Dreams of Joy - Lisa See [105]
Joy looks up to the moon, and so do the children. I too stare at the rabbit in the moon, forever pounding out the elixir of immortality. My wish is simple. Let my daughter continue to be happy.
AT THE END of October, Z.G. walks back into the village. That night, I pack my bags, thank Yong and Kumei for their hospitality, and promise Ta-ming I’ll send him books and paper. In the morning, Joy escorts us to the top of the hill. “Write to me,” I say. “When the fair in Canton ends, we’ll go right back to Shanghai. I’ll be close by, if you need me.” Then Joy watches as Z.G. and I make our way down the dusty path toward the main road. I keep looking back and waving, until finally I don’t see her anymore.
This is one of the few times in my life that I’ve been completely alone with Z.G. In the past, May was always with us. Since I’ve come back to China, we’ve almost always been accompanied by Joy. During these past months, Z.G. and I have gotten to know each other again. He is Joy’s father and I am her mother, and that links us on a deep level. Now that we’re by ourselves, I think we both feel anxious about what could happen. I’ve told myself I don’t want anything to happen. I love my sister too much, and I don’t want to upset the balance Z.G. and I have found with Joy, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say there is the awkwardness of expectation between us—first on the bus and then later on the boat to Canton. I don’t know what to say, and he doesn’t know where to look.
When we reach Canton, we check into a hotel—separate rooms, of course. We have a casual dinner with the rest of the Shanghai delegation—all strangers to both Z.G. and me. Toasts are made with mao tai, a fiery liquor. We eat bowls of noodles and then drink more toasts. Everyone laughs and tells jokes, and I’m reminded of when Z.G. and I were young and every night was like this. When it comes time to disband, I’m surprised by how woozy and light-headed I am. Z.G. is in even worse shape, weaving unsteadily down the hall to our rooms. We reach his door first. When he pulls me into his room, I don’t resist. I tell myself the mao tai is making me incautious and that I’ll leave in a minute. But the next thing I know, I’m in his arms and we’re kissing, fumbling at each other’s clothes, and pushing each other toward the bed.
I know, I know. A widow should never go with another man. She’s expected to spend the rest of her life in chastity. But I’ve loved two men in my life—Sam and Z.G. The love I felt for Sam stemmed out of gratitude, reliance, and respect. My love for Z.G. began when I was just a girl. He has been the big love of my life—the big passion of my life. May called it infatuation and maybe that’s true, but here I am and here is Z.G., and we’re both a little more than tipsy and we’re lonely for the people we really love. And, if we’re honest, men are attracted to women who are crazy about them, as I was for Z.G. in the past. Suddenly, it’s all so easy—the hotel room, our defenses down because of the alcohol, and the opportunity. No one knows us here. No one will ever know. And besides, wouldn’t it be strange if it didn’t happen? Still, we have enough wits about us to take precautions.
“I don’t want you to get pregnant,” Z.G. says.
“I can’t get pregnant,” I reply. Fortunately, he doesn’t ask why.
He has the sense to get up and get a towel from the bathroom. And that gives me a second to think. What am I doing? Then I watch him walk back to the bed. He’s naked and, you know, ready. A proper woman would look away, but I stare right at him, looking at everything. His body is beautiful. He slides the towel under me on the mattress so any fluids that escape will be caught there instead of on the sheets, which the chambermaids might report to the floor monitor, who, in turn, might push this knowledge to higher-ups. And then … And then…
He knows exactly where to touch me, saying, “I know the shape of your body because I painted it so many times.” I feel safe, forgetting for the first time what happened to me during