This Love Could Not Be Delivered

by Lu Min

  After getting back to her small apartment, Si Jia started smoking. It'd been six years, at her wedding, when she last smoked. She took a long, hard drag which truly choked her and made her eyes well up with tears.

  It's about going to bed again! It's always about sleeping with someone. What's wrong with everyone? Can't they think about something else? Damn it! I'm already the slut who got herself popped at eighteen and let someone die for it-so of all people, why would you want me to do it? That shit-what's the big deal about it? What's in it for anyone? Does it have anything to do with being content? Does it make you happy or give you meaning to your life? What nonsense!

  The smokes weren't enough to settle her down, so Si Jia pulled out a bottle of beer and swilled down one glass after the other. Cigarettes and beer are a combination like wind and rain, thunder and lightning-just like how snot oozes out with tears in silent weeping. She went on like that the whole night, all the way till the crack of dawn and her sleeping hour. Her head felt as encompassing as a cloak and her limbs heavy as lead. Alright. I won't think about it anymore. As long as I can get out, as long as I can escape everything here, it's just fine. Si Jia smashed her beer bottle against the side of a pool, sprinkling the rest of the beer over her body like perfume. Smothered in the aroma of hops and yeast, she rushed over to a hotel to "work with" the Hong Kong man.

  [3]

  The Hong Kong man was very satisfied with Si Jia's charm and poise. He thought that her long, slender form and the slightly tragic melody in her eyes indicated that she was just the mainland lady he was hunting for. He had a theory which he expounded when chatting with Si Jia over tea. Voluptuous and enthusiastic women, though apparently sexy, are nothing special at all-they're a panorama that anyone could view. But women like you, however-the unwilling, not tender nor cooked, are just like mysterious wilderness waiting to be explored and developed. Women like you possess a uniquely attractive quality.

  This conversation over tea was surely a segue to something else. Apparently, the Hong Kong man's sexual appetites weren't just high. Although Si Jia voluntarily went to that point of no return, when it came to actually "getting to work", she discovered that she was far from able to satisfy his appetites and that the "work" continued with no end in sight…

  That old, short and small Hong Kong man seemed to have a systematic and far-reaching plan replete with film, tools, props, costumes and even locations. In every instance he wanted to invent some strange style. Though he was physically incapable of doing all he wanted, he was incomparably avaricious, being unusually-unusually!-perspicuous about foreplay, pillow talk, moans and screams, physical reaction, and Si Jia's facial expression. If he wasn't satisfied with the first try, he'd do a retake, if the retake didn't satisfy him he'd want another…and if he still wasn't satisfied, he'd have her watch a video tape-Why doesn't your position look as good as that?

  Hands, chest mouth, tongue, and every other organ were transformed into tools…Was it painful for her? Was it disgusting? Was she desperate? No one knew-she'd already escaped like being seared in inferno's oily pan or a lake of fire. Seeing that her flesh had already ceased to exist, what's the point in discussing shame or honor? All she really knew was that aside from being known as an executioner and human trash, she'd gained yet another title-whore. Verily, she'd never seen such a shameless woman as herself. She was ruthless to herself. You're already a heap of trash, and yet you have the gall to cry out in pain, scream that it hurts and that you'd be better off dead? It's only good if it hurts. It's just the punishment you were looking for. You deserve it, you cheap slut. Si Jia had apparently split herself into two different people-one had myriad ugly aspects, bending over backwards to serve the Hong Kong man, while the other had her legs lazily crossed, watching with cruel greed from the sidelines, applauding and cheering her other self on.

  After each "job" she went back to her tiny room where she'd want to crawl over to the toilet and stick her fingers down her throat. She wished she could dig out all the filth from her mouth, and scrub off another layer of skin with a loofah to dig further…But it was no use. Her second personality didn't allow it-It's not you. Don't fake it. You're a filthy whore-you can't vomit out that fact or wash it away. Her second personality even bought a take-out dinner with two meat and two vegetable dishes, forcing the first personality to eat it, shoveling it down her gullet to boost her energy. And don't forget to watch the old man's tape as you stuff your face and learn your tricks. There'll be more "jobs" tomorrow, and as he requested, you'll have to use fluent English to moan and scream, otherwise, how can he cosign for you?…

  Countless "work" had come to an end and the day was coming. Let's see how this bout of cruel and unusual punishment will end for Si Jia…

  When the critical moment came for the Hong Kong man to do his part, he instead exploded with rage, speaking Mandarin with a thick Cantonese accent. There's nothing virgin about her! Why, she's quite the flirtatious expert isn't she! There's an endless stream of fake and counterfeit goods coming out of Continental China, and I almost got fooled again.

