Chapter Three

Chapter Three

 

Thoughtlessly gazing at those two little green slippers, I suddenly feel a quiver of that large curtain behind. I turn around. It is she, right there, still a girl of seventeen and eighteen, so delicate and light, like a fairy coming down from heaven but not standing firmly yet. Those little butterflies embroidered on the curtain are now all jumping out to play and dance above her head. I, however, retreat, for fear of her being scared if I only come one step further. In doing so, she immediately returns, to the look of twenty. She steps back as well, wildly laughing, getting more and more wrinkles on her face at the same time. I can no longer sit still on that small bed. Swiftly I rise and run to her, and amazingly she, in a blink, turns back to seventeen again. It takes me only a second to see all the changes of half her life. Certainly, she is not under control by time. Sitting in the chair holding her in my arms, surprisingly, my face also seems to be re-gaining its redness of fifteen and sixteen years before. Yes, I can feel it. We sit, quietly, listening to each other’s hearts as well as the pulses of the blood in our veins; not sure for how long. Lastly I find my voice, get my lips close to her ear, and ask,

 

“Do you live here alone?’

 

“No,” she points right at my heart, “I live here.”

 

“You still miss me, don’t you?” I hold her hands tightly.

 

“Yes, I saw you, in my heart, when I was kissed by others!”

 

“But you allowed being kissed?” ask I, with no envy at all.

 

“Love stays in my heart, but lips still long for a kiss. Why did you not come and kiss me?”

 

“I was just afraid to anger your parents, then afterwards I went to Southeast Asia .”

 

She nods her head, “Feared to see you fail and lose everything…but oceans apart, somehow made love and affection panic.”

 

And she starts to tell me something about the life before her death. Her mother, unfortunately, passed away at the same time when I went abroad and, she got more freedom than ever. A branch of flowers freshly stretching out of the wall, needless to say, is very attractive to those bees and butterflies, much like her, a pretty single girl. Someone was in love with her. Although she missed me so much, day by day, her will began to weaken. That’s the way it is—physical persistence is not so strong as love’s, and love does not always turn out in the form of plum flowers. She after all accepted a young man’s love, just because he looked like me. He loved her very much but she still could not get me out of her mind. No doubt, physical satisfactions do not mean the fulfillment of love; and the true shape of love cannot be re-formed by a similar face and figure. He was skeptical of her sincerity. Consequently she confessed to him that her heart was in Southeast Asia , with me. They split up. Meanwhile, her father was completely broke, and to her getting married seemed the only way to bail her father out of deep water. So she, against her own conscience, ‘sold’ herself to another man, a rich one.

 

“Why didn’t you earn some money by teaching?” ask I.

 

“I could only be a teacher in primary school, the money I got was totally not enough for dad to get opium!”

 

Neither of us knows how to go on. I am thinking: even if I came back at the right time, was I well off enough to support her father? Still I would do nothing but watch her become a hooker.

 

“I kept my love in my heart,” said she, “and nurtured it with the money I got from selling my body. So afraid that love would disappear if the flesh died, I was wrong then… let’s just leave it! Well, that rich man was very jealous of me, and always followed me, wherever I went, whatever I did. Anyway he couldn’t find out what I was really doing, but he could feel that I had no passion for him at all. By and by, he turned his hatred to abuse, in public. He beat me up sometimes, and I was forced to admit that my heart did belong to someone else. I couldn’t all the time go against my heart just to survive. I couldn’t take it anymore. Finally he kicked me out, left me nothing, not a single cheongsam. My dad still wanted some money from me, and I was used to being luxurious. I’d got to fend for myself. For physical needs, I relied on my body, it was my ‘instant cash’. Anyone was able to see my hollow smiles as long as they gave me money, sure, I smiled very well. I often practiced my charming smiles in front of a mirror. Sometimes people would make a kind of compromise because of the change of the situation they were involved in. Making money like this was much better than being manipulated by that posh man. Walking on the street, people always pointed at me and sighed, but at least I got my freedom, sometimes I even felt a bit proud, when I came across those women who didn’t dress themselves up so prettily as me. I had four abortions, but I smiled again after anguish.

 

Well I was quite famous at first because I used to be a sort of playdoll of rich people, and I could read, quite educated; so that people were all willing to look after me. No time to think too much, I didn’t even want to save money, not a bit. I only lived for my clothes, make-up and powder. Everyday I woke up, I said to myself—I must be beautiful today. That was my life. I didn’t care about tomorrow, because it would take care of itself naturally. I ought to seize the excitement before my eyes, though my body was tired and weary; the future, I didn’t care. By and by, this kind of life couldn’t keep going. My dad became seriously addicted to opium, like falling into an abyss, and the abortion cost me a lot as well. But I had no money left, I didn’t tend to save it before, I regretted it. To get the money, I completely got rid of my ridiculous pride, and did some stealing before people’s very eyes, I made myself very cheap. Again, people pointed right at me and sighed, but I turned around and smiled back at them. Each abortion made me age by two or three years; the mirror wouldn’t lie to me, I was old and ugly. Anyway, desperation slowed down my ageing. I constantly made full use of my flesh and offered the best service for people, till I totally burned out. I’d got to do that, otherwise, no one would pick me. I even laid and slept in the doorway, waiting. I belonged to others, no more to myself. Twenty-four hours a day, anyone could get on me whenever they wanted, only if they had money. I’d vanished into the sea of lechery. In the world of consciousness, I no longer existed. I counted my money, mindlessly, only racking my brains—how could I earn five more cents? I didn’t cry because it’d make me look like hell. The only thing I worried about was money, not myself.”

 

She stops for a while, having a rest; my tears have wetted her sleeves.

 

“Now you’re back,” she continues, “and more than thirty; still I have the memory of you as a seventeen-year-old student. Even though your eyes have changed—how many years have passed? —not those eyes that used to be staring at my green slippers, more or less, you still have yourself. But look at me, I am dead already. You can go on dreaming, about your first love, but I have no more dreams. It’s true, I always had a faith that someday you’d be back forever, and you must want me. And now I at last get to see you again, but I have totally lost myself, though; I am not who I used to be; what can I give you then? Before you came back, I never denied to anyone that I loved you so; now you’re back, I can do nothing but wildly laugh. Why are you so late? Why do you choose to come back when I have ruined myself? Doesn’t God know he’s been so cruel? If you don’t come back, I’ll be able to have a dream of Southeast Asia all the time, and you can also keep me in your heart forever. Doesn’t it sound so beautiful? But now you have come, well, it’s too late…”

 

“Being late doesn’t mean we can’t make it.” I interrupt.

 

“It does. I killed myself already.”

 

“What?”

 

“I killed myself, for I am destined to live only in your heart, in a verse. What’s the difference between living and dead? I killed my unborn babies by myself, yes, I did it on my own. If I had you by my side, I wouldn’t be able to show my smiles; if no smiles, how could I get money? If no money, there was only a one way road for me—death. Now you’ve come late, but I don’t want to die late; if I do, there won’t be any hope at all for me to stay in your heart. I live right here, in your heart, where has no sunlight, no sounds, only some colors that can last longer than anything else; colors picture our memories, look at those two little slippers, so green, that’s color, you and I will always recognize them.”

 

“But I also remember your feet. Can I have a look at them?”

 

She laughs, shaking her head.

 

I insist, then I hold her feet still, take off her socks; but no feet, no flesh, only white bones.

 

“Time to go!” she pushes me, “we’ll never see each other again! But I’ll always live in your heart, now, it’s time to go; wish in your heart I’d stay forever young.”

 

(TBC)