Ran Chen - A Private Life

I thought of my own parents and my mood immediately darkened. "My mama and papa don't fight, but…"

"Their kind of 'cold war' can burn just as badly. Have you heard of Spinoza's leaves?" said Ho.

I had long known that Ho liked books. I was very excited the first time I saw those two long, black boxes filled with foreign books under her big bed. Once, probably during the summer holiday at the end of my first year in middle school, when I told her I would like to look at her books, she chose two novels from one of the boxes. I remember their titles: one was The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, the other, The Gadfly. She told me I could read all of them if I wanted to. But after that, because I was busy with tests and assignments, I didn't borrow any more books from her. I knew, however, that she had read the lot of them.

"Spinoza?" I shook my head indicating I hadn't.

"No two leaves are exactly alike. Just look at the families in our courtyard."

After a moment, I said, "Why must we always get married? Men are if too undependable."

Ho said, "Too true."

Then she fell silent, probably thinking about her own life.

After a long silence, she spoke again. "Sometimes marriage seems like some kind of hoax. Only the walls, the windows, and the furniture are real, can be counted on. Human beings are the least dependable of all creatures. The blossoms of marriage are plastic ones. They look like the real thing, and they may never fade and die, but they are nonetheless false."

I said, "I don't want you to look for a new husband. Please. My mama has my papa, but the only thing he's good for is causing trouble." Then I lowered my voice and continued, "A few days ago I found an old book about men and women in my father's bookcase. The book said that women were a rampant noxious weed, that they were dangerous and crude predatory beasts. It must have been written by a man. I'm sure that my papa has read many books of that sort. But, in fact, I think it is the men who behave that way."

Ho started to laugh, saying, "But Niuniu, you melonhead, if it wasn't for your father, you wouldn't be here."

"But you, you don't have any children. And I'm not going to have any when I grow up," I said.

"But what about when I'm old?" she asked.

"I'll take care of you. I'll always be good to you. Really."

Ho looked at me quickly, her eyes shining. She put her arms around me, quilt and all, and hugged me fiercely, then she bent down and kissed my face. "Just like I'm taking care of you now?"

I nodded.

"But will you be able to carry me on your back?"

"When I'm better I'll try. I'm sure I can. You're so thin."

This seemed to please her, and she bent down and hugged me tightly again, without uttering a word.

Even though they were outside the quilt, I could feel her thin arms as she slid them around my waist and hugged me as desperately as if she were holding her own future. I heard her breath quicken slightly as she repeated softly, "Niuniu, Niuniu." Through her sobs and her unsteady voice I could feel the complex tangle of feelings of injustice, grief, loneliness, and hope that she was caught in.

In my mind, Ho always had a very powerful aura of the tragic heroine about her. This stemmed in part from her delicate, natural loveliness, and in part from a very strong self-destructive urge that had always burned within her, an air of decadence and ennui that came to her through her regal Manchu blood. These qualities, which she passed on to me, so much younger than herself, made me feel a special tenderness and devotion toward her.

At this point, she sat up beside me, apparently a bit surprised to see that her dress with its tiny blue flower petals was spotted with tears. Then she raised her eyes and asked, "Are you hungry? I'll heat up some lunch for you."

I said, "No, thanks."

She stood up, then felt my forehead again to check my temperature. Her cool, gentle fingers were as soothing as a fresh facecloth.

I poked one arm out from under the quilt to pick a piece of thread off the shoulder of her dress, then I took hold of her hand on my forehead, wanting her to stay beside me.

As soon as I touched her hand, she forgot about going to heat up lunch. Slowly and hesitantly she sat down again. I lay on the bed unable to move. It seemed as if the beautiful petals on her dress were drifting down, covering me with a pure blue fragrance.

After hesitating a moment, she said, "Niuniu, would you like me to rub your back?"

I was lying face up on the bed, unable to move or to say anything.

"Mmm?" she queried again.

I lay there stiffly, like a corpse, without the strength to respond in any way.

She pulled back the quilt, and, grasping my shoulder, she eased me over onto my stomach. Then she put her two cool hands up under my pajama top and began to gently rub my back. Her fingers were like a wonderful kind of cool fire on my skin. It was as if I had jumped from a very high place and the free fall generated in me an indescribably beautiful sensation of dizziness.

At that moment, tired and relaxed after my fever had dropped, I wanted Ho to stay with me forever, I wanted desperately to die in this state of bliss. I knew that she too didn't want this moment to end, because she was bent over, pressing herself as close to me as she possibly could.

I was terribly afraid that I wouldn't be able to cling to this beautiful moment for very long, afraid that the next instant it would fall away forever. I couldn't think of a way to keep it from ending, so I pretended I was sleeping and abandoned myself to the touch of Ho's cool, gentle hands on my skin.

In this way, I found myself trapped between two contradictory states: a pleasurable feeling of ease and a tense feeling of panic. The wonderful feeling came naturally from some kind of vague adolescent desire growing within me. But under my tranquil guise of sleep, panic slowly began to overwhelm me, because I couldn't think of a way to make it look like I was really waking up.

This was very similar to the panic I felt on another occasion when I had "calmly" lied to Mr. Ti. On that day, he was standing on the dais, about to ask some of the students to stand up and read their written assignments out loud. His gaze swept back and forth across the classroom like a searchlight, ready to seize upon any information that our eyes might reveal. I was much more frightened than usual, because I had not finished my assignment. So all the while, I was furtively inventing a story. If he were to ask me to read aloud, I would say that I had forgotten my composition book at home. If he told me to go back home and get it, I would say that Mother had my key. But if he stubbornly insisted on phoning Mother after class, then… It was at this point that panic really struck me. I was afraid that my trembling with fear as I sat there rigidly at my desk would attract his attention.

My tension on that occasion was very much like the tension I felt at this time, lying there on the bed feigning sleep.

But on that occasion, the look of equanimity that I was able to keep on my face saved me. Mr. Ti didn't see through my false calm, and he didn't call upon me to read my essay to the class. It turned out to be just as easy as getting a good grade from him for one of my spirited essays. The final bell that day was like the all-clear siren after an air raid. I flew out of the classroom, and the air and the sunlight outside were filled with a fragrance and joy as they had never been before.

Although Ho's hands touched only my back as I was lying there on my bed, they were the source of everything that I was feeling. I don't know why at that moment I chose to waste so much time recalling that insignificant incident in composition class, even though it had turned out very well.