Rebellion

by Molly Patterson

  The very day of his wife and son’s departure, Director Wei asks Juanlan to meet at the usual place. He has a surprise, he says, that he hopes she will like very much.

  Of course it is lingerie. She has never worn lingerie, never owned a bra that wasn’t white or pale pink and very simple in construction. This is what mistresses do. When she goes to the flat above the noodle shop, she finds waiting for her a red bag stuffed with tissue paper, which weighs almost nothing. It reminds her, oddly, of the money envelopes she still receives at the New Year from her parents and grandparents, and it occurs to her that Director Wei went to the trouble not only of buying it but also of coming to the flat to place it here in advance. This is thoughtfulness, romance. It is the reward for being the second woman instead of the first.

  Inside the bag, she finds two small slips of translucent fabric in a shade of purplish pink found only in tropical flowers and birds. Juanlan holds them up in the light from the window, dangles them from one finger. The wrapping on the gift suggests that it is from an expensive shop. Perhaps this contributes to the effect, because once she has tugged the tiny panties into place and hooked the see-through top over her breasts, she finds that she is a little excited. Turned on, as Director Wei would say. Since he is not here, she puts her hand over the underwear and presses against her own fingers, and in this way is satisfied more quickly than she would have thought possible. When Director Wei arrives, she says, “I couldn’t wait,” and, turning onto her side, trails her hand up over her stomach. “I got so excited, expecting you, that I touched myself.”

  A look crosses his face: she has surprised him, embarrassed him. It is good to know that she can do this. “I see it fits you.”

  She shifts position, glancing down at the garment, which has fallen away to reveal her bare hip. Lying this way, her waist comes into definition in a way it never does in any other position, standing or sitting or lying on her back. It shows her at her best, closer to how she would like to look all the time. Even a few weeks into their relationship, she is learning to view herself from this other perspective, and to see how it is changeable, how the image can be molded and altered with subtle movements. During sex, she is aware of how her lips part, and she tries to hold up her chin so her neck appears thin. But during those times when Director Wei touches her for her own pleasure only, she understands that abandonment is what is required. She is allowed to be ugly then, and afterward, she is not ashamed but grateful. In those moments, she thinks she may be falling in love.

  Director Wei takes a step toward the bed, and then another. “Yes, it fits you well,” he repeats with a look on his face that is both vulnerable and eager. “Do you like it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You look sexy. Like a movie star.”

  She holds out a hand. “I didn’t do a good job before. Please, come and help me.”

  The sex is different this time, Director Wei taking her very quickly and pushing into her with such force that she feels her pelvic bones ache. But she is ready for him, and it feels good, if only because she can tell that he wants her more than usual. It is the first time they complete the act without a condom, and there is no discussion beforehand—when he is close, she puts her hands on the backs of his thighs and keeps him inside. Afterward, he pulls away to lie on his back beside her. This is their normal position after making love, not tender but restful. She hooks her legs over his waist, waiting, because after he’s been satisfied, sometimes he wants to please her, too. “Go clean yourself off,” he says without looking at her. Stung, she rises from the bed, avoids touching him in any way, and heads to the toilet.

  When she comes back into the room, he is dressed and seated in a chair at the small table under the window. He gives her a steady look and then busies himself with another cigarette. He’s already smoked one, she notes; the butt is in the ashtray. “Have a seat,” he says, gesturing toward the bed.

  Something in her resists this particular demand, and she leans against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re upset,” she says.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “No, I’m not upset. But I need to know—do you wear a ring?”

  He is speaking of the birth control device that is placed deep inside the body, the one that is left there. Juanlan doesn’t know any girls her age who have one, and she tells him so. “That’s a difficulty,” she says. “I don’t get the free family planning, you know.”

  “A difficulty? I should think an abortion would be more trouble.”

  “Yes, probably.” She doesn’t say, You would be the one to pay for it. “It was only this one time, though. And I don’t think—it’s not the most dangerous time right now.”

  He nods slowly. His gaze has settled on her, seemingly without any thought. He might be staring absentmindedly at a picture on the wall, if there were any to stare at. “But there may be other times,” he says, and then glances up abruptly. “I haven’t been sterilized. My wife was the one to do it, after Wei Ke was born.”

  Juanlan ignores this reference to his wife. “You’d like me to get the ring?”

  “I’ll give you the money for it.”

  Her eyes go to the window, which is opened to allow in some fresh air. She can barely make out the sound of Qiang Ba’s voice, greeting a customer. “Someone might recognize me at the clinic.”

  “You’ll go to a different place. I have a friend at Number Two People’s Hospital who will perform the favor. He’s very discreet.”

  The next day, Juanlan goes alone to the hospital on the other side of town. In the instant that the doctor places the device, she feels her uterus contract, and she squeezes her eyes shut against the pain. “You may have severe cramps for the next day or two,” the doctor says, nearly the only words he speaks during the short encounter. Juanlan pays with the money that Director Wei has given her.

  Back home, she tells her mother she has a stomachache and goes to lie down. She is brought ginger tea and, later, plain congee. “What have you been eating at Ting-Ting’s house?” her mother asks, shaking her head. Ting-Ting is one of a number of old schoolmates Juanlan uses to explain her absences.

