Three souls, p.23
Three Souls, page 23
Inside, I reached into the drawer of the old table, found matches, and lit a small stub of candle, which I set down on a broken tile. He never took his eyes off me. He smiled, candlelight flickering over his face, his eyes glinting.
“I would’ve taken you under the trees outside, under the moonlight. How beautiful you look with your hair down.”
Suddenly I felt shy. “I have a quilt for the floor. And a sheet. I’m sorry but the bed’s too old.”
I pulled out the rolled-up bedding from where I’d hidden it at the back of the ancient wardrobe amid a jumble of moth-eaten pillows and blankets. We spread it out on the floor. I sat down and looked up at Hanchin. Then he knelt beside me.
I was a married woman. My husband came often to my bed for the game of clouds and rain. But that night I realized that what I knew about the pleasures of the bedchamber wouldn’t have filled a thimble.
I’d been prepared to endure Hanchin’s weight on my body, his hands groping my breasts and buttocks, the sharp thrusts of his manhood. The only pleasure I expected for myself was the closeness of his body to mine, knowing that I had satisfied him. I wasn’t ready for the satisfaction of my own needs, for the skilful caresses that made my body arch against his.
“Does this please you, Leiyin? And what about this, how does this please you?” he whispered. I could only gasp in reply.
Until a beggar eats her fill she doesn’t realize how hungry she’s been all her life.
***
Immoral. Utterly immoral and shameful, my yang soul mutters. He stalks away to the far end of the terrace. But I smile because my mouth fills with the seductive taste of ripe fruits: sweet plums and cherries.
Hanchin was so desirable. My yin soul stretches, arching her back—a bit voluptuously for one so young, I think.
And so experienced, I say, suddenly recognizing what I had witnessed. Why didn’t I ask myself how he knew so much about giving pleasure?
Because you believed it was love that made the difference, says my hun soul. You thought it was love that made your bodies so pleasing to each other. It’s understandable because sometimes it’s true. It gives me a patronizing tap on the head.
In this case, was it true? Did he love me? He must have loved me, to risk a rendezvous when there was so much at stake. Not just us, but also his manuscript.
My souls don’t reply and the memories flow on.
***
“I loved you the moment I saw you, Hanchin. How did you feel about me?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Again, a mischievous note.
I covered his face with kisses. “Even though we barely had any time alone, every time we met, I felt more certain you cared. Why did you leave Changchow? I ran away from home to find you and you were gone.”
“Your brother told me about your marriage the day I got the offer to teach. I left because I had the chance to make a difference. Directly, not just through my writing.”
“I would have gone with you.” I insisted, filled with regrets. “I wanted to be a teacher, to be worthy of your love. To be a partner who could work with you to transform China. I would have used my dowry to help you set up schools for peasants.”
“A nice dream.” Condescending. As though teasing a child.
“Yes, a dream, because my father never would have let me marry you,” I said, somewhat annoyed at his tone. “So why did you flirt with me?”
He kissed me again, caressed my thighs. “Let’s just say I couldn’t help myself. You were so . . . irresistible.” His low laughter, my helpless need for his touch.
I rested my head against his chest, tucked myself under his chin.
“Tell me everything, from the time you left Changchow.”
I learned that for a year he had lived in Soochow, using it as a base for travelling to small towns and rural communities in Jiangsu province. Then for a while he ran a school in Jiangxi province, where he and an assistant taught adult peasants how to read.
“I could have been of use,” I said, envious of the person who had worked alongside him. “I’ve devised ways to teach my . . . to teach adults how to read. With methods more suitable than lessons designed for children.”
“Alas, that school is no more,” he said lightly. “We ran out of funds. But I’m not surprised you found a way to put your ambitions to work.”
I glowed from his approval. “Do you remember the last letter you sent me? You wrote that the most important thing was to keep seeking knowledge. Even here, in this small town, I read everything I can find.”
“The written word endures longer than anyone realizes. Words are a powerful tool for winning the war. ”
I felt like I was in heaven, sitting there on a pile of old blankets, musty pillows between our backs and the wall. I rested my cheek against his shoulder.
“You always wrote your articles so carefully, never any direct criticism. Why did you write such a blunt piece in that final issue of China Millennium?” I had to ask. “Now you’re on the run.”
“We knew it was only a matter of time before we were arrested. There was a spy in our midst. We all decided that we might as well print a final issue that spoke without equivocation.”
