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 obscure. The ninth aunt never made it clear to the family. His cousin was twenty-seven and was a violinist and had written a song called “To Her.” Was he involved with any female? asked Yan. Leopard nodded and said her name was Moon. Silence. Three minds drifted away to their own realms. Leopard took a look at his watch. The watch was new, a big Shanghai-made watch. Yan took another sip of tea. The birds outside the window sang loudly.
Yan did not ask Leopard about anything else. Leopard did not bring up any subject. They sat like two company leaders in a headquarters’ meeting guarding their tongues. I said the weatherman on the radio said that there would be cow-hair rain this afternoon. Leopard said, Oh, yes? Yan said, Oh, the cow-hair rain. Yes, I always like the cow-hair rain, I said. Me too, said Leopard. Me too, said Yan. They looked at each other.
I went to the kitchen and poured a mug of jasmine tea. I went back to the porch and placed the tea in front of Leopard. I refilled Yan’s mug, then sat down. The smell of jasmine perfumed the porch. The sunshine in the room moved slowly to the west. The clock in the living room sounded like a slow heartbeat. I stood up and pulled the curtains down. The room was shaded green.
Before I stepped out on the porch, Leopard looked at me pleadingly. It reminded me of the day I went to Company Thirty-two to deliver Yan’s letter. How I wished he would give me this look. I remembered my disappointment. Yan’s disappointment. Her lovesickness. I could not forgive Leopard. Yet, I forgave him. For he once was the reason Yan needed me, for he made us two one.
I locked the glass door behind me. I went to the kitchen. I pulled out a chair, sat on it and looked out the window. I watched a woman neighbor with a new shining mushroom hairdo, passing through the lane carrying a basket of spinach. I watched a group of kids playing with rocks. I watched as cooking smoke came out of the opposite window and a housewife poured a jar of water on the ground. I watched. But my mind was not with me. My mind was with Yan and Leopard.
The Old Tailor entered the lane. He looked like dried corn. He took out his sewing board and set it up in the yard by the wall. He did this every day. He was never in a hurry. He placed a half-done jacket on the board and picked out a needle from a rusted little can. He put on glasses and tried to put a strand of thread through the needle. He could not do it. He tore the thread with his teeth and tried again, then again. I watched him, my mind still on the porch. The sound of the clock became louder. I paced back and forth in the kitchen. I heard no sounds on the porch.
I tried to stop my desire. The desire to watch them. The desire to watch my other self—Yan. I felt as if I had never left the porch. I was in Yan. It was three instead of two people on the porch. My curiosity swelled. My lust was irresistible. Yan knew I was guarding her. She knew I was behind the draperies. She wanted me to participate in this, didn’t she? I could not help but see the way her lips would crack open and her breath heat up. I could feel arms around my shoulders. The snakelike arms that wrapped me. I could not tell whether they were Yan’s or Leopard’s or both. I wanted to feel Leopard’s body. I wanted to have the three of us connected like electrical wires.
As my fingers touched the draperies, I trembled. I was sure this was not the right thing to do. I hated spies. And I would be spying. What if Leopard found out? What would happen? Would Yan hate me for ruining her pleasure? Would Leopard be angry?
I forced myself back to the kitchen. As I looked out of the window again, I saw the Old Tailor ironing the jacket. He ironed the collar, then the sleeves. He put the iron on a stove. He waited for the iron to heat up. He fanned the stove. The flames rose. The Old Tailor turned my way suddenly. It was too late for me to hide. He smiled at me. His smile made me suspicious. It was a mysterious smile. Did he guess what we were doing? He had a weird smile, indeterminate in meaning. Should I be prepared? Should I warn Yan about him? Would he come up? How fast could he come up? What should I do if he did?
The Old Tailor was a respected neighborhood activist. He had reported thieves and adulterers. He was honored for his “revolutionary sense of smell.” His greatest interest was not in the making of clothes but in searching for back-door news. He was involved in many families’ troubles. He was often praised on the district blackboard. Now he kept smiling at me. I smiled back. I reached for a string outside the window. I pretended that I was checking the dryness of the hanging clothes. The Old Tailor went back to his ironing. He took a big sip of water, picked up the heated iron, sprinkled the water on the jacket with his mouth. He hit the sleeves with the iron. White steam poured out.
