by A. Yi
“There isn’t a bathtub in this house.”
We went to the bathroom anyway. I turned on the showerhead, rinsing her, and hastily smeared some shower gel over her, then some over me. Drunk, she started to cry. I said don’t cry and pushed her against the wall. I was much taller than her and didn’t know how to get in. I couldn’t push her to the floor. I tried many times but didn’t get the hang of it. I was afraid both of us would fall and die.
“Stop crying,” I shouted.
She stopped, grabbed my thing and tried to put it into her. She tried a few times. When she almost made it, I sighed like I was really sick. The thing bounced and dense fluid gushed out. It spilled out like pus along the mouth of the urethra. I lowered my head. We were like two losers also able to blame each other. I filled with resentment. “I could do it for an hour with someone else,” I said.
“Sorry.”
She held me. We were slippery like fish, but she still made an effort to hold me tight. “Sorry,” she said. I didn’t know why, with the same shame, hers felt somewhat stronger. She could have said, “How useless.” Or just sighed, then I would have been completely crushed. But she just blamed herself. Mm. I started to act impatient, I tried to break away from her arms. Before I ejaculated, there was just your enchanting body and its halo in the whole world. Once I ejaculated you became an annoying woman. Everything was boring, deadly boring, you made me so disappointed.
Later on the sofa, she tried to grab my hand, and my hand kept pulling away. She grabbed it back a few times, then stopped and sighed. She was old, though she was only 20. Some women don’t blossom until 23 or 24 but she had already withered and declined. Not long ago, she had been like fresh, tender tofu, but was now like one that had sat for days, dry and hard. Her pores were dry and rough, the back of her head was overgrown with white hair. When the columns of water poured over her, I looked down and saw her toes were too long, her thighs stocky, her belly bulging like a dangling sandbag, the bottom of which grew thick from gravity. Her areolas were blackish. There was a certain desire in her flesh. It wasn’t lust, but the desire of the organs and flesh trying to break free from the restrictions of the mind, and wildly get loose. But the overly strained relationship between them made her dry and hard.
Her hips were corpulent and sagging. This was the goddess who I had endlessly imagined. She left me and went to the room to receive a phone call and said to the phone: “I haven’t moved back, I’m looking after the store.” When she came out she was already dressed.
“Do you want to eat anything?” she said.
“Mm.”
“Let’s eat out?”
“Mm.”
“I get something for you?”
“Mm.”
“There are some dumplings at home. I’ll cook dumplings for you.”
“Mm.”
“Say something.”
“Mm,” I said. “I’m not that hungry.”
18
Not until dinner did Lili drag her out. I’d rather starve. I live in yours, and I eat yours. She sat down and picked up the chopsticks, tips pointing at herself. I said eat something, and she picked up some leaves from the plate. “Go ahead, have some meat. Eat more,” Lili said loudly, but she didn’t even dare to pick up the leaves. In the end, we got a pile of food for her.
She was very tense and was afraid she would miss some question. Whether we asked in a dozen or dozens of words, a question or several questions, she just mm’d, like a sponge, using her cold uneasiness to swallow down any gesture of our kindness. I became unwilling to speak, also unwilling to watch TV. Whenever I entered the living room, she would stand up, put the remote control on the tea table, and walk back to her room. Sometimes when it was too late to stand up, she would shrink and make herself smaller on the sofa. After I walked away, she wouldn’t change the channel I’d been watching, not even if I didn’t come back for an hour. I felt like I was living in a hotel. Behavior dignified, atmosphere stiff, impossible to walk around half-naked or sleep while watching TV, legs on the tea table. There wasn’t a single piece of tea debris on the floor, which Spring cleaned over and over. The sink was wiped as clean as shiny silverware.
“I should pay for the meals.” She said that once.
“Now you are treating me like a stranger,” Lili said.
“You see I always eat.”
“Don’t be a stranger with me.”
