She shook her head, she didn’t want to go anywhere, she just wanted to be with him. She noticed that he was heavily wrapped up. He really must be sick. ‘Didn’t you say you borrowed someone’s room? Why don’t we go there, it’s cold outside.’
‘Do you . . . want to go and see the hawthorn tree?’
Again, she shook her head. ‘No, it’s not flowering now, and it’s such a long walk. Let’s go another time.’ He didn’t say anything in response and it struck her: perhaps he knows he hasn’t got long in this world, maybe he wants to keep his promise. She started to feel shaky, and looked at him intently. He was looking back at her.
‘You’re right,’ he said, tilting his head to one side, ‘let’s go another time, we’ll go when it’s in bloom.’
They returned to the hospital and he took her to Nurse Gao’s room. It was a very small room on the second floor, with a single bed made up with the hospital’s white sheets and blankets. ‘Nurse Gao lives in town, so she only uses this room when she’s on night shift. She hardly ever sleeps in here, and she changed the bedding yesterday, so it’s clean.’
There was only one chair in the room, so she sat on the bed. He went to clean the fruit and collect some boiled water before sitting down on the chair to peel the fruit for her. She noticed the scar over an inch long on the back of his left hand. ‘Is that from when you cut yourself?’
He followed her gaze. ‘Mmm. Do you think it’s ugly?’
‘No.?’
‘It’s only because I cut myself that the hospital told me to get checked for . . .’ He stopped, realising that he’d said too much. ‘To change my medicine. This scar marks me out, so you will always be able to find me. Do you have some kind of mark too? Tell me, that way I will always be able to find you.’
Find me where, she wanted to ask. But she was too scared, and instead she remembered a scene that she had often dreamt of in which the two of them were searching for each other through a dense veil of mist. She wanted to call out his name, but for some reason she couldn’t. He was hidden from view, but she could hear him shouting ‘Jingqiu, Jingqiu’. She followed the sound of his voice until she caught sight of him from behind, enveloped in the fog. It occurred to her that this was the other world.
She sucked air deep into her lungs. ‘I’ve got a red birthmark on the back of my head, it’s covered by my hair.’
‘Can I see it?’
She undid her plaits and pointed to the place on her scalp. He parted her hair and gazed at it for some time. She turned around, and saw that his eyes were bloodshot. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, flustered.
‘Nothing. I’ve had so many dreams in which it’s all hazy, and I can’t see clearly. Then, I see someone that looks like you from behind, and I shout “Jingqiu, Jingqiu”, but someone else turns around and it’s not you after all.’ He smiled. ‘Now I know how to find you, I just need to look for this birthmark. I like the sound of your name. I may have one foot in the grave, but when I hear it I feel that I can take it out . . .’ He was silent for a while, then contined, ‘Tell me about when you were little, or what you’ve been doing on the farm. Anything, everything, I want to hear it all.’
So, she started to tell him stories from when she was little, and from her life on the farm. She also wanted him to tell her his stories, stories from his home town. They gave the day over to talking, eating lunch at the hospital canteen and dinner in a local restaurant. It was already dusk by the time they finished eating, and everyone had gone home, so they took a walk around the town, holding hands. It was completely dark by the time they got back to Nurse Gao’s room. He fetched a few bottles of hot water so that she could wash her face and feet.
He left the room and went to fetch a bed pan as there were no toilets on that floor. She blushed a deep shade of red.
A few minutes later he was back and closed the door behind him. ‘Why don’t you get under the covers. If you stand here in your bare feet you’ll freeze solid.’ He unfolded the blanket, spread it across the bed, peeled back one corner and urged her to get in. I’ll keep my clothes on and just sit on the end of the bed with the blanket over my legs and feet, she thought to herself.
He pulled the chair over to the bed and sat down. ‘Where are you going to sleep tonight?’ she asked.
‘I’ll go back to the ward.’
She hesitated before asking, ‘And what if you don’t go back tonight?’
‘If you want me to stay, I will.’
She stripped down to her woollen jumper and long johns and dived under the blanket.
He tucked her in, and began stroking her through the blanket. ‘Sleep, I’ll look after you.’ He sat back on the chair and covered himself with his army jacket.
This was the first time she had spent the night alone with a boy, but she wasn’t scared. Chairman Mao was right when he said, ‘The Chinese are not afraid of death itself, how can they be afraid of a bit of hardship?’ She was prepared for anything, even death, so what could possibly scare her now? Whatever people wanted to say, that was their business. They could sprain their tongues talking, she wouldn’t care.
There was one question, however, that she was afraid to ask, did he really have leukaemia? She had spent the whole day afraid of asking this one question. She kept her eyes closed but didn’t sleep, her head spinning. When would she muster the courage to ask Old Third this question?
Furtively, she opened her eyes to check if he had fallen asleep. As soon as she opened them she saw him looking back at her, his eyes filled with tears. He quickly turned his head, and wiped his eyes with a towel. ‘I was just . . . remembering that scene from The White-haired Girl , where Yang Bailao watches Xi’er fall asleep and sings, “Xi’er, Xi’er, you’re asleep, but you don’t know that I’m in debt to your father . . .”’
