People clap and, having waved to her admirers, she turns towards Min. The hard glint in her eye gives way to gentleness, and he responds with a smile. I get up and go over to join Jing and Huong. She is exercising her charms on him, talking about her family and her arranged marriage. She is watching him with unbearable intensity and he is fascinated, he can’t take his eyes off her. His face reflects curiosity and pity in turn. The fact that I am there makes him uncomfortable; he keeps glancing towards me and when he catches my eye he looks away, gives a little cough and resumes his haughty expression.
I wander round the garden, but I can’t shake off the crushing pain inside me. There are red dragonflies alighting on flower stems and flitting away in the last rays of sunlight. Through the bedroom window I can see the bed I lay in just yesterday, covered in that same crimson sheet embroidered with chrysanthemums. The sight of it hurts me.
Min waves to me. At last. In front of his friends he treats me like a little sister and laughs as he tells them how he saved my life. I let him crow; he is ashamed of me.
Jing has just started handing round the birthday biscuits. When it is my turn, instead of offering the plate to me, he stops and takes a leaf that has caught in my hair. Someone taps him on the shoulder and says, “Will you introduce me to your friend?”
I recognize the prophetess from earlier. She doesn’t wait for a response from Jing and addresses me directly.
“Hello, my name is Tang,” she says and goes on to ask me so many questions so quickly that I feel intimidated. She wants to know everything: where I go to school, where I live, how many brothers and sisters I have. Then, without a whisper of embarrassment, she lets me know that she has known my lover all her life-her mother works for Min’s family. She scribbles her address on a piece of paper and invites me to go round and see her.
I tell them that I am expected back at home, entrust Huong to Jing’s tender care and leave the party. Jing catches up with me on the doorstep, puts his hands on the door-jambs to block my way and thanks me for coming. He suddenly flushes scarlet and I realize that he really likes Huong. I feel peculiarly annoyed.
“Go back to the party. They’re waiting for you.”
In my pocket I find the handkerchief he wiped himself with the day he took me home on his bicycle. I take it out. I have cleaned it and embroidered his name on it.
“Here, a little present.”
Jing looks at the handkerchief and stammers, “I’m so glad I’ve met you. You’re special, you’re interesting… Min doesn’t deserve you…”
I ask him why and he stares right at me, biting his lower lip. I ask again, but he stamps his foot angrily and turns away.
It is hot and humid out in the street. The trees shine with moisture and the green drips from the ends of the leaves. The shop windows scatter their haphazard glints of the failing sun. Children run almost naked along the pavements, brandishing newspapers. To attract customers, they chorus: “Woman kills her lover! Body found by Buddhist priest!”
Just before I reach the house, Min suddenly appears and catches hold of my arms to stop me.
“Jing’s gone mad! What did he say to you earlier?”
“Nothing.”
“What did he say about me?”
“Nothing.”
Min is still not reassured, and he looks at me closely.
“He loves you,” he says, “he’s just told me,” and his words seem to pierce my heart.
“Leave me alone,” I say quietly.
“You’ll have to choose between us.”
“Oh, don’t make such a scene!”
“You can’t betray me. Your body belongs to me!”
“I’m free. I can give my body to whomever I like, even the devil!”
“Why did you say that? Why do you want to hurt me? You don’t love me!”
“Leave me alone,” I say again, “my sister’s waiting for me at home, I’ll talk to you when you’ve calmed down. Tomorrow I’m playing a game of go on the Square of a Thousand Winds. Come and pick me up at five o’clock.”
I have never seen Min in such a state: he is trembling, and I run off to get away from him.
48
After dinner we are ordered to sleep fully clothed, weapons to hand. At midnight we are woken by sharp blows of a whistle and I race outside.
Our unit divides into several sections and dives into trucks. We are told that the object of this operation is to arrest a group of terrorists who have gathered in the town this evening. We think that the infamous Colonel Li may be among them.
It is a heavy, humid night. Geometrid moths flap under the streetlights. In the wealthiest, most respectable district there are oil lamps lighting the imposing gateways. Suddenly there is a burst of gunfire. The terrorists know they are being cornered and are trying to escape; our scouts have opened fire on them.
A grenade goes off in a nearby road, and the smell of the powder makes me shudder. It is months since I have taken part in a battle: I have missed that sense of death.
We surround a huge residence. The rebels are inside, crouching below the windows, resisting our attack by throwing grenades. There are trees burning where their projectiles have fallen. The windows with their shattered panes are dark as the mouths of animal lairs.
The assaults made by our section have allowed one of our commandos to get up onto the roof, where he finds an opening. The fighting is over too quickly: I am only just warming up and I have to lower my weapon. The terrorists leave behind five bodies and eight wounded. The famous rebel colonel had the wisdom to take his own life before we broke in. There is much to plunder: in the cellars there are piles of rifles, cases of ammunition and stacks of Chinese currency that the terrorists have not had time to change into Manchurian money. We intervened just in time-a new insurrection was about to explode.
I count our losses: four soldiers and one officer have left their lives for the Emperor of Japan. There is something moving by the doorway of a nearby house: a soldier, hit by a grenade, is crawling along the pavement, taking long, agonizing breaths. His body is reduced to great chunks of mangled flesh, churned up with the shreds of his clothes. His entrails spew from his open belly. He gets hold of me suddenly and implores me, “Go on, kill me!”
He has had it. I know that this is how soldiers die, but I cannot bring myself to draw my pistol.
“Kill me, you bastard! What are you waiting for?”
I am not strong enough. I stand there with my hand on my pistol, feeling light-headed. The ambulance men run over and carry the injured man off on a stretcher, but he keeps on yelling, “Kill me! I beg you, please! Kill me!”
Back at the barracks I collapse onto my bed without undressing. The sleeves of my uniform are still wet with the blood of this stranger, who will die slowly and painfully in the hospital. His despair is haunting. I could not give him the gift of death, I was weak, a coward. Buddha would have committed the crime of deliverance. Compassion belongs to those who have strength in their souls.
My mother’s words ring in my ears: “If you have to choose between death and cowardice, don’t hesitate: choose death!”
49
I watch the moon through the window and the trees outside. In my mind, I see Jing again with his hands on the doorposts and a strange gleam in his eye. He is thanking me for coming.