Tiger's Heart (4 page)

After class, I walked outside to the corridor, leaned over the cement railing, and tried to cool down. I needed to stop thinking about Chi. Probably the look had meant nothing. Snowflakes were falling thickly. It had been a long time since we had had such a heavy snow. The first red blossom of the newly planted winter plum was gorgeous against the white. There was an old Chinese saying: a snow year, a rich year. My father will be happy with the good harvest, I thought.

Chi came outside too, followed by two girls from Room 208. The girls grabbed the snow piled up on the railing and started to throw snowballs at each other, laughing hysterically. I walked farther away from them. I was trying to push away the unexpected homesickness that was engulfing me.

A hand appeared under my nose, a candy wrapped in colorful plastic lying in the palm. “Want one?” I raised my head and saw Chi’s smiling eyes under very long lashes. I took his offering and ran back to my seat without saying anything. I felt the heat of his palm on the candy.

The next day was a Saturday. One of my roommates, Jean, told me that a guy from the same county as her, Gu, and Chi had invited us to see the snow-covered Tiger Hill. I put on my best khaki coat, brought a pair of black gloves, and headed out with her.

Though usually a popular tourist destination, Tiger Hill was deserted that day. We seemed to be the only four people in that world of ice and snow. Gu and Jean wandered off. Under the black umbrella Chi was holding, we walked silently with some distance between us. I dared not look at his handsome face and his soft eyes. On the top of the hill, he reached out his hand to me. My fingers touched his. The dancing snowflakes caressed my face, and I felt like I could barely breathe.

“Why didn’t you ask me out directly?” I said.

He looked at me and smiled shyly. “I don’t know. I was scared. It’s my first time asking a girl out.”

My heart was melted by this incredibly good-looking yet bashful man. I fell in love with him. Nobody had ever looked at me so gently or spoken so sweetly to me before.

From then on, we searched for each other’s shadows everywhere, in the cafeteria, the classroom, and the playground, and then we would blush and turn our heads when we found each other. In the evenings we stayed in our seats patiently in the classroom until we were the last two remaining in the candlelight. Then we sat in the dark and just gazed at each other. Sometimes he would light a cigarette and I would watch his face in the misty moonlight. We dared not stay in the classroom too late, since the school forbade dating, so we would wander together into the sleeping city night after night.

We just walked and walked, never tiring. Neither of us needed to talk. In the harsh winter wind, he wrapped the long white mohair scarf I had knitted for him around both of our necks and held me tightly. I wanted to be with him every second of every day.

Fish wasn’t happy that I spent so much less time with her now.

“Tiger, now I see that you’re one of those people who care about love more than friendship,” she complained to me half jokingly one day while braiding my hair. I had let my hair grow, and instead of wearing a ponytail, I had Fish make small braids on the sides and wore them like a headband. I was trying my best to look decent for Chi.

“I’m sorry, Fish. But you don’t know. . . .” I covered my face with my hands and moaned, “I love him so much that my heart hurts. He’s my first love.”

Fish rolled her eyes. “I just don’t know why you love him. He’s not that special. He’s so quiet and introverted. Does he have good grades? No, he has the worst. Does he play basketball well? No, he doesn’t even play.”

“Can’t you see how handsome he is and how ordinary I am?” I said earnestly.

Fish shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t think he is that good-looking. And, Tiger, you are not that ordinary-looking.”

The Spring Festival of 1992 was approaching. Chi and I were a little worried because it meant that we would be apart for a month while we were on vacation. We were also anxious about being separated after graduation. One night we sat quietly against a tree trunk by a river in the city, thinking about these tough times ahead. He caressed my shoulders for a while and then finally spoke. “Don’t worry,” he told me. “I’ll speak with my uncle. He’s a powerful man, and he’ll have both of us assigned to my county so we can stay together.” His county was Taichang, very far away from my home county, Wujiang. According to official policy, we would be assigned to our counties of origin.

His voice sounded uncertain but soothing. I pictured my future in that strange county with him, a man I was crazy about, and I found it a little difficult to believe. It seemed unreal, like the incredibly round, bright moon hanging in the corner of the sky. But I nodded my head.

