Don’t Cry, Tai Lake

not making it more difficult for me?
    I still don’t know what work you are really engaged in. No, I am not complaining. You must have your reasons. But far from being the bookish schoolteacher as you have claimed to be, you are a man with great potential in our society. You can go a long way, I’m sure, within the system.
    In contrast, I’m on a political blacklist for what I have done.
    You believe you can get me out of trouble, and perhaps you can. This time. If we’re together, however, I may bring you no end of trouble, for which I’ll never be able to forgive myself. You are “in a position”—as you sometimes say—to make a difference in today’s society. You’ve already demonstrated as much. For your career, you don’t really need me—except as a temporary companion during one of your vacations, for a short moment.
    Still, the memory of that moment will go a long way for me. One of these days, I may come to pride myself on having been once close with you, being nearly the one for you, even though a voice in the back of my mind said: No, I’m not the one for you.
    There’s also something that may sound absurd, but it’s important to me, so let me say it: even at our closest moment, I had a curious feeling that you were still thinking of something related to your work, something essential to you, but about which I know nothing.
    Early that morning, I read the lines you’d written in the dark, as I lay beside you. It is a great poem, and you have to complete it—for me. You see, I’m already taking pride in being the one in your poem.
    It reminded me of a favorite poem of mine. So let these lines say what I cannot say. After all, you have your destination, and I have mine, like in the poem.
     
    A cloud in the sky, inadvertent, I cast
    a shadow in the wave of your heart.
    Don’t be so surprised,
    nor be so overjoyed—
    In an instant everything is gone.
     
    We meet on the night-covered sea;
    You have your destination, and I, mine,
    If you remember, that’s fine,
    But you’d better forget
    The light produced in the meeting.
    Because of the light produced in our meeting, however transitory, over the night-covered lake, can you forgive me for this upset and stay friends?
     
    Shanshan
    The poem quoted at the end of the letter was one entitled “Inadvertent,” written by Xu Zhimo, a celebrated modern Chinese poet. She, too, had liked poetry in college.
    To his surprise, the letter didn’t surprise him that much.
    She said what she could say. It explained, at least partially, her unexpected visit to him that night, and her sudden decision this morning. Also, she touched upon things he himself had been contemplating. For one, the position that enabled him to make a difference in today’s society. He didn’t care enormously for the “position” per se, but when looking at the situation closely, he realized that there was a responsibility in being a chief inspector. As long as he held the position, he could strive for justice and security—however small, however limited—for the people.
    Was there any point in pushing for a meeting now?
    Better to hold on to the image of her in that unfinished poem, in the fragmented memory of the cloud turning into the rain, and the rain into the cloud, with the lake water lapping against the night.
    It was time for him to leave, he thought. He folded up the letter.
    An occasional siren reverberated in the distance. It began drizzling, just a little. Still, he remained sitting at the table, an empty cup beside him, staring at the gray iron gate in spite of himself.
    You’re leaving, a cloud drifting away / across the river, the memories / falling like a willow catkin / to the ground, clinging, after the rain .
    But was he going to give up so easily?
    No, he didn’t set that much store by his so-called position or career. Not if he couldn’t make a difference in his own life by being with the woman he cared for.
    Nor did he think that she made her decision simply because she cared for Jiang more than for him. Rather, it was in the best interests of Chief Inspector Chen, at least so she might have believed. That was why she came to his room that night, and why she let him go this morning.
    The gray iron gate began to open with a loud scraping across the street.
    She appeared, her face pale, her black hair streaming disheveled over a white dress, holding a plastic bag full of newly purchased food, striding hastily out of the grocery store.
    It had been