1.

Maybe I should take the wise tip and admit up front that I have had a hard life, a pathetic life, in case that some of you take me as a playboy. Oh, the heck, you can think in whatever way you damn please about me. Tough luck kid and nobody gave a damn, that was me. Life was nothing but fantastic horror when I was young, growing up in a small village in the outskirt of a small city. The contrast between the then guaranteed city life and country poverty in a matter a few kilometers was too much for any heart to bear. So we learned to keep our eyes shut from an early age. Before long my father died of an unknown disease, though some hinted that the shabby fertilizer first contaminated the underground water then entered his genetically weak lungs. My mother was worn out by two boys and simply dropped dead into the wash basin while washing my worn-out cloth diaper late at night.

All of my childhood friends carried the burden of this common threat from our parents, grandparents. "Close your mouth. Be quiet; if not, the wolf is coming to take you away." Our village was on the edge of a little range of truly meager mountains and vicious waters. When we were small and couldn't fend for ourselves, wild wolves seemed to come down more frequently to carry away chickens, ducks, geese, pigs, goats and lambs. And occasionally a stray toddler would be taken. So the threat was not pure balderdash.

As time goes by, it has become sadder that with the explosive growth of population in the area, even wild wolves couldn't make it in the meager mountains and vicious waters.

My childhood colors, whether I like them or not, were the yellowness of the earth, the barenness of the mountain and their reddish rocks. The little eye was hungry for bright and rich variety of colors but there was nothing that could capture his mind, his heart and his imagination. Then one morning there was a miracle. A truly magnificent butterfly, in the variety of tiger swallowtail, flew up from our garden against the dark gray backdrop of our family compost while I was half dressed peeking out of the bedroom window. In my whole life I had never seen anything this rich of color, full of grace and magic. Following the trajectory of its flight tightly with not only my eyes but my whole body and soul, I was absolutely mesmerized. The world seemed to become more beautiful with her grace. My heart almost stopped when she approached the opening of the window I was standing behind. Ah, she has come to me!!

That was when the tragedy occurred. As soon as she came in, she disappeared into the thin air. I searched all over the house and never found her again. I was already a quiet little fellow. Silence became me ever since. Nobody could make me smile.

Unlike my brother who hanged his outrage on his sleeves and went out to fight, to avenge and to challenge the law, the authority and his own and human sanity, I was quiet, silently taking in all the misery that life heaved upon my pathetic little life. Suffering was such a matter of fact that those flying bullets, cries from torture, cat screeches and dog moans didn't bother me a bit during the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution. They were all part of the daily routine. I had acquired an inner psyche which is embedded in chaos and horror. I would imagine that life without screaming and horror would be too quiet, or too flat if you will. Something would be missing badly. So you can see I become immune to pain and suffering. Thus those sleepless months to prepare for the college entrance examination amounted to nothing for me. I was well drilled for a marathon much tougher than that at the tireless age of 17. I took the monstrous examination with ease and passed it with grace. Great if I knew how to smile. But Dalian University of Technology accepted me nonetheless. I guess a pretty smile was not required at the time. It was a good university with a wonderful reputation. Most of all, Dalian is a bigger city than the city next to our village.

As the deep frost of the damn revolution was yet to thaw, there wasn't a soul within a hundred miles, the little city included, who made it to the college that year. A phoenix came out of a thatched hut and the world took notice and became awestruck. Many heads were turned. Maybe.

"You are lucky, son. If not for this damn stupid examination, you would still be nothing and would beg to kneel down to my boots of cow shit and to lick it clean for mercy." The local village leader, the bully, who just tortured many to death never had the habit to cover up his ugly tail of jealousy. Never in his life. That was, of course, before the law caught up with him and threw him in the slammer.
"Now, I am sure you don't want to marry my daughter because she has no city residency." His hateful eyes stared right into my dodging gazes. I was such a sissie.
"The heck, even though she is as ugly as the shit on the bottom of your boots, I'll take her for one night and returned her to you un-wiped early in the morning." My brother walked up and stepped on his toes shouting and it was hard to separate the two thugs. Both of them ended up in the jail and incredibly doing the same length of time which outlasted my college. So, no postcards for those two animals.

I heard every word of the thuggish trash talk but learned to be oblivious facing humiliation. It was a skill I also needed in college where those slick dressers and smooth talkers, or city slickers as they were called, would always like to point out something about my shabby image to show off their advantage, especially in front of young women. However, since I was drilled in humiliation of a much dirtier kind, I was largely unaffected by such childish behavior.

2.

In college, I was so sure that no girl would lay an eye on me, the humble-looking pathetic country cousin as I was from head to toe, that I trotted around campus with my eyes closed. Literally so. It was a strange feeling but it felt light, I can tell you that, to have no expectations at that young age. For a while I even grew unaware of the fact that we lived in a world divided by gender and at the age when hormones created extra pulls between the bodies of opposite sexes. But I managed, by sheer will, to escape the magnet field to become a free electron, or neutrinos to be more precise. Of course, I had no idea whether I should be congratulated or spat on as a loser. Probably the latter, as that was usually the case. Nor would I cry for that. The matter of fact was that when our desire was oppressed, or stumped into manure by horse feet, we learn to live with pitiful little or no desire at all. Our lives were cheap yet we managed to hang on, simply because we discovered that it is also hard and painful, if not more, to terminate a life, your own life. Trust me.

"I used to hate you, Lei Shengli." Whack! She slapped my face with her words. "Tell me where you got that expression of intoxicating indifference on your face when we were in college. You can't tell me that you were born with that. It embarrasses me to death to admit that the expression on your face was what lured me day and night for four years plus. Even now I still have dreams of your face which is not exactly handsome, you know. But at one point I almost tried to scream into your face to get your attention or to tell you to knock that f**ing pretentiousness off your bony earthy face." One of my self-claimed poetic and expressive female classmates from my college days told me years later when both of us were parents of a number of ugly kids living in America.
"Damn you, my dear. That was no pretension, you dumb face. Tell me this. Would you date me then?" I had shattered the shell of bashfulness that wrapped and choked my youth. I became thick-skinned, the inevitable result of living in this stupid world of ours.
"No way. You were too much an embarrassment for any woman. Don't you know that?"
"Of course I know that. You are all into your own pussy selves. Everything was for you, your this, your that. It was as if only your ugly face dreamt and the rest of us were hanging dry in the wind with no feelings, no desires, no value. We were hung up there to be picked or pitied or spat upon. But you. You wish to be tickled, to be pampered and to be loved. Only when it's time for you to love, you always find excuse to close your hearts. You were a bunch of chickens, too gutless to take any risks. You were so shallow and had no vision into the future. You always chose the face value and regret when things and people change. I bet you are damn unhappy with your husband now. How handsome he used to be and how lazy and ugly he has become. What an unlucky guy! Not many of you actually love, because love is hard work. You compete for what is ready made but never have the will to create. You want us to remember you as a poet, horse manure. Tell you this, I am damn glad you didn't come on to me because I had such a vulnerable heart and would have been the biggest loser of human history had you married me." I was a psychotic by then and even now, maybe. Who wouldn't after so many years of depression? Time toughens the heart. Of course, she and I took a vow not to see each other ever in the next few lives if we have life after. I felt good and relieved that I wouldn't have to bump into her ever again for as long as my soul is aloft.

Although I was sure that I had pretty much figured out all the girls who went to college with me, I had to pay attention to teachers when they stood in front of us delivering a lecture. Lectures were basically the reason we came to college. And the lecturers were mostly men. No hormone movement needed here for us straight guys. We loved some of the men who lectured us because they were good with the subject and could explain scientific and mechanical principles vividly, and even with humor sometimes. They loved to lecture us and we loved to be lectured upon. It was a good deal. Sometimes a lecturer was lousy and ugly and some of my classmates would fall into sleep in the lecture hall. That was when another exposition of my being not cool, for I could never sleep in a class to insult a teacher. Teachers had authority over me. Everyone had authority over me. So when the teaching became excessively boring, I sat there quietly digesting the misery accumulated in my heart over the years. One would think that the time I spent chewing the bitter stuff down should have prepared me for black coffee consumption late in my life. Misery tastes like double espresso, only bitter, I assure you. No sugar, ma'am. Yet I turned out a tea drinker. Kind of gutless or hopelessly conservative, I am sorry.

So it rattled everyone's cage, so to speak, mine included, when a tall, slim, fair-skinned and gorgeous young woman rushed into our class one day, out of breath, face red, forehead steamy and sweaty. Wan Fang was late and also quite nervous, as today was her first class after graduation and becoming an assistant lecturer in the university. Her job was equivalent to a teaching assistant in an American university today as we went to the big lecture hall and got lectured upon by a man of skinny figure, a full-blooded nerd from fingernail to toenail. The lecture took place on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. So on Tuesday and Thursday it was Wan Fang's turn to teach or tutor a small class of thirty by herself. But the social hierarchy of thousands of years in the making dictated that a tutor would have to stand in the front, talking or lecturing us, even though it was more like a question and answer session. Anyway, we held no qualm about the whole situation, for otherwise would be inappropriate actually. Anyway the first day was a little gut-wrenching for young Wan Fang. She came to the university as a member of the Workers, Peasants and Soldiers (W.P.S.) class. The examination system was abolished; instead, a bunch of working young men and women with junior high school or elementary school credentials came to college with the recommendation which recognized them as good young Communist loyalists who would someday serve the nation and the people, as opposed to corrupting the nation and be served by the people. Bourgeoisie, professors with good education and students with intellectual background, were looked down upon and spat on. That was the essence of the revolution, if you haven't caught up with the time. In terms of academic competence, most of us under class fellows felt that we could show Wan Fang a few things, except we were not in her major which was mathematics. Apparently her department did not wish to embarrass her and themselves thus dispatched her to teach us non-majors where she wouldn't meet any boy or girl genius to challenge her authority. Teaching is an exercise of authority, see.

When Wan Fang walked into our classroom, her nervousness grew because there were students who were older, much older than she was. And most of them were men. Men with advanced age seemed to wedge a sledgehammer in their sharp eyes over women in a male dominant society such as China. Those were not ordinary men staring at young Wan Fang. Those were guys and gals who went down to the countryside, to the Northern Wilderness, fought through snow, ice, wind, hail, thugs, wild animals and human dregs, life and sometimes death. They came back with hardened shells which could resist sharp knives. Or sharp knives could be made out of the shell they carried around. Those were over-grown human animals, sexually depressed and hungry, emotionally wounded and intense. Their stare was nothing short of a fierce jungle animal looking at its prey. They stared at Wan Fang, a young women in her middle twenties, and made her always feel that her pants were too tight or the fabrics were too thin and too weak.

Wan Fang stood there with a semi-see-through shirt with a shade of green and some imprints of pink and peach-colored flowers and a pair of bright green pants. Her figure was hardly contained by the clothes she had on; furthermore, she did not dress adequately as teachers were supposed to dress in low-key colors such as blue, gray, or brown. Even the dressing code was supposed to suggest seriousness and authority. And the style of her dress were a little earthy, or of low taste, especially the way she tied up her short hair into two little bundles with rubber bands. Her face appeared a little round or small and her hair style seemed to contribute nothing to her beauty but interrupt the flow of some tender lines behind her cheeks. Yet the remarkable thing was imperfection was more alluring than otherwise. A whole room of guys were exceedingly aroused by her under-sized shirts and pants which clearly brought to us a fully developed body that belonged to a factory worker not your typical college professor. And she acted like a young school girl, innocent and yet full of allure. All exposed, and all ripe and all inviting. Her beauty or sexuality was quietly loud. Above all, her lips which were rather thin and pink were trembling, that was probably the biggest attraction.

