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Authors: Mingmei Yip

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Song of the Silk Road (12 page)

BOOK: Song of the Silk Road
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I mulled this over for a while, then realized it must be that these were not real graves, just places for Lop Nor to remember his family and pay his respects. For him to go to the lake was too strenuous and costly. Worse, he would risk being seen by his enemy, the evil shaman.
Enlightened, I decided to do something for my friend. I used my bare hands to fill in the empty spaces with sand. After that, I said a long prayer for all his relatives, whether in this life or the next, underground or underwater.
That night back home, I dreamed that Lop Nor was hanging by a thin thread between heaven and hell. Dangling in between, he saw his beautiful, sumptuously clothed wife walking with their son in a busy marketplace. He called out to them. The wife looked up and spat at him vehemently. “Go away and stop bothering us! We are dead, remember?”
Despite the dream, I sensed that Lop Nor’s wife and son were alive somewhere. But where? And why didn’t they come back to him?
I awoke disturbed, rolled over, and went back to sleep, only to have another, even more disturbing dream.
Lop Nor and I were crossing the treacherous Taklamakan Desert together. In the middle of the trip, I first got sunstroke and then was bitten by a snake. Quickly my herbalist friend sucked the poisonous venom from my leg, bandaged it, and shaded me from the fiery sun with his thick torso. He also let me drink the last few drops of water from his flask despite his cracked lips. Then we were making passionate love above the burning yellow sand and under the scorching sun. He wrapped me tightly with his strong arms and entered me with full force like a giant nail cracking thin wood. . . .
When I awoke, my blanket was soggy with sweat. My hand groped groggily to the valley between my legs where I felt something was going to explode if I didn’t relieve myself.
11
The Parents
D
ays went by, but there was no news about Lop Nor. Then my worry about him was pushed to the back of my mind by Alex’s unannounced return. Despite myself I was happy to see him. However, when I learned that his parents were at a hotel in Urumqi and wanted to meet me, the situation suddenly became more serious than my vulnerable psyche was ready for. But there seemed no way out, since my young lover told me that they had changed their travel plans to be able to meet me. Everything had been arranged and expenses had been paid. Then, after the meeting, Alex would return with his parents to the United States. Though I felt my heart sink a little at hearing this, I told myself that this was in fact good news—it was time for me to go on with my journey.
Two mornings later, Alex and I climbed onto a three-wheeled donkey cart that took us to the next village, where a car had been arranged. After a long, tedious ride amidst wind, sand, dust, and occasional shouts from other drivers, we finally arrived at Urumqi and checked into the hotel. Once in the room, we shed our dusty, sweat-soaked clothes and headed into the washroom.
Minutes later, I felt totally refreshed from the hot shower, soothing steam, and fragranced soap. Next to me, Alex was drying his hair with a towel. His body—long, lean, tanned, and innocently exposed—induced a pool of heat inside me. Throwing more stealthy glances at the sensuous movements of his long limbs, I halfheartedly put on the new lavender floral dress and a new pair of beige, high-heeled sandals. Together with some light makeup, I hoped I wouldn’t look too much older than my desert lover.
Alex looked exotic and handsome in blue jeans, an off-white Xinjiang shirt embroidered with a blue and red pattern at the collar and sleeves, and a sky blue summer jacket. With his unruly chestnut hair I imagined him a dauntless adventurer, a sophisticated explorer. When I turned to study my own reflection in the mirror, I felt him embrace me from behind, lift me up, and swirl me in the air.
“Alex, put me down, I’m dizzy!”
Gently he let me down, then rested his chin on my head. He stared at our images in the mirror, eyes shooting out sparks like the golden sands we had just left behind.
“Then you shouldn’t look so dazzling, my desert enchantress. I’ve never seen you like this before, so please from now on no more T-shirts and blue jeans—just dresses and high heels.”
I shot his reflection a pretend annoyed look. “How can I run around in the desert in a dress and high heels?”
Alex remained silent, his expression turning very tender. “Lily. . . .”
“Yes?” I said, tilting my face to kiss his chin.
“Are you glad to be meeting my parents?”
“Tell you the truth, Alex, I really don’t think this is a good idea. . . . Are you?”
“I’m very glad, since I plan to tell them . . . I’m going to marry you.”
I abruptly untangled from Alex’s grasp, then turned to look him in the eyes. “Alex, do you know what you’re talking about?”
He looked stunned. “Lily, it’s natural for two people who love each other to get married.”
