小说连载：Blue Jacaranda - 蓝花楹 Chapter 4

洋八路

Blue Jacaranda

作者：洋八路 （何木）

Chapter 1

​
He didn’t usually go to bars, especially one where the music rattled your ears non-stop. The bar owners though did have a motive to force customers to speak more and louder, to dry up their mouth and internal organs, to drink more and more and non-stop of their ridiculously pricey drinks.  

“What did you say?” asked once again Peter’s rather strained vocal cord. It was the sentence he uttered most this evening, thanks to the mosquito-like murmurs from Melody who sat opposite on the high stool across the small table.

Melody didn’t answer him but served herself another mouthful of Beijing Yan-Jing Beer, a rarity in Australia, which must have stirred much of her homesickness. This afternoon when they met on the campus of University of Sydney, it was her idea to come to this bar, claiming that it was the only place in the country where the Chinese had a chance of drinking the ‘famous’ Yan-Jing beer, as though all Chinese must have it simply because it was from the Capital.

Then just as Peter expected no more of her response, she let loose the much delayed reply, as if only enabled by her drink, “I said, I said," she paused, while Peter leaned forward with his ear nearly kissing her forehead, "I said, I really do not know what to do on weekends.”

“Oh, well, it is not the weekend yet,” he said joyfully, hunched back on the edge of the table, “plus, isn’t here your favourite going, with your closest Gui-mi friends, or of course your, your boyfriend?”

Earlier today, Melody had mentioned or rather, hinted to him that she had already split up with her boyfriend, but Peter, who was unfortunately also one of her exes, needed from her a firmer assurance.

Again, Melody didn’t reply him in the minute, or she not hearing him at all, in her state of ‘Beijing-beer’ intoxication. Crossing her arms upon the table, she set her head down, like a schoolgirl about to take a slumber during lunch breaks. With her eyes narrowing to a slit, her face coloured to crimson, Peter was really concerned she would soon vomit, or fall unconsious throughout the night.

But that was not what he had anticipated for the meeting, the first one in more than a year after their breakup. For even though he did not particularly enjoy drinking as much as Melody, he found this evening very agreeable, and had taken a little more than his usual limit. Right now he was at the height of drinking, half-drunk, half-not-drunk, when one feels very capable, unafraid of risks and dangers and common treacheries in one's life. Some people could change to a very different person when drunk, and he was one of them.

“Melody, Melody, are you okay?” he cooed closely at her ear, like a caring big brother, or a lover, or a seducer, sending his head across and low, shamelessly taking in the fragrance on her hair, “Melody, at least you have your boyfriend to hang out with, so it is not you but me who must complain about anything. Everyone must find things to do, to pass time and, if only we can get rid of all those damned assignments.”

Melody flickered her eyelids, once or twice, a sign that she was after all conscious of his breath brushing her face, and Peter grabbed the opportunity to keep her awake, “How about Violin? Can’t you play your violin to kill time?”

“Violin?” mouthed Melody suddenly, sitting up unexpectedly, like she was nettled by the mere mention of the instrument she used to love and play. Peter, taken aback, sobered up his position, and to watch Melody animate a dramatic shake of her head, her hair billowing around the neck and shoulder. Then, after taking another sip of the precious beer, her spirit seemed revived, and she declared in a piteous tone, “I already gave it up, I never have the willpower to persist in anything, see, I am getting fat, I am a useless nobody, oh, what the hell...”

Peter laughed out loud at her ‘getting fat’, and quickly went to comfort her with not a little amusement, “Were you fat, no one else is slim.” Beholding her, he increasingly found her rosy yet unhappy face, and the peculiar, languid feminine charm exceedingly attractive. Without hesitation he reached out his hand to cover hers, which was not unfamiliar to him. Many days ago he had often kissed her there and there, even once made love to her. They first met at a welcome party for newcomers of the University. She was from Beijing and he Chengdu. And via the mighty and capable WeChat, their spare time after study was thus occupied, and many of the ancient-looking buildings, and particularly the iconic jacaranda tree in the university, had witnessed their shadows, sunny smiles and intimate indulgence. Their romance, in this far-away, lonely ‘village’ country, was like an Australia bushfire started by a severe drought, flared up and burning beautifully, and then extinguished prematurely by an odd enough downpour.

Admittedly it was him who had grown more and more reluctant in dating her, after their once-off intimacy in bed. Her ‘vanity’, to which he had perhaps been attracted in the first place, had since become an obstacle to developing his chemicals with her. She meticulously tended her face, with her lips constantly red. And the flare-pants she liked to wear had also lost its initial lustre. In his eyes, she acted more and more like a kid whose only purpose was to imitate others, instead of being an independent, ladylike grown-up in her 20s. And of course, their once, not-so-successful love-making experience was the last straw on the camel. He did it too quickly, even before she seemed to have got ready for it. But this was not all his fault, as he had always protested in private whenever recalling the point of failure. Deep down, he had all the confidence of at least making a 'pass' love to any girl he liked, knowing already at high school that boys tended to have less control of it due to their innocence in this matter. And seriously, Melody was just … perhaps a little too dominating in this? Her ways of her being on his top, on their first time?

But how could he have explained to her all of these things, of such sensitivity, him being a ‘short’, ‘bashful’ boy as she had often chided him for?

Presently Peter dared his eyes to drink her face and below pervasively, in an effort to reconcile his old and new impressions of her. Strangely today Melody seemed to have done very little makeup to her features. Her lips shimmered with a natural, healthy colour, eyelashes no more artificially curved and long. Sure enough, no lipstick would stain him if he kissed her this minute, or tonight. And with her fine skin, and a thin little nose, she was not too distant from the look of some kind of internet idol. And the slender figure that she proudly owned, was only two centimetres shorter than his, that was, sadly, a primary reason she was not quite happy with him as an ideal boyfriend.

Was it just for today, that she did not take him seriously enough to do her usual makeup? Or had anything happened to her that might have atoned her values and manners?  

A fresh impulse spurred him to touch her again. And after a feigned resistance from her, he had succeeded. He ran his fingers through her hair, caressed her hands tamed by Beijing Beer, puffing more nonsense out of his shell, “So you don’t play Violin, but … where is your boyfriend?”

He felt her fingers suddenly twitched at his question, but he held fast.

“I already told you, didn’t I?” she snapped, in her typical sharp voice when in bad moods, which would have made him flinch in normal times. But this moment, with his wicked power obtained through alcohol, he simply tossed her a sly smile, pressing her baby-bamboo fingers ever more. What the magic fingers the human beings possess, he sighed, so sensitive and lovable, and loving, with nerves meshing the tiniest cells to send the most beautiful pleasures to their brains.

But her eyes kept glared at her, “Otherwise why did I ask you out today?”

