This Love Could Not Be Delivered

by Lu Min

  The way an uncovered dumptruck sways back and forth and travels at a constant speed with the grace of a slow-motion sequence…it all enchants me and pulls me away. When I was run through the streets on public display, I momentarily found something alluring about the scene before me-I could even feel a sense of deja-vu, as it was-after all-my childhood playground, Nanjing-the bamboo poles strung with clothes for little kids, the sale placards with hand-written characters displayed on storefronts, the hidden side-street faucets dripping, a ragged newspaper blowing in the wind, a shabby bike on its side…strange how these nothings misplaced along the streets lured my eyes as I watched on, enthralled and unblinking. How beautiful and vibrant a scene it was!

  A guy next to me, also nabbed for "hooliganism in falgrante delicto", put his head on my shoulder and cried…he even wet his pants. Seeing me apparently unaffected, someone knocked my head with something from behind, cursing in a low voice. You beast-your parents raised you for nothing! Here you're about to die and you're still pretending not to flinch!

  Well I wasn't pretending. In a moment like that, who'd I be kidding? What's the point? In fact, I even looked down into the crowd without blinking, though I knew you certainly weren't there-but I still had to look at those faces, small as soybeans, as I blindly surveyed one face after the other…perhaps I wasn't looking for you but someone else…but likewise she surely wasn't there, just as anyone related to me wouldn't be there. I was fated to give strangers a good show and let them stare on as I was being put to death. And fine. It was simple and direct.

  However, the expression on their faces, to be precise, was actually expressionless. There were only mouths, all of which were gaping wide, and looking from afar I could only see one empty mouth after the other, as if they weren't using their eyes but their mouths to swallow up the excitement. Those mouths, aside from starvation, were even revealing some sort of unfathomable suspicion, as if unable to believe that a row of youths apparently so young and smartly dressed were just about to be put to death and turned into a gust of wild and lonely phantoms…

  A Hooligan's Sketch

  [1]

  …What happened after Danqing reached over to Si Jia almost defies explanation. What actually was to take place could perhaps be seen as a chain of struggles-each of them fighting themselves, the two of them fighting each other, and them fighting with the world outside.

  There was a moment between them with a distance decidedly sluggish to being conquered. It seemed forever insurmountable, with Danqing's hand suspended in air, lunging slowly as if bearing a crushing burden-he tried his hardest to pull back and rein in his illusions of her flesh, but was it possible? As if condensed into oils on canvas, he wanted to stop moving. But like a nude on canvas stepping out of a painting and into real life, it was impossible. As if hypnotized by a curse, he couldn't be his true self. He'd finally reached her very being with his perfectly-on-target hand (precisely as a hooligan would) on Si Jia's bosom. Separated only by the paper thin, petite button-up sweater, they'd achieved unlimited vicinity.

  He boldly looked into her eyes as she unfailingly returned his attention. Danqing paused in that moment, and like a child having candy in his mouth for the first time, he pretended he never started and thus had no need to stop.

  But why couldn't he stop right there? Wouldn't he be scared to choke on this candy? Alas, no-the reason he ultimately couldn't stop was the half askance look Si Jia gave him during her long, fixed gaze. She was using her eyes to light his lamp and show him the way…she was surely encouraging him. It also could have been that she was struggling with herself in her mind-should she lift her eyes or lower them; should she turn her body to the side or stay still? In only that passing and subtle flash, the slightest move could completely change the direction of unfolding events.

  The hidden struggle within then turned into a struggle between two people.

  The battle field was Si Jia's dramatic curves, and the weapons over which they vied were Danqing's hands-unruly weapons which completely abandoned their master's reason, starting from the chest and gradually losing all rational control. They brandished both fierce strength and suicidal courage, yet they maintained their skill, flexibility and sensitivity. On the battlefield they attacked all enemy flanks, pinching, squeezing and kneading…she contested as anyone would, but it wouldn't have seemed to be resistance. It was actually more of a covert cooperation, as if she were somehow trying to rob him of his weapons yet fire them up or lead them to some tactically advantageous, higher ground at the same time. She was rising and falling, twisting and turning, huffing and puffing in his embrace, going so far as to leave her mouth agape to release a grumble from her throat. It was as if she wanted to bite the air, bite someone, or bite the whole world.

