Soul Mountain (40 page)

“All right, I won’t talk about insects, I’ll talk about something else.”

I say that I stayed in the tea house all day. There was a bus back at noon and I should have come back early to wash my dirty clothes, but I didn’t want to disappoint her. I felt I should come back at dusk as she had planned so I also went all around the village for most of the day. But naturally I don’t tell her this.

“I discussed several business deals.” I say, saying whatever came into my mind.

“Did you clinch them all?”

“None of them.” I was just carrying on, I don’t have any connections for business deals, nor that sort of expertise.

“Drink up, it’ll get rid of your fatigue.”

“Do you usually drink liquor?” I ask.

“No, I got this when a classmate was passing through and called in, it was some months ago. When there are visitors people here have to treat them to a drink.”

“In that case,
ganbei
!”

She cheerfully clinks her cup with mine and drinks it in one gulp.

There’s a rustling sound outside the window.

“Is it raining?” I ask.

She gets up, takes a look out the window and says, “Just as well you’re back, if you’d got caught in the rain it would have been a problem.”

“This is wonderful, in this little room with rain falling outside.”

She smiles, her face is slightly flushed. The rain outside the window is quite noisy as it beats down on the roof-tiles of the building and the neighbouring houses.

“Why have you stopped talking?” I ask.

“I’m listening to the rain,” she says.

After a while she asks, “Should I shut the window?”

“Of course, it’ll be even better, it’ll be more cosy,” I say straightaway.

She gets up to shut the window and suddenly I feel closer to her. Because of this miraculous rain what follows is quite incredible. She shuts the window and in turning to go back to her desk knocks against my arm. I take her by the waist and pull her to me. She is yielding, warm and soft.

“Do you really like me?” she asks softly.

“I’ve been thinking of you all day.” It is the truth.

She turns her face to me. I find her lips which are suddenly relaxed and parted. I push her onto the bed. She tries to wriggle free, charged with energy like a fish just cast ashore. I can’t control myself yet she keeps begging me to pull the cord of the lamp and to let down the mosquito net.

“Don’t look at me, don’t look . . .” she whispers into my ear.

“I can’t see a thing!” I am urgently clutching her writhing body.

She becomes tense, takes my hand, gently guides it into the shirt I have pulled open, and places it over her heaving breast. Her body goes limp and she falls silent. She and I have lusted for this physical intimacy. The alcohol, the rain, the darkness and the mosquito net have given her a feeling of security. She is no longer shy, lets go of my hand, and allows me to completely undress her. I kiss her from her neck to her nipples, her moist legs readily part and I murmur to her, “I want to possess you . . . ”

“No . . . don’t . . .” But she seems to be sighing.

I immediately mount her.

“I want to possess you now!” I don’t know why I keep declaring this, is it to get myself worked up or is it to lessen my responsibility?

“I’m still a virgin . . .” I hear her weeping.

“Will you have regrets?” I instantly hesitate.

“You wouldn’t marry me.” She fully understands this, so she’s crying.

Unfortunately, I can’t lie to her and I know it is only a woman that I want. It’s because I am bored and want to have some fun and that’s all. I can’t accept any further responsibility for her. I get down, disappointed, and kissing her, ask, “Is this precious to you?”

She silently shakes her head.

“Are you afraid when you marry your husband will find out and also beat you?”

She is trembling.

“Yet you’re willing to give up so much for me?”

I touch the lip she is biting on, she is nodding. I am filled with compassion for her and holding her head, I kiss her wet face, cheeks and neck. She is weeping silently.

I can’t be so cruel as to enjoy myself on her because of my momentary lust and let her pay such a high price for me. I can’t help liking her and I know it’s not love, but then what is love? Her body is fresh and sensitive and, again and again, I am filled with lust and do everything except for the last boundary. But she waits, alert, does whatever I ask of her and nothing excites me more than this. I want to remember every little tremor of her body and I want to be etched indelibly, body and soul, into her memory. She is trembling all this time, weeping, and both the upper and lower parts of her body are drenched. I don’t know whether or not this is more cruel. It is not until dawn breaks on the window, outside the partially drawn mosquito net, that she calms down.

I lean on the bed looking at her pale, unclad body lying in the faint light.

“Don’t you like me?”

I don’t reply, I can’t.

She gets up, gets out of the bed and leans by the window. The shadow of her body and the silhouette of her face is heart-rending.

“Why didn’t you take me?” The hurt in her voice shows that she is tormenting herself.

What can I say?

“Of course you’ve had lots of experiences.”

“Not at all!” I sit up.

“Don’t come near!” She indignantly stops me and puts on her clothes.

Out on the street, there are already hurried footsteps and the sound of peasants on their way to the morning market.

“I won’t cling onto you,” she says as she combs her hair in the mirror.

I want to say I’m afraid of her getting a beating, afraid of bringing misfortune upon her afterwards, afraid of her becoming pregnant. I know the implications for an unmarried woman having an abortion in a small county town, I want to say, “I–”

“Don’t say anything, you listen to me. I know what you’re afraid of, I could quickly find someone to marry me, I wouldn’t blame you.”

