The Train to Lo Wu - Jess Row [34]
Take off the plastic, I told her once. The landlord won’t mind. It’s supposed to come off.
Plastic is fine. She slapped the cushion for emphasis. It’s clean. It doesn’t get wet. It doesn’t mildew.
But it’s uncomfortable. Your legs stick to it.
Don’t worry, she said softly, almost whispering. She was drifting off, as she often did; some Sundays she would nap for two hours in the middle of the morning. You know, Harvey, she said, her voice wavering with sleepiness, you’re too kind. You’re too good a person for this world. You should be more sensible.
I’m not so kind to everyone, I said. Only to you.
That’s what I mean. I’m not such a wonderful person. I don’t deserve it.
I don’t believe that.
Do you know how I got to Shenzhen? She sat up, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, and curled her legs under her. Have I ever told you this story?
No.
I bribed a transit commissioner in Zhengzhou, she said. To get a residence permit. He wanted two cases of Marlboros and a bottle of Suntory whiskey. I got fake cigarettes from a guy I knew in my college. The whiskey was the hard part. I had to save up for six months to get one small bottle.
It’s an unfair system. Why should you feel bad about that?
Not about that, she said. He was a huge, fat man—you know, so fat he could hardly fit behind his desk. His head looked like a balloon; it was perfectly round. And he had a mustache that grew black only on one side. When I gave him the cigarettes he opened the carton and started smoking one after another, at the same time he was filling out my form. He left these oily fingerprints all over it. And then, two weeks later, I heard he had a heart attack. Just fell over at his desk. And when I heard about it, I just started to laugh. I could see it so clearly. He was sucking those cigarettes so hard I thought he might keel over when I was there.
She giggled a little, and covered her mouth, but not so much that I couldn’t see her broad smile. You see? she said. Do I deserve your kindness, Harvey? A man dies and all I can do is laugh.
Lin, I said, I don’t blame you. If I were in your place I would have felt the same way.
But you weren’t, she said. You’ve never had to do anything like that. Why should you have to sympathize with me? I’ve never been able to understand that. I’m not so special. Why do you have to go to all this trouble?
Maybe because you don’t want me to, I said. I had meant it to be playful, but as soon as the words came out of my mouth I realized it was the truth. You’ve had so much unhappiness in your life, I said. I don’t blame you for doubting me. But I want to understand. Doesn’t that count for something?
She shook her head. You can’t, she said. It’s pointless to try. It’s masochistic. You know that, don’t you?
Tell me to leave if you want, I said. I felt suddenly angry; all the warmth had drained out of her face in an instant, as if she had willed it to. We’re not as different as you think, I said. My parents are gone. I know what it’s like to wake up and not know whether I’d rather be dead or alive. Don’t tell me that just because I have money I’ve never suffered.
Stay, she said. She reached up and motioned for me to come to her. I sat down on the couch, and she leaned over and rested her head carefully on my shoulder. Let’s not talk, she said. Talking just reminds me that I have to leave.
But otherwise we’ll just be strangers.
We’re strangers anyway, I expected her to say. She put her hand on my elbow, as if to keep me there. In a few minutes I heard her slow, steady breathing, and realized she was asleep.
Each time she came we kissed only once, just before she left, and over the weeks the kisses became longer and longer, until she dropped her bag of work clothes and stood in the doorway with her arms around my shoulders, tears starting in her eyes.