That Spring Festival was the longest but easiest one I had ever experienced. My parents’ bickering became senseless noise to my ears, like the cooing of the chickens and the oinking of the pigs. The awkward dinners with Honor were easier to take. It was just like watching a ridiculous play on stage. I was calm and peaceful, although I missed Chi terribly. Spring was in junior high school by then and had grown taller than me almost overnight. She was quieter and nicer to me than she had been as a child, and she didn’t mind at all when I borrowed her new coat to wear at college.

The first night of the spring semester, Chi and I spent a large portion of our monthly allowances and bought two movie tickets. We hid ourselves in the last row and kissed each other frantically for the entire movie. I had never thought that I could love someone so deeply and completely.

4

ENGROSSED IN MY
love with Chi, that spring semester was the happiest time of my life. Soon it was April and starting to get warm. On his way home from a business trip, Honor visited me at college. As usual, he brought me fruits and snacks, and then he asked if I needed clothes for the warm weather. In the department store, I boldly picked a tight wool dress and some black stockings, two expensive and fashionable items I would never have thought of wearing before.

On a pleasant day the following week, I put on the dress and stockings. “Tiger, you look so pretty,” my roommates said. “Did your uncle buy it for you?”

“No, I bought it myself,” I said.

They had noticed the awkwardness between Honor and me long ago, and I always avoided talking about him.

A couple of guys from other classes whistled from the second floor as I walked briskly to the classroom in the spring breeze. My face flushed red instantly. I had never garnered this kind of attention before. I gathered my courage, raised my head, and looked up. I saw many faces looking down, and in the corner I saw Chi’s gloomy one. My smile faded. He looked angry.

That night when we were the last ones left “studying” in the classroom, he didn’t move closer to my seat like he usually did.

“Are you upset?” I walked over to him, worried.

He didn’t say anything.

“What did I do wrong? Is it because of my dress? Is it too tight?” I stepped closer. Of course he didn’t like seeing his girlfriend dressed so flashily in public. He was such a reserved person. I should have thought of this.

He gave a noncommittal grunt in reply. I had hit a nerve.

“Who bought you the dress?” he asked after a minute.

I hesitated for a second. “My uncle,” I told him limply.

“The man who always visits with your mother?”

“Yes,” I admitted. I knew he was waiting for me to tell him more, but I just couldn’t open my mouth to tell him about my mother the “pussy-seller” and my father the “wife-seller.” I thought he wouldn’t love me as much if he knew about my shameful family.

I looked at him desperately, afraid that I would lose him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t wear it again, I promise.” I put my arms around his neck and apologized repeatedly. He sighed and then he seized me by the waist and pulled me onto his lap.

We kissed each other until his hesitant hand groped its way under the dress and touched my chest. “I looked it up in the dictionary,” he murmured. “In English they’re called ‘nipples.’”

I wondered foggily why a guy would look that up. I was lying practically flat in his arms. His hand moved to my stomach and then paused. I saw his blushing face in the shadows of the window lattices, and his eyes were filled with eagerness, irresolution, and questions. I knew I would do anything for this man, the first person in my life to give me love. It was like a disease growing inside me that made me willing to give everything I had.

I put his hand on my knee and gave him an encouraging look. When his hand reached where it wanted to go, I felt both of our bodies tremble. His fingers on my skin were like an electric current, and a feeling of pleasure instantly spread all over. All was quiet and still except for the crickets chirping in the flower terrace downstairs and the excited panting in the English classroom on the second floor.

He unbuckled his belt and put my hand underneath his shorts on his flat stomach. I slowly slipped my hand down until I touched the center of his universe. I put my hand around it. It was hard yet smooth. It felt beautiful, just like the rest of him.

He carefully moved a few chairs out of our way, spread a layer of newspapers on the floor, and put his coat over them. The cement still felt cold under the coat. When he lay down on top of me, I held his lean body tightly. He felt strong and warm and safe. I closed my eyes, telling myself that I would never ever regret this.

