The Bathing Women (39 page)

He chattered nonstop with excitement—truly nonstop. He cupped her face with both hands and then stroked the nape of her neck with its covering of fine hair. He said, “How delicate and soft your skin is! You’re my
xiruan,
my exquisite one. You’re just my
xiruan
!” Tiao couldn’t help being touched by the word
“xiruan.”
She told him that in Chinese, in addition to meaning soft and delicate,
xiruan
also was used to indicate things that were easy to carry with you, valuables or jewellery. Mike said, “Then I was right. You’re my little
xiruan.
Little
xiruan.
”

They didn’t drive back to Austin until very late.

They said good night to each other, took a shower, and then went back to their own rooms. They said their good-nights a little bit stiffly, with some nervousness—as if they didn’t know how to go back to before, the time before they went to San Antonio.

They hadn’t slept much already for a day and night, but Tiao didn’t feel tired. She didn’t want to lie down; she stood in front of the mirror looking at herself.

Mike opened the door quietly. He opened the sides of his big, loose-fitting bathrobe, like a pair of white wings, and enfolded Tiao against his chest.

2

They kissed again, as if it were the continuation of their kisses on the bank of the San Antonio River. They kissed very deeply, so deeply that both could hardly contain themselves. With his height and strength, Mike took control and steered Tiao towards the bed, and Tiao felt dizzy and staggered, which aroused Mike more. They stumbled onto the bed and he kept whispering in her ear, “My little
xiruan,
my little
xiruan
…”

All of a sudden, Tiao strangely became not so
xiruan.
She stiffened, rose from the bed, and stood up resolutely. Surprising herself with her own strength, she grabbed Mike and shoved him in the direction of the door. She kissed him passionately but also forced him to leave with equal determination. She got him to the door, reached out a hand to open it, and gently pushed him out. Then she locked the door.

Feeling a bit confused, she leaned against the door and listened. She knew that Mike was still there, and she had a moment of regret. She had only a vague understanding of why she’d rejected him. She heard Mike knocking on the door gently, apparently not wanting to wake his parents but persisting. Trying to ignore him, she held her breath and pretended she’d gone to bed. Then a note slipped through the space under the door. She picked up the note and, holding it against the door, read the big Chinese characters: “I love you. Please let me tell you in person!”

This was something she was afraid to hear because she didn’t know what to say. When she read these words, so clearly set down, she suddenly understood that the one she loved was not Mike. She loved Chen Zai. It was the kind of love that ran deep and long in her and couldn’t be torn out. Maybe when she’d been discarded by Fang Jing, left on the bench at the waiting room, when she was crying her heart out in front of Chen Zai, she had already fallen in love with him; when Chen Zai was about to get married later and asked her opinion, she was in love with him. But never had her love and yearning been like it was now, so certain and turbulent, so tender and strong. She felt happy and sad at once because of this abrupt realization of love, which happened when she was in someone else’s country and room, when someone else was revealing his love to her. She felt sorry for Mike because it was Mike who had so forcefully awoken her deep love for Chen Zai. She wasn’t that saintly and noble. What had she really wanted to achieve by being with Mike? Self-indulgence and pleasure led her to him. Self-indulgence and pleasure, which made her feel ashamed. She got up, took a pen and a piece of paper, and wrote, “It’s too late. Please go back and sleep.”

She sent the note through the space under the door and got another from him: “I love you. Please let me in.” She wrote back, “Don’t talk nonsense. Please leave.”

Through the gap under the door they played a note-passing game. “My little
xiruan,
I can’t stand it anymore. Please open the door for me.”

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

“You can. I know you want me, too.”

“It’s not real.”

“It is real. I’m going to break in.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m tired.”

“You’re not tired. I’m coming in unless you tell me you don’t love me.”

“All right. I don’t love you. I’m very sorry.”

“I want you to open the door and tell me in person.” After slipping this last note in, he started to pound the door loudly. Finally she opened the door for him. He held her and kissed her desperately. She also kissed him but started to cry. Then he let her go and said, “I’m sorry. Please forgive my rudeness.”

She shook her head and said, “I don’t want your apology. It’s just—you don’t understand. You don’t understand.” Holding his hand, she sat at the edge of the bed. She looked into his clear green eyes, in which she imagined she must appear like those women on that antique fan that his family treasured, mysterious and exotic. What did he know about her? Nothing—and she knew nothing about him. Sooner or later, he would find out that it was not love, as she already knew right now.

