this abrupt realization of love, which happened when she was in someone else’s country and room, when someone else was revealing his love to her. She felt sorry for Mike because it was Mike who had so forcefully awoken her deep love for Chen Zai. She wasn’t that saintly and noble. What had she really wanted to achieve by being with Mike? Self-indulgence and pleasure led her to him. Self-indulgence and pleasure, which made her feel ashamed. She got up, took a pen and a piece of paper, and wrote, “It’s too late. Please go back and sleep.”
She sent the note through the space under the door and got another from him: “I love you. Please let me in.” She wrote back, “Don’t talk nonsense. Please leave.”
Through the gap under the door they played a note-passing game. “My little xiruan, I can’t stand it anymore. Please open the door for me.”
“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”
“You can. I know you want me, too.”
“It’s not real.”
“It is real. I’m going to break in.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m tired.”
“You’re not tired. I’m coming in unless you tell me you don’t love me.”
“All right. I don’t love you. I’m very sorry.”
“I want you to open the door and tell me in person.” After slipping this last note in, he started to pound the door loudly. Finally she opened the door for him. He held her and kissed her desperately. She also kissed him but started to cry. Then he let her go and said, “I’m sorry. Please forgive my rudeness.”
She shook her head and said, “I don’t want your apology. It’s just—you don’t understand. You don’t understand.” Holding his hand, she sat at the edge of the bed. She looked into his clear green eyes, in which she imagined she must appear like those women on that antique fan that his family treasured, mysterious and exotic. What did he know about her? Nothing—and she knew nothing about him. Sooner or later, he would find out that it was not love, as she already knew right now.
When they kissed again, she was even more certain. Kissing him, she cried, imagining him as Chen Zai, whom she had never
kissed. She loved him and missed home very much, missed all the memories she and Chen Zai had shared—the pitch-black windy night long, long ago, when she stood on the street and pounded the postbox helplessly, how Chen Zai asked her, “Child, what’s the matter?”
Mike, you don’t understand. How can you understand? You’ll never be able to understand anything about me.
She held Mike’s hand and her heart had completely quieted down. Then, out of nowhere, she made a random suggestion. “Let each of us eat an apple.”
She picked up two apples from the fruit tray and handed Mike one. With a crunch, she bit into hers first.
Mike stared at Tiao, who was crunching on the apple, and said, “I believe now that you don’t love me, but I still love you—I’ll keep it to myself from now on, though. I’m not as naïve as you imagine. I don’t just see you as someone like the beautiful girl on the fan. You’re an ageless woman, someone who can be young and old at once. Sometimes you’re like a person who has gone through it all, with that knowing expression in your eyes that seems to see life and the world through a hundred years of history; sometimes you’re like a baby, with such clear eyes, and that pure down on your face. Your face drew me to you. You never knew how much your face and your expression attracted me. I lied to be with you, saying that I would happen to be at home on vacation when you were in the States. The fact is I didn’t have any vacation. I asked for leave from the school and came back especially for you. Please believe that my attitude, my … my …” He started to lose control of the tones—when he spoke too much Chinese, his accent began to drift. With a bit of Shandong mixed with a little Shanxi, he continued in these strange tones: “My … my …”