He moved a few times on top of me, and then a waft of warm breath blew into my ear. “I don’t know how to do this.”

I moved my arm awkwardly in the air. It hit the wall below the blackboard and came back to the floor with chalk dust all over it.

“I think you need to support your body with your arms on the floor, and not entirely on me,” I suggested. I didn’t know anything about it either except what I’d seen when I was five and had woken up in our big bed to find my father moving on top of my mother. As soon as they noticed me, my father had giggled to my mother and then lifted the quilt over their bodies.

He tried a few times unsuccessfully, until finally he turned over, exhausted and discouraged. “It looks easy in the movies. I don’t know how to do it. Forget it.”

We lay still on the floor, staring at the flat tile ceiling in the dim moonlight. I wanted to tell him not to worry, but my mouth felt taped shut.

The embarrassment of that night remained between us, though we never mentioned it. Chi became quieter, but he still dominated my world. The physical intimacy made me love him even more. We went to movies whenever we could afford it and made out the entire time. I wished that he would try to make love to me, but he never attempted it again.

Gradually the differences between us surfaced, but I swallowed all my unhappy thoughts and tried my best to please him, naively thinking that the love between us would last for all eternity.

“Do you think you can learn to speak Mandarin?” I asked a couple of months later, while we were walking down the street. I was sounding him out carefully. He was the only student in the class who refused to learn Mandarin and insisted on speaking his rustic local dialect. Mandarin was our national language. Teachers were required to know it. Without saying anything, he jerked his arm away from mine and stalked off ahead of me, angry.

He didn’t like to study and missed classes all the time. He thought that no matter what, he would be assigned somewhere awful after graduation, so he did as little work as possible, like most of the students. I didn’t picture a different future for myself, but I was still a “good” student, obsessed with grades.

“With a cigarette after a meal, I’ll be happy as a god,” he always sighed contently.

“So you’ll be happy being a teacher your entire life?” I asked him one day.

“I’m not ambitious like you. I’m just ordinary,” he snapped, displeased. I looked at him ardently and thought to myself that a man with such a beautiful face couldn’t be ordinary, no matter what he thought of himself.

I thought he was unhappy just because he didn’t like college or was irritated with the hot weather. I was so headover-heels in love that I had never ever even considered the possibility of him wanting to break up with me. I didn’t see it coming at all, the humid Sunday afternoon when he asked me to meet him in the classroom. Cicadas were twittering in the poplar trees outside the classroom. After a long silence, he spat out, “Let’s end it like this.” I was shocked. Feeling like a knife was piercing my heart, I sat across the table and gawked at him, speechless, for a long time. His face looked thin and sallow, as if he hadn’t slept for days. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Why? Don’t you want me any more?” I felt like I had been dumped by the whole cruel world.

“No reason.” He lowered his taut face.

“You said you would love me forever.”

“Feelings change.” He spoke lightly, but to me his words seemed heavier than a mountain. No, feelings can’t change, I thought. Your love for me can’t change. Can’t change. It just can’t.

“Tell me if I did something wrong, please.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Are you falling in love with another girl? Is she pretty? Of course she’s prettier than me, isn’t she?”

“No, I’m not. We’re just not right for each other. I won’t date for two years. I promise.”

He sounded like a man who was just recovering from a serious illness.

I felt like I was living in hell for next several days. When Jenny reminded me to eat, I followed her to the cafeteria like a robot. She had to carry my bowl, fill it with rice and vegetables, put in front of me, and order me to eat.

But I didn’t. I just rambled nonsensically to her. “Why did he break up with me? What did I do wrong?” I clutched her arm. “I want him back. Do you think I can get him back? Tell me how I can get him back.”

Jenny whisked rice into her mouth, looking at me sympathetically. After she finished chewing her last mouthful, she sighed. “Look, you need to eat, and then you can go get him back.”

“Whatever, Tiger,” Fish interjected. “You should’ve dumped him anyway before he had the chance to do it to you. Now don’t cry. You go find a better boyfriend and let Chi cry.”

I barely heard any of their words. For me, it was the end of the world.