  Director Wei doesn’t call. She stays in bed, curled up around the throbbing pain at her center, and they don’t see each other again while his wife is away. A week later, when they meet at the flat, she wonders if sex will be different now. But it is the same as before. The only change is that after they’re done, Director Wei produces three hundred-yuan notes from his wallet. “For the trouble,” he says, and she doesn’t hesitate to accept them.

  A month, then two, and in this way autumn passes, and then it is winter. On the first truly cold day, Lulu has her baby. Wearing a heavy padded jacket, Juanlan goes to the hospital and coos over her new niece. How beautiful, she says. In truth, the baby is squashed-looking and splotchy. Juanlan is surprised by the stab of feeling she has for it—her very own blood. She’s never visited anyone who’s just given birth and is surprised to see that Lulu, beneath the heavy sweater and blankets, still looks pregnant.

  Her sister-in-law sighs. “The doctor says it may take several months before my stomach gets flat again. I’ll probably be fat forever.” She looks down at the baby with something like curiosity. They have not named it yet, and for Juanlan, at least, this makes it difficult to think of the child as a person.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Tired.” Lulu yawns grandly. In her arms, the baby’s whole body rises and falls with her intake of breath, but its eyes stay tightly shut. “Also, though—like I’m floating. I’ve barely slept in three days. She nurses all the time, so even if I fall asleep, a half hour later I have to wake up again.”

  “And my brother—”

  “He’s been very good. Zhuo is happy to be the father of a little girl.”

  “What about you?”

  Lulu looks at her evenly. “I’m happy, too.”

  It’s been more than two months since Rob left Heng’an. He is back in America now, though Juanlan isn’t s
ure whether he will stay there or go out traveling again. Before he left, he promised to write with news of the travel guide. So far, he’s written once, and with no news of that kind. He reported that he arrived home in late September, that the rest of his time in China was uneventful. Then he said that his father had died, and he’s been busy sorting out the sale of his half of the farm to his brother. He’d never said anything about being a farmer. Though she knows that it’s different in America, she can’t help but picture him stooping in a field of cabbages, a basket strapped to his back. She has no doubt that he will forget them all easily. They will fade in his memory until they blend with the other Chinese he met, appearing only between the lines of the guidebook’s entry on Heng’an, in the write-up of the Three Springs Hotel and the recommendation of various restaurants he visited.

  As for Lulu, she says she is happy, and Juanlan believes her. Or if not happy, then occupied. That was the problem before—she was bored. She had too many lonely hours in her possession and needed to give them away.

  “Come look,” Lulu says, beckoning. “Her eyes are open.”

  Juanlan stands and looks down at her niece. In the tiny face, two narrow lines glimmer wetly. The eyes seem unfocused, and the baby’s whole face is turned toward Lulu’s with a searching expression. “She knows you’re her mother.”

  “She just knows I’m the one who feeds her.” Glancing up, Lulu says suddenly, “Do you know, I didn’t feel afraid until we went to the hospital. That whole time—all those months—I never felt afraid.”

  She’s telling the truth, Juanlan thinks. “How do you feel now?”

  Lulu runs a finger over the features of her daughter’s face. “Terrified,” she says.

  Juanlan spends part of every day at her brother and sister-in-law’s flat, helping cook and clean, helping to swaddle the baby and walk her around when she’s crying, though Lulu always takes her back quickly. Not with jealousy or disapproval, but as if she’s not sure how to move without her, as if the baby is an extension of her own body, an extra limb. She and Zhuo Ge have no one staying with them; Lulu’s mother is unwell in some way that no one has ever explained to Juanlan, and did not even come to Heng’an for the birth. “Xiao Lu should have someone there with her,” her mother has said. “How is she supposed to learn how to care for a baby on her own?” Lulu herself is satisfied not to host anyone. She welcomes Juanlan’s help but doesn’t seem to require it. Of the advice that Juanlan’s mother gives, Lulu says, “I just nod and say, ‘Ma, you’re so smart, you know exactly what to do’ and then when she turns around I do it my way instead.”

  Things between her and Juanlan are not quite the same as they were before, in those months when Lulu was pregnant and unhappy, when Juanlan was newly back in Heng’an. What is different now is that Lulu is content. She is fascinated by her daughter and likes to talk about all the little changes that occur in her. At a week, they talk about her peeling skin. At two weeks, Lulu describes her new habit of staying awake through long hours of the night. At three weeks, Juanlan and Lulu stand in the bathroom together, Lulu holding her daughter over the squat toilet and making shushing noises in her ear. “You can start anytime,” she says of the toilet training. “Even if your mother thinks it’s too early to try.”

  Juanlan has no opinion on the matter, though she likes that Lulu does. Where before, her sister-in-law was angry but passive, now she enters fights with a joyful glint in her eye. It is the difference between resistance and open rebellion. “You should do what feels right,” Juanlan tells her. “What worked for my mother might not work for you.”

  “That’s the way of all of them,” Lulu says.

  “Who is ‘them’?”

