Li Ang - The Lost Garden

“The tap water at your maternal grandpa’s house wasn’t that wondrous. It was not like the houses in the West, where you have faucets in the kitchen and bathroom and get water whenever you turn the faucet.” Mother was still laughing as she continued: “Back at the house, the neighborhood families had to share a faucet. The water would come late in the afternoon, and each family had to fetch its water in a bucket and take it back to fill troughs and vats.”

Then she turned from her mirror to face Yinghong, before saying in a serious tone, though still in her soft, gentle Tokyo Japanese:

“Don’t mention this to Mudan or she will lose face.”

Yinghong nodded, like a good girl.

“And don’t bring it up with other servants either, all right? It doesn’t matter how tap water flows out of the faucet. It’s harmless. Never put everything out in the open, understand?”

Yinghong was not old enough to completely understand why Mother did not want her to explain things, but she was not too young to know that she should not give others the opportunity to laugh at Mudan. The strict rules she grew up with taught her to answer obediently in Japanese:

“I understand, Okasan.”

Soon after that, Mother planned a trip back to Dataocheng and wanted Mudan to go along, which was a rare occurrence. With that trip back home, Mudan returned with more stories, this time about rice kernels.

“Someone from Dataocheng went to the South Sea, a long way away. I heard that the rice kernels over there were several hundred times larger than ours. Only one kernel is needed to cook a bowl of rice, no gruel but a regular rice meal.”

Mudan gestured emphatically with her hands:

“Imagine how easy life would be. One kernel to make a bowl of rice. You’d only need several kernels each meal to make enough for the whole family.”

A tiny person, Mudan had large hands and feet. When she gestured with her big bony hands, it looked as if a kernel of rice could truly make a giant bowl of rice.

Some people were amazed by her stories while others doubted their reliability and began spreading gossip about her. When she got wind of that, naturally she was unhappy and convinced that they didn’t believe her because she wasn’t a local. Often she would be heard to complain:

“I’m not from here, so I’m a stranger. Those Lucheng people have terrible customs, so many rules, and they’re so hard to please. I never know what to do.”

One time Yinghong happened to walk by when Mudan was airing her usual complaint, so Mudan started on her:

“Like you,” she pointed at Yinghong, “you’re a Lucheng local.”

“So what if I’m a Lucheng local?” Yinghong retorted.

“You’re just a Lucheng local.” Mudan had not meant anything unpleasant by this comment, and did not know what to say next. Deflated, she could only repeat, “You’re a Lucheng local, from the Zhu family, First Young Miss Zhu, with great learning.”

The maids nearby all covered their mouths and giggled.

A month and seventeen days after Lin Xigeng left, the new construction project jointly developed by Yinghong’s uncle and Lin was about to move to the sales phase, and, as a result, she and Lin saw each other frequently; it was not until after the extreme pain over the separation and the waiting began to subside that was she finally able to think straight, that her mind had begun to work again.

Finally she was able to evaluate how, on the night he left, he found an unusual way to say good-bye by having her submit to him by crouching down to kiss his erect penis. How had he managed to get her to do his bidding?

She had special feelings for that night; even during her most painful moments, when she couldn’t think straight, she continued to cherish, and repeatedly savor, every minute of it. It was her way of establishing an intimate connection with him, one that had included bodily contact.

When he was about to leave, the pain in her heart forced her to refuse to let his hand under her clothes, even as she told herself that at a moment like this she would not be able to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. She avoided and resisted his touch.

But then she’d let him guide her into touching him, as she believed that this most precious, this final connection, would help reduce the regret she would feel later.

She’d thought that his desire for bodily contact on that night had also stemmed from a similar wish to cherish the moment for future memory. But a month and seventeen days later she was finally clearheaded enough to realize that his actions had likely not derived from the same longing and love; instead it was probably all to gratify his male desire for possession and basic sexual needs. Gradually it became clear to her that the man who’d come to say good-bye was motivated by his characteristic desire for conquest, and that he would not leave until he’d gotten what he wanted from her.

She was then startled by an awareness that, because she still treasured the love they’d had, she’d denied him the ultimate pleasure, which in turn might be the very reason why he still had feelings for her and that their relationship might not be over after all. At the very least, she had denied him the opportunity to dismiss her casually when her name came up:

“What’s the big deal with this woman? I already had my way with her.”

No, he had not gotten what he wanted, because she had not consented, so at the moment, she had not lost everything.

But then, as her mind slowly cleared, the desire, the unmistakable bodily hunger returned with a vengeance. In her cherished recollections, she isolated her sorrow over the separation and focused solely on the sensation of his erect penis filling up her mouth, the memory of which produced in her a strong, irrepressible desire.

She began to search among the men who had shown interest in her; she wanted only one man, a married man who had no intention of getting a divorce and, like her, had to be concerned about reputation and would not babble about the relationship. Best, he should come from a different social circle, someone who wanted to be with her but would not create problems or an obstacle between her and Xigeng.

As a woman, she knew from the bottom of her heart that she was still blindly, deeply in love with him, even though she was now able to see that he had wanted her purely out of desire and a need to possess. One month and seventeen days after he left, she finally realized that there would be a prolonged battle between them and that she must not be betrayed by physical needs that came with her recovery.

To be able to wait without rushing into action, she must be sexually gratified, particularly by another man. Only that way could she not be easily overcome by desire, for she knew fully well that, like many other women, the moment she and Lin got back together, she would offer herself to him with gratitude, as a way to seek his promise and gain assurance.

Yinghong was a pretty woman to begin with, and now her desperation made her even more bewitching, for frenzied passion added flames to her large, enchanting eyes. The man responded to her needs as soon as she initiated their second meeting.

It was a man she knew already, nicknamed Teddy Zhang, who was married to the daughter of a textile tycoon. Now in his forties, Teddy was homely and short, but a girlfriend of hers had intimated that he was not only highly competent at work, but virile to the point of being insatiable. She was convinced that he would want more than she to keep it between the two of them, for he was no different than most men in Taiwan who treasured family wealth more than anything else.