The Seventh Day

THE SECOND DAY

An unfamiliar female voice was calling my name. “Yang Fei…”

The sound seemed to have traveled an immense distance. It lingered as it reached me, then faded like a sigh. I looked around but could not make out from which direction it had come. All I was conscious of was the name winging its way toward me in fragments. “Yang Fei…Yang Fei…”

It seemed that I had woken up in the place where I had sat down the previous night — a rotting wooden bench. When I sat on it, I had a feeling that it might topple over any moment, and it was a little while before it became as stable as a rock. Rain was falling steadily amid the whirling snow, and oval droplets of water broke open to discharge even more water droplets, some of which continued to fall, some of which disappeared on top of the snow.

A familiar old building emerged vaguely from the rain and snow; in it a one-bedroom apartment had recorded the shapes and sounds of Li Qing and me. I had arrived here in the dark and sat down on a bench as quiet as death, and the fall and flutter of rain and snow were as quiet as death also. Sitting in this silence, I felt on the verge of slumber and closed my eyes once more. That’s when I saw the lovely, brilliant Li Qing and our brief love and fleeting marriage. That world was in the process of leaving, and yet the past events in that world were on a bus that was arriving. The scene where I first glimpsed Li Qing slowly approached.

Squeezed in tightly among the standing passengers, I swayed back and forth just as they did. Someone sitting in front of me rose to get off the bus and I moved to take his seat, only to be preempted as a female shape quickly occupied the spot that should have been mine. I was startled by the speed with which the young woman had seized her opportunity, and was equally struck by the beauty of her perfect features. As she raised her head slightly, the eyes of all the men on the bus lingered on her face, but she gave no sign of being aware of that — she seemed to be preoccupied with her own thoughts. It was vexing to me that she had stolen my seat but didn’t even give me a look. But I was happy all the same, happy that on a crowded, noisy journey I had the chance to admire her pale skin and delicate profile. After about five stops I started making my way toward the door, which opened as the bus came to a halt. Disembarking passengers squeezed into such a tight mass that I was practically propelled out of the bus. Soon the young woman was skimming past me, as light as a breeze. From behind I watched her dress flutter; she walked and swung her arms with vigor and grace. I followed her into an office block, where she quickly entered an elevator. Its doors closed before I reached it; she was looking out but did not see me.

It turned out that we were working for the same company — it was my first job. As an employee I was unexceptional, but she was already a budding star, with attention-getting beauty and intelligence. The general manager would often take her along with him to business dinners, so she already had considerable experience of the informal negotiations that went on at such events. Women were actually the main topic of conversation at these dinners, with business mentioned only in passing. She discovered that a focus on women helped to bring successful men together: within just a few hours bare acquaintances would become best buddies and cooperation on business deals would proceed smoothly. I heard that at the dinner table she was always poised and chic, adept at putting others at their ease and entertaining men who fancied her, making sure they grinned happily even as she rebuffed them. What’s more, she had a formidable capacity for alcohol and could drink most clients under the table. They enjoyed being toasted by Li Qing until they were completely sloshed, and when calling to set up the next banquet they would enjoin our CEO: “Don’t forget to bring Li Qing.”

The young women in the firm were jealous of her. At midday, in clusters of four or five, they would eat lunch by the window and quietly discuss her endless series of unhappy affairs — communicating a romantic history in which fact and fiction were inextricably mixed. Her love interests — all sons of city officials, apparently—were said to have passed her off as rapidly as a baton in a relay race. Sometimes, as she walked past these young gossips, she’d realize they were circulating rumors about how she had been dumped by these leaders’ sons, and she would always send a carefree smile their way, for their gossip and tattle were like scattered raindrops that require no umbrella. Far from having been dumped, she was actually the one who had rejected others’ advances, but, proud and aloof, she kept this to herself, because she had no real friends in the company. On the surface she maintained cordial relations with everyone, but in her heart she was a loner.

Suitors pursued her avidly, sending her flowers, giving her presents — sometimes she would be offered several such gifts at the same time, but she would always decline them with a courteous smile. One of our coworkers wouldn’t take no for an answer. After trying unsuccessfully for more than a year to induce her to accept his offerings, he ended up declaring his love in the most drastic and dramatic terms. As people were heading off to the elevator at the end of work one day, he knelt down in front of her with a bouquet of roses in hand. Everyone was startled, but soon burst into a round of applause. She turned to him with a smile. “If you kneel down to propose to me,” she said, “you’ll be on your knees all the time when we’re married.”