Ah, she was not drunk; she still had the reason, like a man's. Peter, absorbed in the little pleasurable act of his, remained quiet, eyes twinkling, ears all on her rambling speech, a mere flirtation to him, “Oh, Peter…am I drunk? So sleepy, I know you don’t like me like this, I have been trying not to drink so much… you know, Peter, I used to drink a lot, back in Beijing, and even with you, with my .. ex, oh, but...it has been boring to death these days, now I fully understand why some people say Australian Chinese are living in a grave cultural desert.”

Interesting a topic as it was, Peter decided to join the conversation, “Yeah, there is no comparison to your Beijing, the cultural centre, and my big Chengdu, is great also for great fun, with hundreds of thousands of featured teahouses, Majiangs, and hot-pots, karaoke, and the most important is that, you have no difficulty in finding bars with pleasing airs and styles, not like this drab and noisy so-called hotel bar, funny, isn't it? The hotel with no bedrooms, haha, … but fairly enough, you also get drunk very easily back in China, which was no good, was it, Melody,” he babbled on, short of reminding her of her unbecoming tantrums when drunk. “Melody, if we had not run into each other today, we may never see each other again, imagine, Melody, we will just die separate, at who-knows-where in the big wide world, like two strangers who have never made love at all, ah, how dreadful,” He had to fetch his drink to accompany a sudden sadness elevated by his own wistful speech and, only seconds later, to squash a twinge of jealousy aroused by his sour memory of seeing her walking with another guy, much taller than him, who must be perfect for her in terms of body length. “Why didn’t you contact me? Have you forgotten me completely? You are so cruel, Melody...”

Abruptly and frighteningly Melody sat bolted up, shoved his hand away, with an incredible force, nearly toppled one of the glasses on the table, and shot him an eye of fire, “Peter, stop playing games! I am not a fool you can make, do you not understand?”

Her warning, like a wintry chill, at once set him off fumbling for his proper place. Her vivid temper buried in his memory came out alive. Embarrassedly speechless, Peter resorted to his drink. And Melody, with her rising indignation and her own set of bitterness about everything, did the same.  

A long silence ensued, while Peter took the time to smooth out the hype of awkwardness. He thought that she wouldn’t have minded much of what he had to say in a drinking campaign like this, even with his apparent hypocrisy. Her ferocious reaction had proved him wrong, and her temper was in no way improved, unlike her lips and eyelashes, and her pants. Women are not to belittle in any circumstances. The tigress can jump at you at the time when you think it least possible to attack.

“Have you ever loved anyone at all?” the tigress pressed on.

“Emm, well, Melody, it is a difficult question, the honest answer is that, I am not sure,” he worded meekly, unconvincingly, as he never liked this kind of topic. Why are girls so much into it, as if life is all about love and nothing else? To him, sex is more a tellable and actionable idea than the all so mystery of love.

Clearly she was not impressed by his reply, or she already knew his answer beforehand. For, seemingly having yielded to his idiocy she, like carefully moving a tumbler with a quarter of wine, shifted her body bit by bit away from the high stool. Then, finding her feet on the ground, she made up a remarkable display of her curves and shapes, of her hair tumbling, before pointing out a delicate finger, “Toilet, over there?” commanding an answer from him, a junior university student, who was made even shorter and smaller than her.  

“Yes, go down and turn left,’ he obeyed with his finger, which was upset by having lost the feel of hers. He knew she was just pretending she didn’t know where the toilet was. How many times has she come here with her ex boyfriends, him included? He grunted, making a ugly face of revenge at her back, looking after the sway of her not-so-wealthy hips, in her high-heeled march to her release.  

~To be continued~

缓缓

是本版第一篇英文原创小说吧。是足迹首发吗

洋八路

缓缓 发表于 2021-8-16 10:11
是本版第一篇英文原创小说吧。是足迹首发吗

以前这里发过一篇原创。。

这一篇是在这里和公众号同时发。。谢谢。。

南边来的

虞宅与美丽

嗬，洋八路回来了！

洋八路

虞宅与美丽 发表于 2021-8-16 11:21
嗬，洋八路回来了！

是啊，欢迎不？
看到你好高兴。。

虞宅与美丽

搬小板凳等看下文

虞宅与美丽

搬小板凳等看下文

洋八路

虞宅与美丽 发表于 2021-8-16 16:47
搬小板凳等看下文

谢谢，希望可以看的下去，我估计一个星期才能‘挤出’一章。。。

洋八路

Chapter 2

When Melody came back from the toilet, she looked at him with a long and inquisitive eye, as if he were a face in the mirror when she was doing her makeup. Goosebumps started to creep up his back.

She began, seriously, “I wanted to love you,” and after a pause, said again, “I always love you…”

He was confused, “Wanted? What do you mean? I thought you … ”

“You mean my ex?” She finished his sentence for him. “Well, it was only because he chased me that hard and I was kind of, kind of desperate… you...such a fool…”

“Oh...” he muttered, in total disbelief, searching for words but found them escaping. Her confession was unprecedented, going through him like wasabi, the sensation so strong and so brief. But Peter knew too well that the girl before him had a volatile temperament. So, even after he had survived the first thrilling impact, he decided not to make any flippant comments.

And much to his relief, Melody seemed to have lost momentum to hurl out more at him, love or hate. She cupped her face with her hands, her eyes on the table, for the moment was a docile creature vulnerable after giving out her secrets. Peter had the urge to express his sympathy or his ‘love’ to her, by touching her, but, her wild rejection a while ago still afresh in his mind, he remained unresponsive, like a piece of wood.

Melody was a student in Visual Arts who had the tendency of swinging moods and thoughts in a very short time. In contrast Peter, if his career followed his study, would be an accountant, who would only reveal things after he had computed the double entry of debits and credits. The thinking habit was in many years of making, and would not alter easily even if tonight, he was made a little loose by the drink.

Melody had once confided in him, in a kidding tone, that she very much liked the shape of his lips. They were chisel-cut, she said, very manly and determined, and extraordinarily sexy. But, she added further, that it was a pity that his single beauty was much wasted in his ‘childish' small face, and among his other ‘plain’ features, and not to mention his ‘mediocre’ 169cm body length. In technical terms, his physique had more debits than credits, far from ideal in her picky artistic eye. Peter, a young adult who had been overly self-conscious of his physical shortcomings, felt his pride wounded badly by her harsh comments, and concluded that Melody was a vain species without subtlety and due respect for others.   

Anyway, for the sake of reciprocity, this evening he should reveal his own secrets, more or less. At least he could say that he had renewed his sufficient ‘desire’ for her after seeing her today. But, wait a second, he argued against himself, doing so would definitely create a problematic ‘balance sheet’. If he told her of his new feelings, then how about his old feelings that had failed her in the first place?

Too much confession was apparently not for today, especially in such a noisy romance-killing bar.

