February Flowers

by Fan Wu

  “I wrote a letter to my ba and mentioned the thing that took place eleven years ago and told him how I had hated him all these years. The funny thing is that when I called home Ba said he’d never beaten me like that and never called me a ‘whore.’ He cried so much that he couldn’t speak. Then he said he loves me and misses me every day. It ’s the first time he ever said that to me. How ironic! The thing that has haunted me for so many years has left no trace in my ba’s memory.”

  “So you’ll forgive him?”

  “I don’t know. I only know that I wouldn’t be the Miao Yan I am today if not for what happened when I was thirteen.”

  “Does Du Sheng know any of this?”

  “No. That ’s why I said I’m not sure if I loved him,” she said. “Maybe I just can never trust a man. He ’s a good guy but not meant for me. Maybe no guys are meant for a wild goose like me.”

  “If you don’t love him, why did you threaten him that you’d commit suicide?”

  “I can’t hide anything from you.” Miao Yan laughed and walked back to the corner. We both sat. She said, “I like watching dramas, especially tragic ones, and I often feel as though I’m one of the main characters. But it’s tiring to play somebody other than yourself all the time. Since I got to know Du Sheng I’d been trying to change myself to please him because I wanted his protection and love so badly. But I finally realized that I could never be the kind of girl he wanted me to be.

  “Remember once I told you that I’m not afraid of death? I lied. The moment I told him I wanted to jump from the hotel window, I knew that I didn’t dare. I couldn’t believe I was such a coward so I told him again and again that I wanted to jump, each time becoming more and more certain that I didn’t have the courage. Now I want to go back to Yunnan so badly, to where I can be myself, where nobody can control my mind. I’ve been dreaming of the bamboo hut under the mountain and my family, relatives, and friends who’ve never been out of Yunnan all their lives.”

  We were silent for a few minutes. I was trying to visualize the bamboo hut where Miao Yan had lived as a child. I had never been to Yunnan but the pictures of it, of her hometown, came so naturally that in my mind I could see her, in a richly embroidered Miao costume, running and singing aloud on the bank of a creek near the bamboo hut she and her grandparents lived in. The creek was so clear that I could picture the waving weeds and the pebbles in the riverbed. In my imagination I was sitting on a big rock in the creek, paddling and yelling her name.

  “Why are you smiling? What are you thinking?” Miao Yan nudged me.

  “Nothing.” I was still smiling. I thought she would laugh at me if I told her the truth.

  “You’re trickier than I thought.” She smiled, too. “Let’s cheer for you becoming an adult and applaud for my returning to my hometown.” She clenched her right hand and extended it high in the air, holding an imaginary wineglass. I held up my right fist and bumped it against hers.

  After downing the imaginary wine, she winked at me. “You know what I want to do when I have a lot of money?”

  “Become a model,” I replied.

  “You silly girl. When you don’t have money you want to become a model. But when you have money,” she paused, smiling, “you want to open your own business. I’d like to own a boutique, selling women’s designer clothes. Maybe I’ll have my own brand someday. Something called ‘Miao Chameleon.’”

  “If you had a store like that I’d work as your cashier.”

  “A deal!” Then she thought of something else. “Could you do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “When the eighty-story skyscraper in Guangzhou is built, could you go to the highest floor and tell me what the view is like?”

  “We can go together.”

  “I mean if somehow I can’t visit you then.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll do that for you.”

  “Also, if you can find a café there, remember to order tiramisu for me.”

  I nodded sincerely—I knew tiramisu was her favorite dessert.

  She put her arm around my shoulders and pulled my head against hers. She began to whistle a folk song. I sat right next to her, listening quietly and attentively. She was not a good whistler; it was more like the sound of a mother whistling to make her baby pee. When she went badly off-key she would switch to another song.