  Lulu pulls her daughter back to her chest and stands. As they leave the bathroom, she replies, “Everyone who is older than us.”

  A new idea. Rob was older, yet Lulu seemed to listen to what he had to say. Juanlan asks whether she considers Zhuo Ge part of this category.

  “Oh, he’s all right,” Lulu says. Crossing to the window, she points to the decorative red knot dangling from the top of the frame. She reaches up and brushes the tassels to make them swing and then glances down at her daughter’s face to see if her eyes have followed the movement. “Zhuo lets me do as I please with the baby. But your mother, my aunts, all the neighbors”—she tips her head at the door—“their advice is old-fashioned. People of that generation are terrified of anything changing from the old ways.”

  Juanlan thinks of Director Wei, who is between her age and that of her parents. On which side does he fall in this divide? Is he old-fashioned or does he act in modern ways? Affairs outside marriage are not a new thing, of course, but Juanlan’s feeling about their relationship might be new. Only a modern woman would do as she has done and take pride in it, and this must make Director Wei a little modern, too. He has chosen her, after all. He wanted her for a reason.

  She has kept the secret of their affair for three months. She could tell no one but Lulu, anyway—nobody else would understand—yet she has always hesitated to speak. From incidental comments her sister-in-law has made, it’s clear that she does not like Director Wei. And there is this, too: Lulu came up to the bridge, but she never crossed it. Since Rob’s departure from Heng’an, she has spoken of him occasionally without any difficulty. She has fond memories of the foreigner, she’s said. It was fun having him here. Remember how helpless he was, like a little baby? How he couldn’t say anything, understand anything?

  She likes a person, Juanlan thinks, who is fresh to the world.

  This is how she knows she won’t tell Lulu about the affair. Because Director Wei is not that kind of person at all; he wrests from the world what he wants because he knows it well. He is powerful. And being the thing that he wants gives Juanlan some measure of power, too.

  “Any news from your foreigner?” Zhuo Ge asks one day. Lulu is sleeping in the other room.

  “No,” Juanlan says. “Nothing.”

  Her brother shakes his head. He is holding the baby and smoking a cigarette at the same time. He turns to blow the smoke away from his daughter’s face. “You should write and ask him about the guidebook. You have his address in America?”

  “It’s e-mail. He can receive the message anywhere.”

  “You should write him,” he repeats.

  She doesn’t write Rob. And she is surprised when, a week or so later, Director Wei also raises the subject. It is December and the flat is so cold their breath is visible in the air. They make love beneath heavy blankets and afterward keep their limbs tangled up together, holding in the warmth. There is a smell of sex beneath the wool covers. Once, it would have embarrassed her, but she has grown accustomed to such intimacies. After all, she is not the only one made vulnerable by exposure—Director Wei is made vulnerable as well. She enjoys each new revelation: the mole on his shoulder with long hairs growing out of it, the decaying nail on his left foot. An instance of fascinated horror is quickly replaced by tenderness, relief. This is what it is to see your lover, to know who he is and to accept every flaw. Maybe this is what love itself is: the act of being laid bare. She never had any of this with Du Xian, whose response to her letter in late September was both brief and simple. You’ve made the right choice. We’re young and we live in different places. No bitterness or bile—he must have been waiting for her to end things first. She spent an afternoon trying to drum up some sadness; Du Xian’s image wavered in her mind like a reflection on water. She could put her hand right through him and the feeling would be gone.

  She hasn’t told Director Wei about the breakup, and he hasn’t asked. Perhaps he’s forgotten that she ever had a boyfriend. Or he assumes that they continue to write each other and doesn’t bother about it because she isn’t doing with Du Xian what she’s doing with him.

  But it’s also true that Director Wei does not often ask about her life. When they talk, it is almost always about everyday topics. Which is why she’s surprised when he mentions Rob. “I’ve been
thinking about your foreign friend,” he says, stroking her stomach absentmindedly beneath the covers. “The American.”

  “You were thinking about him just now?”

  He smiles at the joke. “It occurred to me that your friend might need some assistance writing an introduction to our town. He hasn’t written it yet, has he?”

  “I don’t think so.” She pushes the covers down and breathes in the cold air. The edges of the windows are whitened with steam. “I know he collected information while he was here. I told him a lot, and he saw all the best sites.”

  “I’m sure you shared some very useful facts. It would be better if someone from my danwei could look at it, however. You could translate the document. Such a task would not be a problem for you.”

  “Yes, I could translate it, if Rob wanted me to. But I haven’t seen what he wrote.”

  “You’ll ask him, then.”

  “It’s his work. He has no reason to show it to me for approval.”

  Director Wei says, “You can only do what you are willing to do. But don’t forget that your friend is in our debt. He was treated as a guest, and he should be glad to have a chance to return the favor.”

  She turns this sentence over in her mind for the rest of the day. If Rob was treated well, that treatment had little to do with Director Wei. It was her time and friendship that made Heng’an a place he wanted to return to. Hers and Lulu’s. And yet foreigners don’t abide by the same rules that Chinese people do; if Rob helps them, it will only be because he wants to do it. She understands this, and Director Wei doesn’t.