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Chapter 65 2/2
He had only met Jenny on a few occasions when she visited Qiuyan in their house. She was not supposed to be a near confidant of his. But apparently Jenny now had such a role, for she walked back to him.
‘Look, Wang Bing,’ she said, sternly, ‘Qiuyan is very low. I have never seen her like this. For now, her only thought is to die, to divorce you. Once she has become more herself, I will talk and reason with her, and hopefully she would forgive you and give you a chance. But I, and other friends as well, can only do so much. You will have to play the main part.’
Wearing a face like one in a funeral, he expressed his gratitude, ‘Thank you so much, Jenny.’
‘Never mind, don’t worry. I will try my best to persuade her to go back home as soon as possible,’ she said, then in a sudden tearful voice she added, ‘She shall be okay. The worst moments have already passed, I think.’
Turning to her heels abruptly to conceal her emotion from him, she left, a bit rushed, for the door of her home, even if Bing had a lot of things left to be told.
Later at McDonald’s, he ate a Big Mac, a solitary dinner that had been rare ever since his wife joined him in Australia. Then he went back home, and, not knowing what else to do in the empty house, he out of habit thought of QQ, even having an urgent impulse to tell Vivian and Pan of the bad news. But he snuffed it out, as quickly as it came. After all, this was not the sort of thing that he would like to share with anyone else.
So he had a lonely evening. But as Jenny had said, the worst had already passed, at least Adina was safe with her mother. Overall, the evening, as an aftermath of his family misfortune, had been quite sufferable, because all the time he was fixed into the chair, and with his laptop chatted in the forum until one o’clock in the morning.
When he finally moved away from it, to retire from a day of horror, his mind was fatigued. But his body seemed to function well, as if his flesh and blood were able to detach from his mind, having the capability to weather more damage should it dare to come.
But it was time to sleep, to wash, he thought. In the bathroom, while brushing his teeth, he felt his bare foot on something clammy. He moved his foot away to check, to find a disgusting sight.
On the mat was a slug, not dead, still writhing. With a surge of nausea he started to retch, yet nothing came out. Then with a tissue, and a horror, he picked it up, and threw it into the toilet. It was sucked away, down into the dark hole, into the filthy tunnel, networked beneath the tidy, living surface of people. But his repulsion didn’t go away, even though he washed his foot and scrubbed the mat, and then his body, thoroughly
Then on the queen-sized bed, he curved up and as usual occupied his own space, where he had a dream.
She is still in bed, sharing with him the same blanket. But the middle space between them is sunken. The bridge collapses. By herself she turns and tosses, that makes the bed creak. He mutters something like ‘I am sorry.’ She doesn’t reply to him. So he turns to her, making a gesture to express his remorse. But she moves further away from him, and begins to whimper.
Then she says, ‘Wang Bing, have you ever loved me at all?’
He is chilled at her query. Love, what is love? In a moment, he is assured he does love her, who is so adorable, and gentle with her fingers; yet in another, he thinks he also loves Vivian, or even Pan, seemingly with more passion. He loves them all; they are actually different beings.
‘I certainly love you,’ he replies, convincing her to the same extent of convincing himself.
She then turns her head and looks at him. But he doesn’t have the nerve to handle her eyes. He feels guilt. He has a problem, which gets even worse as he can’t find in his heart enough resolve to fix it. Shall he swear in front of her that he will not have any more contact with other women, and that he will love her forever so that their family life can go on and on? What does she expect?
Really, he never intends to hurt her, but what he has done has done otherwise.
His body is motionless. His mind sways, hopelessly to find a place to dock. But he fails, so he moves to touch her.
But she says, ‘Don’t! You make me sick.’
He is struck. So hard, he feels him the lowest of things. He is a slug, with a slimy skin, with dirt, without spine. He makes her, and also himself, sick.
