by Mian Mian
But I can’t do it, because love requires us to commit all of our feelings. And all of my feelings come back to her. Life is totally meaningless, we live out our lives for nothing, and the sole source of meaning in life is in feeling some sensation from time to time. That’s all there is. That’s why I’m attracted to drugs, and it’s also the reason I love only her, because she’s complicated. She’s constantly changing, and she can always make me feel something.
And then all of a sudden there she was, telling me she didn’t know what love was, that she used to know but that later she realized she didn’t know anymore.
How could she not know what love is? She scares me.
Actually, seeing her now, I don’t respond to her physically, and this is a blow to me. It used to be that if we spent the night together, we could do it lots of times, but what’s happened? Seeing her body is just like looking at an ordinary pair of hands. My mother said that there was a limit to the number of times anyone could make love in his lifetime, and that once you used it up, it was gone. Even if what she said is true, I still don’t think I’ve used up everything I have.
But when will we be able to start over again? Because I realize that I’m losing her right now. She’s right beside me, and she’s slipping away.
4.
A couple of my girlfriends have been staying at my place temporarily. They’re lovers. At one point I told them about some meetings for lesbians, but they went only twice, and they never went back. They didn’t think of themselves as lesbians. And someone at one of the meetings made a bizarre statement, that lesbians get together out of emptiness, unlike gay men, who are driven by intense suffering.
A. was androgynous. She was bright-eyed and had a generous mouth. She was short-statured and hunchbacked and walked duckfooted. When she was angry, she had a habit of beating her breast, but she said that her breasts didn’t feel any pain. A. was attracted only to women, and she had a powerful sex drive. Her most cherished dream was to get a sex-change operation. She felt that if she could only be a man from the inside out, life would be a little easier. A. came from a small town in Henan and had studied pipa—the Chinese lute—and classical piano. She couldn’t stand the prejudiced way that people in her hometown had always looked at her, so she traveled to one of the open cities in the hopes of making her career there.
B. was a dancer. She was half a head taller than A. She was brown-skinned, broad-shouldered, and thin-waisted and had a large ass. B. had been A.’s piano student and had been secretly in love with her from the time she was fourteen. B. was in love with A.’s talent and her melancholy character. They had run into each other a year earlier in a town in the South. A. had almost lost hope because she was always hungry. She’d worked in a hairpin factory, and she’d been a stylist’s assistant, washing hair at a sidewalk haircutting stall. She’d been a waitress too.
B. thought of herself as heterosexual. She’d slept with men, and making love to a man was something that she understood. She didn’t think of A. as a woman, but she didn’t think of her as a man either. No man could give her seven or eight orgasms in a single day.
Bug had had a brainstorm. His idea was to hear how guitar and pipa sounded together. Sanmao had introduced us to A. Hearing her play “Surrounded on All Sides,” I was moved by the strength and control of her fingers. We took her to the hospital for a complete physical, and after the examination we were told that she had a dark spot beneath her eighth rib. You could see her uterus, but it was extremely small. We asked how much it would cost for her to get a sex-change operation. Now A. lives in Shanghai and gives private piano lessons to children, and B. dances in the chorus behind a nightclub singer. B.’s dream is to introduce A. to her parents after the sex-change operation, and then they’ll get married and live happily ever after.
I’ve heard that A. and B. drift off to sleep every night gazing into each other’s eyes. Their lives are filled with hardship, but they’re determined not to let anything stop them. This pair loves each other as much as life itself, and I see them swaying back and forth before my eyes. My apartment is badly soundproofed, and it seems as if they’re always making love.
Saining and I spent the entire day in bed, asleep, but we were jolted awake by the sound of B.’s crying, followed by the sound of A. and B.’s arguing. We heard A. shouting, What woman would want me, with my looks? Why are you always so suspicious? Why are you always accusing me of things I didn’t do? B. said, You know perfectly well how worried I am about you. It’s not a joke. Silence followed, which in turn gave way to the sounds of their lovemaking.
I don’t know exactly what they were doing, but there was no doubt that there were two women in there making love. Why didn’t they think they were lesbians?
In any case, gay or straight, what did it matter, as long as you could love someone? And what about me? When was the last time I’d really been in love? It seemed a couple of years ago, at least.
Saining had just been relaxing with his eyes closed all along, and now he sat up and said, When two women are making love, can they do it without ever stopping?
And I was thinking that even though A. and B. lived exhaustingly difficult lives, they were happy because they loved each other. They worked hard every day for that sex-change operation. They were sharing in the labor, and they would share the fruits of that labor as well.
Saining and I each lit ourselves a cigarette, and we smoked and stared at the bedroom door in an uncomfortable silence. It was Saining who broke the silence, saying, How come all your music is dance music? What happened to all of our other records?
My face darkened. I didn’t answer him.
5.
