The first time she went to bed in Sasha’s arms, she noticed, as she caressed his body, how fair his skin was—almost transparent—and that his muscles were slight and soft.
He was only a boy.
Running her fingers gently through his hair as he lay lost in deep sleep, his hand resting on her breast, she was astonished to discover that his feather-light hair was not evenly colored. This amused her, and teardrops fell from her eyes. She saw too—what his eyeglasses normally kept hidden—the long, fan-like lashes over his eyes and the delicate flanks of his nose, which twitched faintly. She felt remorse at taking advantage of him, but, lacking an alternative, she could only apologize to him silently. She comforted herself with the thoughts that he did not have parents to answer to, and that, sheltered by his position as the heir to veteran revolutionaries, he could afford to take this rap. At the same time, though, Wang Qiyao found Sasha intimidating. She had not expected the child-like Sasha to be so experienced with a woman’s body; he was obviously well practiced, and she nearly lost control of herself. She was not a novice herself when it came to men, but Director Li was in the distant past, and intimacies with him, always rushed, had left little impression on her. Moreover, she was young then and was much too preoccupied to pay attention to her own sensations. With Kang Mingxun she had had to play teacher. Sasha was the first man who made her feel the thrill of being a woman, yet that thrill was somehow repulsive to her. During those moments a thirst for revenge overrode her guilt and she could only think,
Sasha, you deserve every bit of this.
When she told Sasha about her pregnancy, suspicion flickered in his eyes. He started to ask incisive questions that showed he knew nearly as much as any gynecologist. Traps were laid for Wang Qiyao, but she was careful to sidestep them, and there was nothing he could do. She marveled inwardly at his calmness. This was certainly no Kang Mingxun. It was fitting that he, of all men, should own up to the responsibility. After all the questioning was over, Sasha still did not believe her, but he kept quiet. They continued their dinner and went on to bed.
Later Sasha, sprawled on the bed, placed his ear to Wang Qiyao’s belly. When she demanded to know what he was up to, he giggled. “I’m asking the baby its name.”
“Well, you won’t get an answer out of her!” Wang Qiyao retorted.
They spoke in double entendres because what they really wanted to say was out of bounds. All Wang Qiyao knew was that this time Sasha came into her with unusual force and her own climax was correspondingly intense—all of which made her feel that he truly deserved what was coming to him, and her conscience was eased.
For the next two days Sasha made no allusion to their discussion, behaving as if nothing had happened. Wang Qiyao could not restrain herself from asking, “What are we going to do?”
“What’s the hurry?” Sasha casually replied.
Wang Qiyao was compelled to suppress her impatience and play along with him, but she was determined not to let him get away. Anger allowed her to see matters in simplistic terms, and she was able to joke: “Let’s have this child and take it with us to Russia to live on bread.”
“And what if the child prefers Chinese pancakes and fried dough to Russian bread?” Sasha rejoined.
Half suspecting that her secret had been discovered, Wang Qiyao did not dare carry the joke any further. However, her resentment gave her strength. Meanwhile, two more days went by. Sasha came as usual and, after lunch, sat picking his teeth. As the sun shone on his face, one could see the tiny blood vessels beneath his skin. After a while he nonchalantly announced that he would take her to the hospital the following day.
“Which hospital?” Wang Qiyao asked.
“The one in Xujiahui.” He said he had made a special effort to find a doctor who had studied in Russia. Feeling that an enormous load had suddenly been lifted off her shoulders, Wang Qiyao heaved a sigh of relief, and was then struck with a spell of dizziness.
They took a public bus to the hospital. Sasha—deliberately it seemed—let two buses pass by before taking the most crowded one. Wang Qiyao rarely went out, much less took the bus. Not being used to pushing and shoving, she let other people go ahead of her. The door closed behind her as she got on board, pinching her heels. By that time Sasha had made his way deep into the crowded isle, out of Wang Qiyao’s sight. There she stood at the door, unable to move forward or backward, pushed and grumbled at by all the passengers getting on and off. By the time she got off at Xujiahui, her hair was disheveled, a button had fallen off her dress, and her shoes were dirty from being stepped on; she was beating back the tears and her lips were quivering. Sasha, the last to emerge from the bus, asked her how she was feeling. She gritted her teeth, swallowed her tears, and said she was all right.
