This Love Could Not Be Delivered

by Lu Min

  There were a few times when Lan Ying faced strangers' questions, opened her mouth and mentioned Danqing to those meddlesome folk. And boy could she talk about him. He wasn't all that important to her, really. Wouldn't bringing him up be a reasonable line of defense? But every time she got ready to open her mouth about him, Lu Zhongsheng would squeeze her hand in some place where people couldn't see. Don't do it, his eyes would pleadingly transmit to Lan Ying. He didn't want his son's story to become the talk of the town again, like making prints and reprints of photo negatives…Just put up with and accept these misunderstandings and insults-think of them as gifts. Weren't these painful experiences joyful compared to how they felt six years ago? They lost a child then, and they were getting one now.

  Even the doctors were completely devoid of professional demeanor, feigning to ask from a technically medical perspective, Did you ever have infertility syndrome before? Is this your first pregnancy? Do you have your Planned Parenthood Permit? Do you have your Second Pregnancy Permit? Then they'd ask in their even-handed, justified tone with a heap of technical terms, specially designed to cause anxiety, Why didn't you think of getting pregnant earlier? Does the female party have a history of coronary disease or high blood pressure in her family? Has she taken a urine protein test? How's the level of swelling? Do her thighs, outer labia and abdomen suffer from invagination? How many times have you tested positive? Your blood pressure is over 140? Apparently, you have a chance of getting antepartum eclampsia and having a fetus with low health indices…

  Every time they returned from the hospital they were dead quiet, slipping into unprecedented horror. However they were always faking their way through it, dodging the issue and never discussing it, as if the slightest mention could be, unfortunately, overheard. If they could just continue playing dumb, the fetus in her belly would be safe and sound. In the deep of the night, they'd pretend to be soundly sleeping without a care. But they'd suddenly wake up out of various nightmares: a dead fetus, molar pregnancy, a six-fingered baby, cleft palate, no anus…

  Everything about all this really gave Lu Zhongsheng a frightful premonition. He thought that in retrospect, from the moment he first heard of the pregnancy, his initial obsession with public image was very immature. He was only concerned with others' ridiculing glares-but how important were they really? They could let them laugh every day, laughing until their teeth fall out and it wouldn't matter. They just needed to give birth to a healthy baby. What would they do if they had a handicapped, retarded idiot? Heavens! Could someone lend him a window to the future or give him a pill to calm down?…How did this road to parenthood end up like walking on thin ice or teetering at the edge of an abyss? It was like they were scaling the verge of catastrophe, descending an ever-thinner tightrope…

  A Poem Dedicated to a Wedding

  [1]

  Si Jia decided she was going to get married. She wasn't sure to which man, but she announced categorically that she'd be married by Christmas eve of that year. She was only twenty-four years old (which seemed a little young), but it was a decision made with a palpable excitement to get out of their family with three members. Enough! I'm sick of it! I can't stand another day like this. Her intent to refuse listening to any advice broadcast outward from her body in four directions, as if it were everyone else's fault and she had no other choice.

  The stepfather looked obliging, though he was in a spell of mixed feelings. He knew that this was another one of Si Jia's rash fits of indignation. For all problems big and small, Si Jia could always get indignant. And fine. Though it was a clumsy trick, it could still be considered something like a difficult path to a fine view. She could really and truly leave him and the family. After ten years of nagging issues, she could finally end it all with a pronouncement like this.

  Si Jia's mother lavished her with praise, and explained to the stepfather in private from her middle-aged wife's experience, She's an adult now. Didn't she already lose her virginity? She broke her hymen when she was eighteen, and surely it's all starting to dawn on her now. Haven't you noticed her figure all curving inward and outward like that? She's overflowing, splashing and spilling out. It'd still be better to let her get married good and early, considering how she socializes with so many boys all day. It'd prevent another incident (like the Christmas dance) and making an ugly situation worse for us…

