Red Azalea (21 page)

We passed a street where there was a window display of opera performances. Yan looked at each picture slowly and said suddenly, I dreamed about you being in these.
She turned to me and said, In my dream you didn’t look like yourself anymore. You were someone else, someone like Lu. I guess that was my fear. But see, you have not changed much. I said, I would have had a better chance if I had changed.

We stopped talking but kept walking. I found that I could not think about Yan’s leaving. I could not think about her life back at Red Fire Farm.

A young girl was walking toward us. She was fresh as a peach picked from a tree. She was wearing a sea-blue diagonal-striped skirt and a pair of green plastic sandals. Yan stared at her and her feet. I said, You don’t have to envy her pretty toenails. Yan said, My toenails are ruined by fungicide. I would love to wear sandals, but I can’t.

She was not confident walking among the city girls. The people who stared at her weather-beaten face annoyed her. We went to a soup shop where it was steamily hot. Yan went to sit at a table facing the wall. I went with her. We sat facing the wall. A waitress with a long face came to mop up the dirty table. We ordered two red-bean soups. The soup arrived. The edges of the soup bowls were like dog teeth. We ate carefully with spoons. Yan ordered steamed bread. She ate four pieces and I ate two. The shop was wallpapered with Mao portraits and Mao quotations. There were smeared red-bean fingerprints on the wall. The Mao portraits were fading yellow-brown. The smell of tobacco was heavy. Yan and I sat and said nothing to each other.

The waitress came. Her face grew longer. She said, Shit or get off the pot. Yan gave her a sidelong look. The waitress said, What’s wrong with you, villager? Yan kept
quiet. I asked, Why can’t you be a little friendly? She shot back, Why should I be friendly with you? Who are you, you villagers? Yan looked her up and down. I knew she was thinking about a way to attack. The waitress was in a heavy sweat. She mopped the table and swore. Let’s go, Yan said. As we walked out on the street, Yan said she could have made a fool of that waitress but thought she was pitiful. Unhappy people are dangerous, she said.

We bought tickets for a shower bath, fifty cents per person. Our numbers were 220 and 221. The bathhouse was located behind a rice shop. Hundreds of bicycles were parked in rows on the pavement. Men and women fished in and out of the bathhouse, their wooden sandals making ding-ding-ding sounds on the cement.

We waited in the ladies’ line to get in. A crooked-faced man was guarding the entrance. He was loud-voiced. Number 185, tub-bathing, he yelled as he let one in. Ten minutes went by—no one came out. The woman in front of us began to chat with the guard. She complained about the slowness of the bathers. The man said, People are all the same. They come to shower three times a year. They pay so much, they have to wait for so long, so of course they want to get their money’s worth—they have to spend as much time as possible in the bath. It’s not unusual that we have people fainting in the tub. The man laughed as he shook his head. I won’t, said the woman. It’s stupid. I can’t imagine being carried out naked. The guard said, Who knows? One thing I can guarantee everybody here is that you will come out a couple of pounds lighter.
The crowd laughed with the guard. A woman came out. Number 186, tub-bathing. The guard let in another. What about shower-bathing? I asked the guard. No shower-bathing space available yet. As I’ve told you, people are taking their time.

Yan said, We should have paid a little more to have the tub-bathing for two. I said I doubted the cleanliness of the tubs. I motioned to her to take a look at a woman a few yards behind us who obviously had some type of skin problem. Yan scratched her head and said, Oh, no. The woman in front of us asked the guard if he knew anything about the incident which took place a few months ago. The guard said, How could I not know it? The woman asked, What happened to that nasty man? The guard said, He was arrested, of course, and was sent to jail. It was not his first time doing this type of thing. He was good at it. He had a fine face and had no trouble dressing up like a woman. How did you let him pass? the woman asked. The guard was a little embarrassed. He said, How was I supposed to know? A few hundred women pass through every day. How could I tell he was a man? If he was normal, he wouldn’t have gotten on the ladies’ line. How did you finally catch him? the woman asked. The guard said, Well, there was an old lady. She was so old, about seventy years old, and very demanding. She never cared about her body being seen. She ran around the whole bathhouse naked complaining that the water temperature was too hot. She would faint if the air got too steamy. And you know, when there isn’t much steam in the air, things get clear. She happened to notice his you-know-what. And then she fainted. We took her out and cooled her down. When
she woke, she told us what she saw. The man was just getting dressed. He tried to make an escape, but I’m a vegetarian. My strength never fails me. The woman turned to us and sighed, Isn’t it bizarre? The guard said, What’s so bizarre about it? A few hundred men are arrested each year for peeking through the women’s shower window.

