"This place is different from Huangpu West," she said. "You hardly ever see anybody, and it might take some getting used to."
She gave me another smile and went back to her own apartment.
At this point, I remembered the fortune-teller's peach blossom. When the mums were fading, would a peach come into bloom?
Alongside the beige walls, I resumed my unpacking, starting to feel very lonely. My stereo system was still packed away, so not a sound could be coaxed from it. I dropped what I was doing and walked over to the wall. I pressed my ear against the wall but couldn't hear anything. I opened the door-the corridor was pitch-black. The cast-iron gate was shut, the iron bars glistening under the faint light.
I smoked a cigarette in the corridor and went back inside, leaving my door open.
Then I sat down in a chair and lit up another cigarette, keeping my eyes on the open door.
4
She didn't close the door when she came in but walked straight to the study and, without saying anything, started putting my books into the bookcase. Her waist was like a young girl's, a nice figure. I watched her upper body as it rose and fell, and when she bent down, her buttocks, wrapped tight in jeans, looked like a twisted face wanting to speak. She had long limbs and elegant wrists. Her breasts were not prominent, barely discernible, and when she raised her arms to put the books into the bookcase, they were no longer even that.
I finished my cigarette. Still, I didn't move.
When she had filled two bookcases, she stopped, sat down in an armchair, and took a cigarette from the coffee table. I lit it for her. "Want something to drink?"
She nodded.
I went to the refrigerator for a beer and poured it into two glasses. "Cheers."
"Cheers." She downed half a glass in one gulp.
Then I finished mine. The beer was tepid.
"More?"
I nodded.
She came back with more beer, refilled mine, topped off her own. "Let's go outside."
I followed her out and leaned against the balcony. The cars had thinned, ducking into the tunnel or popping out. I thought of the tunnel walls, with their water rings.
"Huangpu East is like an island," I said. "And this building is an islet surrounded by an island."
Without looking up, she said she was a little cold. So we went back inside. The lights were bright.
"My bed, it used to be here, too," she stated out of the blue. "A bed is like an island. Or maybe a pool of water. When I lie on the bed, my body becomes a boat."
I understood that when she talked about the bed, it was just a metaphor, with no undertones of seduction. We continued with our beer.
"You've got a lot of books."
"Do you like to read?"
"No. I don't read much."
She looked like an educated woman-although even educated women nowadays, once they leave school, don't tend to read much. It's the same with men.
"The books I do read a lot are medical books," she said. "Every chapter is intriguing. Having an illness is like an art. Bacteria and viruses are the artists, the human body is the canvas, or the clay for sculpting." She continued, "I like to imagine myself living through one disease after another. I have now lived through every possible kind of disease. Every one has been painful but artistic."
I said, "I don't like being sick."
"Me neither. But I like to imagine myself being sick. I can really get into it."
"I don't even like to imagine it."
She said, "You and I are not the same kind of people."
I wanted to find a medical book in the bookcase for her. But by the time I found one, I realized she had already walked to the door. She noticed I was looking at her, gave me a smile, and vanished.
Slowly, I walked over and closed the door.
5
In the time immediately following, I sat in the armchair she had sat in and drank down the beer she hadn't finished. It was lukewarm, slightly bitter. I held the glass until I finished the last drop. Then I turned off the lights.
There was a noise on the balcony-shashasha-like footsteps. When I went to have a look, there was nothing but a rope dangling over the eaves, swinging to and fro in the breeze. It was raining outside again, a light rain. I stuck my hand out for a good while. It was barely wet.
The tunnel exit looked very faint and hazy.
I was exhausted and went to bed yet couldn't fall asleep. There was movement on the roof, as though someone were walking. I wished I could hear a cat's screech, that sort of piercing screech.
My stuff was spread all around the room, surrounding me. I remembered she said she was like a boat. Now I was a boat stranded on this island. At this point, all the boats in the world might be on an island. I wanted to make a phone call. I glanced at the clock; it was too late. I was overcome with the desire to call, the desire to listen.
"Twelve fifty-six a.m., twelve fifty-six a.m., twelve fifty-six A.M…"
I waited until "one a.m." before hanging up. The voice announcing the time was just like hers, my next-door neighbor's, very soft. She said we were not the same kind of people. She left right after saying that. Probably lying on her own island now, thinking about diseases of every possible kind. She said it was an art.
I decided I'd better get up and go knock on the door of 602. I could say I was locked out when the wind slammed the door shut.
The sound of the wind slamming the door shut was deafening. It frightened me.
6
I knocked softly. No response. I knocked for a long time; I was getting desperate. I figured she had no reason to open up. Maybe she was frightened, too. Or maybe she didn't hear it. I couldn't very well pound on the door. Late at night, any sound at all can be a soul-shattering experience.
I started to feel despondent. That's when the door opened.
"It's open." She gave it a jerk. I wondered if I should follow her into 602. "Come on in, you."
"I was locked out by the wind. I wanted to check with you to see if there's any way to cross the river at this time of night. Also, could you lend me some money?"
She took a look at my pajamas, shook her head, and smiled.
"Come on in." She closed the door behind me.
The light flickered on. I saw a bed, a table, and a few chairs. The blankets were spread out on the bed. The pillow displayed the imprint of a head.
"I'll go heat up some water."
I looked at the empty room, then moved the two chairs up to the bed, folded the blankets against the wall, and rested the pillow against the blankets. Then I leaned against the pillow, propped up my feet on the chair, and waited for her.
"Do you want an ashtray?"
I said no.
"I need a cigarette, but I'm out. Do you still have some?" she asked.
She put the ashtray on top of a book and placed it on the sheet near me.
"Not on me."
"Well, how about going back and getting them?"
By the time I got the cigarettes, she was leaning against the folded blankets, her feet propped up on the other chair.