  Though the stepfather had always been very obliging to Si Jia's mother, this time they came straight to loggerheads. What nonsense! How could she be thinking about that kind of thing? You've practically never taken care of her one single day-and you think you know her? I watched her grow up, and only I'd know that she happens to be a very pure and innocent young lady…It pained the stepfather greatly to speak as he struggled to believe himself. But no-Si Jia is the purest young lady…

  Out of all her suitors, Si Jia chose, as if by a throw of the dice, a French translator as her fiancé, giving up on the vice department chief made filthy rich by graft, the uber-credentialed doctorate, and the middle-school teacher who could write poetry. Though these decisions seemed to be unintentional, Si Jia had in reality put her thought into them-they were her notions on how to survive. The French translator was exquisitely educated in the Western style and was relatively easy-going. His fashion sense was surely comparable with Si Jia's, and they had similar interests like café hopping, watching French art films, participating in performance art, going to rock concerts, having foreign guests at home…His charm wasn't so much in that he could enjoy himself, but rather that he didn't take things seriously and was open-minded. These were very important traits in a future husband.

  Needless to say, they fast fell passionately in love, and all the while, it was already an open secret that Si Jia wanted marriage. She waited for just the right moment and solemnly ordered a bottle of French red wine. Then, as if she were serving him a strange dish, she got dead serious, wanting to tell the translator straight to his face, Actually, when I was eighteen years old…

  Oh honey, don't go on. Don't tell me anything else-don't ever tell me!

  In fact the translator heard about it long ago, so when he heard her starting to talk about it, he reached out and hushed Si Jia's mouth. In what era do we live in, and what education did we get? The translator's reaction was quick and natural, and he was veritably speaking on a gut level. It was perfect, and very similar to what Si Jia imagined he'd say. However, why not let her explain it in her own words? It would've not only given her a chance to describe it to him, but it would've also let her explain it to herself, to finalize it and let it all go in lieu of more important things. But who'd have guessed that the translator would've stopped her from talking about it? He seemed to think her talking would kill his easy-going spirit. It put Si Jia in a very uncomfortable position, like a big ball of knotted yarn. Only with great effort could she find a place to start unknotting, but she ends up having to look around the ball for another place anyway…

  The only reaction Si Jia could have was to drink, and drink long and hard-better to cover up everything she wanted to spill out. Normally she'd have no problem drinking as much as she did, but even though it was just wine and even split between the two of them, it was too much this time. Si Jia was completely plastered, plastered beyond being able to puke-beyond being able to spill out all the troubles in her gut…The translator's suit was too formal, the floor of the restaurant too clean, the background music too elegant, the bathroom too stinky, and too many people in the street. Si Jia and her belly full of meat and booze was somehow without a place to puke. It was like all the past piled up in her gut-why couldn't the translator just let her have a good puke? If she could just let it all out, wouldn't she come to her senses? Wouldn't she feel better?

  Not until this night of booze was over and clear through to the next morning when the stepfather carried out the hangover cure, honey and tea, did Si Jia finally cry out a "wah" and spray up vomit. The acidic stench even pinched at the nose of her oversleeping mother, who turned over, hu
rled a few curses and rolled over back to sleep.

  Si Jia had a splitting headache and felt as if her feet were starting to float upward. It was like the life in her had stepped out into a vacuum, and weakness, like an ice-cold chill, climbed up her legs. It was ultimately about a major event, a wedding, and how would a poor woman like this have the nerves or steel or iron constitution to handle it? She started cursing under her breath, cursing all the men she knew-why did they all have to be so disappointing? She cursed the dinner and booze from the night before, the bullshit translator…could he understand people's feelings? How could he not know that he should hold her, advise her, and love her?

  The stepfather was crouching down beside her listening and silently mopping up the filth that was all over the floor…

  After drinking tea, Si Jia forced herself to stand up, cupping her cheek with her hand. She was half drunk and half sober-or maybe she was exaggerating her own drunkenness-when she suddenly opened up to her stepfather. Maybe you're thrilled that I'm dating, though maybe at the same time you're jealous. Are you pacing around me because you're anxious to ask me who I'm dating? Don't worry, it's coming soon-you'll see right away at the wedding…But it's damned annoying! I'm not any happier for it. I'm not the least bit happy about it. How could dating be such a let-down? It's all your fault. You know that

  Our last ten years living together killed any feelings I might have had. You were everything to me-all I ever had. But what would you be doing if it weren't inciting crime by being the pretentious straight-shooter and big idiot you are…Damn it! Out of all the people in the world, you're the one I hate the most.

