Anchee Min - Red Azalea

I locked the glass door behind me. I went to the kitchen. I pulled out a chair, sat on it and looked out the window. I watched a woman neighbor with a new shining mushroom hairdo, passing through the lane carrying a basket of spinach. I watched a group of kids playing with rocks. I watched as cooking smoke came out of the opposite window and a housewife poured a jar of water on the ground. I watched. But my mind was not with me. My mind was with Yan and Leopard.

The Old Tailor entered the lane. He looked like dried corn. He took out his sewing board and set it up in the yard by the wall. He did this every day. He was never in a hurry. He placed a half-done jacket on the board and picked out a needle from a rusted little can. He put on glasses and tried to put a strand of thread through the needle. He could not do it. He tore the thread with his teeth and tried again, then again. I watched him, my mind still on the porch. The sound of the clock became louder. I paced back and forth in the kitchen. I heard no sounds on the porch.

I tried to stop my desire. The desire to watch them. The desire to watch my other self-Yan. I felt as if I had never left the porch. I was in Yan. It was three instead of two people on the porch. My curiosity swelled. My lust was irresistible. Yan knew I was guarding her. She knew I was behind the draperies. She wanted me to participate in this, didn’t she? I could not help but see the way her lips would crack open and her breath heat up. I could feel arms around my shoulders. The snakelike arms that wrapped me. I could not tell whether they were Yan’s or Leopard’s or both. I wanted to feel Leopard’s body. I wanted to have the three of us connected like electrical wires.

As my fingers touched the draperies, I trembled. I was sure this was not the right thing to do. I hated spies. And I would be spying. What if Leopard found out? What would happen? Would Yan hate me for ruining her pleasure? Would Leopard be angry?

I forced myself back to the kitchen. As I looked out of the window again, I saw the Old Tailor ironing the jacket. He ironed the collar, then the sleeves. He put the iron on a stove. He waited for the iron to heat up. He fanned the stove. The flames rose. The Old Tailor turned my way suddenly. It was too late for me to hide. He smiled at me. His smile made me suspicious. It was a mysterious smile. Did he guess what we were doing? He had a weird smile, indeterminate in meaning. Should I be prepared? Should I warn Yan about him? Would he come up? How fast could he come up? What should I do if he did?

The Old Tailor was a respected neighborhood activist. He had reported thieves and adulterers. He was honored for his “revolutionary sense of smell.” His greatest interest was not in the making of clothes but in searching for back-door news. He was involved in many families’ troubles. He was often praised on the district blackboard. Now he kept smiling at me. I smiled back. I reached for a string outside the window. I pretended that I was checking the dryness of the hanging clothes. The Old Tailor went back to his ironing. He took a big sip of water, picked up the heated iron, sprinkled the water on the jacket with his mouth. He hit the sleeves with the iron. White steam poured out.

I backed myself into the living room. I was tortured by what I could not participate in. My mind was drawing the pictures for me. Wild pictures. I paced carefully. Taking care, I made no noise. My steps stopped at the draperies. I stood still, listened very hard. My breath became short. I could hear nothing. Nothing at all.

My desire overtook me. I carefully, carefully opened the slit of the green draperies. I looked in and saw an overwhelming red color first and figured it was Yan’s red underwear. My hand dropped. The slit closed. I could feel my skin being scorched. My heart was breaking. I did not understand my feelings. I did not understand why I was hurt by what I saw. I forgot what I was supposed to do.

He was possessing her. Leopard was possessing Yan. The way he caressed her showed that he was in love with her. I could tell; I knew what he looked like when he was not in love with her. He was arrogant, polite and pretended that he was interested. But now he was utterly absorbed. He was the slave of his love. He was in tears. The way he was caressing her made me hate him. He murmured to her. He was telling her about his pain of not being able to love her enough. I hated his truthfulness. I felt invaded. My jealousy was irreconcilable. It refused to share the same sky with Leopard. I was furious at his love.