Patches of hue herded up by nervousness and insecurity only added charm, and seduction to her natural beauty. Wan Fang dealt a fatal blow to guys in our class who advocated that Southern girls and their soft lines were superior beauties to thus more pleasing human eyes than other types of beauty while a few "experienced men" tried to convince them that Dalian girls were the best in the nation as they were taller and slimmer with willowy limps, to which Wan Fang was almost a prototype. General argument or fascination could no long hold water when a living proof came in to revive all the dreams with vivid features and charm the the hell out of all the guys, and the otherwise inattentive me included. If anyone paid attention to me at the time, they would have never thought that my eyes were actually pretty large with youthful sparkles. Because of her, a few female classmates, especially those already into relationships with men of our class, grew uneasy and upset. So much so that they would argue with Wan Fang from time to time to make her feel inadequate, or under classed. But to her credit, Wan Fang could teach us math with plenty to spare. She was not as intimidated by her own gender as by mature and sharp men. She might be nervous under the staring eyes of men but she could hold her own rather well with women. To get where she was, she had stepped on a few of their shoulders to get here, so to speak.

Naturally the men in the class came to Wan Fang's defense. They pampered her, cheered her and made her feel special. She enjoyed that unique status and quickly felt at home with our class. It was an easy idea: men decided to have weekend gatherings, usually picnics of simple stuff and alcohol and a lot of the high volume stuff that makes one puke. Before Wan Fang they used to invite a few outgoing young women from our own class. But since Wan Fang became our teacher, she became the only honored guest as no one likes to deal with sour feelings of jealousy. Anyway, we saw her almost daily for a whole semester as she also attended the big lectures with us and often sat among the "tribe." Her face still reddened with little bubbles of sweat and rosy hue around her cheeks but she felt she belonged to us. Laughing and drinking and joking at our shabby parties, she did not mind that men "took verbal advantage of her." Those "explicit or lewd" words anguished me more than Wan Fang as I was secretly fantasying her when the dorm light went off. She didn't even mind that the top dogs of the class, men in their late twenties or early thirties, heaved their shoulders and thighs onto hers, a cultural no-no under any circumstances, except maybe the Northern Wilderness and our dormitory room with Wan Fang. She played the game with exceptional sportsmanship, I must admit. Maybe they had some behind the scene relations, who knows. But wait, those big guys all had their "old comrades" (girlfriends of the countryside days) and were semi-engaged. Wan Fang must be dumb, I thought. But I refuted myself because she was beautiful and also my teacher.

My heart experienced its first real pain when the thought that Wan Fang would never notice me passed through my mind. Nor would she ever remember me, though I was around in the classroom and in the dormitory room, just to catch her attention. For her I attended every one of the weekend parties, as I believed that she was the idol of my early youth, a dream that had no chance to come true. She was the testimony that I offered no contest to those smooth talkers and sharp dressers.

That was when I started to hear some music. No, no. Not grandiose pieces, I was still a country boy who never could grow that ear for excellence. I meant I heard a pop song. Some words started to enter my head. Love is sad but magical nonetheless.

"Where were you originated as a creature, my love? You're such a beautiful butterfly coming in through the window of my eye. How long will you stay with me? I have been waiting for you for a long, long time already ..."

3.

We grew up being taught that our world, the Communist ideals and all, was the righteous one. It has become something much bigger than ourselves later on in our life. When we are conscious, we never have the courage to smash anything in our head apart. To undo a revolution also needs tons of courage and maybe even craziness. And it has to start from "me" or my soul. It's painful because the deep cleansing may hurt all the elements that support this pathetic life. Ah, this is getting abstract. Let me just put it this way. My life has been turned completely upside down. It still amazes me that it's here in the sunny Southern California that I heard for the first time the names of Zhuang Zi, Lao Zi, Xun Zi and other old children of the Chinese culture, thought they might have passed through my ears like background Music coming out of the mouths of those against whom the revolution was particularly cruel. Of course I heard resounding noises about Confucius, and Han Fei Zi but not in your normal scholarly way. The frenzy of the revolution is like a pile of broken glass, every reflection is nothing but distortion.

Anyway, I am rather moved to witness that the Chinese culture has so many followers and enthusiasts in the West. Tang poetry is surely a big shot here. I am glad. And one day I went to a lecture given by a beard white professor, it was about Zhuang Zi and his butterfly. I can't say that was the defining moment of my life, because my pathetic life had been shaped, nailed down on a drifting wood long time ago. But the image follows me home and everywhere I go. I feel connected. Among all the schools of thought, I am like that nonchalant butterfly. Nonchalant but not dead yet. I have no other aspiration but hanging around to become a butterfly of short life. It's empty. But empty is also beautiful, if you can sit down to appreciate it. I feel that I have found myself. I start to like my culture, for it leaves room even for me, the pathetic me, the unattractive me.

Then one day my jaw drops to the ground when Wan Fang parachutes in a party on the campus of this little State University in Southern California. She, too, came to graduate school here, only a few years later after me. Never mind all the little details, she remembers my name, MY LORD. Not only that, she searches through the crowd, looking for nobody but Lei Shengli. That's me, your honor. I suddenly have the urge to embrace Buddhism and its Karma.

Staring at her splendid figure, I certainly doubt that I am the only person from her past who has trouble recognizing Wan Fang, my beloved teacher of yesteryear. None of the reason comes from the fact that she adopted the name Michelle. One can't help noticing that between Fang Wan and Michelle Wan there has been a major cosmetic success as the latter really takes on the identity of a movie star or a celebrity. Her hair, for example, is no longer short and in plain bundles but reaching her waist in a water cascade fashion, free and yet docile and graceful, shining and finely tuned under the bright Southern California sunshine. I had no idea that she was the proud owner of such a head full of magnificent silk. Her face is no longer as round as I remembered. Maybe age has prolonged her face or maybe she lets her hair loose now so that part of the skin around her delicate ears is covered thus makes her face appear narrower and longer. She is so fair.

Looking at her splendid smile, it pains me to realize that nobody knows how much beauty those gray days deprived us of. With only a touch of makeup, she could walk along any of the cover girls coming off a magazine for movie stars in China. Oh, those eyelashes, they are so long that she look like a kitten, instead of a woman, so mysterious and so alive as they close and open, open and close, touching each other ever so delicately. The weather in Southern California is always warm and magic as it brings the perfect natural profile out of everything and everyone. With Michelle, the world suddenly becomes rich of clearly defined lines and curves. I feel the urge to straighten up my back, the mysterious energy from under my feet. I, too, aspire to be beautiful.

Michelle has a little sleeveless green shirt on that day, still on the conservative side in comparison to native girls as some of the girls are semi-nude trotting their equipment around campus with this loud declaration "Look at me!" I got a twinge in my head seeing Michelle's arms of tender white exposed under the sun and shining against the background of the tender green of the lawn. I am having a hard time refraining myself from appearing dumb under her warm and devoted gaze. I become such a pig, feasting all over her body, and wanting to touch her arm. I became someone I dared not to become a few years back. She is so colorful, so graceful and so angelic that I have flashes of her as a beautiful butterfly, one that is immensely more butterfly-like than I could ever become. The amazing thing is that I don't feel sad that I could no longer be the butterfly. Maybe it is good that I have my sunglasses on, for I hate to show the stupid awe-struck expression on my earthy face to my favorite butterfly or woman in this world. On the other hand, just like the old days, Michelle doesn't seem to mind a bit about my eager stare. In fact, she seems to be happy that I am devouring her body with my famished eyes. By now I realized that she is someone special. In what way? I don't know exactly.

Thanks to the Chinese students association on campus which gathers us from time to time for a party; they may have political or other agenda but we get to meet friends. And some of us get married this way. And a million thanks to Michelle for coming out her way to look for Lei Shengli and found his humble self. It is deja vu for me, however. I still can't believe that this world who has cheated me so many times actually remembers to bring me the woman of my dreams. For someone as humble as I am, the woman of my dreams could only have unkempt hair in two tiny bundles. Yet ...

"Lei Shengli! What? Even you can't recognize ME?"
"You? I ..." My eyes grow really large in a matter of seconds.
"Wan Fang!" Her voice rises at the last syllable as part of the teaching habit. And my mind really scatters to "thousands of directions" as her name connotes.
"Aaaa" It's the chicken bone that gets stuck in my throat.
"You poor guy, let me help." She makes me bend down and smacks my upper back with perfect force to make me spit out the bone. I become a little purple and trying to catch my breath both from choking and the gorgeous sight of Michelle. Wow, I love the touch. She strokes my back with her soft hand like an older sister or long time lover. Maybe more of the latter. That touch keeps the rosy color on my cheeks and behind my ears for a few days. When I went home that night, I still see the layer of red blush on my face while brushing my teeth. Magic hand she has. And I couldn't stop my heart from pounding my chest. Boom, boom and boom. I am utterly lost about what to make out of this god-giving surprise.
"You have changed ... and become more beautiful." Slowly I am learning to master the art of flattery for women with the secret desire to change my single status. I have ways to go because my flattery falls short in terms of the necessary subtlety and grace simply because I started to pay attention a little too late. Life has passed me by everyday. Today, however, I am worried about my words, for I mostly speak of the truth or the true feeling from the bottom of my heart. Whatever Wan Fang feels is in now God's hand. Mercy, my lord.
"Hey, you are really sweet. Do you know that?" Maybe she likes what I says to her. Her face is getting red. That assures me this gorgeous woman is, indeed, my former teacher. Only in embarrassment, I can identify with thus recognize her. "You know, you have changed a lot, too, Shengli. If someone didn't point you out to me, I doubt I could recognize you."
"I know. I am no longer skinny. But you are so gorgeous. I almost fainted to see you smile at me."
"Oh, stop it. Look at you, you appear so confident and strong and masculine ... and also quite good looking. You never looked so good before." Both our faces turned red. I really like her compliments as my heart sped up. At close range, I discover that she is actually a little shorter and a lot frailer than I remembered. This comforts me, for I always remember how tall she was and I had to look up to her, literally, as she often stood up front lecturing. Whenever she sat down, I never had a chance to sit next to her to measure up. My head was too swollen to have a cool perspective anyway. Only years later today I feel some equality, that excites me.
"I go by the name Victor now."
"Of course, Shengli means victory thus Victor." She looks me in the eye approvingly and it is the first time that I see female eyes so attractive, expressive, tender and loving. I feel encouraged, I feel happy, but for what?

We had so much to talk and yet we almost talk about nothing as the crowd swarms around us. There is so much clamor. There are always men bugging Michelle. She is polite to everyone. A few of them stare at me wearing some kind of annoyance on their faces. At the end we exchange phone numbers and promise to call.

4.

Late that night the phone rings. That startles me because no one calls me this late. Ah, it is Michelle. My heart speeds up again.

"Could I come over and talk with you for a while? I don't feel comfortable talking on the phone as my roommate can hear me talking."
"Yes, yes. Come over." I am nodding my head off, like a chicken who just found a pile of millets on the ground.
"Is someone there with you?" Her voice becomes small.
"No, no, no. Just me. Just me here. " Not many people like to share room or apartment with me, because they say I am too strange. That suits me great.

We live in a small city and it doesn't take her long to drive over. She has a floral dress on which looks more like a sleeping gown, nice fabric and very alluring to the eye. Emerging from the darkness of the hall way where I am peeking behind the door at the far end, Michelle looks like a real butterfly flying to me. But wait a minute, butterflies don't work late in the night. She is more like a giant moth of many bright colors flying upon me. Under the full light of my room, she is pretty, a little of tiredness recovers some of the natural form I remember of her. But no, she looks me with some fire in her eyes, ah, those innocent and clear eyes.

