This Love Could Not Be Delivered

by Lu Min

  The school's boiled water room 7, like the cafeteria, also served as a trivia exchange center for the masses. A fire-stoker who was sitting in wait pounced on Lu Zhongsheng with unexpected intimacy when Lu Zhongsheng lifelessly was walking by with two old thermoses. He neared Professor Lu's ears with a simple and unabashed halitosis. Professor Lu, I'll tell you something that'll make you feel better right away. I overheard a secret meeting in the school's general office, and they said that a politburo official named Zhu, Senior Official Zhu-you know who that is, right? That's like an emperor's relative. Same as your family's Lu Danqing, his grandson faced strict punishment 8 and got executed. Really! If you don't believe me you can ask anyone in the know. It's a secret-a big secret!

  Lu Zhongsheng stood motionless as he looked at the stoker, whose nose, still smudged with coal dust, was looking surprisingly white-benevolently white, blindly benevolent…that's how it was from the day Danqing left him: no matter what it was, he'd always see it in a warped way. A white sheet hung outside was the spitting image of a soul's homecoming flag 9. The classroom door painted red was almost too bloody to touch. Seeing a laughing and smiling student about the same age as Danqing, he'd feel extreme loathing and have to turn away to keep himself from spitting on him.

  Even the well-intentioned consolations of observers like the stoker's, no matter what was said, all made him feel awkward or even hateful-it seemed like he couldn't tell the good from the bad. But perhaps it wasn't all his fault. In the face of life's accidents, one could place people's reactions into two different categories: one being those who are glad to be the center of attention, no matter if it's good news or bad (they're just glad to be paid attention to, asked about, empathized with them and aggrandized by such interrogation-lamp illumination) . The other kind is like Lu Zhongsheng, who loathes being chewed up like a piece of chewing gum and would rather be dust, clear water or air. All in all, the way he understood it, the good life has no news-worthy events, and getting genuine respect was being left alone in his private affairs. For who knows how many years, this was the standard held up his own life and family up to-pure, uneventful, and normal…he could always compromise or accommodate, but he was especially careful and exacting about issues that challenged his respectability. The first gauge in all his choices and decisions was, "Will people start talking about it?"…

  However, look at what he was faced with then. He was constantly accosted, having his established preferences completely ignored as if he weren't Professor Lu himself, but something morphed into a chunk of magnetic rock instead. There were all kinds of private communications in that category, like iron filings constantly flowing toward him, from the very real to the very fake and from the wholly false to completely true-they were all coming, spreading rumors. Everyone has a talent for that, and moreover when a pitiful father is on the receiving end of it, it's even elevated to the status of benevolence and virtue.

  Somewhere in Sichuan a young guy and his buddies made a bet to kiss a girl on the lips you know. Turned out he actually got up and kissed a girl walking by. After his arrest he was sentenced to fifteen years. Still think you're innocent? Appeal it! Oops, you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now you're at a dead end.

  Nanguang Machines Factory didn't even have a thousand workers, but the quota for strict sentencing was thirty, so they nabbed anyone who scribbled dirty messages in the bathroom or dating early at school 10. All of them were sentenced and dragged to a jail in the Xinjiang desert, and getting ten or fifteen years wasn't at all out of the ordinary.

  There were two women fighting in the street who ripped each other's clothes up and exposed their chests. A guy got hungry with his eyes and, taking advantage of the chaos, jumped in to get a grab at them. He was subject to a citizen's arrest on the spot, and needless to say, he got tagged with that trusty-old hooliganism in flagrante delicto!

  …

  In spite of the gossipy excitement on the faces of the observers, they all tried their hardest to appear serious and profoundly distressed. Lu Zhongsheng could only turn his head away, and nodding and listening in good humor, take what was originally his honor and rip it all to shreds, throw it on the floor, stomp on it a couple times, and continue listening…in reality-heaven knows-he wanted all to much to holler at them to give it a rest. What does any of this have to do with me? What could it further elucidate, much less change? Sometimes he simply doubted if the observers weren't consoling him as if to say, don't be angry Professor Lu. Your Danqing got what he deserved. It's set in stone what he "did" to a girl.