The guard told the woman that the year before he caught a woman in the men’s big tub. She looked boyish, tall and slim. She had a flat chest. She had thick, thick hair on her thing. As a matter of fact, she came to bathe all the time. She said she worked as a porter. I couldn’t tell from her voice. It’s natural for a young boy to have a girlish voice, right? I let her in every time. I never doubted that she was a man. She was friendly and bought me cigarettes. She was nice.

But how was she discovered? We couldn’t wait to hear the story. The guard lit a cigarette, inhaled, and said slowly, One can not slurp up hot porridge in a hurry, can one? He went on. A strange thing happened. Our men’s tub tickets all sold out and still there were people waiting. It got me suspicious. Why had our customers become so enthusiastic about bathing all of a sudden? Well, word got out. The men said they were hooked on the tub. With all the steam in the air, it was like walking in a big fog. Strange hands would massage their sun instrument. It blew their minds. They became seekers. The sound of bathing covered their moaning. The woman was actually … Well, do you have to make me say it? She was a beast!

Tell me how you caught her! said the woman to the guard. Tell me how you caught her. Well, the guard said, I caught the tiger by visiting the cave, you see. The woman
widened her eyes. You mean … you did … that? The guard nodded. But it was for the purpose of getting rid of her! The woman stared at him. You can’t say you didn’t have any fun with her, can you? He raised his hand to his mouth and whispered to her, She was such a hot bitch. It was hard to let her go. When I sent her to the State Security Department, to tell you the truth, I did feel quite sad. Her body, it was … she sat on my … Such a beast. Damn, I suppose I can never forget her.

Finally, the guard yelled out our numbers. We gave him the tickets and stepped into the bathhouse. The lobby was narrow and had a high ceiling. The men’s showers were to the left, the women’s to the right. A blue cotton curtain hung by the entrance. The steaming air came out when the curtain swung open. We went in. It was crowded. The air was steamy. There was a rough-faced lady sitting by the entrance with a red band on her arm, a string of locker keys in one hand and a bell in the other. She rang the bell and yelled, Be careful with your purse and bags. Stealing will be punished. Don’t forget to return your locker key. No clothes-washing inside.

We could not find a locker. People were busy changing. We saw an old lady was finished with her locker and took it over. I told Yan that I was still thinking about the guard’s stories. I couldn’t believe such things happened here in this house. Yan said, I suppose they could happen. Look, we can’t really get to see much in such steamy air. I looked around. Indeed, we could not see far.

Yan looked at me as she took off her clothes. She was, it seemed, showing me that her body was the only thing that stayed unchanged when time had withered her face
and mind. Farming kept her muscles strong, her body ripe, breasts firm. Even though I was no longer familiar with her thoughts, her body before me brought me back to the time when we sang “My Motherland” together with Little Green. In Yan’s nakedness, my desire resumed.

The rough-faced lady with the bell was staring at Yan. She yelled, she rang the bell, but her eyes were on Yan’s body. Among the little sagging bodies in the room, Yan’s was like a pine tree standing among bushes. Her lotus-bud-like breasts stuck out proudly. She was having a hard time stuffing our clothes in one locker. I put a towel around her shoulders. The rough-faced lady took her eyes away. I thought of how the guard would watch Yan if he were around. I told Yan my thoughts. Yan joked, You are no different. She finally locked up our clothes. We walked toward the showers. Yan said, I enjoy you watching me. I said, Maybe we should have gotten a two-people tub and forgotten about the skin disease. She said, The shower will still be good. Let’s go inside. The air seems thick.

The shower room had many shower heads. All occupied. Everyone was busy washing. The hot water was running constantly. We could only find one shower head, so I told Yan to take it while I went out and told the 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.

I
t 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.
Lenin in 1918
and
Lenin in October,
I replied. Remember—buy two connected shows. I wanted to have my father stay away for at least four hours. Yan said, No, we can’t do that to him. I said, Leave the matter to me. I took Yan to the back window and told her to slide down by the roof. When I saw she had done so and crossed the fence, I shut the window.

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!”