He stopped. She scrambled out from under the blanket and took him in her arms. ‘Tell me . . . Do you have . . . . leukaemia?’ she whispered.
‘Leukaemia? Who told you that?’
‘Fang.’
‘She . . . said that?’
‘I want you to tell me if it’s true. If you lie to me then I’ll feel even worse. Tell me the truth, I have to know . . .’
He said nothing before eventually nodding slowly, and tears streamed down his face. She wiped them for him. ‘I’m no real man, am I? You said men don’t cry.’
‘I said . . . men don’t like to cry in front of strangers. I’m not a stranger.’
‘I’m not afraid to die, I just . . . don’t want to. I want to be with you, always.’
‘We will be together, I won’t let you go on your own. I’ll come with you. It doesn’t matter which world we’re in, we’ll always be together. There’s no need to be scared.’
‘What are you saying? Don’t talk nonsense. I was too scared to tell you the truth because I was worried you’d talk rubbish like this. I don’t want you to come with me. As long as you’re alive, I’m not dead. Do you understand? Do you hear me? I want you to live, live for both of us. You’ve got to help me live. I’ll use your eyes to see the world, use your heart to feel it. I want you to . . . marry, have children. We will live in your children, and they will have children, and that way we will live forever.’
‘Will we have children?’
‘You will, and if you do then so will I. You will live for a long, long time, you will marry, be a mother, be a grandmother, you will have children and grandchildren. Then, in many years’ time, you will tell them about me. You don’t need to tell them my name, just that I am someone you once loved, that’s enough. Thinking of that day is what gives me the strength to face the present. I’m only
going somewhere else, where I’ll be watching you, living happily—’
He talked and talked, until he realised that she wasn’t wearing much. ‘Quick, get back under the blankets, else you’ll catch cold.’
She said, ‘Why don’t you come under the blankets too.’
He thought for a moment before he stripped down to his underwear, and crept under the blankets. He stretched out his arm and let her lie on it. They were both shaking. ‘I never imagined I would ever get to sleep in a bed with you. I never thought I’d get the chance.’ He turned on to his side and held her tightly. ‘I wish we could do this every day.’
‘Me too.’
‘Could you sleep if I held you like this?’ She nodded. ‘Then you sleep, sleep sweetly.’
She tried to sleep but couldn’t. She buried her head in his armpit and, using her hand, ‘read’ his face.
‘Would you like to see what a man is like?’ he asked suddenly. ‘I mean, would you like to see what I look like?’
‘Have you ever shown anyone else?’ He shook his head. ‘Have you ever seen a woman?’
He shook his head again. ‘I might die without experiencing that pleasure,’ he said. He started to wriggle out of his clothes under the blankets. ‘Don’t be scared, I won’t do anything. I just want to fulfil a . . . desire.’
He threw each item of clothing one by one on top of the blankets, and then grabbed hold of her hand and laid it on his chest. ‘Use your hand to look.’ He held on to her hand and moved it across his chest. ‘I’m not too thin yet, am I?’ Then he placed her hand on his stomach and let go. ‘Take a look for yourself.’
She was too afraid to move her hand because she knew what she would find further down. She had seen those of very little boys; they weren’t embarrassed about peeing in public. She had also once seen a man’s thing on an acupuncture chart, but she hardly dared look at it more carefully.
He took hold of her hand and started edging it lower down until she touched his hair. ‘Men also have hair down there?’ she asked, shocked. The acupuncture chart didn’t have any hair on it, it was perfectly smooth.
‘Did you think only girls have hair there?’ He laughed.
‘How do you know girls have hair there?’ she asked, even more shocked.
‘That’s common knowledge, it says so in books.’ He led her hand to his hot, hard place.
‘Do you have a fever? Why is it swollen?’
He groaned. ‘Don’t . . . be scared, I’m fine. Take hold of it, it likes that, hold it tight . . .’
She held it tightly, but her hands were only small, so she couldn’t hold all of it. She squeezed it lightly. It moved and Old Third shook. ‘It doesn’t seem to like me holding it, it keeps trying to get away . . .’
‘It likes it, it’s not running away, it’s . . . jumping. Do you remember the time by the river, when we were swimming? I saw you in your swimsuit, and it . . . was doing this then. I was scared you would see, so I hid in the water.’
It all started to fall into place. ‘And what about the time when you carried me across the river, was it doing this then?’ He closed his eyes and nodded. ‘But I wasn’t wearing a swimsuit that day, why would it . . .’
He laughed, and suddenly took her in his arms, kissing her all over her face in a frenzy of passion. ‘I only have to brush against you, see you, think of you, and it gets like this. Grab it, grab it tight, don’t be scared.’
She still didn’t understand what it was she was supposed to do. She felt it turn hot inside her hand, it seemed to be twitching. I must be squeezing too tight. She was about to loosen her grip when he grabbed her hand, he wouldn’t let her. She wrapped her other arm around him and felt his back drenched in sweat. ‘Are you all right? Shall I get the doctor?’