“I’m willing to kneel for you all my life,” he answered.

“All right, then,” she said. “You kneel here for the rest of your life, and I’ll stay single the rest of my life.”

So saying, she walked around him and into the elevator, and as the doors closed she gazed back toward the office with a smile. If she had noticed me then, she would surely have seen an uneasy expression on my face, for her callousness — or maybe just her composure — made me shiver a little.

The cheers and applause, no longer appropriate, quickly subsided. The kneeling suitor looked around in embarrassment, unsure whether he should stay kneeling or get up right away and make his escape. Much stifled mirth ensued, as women snickered and men looked at each other and chuckled. The onlookers crowded into the elevator and a huge burst of laughter — along with a few coughs — broke out as the doors closed.

When I left the office soon after, the man was still kneeling on the floor, and I wanted to console him but didn’t know quite what to say. He wore a wry smile and seemed on the point of making some kind of comment, but ended up saying nothing, simply bowing his head as the flowers lay helplessly on the floor.

Too embarrassed to stay, I entered the empty elevator, and as it made its descent my spirits dropped as well.

The next day the poor man didn’t show up for work. The office rang with peals of laughter and everyone was talking about how he knelt to beg for Li Qing’s love. Men and women alike said they were burning with curiosity on their morning commute, eager to see if he was still kneeling when they came out of the elevator. His absence was a disappointment, as though life suddenly had lost a lot of its interest. That afternoon he tendered his resignation, arriving in the lobby downstairs and placing a call to one of his coworkers.

“I’m busy right now,” the colleague said.

He waved his hands in the air the minute he put the phone down. “He’s resigned,” he announced loudly. “He doesn’t dare come up, so he asked me to collect his things and take them down to him.”

After a round of laughter another coworker’s phone rang. “I’m in the middle of something,” he answered loudly. “How about you come up?”

Laughter again rippled around the office, even before he had time to announce who had called. After a moment of hesitation I stood up and walked over to the suitor’s desk. I sorted the things on top of his desk into different categories, then emptied the drawers of their contents, and finally fetched a cardboard box to put all the stuff in. During this time he called a third coworker. “Yang Fei is packing up your things,” I heard the colleague say.

When I walked out of the building with the box under my arm, I found the man standing there with an exhausted look on his face. He didn’t look me in the eye but simply said “Thank you” as I handed him the box, and then turned and left. As I watched him cross the road with his head down and disappear in the flow of pedestrians, a disconsolate feeling surged up in my heart. He had worked for the company for five years, but in the end his coworkers treated him no differently from a stranger in the street.

After I returned to my desk, a few people came over to inquire what he had said and how he looked. I didn’t raise my eyes from my monitor. “He just took the box, that’s all,” I said.

That day our office — all ten thousand square feet of it — was overflowing with cheerful spirits. I had been working there for a couple of years, and this was the first time I had seen so many people in such a good mood. They recalled the scene of him kneeling on the floor and remembered other ridiculous things he had done in the past, such as how he had once been robbed when walking in a park. Two strangers approached him in broad daylight and asked, “Have you seen any police around?”

“No, I haven’t,” he said.

“Are you sure?” they pressed him.

“Absolutely,” he replied.

That’s when they put knives to his throat and demanded his wallet.

The office workers found this story hilarious, and it seemed as though I was the only person who didn’t laugh. Later, I just tried to concentrate on my work and made a conscious effort not to listen to their gossip. There were a couple of times when I had to make photocopies and Li Qing’s glance happened to rest on me as I got up. She was sitting diagonally opposite and I turned my head away and didn’t look in her direction again. Later, several men went up to her and said ingratiatingly, “No matter what, kneeling at your feet is worth it.”

She responded with sarcasm. “You guys want to give it a try too, do you?”

Amid a chorus of laughs, the men had to beat a hasty retreat, saying, “Oh no, we wouldn’t dare.”

I couldn’t help but grin. She had always maintained a cordial tone and this was the first time I had heard her speak so cuttingly. Somehow it made me glad.

Of the young men in the firm, I was probably the only one not to have tried my luck with her, although sometimes I had felt tempted. I knew I was attracted to her, but self-doubt made me rule out any thought I might have a chance with her as sheer impossibility. Our desks were not far apart, but I had never initiated an exchange. I simply drew some satisfaction from her figure and voice being within close proximity. It was a happiness hidden in the heart, a happiness that nobody knew, that she did not know either. She was in public relations and I was in sales, and occasionally she would come over and ask me some work-related question. I would look at her normally and respond in a businesslike fashion. I enjoyed these moments, for then I could appreciate her beauty at ease. After she had dealt so unsparingly with the kneeling suitor, I hesitated to look her in the eye. But still she would come over and ask me things about work, and she did so more frequently. Every time, I would answer with lowered eyes.

