At half past ten, her son came home. His glasses were askew, he was holding his school bag slung over one shoulder, and he looked subdued. It was obvious he knew he had been in the wrong. She acted as if nothing had happened. ‘Help yourself to the food in the wok,’ she said quietly. ‘Then have a wash and get ready for bed.’
He grunted in reply and went to eat. He ate and ate. She stood watching him, as she had done now for many years. She was used to it, liked watching her husband and son eat. They enjoyed her food. But to her, no matter how good it was, it tasted like candlewax.
She spread out the quilt on her son’s bed and then got her marriage certificate out of the drawer. She needed it for the divorce. She needed to get all the documents ready, so that Lian had no excuse to back out. Once she made up her mind to do something, not even a team of oxen could pull her off course.
Before long, her son was asleep and snoring peacefully. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him, surprised that this little boy had grown up so quickly. A fuzz of whiskers was visible on his upper lip. He had his own fate, his own tomorrow, one that the people who had given him life were powerless to change. Not long ago he was kicking his little legs so hard she could hardly get his socks on. She still had those little pocket-sized blue socks in a drawer somewhere, but now they would only cover one of his toes. The tears started to flow.
It was two o’clock in the morning. In her room, she picked up the mirror again. There was nothing, just her tear-stained, puffy face. Then she caught sight of their wedding photo hanging on the wall behind her. The happiness they had shared then was long gone. Had it ever been real?
Happiness was this fragile. Fragile as crystal and glass, breaking when you touched it. No wonder they called it a crystal wedding.
She recalled what Di had said to her on the pier in Wan Chai. ‘Ten years, ten of the best years of my life, all for a resident’s permit. By the time I got a Hong Kong resident’s permit the island belonged to the mainland again. What was the point?’
Xian had changed too, morphed into a frustrated spinster. When Tianyi saw her now, she always said she had too much on. Sometimes Tianyi was tempted to say, ‘I know you’re too busy to talk to me, but do stop throwing yourself at men.’ Of course she did not say that.
The three girls had known each other since they were little. Found boyfriends, got married, divorced, one after the other. God had given them life and time to do things, but what on earth was it all for?
Why was she surprised? What were human beings when measured against infinity? They were so small, helpless, rudderless, fickle, anguished, stressed, depressed, deviant, useless, vacillating, acquiescent, self-betraying, self-negating, vile … She was all of these things herself. So was Di, and Xian, and Lian. Even Zheng, she thought.
She looked at her world-weary, battle-scarred reflection for a long while. Then, she felt a grim determination grow within her — she would endure, no matter what. As she sat thinking, the room seemed to grow brighter around her, to fill with a brightness like the lustre given off by a huge piece of uncut crystal.