He shook his head. Then after some time replied quietly, ‘I’m fine, I’m great. When we’re together, I feel as if I’m flying. I want to take you with me. But I can’t be with you for much longer.’ He took the towel and wiped her hand. ‘Do you think it’s disgusting? Don’t be scared, it’s not dirty. It’s . . . what babies are made of.’
She used a pillowslip to wipe his back and body. His sweat had even soaked the sheets. Then, as he had done earlier, she stretched out her arm and let him rest his head on her chest. He curled up and lay like that, exhausted. Even his hair was soaking wet. The flying must have tired him out. Her heart ached as he drifted off to sleep in her arms. She listened to his steady, light breathing, as she slipped into a dream.
She woke some time later with Old Third burning hot like an oven on her chest. It was so nice to sleep together but now she felt red-hot. Her woollen underwear was jabbing into her all over, and her sports bra was pressing into her uncomfortably. Her mother had always taught her to undo her bra before bed because, she said, you could get cancer if you were bound in too tight. She wanted to take off her top and long johns and undo her bra, but she was afraid to wake him up.
As she was hestitating, he opened his eyes. ‘Aren’t you sleeping?’
‘I was, I’m just too hot. I want to take my clothes off.’ She wriggled out of them. ‘Do you want to look at me? Didn’t you say you’d never seen a woman before? I’ll show you . . .’
‘There’s no need, I was just rambling.’
‘Don’t you want to look at me?’
‘How could I not? I want to so very much, every day, every moment. But I . . .’
Just as he had done, she placed each item of clothing, one by one, on top of the covers, then she took his hand and laid it on her chest. ‘Use your hand . . .’
He pulled his hand away as if he had just been scalded. ‘No, don’t, I’m scared I . . . won’t be able to stop myself . . .’
‘From doing what?’
‘From doing the thing husbands and wives do.’
‘Then do it.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re going to get married one day, save yourself for your . . . husband.’
‘I won’t get married, I want to marry you. If you go, I’m coming with you. Do whatever you want. Otherwise, you’ll die without having that pleasure, and so will I.’
He used his hand to explore her. To her, his touch felt like an electric shock, wherever his hand roamed her skin tingled, even on her scalp. He used his hands to squeeze her breasts. She melted, and it felt as if something was gushing out down below.
‘Wait, wait,’ she said, flustered, ‘I think . . . my old friend is back. Don’t let the sheets get dirty.’ They both sprang out of bed. But when she looked at the sheets there was no sign of blood. It was something clear that looked like water. ‘I was wrong, I had it only last week anyway,’ she apologised.
She saw him standing there, naked, his eyes fixed on her naked body. She could see everything and, she thought, he must be able to see all of me too. She leapt under the covers, her whole body shivering.
He followed her, took her in his arms and, trying to catch his breath, he said, ‘You’re so beautiful, so perfect, just like a Greek goddess. Why don’t you like your . . . that they’re so big, they’re so beautiful.’ He held her tightly. ‘I want to take you flying . . .’
‘Then take me flying.’
He sighed quietly, and then carefully climbed on top of her.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was evening the following day by the time Jingqiu arrived back on the farm. Old Third insisted on accompanying her up the mountain to the point where they could see the farm’s L-shaped building, before, reluctantly, they separated.
Old Third said he was still waiting for the last, conclusive test results, and he’d
lose his temper if she didn’t go back to work on the farm. They arranged to meet again at Nurse Gao’s room in two weeks’ time when she would next have some time off, and were he to have been discharged already, he would come back. He agreed to write to her at once if the tests confirmed that he had leukaemia, but if there was no news it was good news.
That evening, Jingqiu went to speak to Mr Zheng to ask him not to send back any more letters. ‘I have a friend who teaches at Yanjia River Middle School, and she said that she sent me some letters here to the farm, using the address you gave me, but they were all returned to sender. Do you know what might have happened?’
‘The address is right.’ Mr Zheng was perplexed. ‘Who would have sent them back?’
He’s a good actor, she thought. ‘Who delivers the letters up here?’
‘The letters only get as far as the production brigade. Usually my father brings them back when he goes down there, and I bring them here when I come back from visiting. My father knows everyone’s names here, so he wouldn’t have sent them back. Do you think I sent them back? I swear on my Party membership, it wasn’t me who returned your letters.’
Jingqiu couldn’t very well say anything more after this declaration but she was sure that he wouldn’t dare send back any more letters.
She spent the days making food for the students and, when she had time, working in the fields. In the evenings, when she went to bed, she closed her eyes and thought of the day and night she had spent with Old Third, especially the night. It sent waves of emotion through her. On occasion she would touch herself, but she didn’t feel anything. How strange, how come when Old Third did it, it felt electric? She longed to fly away with him, they should soar away together, while they still could.
She had heard someone say that the thing boys and girls do together transformed your body shape, the way you walk, even the way you urinate. ‘Young girls pee like fountains, women pee like waterfalls.’ But they had never explained exactly how it transformed your body, nor how it would make you walk differently. She didn’t think she walked any differently, although she did feel somewhat on edge, constantly afraid that people would detect a change in her gait.
Under the Hawthorn Tree Page 30