  Oh God. What a subtle yet advanced experience. He wished he could only cry out: her body, so soft yet so firm, so vast, and yet so petite. Everything he had learned in art books about the female form, everything he had dreamed about in countless nights about its shape, all the advantages of his imagined women…were all vibrantly brought together in this moment on Si Jia's body!…

  For a time he thought he'd achieved unlimited vicinity, but no. Very soon he was exceedingly unsatiated, truly feeling as if he were a mountain range away. What could be done? What was his maximum approximation to her? He wanted to find the door of complete entry, otherwise…

  [2]

  He couldn't wait for that otherwise, and he couldn't explode in that particular way, as their contact was far from being so passionate. In fact what he sensed to be an earth-shattering struggle would only amount to an extremely fleeting couple of minutes. His hand had only taken a few grabs at Si Jia's chest on her sweater-but his swaying and shaking viewfinder blew everything he saw out of proportion.

  Furthermore, after those two subtle minutes with Si Jia, the young men and women in the smaller rooms had apparently finished their break and started emerging one after the other, some using the restroom, some going to the kitchen to wash an apple-Danqing quickly retreated his whole being, moreover making a hurried attempt at recapturing the sketch papers which had just then dropped on the floor. He bent over to pick up the papers, his face completely flushed, only to let the sweat from all over his body rapidly flow down like a small creek. Strange how he wouldn't go out on the dance floor, and yet he felt himself to be hotter than anyone else-hot enough to go jump in the sea. He lifted his head to see her only to see that her face was also very red and emanating a strange light.

  They were probably the only ones that were so hot, as some of the others felt cold and were even putting their winter jackets back on. Someone was mumbling while turning over the dance music tape, and he wanted to return to the dance floor and warm himself up.

  Oh, my stomach hurts. Is there any medicine in the house? Si Jia suddenly stood up and walked into a small room, casually opening one drawer after the other looking for medicine. Oh, here's some pain killers…Danqing, give me a glass of cool water and close the door, she ordered resolutely.

  OK. Water. Danqing mechanically stretched the glass out into the room with sketch papers in the other hand, but he was extremely anxious standing at the door. Should the door be closed as before, or generously open wide? Surely it's okay to close it when there's one person inside-but what about with two people? What's the most appropriate way to handle this? Deep in his mind he'd like to seal the door up, but how blatant would that be! Wouldn't it make them all laugh? Danqing stood at the frame of the door like a wooden stake, staring blankly as if facing the gravest decision in life.

  Come on in! Si Jia cheerlessly hastened. Danqing could only loosen his grip, and he left the door half open and half closed. The door sat there like a guy who still had a shred of humanity, and it stopped at a 60-degree angle. Phew! Danqing let out a sudden sigh of relief. It's perfect. It's exactly right!

  Very well now, they again had the occasion to be alone, and due to a sudden, incoming draft, flames formerly extinguished charged forward
again-and burned with redoubled strength. Si Jia took up the glass filled with water. Without blinking she fixed her gaze at him and started pouring water over her half-naked arm. The expression in her eyes exceeded the limits of craze and provocation-who knew what her intentions were! Oh, may the half gaping door stand between them and everyone else like a towering mountain…

  Well, draw me, Mr. Artist! She suddenly ordered. But there's a catch. You have to draw me naked, even though I'm clothed. Get it?

  Okay. No matter what it is, I'll do anything she asks. Danqing nodded, confusedly tidying up his paper and pencils, biting his lips while getting to work, but his eyes still shied away from her, that pink figure across from him that made him diffident and weak.