Yan was in a thin white shirt. Her eyes were closed. Her beauty was extraordinary. It melted me. Leopard was unbuttoning her bra, then his hands went into her underwear. She responded to him and encouraged him. She arched her chest to invite him. My tears shattered uncontrollably. He held her in his arms and then buried his head between her breasts. He raised himself slowly. He stared into her eyes. He could not take his eyes off of her face as he slowly penetrated her. He kissed her eyes. His tears wet her cheeks. She brushed his hair with her fingers and rounded her arms on his back. He cried out in pleasure, then she followed. I lost my thoughts. My senses went on while my mind stopped functioning. I saw two bodies making love again and again. I smelled the jasmine. I remembered the taste of Yan, I heard the hardening breath and I felt-felt betrayed. I was terrified by this feeling and forgot I was secretly watching the couple.

Before I realized what I was doing, Yan saw me. She saw me in tears behind the glass. The draperies were pulled aside. She stopped Leopard and sat up. She stared at me. Leopard was confused, then he saw me. He was shocked. He put on his clothes. Yan sat naked, sat still, like a statue. She realized what this had done to me. She had planned this. She sensed my rage. She looked away. She put her head in her palms. She said, Come in, please.

I opened the porch door and stepped in. I could not say a word. Is someone coming? asked Leopard. Should we leave? I wanted to say, I’m sorry, but my tears got in the way. I remember that I had to pretend. I had to pretend that nothing had happened between Yan and me. She was my commander. I was her soldier and her guard, as always. Yan slowly put on her clothes. She looked outside the window for a while. By then I was able to say to Leopard, Would you like to have more tea? Leopard looked at Yan and then asked me if he could use the bathroom. I guided him to the bathroom and came back to the porch. Yan was buttoning up her clothes and I went to kneel in front of her. She embraced me and said, I am sorry to do this, but I just have to. I think we are now ready to go on with our own lives. You are done with Red Fire Farm.

I went to the kitchen, looked out the window. I allowed my tears to pour out silently. I will always love you no matter what you do to push me away from you, I kept saying in my heart. The Old Tailor was still sewing. The lane was as quiet as a deep well. I put some water into a wok and set it on the stove. I lit the stove and waited by the wok for the water to boil. I heard heavy breathing rise again inside the porch. Leopard was groaning. There was the sound of wrestling. Then Yan gave in.

As I looked through the green draperies again, Yan was sitting on Leopard’s lap. Leopard was devouring her. Can he read the poetry of her body like I do? Can he understand the way her heart sings like I do? I tried to deny what I saw and tried to convince myself that Yan did not love him. But Yan kept throwing me into reality. She knew I could not stop watching her. She wanted to put my heart to death. I watched her. I had no choice but to watch her. How every tip of her hair was soaked in sweat, as was Leopard’s. Yan was facing me, her chin was up, her eyes were closed. She was trying to exhaust herself. She had him in her. His face was between her breasts. He murmured. He whispered her name again and again. His hands were pressing her hips. As her breath came harder, her arms circled him like two snakes strapping tight a squirrel. She kissed him deeply. She was showing this to me. She was doing it to me. I could feel my heart laid bare on the ground, being stepped on, like the hen Big Beard’s egg. I did not close the draperies. I forced myself to face Yan, to experience the death of my love for her, to accept what was given to me by fate. I remembered she had said to me that she was more corrupted than I could imagine. She was doing this to let me hate her and forget her so that she could forget me, in order to stop the pain she had been having. She was always the ruler, the manipulator. She was always in control. She was destroying our love to preserve the love. She was murdering our love with her own hands. I hated her selfishness. I would not be manipulated this time. I felt sorry for Leopard, for he was brainlessly in love; he did not know what he was getting into. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Yan was not the person she used to be, a true heroine, a goddess with a ring shining on her head. Maybe she was changed by the farm, by her life, by my leaving her alone in the mosquito net. Maybe she was corrupt to a degree I could not imagine, where she no longer had a faith in love, or in anything. Maybe Leopard’s lust made her forget what she wanted to remember. Maybe, after all, she was doing the right thing by coming to my house to seduce me.