  [4]

  I'm truly crying my eyes out for you, Si Jia, my good lady.

  In the past your fears concerning intimacy were only from psychological trauma, and you'd fake it sometimes and be silently cautious, like the way some people refuse food after resolutely deciding to lose weight. But this time, though I know you'll have your difficulties, I can't just sit by and watch anymore. I can see you've somehow ended up on that narrow bed, in the middle of a pile of English language learning tapes like a used, crumpled up rag, wallowing in gloom and misery. It's desolate and empty all around you, with no one in sight, no living things, no warm soup or warm water, no one to understand or console you. Aside from gossip, aside from getting beat up all over, you're left with nothing.

  I'm really torn up inside. All the attacks you're sustaining are, in the end analysis, variations on the main theme established in our night together with my finger…The crimes you're falling victim to are all part of our shared path. It's a pre-determined hell that must be experienced. All you can do is lay down and take it, my Si Jia. You'll have to carry that cross, those shackles, for the rest of your entire life.

  You should know that I feel your pain more acutely than you; your anguish pains me more deeply than you. It's because I can see it coming, but my hands are tied. On top of all your troubles I'm somehow forced to bear them again-these troubles frustrate me to no end, that am I nothing but a useless ghost. If I could come back to life, I wouldn't want to live a noble or dignified life. I'd only wish to become a real hooligan this time-a nasty villain, or a cretin. I'd be rude and brutish and beat up whoever threatened or harmed you. I'd smash the jaw of that damned French translator, bash the black suit's head in and kick in the Hong Kong man's groin…After that, I'd go turn myself in and voluntarily sacrifice my life. Truly, Si Jia, I'm willing to die a thousand or ten thousand times for you. If my death could ever help you to cope with even the slightest trifle, it'd be a priceless sacrifice.

  Can you hear me? Turn your head up in that small, gloomy room and look at me. Have faith that I'll always be here for you, my most intimate of intimates. The two of us are a family, and this is our sweet, vast home-from under the soil on up to the heavens, from the body to the soul, from real to false, from hate to love, from death to eternal life…My dear lady Si Jia, do you know how much I love you? I'm left with nothing but a hope that you can read these letters I've written for you…

  Chapter Four: 2000

  "It was December 31 st, 1999, and what seemed like the entire city population crowded up together on a chaotic scene, a crazed stage. Truly, it was hard to contain one's self. Standing in the middle of Nanjing in Gulou Plaza, Lu Zhongsheng had a mass of mixed feelings, and he tragically wept."

  The Start of a Wonderful Epoch

  [1]

  It was December 31st, 1999, and what seemed like the entire city population crowded up together on a chaotic scene, a crazed stage. Tr
uly, it was hard to contain one's self. Standing in the middle of Nanjing in Gulou Plaza, Lu Zhongsheng had a mass of mixed feelings, and he tragically wept.

  Xiaoqing was ten years old, Lu Zhongsheng was sixty-three, and Lan Ying was sixty-one. Lu Zhongsheng and Lan Ying's shoulders were hunched and lower backs loose, and they ambled around at a snail's pace. Any stranger would unfeelingly guess, Surely they're grandparents going out with their granddaughter. Sometimes a kind-hearted fellow would stand guard against youths flying by Lu Zhongsheng and Lan Ying. Hey! These are old people here-be careful…Old people indeed. Their hearts were aging even faster than their bodies, aging far faster than anyone else…