The two people on the other side of the wall climaxed simultaneously, and then we heard them singing. Later it grew quiet again, and I began to feel anxious. It was as if I could see them as they faced each other, their eyes locked, and I realized that Saining felt as agitated as I did. It had already grown dark outside, and although the sight of a loving couple on Valentine’s Day is usually comforting, we were nagged by embarrassment. It was Valentine’s Day, and maybe all they wanted was to spend the day in bed. For me and Saining to hang out with them like this had to be the height of stupidity.
I said, Let’s get dressed. Let’s go somewhere a little more festive.
And Saining said, Good idea! We gotta get out of here before they go at it again.
At dinner, Saining gave me three roses and a red plastic ring that looked like a giant cherry Life Saver.
What are these three roses for? I asked.
They stand for the words I love you.
How can you be so sure that’s what they’re saying? And I’ve got tons of rings at home, all from you. We used to be excited about each other and so sensitive to each other. I believe you love me, but you don’t make me feel loved. You’re hopeless.
After my mother died, I had a realization—that you were still mine! You have to understand that when you committed yourself, I was committed too. I’ve changed you, but you’ve changed me as well. You’ve brought me my greatest unhappiness and my greatest joy. I can’t be without you. Do you really not love me anymore? I don’t believe it. I’ll never stop loving you.
When he got to the words “I’ll never stop loving you,” his voice was barely audible.
Saining, you just lost your mother. You’re weak right now, so you need me. Don’t be ridiculous! I’ve always been here for you; we’re always together. Even when you’re not around, I’m still on the same wavelength as you. My life and my writing are both stuck in a vicious circle. You’re the creator of my lonely worldview. You can’t possibly be saying that love is good, can you? Do you know what love is? I don’t. Has it ever occurred to you that love has become a luxury for the two of us? We don’t have the energy to be trapped into loving anyone anymore. God knows how this happened. We’re burned out; we’re used up. Don’t you get it?
I have one more present for you. It’s a song. It’s called “All the Good Ch
ildren Will Have Candy to Eat.”
We’re not good children. And I’m out of candy.
We are good children. Our candy is our stories.
I lost patience, and with a brusque wave of the hand, I said, Let’s just eat, OK? Valentine’s Day is just awkward for us.
He was still looking at me. His dark eyes and the dark circles under his eyes would always communicate to me the news of his madness. He said, You’re really sexy when you’re mad.
Sexy, my ass! I said. Pieces of shit like us don’t know what sexy is.
I glanced at him as I spoke. He was wearing a black sweater. He had several others just like it, as well as several sets of identical coats, pants, and T-shirts. He once said that there was nothing more boring than clothing, that clothes didn’t mean anything.
6.
We arrived at Tribes, where they were having a Valentine’s Day party. A lot of our friends were there, broken people with broken hearts. Some of our friends who were in bands were there too, and seeing them was a rare treat.
There weren’t as many live bands in Shanghai as in Beijing, so tonight was more like Beijing than Shanghai with all of the dance parties going on. Of course, most of the people at the parties in Shanghai were laowai—foreigners—or else Shanghai girls who wanted to snag a laowai. Everyone was so phony.
Saining said, I feel like getting up and playing guitar. I said, There are already a bunch of guitar players here. Why don’t you play drums? Everybody can play together that way.
As he played, Saining dropped his head until the tips of his long hair brushed his knees. The drums in this bar had never been hit with such force, and he excited me. I hadn’t felt that way in a long time.
A boy I didn’t know approached Saining and spoke into his ear, and all at once Saining’s face contorted into a grimace. He kept saying, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Threading my way through the press of people, I caught sight of him looking at me with the tenderest expression imaginable. The look in his eyes took me back to the past, and I felt sad.
What happened? What did he say to you?
He said to me, “What do you think you’re doing?” He said, “Who the hell are you? I’m a drummer too, and what matters around here is feeling, not just technique. You don’t know shit about self-expression.”
What? You’ve got to be kidding!
I think I’d better go home now!
What’s wrong with you? You’re good. You’re better than you’ve ever been before. Everyone loved you.
Forget it. Maybe he was right.
Right about what? He wasn’t speaking for anyone but himself. What’s gotten into you? What made you apologize to him? Bug still wants to play guitar with you.
I’m too old.
I never thought I’d hear Saining say something like this.
He left, and I didn’t try to stop him.
As soon as Saining walked out the door, I rushed up to that boy. I said, Who the hell are you to say that about him? I’m giving you two choices: you can apologize, or you can go up there right now and play for me. I’d like to hear for myself how much “feeling” you have.
To my surprise, the boy apologized to me on the spot, and he was sincere. He said, I was just joking with him. I didn’t mean for him to take it so seriously. Please tell him how sorry I am.
After he’d said all that, there was nothing left for me to do, so I started drinking. When the fuck did this low-key little bar start attracting so many laowai-chasing college girls? It was disgusting!
I asked a Spaniard and a Hungarian to speak to me in their native languages at the same time, one in each ear. I said, You can say anything you want, but just start talking! Heads gracefully extended, and with serious expressions on their faces, they began speaking unbroken streams of words. One on my left, and one on my right.