“A spy!” I shivered. “Did you know who it was?”
“Yes. I knew him and used him to our advantage for a while. But I played his game too long and now so many people will suffer because of my overconfidence.” Even in the wavering candlelight, I could see the troubled lines on his face.
“You mustn’t feel that way, Hanchin. You can’t foresee every danger.”
Almost absent-mindedly he reached over to stroke my naked breasts and I shivered again, this time with delicious anticipation.
***
Hanchin couldn’t come to me every night, of course. He and Young Wang organized clandestine meetings where Hanchin spoke to sympathizers about what the Communist Party would do for ordinary people.
“If you don’t hear me in the alley by midnight, I won’t be coming,” he had told me one night. “Some of these meetings continue until dawn. We’re recruiting for the Party.”
“Let me attend your meetings,” I begged. “I want to know more.”
He propped himself on one elbow to look down at me and laughed.
“Leiyin, you of all people can’t come. You must be my secret. How else can you hide my manuscript?”
“But you’re taking a risk by speaking at these gatherings at all. You’re a wanted man.”
“I’m not using my own name. No one in Pinghu knows what Yen Hanchin looks like. They won’t associate the clerk at the bookstore with the Yen Hanchin who writes political editorials.” He seemed confident, but I had my doubts.
“Then don’t leave Pinghu, Hanchin. Please, stay where no one knows who you are. Stay with me.”
He didn’t reply, but instead lowered his face to my belly, lips parted.
***
On the nights I couldn’t be with Hanchin, sleep eluded me. I wanted him by my side, remembered his hands on my body until I was ready to cry with frustration. Once or twice, hearing sounds in the alley, I ran out to the orchard to find the cottage empty and the side door locked. When we did meet, the dusty cottage was our haven, but an hour or two was all that I dared.
After lovemaking, he would doze sweetly. I held the candle over him and moved the light along his folded limbs to learn every inch of his face and body. When he awoke, we talked. I wanted to know everything about him, to make up for all the time we had lost.
His life could have been so much easier. His family had ties to the Liu clan, albeit a connection so slight it was tenuous even in the extended hierarchy of Chinese families. Hanchin’s grandfather had shared a tutor with Judge Liu’s father, making the two elderly gentlemen classmates and friends as well as distant cousins.
“While Judge Liu’s father lived, we were invited to Liu family gatherings,” he said, a hard glitter in his eyes. “We sat at the edge of the dining hall, arrived and departed with the other poor relatives through side doors, never the main gates.”
Old Master Liu had promised Hanchin’s grandfather a loan to pay for Hanchin’s education. But then Old Master Liu and Hanchin’s grandfather died in the same year, just before Hanchin finished high school. The invitations ceased and along with them, any mention of a loan.
“Why didn’t your father remind the Judge of this promise?”
“My father said we were poor but we didn’t need charity. And I wanted none of their money either.”
Moonlight shone through the empty windowpanes, a cold radiance that matched the expression on his face. I imagined how he must have felt as a boy, his glimpses into the opulent lives of the Liu family, and returning to a home where poverty hid behind a brittle facade of genteel sophistication.
“The Liu estate burned down two years ago, you know, when the Communist army invaded Changchow.”
“Yes, I heard.” He smiled and it frightened me, something scornful and knowing in his face. Then his features smoothed out and he pulled me closer.
“Men like Judge Liu are the reason we need to build a new China, Leiyin. A country that the rest of the world will respect. You could make a difference to that new China.”
I nodded, remembering how I had felt as a teenager, the intoxication of discovering a purpose greater than my own blinkered life. I remembered reading Madame Sun Yat-sen’s essay out loud with Nanmei, her words lending us courage and stoking our ambitions. It was a bright and hopeful horizon I had thought forever lost to me. I gathered my courage and sat up to face him.
“Hanchin, when you leave Pinghu, I want to go with you.”
***
My yang soul shakes his head, his judgment clear. He doesn’t need to speak—a rancid taste saturates my mouth, making me want to retch. The sickly sweet smell of rotting fruit fills the air, my yin soul equally unhappy with what we’re seeing.
I’m astonished at my rash words. At the same time, I remember how absorbed I had been in the small world of the dilapidated cottage, my compulsive need to be with him, my endless desire, and the bright horizon of a life outside this small town.