I still went to classes every day the week after the breakup, but Chi was never there. I sat through the classes silently, but on that Thursday during Listening Ability class I started to shake uncontrollably at my station while the earphones on my head played an excerpt from the BBC news. Jenny, sitting next to me, was frightened and whispered to me to go and rest; she wouldn’t put my name on the absent list.

I staggered to the deathly quiet dorm building. I paced the corridor on the first floor, staring at the unlatched door of the guys’ room, behind which I knew Chi must be hiding. Eventually I ran wildly upstairs to Room 207 and slammed the door behind me. I marched back and forth in the room like a mad soldier. I lifted the thermos and started to pour hot water into one of the aluminum cups on the table. Then I put it back down and squatted on the floor, sobbing to myself hoarsely. I knew I needed to do something to ease this pain, so enormous that I couldn’t handle it. I lifted the thermos again and poured the boiling water on to my wrist. Soon the skin turned red, and magically the roaring pain inside me started to vanish.

There were bubbles all over my wrist when I sat down next to Fish in the cafeteria for lunch. I smiled with bloodshot eyes and said that I was so stupid for having burned myself while pouring water. She gave me a penetrating look and then she said casually while placing some rice in my bowl, “You burned yourself on purpose, didn’t you?”

I forced an embarrassed smile to the concerned Room 207 girls sitting at the table. Then I concentrated on the rice bowl, not raising my face.

I wrote a very long letter to Chi, recalling the happy memories we had shared and begging him to give us another chance because I really would die without him. I ended this last sentence with three exclamation points.

The next day, I arranged to meet Chi that night, behind the cement moon gate next to the playground, where the gymnastic bars stood in the grass. All sorts of feelings welled up in my heart when I saw him. He looked surprisingly wan and his hair was a mess. So the breakup had not been easy on him either. Hope rose in my heart.

He played with a small rock with the tip of his foot. I asked if he had read my letter. He nodded.

After a long silence, I took a deep breath and asked him in a quivering voice, “Do you think we can have another chance?”

“I don’t think so,” he said simply.

I burst into sobs. “Why are you so heartless?” I shrieked.

I had brought all the letters and pictures we had given each other, and now I tore them apart and hurled the pieces at him. He dropped his head and stood still in the moonlight, looking helpless.

Finally, I realized that it was over.

I will never love again, I swore to myself as I ran back to the dorm. Love was all lies and betrayal.

For my remaining year at college, I lived like a shoddy actress, putting on a bad show for Chi, my only imagined audience. My sole goal was to prove to him that I could live very well without him and that in giving me up he had made the biggest mistake of his life. I hid the scorching pain inside myself and wore a happy face in front of people. I searched constantly for things to do, not allowing myself to be free for one minute.

I bought a small blue violin, and every afternoon I biked to lessons, even though I didn’t know how to read music. I took Japanese lessons every night for three months and then in the next month forgot all the syllables I had learned. I joined the basketball team, even though all I could manage to do was push and shove people without any respect to the rules. I took dancing lessons, and I took the bus every weekend to Suzhou University with Fish, the only girl in our room who dared to dance with strangers and have fun. I would sit nervously on a bench in the big sweaty-smelling dance hall packed with people, praying some guy would ask me to dance with him, but at the end of the night I always realized that nobody could compare to Chi.

I hung out with the boys from Suzhou University, pretending that I wanted to help their relatives with English or that I was there to learn kung fu, and I often found myself in their playground at the crack of dawn, flirting with some guy. Muddle-headed and driven by a relentless anger, I let a couple of lusty guys touch me, never paying attention until my underwear was pulled down to my knees.

I failed the Moral Principles class. I had never gotten a score below 90 before. I couldn’t help grinning to myself. Did this mean that now I was a person without morals? Even if it did, so what? Good morals wouldn’t bring Chi back to me. Good morals couldn’t decide which school I would be assigned to the next summer. Good morals could not change my fate to be an English teacher working for minimum wage until the day I retired. I had been born to a peasant family without any powerful friends or relatives. I was doomed to be assigned to the most remote school with the worst academic reputation.