Big Breasts & Wipe Hips: A Novel

recently widowed woman. He was, as he later learned, right on target. For some reason, the woman’s approach threw fear into him; he had the strange feeling that the gloom she exuded had penetrated the thick display window and was spreading throughout the shop. Before even reaching the place, she’d turned it into a mourning hall. Jintong felt like hiding, but it was too late — he was like an insect paralyzed by the stare of a predatory toad. This woman in the raincoat had just that sort of penetrating stare. Undeniably, they were beautiful eyes, beautiful but frightening. She stopped directly in front of Jintong. He was in a dark place and she was in the light, which meant she should not have been able to see him standing there in front of a stainless steel display rack; but she obviously could, and she obviously knew who he was. Her aim was clear. All that looking around as if lost while she stood beneath the parasol tree a moment before had only been an act, intended to confuse him. Later on she would say that God had led her straight to him, but he didn’t believe her, figuring it was all part of a planned scheme, especially after learning that the woman was the widowed eldest daughter of the Broadcasting Bureau chief, Unicorn, who, he was convinced, was behind it all.
    Like lovers meeting, she stood before him, separated only by a pane of glass with teary raindrops slipping down one side. She smiled, revealing a pair of dimples that had aged into wrinkles. Even through the glass, he could smell her sour widow’s breath, which sent waves of sympathy crashing into his heart. Jintong gazed upon the woman as if she were a long-lost friend, and tears gushed from his eyes; even more tears gushed from her eyes, soaking her pale cheeks. He could think of no reason not to open the door, so he did. As the rain suddenly fell harder, and as the smell of cold, moist air and muddy soil poured into the shop, she threw herself into his arms as if it were the only natural thing to do. Her lips sought out his; his hands slipped under her raincoat, and he grasped her bra, which felt as if it was made of construction paper. The smell of cold earth in her hair and on her collar snapped him out of his trance, and he quickly jerked his hands away, wishing he’d never let them stray in the first place. But, like the turtle that’s swallowed the golden hook, he wished in vain.
    He could think of no reason not to take her into his private room.
    He locked the door behind him, but, finding that somehow inappropriate, quickly rushed back and unlocked it before pouring her a glass of water and offering her a seat. She preferred to stand, and he rubbed his hands nervously. How he loathed himself, both for his provocative action and for his bad behavior. If he could have absolved himself from sin and gone back a half hour in time by cutting off a finger, he’d have done it without a moment’s hesitation. But that was not possible; even a missing finger would not bring him absolution. The woman he’d kissed and fondled was standing in his private room covering her face with her hands and sobbing, tears oozing from between her fingers and dripping onto her raincoat. Not content to stifle her sobs, she was nearly bawling, her shoulders heaving. Jintong forced himself to contain his disgust toward this woman, who carried the smell of a cave animal, and led her over to a red Italian leather swivel chair. But she’d barely sat down before he jerked her back to her feet and helped her out of her wet raincoat, soaked from a mixture of rain, sweat, snivel, and tears. That is when he discovered that she was a truly ugly woman: pushed-in nose, protruding lips, and pointy chin — the face of a weasel. So how had she seemed so appealing standing in front of the display window? Somebody is out to trick me, but who? But the real surprise still awaited him; for the minute he removed her raincoat, he nearly cried out in alarm. All this woman, whose skin was covered with dark moles, was wearing was a Unicorn: The World in Bras blue brassiere with the price tag still attached. Seemingly embarrassed, she covered her face. Flustered, Jintong rushed to cover her with the raincoat in his hands, but she shrugged it off. So he locked the door, pulled down the curtains, and made her a cup of instant coffee. “Young woman,” he said, “I deserve nothing less than death. Please don’t cry. There’s nothing that bothers me more than a woman crying. If