A few days after the incident, I left work a bit later than usual. When the elevator doors opened, she was standing in the elevator by herself, having descended from the executive floor. As I hesitated about whether to join her, she pressed the open-door button. “In you come,” she said.

I got on. It was the first time I had been alone with her. “How’s he doing?” she asked.

I was startled for a moment, before I realized she meant the man who had proposed to her on bended knee. “He looked tired,” I said. “Maybe he spent the whole night walking the streets.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath. “It really made me look bad, the way he behaved.”

“He made himself look bad too,” I said. I watched the numbers of the floors flashing by as the elevator descended.

“Do you think me a bit callous?” she asked abruptly.

I did think that, but what struck me more was the forlorn tone in her voice. “I think you’re lonely,” I said. “You don’t seem to have any friends.”

Somehow my eyes were wet. I had never thought about her outside work hours, because I had always told myself that I was not even on her radar, but at that moment I suddenly was sad for her. I felt a tap on my arm, and looked down to find her proffering a mini-pack of tissues. I took one and gave her the rest back.

In the days that followed, we carried on as before, each of us arriving at work and leaving work at our own time, and with her often coming over to ask me things. I continued to look at her in a routine way as I answered her queries. Apart from this we had no other interaction. Although her eyes would light up when she saw me in the morning, our little encounter in the elevator didn’t make me start getting ideas — I just felt we had formed more of a connection. I was content that I could see her at work and had no inkling that she had developed feelings for me.

In those days the most glorious thing for a girl was to marry the son of an official, but Li Qing was an exception, for she could see at a glance that those spoiled young bucks would not make good lifetime companions. At the business dinners that she attended along with the general manager, she observed the ingratiating manners of many successful men who pursued other women behind the backs of their wives, and it may have been that experience that determined her criterion for selecting a mate, causing her to seek a loyal, dependable man — someone like me.

My emotional state then was cramped and confined, like a room with tightly sealed windows and doors: although love’s footsteps could be heard outside the room, I felt they were steps heading somewhere else — until one day when the steps came to a halt and the bell rang.

It was a late afternoon in spring. The office was empty of people, for I was working overtime to finish an assignment. I heard the sound of high heels tapping on the marble floor and coming closer. When I raised my head, there she was with a smile on her face. “You know what?” she said. “Last night I dreamt we were married.”

I was dumbfounded. How could that possibly happen?

She looked at me. “Funny, isn’t it?” she mused.

So saying, she turned around and walked away. The sound of her high heels hitting the floor was as loud as my heartbeat; even after the sound faded away, my heart continued to pound.

I began to fantasize, and in the following days my mind would easily wander. Late at night, again and again I would think back to her look and her tone when she mentioned the dream, and I would speculate cautiously about whether or not she was interested in me. With her on my mind so much, one night I too dreamt that she and I were married — not in a bustling wedding scene but with the two of us holding hands as we went to the local registry office to fill in the forms. When I saw her at the office the next day, I suddenly blushed. She was quick to notice, and when nobody else was around, she asked me, with a searching look, “Why do you blush when you see me?”

“Last night I dreamt that you and I went to the registry office,” I said timidly.

She beamed. “Meet me outside after work,” she said softly.

What a long day that was — almost as long, it seemed, as the years of my youth. I kept losing focus, giving distracted answers to my coworkers’ questions. The hands of the clock moved with unbearable slowness, and at times even breathing seemed a strain. Finally, through sheer willpower, I made it to the end of the workday, but when I stood on the street outside, I still found breathing an effort, not knowing whether she was having to work overtime or was deliberately dragging her feet in order to test my devotion. It wasn’t until dark that I saw her appear. She paused briefly on the steps, looked around in all directions, and after seeing me she ran down the steps. Dodging the cars going back and forth, she crossed the road and ran up to me, smiling. “Are you hungry? This is going to be my treat.”

She took my arm and marched forward briskly, as though we were longtime lovers instead of on our first date. I was startled, then immediately bathed in happiness.

In the days that followed, I often wondered if this was really happening. We arranged to meet every morning at a bus stop and take the bus together to the office. I would arrive at the stop at least an hour before the appointed time and get nervous that she wouldn’t show up; I wouldn’t feel at ease until I saw her elegant figure loping toward me, her arms swinging by her sides. That’s when I knew it was real.

