This Love Could Not Be Delivered

by Lu Min

  The French translator was virtually unfazed by these surprising events; he could always just keep drinking and acting drunk. It was unnecessary, however, how his parents, grandparents, relatives and friends knew Si Jia's affairs in such detail. During the wedding, they would supply anecdotes about her on cue. The wedding had become "Memoirs from 1984" that the crowd had picked off the shelf for common enjoyment, with every last chapter written with amazing skill and stunning realism. The facial expressions of the older generation of men soured immediately-it was already bad enough for them, but Si Jia's attire and ice-cold countenance just made it worse. Everything they gossiped was seen as an incomparably solid verification or explanation, and from then on, the wedding's atmosphere took a clear nosedive. However Si Jia's mother was oblivious to her souring environs, always presenting an artistic, liberated panache, dragging the stepfather from table to table, proposing toasts and sporting her brutal makeup and stage excitement. She would tilt her head back to ingest the liquor in one gulp, after which her blood-red lips puckered up and two orchid-shaped hands pointed at the empty glass, doing a poster-perfect presentation of an honorably-swilled shot…

  The stepfather stayed by her side, but his inattentiveness was apparent. He seemed to have taken an emotional hit, looking dispirited and pained. Most people thought he'd forgotten himself on account of Si Jia's mother, but in actuality he was regretting that he'd already left his gift to Si Jia the night before. It was, incidentally, an uncannily perfect match to his wife's dance.

  The mother made him wish he could present his gift right then. As the stepfather listened to the mother mysteriously babble on about her dance gift, he suddenly wished he could have it on hand, thinking he should give her back a little special something for the occasion.

  …You guessed it-it was the sketch. On that night six years ago, he discovered that sketch of a half-nude in Si Jia's laundry. Although the image in the sketch bore little resemblance to Si Jia, it was without a doubt the icing on the cake and a crucially important object-if it weren't, it wouldn't have been in her bra. The stepfather made a point to keep it, and only later did he find out that it was the "hooligan"'s last, fatal drawing…On the night that Si Jia divulged Danqing's name, she revealed a profound sentiment to the stepfather, and he knew that it was time for him to return it to Si Jia.

  Similar to the Western litany, the father should present the bride to the groom before the couple goes to the stage 19. The stepfather walked arm-in-arm with Si Jia amid showers of gold confetti and cheers. The stepfather inquired in a low voice, Did you see what I put on your bed yesterday? That's my gift to you.

  Si Jia cracked a small smile, not saying yes or no. It was the same cryptic and dispassionate smile she'd worn for nearly the entire reception, including her mother's dance dedication and the bustle of the crowd-it was always the same, and no one knew what she was really thinking. It was like six years before on the night of the incident when she was aloof and kept her nose stuck up-and that slight sneer, subtly floating upward as if looking in the sky…But for what? What could she see?

  [4]

  Aha. I know you're looking at me, Si Jia. You're seeking refuge in me now, in one of the hardest moments of your life. Life is always like that-you make one small slip but are made to bear a cross for it for the rest of your life. My lady Si Jia, you should understand and accept that this is your fate. You'll live the rest of your life on others' lips, just like I'll live the rest of mine in your memory.

  Didn't I say I'd follow you to your wedding night? Well here I am, and I saw the French translator giving you sloppy, typically-passionate French kisses. It's his familiar modus operandi, but apparently he's not in a very good mood. He is however, optimistic, and hopes that with some effort he can nudge things in the right direction and initiate a substantial form of affection…But you've suddenly frozen up and are blocking him with your hands. You've asked him for a cigarette and are sitting out on the balcony. Give me ten minutes.

  The night has fallen, and the wind is chilly. It's pure deja-vu. I'm sure you're remembering and wanting to chat with me. Indeed, I'm you're only close friend-the one you trust the most.

  Si Jia. Thank you for giving me these ten precious minutes. Hey, I brought a gift for you. Like your mother and stepfather's gifts, it isn't a material item, and it's very similar to a dance or a sketch-it's poetry. Behold my congratulatory gift-such worthless words, yet so priceless! Come on. Sit still and listen to what I'm reciting to you by your ears:

  I remember that wonderful moment:

  you appeared before my eyes,

  like a fleeting night blossom,

  in a chaste, divine guise.

  In that hopeless, worried torment,

  that brazen conundrum filled with noise

  your tender voice long resounds in my ears,

  In my dreams your fine silhouette's poised.

  Several years gone and a torrential smile

  disperses a past dream of mine,

  then I forget your tender voice,

  and your silhouette divine.

  In a remote and desolate place, in the gloom of incarcerated life,

  my days, away, silently shoved

  no confidant, no poetic muse

  no tears, life, nor love.

  Now my soul reawakens:

  you reappear before my eyes,

  like a fleeting night blossom,

  in a chaste, divine guise.

  My heart leaps in bliss,

  all reawakens within,

  with a confidant and poetic muse,

  there's life, tears, and also love.