  [2]

  Of course it's right of them to think that-I agree completely. I even have the gall to think yes, in comparison to all of those "innocents", you earned it. You "did" it, and having "done" it you went to your death…

  But child, I don't know-really? Could you really have done that? Up to now there hasn't been anyone who could tell me a shred of the real story. All I've seen is the conviction document…

  But I seriously doubt it. Dad knows you too well. How could you be a scoundrel, a criminal? You were always respectful of the rules and considerate, like when seeing cripples and beggars in the street you'd always stop and pity them. There was never anything ignoble in your character; from elementary school to high school, in every conflict with other students you were always the prudent and rational one. At the most you enjoyed reading and appreciating some things typical for young artists, like poetry readings and drawing, but you never messed with things like passing love letters, nor did you ever bring up girls' names at home…so I trust you very much, and find you to be completely dependable. How could I ever believe you committed such a despicable crime as hooliganism? You were only nineteen, right? I've always thought you were too young to understand anything, and that something as complicated, sensitive and stained with original sin like recreational sexing-what would that ever have to do with you?…

  Honestly, my child, I'm really not sure if you understand those things. Did you really "score" that night? It's a critical question-more so than my current predicament of having a destroyed reputation and my face spat on-and it's the very center of my attention. I'm quite willing to trade in everything I already know to clear up this one unknown that could bring you back to life. I just want you to tell me straight to my face: What exactly did you "do"? Aye, Danqing. This nagging doubt is like a insect growing longer and larger inside of me by the minute, crawling around every corner, making me unable to sit or stand still, like a hundred claws tearing at my heart. I suspect you never even "did" it!

  Moreover, Danqing, you probably won't believe it, but I'd never truly known sadness before you left…

  At 10:40 am on March twenty-seventh, the time of your public execution, there was a turning point profoundly stained with sin. You were alive, yet your life knew only suffering. The atmosphere deemed that inertia was tantamount to retreating or defiance, forcing us to ponder your imminent death. And then it was the sleepless nights and workless days bereft of human feeling and tainted with an inexplicable worry. Perhaps I was anxious for it all to end.

  When it was finally over, that was it. I had to let my whole mind accept it, live the realm of reality and surrender to my mind's stasis. You could even say I was at peace. There was even one night when I slept through till morning, and when I got up I was so ashamed that I bawled my eyes out-you were dead, but there I was sleeping like a log. Could you ever understand why I did that and know I'm not cold-hearted? What a strange feeling it was!

  However, my child, when that day really arrived and you were dead as a doornail, my rational capacity had in fact completely returned: what's the point in mourning? It's all useless emotion and wanton expense. I'd determined to find out the truth by any means necessary, even though the truth couldn't change what was already done. I wanted to say to all those sympathizing with me or pitying me: Say what you will and speak whatever is on your mind. I, Lu Zhongsheng, am forgoing any pretense of honor-I've more important things to do. My son is c
ompletely innocent-Dad will clear your name! Dad will exonerate you and get the justice you deserve!

  [3]

  That's right, dad. That night, the night when I had no chance to tell you if I was wrongfully accused or not, is actually something I cannot explain. However, the accusation is surely not entirely without basis. It's both my pride and bitter reality. Concerning my aspirations for beauty and the flesh, it was wrong, and wrong in the right way.

  However, dad, there's one aspect of me that you often saw and were proud of, which was nothing more than the regular and tranquil ripples on a river's surface, which betrayed that part of me which is actually a roaring, undiscovered undertow…

  You probably don't know that from the time I was little I've had an inexplicable fascination with the human body. Of all the gifts Heaven gave man-like crops, herbs, rain, and moonlight, my favorite is the human body-skin, bones, hair, the hardness of teeth (or softness of tongues), the agility of joints, the beating of hearts-even hunger and excrement, or intimacy and smiles. Is there anything in the world more exquisite or more intricate? I often spent long hours researching my body as if beholding a forever-intriguing toy-every protrusion and dip, every minute reaction or change, the changing states throughout the day…As I matured, I started noticing more bodies, like city folk and countryfolk, old people and young people, healthy people and sick people, male people female people, oriental people and western people, or this person and that person. I had an inconsiderate habit of relishing a stare at others in the street or sitting in the bus-ah, the satisfaction the cornucopic body bestows! I was far happier than students researching butterflies or studying stars, all of whom boast the myriad kinds of butterflies and stars-but can they find as many kinds of human bodies?