Together we arrived at work and together we left, and even after ten days of this nobody had realized that we were dating, probably assuming — as I had earlier — that for us to get together was unthinkable. Sometimes, at the end of the day, I would have finished my work and she would have more to do, so I’d sit at my desk waiting for her.

“How come you’re still here?” a coworker asked.

“I’m waiting for Li Qing,” I replied.

A strange smile appeared on his face, as though he was amused to see me falling into the old familiar trap.

At other times she would finish first and I would have more work still to do, in which case she’d sit down next to me.

When coworkers passed, they would have a different expression on their faces, and they’d ask her in astonishment, “How come you’re still here?”

“I’m waiting for him,” she would reply.

News of our romance spread like wildfire. The men found it baffling: in their eyes, Li Qing falling for me after rejecting the sons of city officials was like someone favoring a sesame seed over a watermelon. Thinking themselves in no way inferior to me, they smarted with the injustice and muttered to each other that “it’s true that ‘the fresh flower gets stuck in a cowpat’ and ‘the scabby toad gets to eat swan meat.’ ” The women, for their part, rejoiced at Li Qing’s lapse of judgment: on seeing me they would smile meaningfully and draw a lesson from what had happened. “No need to set your sights too high when looking for a mate — more-or-less is good enough. Just look at Li Qing there — she spends all that time playing the field and ends up with a loser.”

For the two of us, immersed in our love, these comments were — in Li Qing’s words — just “grass blowing in the wind.” But she had quite a temper, and when she found I was being written off as a cowpat, a scabby toad, and a loser, she resorted to coarse language and said they were talking through their asses.

“You’re handsome,” she said, gazing into my face.

“I’m a loser, it’s true,” I admitted.

“No,” she said. “You are good. You are loyal. You are reliable.”

We walked hand in hand along the evening streets and sat for a long time on a bench in a quiet part of the park. Tired, she leaned her head on my shoulder and I put my arm around her — that was when we kissed for the first time. Later, when we sat in her apartment, she revealed her tender side, detailing the ordeal of accompanying the CEO to business banquets, the lustful glances and indecent language of those high-flyers, how she loathed them but still had to flatter them with a smile and down shots in their honor, then go to the bathroom to throw up, after which she continued to toast them. That she dated the sons of city officials was all just rumor — she had only met three such young men, introduced to her by the boss, and each of them displayed his own version of the playboy style: the first was full of himself, the second spent all his time ogling her, while the third started feeling her up the first chance he got. When she resisted, smiling apologetically, he said, “Don’t give me that act.” Her parents lived in another province, and after such humiliations she would call them up in a tearful mood, but then force herself to be cheerful, telling them that everything was fine and not to worry.

Her story made me feel sad. I took her face in my hands and kissed her eyes, tickling her until she smiled. She said she had noticed me from early on and realized that I was a hard worker, observing too that when an office slacker claimed credit for my achievements, I never made an issue of this. I told her there were times when I was really angry and wanted to give him a piece of my mind, but I found I just couldn’t get the words out.

“Sometimes I hate how weak I am,” I told her.

“You won’t get tough with me, will you?” she said, caressing my face affectionately.

“Certainly not,” I said.

When the other young men in the company pursued her in their various fashions, she told me, I seemed to remain completely cold. That’s what got her curious and that’s why she came over to ask questions and study my reaction; she found that I gave her a simple, friendly glance quite different from the way her other male coworkers looked at her. Later, that incident of the suitor declaring his love on his knees left her with a positive impression, for she quietly observed how amid the laughter I collected the man’s possessions and delivered them to him. She paused for a moment, and then said that the more favor she enjoyed in the business world, the more lonesome she felt when she returned at night to her rented room — that was when she really wanted to be with someone she loved. When we happened to meet in the elevator and my eyes got wet, she suddenly felt the warmth of another person’s concern, and in the days that followed she became more and more convinced that I was the right man for her.

Then she pinched my nose. “Why didn’t you pursue me?”

“I just lack ambition,” I said.

We married a year later. My father’s dorm unit was too small to accommodate all three of us, so we rented a one-bedroom apartment as our new home. My father was overjoyed that I was marrying such an able and attractive wife. And Li Qing was good to him: on weekends, when he stayed overnight with us, we would both go meet him, and after we all crowded onto the bus she could always somehow find him a seat. This reminded me of the first time I saw her, and I would smile at the thought. During Spring Festival we took the train to see her parents, who worked at a state-owned factory. Kind and down-to-earth, they were happy that their daughter had married a solid, dependable man.

