rough-faced lady that I couldn’t find a shower head. The lady said, Well, then you will have to wait till the next shower head is available, or, you can share one with your friend. I asked how long I would have to wait. She said, Maybe five minutes, maybe fifty minutes.
I went in and told Yan what Rough-faced Lady had said. Yan said, I feel as if we were in our mosquito net again. Would you wash my back for me? I took a piece of soap, rubbed it on a towel and began washing her back. I applied the soap again and smoothed her back. I had not touched this body for so long and now I knew how much I missed it. She stood under the running water and said to me, Rub me harder. As I kept rubbing, her breasts became full. My hands became hot. I stopped. Yan began to rub me. I looked around. One bather on my right side was rinsing. She glanced at Yan, admiring her robustness. I motioned to Yan. Yan noticed the bather and stared back. The bather lowered her head in embarrassment. That woman’s body reminds me of a piece of furniture-a door-thin back, flat breasts, nipples like drawer knobs, table-leg legs and the face of a cooked eggplant. The woman took up her soapbox and clothes, wrapped herself in a towel and got out. I took over the shower head. We washed until we were tired.
We were in the steamy changing room. I dressed more quickly than Yan. I watched her getting dressed. She noticed and smiled at me. She knew that I liked to watch her. She slowed down, rubbed her shoulders with the towel. I adored her long neck and broad shoulders. Their elegance. It was the body I used to devour every night. Her breasts, their fullness. I wished I could caress them again. My heart swung when my eyes drew on them. Yan bent over to pick up her bra behind me. Her breasts brushed over my face. I love you, I whispered to her. She smiled and said, I know. She put on her bra and buttoned it up. I stuffed the towel into the bag. She tied up her shoes. As we walked out of the bathhouse, she said to me she had become more corrupt than I could imagine.
It was noon. We each had a bowl of noodles on the way back. There was an old lady standing on the corner. She carried a basket covered with a wet towel. She was secretly selling jasmine. We paid fifty cents and bought a string. We brought the jasmine to our noses and smelled it all the way back to the apartment. Yan had one petal in her mouth. She ate it when we reached our street.
Yan lay on my bed lazily playing with the jasmine. I took the jasmine from her hand and spread the petals on her hair. I smelled her. I smelled her hidden sadness. She unbuckled her belt and took off her jacket. She said she wished to die on this bed. I began to kiss her and she came to tears. She turned away from me. She was attacked by sadness. I went to protect her. My kisses told her how much I had missed her. But the only thing we could not talk about was Leopard. No matter how badly we wanted each other, our situation pulled us apart. Hopelessly apart. Without warning, without pushing. All of a sudden we were no longer familiar. Yan was desperate. I was desperate. We did not want to realize that we had been holding on to something, a dead past that could no longer prosper. We were rice shoots that had been pulled out of the mud. We lay, roots exposed. But we did not want to submit. We would never submit. We were heroines. We just tried to bridge the gap. We were trying our best. The rice shoots were trying to grow without mud. Trying to survive the impossible. We had been resisting the brutality of the beating weather. The hopelessness had sunk into the cores of our flesh. I would not let her see me cry. But she saw my tears in the kisses. She said, Let it be a dream. I said, Leopard is on his way-shouldn’t we get ready?
The sound of steps in the stairwell. It’s my father, I said. What do we do? Yan put her jacket back on quickly and buckled her belt. I took out one yuan and said to her, Go and buy two tickets at the East Wind Theater. Why? To get my father out of our way. Which show? she asked.
I asked my father what made him come home early. Father said there was good news. The Shanghai Natural History Museum was about to reopen. The museum people had come to the printing shop and talked with the head to “borrow” my father to direct a sky show. This is the news I have been waiting for, Father said excitedly. It’s my dream to work with the stars. I’m tired of translating technical manuscripts for Albania. My rotten Russian will never get better. Cook me some fried rice, daughter.
