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Chapter 53
Strange as she had been, in another week, at his busking time, she came and stood at her usual spot.
He didn’t say anything to her, nor did she to him, but the exchange of their glances was blissful, his excitement as much as he could keep from surfacing. Immediately, at the end of the song to which she had partly listened, he packed things up, then like a bird, he flew away from her and back to her in less than two minutes.
It was not until he was in her car that she turned to speak to him, ‘Do you cook?’ She started the engine, reversing the car to get out of the space.
‘Yes, ’ he replied, a surge of joy rendering his cheeks unusually warm. ‘I can cook Tomato Frying Eggs,’ he leant over to stamp on her cheek a swift kiss, and whispered into her ear, ‘I can also cook love, and… lobster.’
She braked suddenly; the jerking car startled him seriously. Looking around, he noticed no cause for an accident. But her face was unreasonably red, and in its swelling blush, he detected love.
He heaved a sigh of relief, speaking no more. On their way to a destination he supposed to be her home, and while waiting in a queue for traffic lights, she was, in her moments of rapture, given a horn-warning by the car behind, because of her delay in moving forward.
No sooner had they entered her house than two of them stood bundled together behind the door.
‘Not here,’ she gasped in a whisper, motioning towards her room, so clean and warm and tidy, with a fragrance so feminine and appealing.
After ten minutes of frantic grappling of their bodies, he looked into her eyes, producing a grunted smile as if to stifle his amusement.
‘What?’ she stared at him, ‘are you laughing at me?’
He wove his fingers through her hair, which had been loosened and was now splashing about her face. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘…You…’ her chagrin proved to be real, for she pushed him off, and turned herself aside, giving him only her back.
But even better was her back, against which he could turn and arch his body, lending no air to the length of his embrace. Then he felt tired and sleepy; he pulled the quilt up to their chins.
In a timeless time, he felt himself growing in between her soft hips. A second wave of desire stirred his system. He pulled her over, and to his surprise, he found her eyes moist with tears.
Puzzled for only a second, he placed his lips upon those trembling eyes, kissing them dry. Meanwhile, his demand for her body, his craving to enter her, was escalating, though less urgent than before. Now with a feeling of pity, of compassion for the weakness of a woman, he saw his steely rod as a kind of tool, a backbone of human society, which was able to stem her collapse, to prop her from falling.
Not as violently as their first time, he made with her a slow, soulful love. Her hairy nest and his rigid bird were negotiating, investigating each other, probing the darkest secrets of humankind. In the field, the multitude of communication was overwhelming, absorbing all their senses and their worlds; nothing, nobody, but them.
Her face was pink, her eyes misty, her breasts shifting and wavering to the rhythm. ‘Kiss me, love me, give me,’ she said.
But it took him much longer to give it to her. And when it finally came, when their bodies fused to the extreme point of intimacy, their spirits, like at the time of death, had already flown away, converging into a single wisp of smoke, whirling towards the pale ceiling of the house in Toorak, in the city of Melbourne, thousands of miles away from Beijing, and hundreds even more from where his life was initiated to begin its crawling on the planet.
He was hungry.
She got up to clothe herself, because she was to cook for him. On the bed she had confided that she had purchased a big Australian lobster and a bottle of wine, and that if she couldn’t catch him today, she would have to eat it and drink it all by herself.
‘You are strangely lovely,’ he said, seeing from her bed her pale skin, her dark, glistening triangle, her prow-shaped breasts, her abundant or arrogant buttocks, point by point, section by section, being covered in her fine shirt and pants.
‘Yes,’ she replied, much in delay, and stepped over and bent down to kiss him, then trod to the door, pulled it open with a remarkable force amazing him, not forgetting to close the door carefully after her.
Lying on the bed, he replayed the minutes of her body that had passed in his observation. He rolled over to sit on the edge of her single bed, and after throwing a short, contemptuous look at his now sagging device, began to gather his shorts and pants to support his form of civilization.
Some time later, they both sat at the table, on which lay three dishes of food: a red lobster with sauce and ginger, green beans, and cabbages.
‘Oh, what a colourful and healthy and sexy dinner,’ he said, for the moment casting more his greed to the food than the glass of red wine, filled just above its middle.
But she lifted her glass; without words, her eyes were beaming.
Clutching the thin stem with his fingers, he raised it and extended for a reddish collision. After a small sip, he asked, offhandedly, ‘Have you fallen in love with me?’
‘Yes,’ she replied crisply, casually, mockingly, ‘so you are now in trouble.’
‘What trouble?’ Chewing the beans, his hand was upon a lobster’s leg.