Our married life was calm and happy. She continued to escort the boss to business dinners, however. After dark I would wait at home alone and often she would get back very late and very tired. I would smell alcohol on her breath when I hugged her, and she would rest her head on my chest for a bit before we went to bed. She hated these boisterous banquets but found it impossible to decline such invitations, for by this time she was the deputy head of public relations. She didn’t care for this position, which in her words amounted pretty much to “deputy head of swigging and swilling.” “Beauty is a woman’s travel permit,” she once said to me. But she was using the permit for the company’s benefit, never for herself.

After a couple of years we began planning the purchase of an apartment of our own, and at the same time decided it was time to have a child — she thought that then she would have a compelling reason to turn down those tiresome engagements. So she stopped using contraception. It was precisely at this point, however, that events took a different course. A chance encounter on a business trip drove home to her the difference between us: she was the kind of person who could shape her own destiny, whereas I could only be carried along by my own fate.

The person sitting next to her on the plane was a Ph.D., recently returned from the United States. Ten years older than she, with a wife and child, he had just started up his own business, and during their two-hour flight he spoke with passion about his glowing prospects. I think it must have been her looks that first attracted him, inspiring him to wax so eloquent and say so much, and having attended so many functions with our CEO she was well-positioned to give him helpful advice. Enchanted by her beauty, he must have soon been impressed by her acuteness of observation and attention to detail, and so he issued an invitation right there on the plane: “Why don’t you join me?”

When they reached their destination, he didn’t stay at the hotel that he had booked but moved to the one where she was staying, to show how much he valued her advice. That’s what he said, at least, but I suspect it was something else he was after. During the day they worked separately at their jobs and in the evenings they sat down at the hotel bar to discuss the challenges of entrepreneurship. She was full of ideas. Not only did she brainstorm new business strategies, she also briefed him on the subtle arts of getting things done in China, like how to cozy up to government officials and supply them with perks. After all those years in America, he was a bit out of touch with the unspoken rules that govern Chinese realities. When the two went their separate ways, he again expressed his interest in working with her. She smiled and did not answer, but gave him her home phone number.

In her heart, a change was taking place. To our CEO, she had good looks and a good head on her shoulders, but he never realized the full extent of her talent and ambition. Now, at last, she felt she had found someone who could truly understand her.

After she got home, she resumed her use of contraception, saying it was too soon to have a child. Then every evening he would call and she would talk to him on the phone, sometimes for an hour, sometimes twice that. At the beginning it was often I who answered the calls, but later I stopped picking up when the phone rang. Initially, it was all about business: he asked her questions, she pondered for a minute, then answered him. Later, she would just hold the phone and listen to him talk, saying very little herself. After hanging up she would fall into deep thought, and it would be a while before she realized that I was sitting there and forced a smile. I could tell that their topic had moved on. I said nothing, but my heart was racked with pain.

Six months later he arrived in our city, by which time he had already finalized his divorce. After dinner that day she told me she was going round to his hotel. I sat on the sofa the whole evening, my mind completely blank, as though I’d lost the capacity for thought. She didn’t return until dawn. Expecting me to be asleep, she opened the door carefully, only to find me sitting on the sofa. She gave a start, then came over timidly and sat down next to me.

She had always been such a confident woman, and this was the first time I had seen her so ill at ease. Her head bowed, she told me shakily that the man had got divorced for her sake. She felt she belonged with him — they were such an ideal match. I said nothing. He had divorced his wife for her, she repeated. I noticed the emphatic tone in her voice and I thought: Any man would be willing to get divorced for your sake. But I said nothing, knowing I had lost her. With me she would only have a humdrum, uneventful life, whereas with him she could build up a whole business. In fact, six months earlier I had already had the faint awareness that she would leave me, and this sensation had only grown stronger during the intervening time. Now that premonition had become fact.

She gave a deep sigh. “Let’s get a divorce.”

“All right,” I said.

After saying this, I couldn’t help shedding a few tears. Although I didn’t want us to break up, there was nothing I could do to make her stay. She raised her head and saw me crying, and she wept too. She wiped her tears away with her hand, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

I rubbed my eyes. “Don’t say sorry,” I said.