“We go?” Melody rustled with a quick move, ready to put an end to his pathetic silence.

“Okay,” he obeyed, emptying his glass. Without a doubt, he had upset her, she was disappointed, so she wanted to end it and never wanted to see him again. Otherwise, having just done their October exams, plus tomorrow being Saturday, they could stay as late as they wanted. And the most important thing was that Peter had the least intention to disappoint her. Giving him a little more time for sorting out the rationality of the matter, and with a few more drinks, he might become as hilarious as she had been, baring his heart to her and making his accounting book clean and accurate.   

Melody was a girl of enormous pride. As the only sweetheart of her millionaire, even billionaire father back in Beijing, she had the impression of being superior to her peers. In the eyes of many, Peter had every reason to love her inside out, their previous breakup could only be that Melody had jilted him, like she had done with her other exs, not the other way around.  

Outside in the street, they walked in parallel, like two lone rails of a railway. Even the fiercely blowing wind at the time couldn’t reconcile the distance. The lure of her body clad in a flimsy blouse was poignant, the temperature wafting in her direction delicious. But they moved on, as if it were their last meeting, the end of their love story, clear cut and once for all.

Time would tell they would bury each other in their separate lives, in the vast universe. But time, occasionally forgiving, and on a whim, might also tell otherwise.

As soon as they boarded the train, in the  man-made cage confinement, they were able to brush each other, at thier arms, and the fringes of their thighs. And what was more, after a minute or two of them seated at one bench, she rested her head upon his shoulder, as though it were the most natural thing to do on a train for a couple.

And he rounded her shoulders with his arms, drew her down and close to him so that her head was well snuggled under his chin, so that she would no longer shiver in the chill of the unusually windy night. And before long, he found his body began to stir and grew restless, the knot of energy beginning to swell in spite of himself. The warmth of her body, of her breath, and her velvet locks, were teasing him mercilessly. Carefully, he looked around, and found the environment to be safe where the few passengers scattered about, heeding nobody but their own musing or mobile activities.

He stroked her hair, with the affection of a zealous pet lover stroking the fur of the pet. The rumble of the train helped settle their intimacy. At one point, Melody half opened her eyes, turned up to peep at him, with a measure of amusement to her heart’s content. At another, she lifted her hand to trace the edges of his lips, like she was hand-making a ceramic piece in her art workshop.

The train tumbled along. Out of the window, he couldn’t see the usual greens and flowers and pacific houses as in the daylight. Only the silhouettes of trees were bending low, their limbs frantically grabbing the darkness. And the train, clanking and screeching now and again, threatened to run off the tracks. Peter for a moment, thought of China’s high-speed bullet trains, and subways, fast and smooth and punctual, gone the typical rhythmic thumping caused by the rail gaps. Sydney's cityrail, in comparison, still kept the powerful ancient rhythms, giving him the opportunity everytime as he took it, to miss his old days travelling on the rusty old trains.

The girl on his chest stirred as if protesting against the minute of his distraction. Her lips, clear of lipsticks, looked as fresh as the budding leaves in the spring. He couldn’t help but allow the tip of his finger to do what Melody had often done similar to him.  

But his caress was met with a bite. The girl suddenly opened her mouth, catching a quarter of his finger between teeth. The pain was solid, and sweet, until she released her capture to have a whisper, “Will you love me, Peter, keep on loving me?”  

His heart skipped a beat and he answered her by scooping her face, which was now heated more by her passion than anything else. Then he bent low to administer many of his kisses, first on her cheeks, then her nose, then to the opening of the softness.   

Peter lived in a unit, shared by another roommate. He had never taken girls to his small one-single bedroom. But tonight Melody seemed willing to follow him wherever he went. Indeed it was very bad weather. Indeed she was in need of support one way or another. Since the last time he made love to Melody he had moved quite a few times, whenever a better budget could be achieved. His family was very ‘poor’ compared to Melody’s, with his father an associate professor in South-Western Jiao Tong University, and his mother an office clerk in a private company. Over the years, he had to keep a juggling balance between study and work, and whenever possible changed for higher-paid part-time jobs.

Entering the door, his roommate, as usual, was heard indulging in games, with the loud fighting noise from his closed room. Peter had little interest in computer games, to him it was a robot-like machinery hobby, getting one old and bald quicker, wasting too much of his time.

“Okay, Melody, how are you feeling?” said Peter, in his effort to extricate himself from her arms that seemed very reluctant to leave his neck. “Okay, Melody, lie down, now have a nice sleep, I go and get water for you.”

After dropping her off to his bed, Peter went out to the kitchen to fetch a kettle of water. The loud hissing of the kettle, turned on, was irritating, but it did give a sense of domestic life in the otherwise very dull little space.  

Peter sat down in his only chair, in front of his only desk in the room. The laptop, with its sleek and black surface, was the most precious item in the place. If there were a fire emergency, the only thing that needed rescue was it, being his closest companion in the classroom and at his Australian home.

“Peter,’ murmured Melody once, but when Peter turned to her he saw she was not awake. Then as if remembering something, he went over and managed to turn her and pulled the quilt up to cover her, before sitting on the edge of the metal-framed bed, clearing away a few strands that had veiled her face.   

Her cheeks were a gradual mix of pale and pink, as if she had been pinched, or chilled by the cold wind. But the most tantalising feature was still her characteristic thin nose, so defiant every time she was unhappy with him, but at the moment so invitingly serene and acquiescent.

He decided to kiss her carefully without waking her up. He intended to do this slowly and would like to take his time. Melody, when she was awake, always made her kisses with too much passion, like a wild little animal. Now she was in full or half sleep, he could have his way to handle the mysterious sensuality.

But his slow motion proved very difficult to maintain. Any touch, by this nature, would be a wildfire that can hardly be controlled. It will flame up, leaping towards its ultimate destiny. Besides, the hard and cold metal edge that spanned his bottom, as well as the weariness of his back, told him that his body was not at all as comfortable as his lips.

The sudden jarring of the kettle that signaled the readiness of hot water, set him flinching from her, as if he were caught off guard in performing a robbery.

“What am I doing?” he asked. “Melody had just broken off with her boyfriend, and she was really drunk. Do I really want to take advantage of her?’

With these sober thoughts, he left the previous bed and went to make a glass of warm water.   

When he returned, he noticed Melody had turned over, from the face-up position to laying on her side, facing the wall. The nice “hump” in the middle of her body, curved up by the thin quilt, was such a sight for appreciation that he had to take a hard breath, and as if petrified, stopped in one frame of a motion series.     

The undulation was like the smooth contour of rolling hills or Port Stevens’ sand dunes. The womanness, articulated by her heightened hips, was so marvelous that her body seemed everywhere ready for pregnancy.

He didn’t realise the power of lust had already possessed him until his manhood had taken its angry stance. Putting away the glass, he began to make painstaking efforts to lay himself into the one bed, pulling the small quilt for his own fair share, wriggling inch by inch away from the edge towards the amazing oasis.