"Do you have any wine, Vic? Red preferred."
"Wine? I am sorry. I only have some beer."
"What kind? I only like Heineken."
"A couple of bottles of Budweiser."
"No good. It tastes like horse urine." Michelle giggles at her own vulgarity. But I still can detect that she is a little upset about my beer collection so the alarm goes off inside me. I cherishes her to much in my heart to make her upset.
"I will go and get a bottle of red wine right the way," reply I quickly.
"I will go with you...to make sure you got the right kind." A bright smile appears first on her lips then spreads onto her cheeks which seem to be burning and brightening my humble room.
"Good, good. I have never tasted any wine before in China or here."
"Chinese wine is different. I prefer American kind, specially red."

It doesn't take us long to come back with a bottle of three year old Cabernet Sauvignon by Beringer from Napa Valley, and a candle of maroon color to match the color of the wine, says Michelle. They cost me 25 bucks. Enough to support a family of four in the village for a year worth of soy sauce, vinegar and maybe a summer dress for the little girl in the family. Damn. But they are for Michelle, my dream woman. So what am I complaining about? Once a country boy, forever a country boy, I guess.

Michelle lights the candle and turns off the bright ceiling light; the soft candle light and the smell of the scented wax immediately create a tender and sweet atmosphere in the room. Quickly without any hand motion or signal she kisses me on the cheek standing up which seems natural. Still in shock, I can't hold back a sudden shiver down my back as cold sweat runs down from my neck. So delicious a kiss. I feel I have to reach really far to fetch a dream that has fast become a fossil deep in my heart where so many impossibles reside. It feels so strange simply because I am not prepared for this coming at all. I have had too much fantasy about it. When it finally comes, it's so light and yet so heavy. But never perfect. I feel frozen in time and space thus have a hard time turning around to face Michelle. Oh, God, I am earthy. My earthiness or bashfulness confine me in this slow motion.

"Come on, Vic. Are you really that shy? I remember your eyes and you are a courageous young man. You have no fear, I know." She cups my chin in her hands.

What confuses me at the moment is a question: does she love me? How could two people intimate each other without the declaration of love? She looked at me with intensity but never told me that she loves me. Nor did she ask me if I love her. I have read or heard that women are really keen on feelings; bodily contact comes way later, sometimes years in China, after a strong outpour of affection and love for her man. But Michelle seems too casual and too indifferent about all these supposedly precious things tonight. At the end it is I who start to laugh at myself: what do I have got to lose? I am an average looking guy, everyone's pitiful country cousin. What do I have to question a kiss from a gorgeous woman like Michelle.

Only when we are really close, we are actually equal in body and soul.

Although it is hard, I manage to shake off my slow motion and take Michelle into my arms. Oh, good heavens, she is so soft, so sweet, so drunk and yet some parts are so firm. The aroma of the rich red wine is a real plus for the situation. Michelle, my dream, really has a magnificent body. I have no regret to donate my virginity that night. She deserves every bit of me. She seems to be experienced and knows what to do. That really saves me a lot of embarrassment.

Ah, virginity, what a damn Chinese concept.

Michelle is an excellent lover, so good that it just occurs to me that had I died in her arms that night, I would have nothing to regret. I want nothing more from this sad world after that night. So I tell her about my thought after we are done with the deed. But she is rather nonchalant. At the end she kisses me again in the mouth. That triggers another round of love-making.

Love is magic, for it brings two complete strangers together and make them share just about anything on the mind. One day I wake up and ask myself: this is it? This is what love is about? Love-making is just like this. What happened to the spectacular dreams we have held for love and love-making through the years? And for me, Michelle came and took me in, and there hasn't been any struggle even. No tears, no nothing, except the fast consumption of wine.

5.

"You know, Michelle. If I say something that you don't like, please don't be upset with me. I am a little confused here. A woman is supposed to have love in her heart first before disrobing for actual love-making." A week and many rounds of physical contests later, I finally gathered enough courage to speak my mind.

Vic, my goodness. What happened to you? It seems you have your head way up in the clouds, my sweet dear. You may not know this, I like you a lot for a long time because you are so humble, simple and honest. At least that's how I remember or prefer to remember you. But the words you use? Oh, my god. Spare me. Tell you what? Women are just as different and as diverse in kinds as men or any animals. Of course a great deal of the difference is so subtle that it escapes most men's eyes and minds. I am totally different from all other women, though I appear really feminine. I like my physical attributes, for they bring me many advantages. The difference is in the heart.

I used to feel terribly ashamed of seeing my father touching my mother. Both of them were factory workers and they simply didn't know or care about the way they hanged out their affection or explicit sexuality. They could be outright disgusting sometimes. I always wished I had a brother or sister so we could mock how the two pigs moaned, screamed and grouched. They were so gross; above all, they had zero respect for their only daughter who slept only a few feet away. It was horribly hard on me because I was disgusted, aroused, jealous and depressed all at once, and for many years.

I became a mad little woman. One day I ventured to touch the thigh of a boy in my high school under the desk. a third for pleasure, a third for curiosity and a third for defiance. Or half for venting frustration and half for revenge. That marked the beginning of the long shadow that casts over my head the rest of my life. The jerk whom I touched was really nerdy and ugly. He actually reported me to our teacher, a middle-aged woman. I got punished and was sent to the principal's office. But the principal, an old man, liked me a lot at the first sight. He kept me in his office for the most of the day. After caressing my body with his eyes behind thick glasses, especially my recently rising chest and fanny, he decided to go easy on me. When he announced his decision in favor of me, he looked my eyes with such intensity that I thought he wanted something from me. I was disgusted, scared and mad but still kind of wished him to do something to me, a touch or a pinch on the arm or a pat on the fanny. But he chickened out. What a coward. I know he was treading on thin ice; still he was a coward.

I was not an outstanding student in high school but because I was the only child in the family, I was spared from being sent down to the countryside, though I secretly dreamt of the countryside and its openness. I yearned for the freedom. Freedom, you know. There is so much space there, unlike the overly crowded city. Who knows what would happen down there? I might have driven a few barbarian peasants wild and they would have touched me, you know. I would be upset and still enjoyed the thrill. It was just exciting to think about it.

Listen, Vic. Don't take me wrong. I didn't mean to offend you as a country boy. I like countryside and peasants because they are honest, unpretentious and hardworking. I always feel the equality between me and them. I don't feel superior to any of them at all. I secretly admire the strength and wildness in them.

Anyway, my distorted fate determined that I was dispatched to this textile factory where 90% of the work force were women. Worse yet, some of them were just as pretty, if not more, as I am. In the mean time, fate plays tricks on all of us. As much as I was disappointed about the news, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that our division leader was a real handsome young man. Zhang Tao was the first of a series of men of my dreams, maybe the first ever man I am in love with. I would do whatever he asked me to do at the time. My tragedy was that he was already married at the tender age of twenty-four and his wife was one of the better looking women in our factory. She had him on a short leash.

Zhang Tao was a former air force man and he joined the Party while serving as a parachutist. A minor accident earned him the early transfer to the Eden of nymphs as a political consultant in this factory of many women. Zhang Tao became the true reason or motivation for me to apply for the Party membership. Before meeting Zhang Tao, I always thought the Party membership as a joke, sort of like a kite that would never have a chance to become an aircraft but colorful, nevertheless. This application process would surely provide me a chance to get close to Zhang Tao. The factory's Party organization naturally assigned Zhang Tao as my tutor. I was so thrilled that he also took a real interest in me. He kept telling me all kinds of heroic episodes of his air force life. I knew he was no hero but I let him enjoy his creation of his romance. Still he proved to me that I was attractive. See how sad life was for me. I wasn't even sure if I was attractive to a man at the time. Of course later I knew that every man wanted to get into my pants. During the trial, there would be heart-to-heart exchange of political views and confession of my general attitudes towards life. I loved it. I loved the chance to tell Zhang Tao whatever on my mind. You couldn't believe how much I had changed from a woman of a wild heart to a docile child of Communist aspirations. I even developed this firm glare to look deep into Zhang Tao's eyes to show my determination. That's a woman's natural gift. We learn to adjust, quickly. So under the glorious camouflage, Zhang Tao and I also exchanged a few delicious kisses late into the night. I would never forget how his scent penetrated deep into my body and soul. I went to bad drunk and dreamy. Something was meant to be remembered forever. Too bad he was too cautious to go any farther than that. That drove me insane.

Soon the situation got complicated, messy, actually. The Party secretary general of the factory, He Zhengliang, an old lieutenant who fought in the Korean War, took a stronger interest in me. He came onto me with fire in his belly as his eyes were beaming with wildness. I may be a little turned off by his overt aggression and advance but I wasn't scared by his intention and the possibility of him getting into my pants. I had reached a stage of madness to show Zhang Tao that he was too cowardly to be my lover. Plus, the old soldier still maintained the tall and attractive physique and had a real animalistic air around him. I didn't love him but was attracted to him in a way Zhang Tao or any of the young men later in my life could never provoke. Even now I would shiver when I thought of him. Sure, I didn't like my feelings towards him, for I felt cheap and animalistic. However, I don't think my feelings could be faulted, either. My body was genuine just as Secretary He was real. I had a body fermenting with nightly uprising for disturbance and penetration. I was not ashamed. I felt wronged and oppressed. But I was a good Chinese girl as I vented my frustration quietly and looking for my opportunity discretely. So I went to the headquarters of the factory more frequently as my membership was reaching final stage and was officially taken over by Secretary He.

That was when Zhang Tao got really jealous as he would appear in the most inopportune time, like when Secretary He had his hands on my hips or on my breasts. He Zhengliang was a senior cadre, at the level of the provincial cabinet, thus had all kinds of privilege such as room and space. Still nothing happened under the watchful eyes and jealous heart of Zhang Tao. He was a good soldier in smelling out the situation and always arrive on time.

The only nice thing that came out of my two years of good or docile behavior was the opportunity for me to end up as a university student. The regrettable part was that I was still a virgin. Secretary He had used the opportunity to go to university as a bargain chip for my and others' bodies. Even though I would let him have me regardless, at the end neither of us got our wish granted. He definitely enjoyed my devotion to him.

I didn't know what was wrong with me. I was not closely guarding my body but still no one could get close to me. Almost immediately five guys in my class took serious interests in me as soon as I arrived in college. I wouldn't mind doing it with any of them as all five of them were excellent young men with handsome physique. That was also part of the trouble, for they had kept an eye on one another. Plus, there was this age-old problem: we had nowhere to hide. Even a guy whose father was the provincial governor took me to his private house, the maid somehow managed to chase me out of the place with nothing accomplished. The feeling was terrible. The hunger was eternal.

On top of all the difficulties, there was this generational psychological deficit with the W.P.S. class. All of them, except me, perhaps, treated sex as taboo or something dirty, at least in the public. There was sex-phobia, not a bodily dysfunction but political fear. A few of them acted ashamed even for taking an interest in my body even privately. Love as a feeling embarrassed some of them at their late 20s. I hated that feeling, it was so suffocating and there seemed no end to it at all. I despised them from the bottom of heart, although there was a thread of physical attraction that bound us together. At the end, I got so tired of them. They drove me nuts. I wanted to slap their face to call them gutless or dickless. It was a crazy world, dark and wet and smelly. And worst of all, it was hollow.

There was no secret that I became desperate as the years wore on. You know when we were in college, we ate in the cafeteria or whatever that filthy place was called. We had to get in line of our choices each meal, rice, buns, dog food, cat dish, right? Sometimes the line went on and on. And there were mops of students, noisy, crowded and chaotic, some ate like gentle men and ladies and others like pigs. You saw them all.

One day I was in line in front of a cute little young man of your year or maybe a half year ahead of you but definitely not from my class. We were waiting to get our lunch. His facial expression gave out this impression that he was obviously overwhelmed, I don't know by what, by being young or by leaving his mama and home for the first time.