Quickening her steps to keep up with him, she made a point of always getting ahead of him, as if to say, “Don’t you even think about getting away.” Sasha, who had a few more tricks left up his sleeve, was compelled to get down to business. They found themselves at the imposing gate of the hospital, which was marked with a red cross. Sasha led her twisting and turning down many a corridor before they found his friend, the resident doctor, who was resting in his office, having just finished his rounds. He stepped in first to talk to the doctor before motioning for Wang Qiyao to come in. Wang Qiyao, seeing that the doctor was a man, blushed with embarrassment. He asked her several questions and told her he needed a urine sample before the examination. Wang Qiyao wandered furtively around the building like a thief, too intimidated to ask where the restroom was. When she finally found it, a janitor was cleaning it and she was forced to wait outside. As soon as she entered, she was overcome by the harsh smell of Lysol and began to vomit, though nothing but acrid liquid came out. Soiling the freshly scrubbed bathroom filled her with shame and dread. She started to cry, so hard that she was afraid all the pent-up grievances inside her might explode in a scream of anguish. Stuffing her handkerchief in her mouth, she doubled up, racked with spasms of sobs. The back window, on which she leaned to steady herself, offered a vista of undulating rooftops. On some of them, rice was spread out on mats to dry. The sun shone on the rooftops, even on the grains of bug-infested rice. A flock of pigeons rose and glided in circles, their wings flickering in the light. Wang Qiyao stopped sobbing, even though her tears continued to flow. The pigeons wheeled round and round, up and down, growing more distant and then closer, like seagulls soaring over the ocean of rooftops. Wang Qiyao straightened up, wiped away her tears, walked out of the bathroom, and went downstairs.
Sasha did not return to Wang Qiyao’s apartment until two o’clock in the afternoon. She was giving an injection to a patient, and had another one waiting. On the table, the blue flame of the alcohol burner was licking the box of needles. Her sheets and bedding had been taken off the bed and were being sunned on the balcony, the floor had just been mopped, and the furniture was freshly wiped. Wang Qiyao herself had changed into a blue smock with white polka dots, her hair was neatly combed and tied back in a pony tail—she looked like an entirely different person. When Sasha entered, she asked if he had had lunch and offered him some water. In the presence of strangers, Sasha had to stifle his anger. He had no idea what Wang Qiyao wanted out of him. As soon as the patients left, he sprang from his chair. He was still smiling as he asked her what she had against that doctor that made her run off as soon as she laid eyes on him, not even bothering to tell him she was going. Wang Qiyao tried to explain by saying that after she had gone to the bathroom, she couldn’t find her way back to the doctor’s office. Sasha said it was his fault, he should have gone with her to help her find her way. Wang Qiyao insisted that she should take the blame; she always had a terrible sense of direction.
“Getting mixed up about where you are going isn’t so bad ...” replied Sasha, “but you should be careful about getting mixed up about the person you should be with.”
At that, Wang Qiyao stopped talking and flashed an awkward smile. She paused for a moment before asking Sasha if he wanted anything to eat. Sasha twisted his head away sulkily and said no. The blue tendons on his neck were bulging. His behavior reminded Wang Qiyao once again that he was still a child, four or five years younger than she and Kang Mingxun, who had conspired to take advantage of him. She went over to fondle his silky, feather-soft hair, which brushed gently against her palm. They were both silent.
There was a long pause. Then, avoiding her gaze, he asked, “Just what do you really want from me?”
These heart-wrenchingly bitter words carried a plea. Wang Qiyao realized that, as much as she had been wronged, she had not been dealt as bad a hand as Sasha. But she was helpless, whereas Sasha had options. Her hand lingered in his hair and she marveled at its colors.
“Sasha, do you know the old saying, ‘Husband and wife for a night, husband and wife for life?’” she asked.
Sasha kept quiet.