It was like an illness, a form of insanity that came over me, I tell my souls. Each waking minute was an exercise in restraint, for I wanted nothing more than to run over the bridges and canals to the bookstore. Our need for secrecy only added to the excitement, doubled my desperation to be with him. I couldn’t give him up, I just couldn’t.
To the point where you were willing to leave your daughter behind? Those words from my hun soul are gently spoken, but they make me flinch.
No, no. I can’t believe I would have done that. I would have come to my senses.
***
Each day I watched for signs that I’d been seen during my midnight outings, but Dali’s plain face never changed, Mrs. Kwan gave me no curious glances, and Weilan never voiced any awkward questions. I bathed carefully every morning to remove the traces of lovemaking. When Little Ming brought the bucket of hot water for the wooden tub, I would complain that the heat made me perspire uncomfortably at night.
“Yes, Young Mistress. I can hardly sleep either in this heat wave.” She looked tired, but her smile was joyful.
“How is your mother?”
“She’s recovering slowly, Young Mistress.”
“There’s no need to rush back,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. “Stay with her until you’re sure.”
I was torn between taking Weilan with me when I left with Hanchin and leaving her in a place I knew would be safe. One moment I couldn’t imagine being separated from Weilan; she simply had to come with me. Then I’d worry. It was too dangerous. I had to leave her here and hope that she’d understand and forgive me someday, when the war was over, when she was older and we saw each other again. But always, I wavered. I spread clothes across my bed, hers and mine, picking out the best ones for travel, the most rugged, the lightest and warmest, for what I knew would be an arduous journey. Little Ming thought I was inspecting them for moth holes.
I was frantic knowing that Hanchin was almost ready to leave our town. He hadn’t yet agreed to let me travel with him.
“I can endure anything if we’re together,” I told him. “I’m not the schoolgirl you knew in Changchow.”
“Leiyin, I’m on the run. If I’m caught, you’ll be arrested with me.”
“They won’t be looking for a couple. They’re looking for a single man.” A young family would be an even better disguise, but I didn’t mention Weilan. One step at a time.
“We love each other, Hanchin. So many wasted years, you said so yourself. We can’t ever be apart now.”
My hand slid down between his legs and I felt his heartbeat quicken.
“You can’t wander all over the province with me, Leiyin. I won’t be taking a direct route. Besides, who will look after the manifesto?”
He was right. I had made a promise to safeguard something he valued more than his own life.
“Then send for me when you’re safely behind the front lines. Promise me.”
I sat up and straddled him, lifted his hands to cup my breasts. His breathing grew heavier.
“All right. I’ll send for you. But promise you’ll stay here and keep the manuscript until the courier comes.”
He handled me roughly, but I didn’t mind.
***
Gong Gong and Baizhen sent a telegram letting us know their return date. Old Ming’s grandson would meet them at the train station with the donkey cart. My stolen hours were coming to an end for another reason: Hanchin had completed his manifesto and was preparing to move on.
On our last night together, Hanchin brought me an envelope sealed with red wax.
“Please, don’t open it. If the seal is broken, our agents will think the network has been compromised.” All the lightness and teasing were gone from his voice, his expression severe.
“I won’t. I promise. And I’ve thought of some places where I can hide it.”
“Now listen carefully, Leiyin. When I get to my next hiding place, I’ll arrange for a courier to come get the manifesto. After I reach Chinese Soviet territory, I’ll send another courier. He’ll bring you to join me. It could take a few weeks. In the meantime, be patient and trust me.”
“I do trust you,” I said, kissing his neck. “I’ll keep your document safe. But how will I know who the courier is?”
“The courier will know you. It’s better if you don’t know.”
“What route will you take to the front lines? I want to know,” I begged.
“It’s better if you don’t know,” he repeated. “Even my train tickets were purchased by other people.”
We made love for the last time. My hands ran over his body voraciously, I coaxed and kissed him wherever my mouth could reach. Afterward, I was exhausted, but could not fall asleep. I gazed at him as he slept, thinking that if only I knew the route he would be taking, I could pay attention to news from those places, reports of unrest or fighting. I needed to know.
I hesitated for only a moment before reaching for the clothing on the floor. The candle sputtered, its wick nearly spent. In the faltering light I looked through the contents of his pockets and found train tickets in his vest. They indicated a circuitous route, and I memorized dates and names of cities. I returned them to his vest just as the candle burned out.