Melody was not awake. And he didn’t think she was faking her sleep. But still, he had to insert an arm under her to hold her, feeling the quiver going through him as he inadvertently brushed her breasts. For a minute or two he remained wrapped with her, daring not to make more attempts. Then, after a lifetime’s patience, he whispered, in her ear, “Melody, Melody, are you okay?” which, was utterly nonsense, of course she was Not okay, with him groping about her without her consent.

Just as a little guilt began to affect him, thinking of the indecency of ‘harassing’ a sleeping girl in this manner, Melody, the motherly woman in bed, got up all of a sudden, in a drastic girly move that almost sent Peter off the bed.

“Oh my god,'' she said, wiping her eyes swiftly, totally bewildered, not showing a sign that she might recognise this poor bed where she was put in, “What is going on?”

Peter scrambled to draw up his composure, feeling somewhat relieved that he had not already taken off his pants, except that he still had to suppress the item jutting against his pants.

“Sorry, Melody,” Peter mumbled, flushed if not already, with the shame and regret evident in his pupils.

Melody, looking around, began to piece together a picture of the events that had since occurred. Slowly, her face softened to that of an amiable girl who, a while ago, had asked him to love her.  

“I am thirsty,” she said, and her words sprang Peter into action. With one hand holding the glass to her mouth, the other her back, he helped her finish the glass, the horse-like gurgling soothing his clumsiness. Melody had been right in saying that he was not as assertive and brave as the shape of his lips might have suggested.

Then just as he decided to go out of the place to cool himself, to allow Melody to have an undisturbed night of sleep, he heard her calling, “Peter, come over.”

“Peter, sorry,” her arms circled his waist, her eyes loving him, “I must have scared you ...”

He smiled, bashfully, “Yeah, sort of, but it was all my fault, sorry I didn’t mean to…”

Melody, a girl with little patience, cut his words by pulling him down, the bed at once began to complain by kicking and screeching.

“You fool,” she pinched his ear, ‘it was me who should be sorry, for scaring you shit like that, but… ah...” she pecked vigorously where she loved the most, “at that moment… I .. unaware of nothing, like, like a bad egg was touching me...”

“Am I a bad egg?”

“No really, but yes ... Oh, Peter, I really really love you,” she said, catching her breath, “Why were you so cold to me before, I know I might not be your ideal, we may be different in many ways …but.. ”

This time it was Peter who cut the speech, and he would not allow her to take more control, and she must be under him.

The next morning, he was woken by a scream, 'Oh my god, the tree is dead!’

“What tree?” Still half asleep, Peter turned over and instinctively ​onto the naked Melody, who had a habit of checking her mobile the first thing every morning.

“The Blue Jacaranda…” she replied, and immediately she began to cry.

~to be continued~

洋八路

洋八路 发表于 2021-8-22 13:01
Chapter 2

When Melody came back from the toilet, she looked at him with a long and inquisitive eye, ...

Chapter 3

The tears welled up in her eyes. Her nose was red, eyebrows screwed, eyelashes hung with teardrops.

Melody was in sorrow, weeping with the innocence of a child who was denied a bar of chocolate.

Amazed, and more confused, Peter stayed put, feeling the sobbing tremors underneath him. The way she expressed her sadness for a tree that had died naturally, was extreme, even ridiculous, way beyond her normal capacity for lavishing her emotions as an artist.

A tree was just a tree and there was nothing that should inspire so much pathos from it. Peter often heard of pet lovers grieving the loss of their pets excessively, though understandably. But, for a tree? He couldn’t get it...

Don’t get him wrong. He loved the tree as much as everybody else at the university. The students all looked up to it, because when it bloomed, it was their exam time. So, studying well before its blooming was a kind of motto for not failing their exams.

“Okay, okay, Melody,” he whispered, feeling a wave of compassion streaming into his heart. “Don't cry, baby, see, it is just a tree…”

“No, no, it is not just a tree, you dumb stupid,” she cried out, her eyelids batting against his lips. “It is my Australia, my home...”

“What...” Peter, in utter disbelief, suspected Melody was turned delirious by whatever conditions she had put herself in.

However, to avoid further working her up, by his ‘stupid’ comments, he brought his attention back to his man’s work, kissing and fondling everywhere about her, sinking into her deeper, with slower but strenuous power, which must be the best way to dissolve her stubborn sadness.

Peter had never felt more capable of himself. Right now he was spending all his love resources at his ease, on this teary, weak, and proud lady, the only female he had so far made love to. To a young and inexperienced adult, it was exceedingly fulfilling, and achieving, and confidence building. Her vulnerability put him in a stronger position and he never knew he could last this long. At some fleeting moments, he even fancied he was doing it to a completely different person, like some movie stars who exist only in his dreams.  
​
Melody was exceptionally passive, which was all the better for him. He didn’t need extra excitement from her often animated passion. Simply resting her hands on his back, she lay totally submitted, saving for her eyes that from time to time threw one or two resentful looks at him, as if he had done her great injustice, as if it were him who had caused all of her unhappiness.

After a long while of no verbal communication between them, Melody, whose tears were by now run dry, or kissed dry, by him, spoke, “Oh, Peter, the tree is 88 years old, exactly the same age as my grandma...”

Peter stiffened, “What? Are you not kidding, your grandma, that old?”

But Melody was unable to reply to him because, as Peter looked at her, she was immediately going through a second run of grievance, with tears and sobbs and tremors all happening again.

Melody had never mentioned her grandma to him. His knowledge about her family was more from other people than from herself. Everybody seemed to know she had a rich father, and she was the only child of his. But her family seemed to be a forbidden topic she didn’t like to touch upon.

“My grandma died two years ago, I even carved her name in the trunk of the tree.”

“Ah, really?” said Peter, awe-inspired. “But I heard the tree was already cloned a few years back, with two grafts ready to replant any time.”

Melody banged his back with her small fists, which was her only ‘violence’ this morning. “No, no, you dumb, how long will the little ones take to flowering? And how could they be the same? By the time it begins to bloom, we would have already left the university, who knows, I may have gone back to China, and no more…” Then on second thought, she said, “Peter, I know you plan to stay in Australia after graduation, but I am not so sure; my father asked me back, but said, up to me. I don’t know, Peter, will you go to Beijing together with me? If I ask? I beg?”

“Yes, Melody, no problem,” he said, with difficulty speaking out of her breasts. He could promise anything to this girl, this lady, this woman, this desire, this dream, this mystery, who cried under him begging him to love her.

Just at this moment, he lost his control, shedding his adulthood like a snake getting rid of its old skin.



