The People’s Republic of Desire

22 The True Color of Ximu

I come back to Beijing from a small southern village where I covered a story on how villagers made a living through drug trafficking. Before I even get inside my courtyard house, I discover that someone has torn the badge off my Jeep, which I have left parked outside in the alley. There are also a couple of scratches down the side of the car, and someone has thrown a banana peel on the front windscreen. It is obviously a deliberate act of vandalism. My mother Wei Mei was right: it s not safe to park a car in a Beijing alley. This is the first time I have encountered something like this since moving out of the diplomatic apartment compound. In a country where people used to be equally poor, it's hard not to hate the rich – I'm not rich, I simply own an automobile. What if this was not a car, but a horse, a living, breathing animal – would it suffer the same treatment? I wonder.

I drag open the door to my courtyard and go in. I'm startled to find Lulu sitting there under the grapevine. Why is she in my house? Isn't she working today?

She is wearing a Chinese-style jacket with the collar turned up, and her hair hangs down messily. There is an open bottle of rice wine on the table next to her. She is swigging from the wine bottle and tugging at her own hair.

"Lulu, what's the matter?" I rush over. I know immediately it must have something to do with Ximu.

Lulu raises her head, her eyes full of tears. She bites her lip. Her expression is flat, ruthless, and hateful.

She suddenly stands and opens up a big colorful biscuit box beside her. It is full of ashes.

Those ashes make my hair stand on end.

"I burned all of my diaries," Lulu murmurs. "All those years, what did I write? It was all about Ximu. How to love him, understand him, wait for him, tolerate him, appreciate him, adore him, be his loyal audience. When I was hurt, I healed myself at home, and when my hurt was healed, I went back to him so he could hurt me again. All those years, everyone around me was going overseas, getting married, making money, having a career. And me? Other than him, my world has nothing. I used to think my love was so great, but only now do I realize that with all that loving, all I loved was a joke. I'm just a joke."

"Lulu, tell me, what has that bastard done?" I hold Lulu's hand and look at her, worried and distressed.

"It's not worth it. This kind of man is not even wo rth a beating." She waves her hand and shakes her head violently.

"Tell me, what has happened?" I press her for the story.

"What happened?" Lulu laughs coldly. "Something I should have discovered long ago. I was just an idiot. I always believed him. He said his marriage with his wife was a failure, and it was enough for his lifetime. He said he was an artist. Artists must get inspiration from the bodies of different women, so he couldn't be a monogamist. The funny thing is that there was a fool like me to believe his bullshit. I listened to him so adoringly. I accepted him staying married and fooling around with other women. He lived with other women, and I even tolerated that. I said to myself, successful men need space."

"He isn't that successful! Going to study in France is nothing special! It seems like he couldn't make it there, so he had to come back home," I say.

"Sometimes he spoke about his own dreams and ambitions for hours. He said of all the women, I was the only one who understood him. I was so flattered. I listened attentively, I applauded. If Ximu is Sartre, then I can be his Simone de Beauvoir! It didn't matter if we didn't get married. Our love had long ago surpassed such a wo rldly th ing."

"Didn't you know they were all excuses? Men will say all the romantic, sweet-talking stuff in the world to get a woman into bed," I scold Lulu.

"When people are in love, when they are madly in love, they are fools. Don't you remember Jeremy Irons in Damage?

He was a successful politician. Was he stupid? But in the end, didn't love leave him with nothing? Some people are demons – like Anna in Damage. If you love them, it's like swallowing poison, because for them you would be willing to climb razor-sharp mountains and swim in a sea of fire."

Loving them is like swallowing poison. Aren't Beibei and I the same? After Chairman Hua's betrayal, Beibei has decided to never again believe in love. She seeks comfort in the arms of young men. And I? My past with Len is like a sleeping forest. I don't talk about it with anyone.

"Psychologists say that some kinds of love are a sickness, an uncontrollable obsession," I say.

"Perhaps I'm one of those women who easily become obsessed," Lulu says. "The woman in Ricky Martin's song 'Livin' la Vida Loca' is a devil woman who runs men around in circles. Beibei often blames me, saying that I'm pretty, why can't I find a man and run him around in circles? I'm always the scapegoat. I let my girlfriends do the worrying for me. But I just don't know how to be manipulative!"

Lulu continues her story, "Recently, Ximu had disappeared for over a month. I missed him so bad, missed his big beard, his fiery eyes, his passion and wildness in bed. So, I phoned his mobile. No one answered. I knew I shouldn't have phoned, because he didn't let me ring him. Later on a woman phoned my house and asked if I was looking for Ximu.