When they kissed again, she was even more certain. Kissing him, she cried, imagining him as Chen Zai, whom she had never kissed. She loved him and missed home very much, missed all the memories she and Chen Zai had shared—the pitch-black windy night long, long ago, when she stood on the street and pounded the postbox helplessly, how Chen Zai asked her, “Child, what’s the matter?”

Mike, you don’t understand. How can you understand? You’ll never be able to understand anything about me.

She held Mike’s hand and her heart had completely quieted down. Then, out of nowhere, she made a random suggestion. “Let each of us eat an apple.”

She picked up two apples from the fruit tray and handed Mike one. With a crunch, she bit into hers first.

Mike stared at Tiao, who was crunching on the apple, and said, “I believe now that you don’t love me, but I still love you—I’ll keep it to myself from now on, though. I’m not as naïve as you imagine. I don’t just see you as someone like the beautiful girl on the fan. You’re an ageless woman, someone who can be young and old at once. Sometimes you’re like a person who has gone through it all, with that knowing expression in your eyes that seems to see life and the world through a hundred years of history; sometimes you’re like a baby, with such clear eyes, and that pure down on your face. Your face drew me to you. You never knew how much your face and your expression attracted me. I lied to be with you, saying that I would happen to be at home on vacation when you were in the States. The fact is I didn’t have any vacation. I asked for leave from the school and came back especially for you. Please believe that my attitude, my … my …” He started to lose control of the tones—when he spoke too much Chinese, his accent began to drift. With a bit of Shandong mixed with a little Shanxi, he continued in these strange tones: “My … my …”

After a while his talk trailed off, and with the apple in his hand, he fell asleep. Overcome by exhaustion, drowsiness, and a deep sense of defeat, he slumped down midsentence, his head falling onto Tiao’s legs. She liked pillowing his head on her legs. As she looked down at this young head fast asleep on her legs—the pink ear which looked especially innocent because of his age—her heart filled with deep gratitude. It was Mike who had offered her, so freely, the untainted love she’d never had; it was Mike who inspired her to feel confident about her life and youth, and Mike who spurred her to take action. It was his love that awakened her strong love for Chen Zai.

Oh, Mike—so sound asleep—I’ll be grateful to you all my life for everything you have done and for my not loving you.

3

Beijing Airport was always so crowded, and the expressions on the custom officials’ faces so cold. The coffee was always lukewarm, the bathroom tissues dark, and the pay phone receivers smelly. Tiao couldn’t wait to call Chen Zai before she got out of the airport. She couldn’t wait to tell him that she had returned from the States and would see him soon. When she heard his calm, deep voice on the phone, she knew that she had truly come home. The only thing she’d been thinking about all the way was that as soon as she got off the aeroplane, she could hear his voice. Now that she heard it, even the smell of the phone seemed less distasteful.

She left the airport. The air in Beijing was not very good; the sky was grey, and the cars had a light coating of dust. Everything was somewhat grimy and messy, but still it felt dirty and dear.

Dirty and dear.

She returned to Fuan, and Chen Zai phoned and asked to come to see her at her house. She didn’t let him. Usually he would go to her place, and when he was there she would complain to him about those bad patches she hit, how she was unhappy, how she failed to get elected CEO of the Publishing House, how Fan gave her a hard time, how someone who didn’t even remotely know how to write fiction got a book published through the use of powerful connections … She never treated him like a guest; he could sit wherever he liked. When he was thirsty, he’d pour himself some water, and when he was hungry, he took food out of the refrigerator himself. Once, she remembered discussing a haircut with him; she wanted to cut her shoulder-length hair short. He said, “I think you’d better not. You look pretty good this way.”

Tiao said, “All my colleagues say I would definitely look good in short hair. Why do you have to say I wouldn’t?”

Chen Zai said, “You don’t have thick hair, and cutting it short would make it look even thinner.”

“What makes you think my hair is thin? It’s your hair that’s thin.”

Chen Zai said, “Okay, okay. My hair is thin. Happy? But you still shouldn’t cut your hair.”

Tiao said, “I’m going to cut it anyway. What can you do?” She didn’t know why she had to be so unreasonable with Chen Zai, as if it were her birthright. After she got her hair cut, everyone said she looked good, but the compliment she most wanted to hear was Chen Zai’s. She’d cared about him so much and for so long, it had become a part of her consciousness.