  Especially those of…young women. I was able to observe in my own limited range of perception what the most typical example of their body looked like. I admit that I enjoyed looking at them and was very curious what it was about them that was different from me…I remember in middle school, in those sparse physiology and hygiene classes, how every time the teacher showed us a diagram of a stomach, heart, or veins how I'd always take grab at the chance to quickly but carefully observe the lower triangular region, trying to imagine from the picture what could lie beyond the abstraction and what, after all, remained undrawn. In the summer when doing group exercises to broadcast instructions, I'd watch the backs of girls' clothes, waiting for a small exposure of their waists. I also liked looking at girls with their hair just washed and the moistened backs of their shirts clinging to their shoulders-that vague gliding action. At the beginning of summer, they'd agree on a day to wear skirts, and their delicate calves revealed themselves after the prolonged winter and spring seasons. It was a frailness that seemed unable to withstand my long stares…

  Ah, and it wasn't just for female students, but also certain young female teachers as well. I remember once the bra strap slid off a voluptuous music teacher in the middle of class, and I could clearly see the outline of her nipple through her blouse…

  Sometimes before you'd get off of work, I'd lean out on the balcony with the telescope and look at the people below…mostly the women. It wasn't an ideal angle, but it was still acceptable in the summer, looking down on their breasts so full and naive with the most complete waveform and most natural, tiny cleavage…out on the sultry avenues under the chiaroscuro of treeshade, it was all truly and subtly miraculous…I often planned a canvas composition with a throng of bodies from this angle-female bodies, their faces invisible and just their bodies-100%flesh in constant undulation and boundless expanse, completely filling the canvas. I'd be enough to make anyone as hungry-eyed as me lose themselves and abandon all their responsibilities…

  Aside from these things, I've forgotten just about everything else, and this is now, apparently, the sum total of what I saw in puberty. And it's these pathetic things that can never be fully remembered or digested. After I was fifteen years old, every night before bed I felt a massive vacuum in my soul, experiencing an indescribable hunger and desperation.

  I'll be frank with you, as I've never been ashamed of it anyway. Remember how I announced my desire to study art in high school? Why would I want to study art? Perhaps I had no talent in this department, but it was a way to study the flesh from a teacher in broad daylight. I could study things like various sculptures and oils, whether goddess or kitchen maid, David or Laocoon 11, all of them displayed their bodies to their heart's desire…a half-nude bust, erect muscles-I love it. I'd pay any price for these bodies brimming with health! I like looking at those draped robes and buck naked bodies, posed in our line of vision…big boned, soft, innocent…

  Aye. In real life you'd never see such a sight so frankly displayed before your eyes; in real life there'd never be anyone so connected to this magnificent flesh-the flesh is forever absent in the real world. Aside from facial expression and sound…aside from eating and sleeping…aside from imitating Lei Feng, improving yourself, and realizing the four modernizations 12, it's as if we've no bodies. Such vibrant and dynamic bodies-everyone overlooks them as commonplace!