But his body doesn’t seem to agree with them. Really, to his penis, there is no such thing as ‘dirty’ or ‘clean’, and it does have a spine if it is not misunderstood. Now it begins to show off, to shape up its determination, to spite the morality and the social norms, with its own head, and life, and obstinacy.
So, forcefully, the distance is shortly cut. Under his love, or lust, or grief or remorse, she, or Vivian, or Pan, three in one, is wrapped, and then crushed, all together at the same time. He is either cutting the Mountain of Everest, or pushing its two halves back, or mending the injured hearts or souls, they are the one, like the wholeness of the earth.
Then he hears she say, ‘Go away! Go to hell! To your dirty love.’
So hell swallows him.
He was awoken by the cold wetness in his groin. After wiping himself, he lay wide awake until dawn, looking at the ceiling.
Qiuyan did not come back until three days later, although in the meantime he had noticed she had been home to fetch some clothes. She had asked Jenny to pass on her words that the conditions of her coming back were, first, he sleep in a separate room; second, they should consider sending Adina to after-school care, because she was going to look for a job; and third, he should consider transferring the house’s co-ownership title to her name.
By her so-called conditions, he was made half-shocked, and half-amused, while Jenny went on, ‘Well, she remains very firm on these items no matter how much, for last three days, we have persuaded her to forgive you. I reckon you just agree to them, and yield to whatever she has in her mind, so long as she comes home.’
‘Well, no problem for me, if that makes her feel better,’ he said. ‘I just wonder how all of sudden she has become so knowledgeable of all such things.’
Jenny obviously mistook his words, ‘Wang Bing, you don’t assume it was me who had advised her to stand up such a position, do you?’
‘No, no, no, Jenny,’ he said, quickly, ‘you misunderstood me. You have helped us so much, I am just a bit confused.’
‘Well, I guess she have made a lot of friends online. In the last three days, she has done a lot of research.’
‘Has she called her parents about this?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Jenny replied, ‘I think she doesn’t want her parents to worry.’
‘Okay then, tell her I am OK with her conditions.’
On the same evening, accompanied by Jenny, his wife and his daughter came back home.
‘Daddy,’ Adina flew to him as soon as she stepped out of the car. He hitched her up, and carried her on his back into the house. Qiuyan was expressionless; the tear marks he had expected to see were not on her face. And without even looking at him, the first thing after she had entered the room was to gather his clothes and books, and everything else belonging to him, and put them into a large bucket outside the master room. But she, and Jenny together, had cooked dinner for the evening; and Bing, like an uninvited guest, quietly ate the food, at the same table, while the two women chattered freely, like the owners of the house.
The night was the first of their separation. Since then Qiuyan, a woman with whom he had slept for so many years, had presented herself as a stranger before him. While Bing’s everyday life, on its surface, changed little, invariably from home to work, and from work to home, and the communication between the couple was reduced to the merest matters about Adina. So like robots, the couple resided under the same roof, nodding and exchanging their household language without emotion. On weekends, she would go to her friends with Adina without him, or stick to the computer screen till very late at night. The house was not unlike the aftermath of an atomic bomb, where the outward structure of an object looks unscathed, but its life and spirit are already gone.
It was lucky that Adina had secured a place in an after-school care centre within one month of application, which would usually take almost a year. Then, a couple of weeks later she found a job as a waitress in a Chinese restaurant in Parramatta, and began to have her income for the first time in Australia. Her work hours were between 10am and 6pm, and because he finished his work half an hour earlier than she did, he would go to pick up his daughter every day after work, and also cook the rice before she came home to prepare the rest.
So the soulless family life lived on, ironically peaceful, like a cold-war situation, both making little effort for reconciliation. Qiuyan, who now had a job, and came home from work always very tired if not exhausted, spent less and less time on QQ. Some nights she was seen reading an English book written for the industry of hospitality, but she had never sought his assistance in her study.