His face, the youth and the lack of focus, was something that touched me really deep. His face served as a mirror, I almost saw my own image, a reflection with such a clarity. But I wasn't ashamed of myself at all in front of such a mirror. I was so intense, like a hunter, a stubborn hunter who operated on her adrenaline, rather than wits, skills and experience. Actually, the more distinctive feeling was that I felt like a man who was looking for a docile woman in a younger man's body after sniffing too much of the dreadful musk odor of those "supermen," men of power and darkness in their hearts. I was to abandon the waiting posture. I was ready to take matters in my own hands. I was ready to take charge. The incredible thing was that I found that beautiful woman in this young man. I was so excited. Then my own darkness in the heart took over, without any warning. Till today, I still feel incredibly powerless in knowing, not controlling, my own inner psyche. Something is upside down or inside out.

Anyway, back to my prey, if you will. It was summer time and we didn't have much on. He had just a pair of simple well-worn pants. I don't know it was me or him but I felt this spectacular heat wave coming on to my lower back and upper legs from him. The line was long and we were locked up in it for a long time. At one point I could no longer hold myself back. I looked back at him a few times smiling. He smiled back, bashfully. I was encouraged. I was confident that about every man wished to get into my pants. So I put both of my hands behind my fanny holding the porcelain bowl and chopsticks. With one extension of my right hand, I touched him and it was so slippery. I was expecting him to protest so that I could apologize that it was an accident and get to know him. But he did not make a noise and just looked up at me totally astounded. This got me embarrassed so I showed him a sheepish smile and quickly exited the line.

I didn't know how sick I was, of course, so I had no regret at all for my deed. I actually enjoyed my little mischievous act. I quickly forgot the whole thing in a matter of days, if not hours. But one day, the guy saw me again in a hallway of one of the buildings. It was an empty hallway, just him and me. I didn't even flinch, and I actually flashed a smile at him as usual.

"Wait a minute here." His face became a little red.
"Yeah. What's up?" I was my usual wild self.
"It was you who touched me the other day." He was a little embarrassed.
"Touched you? Where? What?" I was sharp but most men didn't mind my sharpness, a privilege of being pretty. Ahahah.
"You can't pretend that you don't remember what happened." He was a little upset now and that cracked me up. So I looked into his eyes intensely, again smiling.
"Refresh my memory, if you will." I was determined to enjoy this.
And he reiterated the episode briefly, with quite a bit of embarrassment. "I just wanted to know why you did that to me," added he, as he gained a little control after narrating the story.
"Oh, that. I didn't do it on purpose. It was an accident." I was lying, of course.
"OK. I didn't think so, either." He was very mild-mannered. That was the point when I started to like him. Lu Yan (hanging cliff or rock) was mild mannered, civilized, diametrically opposite to the old sex maniac, Secretary He, back in the textile factory. Lu Yan had a lot of higher qualities than Zhang Tao, the air force parachutist. Lu Yan had class, intelligence, and was hard-working, the combination which was solely lacking in our class of Workers, Peasants and Soldiers. And also he forgave me with ready class and grace. Lu Yan was different from those W.P.S. weenies, simply a bunch of scared or distorted souls. For him, I apologized for my behavior. That was the first time ever in my life I apologized to anyone. And we became friends.

My relationship with Lu Yan was the best thing that ever happened to me in my life. He was the first man ever who projected some normal feelings into my heart. I suddenly changed from a cynical to a warm-hearted and affectionate individual. And most of all I could love a man. I could control my lust. I stopped thinking about sex for the first time in my life though Lu Yan allures me day and night. Lu Yan was a physics major and yet he knew more math than I did. Coming from an intellectual family, he was well read in world literature, classic Chinese poetry, the traditional painting and esthetics, and ancient philosophy. I learned a lot more from Lu Yan than all the crap I got from elsewhere, including college. I became an innocent teenage girl in front of him, thought he was three years younger than I was. He kissed me and it was the most incredible kiss. He did it with respect, care, and understanding for me as a person, not an object. He was gentle, affectionate and thorough. There was no hurry or panting. We didn't feel that we were stealing something. With him, I even noticed the moon and her romantic makeup. And there were stars, bright stars at night.

However, soon desperation came back on me when Lu Yan graduated and I was left behind in the university as an assistant lecturer. Before teaching your class, my virgin class, I had a half year to prepare. With Lu Yan around, that half year passed in a breeze. Then the summer vacation came, I missed Lu Yan day and night. And I wrote many, many letters, average a letter a day. I got a few back from him, too, but not daily.

So, during the summer vacation, I decided to visit him as he was assigned a job in an engineering college deep down in the South, Nanning, Guangxi, almost to Vietnam. It took me three days to get there from Dalian. But when I got Guangxi Poly-mechanical College, I only found out that Lu Yan reported to the college then went to home to get married with his high school sweetheart, just the day before I got there. His home city, Nanchang, was not as far away as Dalian but I couldn't go there, for I didn't want to intrude on his wedding.

The ride back home on the train was really hard. I felt sick and my body was flying in the air... A few brave souls asked me if I was OK, for I looked pale or ashy. I couldn't even smile to thank them for their warmth. I didn't even notice men from women.

6.

This brings me to your class. Don't get ahead of yourself by asking so many questions, Vic dear. I will tell you who, where, and how. OK? Just allow me to narrate the stories on my own pace. I have been telling you all those in the past several days, have I not? You must remember that you are the only one who has heard the story of my life. Consider yourself lucky, OK? You know good red wine and good sex really get me going. You are so nice, so docile and let me have my way. Here is another kiss for you for being such a good boy.

Do I like docile man or domineering type? Interesting question. Well, both. I learn to adjust. Life is a process of adjustment for happiness. I am a good woman. What do I mean? I get what I want, that's what I mean, you silly little man. Am I self-centered? Of course. Who isn't? If you don't fight for your share, you get nothing. If you call this self-centered, so be it. And please stop being earthy and let life come to you.

Where were we yesterday? Your class, right.

The trip down South to look up for Lu Yan in Guangxi really brought my spirit down. I had a terrible summer. I wasn't even confident about teaching non-majors mathematics any more. The only thing that excited me was to meet a room full of good-looking guys. You are right, some of them were nerdy and ugly, not worth the attention. But still you don't know how a woman evaluates or values a man? Have you heard the word confidence and how sexy that is? We will talk about this later.

I must tell you that the major difference between your class and my class was that you guys were doers. Most of you were confident, had no fear, no hesitation, and with a sense of fairness. Our class were a herd of sheep who would like to make sure everything is on the line before doing anything and consequently we accomplished almost nothing in our pathetic lives. We were good at taking orders. We were recommended to the university thus we knew how important it was to dance according to others' music, the party line, the leaders' taste. We had no theme to compose anything uniquely our own. Some of us were badly lost and were actually proud of our selflessness or gutlessness. Obedience was gold for most of us.

Did you say I was sweaty, reddish and out of breath, thus looked nervous on my first day in the class? I wasn't nervous, dear! I was excited! Very excited! I looked into some of the maturer guy's eyes, not yours, dear. You were so spaced out as usual. I was excited that those eyes told me that I was wanted. And I saw the determination in those eyes to take me. I liked that. It was like that I ran into a gold mine after years of fighting the desert. It was like I was trying to make a wooden chair out of a dead tree and suddenly found a leather sofa. Nothing could compare to the feeling that you ran into a herd of wild animals and willing to be devoured. I could feel my body more closely that way. Life came back to me. Adrenaline filled my body up.

Who approached me first? Sun Hongwei, the oldest of your class. Pretty logical, right? For a while, it seemed I would climb down the tree according to age. You silly guy. I had my taste and principles, and my concept of love and sexuality. You will see soon enough, silly boy. Anyway, Sun Hongwei was not very verbal in class and never defended me against any of your girl classmates who were jealous of the attention I was getting from the guys at the time. Of course I knew those young women were mad at me, I was a young woman myself. Here is something you ought to know and learn perhaps: Sun Hongwei focused his total attention on my body, in silence. I could sense that from the moment I stepped into the classroom, he caressed me the most thoroughly with his eyes. I looked back right into his eyes. He smiled at me. I found my comrade in him without any words spoken between us. It was such a thrill. I shuddered in his glance. We did most of our communications with eye contacts, nothing else. It's an art form that will take you a few lives to master, I am telling you.

Three days after the first class, he intercepted me from the crowd of young faculty members, mostly W.P.S. cowards, just outside the faculty cafeteria. He asked me something about math which both of us knew was not the point. But he did is with proper respect so that my watchful colleagues knew it was class-related. He was skillful enough to shell us from suspicion and gossip. You remember him, he was so tall and so good-looking. Anyway, we talked for a short while standing in the middle of a busy campus road to make sure that everybody saw that it was a normal conversation between a teacher and a student. When we felt safe, we walked away from those young colleagues of mine. They were impressed that a student would come to ask questions at dinner time. You know, some from our class of W.P.S. really went out our way to make room for you smart ones. We were humbled, if not humiliated, in front of you folks, though a few of us acted as if were world-beaters. Our world was sick, inside out, someone has to admit it.

It was a great evening. The early autumn was still warm and yet the sea breeze made every inch of my skin feel caressed and alive and every open pore fresh and breathing, so freely and gracefully. We walked along the small grove of bushes and trees at the corner of the campus, along with millions of others taking advantage of the few precious nice days of the year before winter came to swallow us all. Sun Hongwei asked about how I got the chance to stay on as an Assistant Lecturer while many others were sent away to all over the country.

"The chairman of the math department really likes me, I guess." I looked into his eyes, challenging his sharpness and manhood. Did he mean I was a whore?

However, he looked right back at me without any further commenting or inquiring. I thought he would ask me about which aspect of me the nationally known professor
liked the most. But he left it unsaid; instead, his eyes told me that he was up to the game and willing to follow my lead. So it seemed natural that he asked me about my housing situation.

"I have a room of my own. My roommate just got married two weeks ago. She came once in a while but mostly staying with her husband who has a slightly better room in a research facility."
"You are kidding me. This is grand. I was working in a factory for eight years before coming here and never earned a room of my own. It was very frustrating. Crowded and dirty." He loved the opportunity to let me know that he worked in a factory, too, something we had in common.
"And inconvenient." I looked into his eyes and he smiled back.
"Did the professor arrange housing for his favorite students?" Now he stabbed back.
"This is not the professor's doing as he has no authority on housing. He and his wife are still fighting to upgrade their living conditions."
"So there is another person involved?"
"No. I got the room all to myself because our class only had two women who are asked to stay on to teach. Officially, I am still sharing the room with the other woman. And of course the room is in one of the worst faculty dormitory buildings, basement and way back in a corner of the campus."
"Really? That's a bless, right? because there is more privacy. Fascinating. Could I take a look?" He had lights beaming out of his eyes. I caught it, though it only lasted for a split of a second. Both of our hearts were dancing to the same music, drunkening music.
"It does not have to be today, if ever." He was backpedaling a little.
"Not today." I found myself changed. My heart was screaming "yes, yes, take him, take him tonight. The bigger the guy, the better the feast." Sun Hongwei was such an opposite kind of animal from Lu Yan who continues to occupy my mind. So I hesitated and decided to give myself another day to let things simmer a bit.

So, Sun Hongwei spent the rest of the evening telling me his heroic past. His father was a chief engineer in a fairly large steel plant in Tianjin. Because of his father's fairly high ranking position, he got to go to the best middle school in town where most of the kids were high cadres' children. When the Cultural Revolution started, all his classmates, high school freshmen, became Red Guards. He was one, too, initially. But on the second day he discovered that his parents were also the target of the attacks. He left and became a cynical or negative elements of the revolution. Actually he quit school altogether. His heroic act was that he sneaked onto a ship and sailed to Qingdao, without anyone knowing where he was as his parents were locked up. From
Qingdao, he became a hobo, hopping on freight trains one after another and doing little jobs here and there. He climbed Tai Shan, Song Shan, Huang Shan, and many other mountains I can't even remember the names now. He sailed down the Three Gorges, got close to Taiwan by getting on the Island of Gu Lang Yu. It took him two years to complete his grand tour. Actually he had Tibet and other areas in mind but he was tired and sick and had to go home. In China everyone has to have a home. The country was crazy but all those sights were deserted thus primitive and spectacular. "If I die today, I have nothing to regret," proudly declared he.