He lay flat, nuzzling around her neck. He felt damp with perspiration on his forehead. He wanted to rest with her, sleep with her, but she stirred impatiently, “I want to go to Si-He-Yuan to see the tree for the last time.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, reluctantly rolling over from her. Si-He-Yuan, Beijing's Court House, was Melody’s special reference to the Quadrangle of the University where the tree was located. “Do you want to wash here or go back to Rhodes.”

“Of course back there, how can I use your dirty bathroom, and, shared...” she said nastily, emphasizing the word ‘shared’, gathering her things and hurried them on. “Quick, Peter, we got to run, or the tree is gone.”

Not in the least offended by her nasty words, Peter amusedly recalled the last night of her using the ‘dirty’ bathroom multiple times. But well, she was rather drunk, apparently, or was she? How about she was actually faking and meant to seduce him? After all, he gave his first time to her, whilst she was not ... Peter chuckled secretly at the funny ideas.

At Rhodes, where Melody owned a three-bedroom penthouse, he had waited at least two hours but still no sign of her Mercedes turning up. His neck was strained by his countless looking for her that should be coming up every minute from the road but never come. Was she still doing much of her makeup, like in the old days? He paced the sidewalk that must have marked hundreds of his footprints. Dozens of WeChat messages he had sent to her only returned a number of short messages of “I am coming”.


While his time was okay for her to waste, he was afraid the tree was right now being logged by the workers. He often saw Australians on the road, in their bright clothes, happily doing it, always with a peculiar smile on their face when they had downed a giant tree and cut it into pieces with their powerful chainsaws.

Melody’s sense of ‘quickness’ was vastly different between there and here. How long had it taken him to do his brushing and washing back there? Less than five minutes! And she kept nagging him that he was too slow, like a slow ‘pig’, and thanks to her memory, she still remembered his Chinese Zodiac. And one year older than him, she was a ‘dog’, and now ironically running way, way slower than a ‘pig’. Oh, my god…

If by himself, he would have gone there by train. Ashfield, where he lived, was only a few stops away from the city. But Melody insisted on driving her car, saying she was not used to the train, only taking it sometimes to avoid drink-driving. But frankly, he believed she was only used to showing off her expensive car.

Peter was boiling his impatience and felt more and more restless and irritated. However, instead of walking right away and dumping her again, as what he had tempted to do, he only scolded her bitterly within himself.

So, he was rather dark-faced, when she had finally appeared after god-knows-how-long, and beckoned him smilingly to get on to the passenger seat of her car.  

“Peter,” she said joyfully, not taking any notice of his seethed grumpiness, and freed up her left hand from the wheel patting him on his thigh, “Do you like my jeans? Just got it last week.”

Peter peered at her lower half, with little enthusiasm, noticed the ripped openness at her knees and thighs and legs. The tan skin thus exposed looked very touchable. “Can you wear it to the campus?”

Melody tossed her head, blowing her freshly shampooed and conditioned tresses. “Of course I can, and also remember today is Saturday.”

“Well…” Peter said, about to make some comments, but thinking it better, swallowing the unsaid - “and also remember today is a mourning day for your beloved tree, you should instead wear all in black ...”

Peter’s mood only turned north when half an hour later they had arrived at Stephens Street where she owned a parking permit. Getting out of her sportscar, Melody at once pushed her hand into his, and the feeling of her fingers almost immediately drove away his resentment against her.

In a pair of white sneakers, and on a light-brown T-shirt, Melody floated more than walked on their way to the campus. Her ripped jeans were daintily looking, with the skin exposure matching well with the colour of her T-shirt. And the most important thing was that she was not seen to have put on heavy makeup that used to make her face look unnaturally whiter, and her lips ghostly redder.

Quite a few people were strolling about campus and Peter wondered if they were all coming to say goodbye to the tree. And Melody, as if only then realizing the mission of the trip, hurried him on, dragging his hand, “Oh my god it is midday already, ah, the tree, we must run quick …”

The Fisher Library, as they passed, glared at them in the brilliant sun. From the colour of it, and its shape, it was the most modern building on the campus, compared to other sandstone castles. And certainly it looked very environmentally friendly, having the kind of structure as if clad by ‘solar-panels’.   


The iconic Quadrangle was another giant, that was, as Melody had described, a bigger version of Beijing Courtyard House. Peter did not quite agree with her, citing the latter missing the four rockets like pinnacles and the clock and the standing chimneys and a lot of other things. But Melody would not hear of it, and was stubborn enough to always refer to the Quadrangle as the Xi-da (Sydney University) Si-he-yuan.


Melody’s mood changed as soon as they entered the quarters and spotted the fallen tree at the corner, which crouched like a wounded dinosaure. The whole area was tape-fenced, only a worker currently inside doing his inspection. Lucky, it was not being cut. A crowd was gathered around, taking selfies last time with the tree, with its 18-meter spread of canopy now plunged all over the place.

The tree had never looked so old as today, with its dark trunks and branches exposed for dominance, instead of the flowers or green leaves when it was standing. Purple flowers, like a shoal of orphans left behind by their mother tree, scattered on the ground, striking a sad contrast with the skeletons sprawling above them.

Momentarily, Peter recalled a famous line of a Chinese poem - The spring silkworms don’t stop threading until they die.   

“The flowers are the tears,” Melody said quietly, after long lost in her own thoughts.

Peter held her into his arms, stroking her hair and ears gently to offer the minute of support. He knew Melody’s tears were welling up to the brim of a river.


Looking around, most people had serious sad expressions, but quite a few were laughing. And nearby, there was even a wedding party going on, which was fortunate, for the last time with the famous tree, or unfortunate, for not a good omen, with the dead tree as the backdrop. Their white flowers on their dress were only for funerals in Chinese custom, indeed fitting well to the tree’s demise.   

Well, a tree is a tree. It was a special day after all, for their special life events.

Melody said, with a face filled with all the pty in the world, “I wanted some flowers to make a bouquet, could you go and get them for me?”

~to next post~

洋八路

洋八路 发表于 2021-8-28 18:13
Chapter 3

Peter looked around and noticed some people were actually holding flowers in their hands. They must have picked them earlier, he thought. But now the only chance to get some was to enter the fence.

“I will go and ask the worker,” he said.

Away he went, to a spot close to the bright-colored man. After ‘Excusing me’ him over, Peter explained to him carefully, “My girlfriend over there was very sad when she saw the news this morning. Can you imagine, her grandma was the same age as the tree. She wanted to pick some flowers still with twigs to make a bunch for remembrance, can you kindly help?”

The worker was very impressed, “No problem,” he said, and went straight away to gather a dozen of the flowers. He even trimmed the twigs nicely with his handy tools. Then he came back, “Is this okay for her?”

“Yes, this is very beautiful, thank you so much,” said Peter gratefully.  

Melody kissed the petals, then kissed Peter on his cheek. A minute later, the wedding music started to play loudly, which was quite annoying.  