  It's a pretty ordinary poem, perhaps, but I love it. It melds wonderfully into my emotional landscape, and accords with all my hopes for you. If this is Pushkin's "To… (Kern) ", then let me change it to "To… (Si Jia) ". You're my Kern.

  My Si Jia, were you able to hear the poem? I see you've lit a cigarette and look as though you might be thinking about it. You're acting like a spy or a social butterfly as always-and just as before…When I finished my recitation you blew two not-too-successful smoke rings, putting on another obscure smile. It was very titillating how you painted your nails red-that was the hand that pulled down my zipper and pet me six years ago…

  Ah, how exciting to see what you're doing! See, you've brought out that sketch of mine. Heavens-my face is streaming with tears! You're facing that paper as thin as a locust's wing, smoking and starting to whisper to me. It's like when we were at the dance back then, with bad music in the background, and you whispered to me…I can practically feel your vibration just as it was before, without the slightest change. I'm holding you in my arms again, smelling you, and feeling your body all nice and warm.

  Go ahead and tell me. I'm listening.

  You're starting to speak your mind, which is like a badminton court with a birdie flying back and forth…

  On the one hand there's a white racket that castigates you. You have a horrible personal history and a disappointing life-your illusory love for your stepfather when you were a teenager, your wanton self-destruction and destructive behavior toward others, your exaggeratedly casual marriage…Fine. Assuming you got off on the wrong foot and are now at a dead end, retrace your steps and find a new way. Be content with your lot and be a good family woman. It's better late than never.

  On the other hand there's a passionate, red racket, thrilling like a raging bull, persistently egging you on. Don't quit now-keep going! Play fearlessly…that's it. In any case, it's your fate, and there's no turning back. Your life will never have anything to do with purity or thinking within the box. You might as well whirl your arms around and rough up the whole field. In all eras, only mavericks set the trends…Did you think you've ever been cut out for a commoner's life? Would future generations ever admire mediocrity? Could a dutiful housewife ever lead her generation? Surely not. Only if you pummel the path less traveled and stand out from the rest could you ever pioneer new trends and brave new frontiers like the heroin
e you can be. That's right, that's the idea. Keep it up; it's the best way!

  With more than half your cigarette smoked, I saw you unfolding and refolding the sketch, weakening the already feeble paper. You were silent for a while, and now you're changing the subject of our conversation. Oh, I know. It's probably what you're most wanting to talk to me about tonight.

  You started talking to me about intimacy…

  Danqing. I'm afraid, actually-did you know that? No, no. It isn't related to your finger. After all, didn't I experience that in just a fleeting moment? I'm talking about all that happened right afterward, the nightmare of pain and confusion from which I still haven't woken up…The policewoman who barged in, my underwear that dropped down in front of everyone, and the investigation and interrogation-a relentless series of events. I was overcome with anxiety, nauseous, and my limbs fell stiff…Also, I've already forgotten about how it felt, and I don't know if that thing will hurt. Will it hurt more than your finger? Should I break down crying or have an orgasm? Will I get pregnant?

  Oh yes. Do you know I saw my stepfather and mother doing it…and what can I say? It was completely different from the way it's described in books. It was surprisingly ugly-just revolting. Nothing in the world could be uglier than that. I'd have never imagined that shortly after seeing them I'd be rolling around with the translator just like they do. Damn it! What's a princess to do? How am I supposed to go lie down on that bed and spread my legs? Danqing, where the hell are you? Please save me. I really don't want anything to do with this. Let's go back in time and just use your finger, and then we can stop right there. We could make the whole world stop right there.

  Before she left the balcony, my pitifully miserable Si Jia looked up to the sky again, exhaling her last puff of smoke and nodded to me. My badminton match is over-and I'll take up red racket. I'll be more impulsive than I ever was; it's my fate. Just wait, Danqing. Look on to my bright future, if you will, and give me your sincerest salute.

  In the final moment before walking into the nuptial chamber, I caught a glimpse of my Si Jia making a sudden stop, going to the edge of the balcony, and supporting herself on the railing. She patted the railing twice, but what she was thinking when she made the gesture is anyone's guess. Maybe she suddenly got an idea…

  She pulled out the unfinished sketch again, skimming over it with a serious look. The frustration expressed in the sketch made her crack a sardonic smile-the same smile from six years ago-and then without further ado, she folded it up into a paper airplane. Any child could have folded a plane and thrown it with some muscle like she did.

  The paper airplane swayed side to side on its takeoff, taking a head dive into infinite darkness that was as vast and deep as the sea. It was so vain, weak and clean.

  Heaven's Mercy

  [1]

  In the second month of autumn, layers of leaves blanketed up on the ground, quacking like babies as they tumbled down-but an infant's descent from his mother's womb is never so lithe as falling leaves. Lan Ying's labor went just as the doctors predicted-she had antepartum eclampsia and excessive bleeding.