Now he wanted to come to her place to see her, but she forbade him. She had a hunch that she was going to say something very important to him, and this very important thing made her jumpy about their meeting. She’d never felt that way about seeing him, but now she did, and it made her more nervous to think about seeing him at her home, so nervous that she felt cornered, so that she had to go out somewhere, to go out with him. In the evening, he drove to her place to pick her up, and they drove around and around Fuan in the middle of winter. Tiao said, “When I was in America this time, other than attending the conference, I also visited Texas for a few days.”

Chen Zai said, “Yes, you stayed in Mike’s home.”

Tiao said, “How did you know?”

“Fan called me.”

“She called you? Just to talk about this?”

Chen Zai said, “What’s wrong with that? Can’t she call me?”

Tiao swallowed her anger and said, “Of course she can. Anyone can call you. Anyone can report my whereabouts to you, particularly Fan. I left Chicago after a big fight with her. She made me feel cold. I needed warmth, and Austin is warm.”

Chen Zai said, “Yes, Austin is in the south, and the temperature is higher than Chicago’s.”

“I didn’t mean temperature, though.”

“You meant people?”

“Yes, people.”

Chen Zai went quiet. Tiao asked, “Why aren’t you saying anything? Don’t you know whom I meant?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying. You know. You know I meant Mike.”

“Oh, it’s Mike.”

“Yes, it’s Mike. Didn’t Fan mention him to you? She must have told you that it was Mike who invited me to Austin and that I was happy to go, that Mike is seven years younger than I am and that we had a chance to become lovers. Well, Mike is certainly seven years younger than I am, but he’s not as naïve as I imagined, and much more mature and sincere, too. Our meeting in Austin wasn’t a coincidence. He didn’t just happen to be home on vacation during my trip. He arranged to take a leave from his school to wait for me there. His parents were extremely nice to me, and I felt very comfortable with them. We took a trip downtown and went out at night—to Sixth Street for a wild night. I’d never wandered around the streets late at night. I remember you telling me how hard you worked when you studied in England and that you didn’t have much entertainment. What a boring and serious life our generation has lived! Why could I stay up all night when I was with Mike? The next day we drove to San Antonio. Let me tell you, Mike is very clever. He can drive with his knees, which allowed him to put his arm around my shoulder—all the way to San Antonio. We ate the famous Mexican food there, and how particular he was. There were a lot of customers, and we had to wait in line to get a seat. It was a restaurant on the river, with half of the seats indoors and half of them outdoors. On a nice day with bright sunshine and a warm breeze, people prefer to sit outside. A long wait makes people less choosy, but Mike gave up many chances to be seated, insisting on getting one of the small tables facing the water until we finally did. He ordered Lone Star beer, Mexican mashed potatoes, corn cake, and a kind of barbecue meat that was extremely tasty but also extremely spicy, spicy enough to administer a jolt. He even taught me a Spanish word: Thanks—
gracias
!”

Thanks—
gracias
!

“I learned. He told me, ‘When the
muchacho
brings you the wine, you just say thanks in Spanish. Spanish is the official language in San Antonio.’ The
muchacho
brought the wine to us. When he was pouring me the wine, I, who had been quiet while Mike ordered, suddenly smiled at him and said,
‘Gracias!’
The
muchacho
was very surprised, so surprised that he actually knocked over my wineglass. It seemed normal to him that I, the Asian, couldn’t speak, and when I suddenly came out with Spanish, it was like a mute found her voice. I repeated
‘Gracias’
to him, he kept saying,
‘De nada,
de nada,’
and then rushed to replace the wine. Mike said, ‘Do you know why he was so surprised? It’s because your pronunciation was perfect. He must think you speak Spanish. I really want to teach you. You definitely could learn it.’ I told Mike, ‘It’s impossible. I’m too old to learn Spanish.’ Mike said, ‘Don’t say it’s impossible. Never say impossible to life.’ Mike seemed to have made me see the path back to happiness, and Mike seemed to have given me the courage to return to it. I almost forgot I had been happy before. That was when I was three, climbing tentatively with my bottom out onto the sofa with broken springs. That was my happiness—innocent, flawless happiness—happiness without history, happiness without any events. We didn’t go back to Austin until dark. That was the night Mike told me that he loved me. Did you hear me, Chen Zai? Mike told me he loved me.”