  …But one thing is pretty good. Would you believe it? Just now when I was throwing up and spewing like a fountainhead, I was thinking of someone named Danqing, the one who died…That's right; you know him. Don't play dumb…If he hadn't died and if he'd served a short jail term, the one I'd have dated yesterday would have been him. I might have even married him…In fact all the trashy men that want to date me, all ostensibly genuine, are all suffering horribly…but it's useless. I can tell right away they're fake. They're all fake.

  He's the only one. Danqing was the only one who ever truly liked me. He's more competent than you-far more. Think about it. I never loved him, but he died for me. And you? Look at all I did for you for fifteen years. And did you do anything for me? Nothing at all. How disgusting. So damned shallow. You did nothing…Luckily I have him, Danqing. Only when I think of him can I start to feel better. In the end though there was nothing between us, he paid the ultimate price for me. Could you fucking do that? Then who fucking could?

  Hey, you think I could go looking for them? The best way to do it would be to go to his family and ask for a little something I left with him…But, nah…forget it. I shouldn't be so rash. His family surely hates my guts. They probably think of me as a professional temptress or psychologically-damaged seductress…There's nothing else I can do, Danqing-I can't go trying to meet them. There are some things that go out with a bang, and sometimes that's for the best. Forget it all…I'm sorry for you-I'm sorry that you died, and now I'm getting married to someone else…

  Si Jia rambled along in random phrases, and her stepfather went in and out of sardonic smiles as he listened. He picked up the palpably drunk Si Jia and laid her down in bed. Waiting till she was totally unconscious, he slowly lit up a cigarette in the morning glow by the window sill. He prayed in a low voice, Danqing, buddy. Please forgive me. Here, have a cigarette. She was right-only you would die for her, but there's nothing you can do for her now…

  [2]

  No thanks. I don't want one. I already smoked one six years ago. I'm floating around like a plume of smoke anyway, so why would I need to smoke?

  I'm very excited today. It's my happiest moment in many years. Did you hear what Si Jia said? She mentioned me, and she thought of me! She's finally realized I'm the only one who truly loves her. Look at that. I foretold that I'd sway her emotions and change her life. The only one who has really been inside her body and enters everything that is hers is me.

  I'm an astute man indeed. It's true that ever since Christmas night I've been imagining she loves me. But it has to be this way. I must believe in love at first sight and being faithful for life-and believe that this love which anyone and everyone would have thrown out like a pair of old shoes or discarded without batting an eye, is love that I can sweetly and deeply cherish. I'm keeping it to myself, and I'm dedicating my life to her.

  If all of that weren't true, then why was I willing to die? I think that clinging to the hypothesis that Si Jia loves me (on a subconscious level I'm unaware of) puts my death into perspective. It also shows that she'll suffer through all of life's trials, as she should. Aha! That's what it all means-dying and living are the same. Everyone rationalizes his own existence. And me, I died for love, and I live on beyond death.

  Of course I know that Si Jia is getting married to someone else soon. I already paid the ultimate price, so what would a trivial event like this mean to me? I'll even continue loving her with an ever-increasing, tender sweetness…I think it's good she's getting married and can snap out of the dream of being her stepfather's lover. She'll make entry into a normal life-I know, I know. Normal doesn't always mean correct, but it's a step in the right general direction, the direction of making a good effort…

  However Si Jia, my lady-why did you choose Christmas night? You love toying with dramatic details. But what'll it be, a memorial or a substitute? Could it be a final break with the past? Aha! You and your devious ideas never stop. I just hope for your sake that all the French translator's friends and family think you like celebrating foreign holidays and joining in on celebrations with Westerners…

  Don't worry, my lady. I'll be sure to attend your marriage on Christmas night and witness the first night of your honeymoon. It'll be just like my transformation into an unfinished sketch huddled up to your warm bra. I'll be hovering above you and to the left, and any time you're sad or despondent, just lift your head slightly, look up, and you'll know: I'm here…right here.