  The profile of her face, her eyelashes, the tips of her hair, the shadows cast on her collar bone, the intersection at her armpit…what does Si Jia look like naked? Danqing started activating all the reproductions he'd seen-the myriad postures, fat and thin, black and white or color prints, fuzzy or crisp…when Danqing drew her breasts, Danqing uneasily hesitated midway, as if the tip of the pencil were stuck to the drawing paper, the intense reaction of his whole being causing him to falter. Heavens, would you give him a clue? Should he draw her beautiful bosom to look more proud, or coyer? Should it be realistic or abstract?

  Oh, you silly fool! Si Jia suddenly stood up and in one, giant step she closed in on Danqing. She snatched half his sketch paper, grabbed his hand and put it under her skirt-at some point she'd slipped her underwear down her legs, and she was buck naked under her skirt. Heavens! It was as if Danqing were electrically shocked as the sensation of so much hair almost made him cry out. But she used her serious yet nervous eyes to stop his cries while using her other hand to surreptitiously seek out and caress Danqing's lower member through his pants.

  It was wonderful beyond description. How intimate, amorous, painful and good it was!

  Their exchange of solemn looks and petting connected them into one body. Even though there may have just been hands and fingers at work, they'd very much became a perfect whole which levitated with locking hands, disassociated with the whole world and declaring war on the whole world.

  Ah…ah…go inside. Harder, get in there, go in a bit! She softly and confusedly pleaded with eyes tightly closed. Her look wasn't bashful, but she was clearly letting everything slide with Schadenfreude. Danqing abruptly sensed it was odd. Why? Why would she be this way? It was only momentary, and he didn't want to know that much at all, as all he could do was follow orders. In this moment, she could have told him to die! His index finger, after a long time of searching and thorough prodding, represented the entire constitution of his body, going in…

  Along with the quiet high tones released from Si Jia's throat, there was a trail of sticky liquid which was very wetly wrapped around his finger. He'd become horrifically conscious of something when he pulled his finger out. It was the red tip of his index finger, like a soldier who was shot and killed.

  [3]

  Right then and without knowing why, there was a sudden storm of noise out in the living room, and apparently there were people shoving their way in the flat. Danqing had just turned around to look when two or three people wearing service caps burst in. Among them was a woman who quickly pulled Si Jia to the side as if protecting spoils of war. Staggering in the tussle, Si Jia's white underwear slipped to the ground in full view of the crowd as if on a director's cue…

  Then two men pinned Danqing to the wall with excessive force…there was a tumble silence all around before the return of loud crowd noise filled both his ears-it was a free-fall from seventh heaven. Though unaware of it, before the police had full control of his four limbs, he'd hastily sent his index finger into his mouth and greedily licked the blood splotch clean off. He glanced at Si Jia while licking it-and she, too, looked at him before being enveloped by the police. Indeed he could confirm that she was looking right at him when he licked the splotch off-she saw it with her own eyes. Just when the police helped her pull up her panties, she wavered slightly, but her expression was like a rope being pulled bolt upright by his fingertip.

  Danqing was very content, like a child going to sleep after licking his favorite sucker. But what did it taste like after all? Was it richly sweet like a sucker? He'd completely forgotten. What a chaotic, magnificent moment! The taste had lost all relevance.

  Oh yeah, those pictures he drew! The hooligan played his cards with style. There was a crude and cheerful sound as some thin, white papers were picked up swiftly. Danqing strove to stretch out his neck and see that along with sundry sketches of Si Jia's poses, the incomplete nude drawn only down to the breasts, was still there. Now that was a hooligan's sketch!

  Where'd it go, that incomplete, nude figure?

  Danqing wanted to ask Si Jia with his eyes, but she'd already been pulled outside the small room by the female police officer. Danqing, half bent over, had his hands cuffed behind his back and was pushed outside, too. See how similar his pose was to a grounded plane? Danqing suddenly chortled up as his intelligence swung back into motion. He believed it would all be over soon, that they'd know it was nothing-really it wasn't. Could dancing and drawing really put you in jail? Could faithfully following a woman's orders actually be considered a crime?