There were indeed times her hard stance appeared to soften, with some trace of her quiet forgiveness, when he would feel relieved, and hope his life would revert to its original track and keep on his old method of living. But more often than not, her moods swung. She might suddenly drop into deep thinking, while she was cooking, or matching socks as she sorted the washing. In the car when they went shopping, his voice could startle her. And her eyes were so cold, like ice, when he at times looked up at her from his book, or from his rice bowl.
She was lost. She was stabbed bleeding, cured little, and then bled again. The man in the house was an alien, not the one with whom she had lived so many years, and together nurtured a child. The roof of her security was cracked, with a cold flood flapping at her.
Three months passed, still no direction was there for their future. He decided to take first step talking to her, seriously, and frankly. And shy from expressing his intent to her face, he sent her a text message, ‘Yan, can we talk?’
He waited long enough, until his expectation of her reply was died. But 24 hours later she gave her response, ‘Talk what?’
‘Well…us.’
‘Us? Isn’t it clear?’
‘What clear? I am not clear.’
‘Hasn’t Jenny already made it clear to you?’
‘You mean your conditions?’
‘Yes.’
‘If you are serious about this, I want to hear directly from you, not from her.’
There was a long delay for her next message. ‘Of course it is serious. I am not as loose as you.’
‘Okay, serious, but can we just talk a bit?’
‘Talk about what?’
‘About anything...’ he felt his own temper arising.
‘I don’t want to talk to you.’
Now it was his turn to be hot and angry. He flung his mobile on the bed, sitting up against its head. What does she mean by that? Even for the fulfilment of her so-called conditions, they would have so many things to do, to consider, to discuss. It is not like they can simply walk away from each other, like those unmarried, or childless living partners. Or maybe she prefers the current cold, deathlike co-existence? What an unreasonable woman is she!
The cold war continued, for at least another fortnight, driving him just short of desperation. Oh, what a dismal life, not dead, not alive, not even dying but a sort of dormancy without hope. So, unwilling though he was to bother people with his private matters, he asked Jenny to mediate between them. Qiuyan was at last persuaded, thought he didn’t know how, to have a talk with him alone, and after the negotiation as to where to conduct the meeting, she agreed to accept his proposal to dine and talk in the Sichuan Restaurant in Chinatown. It was a romantic arrangement, indeed, but it was actually his quick pop-up idea, for both of them somehow didn’t favour the idea of discussing the matter in their own house.
On the evening, after sending Adina to Jenny’s place, he drove her to Darling Harbour, where he parked his car and walked to Chinatown. Qiuyan wore a multi-coloured blouse and light yellow jeans, casual and smart, without the least impression one may gather from a long-time housewife. Actually she appeared more like a lady of the late twenties, dating a rough, unkempt man heading towards his forties. Since their separation, Bing had begun to iron his own clothes, and was lazy enough to only swap wearing the same set of clothes every other day, in order to save the chore he had never liked to do.
It was a shame, for the last seven years in Sydney, he had never thought of taking her to the Sichuan Restaurant, which had attracted her eyes on her first visit to Chinatown. Actually they had scarcely dined alone; usually with their daughter, or with his or her mother, or other friends. So this occasion was rather special, that had somehow heightened his spirit, and also, perhaps, hers.
‘Cheers,’ he said, meeting her glass of Qingdao beer.
Though she didn’t reply, she drank, half smiling, bitter or sweet he was not sure.
The hot spicy pot was steaming; their favourite dishes were spread on the table.
‘How about your work?’ he began, with a topic he deemed safe.
‘It is okay, very busy.’
‘Do you have to speak a lot of English?’
‘Not a lot, it is a Sichuan cuisine, most customers are Chinese.’
‘Sichuan cuisine? So I reckon some Sichuan country-fellows are working there?’
‘Yes, that was the main reason I think I was offered the job,’ she said, eating a slice of lotus root. ‘My English is not good, but getting a little better now.’
‘Well, you got the job,’ he said, then added, as a new idea had just occurred to him, ‘Maybe because you are beautiful.’