I backed myself into the living room. I was tortured by what I could not participate in. My mind was drawing the pictures for me. Wild pictures. I paced carefully. Taking care, I made no noise. My steps stopped at the draperies. I stood still, listened very hard. My breath becam
e short. I could hear nothing. Nothing at all.
My desire overtook me. I carefully, carefully opened the slit of the green draperies. I looked in and saw an overwhelming red color first and figured it was Yan’s red underwear. My hand dropped. The slit closed. I could feel my skin being scorched. My heart was breaking. I did not understand my feelings. I did not understand why I was hurt by what I saw. I forgot what I was supposed to do.
He was possessing her. Leopard was possessing Yan. The way he caressed her showed that he was in love with her. I could tell; I knew what he looked like when he was not in love with her. He was arrogant, polite and pretended that he was interested. But now he was utterly absorbed. He was the slave of his love. He was in tears. The way he was caressing her made me hate him. He murmured to her. He was telling her about his pain of not being able to love her enough. I hated his truthfulness. I felt invaded. My jealousy was irreconcilable. It refused to share the same sky with Leopard. I was furious at his love.
Yan was in a thin white shirt. Her eyes were closed. Her beauty was extraordinary. It melted me. Leopard was unbuttoning her bra, then his hands went into her underwear. She responded to him and encouraged him. She arched her chest to invite him. My tears shattered uncontrollably. He held her in his arms and then buried his head between her breasts. He raised himself slowly. He stared into her eyes. He could not take his eyes off of her face as he slowly penetrated her. He kissed her eyes. His tears wet her cheeks. She brushed his hair with her fingers and rounded her arms on his back. He cried out in pleasure, then she followed. I lost my thoughts. My senses went on while my mind stopped functioning. I saw two bodies making love again and again. I smelled the jasmine. I remembered the taste of Yan, I heard the hardening breath and I felt—felt betrayed. I was terrified by this feeling and forgot I was secretly watching the couple.
Before I realized what I was doing, Yan saw me. She saw me in tears behind the glass. The draperies were pulled aside. She stopped Leopard and sat up. She stared at me. Leopard was confused, then he saw me. He was shocked. He put on his clothes. Yan sat naked, sat still, like a statue. She realized what this had done to me. She had planned this. She sensed my rage. She looked away. She put her head in her palms. She said, Come in, please.
I opened the porch door and stepped in. I could not say a word. Is someone coming? asked Leopard. Should we leave? I wanted to say, I’m sorry, but my tears got in the way. I remember that I had to pretend. I had to pretend that nothing had happened between Yan and me. She was my commander. I was her soldier and her guard, as always. Yan slowly put on her clothes. She looked outside the window for a while. By then I was able to say to Leopard, Would you like to have more tea? Leopard looked at Yan and then asked me if he could use the bathroom. I guided him to the bathroom and came back to the porch. Yan was buttoning up her clothes and I went to kneel in front of her. She embraced me and said, I am sorry to do this, but I just have to. I think we are now ready to go on with our own lives. You are done with Red Fire Farm.
I went to the kitchen, looked out the window. I allowed my tears to pour out silently. I will always love you no matter what you do to push me away from you, I kept saying in my heart. The Old Tailor was still sewing. The lane was as quiet as a deep well. I put some water into a wok and set it on the stove. I lit the stove and waited by the wok for the water to boil. I heard heavy breathing rise again inside the porch. Leopard was groaning. There was the sound of wrestling. Then Yan gave in.
As I looked through the green draperies again, Yan was sitting on Leopard’s lap. Leopard was devouring her. Can he read the poetry of her body like I do? Can he understand the way her heart sings like I do? I tried to deny what I saw and tried to convince myself that Yan did not love him. But Yan kept throwing me into reality. She knew I could not stop watching her. She wanted to put my heart to death. I watched her. I had no choice but to watch her. How every tip of her hair was soaked in sweat, as was Leopard’s. Yan was facing me, her chin was up, her eyes were closed. She was trying to exhaust herself. She had him in her. His face was between her breasts. He murmured. He whispered her name again and again. His hands were pressing her hips. As her breath came harder, her arms circled him like two snakes strapping tight a squirrel. She kissed him deeply. She was showing this to me. She was doing it to me. I could feel my heart laid bare on the ground, being stepped on, like the hen Big Beard’s egg. I did not close the draperies. I forced myself to face Yan, to experience the death of my love for her, to accept what was given to me by fate. I remembered she had said to me that she was more corrupted than I could imagine. She was doing this to let me hate her and forget her so that she could forget me, in order to stop the pain she had been having. She was always the ruler, the manipulator. She was always in control. She was destroying our love to preserve the love. She was murdering our love with her own hands. I hated her selfishness. I would not be manipulated this time. I felt sorry for Leopard, for he was brainlessly in love; he did not know what he was getting into. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Yan was not the person she used to be, a true heroine, a goddess with a ring shining on her head. Maybe she was changed by the farm, by her life, by my leaving her alone in the mosquito net. Maybe she was corrupt to a degree I could not imagine, where she no longer had a faith in love, or in anything. Maybe Leopard’s lust made her forget what she wanted to remember. Maybe, after all, she was doing the right thing by coming to my house to seduce me.