  But back in the living room things got stranger yet.

  He saw the other young men and women had already been pushed to the walls en masse. There were some young men loudly defending themselves, and the master of the house, the young man with a tie, yelled with the veins popping out of his neck, What are the accusations? We're all ears-what in the world did we do wrong?…But when they saw Si Jia looking disheveled and Danqing's happily satisfied expression after being pushed out of the side room that way-needless to say, the others needed no further explanation. Flurries of stares poured their way like sheets of rain: looks of anger, confusion, betrayal, being tied in as accessories, and being exploited. They were surely thinking, heavens! So this is the bastard, the little hooligan with a cryptic, devious plan who crashed this perfectly nice dance! He not only crashed it, but blew it out of proportion and ruined the whole idea of it. The most romantic, purely beautiful thing is now a big pile of filth and smut.

  Yes, Danqing could feel it then, that hundreds of fists were stretching from their eyes! Yes, they should hit him. He's the one who burdened them. He lifted his head as if he enjoyed it, taking on those formless firsts. It felt wonderful-if only they beat him to death, beat him till he saw stars, or till blood flowed from the corners of his mouth! They should beat him until he dies and goes to heaven! A good beating is just what his body was asking for. That was the only way he could roll from peak position all the way down to a gutter's pit-down from heaven and into human society.

  After the first tidal wave of stares, Danqing still had to run into the tightly amassed neighbors. They were wearing a smörgåsbord of cloaks and jackets, revealing pajamas frayed on the edges from washing. Their eyes were sleepy and faces looking surprised, asking left and right in low voices: What's going on? What happened? They're arresting people? And that woman? Did she really do it? Which one is she?

  All the young men and women were lined up and ushered into the stairwell. The young women started their incessant sobbing act, like cheated, innocent lambs. The young men then began pushing and shoving, ganging up to repel their common enemy, Danqing, as if on a battlefield amid whirring bullets. The risk had to be borne by the first man in line.

  The nature of the event became more and more apparent, and like a child's drawing, darkly and crudely drawn with a sketch pencil, everyone was desperately trying to establish their positions and protect themselves…so what about her? Where was she? Where did the woman cop take her? Danqing vainly tried turning his head, but it was to no avail…and he suddenly had a bleak premonition that he'd never see her again…

  After exiting the stairwell, there was a chilling wind outside, like slaps coming up in the face, for which almost everyone was shi
vering. It was then they saw the middle-aged woman from the citizen's committee who had previously knocked on the door, whose dried up figure was shaking hands with a policeman slightly inclined and thanking her for her keen perception and helping to eliminate threats to the people-thanking her for a helping hand, without which they couldn't conclusively solve this case-such model conduct, and what a magnanimous gift to our community!

  Beauty and the Flesh

  [1]

  Professor Lu Zhongsheng was a famously-meticulous man on campus: his hair, shoes, nails, and every detail of his body were spotlessly ordered; at the same time he was famously recluse, cold in an old intellectual style, and never spoke a superfluous word except for his special intimacy with handymen and janitors. He seemed to adore a noble and moral life, paying particular attention to others' opinion of him, so whether it was his person or his things, all had to be respectable.

  After the issue with his son came known, such a big and nasty issue, he was still quite strong, and his central structure didn't falter an inch. Even when just going out to draw water, he was still groomed and proper, wearing his light-gray scarf in the manner considered most exacting for that year-wrapped around the neck with the smaller half cloaking his chest, the longer half on his back. His eyelids drooped halfway down as before, almost expressionless. However certain discriminating students discovered that his tie wasn't matched as well as before, and his pant seams were almost gone; moreover you could tell from the side that his back was starting to hunch over, and he always walked with a hesitant speed and seemingly confused about his hands and his feet. At the same time, it could be seen that his hair had started turning white in the previous week, and at forty-seven years it was a bit early. "Professor Cotton-top" could begrudgingly serve as an apt description of his passing good looks.