“This is just an impulse. Did I agree to marry you? Alex, look at you. You’re a student. How do you have the money to get married? Did you ask if I have money, a job?” Questions flew from my mouth like bullets fired from a maniac’s gun.
“I did. But you never answered.”
It was true.
Marrying and having a family, if I ever wanted them, seemed far away in the future for the twenty-nine-year-old me. Yet he wanted these at only twenty-one.
Feeling guilty, my voice came out thin like a wisp of smoke. “Why do you want to marry me?”
“Because I love you.”
“Do you know what love is?”
Face flushed, Alex replied, “Lily, I’ve lived in a loveless family for years, so at least I know what it’s not!”
“Sorry. . . .”
He pulled me to him. “Tell me what you think, please. . . .”
“I . . . can’t, not now.”
“All right.” He sighed. “Then tell me later.” He tilted my chin to kiss my lips, then looked me in the eyes. “At least I know you’re a novelist. . . .”
I shook my head. “Alex, I’m writing a novel, but I can’t call myself a novelist. Not yet. A novelist means I’m published or maybe even lucky enough to support myself by writing. Alex, I like you, very much. But maybe our encounter in the desert is just meant to be a beautiful memory to be savored during our old age. . . .”
This time it was his turn to shake his head, looking hurt and angry. “Lily, do you think of all relationships with men as just flings, adventures, to-be-savored memories? Huh? How about genuine love between soul mates? ’Cause I don’t see you as a shallow person.”
I had no answer for that. Though a kid, he acted mature beyond his age. That troubled me; I didn’t know how to deal with him anymore.
I let out a long, heavy sigh.
“Lily, my life won’t be complete without you. To keep you, marriage is the only way. Otherwise you’re just like a mirage in the desert.” He made a sweeping gesture in the air. “Poof, and gone into thin air! I don’t want you to be just a mirage, or some framed souvenir pictures in my life. I love you.”
I pushed him back to take a good look at his eager face. “Alex, I told you I like you very much. But can you please leave things as they are?” I couldn’t bring myself to return the “I love you,” since I had no idea what our future would be, or if we even had one.
“Lily, we should never let go of the things in life that really matter.”
“
Hai
, Alex, I have more important things on my mind right now. Much more important,” I said, then immediately regretted it.
“Don’t I have any importance in your life, too?”
“Alex, I’m sorry. Can’t we discuss this later? Now let’s be cheerful and go meet your parents. I’m sure they’re already waiting.”
He glanced at his watch. “Damn! We’re already late. All right, but promise me you will discuss this with me soon.”
I nodded, then pushed him out of the hotel room.
The hotel restaurant was full, the clientele half Asian and half Westerners, all busy eating, drinking, talking, smoking. Amidst a yellowish orange background, black-uniformed waiters and waitresses hurried back and forth to take orders, pour drinks, hand out hot towels, and set down steaming, pungent dishes.
After glancing over different tables, my eyes landed on the fiftyish, expensively and stylishly dressed Caucasian couple sitting by the window. Even before Alex had the chance to say anything, I knew they were his parents.
My lover exclaimed, “Here they are!” then took my hand and dragged me to his parents.
“Mom! Dad!” Alex hugged and kissed them. Then he put his hand on my shoulder. “This is Lily.”
After that, he introduced his father as Frank Luce and his mother as Donna Adler. I was about to ask why his mother had a different last name when Alex whispered into my ear, “They’re both remarried. Adler is my stepfather’s name.”
His father stood up and extended his hand to me. “Very nice to meet you, Lily. Alex talks about you nonstop. Please join us.”
Alex pulled the seat out for me so I was next to his mother, then sat down himself. My first impression of his parents was that they were powerful people with precise, impeccable manners. Now I realized why my young lover never seemed to worry about money, or being able to start a family.
He had rich parents.
Mr. Luce playfully patted Alex’s shoulder. “Well, son, I’m so happy you have met someone so pretty. Have you been taking good care of this young lady?”
Alex looked very happy. “You bet, Dad.”
“Good, that’s my son.”
Now, Mrs. Adler, or Donna, a tall and rod-thin woman with perfectly coiffed blond hair and clad in an immaculate blouse and slacks, smiled down at me as if I were one of her employees. “Lily, I’m sure my son has been taking good care of you. He seems to have been born with this nurturing trait one rarely sees in men nowadays.” She paused, then added, her blue eyes cold and frozen like a winter sky, “Women find this irresistible, especially with a man so young.” She paused again before speaking, accentuating each word, “And nice-looking.”
Before I had a chance to respond, Alex protested. “Mom and Dad, please stop embarrassing me. Let’s order. I’m starving!”