And when he came back, he found out the revolution had hit a low tide. His parents were back home and thrilled to see him come back alive, grown-up with beard. He was given a job in the factory as a labor. He spent time telling his colleagues stories of his wild adventure, that earned him many friends among the workers. It was all of a brag. But I enjoyed his stories. I was tickled by the intention behind his stories. He wanted me to lie down and be docile to him. I liked that. Very much. I was impressed enough to make the decision to invite him to my place the next day.

"Where did you get food and shelter during the two years," I was not informed about some fundamental aspects of life on the road.
"I had my ways." He smiled rather slyly.
"Like stealing?"
"Not that low."
"Thanks for all the wonderful stories. Tomorrow I'll show you my place. It's only a short block away from where we are now. Shall we meet here tomorrow evening after dinner?"

However, the next day horror struck. I almost fainted when I opened the door to my my room and found a young woman sitting inside. It was my new roommate. Xiang Ling was related to someone in the university and was given the job as a receptionist in the department of civil engineering. She got the key and just moved in and now took over the third bunk bed.

It was such an awkward situation. Sun Hongwei appeared calm but really disappointed deep down. He was a good sport and joked how nice the place was, "a room of your own is hard to come by in this poor country of ours. " He excused himself quickly. My face was burning for the whole evening. I couldn't help it. I had so much expectation in my heart and in my body. My blood was still surging, bubbling and crying. To calm down was like to stop the ocean with a little sand dune.

Damn it, just yesterday I still had the room all for myself. Had I said "yes" to Sun Hongwei, it would have been much less painful for me. What a damned life this was.

Xiang Ling was sweet and all but I could never get along with her. My body forever had this mad rush of blood from this end to the other end when I was in the same room with her. Only when our third roommate moved in, I started to accept the reality and the hopelessness, and my mad tosses and turns in bed during the night.

7.

Sun Hongwei never came close to me again after that incident. He was too seasoned or damn too practical to provoke any emotional flow. He was shrewd enough not even to try to fight the obstacles. I was thankful for two reasons. First I shared the same belief that it was too delicate a thing to push. Second, I didn't feel that he had the good vibes for me.

That was when Xie Weisi came in with his sometimes pathetic romantic little steps. You know he is not a little guy but he surely acted like a teenager. He would write a poem for me and immediately declared that he could do better than what was presented. He would recite some lines and explain to me all the subtleties. I liked the attention and was excited by his motivation. But even I could tell that he had no creativity in his writing. His explanation was not as good or as unique as Lu Yan's.

Every time I think of Lu Yan, my body trembles.

What was incredible was that Xie Weisi also had stories of him running away from the village where he was sent down from Nanjing. The village was in Gansu. So he hopped on a train and went down to Sichuan. He visited Du Jiang Yan, the three thousand year irrigation system in West of Sichuan, climbed Qingcheng Mountain, Emei Mountain, and went to thousands of Buddhist and Taoist temples. He even showed me his many notebooks which were full of the couplets on the door frames, shrines of the temples he visited. This one couplet in Kunming was half of a notebook long, and every word matches across. It was incredible.

Some of the stories were boring, for I felt that I had heard them so many times. I felt that I had traveled the same route looking up for Lu Yan; and also Sun Hongwei was traveling ahead of Xie Weisi, in my mind, that is. But Xie Weisi kept telling me how he cried when he was caught in no men's land in one of the mountains. Big slopes covered by trees, damp, raining, wild whistles of gusty wind, cries of wild birds and animals. He felt so lonely, so scared that he was contemplating of jumping off the cliff numerous times. Although I spite men who cry, his stories were so real and so touching that I even cried along with him. His feeling, in retrospect, was typical of many hearts during the endless struggle of our life those years.

However, Xie Weisi was sincere, very sincere. The only problem I had was that human sincerity can be so naked cruel to others. Maybe it's because I was not sincere with him.

Once he was on a boat in the Qinghai Lake, sort of like the Salt Lake in Utah here. The sky was deeply blue, birds so large and fierce, wind so gentle and peaceful. He had some surreal feelings as he was about to break down and become insane. He knelt down at one end of a small boat, threw both of his hands up into the sky, screaming, crying, and singing. It took two native men to restrain him from jumping into the lake. Can you see the picture: Xie Weisi mimicking Qu Yuan on the Qinghai Lake?

He had a hard time when he returned to the village. I believe he was locked up for about half year. But he said it was definitely worth it. That was an amazing man.

Still I was a little turned off by the display of overly decorated machismo in words, in story telling. Does everyone of them have to establish a heroic image in my mind in order to win me over or to get into my pants. Do they really know or care about what I want in a man? Do they call this the peacock phenomenon in psychology? Now, I even remember the sex-maniac Secretary He Zhengliang from my factory bragged about his war time heroics. Those men were sick. Maybe our time was sick. I don't need any heroes. I just need a man, a real man. Let all the heroes fly high and away with their stupid wings. I want a man, a quiet man who is around me when I need him. If I am a sun, I will never attempt to get rid of my planet.

OK, I am sorry for going off like that. Anyway, you know that Xie Weisi was quite a story teller. He loved to talk and hear himself talk. At a few junctions I was almost fed up with his long winding narratives but I played along and wait for him to make his move. It was not easy for a man and woman to get together in our time. He was a gentle animal. It took him a whole month to put his hand on me as we would walk in a far away part of the city to avoid eyes. When it was dark, we ended up in the deep woods against a tree. He held me up in his lap. We heated up and opened our belts and all. Poor guy, he was under so much pressure that he couldn't do anything when the time came to do the penetration. It was stimulating to me as I was very wet and got into a different zone of feelings. However, Xie Weisi, like all the men, dwelled on his inability to penetrate. He offered a thousands of apologies, I hated that. I totally understood the circumstances, the grand depression and our anxiety which a man shouldered more than a woman. By golly, our society had turned a healthy young man into a pathological case.

Initially, I was utterly annoyed by his whining and apologies and was ready to tell him never to come back to me again. But I couldn't do it. I needed the bodily contact, as incomplete as it was. And also, as the first ever man who let me smell his intimate side, I had too much sympathies for him. He was like me in a male body and yet he was weaker than me even as a person. His father's political background shredded his confidence long time ago. You remember Xie Weisi? He was so cute, don't you agree? Although many women say they don't care about men's looks, I always have soft spots for cute guys. I spent another month helping him to stand up on his feet, literally. I am glad I did what I did, for he was excellent once his pride was restored. He was warm and giving, as opposed to pleasing himself, something Sun Hongwei was solely after. I know things like such, I am a woman, damn it.

How did we do it? With hands and mouth, you silly. You want me to try some of the tricks on you. Guarantee to feel good, better than the real thing. Come on, don't be shy. Lie down and spread out. Hahah.

Those late night "picnics" as we called them were fantastic. So wild, so romantic and finally so fulfilling. You know how scared I was to get involved like that. However, fear only added excitement. Well, you know. But there was no way to stop. I couldn't stop. I was addicted to the sex part. I got pregnant and did an abortion, very painful, very traumatic to my state of mind. But that was part of our life. It was also very, very sad. So sad that Xie Weisi had to refrain himself so hard from letting out his moan in his beautiful brass-baritone voice. A couple of times he even bit his lips to bleeding. We were exposed to the night chills and hearts were wild and sometimes lonely.

Still the feeling aroused by love-making or having sex was paradise. The by-product of this pleasure and thrill was an intense hatred in me towards the society I lived in. Why couldn't I have something as delicious as that a few years ago? Why couldn't I continue to have it when I am physically ready and strongly desire it? Why can't we do this in the comfort of a bed? And a room? Who was it so hard for us to enjoy life?

Then Yu Yong rushed in. The guy had no shame. I had never met anyone who is as selfish as he was. You are right, he was a jerk. He did show me his sister's picture. What? He also showed that to all of you guys? He must be very sick. I made a mistake to let him get into me only because I was blinded by his good-looks. We women make mistakes at certain moments, you know. He was a sharp dresser and smooth talker. But he came in only wanting to be pleased and wouldn't do even the minimum for me. What's a minimum? I will tell you later.

But he was smart and creative. He had planned something so amazingly attractive before he approached me. He got a bike and I had a bike. So we took a ride to the outskirt of the city and ended up in a corn field. I absolutely loved that setting. It was a Sunday. In the middle of the day, the late autumn sun was rather dazzling and made me very dizzy. Everything happened so fast. I didn't even know that we were seen by a couple in the nearby village as I was entering another zone. I usually did. Before I knew what had happened, I saw Yu Yong suddenly got up and took his pants in hands and ran off like a rabbit all by himself. The couple did not bother to come closer to us as they were determined that we were not stealing. "Love birds" may have flock down this road too many in number. Nothing was new to them.

I was furious. How could the bastard leave me there exposed?

This was where all the thing turned all sour. Apart from his running away and leaving me along exposed in the field, this jerk pulled up his pants and stood in the distance to me as if I was the sole offender. On our way back he kept reminding me that "Don't tell you anyone about this" as if I was stupid. In his eyes, I found my reflection again. It was not pretty but rather dirty and ugly. I never felt that way but Yu Yong somehow brought the worst out of me. I felt like a pig as we literally rolled around in the mud. We did not make love, we had sex, dirty sex, smelly and unclean. I was utterly disgusted, till this very day. So I told him that if he was so afraid, he should never come back again. I thought about kicking him but I was too weak in my legs. I jumped off my bike
and waited until he was gone. I went back to the university by myself. Of course, he kept bothering me later on. He couldn't change his nature and never learned to chill. But he had no idea how strong I was. I slapped his face a couple of times and refused to let him get close to me. I may be a sex maniac but I'm not anyone's slave.

He goes to graduate school in Michigan, now, you know. If he comes to me again, I will slap his face so hard that he need to hide in his room for days before coming out with a smooth face. What a low life jerk.

8.

Soon you guys graduated. My heart also emptied out with the massive departure of love and lust. I was in love with many of you, jerks and nerds all included. I tried to have relationships with other kids from under classes but it was never the same. The younger kids appeared strange, and extremely self-centered. As self-centered as I have been, I couldn't stand most of them. There were only a few good guys. Most of them were rather judgmental as they looked at me as if witnessing something from the
stone age, a walking dinosaur. They had much less a perspective of the past and the chaos. They were kids and remain so for the best part of their life. They had a hard time separating individual from the society. They tended to be less compassionate. They were cold, if not cruel.

When I had some time after the tide wave calmed down, I did some soul searching. I discovered that I didn't like Sun Hongwei or Xie Weisi that much, definitely not Yu Yong the selfish jerk. What happened between me and those bigger guys was nothing but bodily attraction, pure physical release. In my heart, I missed a couple of guys the most.

