Xu Xiaobin - Dunhuang Dream

Several years later, Xiao Xingxing described her feelings at that time to me in this way: “I thought I would go on having that dream. I thought the blood would soon come spurting out of his wrist. I wanted to run, to flee from that scarlet nightmare.”

Later events in fact confirm that she did flee, but he didn’t.

8

“Can I. . can I have a drink of water?” he asked. His voice was so hoarse that he could scarcely be heard. His skin was dark and scaly, blood oozed from his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and he looked as if he were going to faint.

“Of course. .” she muttered.

What happened then seemed a matter of course. He drank the water, but so quickly he almost burst into tears. Seeing his Adam’s apple bob, she suddenly felt sorry for him. It was like a scene repeated from her past. As he stood there awkwardly holding the glass, she heated water for him to take a bath. She used the small hot plate that Zhang Shu had hooked up for her.

Next she roasted some corn on the hot plate. Turning the corn slowly, its aroma filled the small room. The splashing of bathwater was heard behind the tightly shut bathroom door. The sound gave her a warm feeling of security on that quiet night. She sat there lazily listening to the water and smelling the aroma of the roasting corn. Warm, she felt she would drift off to sleep if she closed her eyes.

The young man finally came out, dripping wet. His wet hair stood up in spikes like sisal cord. He put on a clean T-shirt and shorts, both of which were old but looked very comfortable. He was a handsome young man. The young man in her dream was always shrouded in mist; this young man stood before her in shining clarity under the light. She could even make out the down above his lip.

But his eyes seemed to be covered with a mist of sorts. She knew he only had to shut his long lashes and he’d go right off to sleep. He was exhausted. She knew he would be lovely to look upon as he slept.

“There’s no way you’ll find a place tonight, so you’ll just have to make do with sleeping here tonight,” she said rather flatly. As she spoke, though, her heart was pounding. She bent over and divided the bedding in half and then improvised a bed on the floor, following which she sat down cross-legged as if it were the most natural thing.

“No, no. . how will this ever do?” His eyelids remained tenaciously open, though they looked as if they were going to stick together. He remained standing, his embarrassed smile at once grateful and apologetic. “I’ll sleep on the floor. I’m really putting you out. .”

He had a lovely voice with a perfect pitch. But his voice was filled with exhaustion. From the very first she could see that he was pretty stubborn, which was only confirmed later as they interacted. But she always vacillated. This was the pattern established on their very first meeting and one that never changed.

Naturally the stubborn person had his way. The exhausted young man collapsed on the floor amid the aroma of roasting corn. He slept soundly, snoring ever so softly. To the best of her recollection, no member of the opposite sex ever slept so soundly. Even her four-year-old son would grind his teeth in his sleep.

As always, she lay back with both hands behind her head. But the aroma of the roasted corn and his rhythmic breathing rose like a vapor, a vapor replete with seduction. Later, she simply turned on the light and looked at his face as he slept soundly.

9

Many years before there had been another young man like this. Thin and tall, whose shoulders were broad and square, but whose hair was different. In those days all the young men kept their hair cut short; a little longer and people would see them as “troublemakers.” But he was more intelligent than most, and therefore more skeptical and more stubborn.

Only occasionally did that far-off young man enter her life. One day, she went to see a friend, where she met that man. There was something different about him. He had a pair of limpid eyes; his pupils seemed golden and especially beautiful. More than a decade later she read about those eyes in a cheap book on physiognomy. The book called those eyes tiger eyes, which portended a prosperous future. But there must have been some other feature on his face to contradict this; otherwise, he wouldn’t have ended up so badly.

His name was Xiaojun.

10

Zhang Shu knocked excitedly on Xiao Xingxing’s door. The young man had just arisen from his makeshift bed on the floor.

Xiao Xingxing was still lying quietly in bed and seemed unaware that anyone had entered. Zhang Shu called to her once. She looked over at him with a strange look

The young man gave him a pleasant look and began gnawing on an ear of corn.

For a moment, Zhang Shu almost thought he had entered the wrong room.

Yellow kernels of crushed corn were reduced to yellow liquid, which made Zhang Shu’s mouth tingle when he saw it. He looked over at the small pot on the hot plate and saw steam rising.

“Are you going for a walk? The weather’s great today,” he said, looking at the hot plate.

“She’s not feeling well; she didn’t get much sleep last night,” said the young man, also looking at the hot plate.

Xingxing stared silently at the ceiling. A circle of light shone on the ceiling in which motes of dust slowly sank.

“Xingxing, I have something to say to you,” said Zhang Shu, weakly as never before.

Only then did Xingxing look over. She seemed to have just awakened. This was the way she really looked, not in the least dissembling. Her beauty was actually quite moving.

“Oh, it’s you. . I’m sorry,” she said, unsure why her face flushed. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m very tired and don’t feel like getting up.”

Alarmed and bewildered, she didn’t know what she was saying. Long after, she continued to regret her reply. “I didn’t sleep well and I don’t feel like getting up.” Her words provided too much food for thought, especially for a man who had just become interested in her, someone who watched her every move.

Zhang Shu threw an unhappy glance at the young man and departed.

He didn’t want to appear upset, lest it give the young man airs.

The weather was really fine. The sky was unusually blue, the air clear and not too dry, the same as the morning they had met.

11

Zhang Shu’s heart ached.

When he saw that young man get up from his makeshift bed on the floor, he was shocked speechless. His pride demanded that he leave at once, but that same pride also made him refuse to admit defeat.

Besides, Xingxing’s appearance of having just awakened was quite moving. That image remained fixed in his mind. Her disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, and two dreamy eyes formed the picture of a slovenly angel.

He wanted to do everything possible to dilute that image with another face. He felt it odd that when he was far from home he often forgot his wife’s looks. Just after he had returned to Beijing, he went to a get-together at the house of an old classmate. His classmate had gone to work at a carpet factory where he made good monthly wages. He didn’t know many of the people there. There were eleven or twelve. Later a slender and graceful woman showed up. His classmate introduced her as Wang Xiyi, a decent pianist. The woman elegantly took a seat at the piano, which was old and shabby, and began playing. It was the song on everyone’s lips titled “For Alice.” She did play well, and the familiar tune made him feel sad but excited. They began seeing each other. One autumn day, as they sat on a park bench, she told him she was the daughter of the provincial party secretary. After sitting quietly for some time, he suddenly blurted out, “I thought you came from an intellectual family. Your name sounds as if it were chosen by a bookworm.” Then he suddenly felt her thrust his hand into a warm, soft place. He wanted to pull his hand back, but was too late. That was the first time he had touched a woman’s privates. It was true, many people said his wife was beautiful, but he never thought her so. He didn’t find his wife’s face, which was of a standard beauty, to be lovely, and as soon as they were apart, her face became wan and lacking in features. Unfortunately, it was true, but he never told anyone. He hated himself for it. He found all sorts of reasons to prove his wife’s superiority and his own inferiority. If it hadn’t been for his wife’s audacity, he probably never would have married. He was always hesitant when it came to women and always took a carefully observant, wait-and-see attitude. The first few times they made love, he felt a vague revulsion for her, because it did not conform to his aesthetic sense. After the mystery and the excitement had entirely vanished, all that remained for him was a feeling of having been cheated.