As my father dug around in a drawer, I began to cook him a meal. I hoped Yan got the tickets with no problem. Usually, those movies had no audience because they were the only two foreign movies and had been running for years. Everyone knew the story, and teens would recite Lenin’s lines around the neighborhood: “We will have bread; we will have milk; the revolution will succeed. Long live the Soviet Union!”
Yan got back when my father was eating. I introduced them. Yan was shy. She would not raise her head. My father said, Do you see the man-made earth satellite hanging from the ceiling? Yan raised her head to look at the ceiling. My father laughed, then said, Forgive me girls, I just wanted to see my daughter’s best friend’s face. I hope you don’t mind my joking. Yan tried to look composed. My father said, All my daughter’s friends are shy. My daughter is a naughty monkey, isn’t she? Yan lowered her head, her face flushed. Disagree? asked my father. Then you don’t really know her. He seemed happy. He was rarely in such a good mood. I took my chances. I said, Papa, I’ve bought you two movie tickets. How nice, said Father. What movie?
I feel guilty, said Yan. I said, Believe me, he will have fun. Whenever Papa watches a movie, he is like a kid. He surrenders completely to the movie. I know my father. We are safe now.
Yan asked how safe the room was. It was a small porch with big glass windows and glass doors covered by flowery green draperies. Will you be guarding me from behind the draperies? Yan asked. I nodded. No one will come at this time of day, I said. Outside of the windows are big trees that block the neighbors’ view. Above the leaves is the sky. You won’t mind the birds watching, will you? You can watch the clouds changing shapes. I do that often.
Yan sat on the bed as I arranged the curtains, folded blankets and placed the pillows. Yan looked at me. I turned away because I could not bear her looking at me. I could not bear looking into myself. Yan’s eyes were speaking the unspoken. I saw hesitation in her sureness. I leaned out the window. Yan asked me what I was doing. I said, Expecting Leopard. Yan became nervous. She came and sat by my side. She placed her head against my thigh. She held my waist. She said she must overcome her nervousness. I said, Why don’t you kiss me? I felt her lips, her embrace. I said, The leaves are so green, the reeds must have grown full size at the farm. There is a cloud passing by. Don’t you think it looks like giant cotton ball? She did not answer me. She kept on what she was doing. I stared into the yard. The green part of the yard. I watched peach blossoms rain down from the branch, petals on top of petals. I let Yan’s warmth go through me. I kept composed. I could no longer see the yard. It was a green ocean I saw. I was floating with Yan in the tides.
Leopard appeared at the entrance of the lane on a bicycle. He parked the bicycle under a tree. He carried a black plastic bag on his back. He had a new haircut too, his hair combed with gel. His eyes looked unsettled, his steps uncertain. He looked like a first-time thief. His face was red with guilt. He was in a navy blue outfit. He saw me. He waved at me, embarrassed. His smile was funny. I waved at him and said that I would be down to open the door for him. I turned away from the window. Yan was on her knees. She raised her chin, looking at me, eyes burning. I tried to help myself. I kneeled down in front of her. I said, Leopard is downstairs-should I get him?
I went down and opened the door for Leopard. He ducked in. He was too nervous to say hello. I closed the door and sprang up the stairs. Leopard followed me up the staircase and onto the porch. Yan was sipping tea by the table. Leopard took off his bag, placed it right next to his feet and sat down on the other side of the table. He said, Well, cleared his throat, then coughed a dry laugh. Yan did not look at him. There was silence. A long awkward moment. We tried to avoid each other’s eyes. Leopard had a hard time placing his hands. He began to speak. He said he got stuck in traffic. He said he borrowed the bicycle from his uncle, who was a retired doorman. The bicycle had a rusted chain and a flat tire. He said that he was sorry to keep us waiting. Yan, still not looking at him, asked how the funeral went. Leopard said it was fine. Yan asked about his mother. He said she was fine. She had gone to spend some time in the countryside with his ninth aunt. The ninth aunt was living alone. Her son, Leopard’s cousin, was recently arrested and sentenced to jail. Yan asked why. Leopard said he did not know. The reason was
