Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [189]
Mr. Henderson threw the glass down and stalked up the stairs. The wine dribbled along the crease in the white tablecloth as if the table had split in two and blood was oozing from the wound. “Daddy!” cried Jenny, and burst into loud sobs.
Heavy footsteps rattled the stairs as Mr. Henderson came down again. At the door, he took his coat from the closet, put it on and bent to tie his shoelaces. Kam Ho dashed after him and blocked the way. Mr. Henderson straightened up and looked at him. “I’m going to stay the night in a hotel,” he said. “Look after Jenny for me.” He brushed Kam Ho off as effortlessly as if he were a leaf, and went out. Kam Ho watched as his portly figure, carrying a small grip, was swallowed up by the deepening dusk of the street. It struck him that Mr. Henderson was looking rather stooped these days.
Jenny had stopped crying and was braiding her dolly’s hair. Kam Ho cleared away the wineglasses and mopped up the spilled wine. It was very quiet. The only sound came from the kitchen, where the stew bubbled away, its glug-glugs sounding like rich, oily farts. Kam Ho felt Mrs. Henderson’s eyes on him, needling him painfully. It was clear she wanted to talk to him, but just now, he did not feel like it. He let the needling go on.
“Do you think a man is capable of sticking by a woman, Jimmy?” she asked.
A simple question, but one that Kam Ho could not answer. He was twenty-three years old, but so far his emotional life had been uneventful, the only ripples in its gentle onward flow caused briefly by the Cantonese girl, Ah-Hei.
Behind him, Mrs. Henderson gave a short laugh. “It’s pointless to ask you, isn’t it, Jimmy. I mean, you’ve never known a woman, have you? I mean really known.…”
Kam Ho could feel drops of sweat beginning to bead his forehead and the tip of his nose. He was hot with embarrassment, the drops of sweat almost steaming. He felt the blood rushing to his face—he must have turned scarlet. Flustered, he went over to the stove and lifted the lid of the pot. It fell to the floor with a clanging noise.
“Mr. Henderson went off without any dinner,” said Kam Ho.
“Of course. But he’s not the only one. I’m hungry too,” said Mrs. Henderson.
That night he dreamed that the Hendersons’ dog had climbed in through the window and onto his bed. The dog’s red tongue began to lick him, slurping at his face. The dog was a great weight on his chest, and he could hardly breathe. He pushed and pushed at it, and finally woke himself up.
He opened his eyes and saw a pair of eyes gleaming at him in the darkness. There was a full moon, and its light filtered in through cracks in the curtains and caught the gleam, making the eyes flare blue. Kam Ho’s hair stood on end but a hand clamped itself over his mouth, stifling the cry of alarm he was about to utter. Another hand slithered through the opening of his pyjamas, exploring his chest then gliding down his belly until it finally reached the place between his legs.
Kam Ho felt as if his body was a fuse. The fingers played over him, setting him alight. The flames flickered back and forth. Between his legs, he grew rock hard. The flames licked at his thing and it grew fiery hot.
A groan escaped Kam Ho.
With an immense convulsion, he released a flood of hot liquid, startling them both.
The fire died down, leaving Kam Ho feeling drained, emptied of all energy. But a feeling of ineffable pleasure lingered. He had the vague sensation of being light, of floating like a cloud in the sky. Almost, but not quite. Because something was pulling him down. As his eyes became used to the semi-darkness, he saw it was a nightgown with shimmering butterflies. He was filled with a sense of doom, and his teeth chattered in terror.
Two soft, moist lips touched his cheeks. A breath, which smelled of spearmint, skittered across his ears, and he heard:
“Jimmy, it’s not a sin to go looking for pleasure. Don’t be afraid,” she breathed.
He slept deeply after that. When he awoke, the sun was shining hot