The Girl Who Played Go

9

The game begins at dawn in a corner of the living room. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair unbrushed, he drinks cup after cup of tea to stay awake and he heaves great sighs. This morning, having spent two days visiting friends to offer good wishes for the New Year, my parents have dressed in traditional garments and are at home to receive guests. We take refuge in my room in a vain attempt to escape the greetings. People keep coming to find us: for some, we have to kneel down to wish them a good year and good fortune; for others, a brief bow will do. Adults are always hungry for compliments, and when we have flattered them, they slip us some money in a red envelope and invariably say, “Run along, children, and buy yourself some sweets.”

Back at the go-board, Lu throws his envelopes onto the table scornfully. To annoy him, I open mine and count the notes, commenting on them as I do so.

“Stop it,” he says. “You’re not a child anymore.”

I pull a face.

“You’re going to be sixteen,” he mutters, exasperated. “That’s when women get married and have children.”

“Do you think you’re going to marry me then?” I ask, bursting out laughing.

He goes quiet.

At noon there are so many drums and trumpets and firecrackers that the earth shakes. Through the windows I can see over the walls to where men and women dressed in red are dancing on stilts, weaving past each other in the sky, up between the trees.

Lu blocks his ears, but I find that the popular music heightens my concentration rather than distracting me. The winter light, tinted by the bright colors in the street, plays on the go-board. All these festivities cut me off from the rest of the world. My loneliness is like a bolt of crimson silk stowed in the bottom of a wooden chest.

After lunch my cousin drifts off into some vague meditation. He wipes a few stray tears from the corners of his eyes. I can no longer play the fool, so I say nothing. A silence as heavy as a plate of cold, unsalted noodles descends on the go-board.

My cousin is uneasy; he rests his head on his hand and keeps sighing. Towards seven in the evening he makes a mistake, and later, before the game is even finished, I point out that he has already lost and that he must stick to our agreement.

He pushes back his chair and stands up.

The following morning I am told that he has left. His train is at nine o’clock, so I still have time to catch him up. At the station he seems to be waiting for me to show some remorse. Whatever he hopes, I will never beg him for anything-it would only encourage him in his stupid ideas. He has offended me and he must submit to the punishment. Later I will write to him, I will call him back to me when his impure thoughts have given way to the humility of the defeated.