“Let’s go,” said Melody.

“Okay, but would you like to take a picture before we go?”

Melody was hesitating, as if it were a difficult decision to make. She must be thinking it was a bad taste to make use of a dead corpse for a selfie.

“No, no need, it is in my memory forever,” she said at last.

Then, just as they turned their heels, Peter saw Lotus, his accounting classmate, from Chang-chun, and her boyfriend Jason, an IT guy from Chang-sha, were coming over.

“Hi Peter, and, yes, hi Melody ... oh, how beautiful are your flowers, so you guys also knew it early and have hurried over.” Lotus greeted them with her typical amiable smile. From the way she looked at them, she must be very surprised at seeing them together again. They knew each other in the Chinese students circle. Besides, Melody was well-known by her ‘wealth’ and her expensive car, and of course by much gossip about her boyfriends.  

“Yes, it is very sad, isn’t it?” Peter said, with an arch smile that effectively told her that Melody was his girlfriend again.  

Then four of them lined up along the yellow tape, and Jason, known as an active and talkative person, addressed the group. “The tragedy was caused by the terrible storm last night, but we all know the tree has been sick for years, some disease getting to the base and couldn’t be cured by simply cutting it off. You know what, the university is going to plant its clone graft in the same place. The graft was already growing somewhere just waiting for this final day. Ah, very sad but also hopeful, isn’t it?”

Peter, thinking of the high wind last night, took a chance to contribute to the conversation, “Yes, yesterday was a tragedy.”

“Funny you see that, the wedding is still going on,” Jason chuckled. “If I were them, I wouldn’t have the gut doing that. How strange was the culture, and how different it is from our Chinese, haha. And see, they were wearing white flowers for their marriage, on the back of a dead tree...don’t they have any idea what they are doing?”

“Jason, please,” Lotus turned to him, “don’t speak so loudly, you are being heard.”

“How is it possible? They are so far away,” Jason shrugged it off, “and they don’t understand Chinese anyway.”

“Well, well,” Peter intervened, “maybe they think it is kind of special, and they have to keep the weeding on, for re-planning it overnight is almost impossible.'' Then Peter changed the topic, thinking it was impolite to give such a harsh comment to others, even though he didn't disagree with Jason. “And where are you guys planing to do today, I mean after this place?”

But before he got their answer, he turned to Melody, “Melody, are you hungry, maybe we should first go somewhere to eat?”

Melody looked up, with her sombre eyes. “I don't have an appetite. But if you do, we will go, maybe to Manning House, for a quick one, for you?”

“Then you guys go,” Jason said, “Lotus and I had our breakfast already, we would just stay a little longer, catch you guys later then,” then on another thought, he added, “And hey, Melody, when is your next party? I am looking forward to it.”

From Jason’s words, Peter realized Melody must have held many parties at her Penthouse during the year without inviting him, which made him feel a little sour, and he grabbed Melody’s hand with increased force.

Manning House was the centre of University of Sydney Union (USU), the closest place where they could find food and drink. Peter ordered a sandwich, and a sushi for Melody without asking her, and Melody, after the first hesitating bite, at last found her appetite, and in the end finished the whole plate. And, further, with a bottle of orange juice that must have also reinvigorated her, her face began to show healthy colour.

“So, Melody, what to do today?” Peter asked, thinking it proper to discuss a day’s schedule with her, now that he was sure Melody was his girlfriend again. And also, he wouldn’t have many days to spare during the holiday, in his need to find his next part-time job.

“If without today’s tragedy, we could go anywhere, to the beach, or even driving to the central coast, or hunter valley, or even Jervis Bay to see the star-river, staying there for a few days, but,” she sighed, “I don’t feel good for any of them today, I want to sleep.”

They were about to leave the house, when Melody changed her mind, “Hang on, I need to do something. Let’s go back to my car, I need to get my paint to do a Graffiti.”

Peter was confused, “Graffiti, why? “

Melody got up and took the lead, “I will tell you later.”

Back to her car, Peter was confronted with a mess in the car’s boot, filled with all types of stuff, much worse than the main chamber. Melody, after putting the flower in the front seat, began to rummage through a beehive of clothes, hats, shoes, plastic bags, paint-boxes, even a number of wine bottles, empty or full, until she pulled out three tubes of paint from the rubbish-warehouse, and declared, “See, still plenty for today’s work.”

The Graffiti Tunnel was near the Manning House. Melody went straight, through a forest of colours, to her favorite spot and set off working as a passionate artist.


“You see, that dragon, and dog?” she said, pointing at the two figures that Peter identified as the two Chinese Zodiac animals.

“I know you are Dog, but why a Dragon?” asked Peter, shading his nose as the paint smell intruded his nostril.

“It was for my grandma, born in 1928, Dragon.”

“Oh, I see,” said Peter, who still had some unanswered questions, such as why she only painted her grandma’s, neither her parents, nor her grandpa. But seeing her fully concentrated on the work, he decided to ask her later.

And it didn’t take long for a mini jacaranda tree to take shape on the wall. After this, Melody went to paint a Pig which took her another minute. Then she went on enhancing the faded Dragon and Dog.

Peter looked at them admiringly, “Melody, you are a true genius. Now I know how you artists are really different from us dumb accountants and engineers.”

“Well, we are also dumb in your areas,” Melody smiled a little, “In some ways you guys can one day become an artist, while the possibility of us switching to your areas is next to zero. That is why, you see, I see you as a better friend. We can complement each other, don’t you think so, Peter?”

“Well, yes, differences do help a couple, but differences may also prevent mutual understanding. And all types of art need a lot of training from a very young age, I don’t think people can get to it easily.”

“All done,” Melody put down the paint tubes, stepping back to give a thorough appreciation of her works. “Let’s take a picture.”

Pictures taken, they both sat down on the colorful stairs. Peter felt his nose had already got used to the smell, for he no longer felt it as offending as before. And he found it hard to believe Melody had not shown any dislike of the smell, as though she were born with it.  

“Oh, so tired,” Melody said and, finding Peter’s lap convenient for use, threw half of her body into it, “I want to sleep.”

Peter was patting her gently, and to his amazement Melody was soon asleep. What an easy and carefree girl she is, Peter smiled, stooping to kiss her hair. No doubt she was very tired, for which he felt responsible for bothering her up to three times last night, and again a long time this morning.   

Then, he made a mental note that he should not forget to go to the pharmacy to get a package of condoms. Melody said she was kind of safe last night, but emphasized they must be more and very careful in the future.

Melody had slept about ten minutes, until Peter came to realize she was behaving naughty in her feigned sleep. She must have sensed the minute of his arousal and with her head she was now and again ‘accidentally’ squeezing it.

“You bad girl, I know you are awake,” he broke out, knocking her head with his fingers, like a monk on a wooden fish.

