Can Xue - The Last Lover

“The work in the bookstore increased every day, while Ito grew old.”

The white tiger walked into the night behind her.

Joe wanted to follow after her, but Vincent blocked the doorway. Vincent said, “She wears that black skirt and shirt all four seasons of the year.”

“Oh,” Joe was surprised. “Wasn’t she wearing a white kimono? She’s the former wife of the owner of a bookstore. I’ve met her before.”

“We saw the same person.” Vincent sank into tangled thoughts.

Someone came down from the top of the tower, then went through the side door and walked away. They couldn’t see the person, or maybe it wasn’t a person: the footsteps sounded like horse’s hooves.

“Joe, you go on ahead. Tonight I’ll sleep inside the tower. There’s a felt blanket here. Everyone says this is the highest point in the world.”

Once Joe left, Vincent shut the heavy door. As Joe walked he imagined Vincent scaling the tower inside. He thought that Vincent wanted to climb alone. Vincent wouldn’t be sleeping.

Outside there were no lights, and no stars in the sky. The night was deepening. He could dimly see the white tiger appearing and disappearing nearby. For the first time in many days Joe remembered Maria, and remembered he had a wife and a family. On this remote plateau someplace in the East a dim part of his lost memories reappeared. He remembered passing rich busy little days with Maria in City B. The two managed a restaurant that offered Western specialties. Their son was a long-distance truck driver, speeding along the highways of other regions year-round. Joe said to himself: “Such a wonderful family life.” He saw steam rising in the kitchen. Outside, the dining room was filled with seated guests. The thick smell of fried shrimp was everywhere. Maria bent over in the food cabinet looking for something, then she straightened up and walked over to Joe, asking, “Joe, did you finish seasoning the shrimp?”

The voice saying this sentence dropped, and the white tiger darted in front of him. Joe sobbed like a child.

He returned to the hotel and lay down on the mildew-smelling folded quilt. His mood quieted and he began to dream.

Midway through the night he woke up once and looked at the yellowed wallpaper on the wall of the hotel. A question flashed briefly across his mind: Was the bookstore’s volume of business really increasing? Then he quickly went back to sleep.

Vincent was inside the tower. It was so dark that when he stretched out his hand he couldn’t see his five fingers. He heard that person walking down. The man was probably feeling his way one step at a time. Proceeding was strenuous. Vincent imagined the fear in the man’s heart and unconsciously made a ge ge creaking sound with his fist. After a while the man stopped. A stair might be loose. Vincent remembered the loud sound inside the tower earlier. Perhaps a section had fallen down and there was a large gap between the stairs. Or could the white-haired man’s strength be used up? He’d looked so frail, he must be ancient. But he began to move again. His footsteps came even closer. Did he have wings to fly over that gap? Or was there no gap?

The footsteps sounded in front of Vincent, but he had not seen the old fellow face to face. Perhaps these footsteps were the sound of his heart? What was the white light on the roof after all? Vincent hadn’t ascended because in a dream the old man from the village clearly told him, “Do not go to the top of the tower.” Last week a beautiful little wolf had died inside the tower. Vincent thought that the little wolf must have died from exhaustion. It appeared quite serene and had no wounds on its body. The color of its fur was very light, almost a light yellow. It was at the age of dreams. But who had taken away its corpse?

Vincent touched the blanket on the floor with his foot. He wanted to lie down. Just at this moment, someone outside knocked on the door of the tower. Vincent went over and opened the door. This person brought in a smell of dew.

“The hotel is all full, I had to come back here.”

It was the black-clad woman.

Vincent and the woman lay down together on the blanket. He asked her whether she’d heard the sound of footsteps descending. The woman smiled and said, “That was me, I went up and came back down. All the people who ascend lose their weight. Don’t you see that I’m as light as air?” Vincent thought she truly was as light as air. He asked her what was on the roof of the tower. “Ten circular holes, you’ve seen them. From the round hole you lean out. .” She didn’t speak. “What’s there?” Vincent pressed her to speak. “I don’t know,” she said, “I haven’t done it, I came right back down.”

Vincent embraced her tightly and entered a dream. In his dream he was at his home in Country A at Christmas. Thick snow fell outside the windows. Lisa was adjusting the logs in the fireplace. The blazing flame made her face shine like a ripe apple. She turned her face to him and asked, “Vincent, when do you plan to set off?”

“Tomorrow,” he blurted out. “Otherwise I’ll be too old.”

When he woke in the morning, his eyes were dazzled by the strong sunlight from above and wouldn’t open. He reached out a hand to the woman by his side. She wasn’t there. When he raised his head again to look up, he discovered that the patch of white light was moving downward. Maybe it wasn’t moving, maybe it was expanding. Yes, it really was expanding! In a short time the whole inside of the tower was bright and dazzling. For Vincent it was as if he were looking directly at the sun. He couldn’t see anything. He felt hot and began to sweat. Nearby he heard the voice of a local person, it was very indistinct. He tried reaching out his hand, felt the edge of a knife, and shrank back at once. Someone was pulling his hand. Vincent caught at the hand, feeling that it was an old man’s, damp with cold sweat.

“Yesterday the sun came out. Today heavy snow seals off the road. You couldn’t go back even if you wanted to. Life at the top of the Five Dragon Tower is the same as a brush with death,” he said. He was probably from the same country as Vincent.

“And me? What is my life at the bottom of the tower the same as?”

“Your life is the same as watching a play.”

He laughed hollowly, then flung Vincent’s hand away, turning to climb the stone steps.

Vincent groped his way out of the tower. His eyesight immediately returned. The plateau was bright and clear. Green grass, trees with pink leaves, gray wolves racing along, cottages with thatched roofs beyond the woods. But this landscape didn’t seem real. Vincent imagined that if he stamped the ground everything before his eyes would disappear. Now that he had placed himself in the beautiful, ill-intentioned landscape he felt deeply that the Five Dragon Tower behind him was the single sight within this scene that was firm and would not collapse — and he’d left it.

He followed a road trampled into the grass by people passing back and forth on foot. He reflected that the plateau changed its face quickly. Over these past days he had become extremely familiar with this area, but now every blade and tree was wholly transformed. Was there some power at work? Was it to make people who came here cherish the Five Dragon Tower with yet greater reverence? He turned to look. The tall tower had already turned into a small gray triangle, just like one of the wooden building blocks he’d played with as a boy. Perhaps the tower was a building block?

Vincent stepped forward alone, anxious and fearful, into this false landscape. His legs were a little shaky. He thought it might be because he was so hungry. He asked himself: Had he made up his mind?

A long time ago, on the beach, watching the distant coral island, he had thought about that question. In truth it was an imponderable question. So how could he ask it? He didn’t ponder the question’s essence. Instead, he only circled around the question, opening many passages to it, setting an ambush .