When Hanchin awoke, we got dressed and together we stuffed the bedding back into the armoire. We emerged to a waning moon and rustling leaves. Gently he pushed open the orchard door.
“I’ll send for you. Take care of my manifesto.”
I clung to him, weeping silent tears that darkened the front of his tunic. He wiped my eyes with his handkerchief and pressed it into my hand.
“I’ll send for you,” he repeated. “Be patient.”
***
If my betrothal to Baizhen had been a knot of dread that choked my heart, then parting from Hanchin was a knife wound that wouldn’t close. I cried all night and tried to get my emotions under control in the morning. When Gong Gong and Baizhen came home from the train station at noon, I was still in bed.
“I’m unwell. I’ve been sleeping poorly in this heat,” I said in a cross voice to Baizhen. Then I turned my back to him. He retreated, a bit puzzled, to his own room to unpack his luggage.
I got up for dinner and made an effort to appear interested in Gong Gong’s account of their trip. Infant Mountain hadn’t attracted a buyer.
“These days, only gangsters have money to spare,” said Gong Gong bitterly. “And they’re too busy trading profits for power to pay any attention to a pleasure garden out in some provincial town.”
“Did you enjoy your time with my sister and her husband?” I asked.
My husband and father-in-law grew animated and praised Gaoyin and Shen’s hospitality. For the rest of the meal, I didn’t need to say anything.
That night, despite his long journey, Baizhen brought me chrysanthemum tea to cool my qi and damp towels for my forehead. Thankfully he didn’t stay in my room after delivering them. The next night, however, he did. I tried not to think about Hanchin as my husband moaned and thrust into me, pulling my buttocks up toward his hips.
***
The household returned to normal. Weilan once again shared her room with Little Ming, whose mother had recovered and no longer needed her constant care. I did the weekly shopping as usual, but never went close to the Thousand Wisdoms Bookstore.
In August we celebrated Weilan’s fifth birthday with a box of chocolates, a gift from Gaoyin. At the end of August Old Ming carried ladders into the orchard and we picked fruit. We filled baskets with apricots and peaches, stored away apples and pears, boiled misshapen and undersized fruit into syrups.
Baizhen and I went to see Sueyin’s latest film, another costume drama set in the Han Dynasty, another tragic role. My sister had chosen her own path and soon I would take mine and be with the man I loved.
“I would’ve taken you under the trees outside, under the moonlight. How beautiful you look with your hair down.”
Suddenly I felt shy. “I have a quilt for the floor. And a sheet. I’m sorry but the bed’s too old.”
I pulled out the rolled-up bedding from where I’d hidden it at the back of the ancient wardrobe amid a jumble of moth-eaten pillows and blankets. We spread it out on the floor. I sat down and looked up at Hanchin. Then he knelt beside me.
I was a married woman. My husband came often to my bed for the game of clouds and rain. But that night I realized that what I knew about the pleasures of the bedchamber wouldn’t have filled a thimble.
I’d been prepared to endure Hanchin’s weight on my body, his hands groping my breasts and buttocks, the sharp thrusts of his manhood. The only pleasure I expected for myself was the closeness of his body to mine, knowing that I had satisfied him. I wasn’t ready for the satisfaction of my own needs, for the skilful caresses that made my body arch against his.
“Does this please you, Leiyin? And what about this, how does this please you?” he whispered. I could only gasp in reply.
Until a beggar eats her fill she doesn’t realize how hungry she’s been all her life.
***
Immoral. Utterly immoral and shameful, my yang soul mutters. He stalks away to the far end of the terrace. But I smile because my mouth fills with the seductive taste of ripe fruits: sweet plums and cherries.
Hanchin was so desirable. My yin soul stretches, arching her back—a bit voluptuously for one so young, I think.
And so experienced, I say, suddenly recognizing what I had witnessed. Why didn’t I ask myself how he knew so much about giving pleasure?
Because you believed it was love that made the difference, says my hun soul. You thought it was love that made your bodies so pleasing to each other. It’s understandable because sometimes it’s true. It gives me a patronizing tap on the head.
In this case, was it true? Did he love me? He must have loved me, to risk a rendezvous when there was so much at stake. Not just us, but also his manuscript.
My souls don’t reply and the memories flow on.
***
“I loved you the moment I saw you, Hanchin. How did you feel about me?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Again, a mischievous note.
