Life and Death are Wearing Me Out

feelings. That twentieth and last time I had sex with my wife had been a product of the internal conflict I was feeling that night. I tried my best to be a decent lover, but I finished much too soon.
    Over the six days that followed, off in the countryside or at a meeting, cutting a ribbon at an opening ceremony or as a guest at a banquet, in the car or on a stool, standing or walking, awake or asleep, Pang Chunmiao was constantly on my mind, and I was trapped in intoxicating feelings from which I simply could not extricate myself in spite of the inner voice that kept saying: Stop here, go no further. It was a reminder that grew progressively weaker.
    At noon on the following Sunday I was a guest at a luncheon for a visiting official from the provincial government. I ran into Pang Kangmei at the county guesthouse. She was wearing a dark blue dress and a string of pearls. Her face was lightly powdered. The guest of honor was a man I’d come to know during a three-month course at a Party school, and though the banquet was hosted by the organization department, he asked that I be invited. I sat through the meal as if needles were poking up out of my chair. The way I sputtered and stammered, I must have sounded like an idiot. As hostess, Pang Kangmei toasted the guest and invited him to eat and drink, witty remarks falling like pearls until he was tongue-tied and enchanted. During the meal, she cast three chilled looks my way, each boring right through me. When the meal was over, she saw our official to his room, smiling all the way and making small talk with all the other luncheon guests. Since her car was the first to arrive, we shook hands to say good-bye. The mere touch of her skin was repulsive, but she said in a tone that sounded filled with concern, “You don’t look well, Deputy Chief Lan. If you’re sick, you should go see a doctor.”
    As I rode off I pondered Kangmei’s comment and shuddered. Over and over I warned myself: Lan Jiefang, if you don’t want to wind up broken physically and saddled with a ruined reputation, you must keep from plunging over the cliff. But when I stood at my office window and looked down at the weather-beaten New China Bookstore signboard, my fears and worries dried up and flew away, leaving only thoughts of her behind, thoughts etched deeply in my mind. In forty years on this earth I’d never felt anything like that. After adjusting the pair of Soviet Red Army binoculars a friend had brought back from Manzhouli, I focused my gaze on the bookstore entrance. The double doors, with their rusty metal handles, were unlocked; from time to time someone walked out, and my heart raced. Each time I was hoping to see her slender figure emerge, then gracefully cross the street and walk elegantly up to me. But it was never her, always book buyers, young or old, male or female. When their faces were pulled into the lenses of my binoculars, their expressions were very much alike — mysterious and bleak. I’d start thinking crazy thoughts. Had something bad happened in the store? Had something happened to her? More than once I entertained the thought of going to see for myself, pretending to be a customer, but with what little reason remained, I managed to hold back. I gazed up at the clock; it was only one thirty, still an hour and a half to go before the time we’d agreed upon to meet. I thought about taking a nap on the army cot I kept behind the screen, but I was too worked up to sleep. I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I shaved and trimmed my nose hairs. Then I studied my reflection in the mirror, half red, half blue — truly ugly. I gently tapped the blue side and cursed: Ugly shit! My self-confidence was on the verge of crumbling. Several times I heard light footsteps coming my way, and I rushed to open the door to greet her. But the hall was always empty. So I sat where she always sat and waited impatiently, flipping through the book I’d handed to her; I could almost see her sitting there reading. Her smell was on that book, her fingerprints were all over it. . . .
    Finally, I heard a knock at the door and felt cold all over. I was shivering, my teeth were chattering. I rushed over and opened the door. The smile on her face found its way into my soul. I forgot everything, the words I’d planned to say to her, Pang Kangmei’s veiled warning, all my fears. I took her in my arms and kissed her; she kissed me back.
    Between kisses we looked into each other’s eyes. There