  It'd been a very long time since Lu Zhongsheng had seen so many people gathered together, which triggered a conditioned response, thinking back to the public punishment sixteen years ago. He wasn't there in person then, but it would have been similar, he guessed. Surely everyone was rubbing shoulders and stepping on each other's heels, getting up on their tiptoes to surge forward, only worrying they might miss some brilliant scene…However there were no accused criminals condemned to death standing before them. What in the world are they squeezing ahead to see? What's so exciting about the intersection of two centuries? Isn't this "time" issue playing with mankind again? Indeed, his prejudice against time got worse with age. He was still sensitive to it and suspicious of it, and didn't like any memorial holiday brought about by artificial time…

  That evening they'd gone out on account of Lan Ying. The newspapers started putting all their might into stories on the intersection of centuries about six months ago. Lan Ying was following it closely, and she believed every anecdote. She accepted the reports' recommendation concerning the "most meaningful souvenir", digging up their marriage certificate and Xiaoqing's birth certificate, planning on going to the post office to get the date stamped on them with a unique stamp: "December 31 st, 1999, Nanjing". Lu Zhongsheng thought, Actually, it is a bit interesting, and we can go on a stroll with Xiaoqing while we're at it.

  It's noteworthy that they weren't prone to going out. For one, they weren't quite strong enough, and two (which is the main reason), they didn't like the all-too-common misunderstandings. They didn't want to keep seeing Xiaoqing blushing, shaking her head and explaining, No, they're my parents…

  The three of them didn't know it until they really went out just how crazy it was. Everyone was possessed with and controlled by "time". Once in a millennium! Once in a lifetime! The whole world celebrates! The discombobulated masses were mercilessly executed at gunpoint by these sound bites. They seemed to think that it would have all gone to waste if they didn't make a good ruckus and indulge themselves. The public buses, taxis, and sidewalks…everywhere was packed with people, and it only got denser towards downtown. The lights were brilliant at Gulou Plaza and a long, winding line bustled up to the post office. The queuers carried sundry items in their hands like postcards, and private letters, and they wanted to register the old newspapers they were honored to be featured in, documents affirming their innocence, documentation of prizes gained more than ten years ago, competency exam results, books given and signed by celebrity authors, happy family portraits, and actual grain and cloth vouchers from the 50's. They'd seemingly cleaned out all their cupboards and cabinets, and every kind of memorabilia or collectible card needed to get that dark oil-ink branding, no matter if it was originally an evanescent felicity or a permanent scar.

  Lu Zhongsheng's Achilles' heel had again come under attack, the acute pain in his soul started whitening his face. The both tragic and farcical scene disgusted him ever more, almost pushing him to weep miserably and shed murky tears. How many painful memories are long-buried and forgotten? Look at all these people lined up!-They're all calm and settled, smiling from ear to ear-and they're making a new nation, turning a new leaf…Venerable Time, most venerable Time-he really shouldn't be prejudiced against it. It's always been a loyal partner in hard times. Like a lump of sugar accompanying bitter coffee, it pities anyone between a rock and a hard place; it lets them never turn back and forget everything and put on another shameless smile. He should really bow town and worship it, and shed tears of gratitude.

  As Lu Zhongsheng stood in the chaotic line, his thoughts drifted everywhere, floating out into space, drowning in and almost fainting from his misery, up until Xiaoqing suddenly nudged him, crying out: Dad, mom! Look, it's snowing!

  He was aware it was artificial snow, because Lan Ying had already read the story out loud to him before, newspaper in hand: Tonight to add to the happy atmosphere there'll be artificial snow in the plaza. And indeed, people were just that credulous-or just that willing to be fooled. They all lifted up their heads, gaping their hungry mouths, festively ululating with satisfaction, Wow! Snow-snow!

  Under the roaring din of three enormous blowers, under poof after poof of pure, smirchless, roiled dry ice, lazily and daintily drifting downward. The flakes glowed white under the lamp light bathing the four corners of the plaza-it was truly a profoundly moving scene.