I covered his face with kisses. “Even though we barely had any time alone, every time we met, I felt more certain you cared. Why did you leave Changchow? I ran away from home to find you and you were gone.”
“Your brother told me about your marriage the day I got the offer to teach. I left because I had the chance to make a difference. Directly, not just through my writing.”
“I would have gone with you.” I insisted, filled with regrets. “I wanted to be a teacher, to be worthy of your love. To be a partner who could work with you to transform China. I would have used my dowry to help you set up schools for peasants.”
“A nice dream.” Condescending. As though teasing a child.
“Yes, a dream, because my father never would have let me marry you,” I said, somewhat annoyed at his tone. “So why did you flirt with me?”
He kissed me again, caressed my thighs. “Let’s just say I couldn’t help myself. You were so . . . irresistible.” His low laughter, my helpless need for his touch.
I rested my head against his chest, tucked myself under his chin.
“Tell me everything, from the time you left Changchow.”
I learned that for a year he had lived in Soochow, using it as a base for travelling to small towns and rural communities in Jiangsu province. Then for a while he ran a school in Jiangxi province, where he and an assistant taught adult peasants how to read.
“I could have been of use,” I said, envious of the person who had worked alongside him. “I’ve devised ways to teach my . . . to teach adults how to read. With methods more suitable than lessons designed for children.”
“Alas, that school is no more,” he said lightly. “We ran out of funds. But I’m not surprised you found a way to put your ambitions to work.”
I glowed from his approval. “Do you remember the last letter you sent me? You wrote that the most important thing was to keep seeking knowledge. Even here, in this small town, I read everything I can find.”
“The written word endures longer than anyone realizes. Words are a powerful tool for winning the war. ”
I felt like I was in heaven, sitting there on a pile of old blankets, musty pillows between our backs and the wall. I rested my cheek against his shoulder.
“You always wrote your articles so carefully, never any direct criticism. Why did you write such a blunt piece in that final issue of China Millennium?” I had to ask. “Now you’re on the run.”
“We knew it was only a matter of time before we were arrested. There was a spy in our midst. We all decided that we might as well print a final issue that spoke without equivocation.”
“A spy!” I shivered. “Did you know who it was?”
“Yes. I knew him and used him to our advantage for a while. But I played his game too long and now so many people will suffer because of my overconfidence.” Even in the wavering candlelight, I could see the troubled lines on his face.
“You mustn’t feel that way, Hanchin. You can’t foresee every danger.”
Almost absent-mindedly he reached over to stroke my naked breasts and I shivered again, this time with delicious anticipation.
***
Hanchin couldn’t come to me every night, of course. He and Young Wang organized clandestine meetings where Hanchin spoke to sympathizers about what the Communist Party would do for ordinary people.
“If you don’t hear me in the alley by midnight, I won’t be coming,” he had told me one night. “Some of these meetings continue until dawn. We’re recruiting for the Party.”
“Let me attend your meetings,” I begged. “I want to know more.”
He propped himself on one elbow to look down at me and laughed.
“Leiyin, you of all people can’t come. You must be my secret. How else can you hide my manuscript?”
“But you’re taking a risk by speaking at these gatherings at all. You’re a wanted man.”
“I’m not using my own name. No one in Pinghu knows what Yen Hanchin looks like. They won’t associate the clerk at the bookstore with the Yen Hanchin who writes political editorials.” He seemed confident, but I had my doubts.
“Then don’t leave Pinghu, Hanchin. Please, stay where no one knows who you are. Stay with me.”
He didn’t reply, but instead lowered his face to my belly, lips parted.
***
On the nights I couldn’t be with Hanchin, sleep eluded me. I wanted him by my side, remembered his hands on my body until I was ready to cry with frustration. Once or twice, hearing sounds in the alley, I ran out to the orchard to find the cottage empty and the side door locked. When we did meet, the dusty cottage was our haven, but an hour or two was all that I dared.
After lovemaking, he would doze sweetly. I held the candle over him and moved the light along his folded limbs to learn every inch of his face and body. When he awoke, we talked. I wanted to know everything about him, to make up for all the time we had lost.
His life could have been so much easier. His family had ties to the Liu clan, albeit a connection so slight it was tenuous even in the extended hierarchy of Chinese families. Hanchin’s grandfather had shared a tutor with Judge Liu’s father, making the two elderly gentlemen classmates and friends as well as distant cousins.