Yan looked pale when she opened the porch door. She and Leopard were all dressed. My calm must have surprised her because she said, We would like to leave. She wanted to escape from me. Then I said, Congratulations. I did not know why but I just said it. I laughed. I said to Leopard, I enjoyed guarding you two. If you ever need me again, do not hesitate, just let me know. I said to Yan, Goodbye and take care. I tried to put my arm around her, but it was impossible. She disgusted me. She sensed it. She squatted down and pretended to tie her shoes. But she was trying to hold back her tears. She knew, just as I knew, that we would not meet again. She said to Leopard, Let’s go. As if feeling he owed me something, Leopard said appreciatively, You have been a big help—how can I thank you enough? Take care of your woman, I said. He said, I am glad that you are not a man, otherwise you would have been the one to win her. Although Leopard said the words sincerely, they sounded mocking to me. I said to both of them, It’s been my pleasure. I found I could say no more and I went to open the door for them.
I heard the sound of footsteps on the staircase. It was Mother. I said to Yan and Leopard, Wait. Just say hello to my mother, would you? They nodded. I rushed onto the porch and took a quick look inside. Everything was in order—the pillow, the chairs and the blankets. My mother stepped in. I said, Mama, these are my guests from the farm. This is Yan, and this is Leopard. Mother said, Oh, Yan, how could I stop my daughter from talking about you? She went over to Yan and Leopard. They flushed and lowered their heads. I said, Mama, they would like to leave. Mother pulled me to the kitchen and said to me, How come you have served them nothing? I told her that I had served them tea. Mother said, Tea is nothing. Serve them some dumpling soup. The water on the stove is boiled. I could make dumplings in ten minutes. I said, No, there is no need. I let go of Yan. I had to let her go.
At six o’clock in the evening my father returned from the two movies. He was exhausted and had a headache. He told me that I could never make him go to the movies again. I did not talk to him or the rest of the family. I felt so lonely. That night the cow-hair rain tapped on the window and streamed down on the glass like running tears.
No one in the studio said anything about my war with Soviet Wong. Everyone became more careful in their own daily presentation. They watched Soviet Wong’s interest and disinterest and figured out how to act according to what she liked. Nothing was verbally expressed. It was all in the eyes, in that very window of the heart. Every act was precisely performed.
Cheering Spear came to me one evening when I sat among wild grass looking at the setting sun. I
was thinking about Yan. I was absorbed in my past. It was a way to escape from the present misery. Cheering Spear had a blade of dog-tail grass in her mouth. She stopped in front of me. She blocked the sun. I looked at her. She was smiling. She took the dog-tail grass out of her mouth and said, I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but if I were you, I would withdraw now. I would propose to go back to where I came from. It is better to bend with the wind when it blows.
I was surprised at her boldness. My anger rose to the tip of my tongue. Mind your own business, I said. I looked at her as I continued: I know no one can be happier that I am about to fall out of the race. It’s written on your face. Go and take a look at that face now. Don’t block my sun here.
I just wanted to show that I care about you, Cheering Spear said. I could never be wrong about what’s on your mind, I said. I hate spies. You can go and report on me now, I told her. She looked at me and said, Yes, I will if you would like me to. She put the dog-tail grass back into her mouth and said, I am glad that you have a sense of where you’ll end up. I said, You don’t know anything about me. Then let me give you some advice, she said. You would feel better if you were more prepared. You know, you are such a bourgeois individualist. Everyone in the studio is convinced that you are the capitalist sprout.