“Hahaha,” she laughed in full mirth, highly amused. “You bad egg!”

“Actually it was a Good egg, but someone turned it Bad.”

“Now the bad egg has turned into a shameless egg.”

“Melody, I think we both got it wrong, biologically speaking, it is you, not me, who belongs to an egg.”

“Then what do you belong to? Erh, a bad sperm?”

“Haha, whatever,” Peter chuckled, with his laughter echoing through the tunnel, “maybe it is time to show your painting skills again, how about pouring an egg and a sperm on the wall, or maybe up there on the ceiling?”

“No,” she got up from him. “You dirty egg, this is my sacred place, nothing like that.”

Peter didn’t get it, “Sacred? How could Graffiti be sacred?”

“All other Graffiti across the world are not, except this,” she looked at him seriously, “it was sacred to me.”

Peter sustained her look, “you do have a story to tell, don’t you Melody?”

“If I tell it to you, you must promise to love me forever,” she said, challengingly.

“Yes I promise,” Peter said, at once proving himself by giving her a very hard, sucking kiss on her cheek, leaving it white and pink.

Thus satisfied, Melody sat up straight, took a breath, and began to tell her Once-upon-a-time.

~ To be continued ~

圣飞逸

搬个板凳先

ArmFeel

楼主，有中文版咩

洋八路

ArmFeel 发表于 2021-8-28 18:46
楼主，有中文版咩

不好意思呢，只有英文的。。慢慢看可以看懂的。

洋八路

洋八路 发表于 2021-8-28 18:51
不好意思呢，只有英文的。。慢慢看可以看懂的。

Chapter 4

“I am a girl growing up at Si-he-yuan in Beijing alleys. My father was nearly 40 when he had me, from his second marriage. So, now you know why my grandma was much older than most of yours.

"Many years ago my father resigned from a government position and started his own business dealing with some kind of security equipment. He and his first wife had since worked very hard, and made the company a leading provider of the products in the markets.  

“For some reason, his first wife could not get pregnant during their marriage. In earlier years, they didn’t think much of it as a problem because they were busy, with no time to care for a child. But as my father got older he grew more unhappy with their childless relationship. So eventually they sought a divorce, on friendly terms, with her still retaining as one of the main shareholders of the company. After the divorce, my father married a much younger lady, actually a model and actress, not very well-known, but extremely pretty.”

Peter, hearing this, at once turned to look at Melody, as if to verify her mother’s being ‘extremely pretty’ by herself. Melody, pushing his face away, rebuffed, “Don’t stare at me, Peter, or you will be disappointed, see, I am more like my father.. But, Peter, I did inherit some of my mum’s beauty, didn’t I?”

Peter took the chance, “Yes, of course, see, your nose, and hair, hehehe.”

“Just nose and hair? Oh my god, Peter…” Melody pinched his ear very hard, making the boy cry out with a pain real and sharp, “Okay, okay, Melody, I declare every piece of you is extremely, extremely pretty, now release me…please...”

Thus satisfied, Melody let him off and continued her story, “Well, so I was born, my parents were happy. But perhaps because of their vast difference in age and life experience, they did not get along well. My mother seemed always able to pick some evidence that my father still loved his ex-wife.

"My mother was an ambitious woman, very active in social life, with her mind firmly set on the goal of being famous in the entertainment industry, but so far with little success, even with much assistance from my father’s resources.

“Busy as they were, they had to employ maids, three of them at peak times, to look after the household and me. But I had only lived with them for the first two years, before they decided to send me to my grandma’s, thinking it the best and safest option, with hourly workers called on whenever needed.

“Therefore since babyhood, I had been in the care of my grandma, who was over sixty but in good health, living in the Si-he-yuan where my father also used to live before he moved to his own apartment.”

“How about your grandpa, with you as well?” Peter asked curiously.

“Oh, my grandpa ... he passed away during the cultural revolution. He was tagged as a counter-revolution Chinese teacher at the school he had been teaching. They said some articles he had written for a magazine were against certain spirits of people, and had to punish him through the severe public parade, carrying a heavy placard hung on his neck. And, unable to bear his suffering he took his own life.  

“In my grandma’ bedroom there was a photo of him. He looked very handsome, thick brows, a square face, smiling, very kind eyes. My grandma, when alone, often cried quietly looking at him, and would wipe her tears as soon as I entered her room.”

Presently Melody paused to wipe her own tears, and Peter tried all he could to share her moments. After regaining her calmness, Melody went on, “Well, very sad, isn’t it? Let me tell you about my happy stuff. The snow ... in those days, we looked forward to the snowing winter even still in summer, we never felt cold when playing with it. And the icicles, hung down from the edge of the roof, sharp, and shiny, crystal clear, like the most beautiful tears.

“I remembered I had once found a piece of icicle up to one meter long. I used it as a kind of sword to fight against a group of cheeky boys. They tried every trick to take it from me, because it was the longest icicle our alley had ever found in our history. Needless to say, I was defending and protecting it with all my might, then it was broken...

“My cry was so loud and so miserable that all the neighbours had to come out to make enquiries. My grandma was panicky. The boys were scared, for I picked all kinds of weapons I could find around the place, teacups, stools, scraps of cabbages, and finally my shoes, as the last resort, to hit them. From then on, the boys were afraid of my hot temper, even today, they would give me a reminder or two of the well-remembered incident whenever we got a time for nostalgia. But really, you must know, Peter, that the icicles are so cute, everywhere I go and see them, I can't help but touch it, feel it, with my finger tips, and lick it with the tip of my tongue and, if only I could sleep with it, hold it forever…”


“Sleep with icicles?” Peter intervened, his body writhing with stifled amusement. Melody glared at him, her hands ready to touch his ear, “Hey, Peter, stop laughing, I am talking about serious...”

Peter shut up at once.

And Melody, with her mind fully in the past, resumed her story. “Inside the house there was a small coal-fired stove for making heat in winter, and grandma and I would sit around it, where she would do her knitting, telling me the stories she had told many times. All my sweaters I wore in my childhood were knitted by her. My parents also bought me plenty of nice-looking ones, but none of them as warm as my grandma’s.

“And there were many different trees around the alleys. The most popular was Jujube. I remembered when it was ripe, the big people would make use of long sticks to knock the fruits off, and we kids would put a tin basin over our head, enjoying the splatting like raindrops falling. So much fun, isn’t it...

“But my home is truly special because, instead of Jujube, we had a plum tree planted at one of the corners. The blossom was fantastic, with the slender twigs dotted beautifully with delicate little flowers. And if you went close to look at it, each of them seemed to have a bee visitor. The bee was scary though, so I didn’t normally touch the flowers. But the flushing blossom, in a greyish background made mostly of ancient bricks and dark planks, was extremely brilliant, like the sun breaking out from a world of wintry clouds.

