The Girl Who Played Go

81

Mother grills me when I return home.

“Where were you? Why are you home so late?”

I lie badly, but for some strange reason she pretends to believe me. Father is reading the paper, an enigmatic smile on his lips. He doesn’t say a word to me all evening.

I gobble down the leftovers in the kitchen-my appetite is back, and for two days now I have been better able to tolerate smells. Mother comes in silently and sits down facing me. In the half-light the red lacquered table looks almost black, polished meticulously, smooth as a mirror, by the cook. Unable to avoid her gaze, I count the grains of rice on the ends of my chopsticks.

Descended from a line of Chinese nobility whose women breast-fed the Manchurian emperors, Mother has seen all her ancestors’ pomp and splendor eradicated, and her heart has hardened. She seals memories away in chests, and now she watches the world deteriorate with the cold dignity of a woman wronged.

In England she grew disenchanted with China. In fact my sister often used to say that, had it not been for Father, Mother would never have come back. Unlike most Chinese women, who overflow with maternal love, Mother maintains a courtly distance and eschews any show of affection. Her anger, too, is provoked only by formalities: being a few minutes late, a lack of courtesy, a crumpled book…

“You’ve lost weight,” says Mother.

My heart sinks: what is she saying?

“You don’t look well. Let me take your pulse.”

I slowly extend my left arm to her, and carry on eating with my right. Might she discover my secret?

“Weak and irregular,” she says after squeezing my wrist awhile. “I must take you to see my doctor. Girls your age are weakened by the changes in their bodies. That’s why the ancients used to marry them very young, to stabilize them.”

I don’t dare argue with her.

“You must have some swallows’ nest soup,” she says, getting up, “it warms the blood and the intestines, it harmonizes the ebb and flow of energy. And tomorrow we will go see old Master Liu for some medicinal infusions. Perhaps I’ll take you to the American hospital as well. The holidays start at the end of this week. Your sister is coming home, and I’ll keep both of you under my roof to get you both back to health.”

Panicked, I tell her that I won’t have time to go to the doctor tomorrow.

“You don’t have lessons at the end of the afternoon,” she replies.

“I have to finish my game of go. It’s very important.”

Mother is angry, but her voice stays calm.

“I have given you too much freedom, you and your sister. It does you no good. Forget your game,” she says, heading from the kitchen, then she turns in the doorway and says, “That dress belongs to your sister, it’s too long for you and the color doesn’t suit you. Where are the dresses I had made for you a couple of months ago?”

Back in my room, I slump down onto my bed. I lose less blood in the night, but I still sleep fitfully. Huong, dressed in red and covered in jewels and embroidery, bows to a horribly ugly man. She is in tears and she looks like a goddess who has been banished from the heavens. A stranger notices how sad I am, and takes my hand. His hand, rough as a pumice stone, soothes my agitated nerves. Behind him I can see Min under a tree before the Temple of the White Horse. He smiles at me before disappearing into the crowd.

In the morning my whole body feels slack and my skin dry. To please my mother I put on one of the new dresses and the stiff fabric chafes me.

At the temple crossroads I glance over at the tree where Min was standing in my dream. There is a man crouching there and when I meet his eye, my blood freezes: it’s Jing!

I jump out of the rickshaw. He has lost ten kilos, his face is hidden under a hat and has sprouted a black beard, but still I see it’s badly scarred. When I go towards him, he backs away. For a long time he says nothing, just staring at the ants climbing up the tree in an unbroken line.

“I betrayed them,” he says in a sullen voice that makes me shiver. “Their bodies were thrown into a common grave. I couldn’t even go and make my peace at their tombs.”

Jing bangs his head against the tree trunk. I take his arm, but he shakes me off.

“Don’t touch me,” he says. “I confessed it all, told them everything. It was easy as pissing, I had no shame. I wasn’t thinking about anyone. The words just came out, I couldn’t stop them. It was intoxicating, destroying everything…”

Jing bursts out laughing, shakes his head violently.

“You’re the only one who doesn’t look at me as if I were a monster,” he says. “My father prays for my death and forbids my mother to see me.”

He punches the tree so hard that his hand splits open.

I pass him a handkerchief and he whispers, “I can’t go back to the university now. I’m so ashamed. I live like a rat, hiding from my friends and frightening children in the street. I can’t sleep at night-the Resistance Movement will send out their killers for me. ‘In the name of the Resistance, in the name of the Chinese people, in the names of the victims and their families, we send you on your way to hell…’ You’ll see my body left at the crossroads, with a sign round my neck: ‘He betrayed, now he’s paid!’ ”

I can find no words to comfort him. He looks at me searchingly, then throws himself at me and squeezes my hands so tightly that it hurts.

“You should know the truth. Min was married to Tang in prison so that he could be united with her to face death. But I’ve only ever loved you. Of the two of us, Min committed the first betrayal: he betrayed you and I was disgusted. And so I refused to follow him. I wanted to marry you, I wanted to protect you, I wanted to see you before I died, to tell you how much I loved you. I traded dishonor for love. Tell me you understand! Tell me you don’t despise me!”

Suddenly I am terribly light-headed, and I try to pull free from Jing’s embrace. He stares at me and pants, “I’ve got two passports for the inner territories. Come with me. We’ll go to Peking, we can continue our studies there. I’ll work to pay for your food, to make you happy. I’ll be a rickshaw boy if I have to. The train’s at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ve already got two tickets. Come with me!”

“Let me go!” I say, fighting him off.

“You hate me,” he says with a sigh. “Go on then, look after yourself and forget about me.”

He staggers away as though from a blow to the head.

“Wait! I need to think,” I say. “Let’s meet here tomorrow.”

He turns back.

“Tomorrow or never!” he whispers, his broken figure moving away, hugging the temple walls. I notice that he is dragging his left leg like a rotten branch. The sight fills me with pain, I lean my forehead against the tree and close my eyes. The bark transmits the feeble heat of the morning sun. It feels as if Min is there next to me.

“I hate you.”

He smiles and says nothing.