Li Ang - The Lost Garden

He must have known how to make love on various occasions, the only difference being the time, place, and the woman he was with.

He slid his hand under her clothes to touch her. Like so many woman in love, she shied away from, even rejected a sexual encounter out of the pain of imminent separation, and when he saw that it was not to be, he led her in a different direction. Yinghong sensed his arousal in her hand and knew that there was no going back. A masculine instinctive ability to convey dominance was part and parcel of Xigeng’s personality. Confusion and admiration combined to prompt her to look down and gaze lovingly at what she held in her hand.

“It’s so big.”

Yet what filled her heart was the sorrow of the night, for when it was over she would never see him again, let alone the thing she was holding. With a mixture of what her rejection of a good-bye kiss had meant and the entangled emotions of loss in her mind, she looked down and stared dully at it. Then a pair of strong hands pressed down on her shoulders, and she knew what he wanted. So she bent down hesitantly as his hands brought her forcefully to the point where her lips touched it.

She remained crouching for a long moment before changing positions to kneel in front of it. Having her on her knees heightened his air of potency as he stood there, and highlighted her constant submissiveness and obedience toward him. Fascination and admiration engulfed her as he looked down from his prideful height and said:

“That is a man’s prize possession and finest weapon, and it has to be used if it’s brought out.”

Then in a domineering tone of voice, he said:

“Do you still want to tell me not to call you?”

She was shocked into inaction and snapped her head up.

He was standing with his back to the house to avoid being seen. Now she looked up and saw nothing but a broad tangle of weeds behind him.

The grass looked even taller from where she knelt, and seemed to spread in all directions, claiming the whole yard. She saw that grass nearby had sprouted long stalks topped with green seeds. With no lamps to light up the area, shadows flitted through the darkness; the profusion of seedlings and green weeds had the power to crush everything in their path, which made the yard seem particularly dreary.

I didn’t say good-bye when he finally left. Instead, I closed the door and went inside. But then I was seized by an urge to see him one last time. Overpowered by the desire, I ran up the stairs and stumbled into a second-story room facing the alley.

Perhaps I could still see him beyond the fence, where he could be getting ready to leave or hailing a taxi. I must have one more glance at him, no matter what, for I might never see him again; I couldn’t let a man like him disappear from my life; I needed to see him one more time.

He hadn’t gone beyond the fence, or maybe the fence blocked his outline. I stood on tiptoes, but couldn’t see over the fence. I might never see him again.

At the age of six, Zhu Yinghong had stood on the purple sandalwood armchair in Lotus Pavilion and looked out the second-story window. The night was clotted dark. Round shafts of light held by invisible hands shone all over the garden, but the inky black held on. There were people, obviously many of them, all strangers, who melted into the darkness and turned into looming shadows.

One summer night when she was eighteen, just before she left for college in Japan, she went to Lotus Pavilion alone and turned on all the lights her father had recently fitted. She looked down through the window.

It was not the first time she’d stood at the window facing the pond that was overgrown with water lilies and lotus flowers, but she never could see the low fence and entrance arch to the east. And even if she could have seen it, it would have been too tall for her to see the vehicles parked beyond, even from her second-floor vantage point.

He might already have left. It is late, but there are plenty of taxis in the lane. Within seconds, one could have stopped and taken him away. Or he might be walking alongside the fence to hail a cab at the intersection, but the height of the fence blocks my view so I can’t see him even from the second floor.

On the wooden elephant slide, Zhu Yinghong saw the teacher at Number Three Elementary School walking in front, followed by two rifle-toting soldiers. When they drew near, from the top of the slide she could see that the teacher’s hands were tied behind his back by a thick Boy Scout rope, wound several times around his wrist, each end held by one of the soldiers. They walked toward the side door, where a Jeep was parked; all three climbed in and the Jeep drove off, leaving a small dust storm in its wake.

Worry was etched deeply on the teacher’s face. A fairly stout man still in his thirties, he wore such a serious look that his face seemed masked in apprehension.

He left with firm resolve, perhaps because he was angry and frustrated that he could not finish what he was doing. Would that instill in him a sense of attachment that would bring him back to me? Maybe he’ll ring the bell in a few minutes or call out to let me know he is standing outside but blocked by the tall fence.

I listened carefully to the deathly late-night silence. My head felt heavy from lack of sleep and the shedding of tears. My ears felt stuffed with loud, uncontrollable ringing.

Flanked by the two soldiers, Father walked past Lotus Pavilion. Thick Boy Scout cotton rope was wound round his fair wrists, each end held by one of the soldiers.

What appeared over and over was always Father’s worry-laden face, a display of solemnity mingled with profound pity and compassion.

When I was finally aware that tears were blocking my view, everything was a blur. When had I started crying? Maybe at the very moment I missed my chance to see him one last time. I shut my eyes so the tears could flow down my face. Darkness reigned in the yard.

Could it be that the streetlight was too dim for me to see him, since the areas on both sides of the fence weren’t bright enough? Maybe he was just beyond the fence pacing the whole time? Or, he didn’t know I was still waiting, because the yard wasn’t lit and it was pitch black inside the house.

I hurried to switch on the lights in the room and the yard.

Back then only dim sixty-watt bulbs illuminated Lotus Garden, and they had been put far apart, giving the place a weak but soft illumination. It was impossible to see Father’s face clearly, let alone his worried look, even if I could have seen in the dark how he was taken away by the two soldiers, especially since I was standing high above him and the lighting was so muted.

The only possible explanation was I was deceived by my own childhood memories. I had merged two images, Father’s arrest, which I had only heard about, and the teacher’s arrest, which I had witnessed. Then I transferred and transposed them until what I was left with was an ironclad memory of seeing Father’s arrest.

“Ah—” Zhu Yinghong cried out despite herself.

For many years her father’s arrest had repeatedly made an appearance in her nightmares. When she recalled the scene, the deep worry creases on his face, compounded by the fear that she’d never see him again, tormented her. If all this had originated from unreliable memory, then wasn’t it futile to have suffered over a decade-long premonition that she could not keep him around and would have to let him disappear before her eyes, not to mention the traumatic sorrow over all those years?

She sighed. She looked down at the yard, which was ablaze with light. After the early summer rains, the weedy expanse was a tangled profusion of dark green. Even late at night, she thought she could hear the weeds struggle upward and outward, in all directions, rising stubbornly with indomitable vitality, groaning to find a way through the assault of other weeds. Spreading their leaves and stalks, they hogged as much space as possible, noisily trampling on each other. The crackling sound of vital life rose like a snake spitting its forked tongue, as if attempting to witness its own endless upward growth.