Li Ang - The Lost Garden

“What do you think?”

“I stood up and cut him off.” There was still a hint of righteous indignation in his voice. “I told him I don’t know a thing about multinational companies or capitalism, but I know that Taiwan’s economy took off because many, many hardworking, diligent Taiwanese, like myself, worked tirelessly to make it happen.”

She laughed softly again.

“Then what?”

“Everyone in the audience applauded.”

Time passed quickly as they talked. She had wanted to remind him that it was getting late and, no matter what he had said, they really shouldn’t be chatting on international calls. But then what he was saying caught her attention, until she was startled to sense that it must be very late, for all was quiet around her. She was feeling drowsy and her ear was getting numb from having the receiver pressed against it for so long. The voice on the other end sounded hoarse, deeper, fatigued even.

That reminded her of the first time they met, when he’d appeared reserved and weary.

She hurriedly offered an apology for keeping him on the phone for so long.

“What time is it? I don’t have my watch.”

“Mine is still on Taiwan time; it’s 3:30.”

So they’d talked for four and a half hours on a call between L.A. and Taipei. After she hung up, she remained curled up on the sofa, deluged by a weighty sense of fatigue in the late-night quiet. His voice was gone, but a buzzing sound lingered in her ear; she was tired beyond description and yet her mind was crystal clear. She was experiencing a dreamlike sensation, as if she were still riding in the Rolls Royce, with its seemingly unreal steady speed, or the carnal indulgence of Elixir with its sound, lights, and flesh, compounded by four-and-a-half hours of trans-Pacific conversation.

A few days later he called again at ten at night. He was back in Taipei and had just dealt with urgent matters at the company. All he said was he wanted to see her.

She recalled how since the first day, they’d always met in extravagant places, so she thought he’d take her to another, maybe even more exquisite, more expensive place. Instead what emerged from the familiar voice was:

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Caught off guard by her own erroneous assumption, she didn’t react at once, but quickly recovered and laughed softly.

“It’s raining.”

“Walking in the rain, that’s even better.”

Looking at the soft spring rain, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go. When was the last time she’d walked in the rain now that all indoor spaces in the city were air-conditioned? Then a sense of adventure made her agree with a laugh.

She opened the door when he rang the bell, only to see him standing in the dark in the rain, his white Rolls Royce nowhere in sight. That behemoth of a car was nearby wherever he went, so its absence that evening was confusing, as if he’d come out of nowhere.

They walked along Zhongshan North Road toward Yuanshan. Streetlights that glowed brilliant white in the rain illuminated a profusion of tender green leaves on red maples along the street, while those leaves threw the area beyond the light into a dark shadow.

A mist was rising. Strolling down the red-brick sidewalk, she looked around at the arboreal canopy that, in alternating light and darkness, looked as if green tips had been painted on the leaves before they sent their profusion of greenery down the street. It was like a man-made backdrop that had been beautified, so impossibly pretty it seemed unreal.

The rain increased as they walked and talked. He pointed to a small neighborhood watch booth.

“Let’s go in there.”

“I pass by here every day. Why haven’t I ever noticed this little booth before?” She was surprised by her own lack of observation, then added, “That’s for a neighborhood watchman. Can we go in there?”

“If we can’t, then we must. On my way to L.A. this time, I saw a movie on the plane. I forget its name or what it was about, but I remember the male lead said to the female lead that he wanted to do something for her to remember him by.”

He carried on with his usual confidence, which in turn made him sound more arrogant than ever. She recalled how much of his knowledge came from fragments of conversation or lectures; now he even had to take a page out of a romantic movie. She was about to tease him about that, but his self-assurance and his conviction in the rationality of his action changed her mind. Silently she followed him inside and sat down in the low, blue wooden booth.

Two makeshift planks were the only furniture; the lower one served as a chair and the higher one was obviously the desk. The cramped space made it natural for him to put his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned against him. He had a well-proportioned, powerful hand with clean, neatly trimmed nails.

A casual glance showed that he was wearing a plain-looking Patek Philippe watch, not the gold Rolex favored by Taipei businessmen. A bit surprised, she commented:

“Nice watch; good taste.”

The comment only encouraged his smugness as he gestured at his clothes and gloated:

“The shirt is from Thierry Mugler, the suit is Claude Montana. Only a girl from old money would recognize these name brands.”

She smiled vaguely, making him aware of how inappropriate that had been; it brought a moment of silence between them. Then he continued in his usual high spirits:

“There’s a story about a gold watch making the rounds in Taipei business circles. Here’s how it goes: there was this Shanghai textile tycoon, who was so big and tall that his Rolex already felt snug on his wrist when he bought it. But then he put on some weight and had to have the gold watchband extended. Over the years that followed, his weight continued to go up and his watchband got longer. When he died, his watch was so heavy it couldn’t be held in one hand.”

She laughed, but by the time he finished, an eerie feeling made her shudder.

It was getting late, so he walked her home. When they stopped outside the gate, he spoke into her ear in a low, gentle voice:

“Still want me to wait for you here?”

With a smile, she shook her head and said in a shy, coquettish voice:

“No, but I’d like you to walk me to the door.”

The weedy yard felt overpoweringly vibrant even in the dark, as it grew and filled every available crevice, like a raging fire, lacking only green flames. Pushing aside a knee-high weedy plant stretching across the path, he frowned and said:

“I’ve never seen a stranger woman than you. Who lives in a house with a weedy yard?”

“I once lived in a beautiful garden. It belonged to my father, in Lucheng. It was called Lotus Garden. Maybe you’ve heard of it. Like the Lin Family Garden of Taipei, it was one of the largest private garden compounds in Taiwan.”

She paused on the weedy path and turned to look at him. All he saw was her dark, deep eyes on that rainy night, looking wild and mysterious against the vegetation around her.

“After living in a big place like that, what do you think I could grow here?”

She laughed softly.

“Besides, this isn’t my house. It belongs to my uncle, who lets me live here.” She lowered her eyes, the long lids obscuring the light inside. “This house was part of my mother’s dowry.”

“I could buy it from your uncle and you’d have it back.”

He spoke in a confident, casual tone, obviously blurting it out without thinking. Like a reflex, a reserved, aloof look immediately settled over her face, with a hint of disdain and distance, effectively cutting him off. As if mute, he stood here, not knowing what to do or say next.

For the first time since they had met, she turned and leaned up to him; he wrapped his arms tightly around her for a long moment before saying good-bye.