"My place isn't as nice as yours."
"It's fine."
"I often don't sleep a wink the whole night. How about you?"
"I fall asleep after midnight."
"I'm used to it by now. How about you?"
"Me, too."
She kept at her cigarette, I at mine. We shared the ashtray between us. There was something peculiar about the way she smoked. The ash grew very long until it fell off; then she suddenly remembered to tap it.
"The water's boiling. I'm going to take a bath. Make yourself at home."
After she left, I pulled the book out from under the ashtray. It was a medical book, Internal Medicine, quite a thick volume, written by some American and translated into Chinese. The book opened to the section on hepatitis. Since I had no interest in anything to do with the liver, I closed the book and put it back under the ashtray.
The sound of water drifted in like waves. Listening to it made me feel lonely. I walked to the bathroom and gave the door a nudge. It yielded. She was squatting in the tub, soaping herself, her back slightly bent. I took the soap and lathered her up. Then I scrubbed her back and rinsed it off. I very much wanted to rub her shoulders, so I reached out my hand.
Her skin was very white, glossy, too. She had a very attractive body; the only imperfection was an ugly navel. And the navel is a person's core.
"Do you want to take a bath, too?"
"Not really."
I gazed at her while she washed, until she put on her nightgown.
We went back to the bed and sat down.
"What's the date?" she asked.
"I can't remember. It's Sunday."
"Today even God is taking a break."
Only God was taking a break. We mortals, how could we ever take a break?
There was the sound of soft footsteps on the roof.
"Don't be afraid. It comes every day. Once you've been here a while, you'll get used to it. Don't pay it any mind."
"What is it?"
"Don't know. Maybe it's a person. Then again, maybe not."
She took away the ashtray and covered us both with a blanket. "It's late. Sleepy?"
I closed my eyes and answered that if I could fall asleep, I would do it just like this, and she shouldn't wake me up.
"You won't be able to fall asleep."
"Then talk to me. About anything at all. I'm listening."
7
"I'm a virgin. Believe me?"
I shook my head.
"How could I be?" She stroked her own face. "Yet sometimes I like to think I am."
I nodded. "Then you are."
"For a while, I used to think that sexual differences were very interesting. I was moved by the whole idea of sexual differences among humans. Later on, I changed my mind."
"Same here."
"You and I are not the same."
I said we were in this respect.
"I'm a woman. How could you be the same as me?" She gave me a sly smile.
"But I'm human."
She said, "This bed hasn't been sat on by two people for a long time." She said, "The last time was half a year ago. A long time."
I listened.
She said, "Before me, the last person who sat on it was also a woman."
I had seen her emerge from the bath, seen her walk out of the bathroom, and I knew she didn't have any makeup on. Yet her face looked as though it were forever enveloped in a white fog. Her neck was lovely, a delicate curve rounded to her shoulders, which were wider than most other women's, not so slanting.
"Am I pretty?"
"Yes."
"Would you like to hold me?"
I ceremoniously held her for a moment, then let go.
The cigarette was bitter, the night too long. The rain was probably still coming down. Inside this room, I couldn't hear the traffic from the streets, couldn't hear anything. Except the intermittent footsteps on the roof.
She fetched another lamp and turned the shade toward the wall.
"Do you know where I was just now?"
I shook my head.
"I took a bus to Huangpu West and then walked back through the tunnel. It was very damp." She picked up the clothes she had changed out of. They were like the walls in the tunnel, with yellow water stains. "The tunnel is huge. It took me a good half hour, walking fast."
"Is it allowed?"
"There was nobody there. Altogether, only two cars went by. It was pitch-black inside the cars. Couldn't see a thing."
"Weren't you afraid?"
"How could I be? The ground was also damp, sort of slippery."
I was reminded of the old stain on the porch downstairs.
"Like that spot downstairs, sleek like?"
She glanced at me; her face fell. And she grew silent.
8
"Would you like to take a walk in the tunnel?"
"I don't think so."
"Whenever I'm unhappy, I go out walking alone. The tunnel is empty, abandoned. Many of the fluorescent lights overhead are broken, so sometimes a long stretch is totally dark. Walking in the dark and looking at the light ahead is very poetic. Sometimes a light flickers on above me, blinking on and off, on and off, making it easy to think about spooky things. Sure you don't want to come along?"
"I'm sure."
"Fine, whatever."
I was used to falling asleep in the small hours and was exhausted at this point. I looked for my key, wanting to be in my own bed. Although I'd be lonely in a dream, still it would be better to have that dream. I couldn't find my key. Maybe I left it behind when I went back for the cigarettes.
"I want to sleep."
"Go ahead."
She arranged the pillow and the blankets and let me sleep on the side next to the wall. Then she turned off the light and lay down beside me. The bed was very narrow. I could feel the chill of her skin. "How would it be if I held you?"
"Go ahead," she said.
I held her loosely.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"That you're quite young."
"That's not what I meant. Do you feel better?"
"About the same."
"At least you're honest," she said. "I used to think you always feel better with someone in your arms. When I'm alone, I often make myself think that way."
"Even now?"
"Yes." She wrapped her arms around my waist. "Want to go further?" she asked.
"No." As soon as I said that, I changed my mind. "Why not? Maybe I'll fall asleep if I tire myself out."
"Come on, then."
"I need the light on. Do you mind?"
She turned on the bedside lamp.
I removed her nightgown and took off my own clothes. Then I lay on top of her and looked into her face. She was gazing intently at a distant spot on the ceiling, looking sort of vacant. There was the sound of those footsteps on the roof again. I embraced her tightly. She smiled and turned her eyes to that distant spot again. I ceremoniously fondled her breasts, then stroked her face. I lay down beside her again.