"I asked her how she got my phone number. She said her name was Liu Hong, that Ximu was not there. She was looking after his mobile phone for him, and she saw my number on his phone. I knew this woman. She was the Japanese woman who had grown up in China, who lived with Ximu. Ximu had told me that there was nothing special about her, but she had a good body and she could do accounting. His math was terrible, and Ximu needed a woman to keep his books, so he lived with her.

"Liu Hong said she was Ximu's wife. Then she asked me if I was Lulu. I said, 'How do you know my name?' She said, 'My husband often mentions you to me, praises you. Your name has long resounded in my ears.' I said, 'You two are married? Why hasn't Ximu told me? Isn't he still married to his French wife?' She said, 'They divorced two years ago. We've been married for almost a year. We were married in my hometown of Nikko. The mayor of Nikko even came to the wedding; he said our wedding was a symbol of Sino-Japanese friendship. Did Ximu really not tell you? At the moment, he's gone to Hong Kong specifically to buy me a big diamond ring for our first anniversary. Wait until he gets back, I'll be sure to ask him how he could forget his friend Lulu like that!' Then she asked me if I had any message to pass on to Ximu. I didn't say anything, just hung up the phone.

"I thought she must be lying, to try to get at me. She was angry because Ximu loved me more than her. Because Ximu loved freedom so much he didn't want to remarry. Even if he did get married, it wouldn't be to this common woman, always flaunting that Japanese thing of hers. What's more, why would Ximu be so kitschy as to buy a diamond ring? Ximu never liked to give women gifts. He has never given me any gifts. He said that was all so vulgar.

"A couple of days later, the elusive Ximu came looking for me. We made love wildly. That night, I had eight orgasms, that feeling like you are floating with the angels, like you're going to die. Later, we listened to Yo-Yo Ma's cello solos, lit candles, drank French wine, had a bubble bath. We were exhausted. Before that we were wild, we totally didn't even have the ch ance to talk. Then, when we were quiet and I was nestled in his arms, I asked him, 'Where did you go? I missed you so much!' He said Hong Kong. As soon as I heard that, I thought, Liu Hong wasn't lying to me about the place.

"Then I asked Ximu why he went to Hong Kong? He said he had to buy something. When I heard that, my heart jumped. Liu Hong said he had gone to buy a diamond ring – could it be true? 'Are you remarried?' I asked him, my tone very casual. I thought the answer would be no, but his face changed instantly. 'Who told you?' he asked me very seriously.

"I was dumbfounded. My head swam. Because, it was too simple, his expression and reaction had answered everything. He really was remarried. But why? Wasn't he a free spirit? Didn't he hate those common women? Why did he secretly get divorced and then remarried? Why did he have to deceive me? I raised my head, looked at him through the steam of the bathroom. I couldn't say a word. 'Listen to me,' he said. In the steam and candlelight, his face was still so impossibly vivid. This man who had just joined his spirit and flesh with mine was nothing more than a despicable cheat. I threw my glass of wine in his face, leaped dripping out of the bath, and ran to the bed crying.

"He chased after me naked, he begged me, knelt down, and made me listen to his explanation. He said even though he was remarried it wouldn't affect our relationship. He had told Liu Hong about his love for me. He said Liu Hong understood him. He also said that the three of us could live together."

"He wants to have a wife and make you his lover?" I scream. "In his dreams! Who does he think he is? He makes me sick."

Lulu snorts, "Does he think he's an emperor, that he can keep an imperial harem? Fuck! There are men on this earth who are so full of themselves."

"He became so outrageous because you spoiled him. After he thought you were his, he started to take you for granted. He didn't take you seriously. So, you have to leave him," I say as I slam my fist on the table.

"He finally showed me his true face. I can finally be rid of him because I have already begun to despise him. But I just don't understand, even though he always said I was the one he loved, why did he marry Liu Hong? He said that woman was common. He said he loved me. Are men's words so unreliable?"

Lulu is exhausted from anger. She closes her eyes and rests in my arms, her face tear-stained. I use a tissue to gently wipe her face.

"Niuniu, tell me, are American girls taken advantage of just as much by guys?" Lulu whispers.

I sigh. "To be honest, American girls don't spoil men like you did. They wouldn't put up with men messing around. 'If you don't treat me well, then let's get divorced. Half of your property belongs to me!' American women are like that."

"So much self-respect! I wish I had been born in America."

"But I think American women would be devastated and have a hard time facing the truth too," I add out of sympathy.