‘You won’t have freedom.’
‘What freedom?’
‘You can’t take other women.’
‘What women?’
Understanding his mind was beside the conversation, she laughed, and picked a fat, slippery leg of lobster to her plate; but in half way, its direction was changed, until it landed safely on his plate.
‘Pan, you can’t do this. I am not susceptible to the weapon of feminine tenderness.’
‘But a woman has to use all means to capture a man she loves.’
‘So you admit you love me?’ he raised his eyebrows, looking at her squarely.
‘No,’ she said, her cheerfulness superseded by a moment of sombreness. ‘Eat your lobster.’
Her change of mood gave a long excuse for him, and for her, to concentrate on the lobster, which, even though already cut to pieces and chunks, still demanded the great efforts from their mind and fingers to eating.
Then realizing the silence was long enough to cause an air of awkwardness, he said, ‘I wonder how you got home last Saturday?’
‘Of course, by car.’
‘I mean, after the drink,’ he clarified his question.
‘Oh, how have I forgotten to tell you,’ she said aloud, her face regaining its former vigour, ‘I was caught by the police!’
‘What?’ Her sudden news affected him so much that his chopsticks stopped pricking the meat, his jaw hanging, his mouth ajar. ‘Say you are not kidding.’
Not immediately answering, she told the story, ‘You know, on Burke Street, as soon as I noticed the flashing lights of a police car, you can imagine, I was panicked to death. Worse, they were indeed checking the alcohol limit. I wished I had a bottle of water with me, but sadly there was none, and even if there were, it would be no doubt too late.’
Bing intervened, ‘I should have reminded you to drink plenty of water before you left.’
Again, without being affected in the least by his comment, she went on, enthusiastically, ‘Fretting all over in my seat, I had to surrender to my bad luck, expecting the worst. I was then ushered by a waving policeman to stop at the side of the road, where three cars were being checked.
‘I worked actively with my breath, wishing to push as much odour as possible out from me, however useless I knew this was. In a minute, the policeman came over. He knocked at the window, when I realized that, in my anxiety, I had forgotten to lower it beforehand.
‘I lowered it down as quickly as I could, hoping he wouldn’t suspect something because of the delay. He said “good evening’ and asked for my licence, which I fumbled out from my purse in the bag. He gave it a short but serious inspection and explained he was going to do a test to see if my alcohol was over the limit.
‘Trying my best not to betray my dreadfulness, I made a humble smile, nodding, “OK, OK, OK”. He then moved the nozzle of a tester towards my mouth, asking me to count from one to ten. I was counting, with a wishful deliberation to minimize the exhalation. Well, I would imagine counting in Chinese would be a lot easier and faster, more fluent, hahaha…’ After her laughter, she drank her wine; then, under his keenest gaze expecting her to continue, she only twiddled her chopsticks picking the meat of lobster.
His impatience was over the limit, ‘Come on, are you teasing me? What is the result?’
‘What? You don’t know the result?’ She was smothering a giggle.
‘How would I know?’ he protested honestly, then sensing in her voice a light of intelligence, added, ‘So, no problem? Not exceeding the limit?’
‘Of course not, otherwise how could I drive you here today?’ she said, seriously, ‘the penalty of the offence is severe, a heavy fine up to a thousand dollars at the least, then loss of licence, then going to jail.’
‘But, you did drink considerably, especially one more after the three bottles…’
‘You are not satisfied until I get the penalty, are you?’
‘Hehe, well, I just think, hehe, you were very lucky.’
‘That was exactly what I thought after escaping from the scene,’ she smiled, contentedly chewing the meat. ‘The relief was massive, so much so that, like a bird, I was flying home.’
He grabbed the bottle, filling up both glasses, and toasting. ‘Cheers for your good luck. Tonight, there is no limit.’
‘Cheers,’ she sipped a fair amount of wine. ‘But, perhaps it was not the luck at all, the tester could not be more real.’
‘So what was it?’ he asked, curiously.
‘I think the illegitimate amount had already been driven out of my mouth, even before I started my car,’ she said, looking at him, in a sly and mysterious manner as if alluding to something unspoken.
The hint he had immediately grasped delighted him, who stood up and walked around the table towards her, tilted her face upwards, caught her wine-soaked lips…
That night, he didn’t go back to Box Hill.
The next afternoon, she drove him back, and then, with all his belongings loading the boot of her Toyota, returned to her house.
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艰辛求职路，终于找到工作。 --- 历程经验篇 (2006-7-13) yeerfrid 
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发表于 2014-7-30 10:46