  [3]

  Danqing wasn't the protagonist of Si Jia's nuptials, nor did he play even a minor supporting role. But it was undeniable (at least from one perspective) that precisely because of his subtle yet preposterous existence, the general theme of the wedding was established.

  Si Jia's mother and her "stage comeback" stole the spotlight in Si Jia and the French translator's wedding. This formidable mother had long ago announced that she'd present a wonderfully mysterious and surprising gift for Si Jia during the wedding. No one paid special attention to her plan, and everyone (including the stepfather) thought she'd proffer a small and valuable bauble-like a piece of jewelry. Isn't that the way most mothers express their well-wishes?…She made no visible indications in the preludes to the various acts of the day. Throngs of guests filed into the matrimonial milieu, a harmonious combination of Eastern and Western styles. Everything was prepared as per the latest fashions with a stage set in the grand banquet hall, an announcer, foreign guests, and music with flower girls. There was a table of young adults absorbed in singing "Jingle Bells" as a chorus, shouting well-wishes to each other. All in all, Si Jia's wedding was virtually at the forefront of style. Furthermore, Si Jia's presentation of herself was bolder than expected. Though the weather was freezing cold, she wore a western-style, long dress that bulged in the front and was cut low down the back. Its extroverted beauty was jaw-dropping to her elders and the cause of spiteful, jealous chatter from her equals. But up to this point everything was generally felicitous, propitious, and appropriate. No one was aware that Si Jia's mother snuck out from the drinking circles to backstage. She opened her brand-new luggage replete with makeup, costume, and prepared background music, all carefully prepared. She reflected on what a great mother she was, and her sentiment touched her heart deeply.

  In the middle of the reception, the announcer ran on stage trying to talk with a mouthful of food. It seemed that e
ven he was surprised. And next, let's welcome the bride's mother who will now perform for the guests.

  Si Jia's mother had prepared the music long ago, and when it started playing she floated onto the stage, arms stretched wide as she moved to the sound…Being a few years past her retirement, her waist, belly and arms formed an unexpected barrel-like shape. She probably wasn't aware that she'd been given the biggest confidence boost imaginable from all those years of performing for border soldiers. In sum, she entered the stage bearing an expression brimming with robotically trained and ingrained mirth.

  The problem wasn't the cellulose-who ever said pudgy dancers couldn't dance? The culprit was more likely her costume-the thin veils, neon and transparent, fictitious and shallow…It could also have been her music with the high thigh kicks, waist twists and flashes of her gut. She adopted various new expressive elements to keep her steps in style. Ah, for the moment it, supposedly, could be excused as art, and all this, too, could be ignored. Where, then, did the problem start, and why did it seem so utterly ridiculous? It was probably her facial expression, which, intense and out-of-body, was the mirror image of a pubescent girl, shy and flirtatious, experienced and vivacious…And thus those five minutes of dance lasted longer than the entire reception and banquet put together. The guests had completely forgotten what they ate that evening, but they were surely never to forget the surprise performance.

  Many of the guests had already hushed their voices. They were talking about Si Jia's mother, her early divorce, the basic instinct of the bride and how it made a naughty boy lose his life, and so on. All this dusty information should have fallen into the collective waste bin of history, but in such a venue, it crackled up like sparks and gradually roared up into a prairie fire. They acted heartlessly, happily eating and drinking as they talked both obscurely and in detail about the events of six years ago. They filled in whatever holes there were in each other's understanding as they rooted up the past, furthermore coming to a common conclusion-like mother, like daughter. If that wasn't the case, then why was she the only high school girl to get in trouble at the Christmas dance?…Furthermore, it's utterly shameless if you think about it, to choose Christmas out of all the days on the calendar for the wedding date…Just look at the wedding dress she wore today. It compliments her mother's dance dress well…