That morning the two of us went to the office together as usual. I requested a day’s leave and she handed in her notice, then we went to the neighborhood registry office to attend to the divorce paperwork. While she went home to pack her bags, I went to the bank and withdrew all our savings, which came to sixty thousand yuan — the money we had set aside to purchase an apartment. Once I got home, I handed her all the cash. She hesitated a moment, then took twenty thousand. I shook my head and urged her to take the full amount. Twenty thousand was enough, she insisted. That’ll make me worry, I said. She bowed her head and said I didn’t need to worry, I should know how capable she was; she could handle everything perfectly well. She put twenty thousand yuan in her bag and left the rest on the table. Then she gazed fondly at the home we had shared. “I should go now,” she said.

I helped her collect her clothes and other belongings, which we stuffed into two large suitcases, and I carried the cases down to the street below. She was going first to his hotel and then the two of them would go to the airport, so I hailed a cab and put her cases in the trunk. The moment of parting had now arrived. I waved goodbye to her, but she came forward and hugged me tightly. “I still love you,” she said.

“I’ll always love you,” I replied.

She started crying. “I’ll write you and call you,” she said.

“Don’t write and don’t call,” I said. “That will just upset me.”

She got into the cab and as it pulled away she didn’t look at me but brushed away her tears. That’s how she left, heading off on the path of life that fate had chosen for her.

For my father, my sudden divorce was a bolt out of the blue. He looked at me with a face of pure shock as I briefly explained the reasons for the divorce. I said that our marriage was a misunderstanding from the start, because I was simply not good enough for her. He just kept shaking his head, unable to accept what I was saying. “All along I thought she was a good girl,” he lamented. “I misjudged her.”

My father’s coworkers Hao Qiangsheng and Li Yuezhen, a married couple, were equally shocked when they heard the news. Qiangsheng insisted categorically that the man was a confidence trickster and would dump Li Qing without batting an eye. In his view, she didn’t know what was good for her and would be sure to end up regretting her decision. Yuezhen had always been fond of Li Qing, saying she was smart and pretty and understanding. But now Yuezhen was convinced Li Qing was a gold digger, and she bemoaned the fact that there were more and more such women in this society where you get more respect if you’re a whore than if you’re poor. Yuezhen tried to comfort me, saying there was no shortage of young women better than her — she knew a good half dozen. She introduced me to several, sure enough, but none of these possibilities went anywhere. I take most of the responsibility for that: in our time together Li Qing had gradually and imperceptibly reshaped my expectations, until she achieved a peerless position in my mind. On dates with those other girls, I couldn’t help but compare them to her and always ended up disappointed.

In the months and years that followed, I sometimes saw her interviewed on television or read stories about her in newspapers and magazines. She seemed to me both familiar and foreign: familiar in her smile and demeanor, foreign in the content and tone of her conversation. I got the feeling that she was the prime mover in the company’s operations and her husband was just playing a supporting role. I was happy for her, for on TV and in the press she was as pretty as ever, and she was using that travel permit for herself at last. But then I was sad for myself, for our time together had just been a detour in her life and only after leaving me did she get on the true path.

In the hollow silence I heard once more the call of that unfamiliar woman’s voice: “Yang Fei…”

I opened my eyes and looked all around. The rain-snow mix was now falling less heavily. To my left there approached a woman very much like Li Qing, wearing a nightdress that was dripping with water. She came up to me and studied my face and then my pajamas, on which she saw the now-faded characters for “Li Qing.” “Yang Fei?” she called inquiringly.

She had to be Li Qing, I felt. But why did her voice sound so different? I sat on the bench looking at her silently.

A strange expression appeared on her face. “You’re wearing Yang Fei’s pajamas,” she said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Yang Fei,” I said.

She looked at my peculiar features in perplexity. “You don’t look like Yang Fei to me.”

I put my hand to my face. My left eye was on my cheek and my nose next to my nose and my chin below my chin.

“I forgot to get my face fixed,” I said.

She reached out her hands and carefully put my eyeball back inside its socket and moved my askew nose back to its original position and pushed my wandering chin up with a firm click.

Then she took a step back and studied me carefully. “Now you look like Yang Fei,” she said.

“I am Yang Fei,” I said. “You look like Li Qing.”

“I am Li Qing.”

We both smiled, and in smiling our familiar smiles we recognized each other.

“You’re Li Qing,” I said.

“You really are Yang Fei,” she said.

“Your voice is different.”

“So is yours.”

We looked at each other.

“Your voice is like that of someone I don’t know,” I said.

“Your voice is like that of a stranger,” she said.

“It’s so strange,” I said. “I know your voice so well, and even your breathing.”

“It seems strange to me,” she replied. “I ought to be familiar with your voice….” She paused and then smiled. “Just like I’m familiar with your snore.”