  At some point my eyes started to get watery, listening to her, wishing it would never end. In the beginning I could still see the rooftop as a big white square expanse but it seemed to be losing its color and shape. Finally I could see nothing but my own tears. As Miao Yan, also tearful, began to whistle Two Little Rats she went completely off-tune. I burst out laughing. I laughed and laughed though my stomach was hurting and tears were streaming down my cheeks into my mouth. I knew it would be a long while before she and I would come to the rooftop again.

  Around six I walked her to the university’s main entrance. She stopped a red taxi in her typical suicidal way of running out into the traffic. When we parted she gave me a white box and made me promise I wouldn’t open it until she was gone. I agreed.

  “You’ll come back to see me soon, right?” I said, holding her arm tightly. She was wearing the same gray sweater-dress, now buttoned and with the waist strap tied, her hair braided like ropes on both sides of her face. All of her luggage was a small green suitcase.

  “Of course. I promise. Once I settle down I’ll come back to see you.” She rubbed my head and messed up my hair, as people often do to children.

  In no time the taxi was gone. Before it disappeared I saw her waving frantically from the window. I ran after it and was still waving long after the taxi had disappeared into the traffic.

  After I returned to my room I opened the box. There, folded neatly, were the floral-patterned silk blouse she had worn the night we first met and the French-brand black dress she had made me put on. Underneath was a brand-new Fortress Besieged. On the front page she had written: “I stole your copy from your bookshelf a few days ago. Please let me keep it as a souvenir. I don’t know what’ll happen between us in the future. But I wanted you to know that you’re always in my heart.”

  Inside the book was a birthday card with a 3D bird on the cover. When I opened the card, out came the cheerful “Happy Birthday to You” music. In the empty space was Miao Yan’s childish handwriting: “Happy birthday, my poet, my silly girl, my little kitten, my sunshine. Make a wish and maybe I’ll have a surprise for you.”

  I unfolded the blouse and examined it—time to solve the puzzle of her denying its existence. The blouse was handmade and I could see the uneven stitches along the seams and the occasional stray thread emerging from the fabric. Inside the collar where the brand tag would normally have been, were small, embroidered characters: “From baba and mama, 1989.” So it had been a gift from her parents when she left home for university.

  Sang Wei was gone. Miao Yan was gone. I lay on my naked bed, lifting the silk blouse in front of me against the twilight coming in from the open door. The blouse fluttered in the breeze. I pulled it back, covered my face with it, and closed my eyes, feeling I had walked into a dream: I was swimming fearlessly in an ocean in the purest darkness. I was chasing floating flames on the water, trying to catch them, though the heat scorched my skin and almost blinded my eyes. But I couldn’t catch the flames—the waves from nowhere pushed me away whenever I got near.

  When Du Sheng asked for me through the speaker I was in a deep sleep—I had fallen asleep with the silk blouse over my face. I got up hurriedly and fumbled for my shoes. It was dark. In a sudden move I bumped my head on a corner of Yishu’s desk. The dizziness was instant and fierce, forcing me to sit on the floor. After my eyes adjusted to the darkness I looked at my clock. It was almost eleven.

  Neither Pingping nor Donghua was home. The mosquito nets and bedding on their beds had been removed. Maybe the two of them were in the washroom or maybe they were on their trains back home—I didn’t remember if their trains were tonight o
r tomorrow night. I felt my way to the light switch near the door. After switching it on and off a few times I realized that the bulb must have blown. In the darkness I suddenly felt lonely; I was almost eager to leave my room.

  Not wanting Du Sheng to see that I had just got out of bed, I went to the washroom and splashed cold water on my face. The water streamed along my arms and wet my sweater and jeans so I had to go back and change. Before I went downstairs I realized that I had forgotten to comb my hair. I went to the washroom again and ran my wet fingers through my unkempt hair.

  Du Sheng was leaning against a wall with his hands crossed over his chest. He looked tired. His face was a little paler. His hair had grown a little too long on the sides.

  I thought of Miao Yan instantly. “Why are you here?” I said, in such an unfriendly way that I surprised myself.

  “Did I wake you up?”

