The Girl Who Played Go

37

As I come out of school I see Min leaning up against a tree. I catch his eye and then lower my head and continue on my way.

“Do you mind if I walk with you for a while?” he says, running after me.

I don’t say anything and he shamelessly tags along and chatters away to me. In fact I don’t mind having him beside me; he is head and shoulders taller than me and I find the warm flow of his words soothing. He tells me about what he is reading, what he has been hunting and about his dreams of revolution. He asks whether I would like to go fishing on Sunday, whether I would like him to teach me how to know when fish are in love.

We go past the street where Jing lives.

“Come,” he says, pulling my arm, “I’ve got a key.”

Once we are inside, he turns to me and looks me up and down. His nerve is disarming and I huddle against the door, powerless.

He starts stroking my face and neck, his fingers brushing my shoulders. I succumb to a strange languorous feeling that sweeps over me. Min’s face is flushed and his eyes half-closed as he breathes in the smell of my skin. As his lips touch me they leave a trail of fever in their wake. When they reach my chin, I involuntarily open my mouth and Min’s tongue darts in. As his hand moves down to my breast, his touch becomes almost unbearable, the warmth of his embrace suffocating. I tell him to open the top of my dress. He seems amazed, but obeys me. His fingers fumble hopelessly with the braided buttons and I almost tear them open.

Min’s face twists into a grimace of admiration. He kneels down and buries his head between my breasts, rubbing his soft adolescent beard against them. His forehead feels white-hot, and makes me writhe as I clench my fists.

A scraping sound in the keyhole makes us both start, and I quickly push Min away. I have only just buttoned my dress when the door opens and Jing comes in, carrying his birdcage. The smile leaves his face when he sees us. He eyes me coldly and grunts a greeting to Min. I pick up my bag, barge past Jing and run off down the road.

Never before have I felt gripped by such sadness. The crows caw and wheel past each other across the sky where violet and orange gradually blend with the black of the clouds. The air is filled with the smell of flowers. With the arrival of the month of May, the poplar flowers fall to the ground like brown worms. As a child I used to throw them down my sister’s open collar and she would scream in terror.

Min kneaded my breasts so hard they are hurting. I stop under a tree to tidy my hair and to smooth out my dress with a bit of saliva in the palm of my hand. I look at myself in a little mirror: my mouth looks slightly swollen as if I have just woken from a long sleep. My cheeks are bright red, betraying my secret, forbidden dreams, and my forehead is glowing; I think that I can trace Min’s kisses on it, visible only to me.