Li Ang - The Lost Garden

Owing to Lin’s views about children, she knew, from the moment the pregnancy was confirmed, that the life growing inside her would bring her only defeat and worry.

I knew it was not yet time for Lin to get a divorce and marry me. He did not want another divorce, not because he had strong feelings for his marriage or any special affection for his wife and children. From his perspective, as long as he was serious, a relationship should proceed in a set formula: first, a woman, then find a place for her to live, deciding on the monthly allowance, followed by children. All these occurred in their designated order, and came to him all too easily. He would tolerate no disruptions in his daily life, particularly if that involved divorce.

No matter how successful and confident he was professionally, he could not bear to hear people gossip behind his back.

“Three marriages is a sign that a man can’t handle family affairs, so how could he be expected to devote himself to long-term business deals? He would never be a major player.”

People said things like that all the time.

I knew that on an island known to have constantly imported information and customs, a successful man who was acceptable to his peers usually had only one marriage (those who were single could give the impression of inconstancy). The women they had outside of marriage earned them envy and compliments.

I have yet to make him feel that I’m so indispensible that he must get a divorce to marry me. Before that happens, I could ask him to go through with it, but he would never consent, and worst of all, I would lose my current edge. At least, as of now, I haven’t moved into the house he set aside for me, and I live on what I earn. To him, I’m still someone he needs to court, not a woman he keeps.

It is imperative that I maintain the current condition. Once I become a kept woman, I’ll be doomed, no matter how much he loves me.

Yet, why do I harbor such deep fears? Will the day ever come when he finds me indispensable?

Eight days after she was sure of the pregnancy, Yinghong thought long and hard before telling Lin.

Though there were no signs of the pregnancy at that early stage, she presented herself to be a lethargic mother-to-be by asking for sick leave. When he came to her room, where the fragrance of flowers lingered, she was lying in bed, displaying her soft, alluring chest, framed by the white lace of her nightgown. Didn’t articles in women’s magazines, newspapers, and books all say that a woman evokes an unusual languid sexuality in early pregnancy?

Her sunken eyes were slightly closed under long lashes as she told him in a listless voice about her apprehension as a first-time mother, while holding his head against her still-flat belly.

He showed all the befitting signs of joy, saying he’d always wanted to have a baby with her. He would take all responsibilities, giving the child the proper surname and, of course, taking the best possible care of mother and child.

“You can ask for anything you want, as long as it’s available,” he said with confident generosity.

Yinghong smiled weakly and closed her eyes, now truly fatigued. Fear gripped her heart, for, from now on, there was no way out. What would tomorrow bring?

She had another option, which was to abort the baby without telling him, and pretend that nothing had happened. Their relationship would continue as before until the day came when he could not live without her. That was something she had thought of before, but the intimate connection she felt from carrying his baby convinced her that this might be a turning point.

But he expressed only his willingness to take responsibility, with no mention of marriage. Now she knew that, after she told him, she could not resort to aborting the baby on her own; if she insisted on doing so, that would damage their relationship. All she could do now was continue carrying the baby and get whatever she could out of a disadvantageous position.

She soon returned to work. The newly elected guild director was required to attend many meetings and do something to prove himself, in particular, negotiate with relevant government offices dealing with regulations and policies. Deftly utilizing the Zhu family’s old connections as well as the new web of relationships established through Lin’s business empire, Yinghong helped him obtain more lenient deadlines for construction companies, in cases involving urban space ratios. The new director thus was able to present his first, outstanding report card.

She worked day and night, in the office during the day, and at banquets at night. In the early stage of pregnancy, the baby in her belly was unusually dormant; she had no symptoms at all, no nausea or other signs of discomfort, and no changes in the appearance of her body. Sometimes she thought it might have been a misdiagnosis. Nothing had happened; she’d just had a mystifying dream that had lasted too long on the streets of Taipei, a city bathed in brilliant sunshine.

It was Lin who tried to get her to work less. He somehow got the idea that the child would be a girl, and promised Yinghong that he would give the little princess what she deserved, more and better than Yinghong’s father had ever given her.

His efforts made her wonder if she had been working doubly hard so the unformed fetus might lose its grip on her uterus and leave her body in a natural way. That, of course, would mean she could start over.

But she was not to have that opportunity. Imperceptibly and quietly, the fetus grew inside. It must have drawn nutrients from her, feasting on her life force, and ingesting her energy to grow and develop. And it went on day and night, not stopping. Yet she detected no change in her body; she knew the baby was still inside her only by counting the passing days.

She grew fearful.

Lin was preoccupied with the many tasks related to his new position as guild director, and some of the real estate operations fell to the domain of Masao. Yinghong had always shown respect to the older man, who had started out with Lin Xigeng early on and now owned a substantial share of the company. The only exception was that, privately with Lin, she jokingly referred to the tall, brawny man as a “pile” of Masao.

The real estate boom continued, with daily increases in pricing. Unhinged from all other economic indexes, housing costs, like the continuously rising numbers on the electronic board at the stock market, turned into a nightmare for most residents of the island nation. An average three-bedroom, 1,500-square-foot apartment was now priced above the lifetime earnings of a midrange civil servant.

Just as the real estate market was at its hottest, and real estate agencies were holding back available units, Masao began to sell those sites frozen by Lin earlier. Known to be cautious and given to playing it safe, he obviously sensed the latent danger in soaring real estate prices.

“It’s better to make less than to lose money,” Masao said resolutely, as he sat, more like “stuffed,” in Yinghong’s characterization, in the conference room.

Lin was noncommittal.

Yinghong thought she detected fear in Lin’s eyes. The timing for a real estate sale naturally involved tremendous, tangible differences in the amounts of money made or lost, but it was also connected to a sense of accomplishment that came from the ability to judge correctly. Everyone in the business was speculating on housing price trends by taking the capital market and government policy into consideration. Everyone was a specialist in analysis, but no one could say for sure. Desire lurked in every pair of eyes, as they waited for the highest price before selling; then, once they sold, they hoped the housing price would plummet, in order to make up for the jealousy stemming from not getting enough money out of the deal and compensate for the frustration of bad judgment.