Sometimes Lili went to her room to have a chat with her. “She smokes occasionally and writes a journal sometimes,” Lili said. They’d lost the feeling they had back in school. The relationship, built upon crude loyalty, became cold and formal. Under the table lamp lay the platform shoes, the uppers cracked but wiped clean. Spring said this was probably her only possession.
One day, when the hardworking girl was painstakingly mopping a grease spot on the floor, she accidently knocked over a wineglass. It was one of the few wineglasses Lili had carefully selected and bought. I’d placed it on the tea table in preparation to drink the wine after I replied to an e-mail. Now it was plunging to the floor. Spring dropped the mop, turned and kneeled down, attempting to catch it. Her movement was so swift but she didn’t manage to prevent it from breaking into pieces.
“You’re okay, right?” I said.
“Sorry.”
“I’m asking if you’re okay.” I looked at the broken glass under her knees.
“I’m okay, sorry.”
She stood up, something streaming from her eyes, but she looked down, subduing that emotion. She was grateful for the magnanimity only a relative could give, but she quickly persuaded herself that was just an extravagant hope, it was merely the distant sympathy of a master of the house or the generosity a man should have. She did not dare to look at me for days. In retrospect that was probably another seed of her affection, because in time she became restless and made attempts to test if the relationship existed. For example she began to wear makeup, putting on lipstick one day, earrings the next day, changing her hairstyle the day after. Also, beneath a typical, dull department store uniform, she would wear a colorful shirt or a low-cut T-shirt. Sometimes she wore red high heels. Every day a garment representing her lustful desire would appear on her, just like a gay man, who, once on the street, lets people find certain clues outside his normal clothes and manners. The clue being just what he wanted to reveal to his sweetheart.
She got ill.
She thought this would bring sympathy, didn’t know it only increased my resentment. Um-ah, um-ah, um-ah. She moaned discreetly and slowly as if calling me. I wasn’t moved. After Lili came home, in order to show it wasn’t a performance, she started to moan more wildly. In the end I began to suspect she might really be severely sick.
“What’s the matter with you?” we asked.
“I’m dying,” she wailed, tears rolling. “See, there’s no color in my face.”
“Drink some hot water, I’ll get it for you now,” I said.
“Um-ah, I’m dying.”
“How about we get you to the hospital?” Lili said.
She shook her head and cried. When we left she went on moaning. She was probably singing of her endless solitude, I thought. There seemed to be an eternal stream in the room, flowing through the cupboards, TV, cardboard boxes, and every bumpy, uneven thing, filling the entire space, making us irritated to the point of committing suicide or murder. The sound of this indistinct, peasant fakery drove Lili from our own house.
On her birthday she got some money and bought whisky, Wuliangye baijiu, Peking roast duck, and many other luxurious foods only available to high society. I’m treating you, not just living here like a parasite. Her face glowed with dignity. She invited us to drink like crazy. We were no good at drinking and got drunk very fast, acting like a family for the first time. She moved over, knees bent, and sat straddling my lap. Lili froze for a moment, then crawled over, and tipped my j
aw up with her finger.
“What should I call you?” Spring said.
“Brother-in-law,” Lili said.
“Okay, let me ask you a question, brother-in-law. Can me and Lili be your wives together? You agree, Lili?”
“I agree, I agree completely,” Lili said.
“You see, Lili has already agreed. Say something, brother-in-law.”
