Mingmei Yip - The Nine Fold Heaven

I looked around the almost-empty house and asked, “You have children?”

She shook her head. “My husband never comes home. I never know what he’s doing out there.”

Then she wiped her eyes and looked a little happier. “But every month he sends me money. So maybe he’s not such a bad husband after all. Ours is an arranged marriage. But I am very lonely here.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Gao,” I said, swallowing the last two words.

“A fortune-teller told me this is my fate.”

Not knowing how to respond to this, I remained silent.

She went on. “But this morning he appeared out of nowhere—”

I cut her off sharply. “He did, you mean Mr. Gao?”

“He didn’t say much, only took some belongings, then left again.” She paused to wipe away tears. “He doesn’t want me anymore.”

“Maybe he has something urgent to deal with?”

I wanted to ask if she loved her husband but again suppressed my urge. Even if she knew anything about love, she would be too embarrassed to express her feelings, especially to me, a young “man.”

She looked as if she suddenly remembered something. “Mister, you want something to eat?”

“No, thank you. I’ve got to leave and thanks for this. I will give it to Camilla.”

“Come back and tell me what she said.”

“I will,” I said, but didn’t mean it.

She sighed heavily. “Can you do me a favor?”

I hesitated.

She went on. “When you see my husband, please ask him to come home.”

“Why do you think he’s not coming back?”

“Because this time he left a lot of money. He also said he is going to join the revolution. Do you know about that?”

My heart began to pound. Finally, I could only come up with, “Oh, sorry…”

I’d uttered “sorry” so many times during this brief conversation with a stranger.

“When did your husband leave here?”

“Early this morning when I left for the market. I’d planned to fix him a big dinner.”

“Which way did he go?”

“I don’t know. He always takes the bus.”

Now I thought that the man who’d waved to me from the bus might have been Gao. I couldn’t take this anymore.

“Sorry to bother you. Can I have some tea now?“

Actually, I did not want tea; this was just a ruse to distract her so I could make an easy exit. Once her back was turned I took out a wad of cash, placed it on the table, and quickly left.

I was afraid to read Gao’s diary, for fear his irreversible tragic world would come alive from the pages and engulf me, but my curiosity was stronger than my fear. I really did love Jinying, but I felt something with Gao that Jinying could not give me.

So I entered one of the unprepossessing little restaurants, ordered tea and sesame cakes, then opened the notebook. I caressed the worn cover, as if it were Gao’s rugged face. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them back and opened to the first page.

To the woman who cannot be forgotten

To my surprise, though a gangster’s bodyguard, Gao had clear handwriting with accurate strokes. How sad that he had been pushed into marriage with this illiterate wife. Maybe I was better off not having parents—I could love whoever I wanted. Or as many as I wanted. But now, it was only Gao who was on my mind.

I flipped the pages and started to read one of his early entries.

I wish I could devote my life to Camilla and always be there to protect her against this evil world. Maybe she thinks Young Master Lung will provide this for her, but he can’t. He’s naive and clueless about life in the real world. I know how to stay alive and how to love a woman.

I keep it secret that I studied engineering at Jiao Tong University, even from Camilla.

Does Camilla know that I worry about her every day, but for Master Lung she is just one of his many playthings? One day when he is tired of her—and that day will come—what will happen to her? No man will dare to “touch” her after she’s been touched by my boss. Except me.

She thinks she is better off with the young master with his Harvard education and his money. But being with Lung’s son is like taking food from the lion’s mouth—she could be gobbled up, not even a bone left to spit out.

I closed my eyes and imagined Gao’s big, scarred hand again massaging my face. I took another sip of my tea, a bite of cake, and turned to another page.

I was never able to love my wife and I will never be a good husband to her, let alone a lover. But she is my wife and so I give her money, but I can’t give her love. Although I never hit her, or even scolded her, I have made her suffer. Sad to say, she might prefer being hit by her husband to my total indifference.

They say that the worst thing for a man is to engage in the wrong career, the worst for a woman is to marry the wrong man. But that’s what happened to us both. I made my career as a gangster and she married the wrong man. But I feel so different with Camilla. Yet I know she’s not happy, even with fame and all her expensive clothes and jewelry.

Next he quoted a familiar poem by Yuan Shen:

This poem reminded me of the divination picked by the bird:

I sighed, muttering, “Gao, If only on that day I had the courage to say I love you….”

But what most affected me was Gao’s most recent entry:

I’ll never forget the evening we risked our lives making love right next to my boss’s cabin on the ocean liner en route to Paris. We both knew we were right next to the tiger’s lair.

I’d had to strip-search Camilla as usual, but this time was driven by a demon so powerful that I’d perish if I couldn’t control it.

I was prepared for a slap from her hand, a bite from her teeth, or a kick from her feet. But the same demon seemed to have infested her. So she did not protest when I pulled up her dress and lifted her onto the sink. It lasted only a few minutes, minutes I can never forget. Even though it was not in a warm bed but on a cold sink.

There had never been anything remotely like this with my poor wife.

I remember one night when I came home very late, hoping that she would already be asleep. But when I let myself in the house, there she was waiting for me under a solitary lamp. The light cast shadows on her face, accentuating her deep wrinkles. She had aged so much since our marriage. I was surprised to feel a tug at my heart—for the first time.

She took my coat, then went into the kitchen to fix me a late-night snack. Feeling sorry for her, I decided to wash the dishes afterward for her.

Even with the splashing water inside the kitchen, I could overhear her sobbing in the bedroom. That this little act of kindness touched her so much made me feel very ashamed. When I finished washing, I tried to delay joining her in bed. Finally, I turned off the light, tiptoed inside the bedroom so as not to wake her. Then I took off my clothes and slipped into bed next to her unwanted body.

As I was finally dozing off, I sensed her moving next to me. This went on for a while until I felt a warm surge. Then I realized it was my wife’s hand playing with my sex!

I lay still as a corpse. But this time she was not going to give up. She kept doing this until I got so aroused that I climbed on top of her and did my husbandly duty. Finally, she screamed softly and I was released.