7.
Hong stepped out of the bar. She’d had too much to drink, and whenever she drinks a lot she gets all soft and mushy, an innocent look comes over her face, and she gets glassy-eyed and starts blowing spit bubbles. She gazes at me as if from some distant place, and as I watch the cigarette in her hand, she says, Life is so short, but how short is it, really? Maybe you have to commit suicide to find out. But I’m not going to kill myself. Suicide is too damn extreme.
When I left her four years earlier, she’d become depressed. Now, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make her happy again. And if she was unhappy, how could I be happy? When I first met her she was still a virgin. She’d been so innocent and full of life. Today was Valentine’s Day, and I wanted her to be happy, but she was despondent. I would have been better off just buying her a nice pair of sunglasses! It would have been so easy. A cheap pair of sunglasses with big lenses would’ve kept her happy for days!
She walked over and looked at me. She said, I knew you’d be waiting for me out here. I know your habits. But you can’t get to me anymore. The first time I met you, you said you were looking for bars that had stages. You wanted to play your heart out, until you ran out of songs to sing or until they kicked you out. You said your motto was “Die young and leave a beautiful corpse.” You said you thought that was your destiny. I asked you where those bars were, and you said you didn’t know, but that you were going to find them. With those full lips, big eyes, and long hair, and your love of chocolate, and your guitar playing—I was crazy about you! Do you know why your eyes always look so beautiful? Because you’re so lonely, and you speak with your eyes. What’s it going to take to get you out of your loneliness? I didn’t think you could be lonely tonight. You like places like this, don’t you? Shanghai is full of clubs now. See that young girl there? The one who looks like a little cookie? She lives in a damp basement room, and lately she’s been practicing Joy Division tunes as a way to find her own sound. But you sit outside apologizing for yourself. What are you doing waiting for me, anyway? I love you, or maybe I just love your asthma. Asthma is such a fucking nightmare.
I couldn’t figure out why she was so sensitive. Coming back this time, I found her constantly on edge. Was it because she had no sex life? Or was it because she’d become a writer? Or because she’d once predicted that she was going to die at twenty-seven? I wanted to play the violin for her. I thought it might soothe her. We needed to build a new love together.
I came outside because it just wasn’t my scene in there. And I was waiting for you because I don’t know the way back to your place. I thought we could share a cab and save some money.
My nose started bleeding. It was an old problem of mine, that whenever I got anxious or upset I’d get a nosebleed. Hong looked at me with disgust. She said, I’m not taking care of you anymore. You don’t care about anyone except yourself. You left me just so you could go and mess around with drugs. You left me in that horrible city, and you blew your inheritance on drugs. You hurt everyone!
Hearing these words directed at me, and seeing them coming from such a sweet face, was more than I could bear. I figured I’d lost her. I took her in my arms, and she was so light that she felt nearly weightless. She looked up at the sky, her eyes motionless as a cat’s. Those dark eyes of hers would never again express to me that sense of her madness. It was as if I wasn’t strong enough to love her anymore. We were never going to experience feelings of love again. I was going to have to accept that fact. Our bodies, our bodies had left us long ago. We had no bodies. And our lips were too dry for kissing, and our desire had burned out, but it didn’t matter! What mattered was that we were family, companions. We had come from the same place, we were still alive, and we were going to go on living. Who says that isn’t love? I couldn’t leave her again. I wanted to be with her all the time, that was all I wanted, and I wasn’t going to make her miserable anymore. I would do whatever she asked, if only I could see her every day, if only she would smile at me again. For this tatter of hope, I was willing to jump into it again with her, despair and all. I had to have her in my life. If she ever decided to get married to someone, I wanted it to be me.
> I thought these plans over, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t dare. I would talk about it the next morning, over coffee.
L
1.
Outside my window, the sky. Two black birds halt in midair, one on top of the other. After this collision they fly away, and then they crash into each other again before flying off. A while later, one of the birds begins to get agitated. First the feathers on its neck stand out, and then all of the feathers on its body puff out, and when they’re standing on end like this, the feathers are half white and half black. The crest on its head also stands straight up, and it starts poking with its crest at the other bird. Seen from the front, these are just a pair of courting birds, a pair of white dots inside a pair of white circles. But from the other side, they’re a pair of black dots inside a pair of black circles. In the tree outside the window, a gray bird is constructing a little house. It will put leaves on one wall inside its little house, red berries on another wall, green seeds on another wall, and cow manure on the remaining wall. Then it will wait for its mate to come. Sometimes it will build a pagoda out of a big pile of twigs, and it will stand on top of that and wait. Sometimes it sweeps the level, grassy surface by the door of its little house clean. If another bird happens to fly past but stops to place a leaf or a feather there, and if the gray bird takes the offering in its beak, that proves that it loves the bird that flew by. And if the second bird flies back and keeps setting down leaves or feathers, then the gray one will keep on taking them in its mouth, and in the end the two birds will make love on the grassy, level spot by the nest.