Can Xue - The Last Lover

Ida was an Asian woman, brown-skinned with wavy black hair. She was also an orphan, fled from an island nation in Southeast Asia to seek refuge with an aunt she’d never met before. Afterward she’d settled down on Reagan’s farm. At first Reagan hadn’t found her beautiful. She looked a bit like an orangutan, and her arms were far too long. Even so, Ida was an unusually conscientious worker. She had a good hand for technical tasks, and the farm tools she used became one with her body. In his heart Reagan quickly developed a fatherly sort of affection for her, always thinking to take care of this “orangutan.” But Ida was reluctant to accept his care. She hadn’t the slightest fear of her employer, and at moments she even mocked him. All Reagan could do was angrily set aside his kind intentions and observe her from a distance.

About the time of Ida’s second year on the farm, her aunt, her only relative, passed away. In Reagan’s estimation the aunt was an unfeeling woman. She had never, not even once, visited Ida on the farm. According to Ida her aunt was wealthy and had three sons. So to avoid the sons’ “misunderstanding” her, Ida hadn’t visited the aunt either. Ida requested two days’ leave to go to her aunt’s home and help make arrangements for the funeral. It was late at night on the third day when she finally returned to the farm. Reagan was at the lakeside fishing. He heard a call for help from the opposite shore — someone had fallen into the water. He threw down his fishing rod and ran across to the other side. It took him five minutes to reach the scene.

It was Ida, but she hadn’t fallen into the water at all. Instead she’d taken a lap around the lake and come back out. By the time Reagan reached her, she had already changed her clothes and was wringing the water from her hair. Under the dim moonlight she looked up at him a few times, flashing the large whites of her eyes, as if to reproach him.

“Is everything with your aunt taken care of?” He struggled for a long time before bursting out with this question.

“She suffered. You can’t even imagine the pain. I can’t imagine it either. So I went into the lake to try to experience it. But I couldn’t feel as much pain as she did. Isn’t that right?”

She hastily finished these few words with the opposite of her usual arrogance. She stood there with no suggestion of leaving, reaching up and grabbing at the air with her hands as if she were catching a butterfly.

“Ida, your aunt is gone.”

“No. For everyone who dies, there is always someone else who remembers that person in his heart. Isn’t that the same as still living?”

“Ida is very clever.”

“Some people think they know everything.”

Reagan felt his face burning. He couldn’t get used to this girl’s way of speaking. Could it be that he was too educated? Or was he making overtures to her in an evasive way? What odd ideas filled the head of the little orangutan who’d run away from the rainforest?

Because she stood there saying nothing, Reagan had no excuse to keep standing around. So he took his leave, telling her that he would go back to his fishing. At this, Ida grinned bitterly and turned her back on him.

On the way back, Reagan saw the rubber trees’ appearance altered by the moonlight. The short trees were like row on row of dwarves, the ground under the trees was very smooth, with no shadows. Along the border of the rubber tree plantation were a few coconut palms. Their tops reached high up into the clouds, and as long as Reagan looked up at them the ground under his feet refused to stay firm. He thought he was like those chaotic shadows, without substance, while Ida was like the rubber trees, solid and firmly set on the earth, distinct but unable to lay bare the riddle inside her.

That time he’d gone to take care of business in the city, Reagan never thought he’d come across Ida in a pub. At the bar her appearance was entirely different, attractive and full of a tropical flavor, like a lemon. The desire hidden in Reagan’s heart was suddenly brought out by her.

“Ida, what are you doing here?”

“Can’t you see? I’m serving customers, to help out a friend. Today is my day off.”

She passed among the tables, her long arms nimbly transporting glasses and dishes. The customers all craned their necks to admire her dancelike movements. Reagan sat by awkwardly. It felt as if there’d been an earthquake in his heart.

Reagan left the bar without ordering a drink. He turned into a long, dark street, and thought back to the sales manager at the clothing company. He was a highly self-assured man, whose heart hid unfathomable depths behind his bright, shining, pale green eyes. Each time Reagan sat in the man’s office he became his quarry. Suddenly, Reagan found his way blocked by a young black woman with long curved eyebrows and large eyes revolving in their sockets. She calmly stood facing him, obstructing his way along the narrow sidewalk. Reagan’s face reddened, and he almost turned to walk away.

“Stay there!” she said, her voice sharp and clear. “I’ve met plenty of people like you before.”

“And what of it?”

Reagan looked at her curiously, but she merely flashed the whites of her eyes resentfully toward him.

“Southern men like you are all alike, running desperately into dark corners. I wouldn’t even think of doing business with people like you. I have a job. I’m the cleaner for this street. During the day I keep watch to see if there’s any business I can do. But I don’t need southerners like you here. Go to hell!”

She stamped her foot, then abandoned him, disappearing into a florist’s shop. The fine and delicate curves of her receding figure appeared vexed.

Reagan looked at the potted flowers. Before his eyes the image blurred: were these real flowers or paper? And then all at once he was shocked to see three pairs of eyes staring at him from inside the darkened room. His heart leapt crazily as he took a step back and walked away. He didn’t care to linger in the city.

Exhausted in mind and body, Reagan stepped onto the train and took a seat in a corner of the back row, where no one else was sitting. He held up a newspaper to cover the bewildered expression on his face. There was someone in front of him laughing loudly. The voice sounded familiar.

“And he snuck away just like that?”

“I’m not worried about it. This place is so small, he’ll turn up again within a few days.”

“He’s a crafty bastard.”

It was a man and a woman over at the window on the left side who were talking. They were kissing openly and probably doing even more outrageous things. They seemed unconcerned about the racket they were making.

Hidden behind his newspaper, Reagan felt his whole body turn hot and dry. He looked toward his rigid reflection in the windowpane, staring at it. It looked like a dead man’s face, especially about the right nostril, as if the corner of the mouth were already drooping. It was terrifying. He did not want to look, but he couldn’t bear not to. The expression of the man in the glass was extremely eager. It also looked like he was suffering.

“You’re convinced he’s hiding around here?” the man said.

“There are clear signs,” the woman answered, as if desperately holding back a laugh.

As the train was going through a mountain tunnel, Reagan felt someone gently stroking his face. He reached out in the dark to touch this person, but there was nothing for his hand to touch. Moreover, the touch of the person’s hand on his face wasn’t much like a hand, but rather like some kind of soft thing, maybe fur? The hand as soft as fur suddenly covered his nostrils. Reagan was suffocating. He let out a shout. He heard the young woman up front say: “This man can’t be one of the crowd. It’s possible he came from an ancient village.”