I missed you the most. Of course you don't know. No, no, please don't interrupt me, I am telling you the truth. It's hard for me to admit this. I didn't even believe myself when this became clear to me. You may not feel that you stood out of a bunch of self-promoting and sharp-edged guys. But you certainly stood out in my eyes. I saw the strength in you because you never appeal to others for approval. You didn't feel that you need to fight to gain something to prove yourself like the rest of them. You go about your business in a quiet way. And above all, you are free. I was so envious of that feeling. I wanted to join you into that world of peace. I was so tired of this depression that refused to leave me. I was attracted to you simply because you were my opposite in mentality, in survival instincts, in attitude to life, in taste and in beauty. I had so much curiosity about and so much admiration for you, out of self-pity or even self-hatred. However , like many other things in my life, I got no chance to approach you. There were so many eyes watching me, including my own. And I also realized that I was attractive. That also bred my laziness. I was followed everywhere I went. There were moments I was alone in my room, I wished to talk to you but didn't know where you were and was too lazy to look for you. Most of all those were only short flashes of a thought. Yeah, funny that I didn't miss you before you were gone. Gone from my world. Soon there was classes I must teach, and there were other guys. Still I was watching you with my mind's eye. You were like a mirror hiding in the closet of my soul. You inspired my strong dislike for myself for leading such a rushed life and for being so greedy and never got a moment for myself. You defined my soul in a rather peculiar way, though we never got a real eye contact; yet, we kept an eye on each other. Don't! Don't interrupt me. Shhhhh, be quiet, just listen. I know I am a bad girl. I AM a bad girl, don't argue with me. But my affection for you, or my longing for you, has been evidence that I still have some decency in me. You are my sanity, my dear. Here is a kiss.

My feeling for you was a hopeless cause because soon I heard that you went abroad after graduation. I was happy for you but felt painful because of the possibility of never seeing you again in my life. I am a willful child, always wanting things impossible to get. I started to learn English as soon as I heard you went to America. I shall never give up. Are you surprised? Am I deserve a hug and kiss and some delicious love?

And there was also momentary release of pressure. I felt that I didn't have to try to lean towards your direction, that direction of nothingness but calm. I felt that I could be myself whatever way I wanted to be. I felt this momentary liberation. But quickly the pain of never getting what I want smashed it all apiece.

You know, conventional wisdom puts too much emphasis on the bodily harmony. I never felt that my body is superior to anyone else's. The nice shape of my body is my passport to many places. But I see different things in different people. I see something shining over your head than all the men who passed through my my sky. All right, all right, enough of this babe babbling.

Now I can tell you that the guy I missed the second most was Li Huixiang. Hey, don't be jealous. OK, OK, you are not, then. You are so strange. No feelings? I know you liked Huixiang because you two walked around campus together more than with others. Huixiang was so shy, so tender and so good-looking. Every time I looked at him in the class or at the party, he would blush. Every time. I couldn't believe it. I had never heard a word out of his mouth. You don't know how annoyed I was living in an unending stream of verbose, aggressive men and women. Because of that, Huixiang was such a peaceful sight to behold. Just like you and me, Huixiang and I had no chance to be together alone during the precious year I taught you guys.

So after a semester of being bored by those little kids, I decided to look up Huixiang. He was sent to a real small city in the mountains of Shanxi, miles away from the provincial city, Taiyuan. His quietness was taken as a weakness so that he was assigned the worst job of you all. It was simply unfair. I always remember him. I got hold of his phone number, as he was now a leader of the main laboratory in the military factory. This is a surprise to you, I guess. He turned out rather talkative. I loved his tender voice.

"Listen, Director Li, I have relatives living in your city and I am coming for a visit during the summer. Am I welcomed in your factory?" Of course I was lying. I had no relatives in such a corner of the world, except him from my heart.
"Certainly, Teacher Wan." Isn't that funny? He still called me Teacher Wan. And he didn't question me or even pulled out a thread of suspicion of me lying to him.

Learning from my Southern Expediting to Nanning, Guangxi, a couple of summers ago, I held no expectations. It was the first time ever, I saw mountains so spectacular and yet so barren. It was such a calming experience. It was as if Huixiang was so shy and so quiet and the tall mountains around him were also so quiet and so solemn. I felt happy for him: the seemingly bad fortune for him to be dispatched into the mountains earned him endless beauty of the spectacular kind.

However, the poverty of the hinterland really touched my heart. I felt ashamed and educated at the same time. The mountains of heart-piercing barrenness really made me feel small and insignificant. The poverty of the vast countryside pointed the fact that I have been willful and selfish. The quietness of the trip provided an excellent opportunity for me to see myself in the mirror that was the vast uneven field of one of the poorest provinces of the nation. It was the first time in the train I paid no attention to those scorching eyes from men. I was in a state of unconsciousness. It was scary and also very sweet.

Huixiang met me in the train station. Among the dust kicked up by buses and pedestrians, he was like a mountain, a quiet mountain, so handsome and yet so bashful. I couldn't hold my emotions and walked straight up, dropping my luggage on the ground, and threw myself onto his shoulders crying. All the emotional buildup in the train finally found its open flood gate. I had never cried on anyone's shoulders before. So we froze in the middle of the street for quite a while. Folks looked at us admiringly. I guess both of us looked less earthy thus other-worldly to the locals. Thus we were allowed or even applauded to behave as such crybabies.

Then we hopped on to his jeep. The factory, with an address in the city, was actually located deep in the mountains. It was a great ride, for I came really close to the mountains, their copper color of bare strength and barrenness. Huixiang was quiet. So was I that day after crying. The driver pretended that he didn't see anything at all.

"Hey, you forgot to ask me where my relatives are. Where are you taking me?" It was I who was trapped this time.
Huixiang looked at me and smiled. It was such an honest and yet sly smile. He knew. Can you believe that? he knew all along. Without much a facial expression, he booked me into the guest house of the factory and sent the driver away.
"For my reputation, you must stay in this guest house. Hope you don't mind." Wow, I was flabbergasted by his clear thinking and concise expression. There was a mature man behind this quiet mask.
"Are you coming to see me at all?" Like a little girl, I was desperate again.
"Only when it's safe for both of us."
"OK, I understand." I started to dance in the room. You must remember that he was two years younger than I was. Somehow I enjoyed being a little girl. The countryside had magic. Maybe I was a country girl in nature.

Huixiang always left the guest house when it was getting dark. But he came to visit me early in the morning all three days I was there. Right after the loudspeaker directed morning stretch and aerobics exercise for the entire factory. Then everyone went to work. I would still be sleeping or lying in my bed. Li Huixiang would come and we quietly made love. He was a great lover, silent with tender strength. I moaned loud and free just to make him nervous. He was so good-looking that I was tempted to have his child.

"No, no. You can't live in this society with a child out of wed lock. Both of you will suffer a great deal. And I would be caught in an emotional mess." You know he was absolutely right. Such a clear mind. The great lesson or experience was that I can be docile, rational and clear-minded when I am with someone who is tender, rational, clear-minded and strong internally.

I planned to spend a whole week with Li Huixiang but it was really inconvenient for him. He had an out of town conference to attend so I must leave. It was sad. Still that was the best, for the longer I stayed the more riskier it was to be caught. That would ruin both of us. Sleeping together without getting married, that was death sentence to any career. I should be happy because I got more than I bargained for, compared to my Guangxi trip. Remember that song, "It's Said that Shanxi Is A Beautiful Place"? Before I thought it had such an earthy tone to it but now I concur completely.

After the mountains, I decided to linger a couple of days in Beijing, for I hadn't really seen any of the famous sights. And you know me, a pretty girl who never liked solitude. So I called up Xu Wangnian, the righteous guy who loved to lecture others simply because he was from Beijing, the capital city. I was not very keen to hop into bed with him at all. But it happened that his wife also went to the same conference Li Huixiang went. Furthermore, Xu Wangnien insisted to cook for me and lecture me during the process of course. And we did the thing in their new bed. I would say that he talked a good talk but had trouble walk the walk. There was nothing to it. Only I ended up feeling sorry for myself.

Hey, don't give me that frown. What do you mean? I was cheap? Of course I was. I was sick, I told you already. If you don't remember I have told you, here I tell you again: I was sick. Please forgive me.

9.

For some reason, Michelle's stories rubbed me the wrong way. Whatever she has in mind by telling me all those fantastic tales; the result is I start to feel really tired of her. Her body does not change, still magnificent by any measure. But it feels like a piece of rubber, with no magic left. I feel sick to my stomach in being with her. However, being who I am, I have trouble telling her how I feel. I always have trouble telling others how I feel unless I am provoked furious. Then there will be fantastic eruption and destruction. I can never bear the thought to hurt someone's feelings, especially those I love. So I endure on.

"Michelle, I want to go to the Grand Canyon for a week."
"Really? That's a marvelous idea. I want to go, too. But when?" She was such a warm and positive person, always going along with the flow.
"I am thinking of going there with a bunch of guys."
"You mean you are tired of me." She suddenly looked up into my eyes.
"No, I don't mean that."
"Of course you mean that. You are lying. This is the first time you lied to me, Vic. What is it? It's because I have slept with too many other guys? Or it's because I took interest in American men?" Tears came streaming down her cheeks with anger. Those delicate cheeks.

It's my turn to be surprised. I look up into her eyes, for I have no idea what she is talking about here. But listening to her stories for the past six months, it has become not so hard for me to imagine that she had an eye on some honky dudes. She is such an animal and nothing is unimaginable. I respect her for being herself, though I would have never felt the same way, had I stayed in the Chinese culture all the time. At least, Michelle has been honest to herself.

Now, I don't feel that I care that much about her any more.

"Say something, Vic, please." She came up to shake my shoulders. "It's all Jennifer's fault."
"Who?"
"Jennifer Ren, you met her."

Of course I remember Jennifer Ren or Jennifer Williams. She lets everyone know who she is no matter whether others care to know her or not. The first time I bumped into Jennifer was at a little gathering at the university's Chinese studies center. A professor from Fudan University was giving a talk on democracy and the economic reform in China. A lot of Chinese students attended because we were concerned and interested in the topics of the talk. There I, the often timid Vic Lei, even asked a question, red-faced of course, during the question and answer section at the end of the talk. The professor liked my question because he was surprised that someone here followed the development with heart, as he remarked. I was thrilled to hear the praise. So I lingered after the talk to speak with the professor in person. But before I could get to the professor, there stood this short, round, plume young woman whose mouth was going a thousand miles per hour.

"Did you go you Fudan? Did you go to Fudan?" I had no idea what she was talking about, until he pushed my left shoulder to get my attention.
"Fudan? No." Then there was this peculiar look in her eye as if seeing "there is no room for you to get close the professor from my university." Whow! I had no idea that the professor belonged to her.

Jennifer is not from Shanghai. But Fudan is her university and the professor was invited by her husband, Professor Williams. I was a little in the fog during the event, as I tried to be positive by hanging a warm smile for the sake of the professor from China. But as time wears on, I start to dislike Jennifer more and more as a person. I didn't care who she is married to. She could marry to God, I would still dislike her.

All the noise she made did not leave much a mark in my mind at all. There are plenty of obnoxious folks in every race and culture. What really caught my eye was the overt competitiveness of Jennifer as a person. She was a disgrace to her and her people. After that talk, a few of us who lingered behind decided to take the professor from Fudan to dinner so we could chat more. Jennifer came along as her husband was the host. Although I often kept my eyes closed, I noticed that Jennifer loved to talk. The strangest thing about her that evening was that she never started eating until someone else started. Then she would fight with chopsticks against those who dared to pick something from the plate, any plate. She acted as if all the food was for her and her husband. I even noticed that her chopsticks got tangled up with those belonging to the professor from Fudan. They would laugh at the sight but Jennifer didn't laugh. She was busy fighting other chopsticks. It was a strange scene. That ugly woman was a mental case.

I felt that it is really strange that Jennifer got on my nerves. I could feel her presence all the time. So I start to notice that Jennifer parades around all the Chinese students parties in the arms of her husband, Professor Barry L. Williams. The Macro-Economist is now in his late forties, chunky and pink, very pink, and with a nervous giggle. He has been to China many times to deliver lectures, as Jennifer keeps telling us as she clumsily translated some of the speeches. If you come any of the student functions on campus, it is hard to miss the sight of the round couple at any gatherings, a giggling professor and his stupid Chinese wife with demonstrative laughter as if she has won the best prize our poor planet could offer.