  The symptoms were frightening, and observers in the delivery room had their eyes glued to her. In the bat of an eye, her head was twisted to one side, teeth grinding, and incessant spasms afflicted the left side of her face. The spasms then spread throughout her whole body which went stiff, and her limbs went bolt straight, fists clenched, face bluish-purple-then her breathing briefly stopped…Lu Zhongsheng cried incessantly, Lan Ying blindly struggling on. The doctors, being very experienced and authoritative, pried her mouth open to keep her from biting her tongue, saying, She's almost there…The baby's going to come out right after the eclampsia sets in…

  Before she was ever wheeled into the delivery room, Lan Ying woke up again, and her two freezing cold hands held Lu Zhongsheng's hands as she repeatedly instructed, Remember, if there's a choice between me and the baby, you have to save the baby. If the baby goes, there'd be no point in me going on living. Remember to save the baby…

  Apparently Lan Ying had entered the delivery room with a death-defying goal in mind.

  In the previous two weeks she was loitering around the house, nudging Lu Zhongsheng on all sides, blurting out whatever entered her mind with a precise, imperative tone, You should check the propane tank before bed. Soak those vegetables you bought longer than usual. Remember to put mothballs in when you put away your jacket away for spring…She couldn't help but get all emotional, especially when mentioning the baby soon to be born. Then she'd put on a forced smile. Never forget to give the child a good upbringing, and love it with both of our hearts…I'm paying for this with my life. No matter what happens, we'll have a child in the end, and for better or worse I'll leave something behind. All in all it'll be better dying lonely…Promise me that you'll be good to our child-unconditionally good…

  What possible response could Lu Zhongsheng give in a conversation like this? You couldn't blame Lan Ying for being too sensitive or berate her for having wild thoughts. The doctors had already gone over every possible detail. For a 51 year-old woman going into labor, it was truly going to be the gates of hell…As he held onto Lan Ying, still alive, he tried to move his lips, promising everything she asked, request after request. Sure, I'll be good to the child-unconditionally good to the child. He felt very empty and lonely then and had no idea how fate would unfold the next scene before him…

  A difficult road was to be expected. When a woman gets to middle age, the intersections of her pelvis, pubic bones, and ilium have already ossified, becoming a cavity that has a fixed size. The cervix is largely inflexible, requiring a longer birthing, and excessive bleeding all but guaranteed. These conditions often cause fetus retention and lead to fetal distress syndrome. In light cases this can cause irreversible brain damage and in serious cases death by asphyxiation…The head doctor patiently explained to Lu Zhongsheng in detail-perhaps to elucidate, perhaps to console. So, the two of you should get psychologically prepared, that when the child is born, there's a good chance that…

  Lu Zhongsheng listened with an expressionless face. He remembered those premonitions from six months ago which made him wake up with fright in the middle of the night. In each nightmare, the infant would be born with a different kind of abnormality…Why didn't he take his premonitions seriously from the get-go? Why didn't they put their foot down and terminate the pregnancy immediately? He and Lan Ying should have never wanted a child. It was against the laws of nature and not divinely approved…If he really had to decide between the mother and child, which should he choose?

  Lu Zhongsheng was sitting bolt upright when he waited for Lan Ying and the baby, and he was never hungry or thirsty. His attire retained its proper crease from head to toe, and he was sitting there as though in meditation. Little by little, he could feel his own body getting flatter and flatter, being rolled into the dough of a great, transparent cracker under the shoes of those coming in and going out. In a long succession of rooms, doors were closing, opening and re-closing. The nurses' white robes flowed around exuding a dispassionate poetic essence, as if the world were always that serene and undisturbed. The night sky outside lightened in color, and for a while, myriad golden rays shone around the window. The rays then retracted slowly, going from bright to dark and morphing into a formless monster…

  [2]

  Dad, you're not waiting this out alone-I'm right here by your side. I'm imperceptible, but I feel your sadness, too. I'm embracing you as the air around you. How could I like this event slip by? I have no choice but to watch this man, a father, strong on the outside but weak on the inside, as he sits there like a bolt upright reed that will be blown over by the wind.

  …It's a trying moment, arduous and thorny-but could it be deja vu? Really if you think about it, no matter what happens now, it's should be a lot easier than waiting for my death six years ago. This time, Fate is holding more than one card in His hand. There are two lives that He'll either take, leave, or split away
from the other. He's actually very proud and in the mood to play a little joke on you or tease you a little bit, forcing you capitulate and cower in servility…Perhaps he likes a good thriller or shocking plot twist. He's never allowed us to walk down easy street or a primrose path,

  and it's always been his will that we work our fingers to the bone just to lick a half drop of nectar. It's been that way from the beginning, and it'll have to remain that way to the end…This is fate's cruelty and also His charm, dad.

  Just as I dedicated a poem to Si Jia, I'll dedicate one to you. Anyone who went to college in the 80's is a fan of poetry, including me. Poetry readings and guitar performances were always my favorite acts at the freshman orientation parties in the fall. Thus my memory is full of poetry, green leaves and bright stars.

  The poem I dedicating to you now was written by a nameless child. Due to a natural disaster she fell prey to hunger and thirst. Her circumstances were as difficult and complex as yours, but she wrote very simply…I know you're not in the mood to listen to a poetry reading, but no matter. Poetry is like the essence of food. Like a glass of water on the table, it's there for you-it's always there.