  “I was reading.”

  “It must be a really good book.” He smiled, then looked at his watch. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you at this hour. Miao Yan asked me to meet her here tonight but there’s no one in her room. I was considering camping outside your dorm tonight. Where is she?”

  I ignored his sarcasm. “She took an evening train to Yunnan.” Having said that, my eyes became moist. I turned away, pretending that I was looking at the sky.

  “Really? She asked me to see her tonight and told me that she wasn’t leaving until tomorrow. I should have guessed that she wasn’t telling me the truth.” He stroked his chin. “If you don’t have a plan tonight, perhaps we can go to a café somewhere. I don’t have many friends in Guangzhou.”

  I had nothing to do and nowhere to go. The last thing I wanted was to stay in my dark room alone.

  “Did you see her before she took off?” he asked when we were out on the road.

  “Yes. We talked on the rooftop for a while.”

  “What rooftop?”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just where Miao Yan and I first met and used to go often. It ’s the top of the building.”

  “What do you see there? What do you do?”

  “It’s just an empty space,” I said. “A boring place, like any other flat roof.” As I said it I looked over my shoulder unwittingly—I couldn’t see the rooftop. Six hours ago, there on the rooftop, Miao Yan and I had been sitting close to each other. I could still feel her warmth and her touch. “I go there to play the violin. That ’s it,” I added. The rooftop was such a secret between Miao Yan and me that I didn’t even want to hear others mention it.

  “Oh, I see. Guess I shouldn’t be so nosy.” He put his index finger to his lips, indicating he should shut up.

  We walked side by side toward the library. The thick layers of fallen leaves crunched under our feet—workers weren’t sweeping the road as often since finals ended. Only a week ago Sang Wei and I had walked on the same road, in the same yellowish light, around the same hour. Now I was standing next to Du Sheng, another ex-lover of Miao Yan’s. How strange and ridiculous!

  I was trying to remember what Sang Wei looked like but his face kept merging with images of other people I knew or had seen in the past. I didn’t know him well and would never date someone that Miao Yan had dated, I thought. I glanced at Du Sheng. He looked jovial and relaxed.

  The air was chilly. My teeth chattered. Du Sheng took off his black wool coat and put it on me. I tried to refuse but he insisted. After resisting briefly I succumbed to the warmth. With his help I put my arms into the sleeves and buttoned it all the way up to my neck. It was long and heavy, almost reaching the ground.

  “Aren’t you cold?” I asked. He had only a V-neck sweater on with a white shirt underneath.

  “Don’t worry about me. I never feel cold when I’m with a girl.” As soon as he said that his teeth started to chatter. We both laughed, then I told him that I would be eighteen in a few hours.

  “So tomorrow you’ll wake up as an adult. We should celebrate tonight. Tell me, what ’s your number one wish? I promise I’ll do whatever you want tonight.”

  I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I wondered what Miao Yan would have done on an evening like this. She would certainly have gone dancing. I remembered she once said that dancing was the best medicine. “I want to dance,” I said. “Not the disco type of dancing, but social dancing, the type of dancing for adults.”

  “Good idea. I haven’t been to a dance hall for a long time. But…” He frowned, looking at my sweater, jeans, and running shoes.

  “I have a dress!” I immediately regretted my words, but I couldn’t control my desire to put it on. Tonight was my night and I wanted to look pretty.

  We walked back to West Five. I closed the door to my room and removed my clothes. Though it was dark, I quickly found the white box. I took out the black dress and put it on. It took me a few tries to zip it up properly. The window was wide open but I felt warm. There was no full-length mirror in my room. I opened the door, letting in the light from the hallway, closed the window, and pulled Yishu’s desk to the middle of the room. I stood on the desk and studied my reflection in the now mirror-like window glass.

  Shoes! High-heeled shoes! I jumped down and switched on a torch to search under Pingping’s bed—she wore my size. I found a black pair and slipped them on. They fit perfectly. The heels were thin, and at least five inches high. When I stood I almost lost my balance. At first I had to put my hands on the desks or bed frames to support myself, but after practicing for a few minutes I could walk unaided.