  Including you, dad. I'd believed and admired you always, the way you had a constant, noble disrespect for the flesh. When mom had the occasion to go shopping and try on new clothes, you'd stand to the side emphasizing: looser, not so tight. Oh that skirt's too short. You can't wear that…for a time when I'd do pull-ups on the door frame, you never said no, but would make a point to tease me as "all body and no brains" later on. You always held a low estimation of all types of bodily talent. When I took first in my class for the 100 meter dash, got a hundred points in high jump, didn't wear a jacket in winter or any and all of these amazing, glorious feats, you wouldn't even give a smile. The script you were following was obvious…

  It's good that you didn't oppose my art studies, and you even regarded it as an especially noble amateur hobby. I'd even say you were overjoyed, thinking you'd discovered an important talent or potential, happily hiring an art department teacher to tutor me and buying "Twenty Lectures on World Masterpieces" and "The Philosophy of Art". They were pretty good books-especially the second one. When I read "The Philosophy of Art", it showed me my fascination with the flesh wasn't unique. All the citizens of Greece and ancient Rome had an apparent mania for powerful, robust bodies. They were the object of collective adoration and entertainment, and they publicly initiated study and critique, interactively admiring or secretly being jealous of each other's bodies in public baths. Ah the flesh, succulence, and lust-these were memes in all their lives.

  Dad, I was brought into this world in error, and I very much deserved to die! If I could reincarnate-if I could go back in time, I'd be born in an ignorant, backwards Roman Empire city-state. Even if I were just a penniless slave, I'd still be a slave to beautiful flesh!

  Because I've never talked to you about this, I digress. Haha! If I were still alive I'd never tell you these things. I've asked my friends at school, and any topic relating to sex was a pitfall or taboo in their homes. Seeing how prude the 80's were, I truly deserved to die for my sleazy behavior.

  However, now you know what my relationship to flesh is about and what that immediately familiar, vital significance is. Flesh is the reality I live in, and I've dedicated my life to struggle for it. I've even sacrificed my life to it…

  The Son's Room

  [1]

  After dinner, Lu Zhongsheng decided to go into his son's room. One could say it was his first page turned in solving a mystery or taking the first step of a long journey. Professor Lu hid his decision from his wife Lan Ying, as if it were a secret scientific research project and all variables were to be investigated or resolved-and everything had to start with the belongings his son left behind and digging up any possible clues…

  However this was his first time going into his son's room after his death. It was already more than a month since March twenty-seventh. Every day he'd decide to go in but couldn't bring himself to open the door. An ob
server would have never guessed how much courage and what a hardened constitution were needed to take that one, great step.

  In fact, his son's so-called room didn't strictly fit the definition of a room, but was merely a renovated, west-facing balcony in the corner. There was a bed, a writing desk, a dresser and a door that could be locked from the inside. For a teachers' apartment with forty-five square meters, his son was quite lucky to get a space like this.

  I hung the bedding outside today. The sunlight is marvelous and not doing it would be a shame, Lan Ying said as she suddenly followed from behind. Lu Zhongsheng was just placing his hand on the handle of the balcony room door. Her words were like a stone thrown out of spite-but it suddenly fell to the floor. Lu Zhongsheng knew the trajectory of the small stone, which was like the final half of the sentence that she didn't say: Our child, Danqing, really liked the smell of sunlight on his blankets…

  Indeed, Lan Ying still couldn't say Danqing's name directly.

  This situation began back on March twenty-seventh. From the depths of abysmal grief, she turned cold instantly, refusing to mention anything related to Danqing. It was as if she never had a son and thus hadn't lost anything worth mentioning, much less anything to mourn or feel desperate about. She skillfully and lithely skirted life's every change, as if rowing her own, lonely boat through perilous waves, avoiding collision with any of her son's boulders…

  In this way her linguistic system evinced two opposite modes: one was keeping quiet, cautiously pursing her lips, and for anything but necessary conversation keeping strict guard over her vocal chords-she was particularly unpredictable in this mode, even causing Lu Zhongsheng to recoil in fear. In another mode she'd jump to the other extreme, exploding destructively on some contentious point like a volcano and exploding without the slightest reason. For anything like an oily rag, a soup that's too salty, or a TV news program, she'd chomp down on it and not let go like a starving man who'd found a piece of bread. The denouement was reminiscing and analyzing current events for one or two hours nonstop. Needless to say it was quite a frightening scene, and Lu Zhongsheng could do nothing but agree with everything she said as he felt wave after wave of chills lunging through his whole body.