“During its budding time I would keep my eyes on it, and would call out to my grandma as soon as the first bud began peeping out. And my grandma would drop her hands of chore and come out to enjoy the magic eye of beauty.

“It was very rare for a Si-he-yuan to have such a charming tree inside the square. I don’t know why, but it must be rather difficult to grow. Of course you can find a lot of plum trees in many places, but inside a Si-he-yuan? I bet it was only us having it in the entire Beijing.

"That was why, apart from the bees, painters, near and far, would come to see it because of its reputation, and make great efforts to mirror them on their canvas. They would sit for hours, and my grandma would prepare tea for them, sometimes food as well, such as dumplings. And they were very grateful for our hospitality, and never forgot when they came to bring me a bunch of candy sticks. Of course, I would share them with my grandma, who only liked the sweet sugar-coat, and let me finish the sour haw.”

Peter, feeling a little tired, fell onto Melody’s lap, who petted on his head like a baby without stopping the flow of her memory. “In the yard there was also a rattan reclining chair which had belonged to my grandpa. It has since become a privileged space exclusive to me. My grandma rarely sat there, for it would bring back her sad memories and make her cry.

“But the chair has been my closest companion in all those years. Everyday after school, I would sit there, rocking, eating my snacks, and dreaming. It was the place where I saw the pigeons flying round round round in the opening sky, their wings flapping loudly, their bodies gilded gold by the sunlight, and I always wondered how happy they were, and how free they seemed to be.

“But of course, the pigeons were raised by our neighbours. They didn’t have much freedom, only set free once a day by their owners. But still, the beautiful sight of them made my childish fantasies. If there were any creatures I particularly liked in this world that would be the birds. For they are free, able to fly over the waters and lands, unlike we humans having to find complicated ways to get over the distance. And you know what, Peter, when the bird dies, they dies quickly, without going through the slow painful process.”

By this time, Peter was half asleep, with his eyelids drooping. On one hand, he wanted to hear her full story, to grab the real reason for her being so sad for the dead jacaranda tree. He seemed to have got some clues from her but still not logically connected. On the other hand, he didn’t want to interrupt Melody who was so indulged in her own world. And what was more, he was afraid, if he showed any sign of disrespect for her story, Melody would pinch his ears again.

So he kept up as much spirit as possible, circled his arm around her soft waist, so that he had enough adrenaline provoked to sustain his attention.

And Melody didn’t seem to mind him at all. She was like a chatterbox who never knew a switch.

“You know, I am not a person who likes to study, not like you guys bookworms. I found it hard to concentrate on everything. That was why my parents were worried. But all they could do was get private tutors for me. As a result, I have tried many things, violin, piano, even Chinese Gu-zheng, painting, dancing, etc.. but all of them were lightly touched and discarded in the end, except the violin into which I had put a little more effort.  

“Approaching my last years of school, I had no motivation to work hard like others preparing for college entry exams. That was why my father planned for me to go abroad. But then, my English was very bad.

“So they got people to work on my English, but I made little progress. English was a thing nobody could improve in a short time. This was until, one day, an agent doing an Australian study promotion came to our Si-he-yuan, and displayed their educational brochures.”

Hearing the word ‘Australian’, Peter sat up, sensing her real story had just begun, “Immediately my eyes were attracted to one of the photos taken from the University of Sydney, where the jacaranda was blooming at the corner of an ancient castle which was, remarkably, as square as our Si-he-yuan. The blossom was breathtaking, the tree was more than ten folds in size in comparison to my plum tree. And what was even more incredible was that, as written clearly on the paper, the tree was planted in 1928, the same year my grandma was born.  

“The discovery was kind of fate or destiny. So a decision was made without hesitation, and with it had come my motivation to study English and everything else for the application. When I got the admission letter for Sydney U, I really planned to take my grandma to Australia to see this very beautiful tree as old as her. But, she couldn’t make it, they said it was too much of a risk for someone of her age to take such a long trip, now, both of them are gone...”

The sad ending of her story was followed by Melody's long silence, her wistful eyes still lost in the past.

Then, back to the present, she managed to get up, but she couldn’t. “Oh, my god, my legs are killing me.”

Peter tried the same, at once feeling hundreds of needles pricking the flesh. “We have sat too long, and become numb. We must stretch a bit to allow blood circulation,” said Peter, in a tone like physicians.   

After a few minutes of their awkward exercises, they were able to kind of limp through the tunnel. Half way down, Melody suddenly turned to Peter and pinned him onto the colourful wall, and started to kiss him, with a tricky smile of victory. “Peter, now, you must love me forever, you have no regret, have you?”

“Hehe, not at all,” said Peter. “Your story is indeed remarkable, you should write a book about it. Compared to yours, mine is just plain, I could finish it in less than a minute.”

“Seriously, Peter, I am a person without enough security from friends and people. I wonder if it was because of my background, so desperate for love, the kind of absolute love? Do you understand me? Really understand me? See I have never told anyone else so much about me and my family.”

Peter thought for a moment, feeling much of the truth in her self-assessment, and speculated that she might have said the similar things to her other boyfriends, in her efforts in seeking the ‘assurance’ of love, which at once sent a twang of jealousy through his system, forcing him to desire her and possess her ever more.

And within seconds, he had built up enough libido of taking her again, to reach the core of her womanhood, locking their intimacy once more. He began to run his hands roughly under her T-shirt and bras, and down into her ripped jeans, and was only hushed by Melody, who had a better sense of reality. “Stop there Peter, I said the tunnel is my sacred place.”

Peter was unhappy. “What do you mean, Melody? A sacred place to forbid love? Is our love not sacred enough in your eyes?”

“Look,” her eyes flew toward the entrance, “someone is coming.”

Her trick took immediate effect, for Peter suddenly froze. Then seeing nobody coming, he threw her a crooked smile, “You such a bad egg!”

Then releasing her, he gathered her graffiti gear, led her out of the tunnel.

Outside on the road, Melody said in a whisper, “You silly ‘pig’, we can come back in the evenings when, it is, it is dark...”

Peter stopped, his eyes gleaming, “Ah?”

“But, you must promise,” said Melody, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh my god,” Peter chuckled, pinching her buttock, “you are really a greedy egg ...”

Then feeling hungry, they decided to go to Chinatown to have an early dinner. At Zhu-ma-ma Taiwan Restaurant, the dumplings quickly filled up their stomach, which made them content and very sleepy. An hour later, Melody dropped Peter off at Ashfield, before heading for her Penthouse, going to bed early to recoup her lost sleep.

~To be continued~

大咚瓜瓜瓜

请问中文是母语吗？如果是的话，那真的很厉害。很想认识一下，因为我也有这样的一个人生梦想（用英语写fiction类文学）。虽然目前还不太敢尝试。

eastlife

Intresting read...
我也很好奇楼主的背景，英文这么棒