I smiled politely. “I’m very honored to meet you both today.”
Some silence, then Alex’s father said, “Lily, you can call us by our first name. Let’s order and chat while we eat, I’m sure we have lots of things to talk about.”
His ex-wife turned away abruptly and spoke to him in her thin, controlled voice. “Order what the rest of you want, I’m not very hungry.”
While they were discussing the menu with the waiter, I studied the couple more closely and couldn’t tell if I liked or disliked them. However, I was certain of one thing—they lived in a completely different world from mine. Their whole being exuded nothing but the smell of money, old or new I couldn’t tell, but definitely shitloads of it (excuse my French). I wondered what they thought of me being their son’s girlfriend, that I was eight years older.
Though his parents’ manners were courteous, I didn’t feel much warmth or interest from them, certainly not from his mother. I understood Alex’s feeling that their love for him was more an obligation—with a tinge of pity—than true affection. Maybe traveling with him, and even meeting me, was just a show to make it seem like they did care, even though Alex was adopted and even though both now had a biological child. No wonder Alex was so eager to find his biological mother and start his own family. But surely he wondered what kind of mother would desert her own flesh and blood.
Dinner—the food, that is—was very enjoyable. The conversation was polite but strained; his parents acted like parents, and their son like a son. Lots of pictures were taken as friendly souvenirs.
Then the most dreaded question finally came when Donna asked, dabbing her thin, red-painted lips with her matching, perfectly manicured fingers, “Lily, what do you do?”
“Last year I graduated from the MFA program in creative writing from NYU. . . .”
Alex immediately came to my rescue. “Mom, I told you Lily’s a novelist.”
Frank looked up from his plate. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I’ve always wanted to be a writer—thrillers, mysteries, gangsters, you know, men’s stuff.”
I laughed a little to cover my nervousness and inferiority complex.
“What’s your writing about?” Donna’s eyes alighted on me like a hawk its prey.
“Coming of age, mother and daughter relationship, a family saga.”
Now Frank stopped eating to chime in. “Which publisher?”
I was so embarrassed that had there been a hole right in the restaurant, I would have plunged inside and refused to come out. “I . . . don’t have a publisher yet. It’s still a work in progress.”
Neither of the parents’ expressions concealed their disappointment. They exchanged looks, then the ex-wife said, “So what do you do besides this hobby?”
I knew the word “hobby” was meant as an insult, since many would-be writers scribbled their whole life but never got published. But I was dead serious and good, and I knew it. Then where was my book? As long as I remained unpublished, my writer’s identity would never be taken seriously. My heart sank. Unpublished, unemployed, unmarried. Maybe I should at least say yes to Alex’s proposal.
Then Alex’s father asked, “Lily, may I ask what are you doing in China?”
I hesitated for seconds before I blurted out, “To gather material for my second novel.”
Some moments passed before both parents uttered a “Hmm . . . that’s nice.” After that, they resumed their eating and drinking.
I couldn’t tell how the parents really felt about me—or if they actually had feelings. Did they like me as a person, even a teeny, tiny bit? Today I was not my usual self. Ill at ease, I forced myself to put on a face that was not really mine. Besides, I had never learned to mingle with the rich and pretentious. In fact, I hated it. I knew that in his parents’ eyes, I was of no significance.
Frank and Donna had already arranged that after dinner we would all go to a Xinjiang folk dance performance. I didn’t have much interest in seeing this kind of superficial tourist stuff, but I felt obliged to go along so as not to disappoint Alex or offend his parents.
A bus with other tourists was waiting outside the hotel to take us to the Hundred Flowers Theatre. Twenty minutes later, we were sitting among casual but affluent-looking American and European tourists. I felt totally out of place, though this was mitigated by Alex’s warm hand moving between my neck and back.
He pulled me closer to him. “Hope you enjoyed dinner.”
I managed to squeeze a smile and whisper back, “Yes, of course. Your parents are very hospitable and the food was excellent.” I hated to lie, but this was for Alex.
The music, loud and animated, filled up every space on and off the stage. The dancers were pretty and exotic, their shimmering, bright-colored costumes spectacular, and their movements airy and sensuous, like cursive calligraphic strokes manifesting in the air. The dance repertoire ranged from Flying Goddesses of Dunhuang to masked pantomime, and even to dances supposedly from Egypt and Mexico. The audience drank, snacked, shouted, and clapped enthusiastically, especially Alex. I could feel his youthful energy radiating in all directions.
BOOK: Song of the Silk Road
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