To the sort of compliments that had not been said by him since what time he didn’t know, she remained indifferent. ‘I don’t deny that,’ she returned, after a moment too long.
And from then on, they just ate and drank their minutes, silently. Then, with enough beer in his stomach, and sufficient spirit in his head, he said, ‘Yan, I am sorry.’
There were some movements of her eyelids, that he interpreted to be a sign of her being touched by his words, which had been many months overdue. But her flutter was rather short lived, for she soon recovered her calmness again. ‘Don’t say that,’ she said, plainly. ‘It has already passed.’
‘But,’ he stammered, and to assist his speech, sipped a mouthful of beer. ‘Can you forgive me?’
‘I have already forgiven you.’
‘So,’ he was confused. ‘I mean, can we not separate…’
Now she spoke to interrupt him, in a quickening tone, ‘What do you mean not separate? You don’t want to divorce? Or you want it to happen faster? I have asked the home loan agent, who said my income was not sufficient to support the loan. So I have to find a way out, so that we can go ahead with the transfer of the house title.’
‘I mean, can you really forgive me, so that we can live as before?’
‘No,’ she said, curtly. ‘I have considered that for the whole of three days, and have reached the decision.’
His face was rendered dark. He was unable to say a word. And she went on, ‘Wang Bing, do you really think we can still get on together after that? How can you be so naïve?’
‘Well, it was only QQ.’
‘Oh, Really? QQ? Was it just QQ?’ she got herself carried away, her face as red as chilli. ‘If without QQ, how long would you have cheated on me? All your life? Is thirteen years not enough? If you didn’t love me, why did you marry me in the first place? Such a hypocrite,’ she put down her chopsticks, paused to compose herself a little, and it was such a magic her tears were not yet emerging to accompany her words. ‘I thought, as a teacher, you could be trusted, what a joke! How silly I have been, all these years!’
Fearing she was going to cry and make a scene, he drank and ate, with his shoulders squared, his arms stretched wide, as if this way could calm her, and shade his disgrace, and fend off the curious eyes from other tables, that had already begun looking at them.
But she didn’t stop her vehement flow, ‘So disgusting, which one do you really love? Your first love in Shanghai? Or the second in Melbourne? Or other candidates on your QQ list, that you have been flirting with?’
He kept on drinking, as if his stomach was full of shit that needed the liquid to wash and clean. And finally, he was fed enough, he mumbled humbly, ‘You also play QQ,’ which he regretted, as soon as it had slipped out of his tongue.
Now her temper was at white heat. An upgrade of her rage seethed through her voice, ‘Me? You have the face to say that about me? I have never chatted about the dirty things like you, and as soon as those dirty men went in that direction, I stopped and deleted them straight away.’ She paused to drink a little to soothe her throat, ‘Don’t assume others are all like you.’
It took many minutes for her to remember the delicious foods, that were swirling and rolling in the hot pot, and more minutes for her to settle her turbulent emotions, to return to her former disguised affability, which had so much misled him in estimating the situation.
But the dinner was not unconstructive. At least she had told him of her real thoughts and her determination for divorce. And further, partly under the influence of alcohol, partly as a kind of atonement for his fault, and more as a genuine concern about the wellbeing of her and their daughter after divorce, he agreed, apart from the required child support, to pay the mortgage of the house, even after it was transferred to her name, for at least three years, regardless of their respective marital status in the meantime. And for Adina’s sake, he could elect to continue his stay in the house, unless she wished him to go.
The last question he asked her, after their long discussion of arrangements, was about the reason he had left Adina alone at home on the day of their misfortune.
‘I wanted to die,’ she said, looking at him fearfully. ‘So now you understand why a divorce is better for everyone.’
-- End of Chapter 65 -- |
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健身的女人很性感！（全楼大总结中！经典回帖已经置顶！） (2012-7-19) lostmyway 
发表于 2014-10-14 13:17