“While Judge Liu’s father lived, we were invited to Liu family gatherings,” he said, a hard glitter in his eyes. “We sat at the edge of the dining hall, arrived and departed with the other poor relatives through side doors, never the main gates.”
Old Master Liu had promised Hanchin’s grandfather a loan to pay for Hanchin’s education. But then Old Master Liu and Hanchin’s grandfather died in the same year, just before Hanchin finished high school. The invitations ceased and along with them, any mention of a loan.
“Why didn’t your father remind the Judge of this promise?”
“My father said we were poor but we didn’t need charity. And I wanted none of their money either.”
Moonlight shone through the empty windowpanes, a cold radiance that matched the expression on his face. I imagined how he must have felt as a boy, his glimpses into the opulent lives of the Liu family, and returning to a home where poverty hid behind a brittle facade of genteel sophistication.
“The Liu estate burned down two years ago, you know, when the Communist army invaded Changchow.”
“Yes, I heard.” He smiled and it frightened me, something scornful and knowing in his face. Then his features smoothed out and he pulled me closer.
“Men like Judge Liu are the reason we need to build a new China, Leiyin. A country that the rest of the world will respect. You could make a difference to that new China.”
I nodded, remembering how I had felt as a teenager, the intoxication of discovering a purpose greater than my own blinkered life. I remembered reading Madame Sun Yat-sen’s essay out loud with Nanmei, her words lending us courage and stoking our ambitions. It was a bright and hopeful horizon I had thought forever lost to me. I gathered my courage and sat up to face him.
“Hanchin, when you leave Pinghu, I want to go with you.”
***
My yang soul shakes his head, his judgment clear. He doesn’t need to speak—a rancid taste saturates my mouth, making me want to retch. The sickly sweet smell of rotting fruit fills the air, my yin soul equally unhappy with what we’re seeing.
I’m astonished at my rash words. At the same time, I remember how absorbed I had been in the small world of the dilapidated cottage, my compulsive need to be with him, my endless desire, and the bright horizon of a life outside this small town.
It was like an illness, a form of insanity that came over me, I tell my souls. Each waking minute was an exercise in restraint, for I wanted nothing more than to run over the bridges and canals to the bookstore. Our need for secrecy only added to the excitement, doubled my desperation to be with him. I couldn’t give him up, I just couldn’t.
To the point where you were willing to leave your daughter behind? Those words from my hun soul are gently spoken, but they make me flinch.
No, no. I can’t believe I would have done that. I would have come to my senses.
***
Each day I watched for signs that I’d been seen during my midnight outings, but Dali’s plain face never changed, Mrs. Kwan gave me no curious glances, and Weilan never voiced any awkward questions. I bathed carefully every morning to remove the traces of lovemaking. When Little Ming brought the bucket of hot water for the wooden tub, I would complain that the heat made me perspire uncomfortably at night.
“Yes, Young Mistress. I can hardly sleep either in this heat wave.” She looked tired, but her smile was joyful.
“How is your mother?”
“She’s recovering slowly, Young Mistress.”
“There’s no need to rush back,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. “Stay with her until you’re sure.”
I was torn between taking Weilan with me when I left with Hanchin and leaving her in a place I knew would be safe. One moment I couldn’t imagine being separated from Weilan; she simply had to come with me. Then I’d worry. It was too dangerous. I had to leave her here and hope that she’d understand and forgive me someday, when the war was over, when she was older and we saw each other again. But always, I wavered. I spread clothes across my bed, hers and mine, picking out the best ones for travel, the most rugged, the lightest and warmest, for what I knew would be an arduous journey. Little Ming thought I was inspecting them for moth holes.
I was frantic knowing that Hanchin was almost ready to leave our town. He hadn’t yet agreed to let me travel with him.
“I can endure anything if we’re together,” I told him. “I’m not the schoolgirl you knew in Changchow.”
“Leiyin, I’m on the run. If I’m caught, you’ll be arrested with me.”
“They won’t be looking for a couple. They’re looking for a single man.” A young family would be an even better disguise, but I didn’t mention Weilan. One step at a time.
“We love each other, Hanchin. So many wasted years, you said so yourself. We can’t ever be apart now.”
My hand slid down between his legs and I felt his heartbeat quicken.
“You can’t wander all over the province with me, Leiyin. I won’t be taking a direct route. Besides, who will look after the manifesto?”