Her body leaned over and her hand patted my pajama top, patted my collar. “The collar is still in good shape,” she said.

“I never wore these after you left,” I said.

“So how come you’re wearing them now?”

“They will serve as a shroud.”

“Shroud?” She didn’t really understand.

“How about your pajamas?” I asked.

“I didn’t wear them, either,” she said. “I don’t know where I put them.”

“You were right not to wear them,” I said. “They’ve got my name on them.”

“That’s true,” she said. “I married someone else.”

I nodded.

“I kind of regret it.” A mischievous smile appeared on her face. “I should have worn them, just to see what his reaction would be.”

Then she became sad. “Yang Fei, I’ve come to say goodbye.”

I saw how water droplets were still trailing from her nightgown. “Were you wearing that when you lay down in the bathtub?” I asked.

Her eyes glinted, in an expression I knew well. “You know what happened, do you?” she asked.

“I know.”

“When did you hear about it?”

“Yesterday”—I thought for a moment—“or maybe the day before.”

She studied me carefully and seemed to realize something. “You died too?”

“Yes,” I said. “I did.”

We exchanged mournful looks.

“It looks like you’re grieving for me,” she said.

“I have the same feeling about you,” I said. “It’s as though we’re both grieving for each other.”

She looked around in perplexity. “Where are we?”

I pointed at the old building that appeared dimly behind the rain and snow. She gazed at it intently, recalling the apartment that had once recorded the humdrum minutiae of our life.

“Do you still live there?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I moved out after you left.”

“You moved in with your dad?”

I nodded.

“Now I know why I came here.” She smiled.

“It must have been in our destiny,” I agreed. “We both had to make our way back here.”

“Who lives in the apartment now?”

“I don’t know.”

She shifted her gaze, clutching her wet gown tightly to her chest. “I’m tired — I walked a long way to get here.”

“I didn’t walk far,” I said, “but I feel tired too.”

Her body bent over once again, and she started to sit down on the bench, to my left. She felt it sway precariously. “This bench seems about to collapse,” she said.

“You’ll get used to it in a minute,” I said.

She sat down gingerly and her body tensed up. But after a moment her body relaxed. “It won’t collapse anymore,” she said.

“It feels like sitting on a rock,” I said.

“That’s right,” she agreed.

We sat quietly together as though sitting in a dream. A lot of time seemed to pass before her voice regained its strength.

“How did you get here?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” I thought of the last scene I remembered. “I was in a restaurant and had just finished eating a bowl of noodles. The newspaper on the table carried a story about you. The kitchen seemed to catch on fire and many people fled outside. I didn’t move but just kept on reading the story in the paper. Then there was an explosion and I don’t know what happened after that.”

“This happened yesterday?” she asked.

“It might have been the day before,” I said.

“It was all my fault.”

“Not your fault,” I said, “the newspaper’s.”

She leaned her head on my shoulder. “Do you mind if I lean on your shoulder?”

“You’re already doing that,” I said.

She seemed to smile and her head trembled a couple of times on my shoulder. She saw the black armband on my left arm and reached out a hand to touch it.

“Are you wearing this for me?” she asked.

“For myself.”

“Nobody is wearing black for you?”

“No.”

“How about your dad?”

“He died, over a year ago now. He was very ill and knew there was no cure, and so as not to burden me he went off quietly by himself. I looked for him everywhere but couldn’t find him.”

“He was an excellent father, and very kind to me as well.”

“The best father there could be,” I said.

“How about your wife?”

I didn’t answer.

“Do you have a child?”

“No, I don’t. I never married again.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t interested.”

“Was it because you were so hurt?”

“No,” I said. “It was because I never met another woman like you.”

“I’m sorry.” All this time she had been gently patting my black armband.

“Do you have a child?” I asked.

“For a while I did want one,” she said, “but later I gave up on the idea.”

“Why was that?”

“I got an STD — picked up from him.”

I felt droplets in the corners of my eyes, droplets different from rain and snow, and I stretched out my right hand to wipe away these drops.

“Are you crying?” she asked.

“I guess I am,” I said.

“Crying for me?”

“Probably that’s what it is.”

“He kept a mistress outside and also went to clubs to pick up women, and I split up with him after I got infected.” She sighed. “Do you know something? I would think of you at night.”

“After you broke up?”

“That’s right.” She hesitated. “After being with someone.”

“You fell in love with another man?”

“I didn’t love him,” she said. “He was an official. After doing it with him, I would think of you.”

I smiled ruefully.