She heaves a big sigh.

“I want to . . .”

“No! Don’t move! It’s too late.”

“I think I should go today,” I say.

“I know I’m not good enough for you, but you’re a good man.”

Is this necessarily so?

“Your mind isn’t on a woman’s body.”

I want to say this is not at all so.

“No! Don’t say anything.”

I should have spoken then but don’t say anything.

After combing her hair and getting properly dressed, she fetches water for me to wash my face, sits on the chair and quietly waits for me to finish washing and combing my hair. It is already full light.

I go back to my room and start putting my things together. After a while she comes in. I know she is right behind me but don’t dare turn around. It is only when I have stuffed everything into the bag and pulled the zipper that I turn to her.

Before going out the door I embrace her. She turns her head, closes her eyes, and presses her face to my chest. I try to kiss her but she breaks away.

It is a long way to the bus stop. In the early morning there are large numbers of people coming and going on the street and it’s very noisy. She is some distance from me and walking very quickly. It is as if we are two people who don’t know each other.

She walks with me all the way to the bus stop. There she sees quite a few people she knows and she greets and chats with each of them. She appears comfortable and relaxed but avoids looking at me. I too do not dare to make eye contact with her. I hear her introducing me, saying I am a writer who has come to collect folk songs. It is only in the instant when the bus starts that I see her eyes. Their brightness is shattering.

She says she hates you!

Why? Your eyes stare at the knife she is toying with.

She says you have taken her life to the grave.

You say she is still young.

But you have ruined the best years of her life, she says you, yes you!

You say she can start life anew.

You can, she says, but for her it’s too late.

You can’t see why it’s too late.

It’s because she’s a woman.

Women are the same as men.

You make it all sound very nice. She laughs sarcastically.

You see her raise the knife and instantly sit up.

She can’t let you off so lightly, she says she’s going to kill you!

There’s a death penalty for murder, you say, moving away and watching her anxiously.

My life’s no longer worth living, she says.

You ask if she’s been living for you, you want to placate her.

It’s not worth living for anyone! She points the knife at you.

Put down the knife! You warn her.

Are you afraid of death? She laughs sarcastically again.

Everyone’s afraid of death. You admit you’re afraid of death and try to persuade her to put down the knife.

She’s not afraid, she says, having gone this far, she’s not afraid of anything!

You don’t dare enrage her but must keep an aggressive edge to what you say and not let her see you’re terrified.

There’s no need to go to all this trouble to die, you say, there’s a better way of dying. Old age.

You won’t live that long, she says, the knife in her hand glinting.

You edge away and turn to watch her from the side.

She suddenly starts laughing loudly.

You ask if she’s gone mad.

If she has it’s because you made her, she says.

Made you do what? You say you can no longer live with her, that it’s best to separate. Staying together is voluntary, and so is separating. You try hard to stay calm.

It’s not so simple.

Then let’s go to court.

No.

Then let both parties separate.

She says she can’t let you off so lightly, holds up the knife and comes up to you.

You get out of bed and sit down facing her.

She also gets up, exposing her bare upper body, her drooping breasts. Her eyes are dilated and she’s very agitated.

You can’t stand her hysteria, can’t stand her tantrums. You’ve made up your mind to leave. To avoid provoking her further, you say let’s talk about something else.

Are you trying to get away?

Get away from what?

Get away from death. She mocks you and flourishes the knife, unsteadily, like an inexperienced butcher. Her nipples are shaking.

You say you hate her! Finally, this comes through your clenched teeth.

You’ve hated her for a long time but why didn’t you say so a long time ago? She starts screaming, you’ve wounded her. Her whole body starts shaking.

It wasn’t as bad then, you say you didn’t think she would become so disgusting, you say you thoroughly detest her and blurt out cruel harsh words.

You should have said so earlier, you should have said so earlier, she starts weeping and the blade of the knife turns down.

You say everything about her thoroughly disgusts you! You are determined to wound her to the core.

She throws down the knife, shouting, you should have said earlier, it’s too late, too late for everything, why didn’t you say so earlier? She wails hysterically, pounding the floor with her fists.

You want to comfort her but then all this effort, what you have at last resolved, will have been wasted, everything will start all over again and it will be even harder to get away.

She starts bawling and is rolling naked on the floor with the knife lying next to her.

You bend to take away the knife but she grabs the blade. You try to prise off her fingers but she holds onto it tighter.

You’ll cut your hand! Shouting at her, you twist her arm until she drops it. Red blood drips from her palm. You take her wrist and press hard on the artery. She grabs the knife with her other hand. You slap her across the face, stunning her, and she drops the knife.

She looks dumbly at you and suddenly, like a child, eyes full of despair, begins to weep soundlessly. You can’t help feeling sorry for her and, taking her injured hand, suck away the blood with your lips. At this she locks her arms around you tightly, weeping. You try to break free but her arms lock around you even more tightly, pulling you to her breasts.