Sitting on my lap, she leaned closer to me, I kept struggling. She took a gulp and got down. She walked off, then suddenly turned around. She paused for a moment, then pointed at my hardened crotch and laughed more and more hysterically like a propeller. Then out of breath she told an old story. Lili must have heard it, but she still egged her on. With great effort she controlled herself, and said: “He said he hadn’t done it for a long time and hoped I could forgive him; I said I forgive you; he said, If you forgive me it’s all right; I started to take off my clothes; he wanted to stop me; I said, what’s the matter; he said you already forgave me, I really haven’t done it for a long time. I said, it’s all right; after I took off my clothes, I let him take off his. He pointed down there, it was all wet, he’d already come.” When she was done talking she burst into ear-splitting laughter. Lili accidently spat out her drink, which ignited another round of laughter. It was like our bodies had been strapped with explosives, if any of us held out a hand and pointed, said “I beg you to forgive me,” we would start laughing one after another. From then on I realized laughing was a horrible thing. Our shadows were swaying on the wall, every organ trembling. We couldn’t break away from the torture of laughing and were about to laugh ourselves to death. I stopped first, Lili followed, only Spring was still making an effort. I felt disgusted. There was nothing at all to laugh about. In the end her awkward laughter exploded like a few lone firecrackers in the wilderness.
Two days after that, Lili went back to visit her sick mother and Spring came back drunk at dusk. She was no longer her former self. She wore high heels, a low-cut T-shirt, a red miniskirt, and swayed like a tree in a storm. Under the creamy light, her lips, smeared with heavy lipstick, were slightly open, giving off an animal smell. When I emerged from the bathroom, she reached out a hand and put it between my legs. I stopped. She put her hand against the inner part of my thigh and moved it up slowly. My penis was as hard as a steel rod. My legs were trembling, and I felt guilty. Before the tip of her tongue reached my ear, I pushed her away.
“Don’t do that,” I said.
She wasn’t convinced and continued to grab me shamelessly. I grabbed the hand and said: “Enough, I said enough.” She was humiliated and angry. To make her understand that I wouldn’t tell Lili, I said: “It’s all right, it doesn’t matter, it’s normal, happens when we drink.”
When I was walking back toward my room, I heard her say: “Fine.”
19
She dragged her suitcase and came up from the staircase. She didn’t take the elevator. The pulleys touched the steps and gave off nasty scraping sounds. Before she reached the door of the house, she stopped. I’m not sure if it’s here. Behind the wall was my creative plan. The completed tasks were crossed out in red pen, the ongoing ones marked in blue. Lili pasted slips of paper with all kinds of emojis drawn around phrases like: I love Qingqing, Cheer up, Qingqing. I was 15 years older than Lili. Spring stood at the door and started to dial Lili’s phone number.
“I’m thinking about inviting a classmate to live with us for a little while,” Lili said last week.
I felt unhappy, and Lili just held me, acting spoiled. The guest had come now. Lili opened the door and burst into a birdlike cheer. The person wasn’t her classmate anymore. Tortured by time, Lili hardly recognized her. She was covered with dust, looking miserable with a stiff, ingratiating smile. She bowed to me, then ignoring our suggestion, took off her shoes and walked into our house. She wasn’t sure how long she would be allowed to stay. When she bent over, her two breasts bounced down. As the master of the house I walked to the door and carried her luggage in.
20
The city moat flowed slowly. Probably because I felt the water was flowing, there was a rushing sound. In fact there was just silence, wind blowing ripples on the water. During the day, it was dirty yellow, foaming, carrying the leftovers, dead cats, and dead dogs discarded by the residents who lived along it. Then it was evening, the river pitch-black, but there was always a spot where ripples glowed in the reflected streetlight. The foam was still visible. There was going to be a heavy rain at midnight or tomorrow morning.
It was just her and me.
We faced the distance, which was like a deep well, not speaking a word. Time after time, I held up the bottle. Mimicking me, she drank as well. My life was ruined by that unnecessary phone call. I just made one call. She was in the middle of something at the time, and beside her stood a jealous man. Later she told me: “You’re the only one in the world who asks how I am, on the phone you said, ‘Yeah, that’s it. Just called to ask.’
“Being with someone else won’t get rid of my love for you, you know?” she stressed. Caught deep in such a dreadful fact, I was numb all over, and just talked nonsense on the phone. “I can’t, I just can’t get rid of my love for you,” she said. I said: “Get to bed, it’s getting late.” She would probably cool off after sleeping.