  Lu Zhongsheng looked on, surprised and directionless, discovering that several others were moved to tears under the shower of snowflakes. Some lovers hastily started kissing, some were talking into their cell phones, voices trembling, TV journalists were picking out some interviewees to reveal their hopes for the new century, and yet others were tossing their hats, gloves and sundries into the sky…It was all like a movie in slow motion, like a montage of past experiences he'd happened upon…six, five, four, three…people turned up their voices to a high-decibels pitch and were counting in unison, braving; eyes upon eyes looked on blankly, paralyzed with passion…Lan Ying stood on the side shedding tears, almost hiccupping, making a pranam with her hands while Lu Zhongsheng stood leaning listlessly on a raised flower bed, holding Xiaoqing tight, feeling obliged to recite a commoner's prayer (and without the slightest sense of its strangeness) . Good, my dear child. Be good. You must do your best to grow up, get old, and die…

  However, he had another prayer that he cried out in anguish in his heart. God, let Danqing come back. Let him see his dad and mom and stand by our side. Our days are numbered. Let the four of us be together, even if it's just for a little while, on the last day of this century under these fake, pure snowflakes…

  [2]

  The ten-year-old Xiaoqing turned her eyes up to the snowflakes, not blinking once. She'd waited a long time for that day, because she was believing that something would surely happen on that special night. For instance, something about that mysterious, ubiquitous (yet forever absent) "Big Brother Danqing".

  In recent years, aside from her studies and growing up through the regular phases-aside from playing along with that bullshit, nonsensical "Big Brother Danqing" game, she was a busy, multitasking child. When she had nothing to do she'd pull out that rusty, "Big White Rabbit" candy tin and ponder…For a while Xiaoqing sensed that she'd finally cracked the code embedded in that web of lies given to her in first grade-the truth probably went like this:

  In the first rings of the web, the existence of Danqing was true enough, and he certainly lived in another place-but where was it? According to Xiaoqing's deduction and understanding gathered over several years, she'd finally concluded that according to statistical probability, he lived in none other than the following places: the insane asylum, the secret service, prison or abroad. That was the real reason why he could never live with the rest of his family.

  In the next rings of the web-who in the world was Danqing? Was he really her big brother? She didn't think so. It was about in second semester of second grade that Xiaoqing started to overturn "big brother"'s identity, and moreover, it was becoming clearer to her. He wasn't her big brother, but her father, her real dad. The question of Danqing's identity was the reason they told the lie. It made sense that way. Her parents, then, were actually her grandparents…They were always pretending, pretending to be parents…And her real mom? Xiaoqing thought of the countless stories she read, thinking along
other lines-e.g. dying at childbirth, falling in love with someone else, sudden disappearance etc., and some chilling life stories rich in legendary, dramatic flavor started flashing through Xiaoqing's mind…Surely Xiaoqing's deductions weren't loosely-formed, as the ten-year-old child had already formed her own system of logic. This system was only hanging in thin air, so it apparently wouldn't lead to any vicious conclusions in reality. However it did influence the way she felt toward her current "parents"-it was an influence all too obvious.

  In fact, Xiaoqing was very observant. She noticed them getting forgetful day after day and how their teeth were falling out. She saw how their appetite was fading (yet they were cooking up myriad dishes for her daily-fried drumsticks, chive flat bread, ribs in brown sauce, crucian carp and steamed eggs) …but their two old stomachs, in the end, could only handle a half bowl of rice soup. Even so, Xiaoqing just watched and ate and wasn't, in any case, so loving and grateful as she'd been in her younger years. She'd become overly imperturbable, but her detachment was real. It's their duty, isn't it? That's what they get for being con-artists. Since they really want to struggle to be parents, they'll just have to accept the bitter consequences. Isn't that just the way it is?

  There was just one thing Xiaoqing couldn't understand. Why would they want to lie to her? What was the point? She always remembered what her composition teacher said once in class-a good story should always elaborate a main theme-this is the goal of writing…The same is true for life, i.e., any action has its goal. Eating and sleeping have a goal-to grow up big. Learning a musical instrument has its goal-to pass competency exams. Being a good team member and helping others has its goal-to gain a friend and a helping hand in the future…Maybe all teachers casually put their common opinions on display from time to time, but Xiaoqing heard that opinion loud and clear. It was veritably like getting knocked on the head, feeling the pain, and then being enlightened for a moment. Indeed that's how it was. So, then…why? What good does it do them? Being a dad or mom isn't a good job. Look how hard they work, but how it all comes to nothing.