  One hand holding the torch, I examined my face in the mirror. I combed my hair the way Miao Yan had done for me when I had first tried on the dress. Then I found some dark purple eye shadow and rose-red lipstick in Pingping’s makeup box. After applying them, I sprayed jasmine-scented perfume, which I had found on Donghua’s desk, on my neck, hair, chest, and hands. Before heading out, I put on a red, knee-length, double-breasted coat and fastened all the buttons. It was my seventeenth birthday gift from my mother. I had never worn it before.

  When I walked out, Du Sheng seemed surprised by how quickly I had changed.

  “Only ten minutes and seven seconds. You were fast,” he said, smiling. “Are you going to dance in that coat?”

  “I’m wearing a dress under it, of course!”

  “That’s nice. What color?”

  “Can we go now?” I said.

  “Sure, ma ’am,” he said, still smiling.

  We hailed a taxi and I told the driver to go to the Blue Moon Ballroom next to the White Swan Hotel on Shamian Island. Miao Yan had often mentioned this ballroom to me and told me it was the city’s best. She must have been a waitress there. Apart from when I went to the Dynasty Disco with her, it was only the second time I had stepped into a dance hall. I didn’t even know how to dance basic steps like the fox-trot and waltz.

  The taxi stopped at the front entrance. A slim guy in a white shirt and black vest ran over to open the door. Inside, two rows of girls in traditional blue Chinese dresses stood on both sides of the lobby. One came over to help me remove my coat. I told her I preferred to do it myself. It seemed to take forever to undo all the buttons. When I finally removed my coat and gave it to the girl she looked at me admiringly.

  I walked straight toward the main dance hall. With each step I had to place my foot forcefully, as if hammering a nail into the carpet. To resist leaning forward I lifted my neck and stuck out my chest. It was the heels. Without looking down, I could see the ridge that my breasts formed. Because the bottom of the dress enclosed my thighs, I couldn’t walk fast but had to perform a catwalk, as Miao Yan had done whenever she showcased her new outfits. I noticed that the passersby, guys and girls, were looking at me. Even the waiters and waitresses smiled and nodded at me as they hurried in and out of the hall.

  Du Sheng didn’t catch up until I was almost inside the ballroom. He walked silently, turning occasionally to look at me. An usher led us to a table for two. When I sat I had a strange feeling of loss, of losing my sense of who I was and of bein
g transformed into someone else. This new person had a lot more in common with Miao Yan than with me. It was a strange metamorphosis I couldn’t understand clearly.

  The music was a tango. In the center of the dance floor a man was teaching his partner the steps. He wore a white shirt tucked into a pair of dressy black pants. Every few seconds he would stop and correct his partner’s steps, then they would strike a pose and wait until the next rhythm started. He danced like a professional, his head moving swiftly with each turn of the music, his back erect. His partner, however, looked absentminded. She moved casually and swung her legs around, her eyes wandering about. She wore a wide-bottomed silver dress that reached her ankles and a pair of white high-heeled shoes. Her face looked familiar but I couldn’t remember where I had seen her.

  When the music climaxed, the girl pushed the guy aside and walked off the dance floor. She passed by my table, throwing me an unfriendly glance, and quickened her pace. When she was almost out of the sitting area, she stopped and suddenly turned. We stared at each other briefly, then she smiled like a blossoming flower. She lifted her right hand elegantly, put her fingers to her lips, and blew me a kiss before disappearing beyond the tables into the crowd. I recognized her—the cigarette salesgirl I had met at the Dynasty Disco.

  The tango music switched to the slow and romantic “Swan Lake.” People got up and swirled onto the dance floor. Du Sheng had been silent apart from ordering wine for himself and apple juice for me. A few times he studied my hands on the table as if he found them interesting. I felt my hands melting under his gaze but I didn’t move them away.