The next day she made more than a hundred phone calls from the phone booth. “Enough, I said it’s fucking enough.” I swung my arm as if there was some animal stuck to it. I almost stomped my phone flat, but then I picked it up and reassembled it. I was afraid to hear it ring but had to rely on the frequent ringing to tell myself: At least she’s still alive. “What are you really up to?” I said. She cried, on and on. After I hung up, she would call again. She was crazy. Then I did exactly what she had done. Over and over, I called, and once she picked up the phone I hung up, until she didn’t pick up. I thought she might go and die. “Fine,” I said to myself.
An hour later she called from another phone booth and said: “I just miss you being good to me.”
“I don’t want to be good to you.”
“I know, I’m not entitled to ask you to be.”
“Sorry.”
After a long silence, she said: “It’s okay.” Like a thief sliding down a fragile rope to the upstairs, I was about to land safely. I said: “Promise me you’ll live right.” She let me hear a disheartened breath and said: “I’ll be fine, thank you.”
After hanging up the phone, I was overwhelmed by a flood of guilt. This was probably the most precious, most unsullyable feeling, the feeling glowed with the forgiveness, generosity, and sympathy of shared suffering. But shortly afterward she called again and said: “I still want to see you.”
“We already broke up.”
“Just see you once, the last time.”
“Can you just stop?”
“I can’t even see you one last time? I can’t even see you after we broke up?
“No.”
“I’m begging you.”
“I’m begging you too.”
I hung up. We just repeated the previous desperation and exasperation game. In the end, I said: “Fine, let’s meet at seven at the moat.” She wasn’t gleeful and wasn’t dejected, just coldly said all right. She just wanted to make it happen. I left a note for Lili: Going to play cards, don’t wait up. I love you. I bought a twelve-pack of Budweiser and a bottle of DDVP. This is me sending my corpse to you. I walked really fast.
She was already there. She tried to stand up, but seeing my furious look, sat back down. Her hair was unkempt, her expression bitter, her face streaked with tears. She tried to touch my hand, but was brushed away by me. I said: “This is beer, understand? This is DDVP, understand?” She nodded, horrified. I said: “You asked me to come, right? I came, what do you want?” She bowed her head. “What is it?” I shouted. She reached her hands out, regarded me pitifully. “Hug me,” she said. I turned, disgusted.
She dug out a balled-up tissue and said: “Do you know what this is?” I glanced at it. “This is your semen,” she said. Must be hard and yellow now.
“Take it to the public security bureau and sue me for rape,” I said.
“It’s not that.”
“Show it to Lili.”
“Not that either.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“We once became one.”
“This kind of trick disgusts me.” I stood up. “Anything else?”
“I’ve thought about it a lot, I still love you.”
I knew this would happen. I shook the DDVP and said: “I’m going to die now.” She shook her head violently. I don’t want you to do this. I just want you to love me. “I’ll let you watch me die,” I said. She stumbled over and grabbed my legs. I couldn’t pull them free no matter what. Her tears smeared my pants. I thought if there was someone in heaven, the person could definitely look mercifully upon the loneliness and bitterness in my eyes and could definitely see my legs tied to the ground. “Don’t drink it,” she said, sobbing. I dragged her to the bench, put down the DDVP, grabbed a bottle of beer, and opened the cap with my teeth.”
“How many bottles can you drink?” I asked sarcastically.
“Five.”
“Fine.” There were 12 bottles. I threw two in the river. “Five for you and five for me.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll drink all our worries away.”
“Okay.”
“Sit down, let’s drink.”
When we both got to the fourth bottle, I opened the last two bottles with my teeth. “These are the last bottles.” I poured half a beer out of each bottle and poured in DDVP. The disgusting smell wafted into my nostrils. I started to feel sad and said: “There’s only one solution.”