Ran Chen - A Private Life

Several low green hedges willy-nilly formed an enclosure for a tiny park. I sat down on a secluded stone bench, a jacket around my shoulders, looking as if I were waiting for someone. In truth, there was no one for me to be waiting for, but I didn't feel the least bit lonely, because I was enjoying a moment of happiness that I myself had created.

Sitting there, I for some reason felt an urge to write someone a letter.

So I went back to the inn, where I sat cross-legged on the clean enough bed, placing the writing pad I had brought with me on my knees, with a book underneath for support.

But who was I going to write to? The first person to come to mind was Ho. Since we had never written to each other before, I thought that it would be perfect to write to her now that we were separated, using my imagination to draw a scene for her. She would no doubt find the most beautiful and the warmest landscapes of my spirit in the letter. I imagined her propped up in her big bed, her slender, delicate figure draped casually on it, like a piece of lustrous, soft silk. When she got my letter she would be surprised and overjoyed. She would touch every word as carefully as if she were touching my eyes.

I realized at that moment that I missed her very much.

After that, I wrote a letter to Ti, fiercely denouncing him for all the ways he had mistreated me over the years, telling him how much I hated him, how I couldn't stand living under the same sky, that I didn't want to see him again, that I never wanted to see him again, ever! But in the close of the letter I contradicted myself, saying that should the opportunity arise, perhaps I might see him again. But I knew that I would see him only to make him suffer out of his desire for my body. I would take great delight in seeing his torment.

Writing letters gives me extreme pleasure. There is no more effective way of experiencing the pleasure of getting away from people and living by yourself. All those faraway moments of sorrow and joy are so close you can reach out and touch them, while when you are actually among the people you know, such feelings can often elude you.

My letters written, I heaved a sigh of relief, as if the sole purpose of my journey had been to write them.

The next day, after I had dropped them off at the local post office, I found myself in a vacant mood. After a few days idly enjoying some of the scenic spots, I found myself thinking of going home.

In the morning, just as I was thinking of packing up to leave and paying my bill, there was a knock on the door.

I knew that it wasn't the chambermaid, because the knock seemed somehow hesitant, exploratory, and eager. It sounded like a familiar heartbeat. Though separated from it by the door, I knew that it was the same heartbeat that had lingered against my breast a few days earlier.

I rushed over to the door and swung it open.

And, sure enough, there was Ti, looking absolutely forlorn.

I don't know why, but seeing him there didn't surprise me in the least. It seemed as if I had been expecting him, even though this made no sense, since nobody knew where I was. Yet I had no idea how he had been able to find me.

When he saw me, he stared at my face, and after a few moments of hesitation, he heaved a sigh and came into the room.

He said, "Niuniu, is there anything wrong?"

"I'm fine," I said.

After staring at me again for a while, he shifted his gaze from my face and took in the rest of the room, his brows furrowed slightly.

"Niuniu, going off by yourself like this is dangerous. There are a lot of bad people out there."

The way he spoke made it sound like he was the kind of person there was no need to worry about.

"It's none of your concern," I answered coldly.

Apparently taking no note of what I had said, he continued, "Next time you want to go away for a holiday, I'll go with you. You mustn't go alone."

I continued my cold rejection of his concern. "What I do is none of your business."

"Niuniu, don't be like that. I set out this morning before dawn to look for you. I figured out where you were from the postmark on your letter. This is the second hotel I've come to. Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

I made no answer, leaving him to do the talking. But his appearance and his sincerity were slowly weakening my resistance.

He was silent for a while, then said, "Niuniu, I miss you."

Feigning total indifference, I looked away from him, still not saying anything.

Standing there without having moved, without any encouragement, he continued, "I long for you every hour, every minute of the day. I don't know what to do…"

His words came slowly and heavily, as if they were great stones blocking the space between us, impeding him; not his usual crafted sentences.

"Niuniu, I don't want to hurt you in any way. I'm out of control. All I want to do is see you, be with you."

I noticed that he had picked up again on the key issue of our last conversation, which I had cut short. I also noticed that when he uttered my name, his voice shook.

The room fell silent as death.

He didn't come over and touch me. Some nameless force seemed to hold his feet frozen to the floor. I still didn't look at him directly, but I could glimpse his face and figure at the edge of my field of vision. He looked totally despondent. The gloom in his heart had completely sucked away the former brightness of his face. Even in the stillness and stifling heat of midday his cheeks looked as colorless and hopeless as a frozen wasteland. He was wearing a pair of military shorts, and his long, brown legs looked as powerful as those of a straining workhorse. Those silent legs had a strange power that drew my eyes.

I forced myself to turn my head away.

Then I turned my back on him and fixed my gaze on a huge spider-web on the wall. Like a delicate wing, the silk web trembled in a slight draft. Pointlessly, I continued to stare at it, as if it were some fascinating thing.

Then I heard movement behind me. I could hear each step as he drew nearer; I could even hear the sound of his breathing.

But the sounds stopped when he was still about a footstep away from me.

He took a breath and then said, "Niuniu, I want to take you somewhere to eat. You must have been terribly hungry over these last few days." As he spoke, he squeezed my arms. "Look, pretty soon you won't weigh any more than your photograph."

No sooner had he said this than my stomach began to growl with hunger.

And at last, I turned around to face him, and nodded my head in agreement.

Crowing with joy, Ti lifted me off the ground and swung me around with my feet in the air.

He shouldered my pack, paid my bill, called a taxi, and we were on our way.

It was the same road that I had arrived on, but now it seemed totally different. When I came, we bounced along depressingly, the pencil-straight road looming out of and disappearing into the encroaching gloom. The interminable road with its indistinctive background, like my own train of thought weighted down with cares, thought only of pushing onward.

But now the road was altogether different. Bordered with a rose haze, under the midday sun it glittered like undulating black silk. The depth and richness of the dark green of growing crops, the black of freshly turned loam, the mottled brown-and-white cows, the trailing shadows of sinuous trees captured the eyes. The roadside stone walls, the granaries, and the lush wild grasses embroidered the borders of this otherwise uninteresting road.

After a drive of two hours or so, we were back in the city center.

Ti said, "I'm going to take you to a new-style grotto restaurant for dinner. It's operated by a friend of mine from my army days. It has a style all its own."

Our taxi pulled up in front of a restaurant called Banpo Village on a main downtown street.