What I remember the most about Jennifer, however, is her tireless personal crusade to preach the message of how ugly the Chinese men are. Chinese men are all jerks, worthless, dirt, and they all take male potency-enhance drugs. Not only did she take up the opportunity in every gathering but also she would write up email messages which reflect the combination of Professor Barry L. Williams' insecure mind, for having a Chinese wife who is twenty years of his junior, and her world view or a pitifully lost mind and racial bias. She loved to post her messages all over our campus listserv for Chinese students. She championed herself as a more fierce China basher than Professor Barry L. Williams. The professor would ever admit in the public that he hates China, though he would advise the government and businesses to contain China and treat China as a threat. He was after all a scholar and had a reputation to protect and a balanced scholarship to maintain, at least in the public. But Jennifer wouldn't mind distorting her face and demonstrating what redneck really meant. She attacked China's stance on Hong Kong (the British would do a more glorious job than the Chinese ever will of course), Taiwan (Chiang Kei-shek was the father of the republic and the Communists were a bunch of bandits and people from the Mainland, especially the men made her sick), Tibet (all the Chinese soldiers in Tibet should be tried in an international court as war criminals). China should grant Xinjiang and Inner Mongolia independence. Guangzhou should declare independence. It's a matter of time that China would fall apart, a point she borrowed from either the Professor or Mr. Nicholas Kristof the New York Times reporter in Beijing who just published a book. Chinese Communists are worse war criminals than the Japanese ever were, she raged on. Just as you thought she is all negative, she tells you that America is the best. Democracy is panacea. The bottom line is that I married the best man the world could offer. Maybe she thought she was goddess of democracy.

Maybe she just wanted to catch extra attention for herself.

It wouldn't surprise me a bit to hear her attack the legends of the Jade Emperor, the Moon Lady, Confucius, and the Yellow Emperor, or every ancestor of the Chinese race. But she was too ignorant to know all of these, of course, thank god for letting her learn so little. Sometimes I even heard Professor Williams telling everyone at the parties that Jennifer was a little confused. But to her credit, she always shouted back loudly that she saw everything clearly with both eyes. Those bead-holed ugly eyes! I guess she meant some of us had one eye closed. She was right, I had both of my eyes closed whenever I saw her.

For a while I thought that this Jennifer must the daughter of the local village leader who fought with my brother. The world is full of crazy idiots. And the most amazing thing was that this Jennifer set a trap to trip me.

Those who shout the loudest have the deepest deficit in attention.

Then the great phenomenon which I could never figure out was that Michelle felt attracted to Jennifer. Maybe Michelle felt that she was just small time compared to the grandiose craziness exhibited by Jennifer. Michelle was inspired by Jennifer for "bigger and better" things. While the rest of the Chinese students on campus tried to hide from the muzzle of Jennifer's machine gun, her bullet spitting mouth of purple lipstick, Michelle became close friends with Jennifer. Michelle would invite a few of her friends to a private party. When we got there, we found that Jennifer was the co-host of the party. Jennifer brought this and that, including white men for single Chinese women. Jennifer had everything because Professor Williams made much more than any of us poor students. Jennifer made every party a "feed-the-homeless" event for poor Chinese students. Jennifer wanted all of us know that she belonged to a higher class. Some people couldn't stand the patronizing and her uncontrollable laughter and drum-beating celebration of her higher status or bashing of the Chinese. A few told her to shut up but she pretended that she didn't hear them. Most of the guests would come late for Michelle and left early because of Jennifer. But I couldn't leave. Michelle wouldn't allow me to, as I would the guy who had to clean up after the party was over. It is a Chinese thing, as soon as a guy got into a woman's pants, he is obligated to be her slave without the possibility of parole. My fate was sealed that evening under the maroon candle light.

So one day when I was fulfilling my janitorial duty at the Williams' residence, Jennifer came up to me. At the time, everyone has left so there was no more ears standing up to take in her balderdash, except poor Vic.

"Vic, you a real good boy. Talk little and do many." Her English is bad.
"Shhh, could you allow me some quiet moments, OK?"
"OK!!" she is a little upset and gives me a severe look then goes away. I don't care.
"Vic," Jennifer comes back after a short while and this time she seems a little more humble and talked to me in Chinese or maybe the concept was too complicated for her to express in English. "Could you do me a favor next Tuesday afternoon?" The bottom line is that she has got to talk to someone. To bad I am the only one around and alive.
"What's for?" Damn me. Growing up in that poverty-stricken village of ours, we could never turn anyone down when they came up to ask for a favor. Doing someone a favor is in our blood. We exist to do favors. And we have no concept of enemy. Helping each other was the only way for everyone to survive and yet many were lost to the darkness.
"We are getting an exercise machine delivered on that day and I am afraid that I will have trouble putting it together."
"What about your professor hubby?" I was proud of myself for being so sharp-tongued.
"He is even worse than I am at matters of such." Wow, Jennifer bashes her god. I look up at her and can't believe that those words actually came out of the mouth of someone who brags around the world about her prize catch. This is the same Jennifer who proudly took her husband back to China as if riding a world-class dragon, her prince on a pink horse. Professor Barry L. Williams is no doubt her Mr. Universe. Even Mr. Universe has some inadequacy or inability just like every other ordinary man. His dexterity is no superior to a Chinese man as common as the humble Vic Lei. Hey, I am flattered.
"Exercise machine? I guess both of you need it."
"Oh, shut up. Is that a yes." She becomes a little sheepish.
"All right. I love any opportunity to show off, I am a damn Chinaman, you see."

As it turns out, Professor Williams has left town for a conference midday Tuesday so I don't have much an audience to show off my stuff which is none superior than any good janitor in school.

"Come on in, the door is open." God, I couldn't stand her high-pitched voice. Do I have to subject myself to be in the same room with someone I don't care about? This is the summary of life: what the hell am I doing there?

It's three o'clock in the afternoon and it's hot. Jennifer comes out her bedroom, maybe a shower, and greets me in the living room almost naked. I know I have seen some bad taste of clothes that offend the eye in cities like Qingdao, Shanghai and Dalian before but never in any one's living room. My goodness. She has a bikini underwear of bright color on and no bra on the top. To cover or uncover it all, she has this loose long dress which looks more like a sleeping gown than an outwear. And worse yet it is silk of white color, very thin thus her bouncing breasts could be seen reaching out. I never thought that a woman's breasts could turn a guy off. She was an ordinary woman but the sexy outfit made her like a ripe persimmon in a hot day. I look away unaffected, for I know she is crazy enough to wear anything inside or outside of her home.

"Where is the machine?" I wanted to make it clear that I wanted no nonsense.
"Can I fix you something to drink first?" She tries to be tender and sweet and lower her voice down. But it came out a big contradiction. She sounds acting.
"Anything." I am rather decisive in avoiding her eyes.
"How about some wine or beer." She come really close to me. I can feel the heat wave radiating off her round body now. It felt I was standing next to a whole cooked radish. Damn, I shouldn't have had this tank top on today.
"No, no. Nothing alcoholic for me."
"Well, I already had some beer in the refrigerator. It's just for you as both Barry and I don't drink beer. Michelle told me you are quite a beer man."
Jennifer starts this horrifying giggle. I look up at her and she quickly curtails that cat noise.
"OK, beer will do me fine." Damn it, she serves this dirt cheap Bud Light. I hate it.
"Where is the machine?"
"What's the big hurry, Vic?"
"I'm here to help you set up the exercise machine, where is that damn thing?" I started to lose my patience with her.
"It's over there, behind me." Jennifer points a finger over her shoulder. Of course the first thing I see is her round shoulders and not so supple breasts.
"What's the big hurry? Finish your beer first." I tries to walk around her but she isn't allowed me to pass her easily by side stepping to block my way.
Now I really wants to say the beer tastes like horse urine but those words are not in my daily vocabulary.

Finally she allows me to open the giant box. Just as I am to start cutting the box, her competitive nature resurfaces as she is now literally wrestling with me to grab the knife just to cut the tape on the box. She grabs my hand and leans her body onto me. It suddenly becomes a wrestling match. The rubbing of her body on mine is so much that her sleeping gown falls off to the floor. Suddenly dark golden flash fills up the room. Right in the middle of room I freeze, stupified. And yet she is in no hurry to put her dress back; instead, she looks at me smiling. Something sinister is going on here. I shake my head. Still she is in no hurry to pick up her dress; instead, she starts to walk up to me bare breasted. Oh, those ugly breasts! How could anyone stand them? I can't believe this is happening to me.

At that moment I realize that the whole thing has been planned, me coming at three o'clock, a couple of hours after her husband left town, her wearing see-through silk bath robe, the beer, her rubbing her body against mine. It's all a cheap trap. Anger overwhelms my body. I become blue and smash the knife on the box and storm out of that damn trap. How ugly. How ugly. My body shakes violently as I turn on the engine in my car.

"Chicken, gutless Chinese man" are the phrases stabbing me from behind the door while I am driving away.

I drive off to the coast and let the sea breeze cool me off. Still I feel too hot. I have to find a spot where there are no people. I walk into the ocean without bothering to take off any of my clothes. There is so much to be washed off that day both in the ocean and in the shower at home that lasts almost a whole hour. Not to mention that I almost hit someone's car on the way home.

There is an urgent message from Michelle. "Call me back immediately." She issues a stern order. Yes, my dear, chew my head off, if you wish.
"Vic, you're such a pig."
"What?"
"Don't you play dumb on me? You tried to take advantage of Jennifer only a couple of hours after Barry left. In the name of fixing her exercise machine?"
"Hey..."
"Shut up, you animal. Ugly Chinese man. You took her dress off, you are so despicable. Low life jerk ..."

I am struck numb. I suddenly feel that I was back to the village and the thuggish village bully was on the other end of the phone. Worse yet, they have formed a coalition. I put the phone on the table and let Michelle finish her spite speech on me. Maybe this does good for her health but definitely not for mine. Maybe the sea breeze was a little too harsh that afternoon or the water was contaminated or something. I get a terrible case of virus affection and have to ride the bed for a week. Michelle comes over to attend me, for that I am forever grateful. I don't remember anyone else ever came to attend me when I am ill.

I never bothered to tell her what went on in Jennifer's living room. I myself didn't want to hear about it. And most of all, I don't feel the compelling need to clear my name in front of Michelle. Maybe the sun in California is extra strong. Things and people change fast here.

I always feel that had Michelle not mentioned Yu Yong's name, I wouldn't have to see his phony smile the rest of my life. Since she mentioned this jerk in her stories, it is only a matter of when Yu Yong will come for a visit. Sure enough, he is coming during his winter break to escape the deep snow in Michigan and enjoy the bright sunshine of Southern California. I know that Michelle is the real reason for his coming.

I hate his guts. This guy is easily one of the most obnoxious guys I have ever come across in my life. Worse yet, he is like a parasite in your liver which refuses to leave; and you couldn't afford to crash or poison your own liver just to kill him. A very superficial and aggressively competitive, he is ubiquitous in our life. He wants everything for himself. Like coming here, it is obvious that he'd like to take advantage of me as his host or coughing up some dough for his pleasure, though we are no friends at all.

I would think that he is a perfect match of Jennifer and yet they hate each other so intensely that law reinforcement is needed if they were left in a room.

I tell him that he'd better take a bus because I am not going to go to the airport to pick him up. I would go to the airport to pick up a total stranger but not Yu Yong. I have my principles. That does not detour Yu Yong. He shows up right on time, you almost can count on him to come to bother you and get what he wants.