He was right. I had made a promise to safeguard something he valued more than his own life.
“Then send for me when you’re safely behind the front lines. Promise me.”
I sat up and straddled him, lifted his hands to cup my breasts. His breathing grew heavier.
“All right. I’ll send for you. But promise you’ll stay here and keep the manuscript until the courier comes.”
He handled me roughly, but I didn’t mind.
***
Gong Gong and Baizhen sent a telegram letting us know their return date. Old Ming’s grandson would meet them at the train station with the donkey cart. My stolen hours were coming to an end for another reason: Hanchin had completed his manifesto and was preparing to move on.
On our last night together, Hanchin brought me an envelope sealed with red wax.
“Please, don’t open it. If the seal is broken, our agents will think the network has been compromised.” All the lightness and teasing were gone from his voice, his expression severe.
“I won’t. I promise. And I’ve thought of some places where I can hide it.”
“Now listen carefully, Leiyin. When I get to my next hiding place, I’ll arrange for a courier to come get the manifesto. After I reach Chinese Soviet territory, I’ll send another courier. He’ll bring you to join me. It could take a few weeks. In the meantime, be patient and trust me.”
“I do trust you,” I said, kissing his neck. “I’ll keep your document safe. But how will I know who the courier is?”
“The courier will know you. It’s better if you don’t know.”
“What route will you take to the front lines? I want to know,” I begged.
“It’s better if you don’t know,” he repeated. “Even my train tickets were purchased by other people.”
We made love for the last time. My hands ran over his body voraciously, I coaxed and kissed him wherever my mouth could reach. Afterward, I was exhausted, but could not fall asleep. I gazed at him as he slept, thinking that if only I knew the route he would be taking, I could pay attention to news from those places, reports of unrest or fighting. I needed to know.
I hesitated for only a moment before reaching for the clothing on the floor. The candle sputtered, its wick nearly spent. In the faltering light I looked through the contents of his pockets and found train tickets in his vest. They indicated a circuitous route, and I memorized dates and names of cities. I returned them to his vest just as the candle burned out.
When Hanchin awoke, we got dressed and together we stuffed the bedding back into the armoire. We emerged to a waning moon and rustling leaves. Gently he pushed open the orchard door.
“I’ll send for you. Take care of my manifesto.”
I clung to him, weeping silent tears that darkened the front of his tunic. He wiped my eyes with his handkerchief and pressed it into my hand.
“I’ll send for you,” he repeated. “Be patient.”
***
If my betrothal to Baizhen had been a knot of dread that choked my heart, then parting from Hanchin was a knife wound that wouldn’t close. I cried all night and tried to get my emotions under control in the morning. When Gong Gong and Baizhen came home from the train station at noon, I was still in bed.
“I’m unwell. I’ve been sleeping poorly in this heat,” I said in a cross voice to Baizhen. Then I turned my back to him. He retreated, a bit puzzled, to his own room to unpack his luggage.
I got up for dinner and made an effort to appear interested in Gong Gong’s account of their trip. Infant Mountain hadn’t attracted a buyer.
“These days, only gangsters have money to spare,” said Gong Gong bitterly. “And they’re too busy trading profits for power to pay any attention to a pleasure garden out in some provincial town.”
“Did you enjoy your time with my sister and her husband?” I asked.
My husband and father-in-law grew animated and praised Gaoyin and Shen’s hospitality. For the rest of the meal, I didn’t need to say anything.
That night, despite his long journey, Baizhen brought me chrysanthemum tea to cool my qi and damp towels for my forehead. Thankfully he didn’t stay in my room after delivering them. The next night, however, he did. I tried not to think about Hanchin as my husband moaned and thrust into me, pulling my buttocks up toward his hips.
***
The household returned to normal. Weilan once again shared her room with Little Ming, whose mother had recovered and no longer needed her constant care. I did the weekly shopping as usual, but never went close to the Thousand Wisdoms Bookstore.
In August we celebrated Weilan’s fifth birthday with a box of chocolates, a gift from Gaoyin. At the end of August Old Ming carried ladders into the orchard and we picked fruit. We filled baskets with apricots and peaches, stored away apples and pears, boiled misshapen and undersized fruit into syrups.
Baizhen and I went to see Sueyin’s latest film, another costume drama set in the Han Dynasty, another tragic role. My sister had chosen her own path and soon I would take mine and be with the man I loved.