“Sasha, don’t you want to help me?” she prodded gently.
Sasha rose to his feet in silence and left the room, softly closing the door behind him before descending the stairs.
Sasha was truly in a wretched state. He could not understand how everything had happened, but somehow his world had suddenly been turned upside down. One might be tempted to think that Sasha, being a half-breed, was heartless. But deep down, half-breeds also have feelings and know right from wrong. He realized that Wang Qiyao had entrapped him and this enraged him, but he also pitied her. He walked briskly along the street, aimlessly, utterly frustrated. Everyone else looked happier than he was. He could not obliterate from his mind the image of Wang Qiyao’s face, bloated, tear-stained, and marred by freckles from her pregnancy. And though he knew that her tears were aimed at trapping him, he still felt sorry for her. Tears welled up in his eyes and he felt haunted by an oppressive feeling.
He eventually grew tired from walking, his stomach started growling from hunger, and his throat was parched. He bought himself a piece of cake and a bottle of soda; he had to return the bottle to the vendor, so he ate standing next to the counter. He heard someone referring to him as “foreigner,” which gave him a certain satisfaction. His spirits lifting a little, he returned the bottle and decided to visit a woman from Russia he was friends with. Her place was several trolley stops away. The trolley bell cheered him up. It had turned out to be a beautiful day, the sun still bright at four in the afternoon.
When he got to her door, he was greeted by the odor of floor polish. Inside, all the furniture was pushed against the walls, chairs were placed upside down on the table, and the floor was as shiny as a mirror. The Russian woman was so happy to see him that she lifted him up in her arms and set him down in the middle of the room. She took a few steps back, declaring that she wanted to take a good look at him. Standing in the middle of the shiny floor, Sasha looked small, like a puppet. She commanded him to stand still and, humming a Russian song, danced around him. The whirling and twirling left Sasha a little dizzy and impatient. Laughingly, he ordered her to stop. Then he moved to the sofa and lay down. He was so tired he could scarcely open his eyes. With his eyes closed, he felt the warmth of the sun on his face and the sweetness that comes with fatigue; he also felt the woman’s exploratory fingers on his body, but he was too exhausted to respond and fell fast asleep. When he woke, the room was dark; only the hall was lit. Smells of onions in borscht wafted from the kitchen, a greasy, pungent odor. His friend was talking in whispers with her husband to avoid waking him up. The furniture had been put back in place and the floor gave off a dark luster. His nose twitched and large teardrops fell from the corners of his eyes.
The following day, Sasha returned to see Wang Qiyao, They were both calmer. Sasha volunteered to find her a woman doctor if she wanted.
“Let’s just stick with that male doctor,” Wang Qiyao conceded. “At this point, what difference does it make if it’s a man or a woman?”
They exchanged smiles in which there was more than a hint of bitterness. After making an appointment, they returned to the same hospital, but this time they went in two pedicabs, Sasha in one and Wang Qiyao in the other. It was the same doctor, but this time he saw her at the outpatient clinic. He appeared to have forgotten all about the prior visit, asking Wang Qiyao the same set of questions, then telling her to leave a urine sample. As Wang Qiyao stepped out of the clinic, she noticed Sasha behind her.
“You are afraid I’ll get lost again, aren’t you?” she asked.
Sasha smiled, but did not turn back into the clinic, choosing instead to wait for her outside the door. A parade of women passed before him, some of them pregnant. Perhaps owing to his experience with Wang Qiyao, his mind began to wander and he imagined that every one of those women was dealing with the same unspeakable problems, in the face of which they all stood helpless. The thought oppressed him. Wang Qiyao returned only to say she had to go to the lab, and asked him to wait. She disappeared at the end of the hallway with the air of someone who had already accepted her fate. The arrangements went smoothly and a date for the operation was set. As it was noon by the time they left the hospital, she suggested lunch, and Sasha agreed. Being unfamiliar with the area, they walked around aimlessly for a while. The steeple rising from the Xujiahui Catholic church stood proudly against the blue sky, its sight filling them with solemnity. After walking on for some time, they finally found a restaurant and went in.