“Are you jealous?”

“It’s a long time since we were married.”

“Each time he left, I would lie in bed thinking of you. When we were together,” she said softly, “I had to do a lot of entertaining. You would never go to sleep, however late it was, but would stay up waiting for me. I would be exhausted when I got home and just want you to hold me in your arms. It was when I leaned on you that I could relax at last….”

Water droplets again appeared in the corners of my eyes and my right hand again wiped them away.

“Did you miss me?” she asked.

“I was constantly trying to forget you.”

“Did you succeed?”

“Not completely.”

“I knew you wouldn’t forget me,” she said. “He probably has.”

“Where is he now?” I asked.

“He went to Australia,” she said. “As soon as he heard rumors they were going to audit our company, he upped and ran — without telling me.”

I shook my head. “He didn’t act much like a husband.”

She smiled thinly. “I married twice, but only had one husband — and that was you.”

Once again my right hand went up to rub my eyes.

“Are you crying again?” she asked.

“It’s because I’m happy,” I said.

She spoke of her final moments. “I lay in the tub and heard the people who had come to arrest me kicking the front door and shouting my name, like bandits. I watched as clouds of blood swam about in the water like fish, slowly expanding until the water became redder and redder….Do you know something? I was thinking of you the whole time, thinking of that little apartment where we lived.”

“So that’s how you come to be here.”

“That’s right,” she said. “It’s been a long trip.”

She raised her head from my shoulder. “Were you still living at your dad’s place?”

“We sold the apartment so we could afford to pay for his treatment.”

“So where are you now?”

“In a cheap rental.”

“Take me to see it.”

“It’s very small and run-down — dirty too.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I would feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m very tired. I’d like to lie down on a bed.”

“All right.”

We both stood up. The rain and snow, scanty just a few minutes earlier, were now once more densely filling the air. Then she took my arm and it was as though our love affair was rekindled. We walked close together along a vague road, for I don’t know how long, until we came to my rental. As I opened the door, she saw the two notices demanding I pay the electricity and water bills and I heard her sigh.

“Why do you sigh?” I asked.

“You still owe money.”

I ripped the notes down. “I already paid these bills.”

We entered my untidy little apartment. She seemed not to notice the chaos and lay down on the bed while I sat on a chair nearby. After she lay down her gown opened — it must have been just as exhausted as she was. She closed her eyes and her body seemed to float on the bed. After a moment her eyes opened.

“Why are you sitting there?” she asked.

“I’m looking at you.”

“Come and lie next to me.”

“I’m fine just sitting.”

“Come.”

“No, I’ll just stay where I am.”

“Why?”

“I’d be a bit embarrassed.”

She sat up and reached a hand out toward me. I gave her my hand and she pulled me onto the bed. We lay there shoulder to shoulder, our hands clasped, and I heard her even breathing, like little ripples spreading across a calm lake. After a while she talked softly and I too began to talk. Once again I was gripped by an odd sensation: I knew that I was in bed with a familiar woman, but her unfamiliar voice gave me the feeling that I was lying with someone I had never met before. I shared this feeling I had with her and she said she felt the same way, that she was lying with a strange man.

“How about this?” She turned toward me. “Let’s face each other.” I turned toward her. “Does that feel better now?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

Her wet hand stroked my damaged face. “The day we broke up,” she said, “when you saw me into the taxi, I hugged you and said something to you — do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” I said. “You said you still loved me.”

“That’s right.” She nodded. “You said something to me too.”

“I said I’d always love you.”

She and the gown together climbed on top of me and I didn’t know quite what to do. I raised my hands but didn’t dare hug her. Her mouth said wetly into my ear: “My STD is cured.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Hug me.”

I hugged her.

“Caress me.”

My hands caressed her back, waist, and thighs — I caressed her everywhere. Her body was wet and my hands seemed to be caressing her in water.

“You’ve put on some weight,” I said.

She smiled faintly. “I’ve gotten a little thicker around the waist.”

My hands caressed her restlessly, and then it was my body caressing her body while her body caressed my body and it was as though our bodies developed cords that connected us….

I sat up in bed and saw her standing by the bed, tidying her hair with her hand.

“You woke up.”

“I never slept.”

“I heard you snoring.”

“I really didn’t sleep.”

“All right,” she said. “You didn’t.”

She fastened her belt. “I’ve got to go. Friends have prepared a big funeral for me, so I need to hurry back.”

I nodded.

She walked over to the door and looked back at me as she left. “Yang Fei, I’m off now,” she said disconsolately.