"You have changed, Lei Shengli. Or should I call you Victor? How predictable? Shengli in Chinese means Victory thus Victor. I wonder when you can get rid of all the earthiness in you. Maybe never. You are just hopeless. By the way, my English name John." Nothing out of his mouth is flattering to anyone.
"Yeah, I guess I have changed. It has been years." I start to feel some anger in my belly already.
"I still like the crew cut you sported when you first reported to college."
"I know, you want me to remain earthy so that you can be as urbane or metropolitan or cosmopolitan as you wish. You think you own this world, don't you?"
"Hey, you talk too much."
"Of course, you want to keep me quiet and listen to your loud mouth all day everyday."
"All right, damn it. Let's talk about something else."
"What do you want from me?"
"Have you bumped into Wan Fang? I heard that she is also here."
"So you came here not really to see me, besides being a snowbird."
"Hehe."
"I have seen Wan Fang plenty. Her name is Michelle now."
"Tell you what? I fucked her."
"Damn, watch your mouth."
"Heard me? I fucked her."
"I knew." My face was getting red.
"How did you know?"
"She told me."
"She did not."
"She did." I screamed.
"The bitch. I told her not to tell anyone."
"But you are running around telling everyone the same thing." I walked up to him just like my brother walked up to the thug in the village.
"That's different."
"What's the fucking difference?"
"She is a whore. That's the difference."
Vicious light flashes out of his eyes for a second then he held it back, for he probably doesn't want to further provoke me as I calculates that I am still useful to him, such as free board and rides.
"If she were a whore, what does that make you? A john? You low life." I tried in vain to grab his neck. "You are no nobler than nobody. You are a jerk. Get out of here. Out! Immediately! I don't want to hear you insult everyone who has come across your path. You are so pathetic. Get the hell out of my sight." I push him along from the side.
"She is not as beautiful as my sister. Look, I still have my sister's picture. Have a look." Something never changes. He pulls the same trick, avoiding the conflict which he instigated. Instead of fighting on, he changes the subject all the time. He is actually a coward as most of his types are in life. He takes a black and white picture out of his wallet and pushes it under my eyes.
"Are you going to tell me you had done something to your sister? Get the hell out of here, you jerk. Go get off looking at sister's picture some place else."
"Wait, wait, are you serious? You're throwing ME out? Where should I go?" The I-always-have-my-way guy finally realizes that the usual mellow Lei Shengli has just spit a ton of sharp words in his pretty face.
"Who the fuck cares? Just get the hell out of here. And take your sister's picture
with you."
"But please give me Wan Fang's phone number." He never learned to give up.
"You have the nerve to ask. Jerk." I slam the door really hard.

Yu Yong is crafty enough to find Michelle. So that evening the phone explodes in my face as I am still angry at that S.O.B.
"Yeah."
"Vic, why did you give my phone number to Yu Yong? You know I don't like the jerk."
"Hey, I did not give your phone number to him. I just threw him out."
"But he told me you gave my number to him."
"All right, he is not only a jerk but also a liar."
There is silence at the other end. Maybe Michelle believed me, maybe not.
"So what happened?" ask I.
"He wanted to stay at my place. But I told him no way. What an ugly Chinese. I hate Chinese men."
"Wait, wait, Michelle. Yu Yong does not represent all of the Chinese men."
"But I hate Chinese men now."
"Well, I guess we don't have much to talk about now." It has confused me for a while already: why did all of us change so much and become so strange all of a sudden? Damn it.

Yu Yong is pissed off big time by all of us Southern California jerks, as he puts it. It has been really a bad trip for him because he has blown a hundred bucks on hotel alone. Yet, he keeps sending me emails. And most of the time he talks about himself. However, recently I start to have sympathy for the guy because he is going through a painful divorce. And you know it, it's largely his fault. But the pain feels the same.

Yu Yong's wife, Yang Lixia, is not your typical knockout. She is actually a little bit ugly according to some Chinese standards. Her face does not have that perfect oval shape and but too thin and too narrow. Her eyes are so thin that they look shut all the time. And worst of all, she isn't fair but a little dark and her skin seems to be coarse or hairy which I don't remember because I never paid any attention to her or any women of my age back in China. Although she is slim and tall, the Chinese culture that puts an extraordinary amount of emphasis on the shape and the color of the face makes her an outcast.

I met Yang Lixia a couple of times at conferences. She is by far one of the warmest human beings this planet could offer. She is super smart, as she was the sole representative of the City of Dalian who attended China's prestigious University of Science and Technology at the tender age of 13. The only reason she married Yu Yong because she had warm memories of him when he was a handsome young man and she a little ugly duckling. He was her prince on the white horse from distance as they used to live in the same apartment building back in Dalian. Her warmness and integrity determine that she is also loyal to her first love. As it is, the plain or ugly looking girl got married to one of the slickest looking person of this hemisphere. She took the initiative, endured all kinds of humiliation, came to the U.S. in the early 80s and went back to marry Yu Yong, fought with the U.S. visa office to bring him out. And only at the close range, she discovered that he is a jerk, a process that can't be reversed even by Buddha. She tried to save the marriage by taking a lot in. But she is too sensitive due to high IQ to put up with the shifty bastards who flirt and sleep around with any woman he meets. The divorce became inevitable as she discovered that he was writing all kinds of mad love letters to Michelle and other women.

The ill-timing is that not too long after the divorce, Yang Lixia gets married with Jeremy Day, the guy whom she tutored as a TA and later became her fellow graduate student. He has been madly in love with her, all her physical features drive him mad. He endured years of pain and silence. The nice thing is that they even found the job in the same university teaching.

This of course rubs Yu Yong in an entirely wrong way. His personal saga has elevated into a race war. Instead of admitting his jerkhood, he blames everything on race. It's not Yu Yong who lost his wife, no, no. It's Jeremy day who stole his wife from him. Blah, blah, and blah. And the funny thing, the normally light hearted Yu Yong suddenly becomes a serious scholar of Edward Said and his famed Orientalism as he would quote passages after passages from that book. I am sure it is good for his English learning.

"By the way, did you attend Wan Fang's wedding? How was it?" Yu Yong stabs me via email, for he has sensed that something special happened between me and Michelle and he is jealous. Misery wants company.

On the other hand, wait a minute here, I ain't even aware of any wedding. Of course soon I am told that my former teacher, Wan Fang, should be addressed as Mrs. Michelle Baudelaire. Wow, how totally French! Wait a minute, Baudelaire is not the tall white guy I used to see at many parties with Michelle. Oh, well, who cares, really?

"I couldn't believe that she is married to someone who is so vicious. The last time I went down there to see you folks. After you threw me out, you bastard! I got Michelle's phone and address. When I knocked, a man answered the door, a white man. He was not bad looking, an intellectual type, perhaps. But his eyes were so cold, so sharp and so hateful. I had the feeling that he liked to kill me and perhaps eliminate all the non-white men on this planet. I am a motherfucker myself, you know. But his stare still gives me fits, a couple of years after I saw them. The whites are more narrow-minded and much less tolerant than we Chinese. We are too soft, me included.

"Whites are good at nothing but aggression. Blacks have muscles; Asians have brains. But the whites can kill.

"And yet, when Michelle came out, the same hateful eyes changed to the warmest and he was kissing her on and on all over. It was disgusting, so possessive and so offensive. And the whore, your Michelle, actually enjoyed it. I hated that. For him, she didn't even bother to pay attention to me, someone who came down thousands of miles to see her.

"What I am saying here is that the whites are overly aggressive. They robbed all the resources from all over the world. They demonize us Asian men and took great pleasure in taking our women. And of course some of the bitches are willing to part their thighs. This is shameful."

I tell him I disagree and he shouldn't draw conclusions from a small sampling of his pitiful life. He should keep his personal feelings away from general argument. For example, this Pierre Baudelaire is not even the same person who gave him a hard stare that day. This Baudelaire person was born in France and of course his peculiar European attitude is even more alienating to a Chinese person. But Michelle wanted him and got him. Michelle loves variety and craves for diversity. I could only wish her the best. But Yu Yong will not let the little things go and charges right back with a story.

"I know a young woman here in East Lansing, Michigan, who married a white guy. The guy now works for a computer company but he was a former marine who tolerated no talk-back. So when he talks to Stephanie, Stephanie has no choice but to nod or say yes. And their lovely girl, Megan, who is now 5 years old, has been reduced to a little obedient lamb. She is so timid. And worst of all, Stephanie speaks broken or scared English. Her life is all screwed up, I am telling you. She has been beaten by him a few times for talking back, my wife told me. But I have no sympathy for her at all. She trots around so proud of the fact that she is in bed with the establishment, with the power symbol, though her husband is none other than another loser.

"We the Chinese community should start thinking about how to deal with those 'Chinese' women who are f---ed by foreigners and then change their last names. This makes me sick. Interestingly, those women parade their whore bodies around our community. They cannot find an entry into European's community even after they offer their bodies to those men, then they come to our parties, emails and events to show their ego, some are trying to play a role in our community. We should get rid of them completely."

After reading his message, I feel infuriated by the hatred and the smallness of his heart. It is like I accidentally swallowed a fly. Ouch. Yu Yong is so self-centered. I am sure that he is thinking about himself and his interests, damn, he doesn't get what he wanted, while writing down the message and yet he wants to speak for all of the Chinese here. Of course I always feel funny when people like Yu Yong the idiot speaks on behalf of the Chinese community. From them I start to see the connection between some individual and the collective derogatory, ugly Chinese men. Oh, well, what a dusty world. The way I see it, there is no such thing as all of us. We are just a bunch of crazy individuals acting on our own instincts. Some of us are ugly, extremely ugly and others try to be nice folks, whether this world and the corner of hatred acknowledges our deed or not. And it's hard to be nice when you are being looked down by a few narrow-minded, and hatred-drenched men and women. And monsters come in all sizes, colors and shapes.

And yet Yu Yong doesn't give up easily. Out of blue he would send me another email.

"Tell me why is this? How come I haven't met one single Chinese woman married to a whitey who does not bash the Chinese as a race? Why do they have to abase a whole race in order to justify their little marriage? This is of course outrageous."

Well, I have to scream into his face to make him stop. I really wish that some of the ugliness could leave me alone. But again, it's love and relation that keep revealing to us both the beautiful and the ugly of our hearts, souls and the environment over and under our head. On the other hand, the world we have traveled through, especially our early youth and the crazy revolution, may have dumped too much negativity in our heart and soul. Consequently, some of us have lost the ability to be happy. And I may have reason to keep my eyes shut.

I still miss Michelle whenever I blink. I feel extremely lucky to have such a grand encounter with her in my life. I am so lucky that a week before I left that beautiful Southern California town I saw Michelle. I stopped by a stop sign in a side street where there were some small businesses. A gorgeous Asian woman in her summer dress sitting in one of the side walk chairs caught me eye. She was so gorgeous that the rest of the crowd appeared shabby, too fat, to wiry, too plain and too colorless. As much as she stood up slim, tall, gorgeous and glamorous, the rest of the crowd faded into the background like fallen leaves, dirt and brown air. Or, she was like a magnificent butterfly and everything else was just part of a nice garden, the weather, the casual movement of the town. After a split of a second of loss of consciousness I realized that it was Michelle and her husband and friends sipping coffee in a Saturday afternoon. The machine gun Jennifer was there flopping her fat lips. Thank goodness, her mouth was too far to reach my ears and my face. Then someone behind me honked the horn to push me ahead. The horn also caught the attention of Michelle, though not Jennifer as she was busy running her mouth. Michelle turned and saw me and tried to get up from chair but I had to go. I didn't wave, for I must concentrate on my driving and not disturbing the butterfly, my butterfly.

I have gone to Los Angeles and bought a tape that contains the song that keeps sounding off in my mind. And it keeps singing wherever I go.

"Where were you originated as a creature, my love? You are like a butterfly coming in through the window of my night. But how come you left without saying good-bye? All the missing and pain pile up in my heart for not hearing from you.

"Where were you originated as a creature, my love? You are such a beautiful butterfly coming in through the window of my soul. Are you leaving me again? so soon? Does every meeting have to be a painful parting?"