The Bathing Women (36 page)

Tiao said, “The water has always been like that. Why didn’t you bring some water softener with you when you came back? Or just bring your own water, like Queen Elizabeth does—too bad you’re not a queen yet. Spare me the big performance.”

“You think this is a performance? It’s your vanity that can’t take it, right? Now that you’re the vice director of the Publishing House, you want me to act the brown-nose around you, like your colleagues and subordinates? Don’t forget how you got into the Publishing House. If Fei hadn’t sold herself for you, you would still be eating chalk dust and teaching high school. What messy relationships you have. That filled me with disgust whenever I thought about it.”

“You can leave if you’re so disgusted,” Tiao said.

“All right.” Fan packed up her stuff and actually left. “Fine …”

They didn’t talk to each other at all the next year. Yixun and Wu blamed Tiao for trading darts back and forth with Fan; when the sisters argued, they always sided with Fan. “Let her have her way” was their unalterable principle. They never thought of Tiao and Fan as two adults, who therefore needed to control their emotions and deal respectfully with each other. Instead they would always say, “Let her have her way. Let her have her way.” What did they know? Tiao looked at her parents quietly, her heart filled with an undefined sadness.

So Yixun made an international phone call to Fan. Pretending nothing had happened, he said, “Fan, why haven’t you called us? We all miss you very much.”

Fan said, “Why do I always have to call you? You can also call me. Is that so difficult?”

“Didn’t you tell us that phone calls in America were much cheaper than here?” Yixun said.

“It still costs something even though it’s cheap. Besides, you have money yourself. If you don’t even want to pay for phone calls, how can you claim to miss me …?”

Tiao was present during Yixun’s conversation with Fan, and it made her sad and angry the way Fan talked back to Yixun like that. Let the facts speak for themselves. Let facts change her parents’ principle of “let her have her way.”

What else did she need to do to “let her have her way”? She was angry. But, as with Yixun’s treatment of Wu, the deepest guilt came in the moment Tiao most resented Fan. Really it was a guilt beyond words, with no causality or logic involved. In short, she felt guilty and finally called Fan. She told her sister that she would be going to America to attend a conference. Would Fan be in America then? If so, she wanted to see her very much.

She flew to Chicago from Minneapolis after the conference and they met in America. It was in early winter, and Chicago was windy, but what a refreshing wind, chilling people to the bone, but waking them up completely. The dazzling gold of the fallen leaves all around Lake Michigan also left a deep impression on Tiao—they were not withered or crunching underfoot, either, because every one of them was soft, shining, supple, with a delicate sheen, like silk, gathered there like a silent carnival.

Fan showed her hospitality beyond expectations; maybe she wanted to make up for her spiteful departure the previous year. When she was far from China and reflecting on those hurtful words she’d hurled at Tiao, she must have had some bad moments. She hugged her sister enthusiastically, and when they got home and Tiao took out the Italian Trinity gold bracelet and the linen sun hat that Fan had purposely left behind, she cried, and Tiao also cried. Their tears were genuine at that moment, and washed away the ice in their hearts, both the old and the new. Fan gave her a house tour and showed Tiao to her room. Her cat, a large white animal called White Goat, appeared then and clumsily rolled over in front of Tiao, welcoming her. Although she didn’t really like cats, not to mention the fact that he was shedding, Tiao felt obliged to please Fan, and, pretending to be charmed, reached out to scratch his chin. She knew Fan didn’t like cats, either, but David did. His preference dictated hers, so she liked the cat unconditionally.

Tiao could stay in Chicago for only two days, and after that she had to go to Austin, Texas, for a few days. A friend had invited her, she told Fan. “Two days isn’t enough,” Fan said. But at least they would have those two days to spend together. Fan requested two days off from her company and told everyone that she needed the time because her sister was coming to visit. Her childhood attachment to her sister seemed to come back; she still missed Tiao in a way she didn’t even understand herself.

She took Tiao to the mall, and they bought things for each other at Macy’s. Tiao got her a long windbreaker, she got Tiao a leather handbag, and then they bought things for Yixun and Wu. Unlike Tiao, Fan wasn’t very interested in shopping, and she had to summon tremendous patience to accompany Tiao. When they got tired, they would go to a coffee shop to sit and get something to drink or eat. They went to the store’s bathroom together while an American woman, who had apparently been holding herself in with some difficulty, rushed in and farted loudly. They couldn’t help exchanging a glance and smiling. Fan said, “There are a lot of these vulgar types in the States.”

“She’ll hear us,” Tiao said.

“I guarantee you that she doesn’t understand Chinese. The language barrier can come in handy—she might think you’re complimenting her even though you’re actually cursing her.” They laughed.

She and Tiao took a walk down the elegant Goethe Street near the lake. She went into a flower shop on their way and insisted on buying a white lily for Tiao to hold. Although she felt that it was a little affected, Tiao’s heart was warmed by Fan’s thoughtfulness. As she held the fragrant lily and walked along Goethe Street, a fluffy puppy ran past them. The owner was a well-dressed thin old lady, but the strange thing was the puppy kept turning back towards them while it ran forward, which made Tiao and Fan keep looking at the puppy, too. Fan said, “Tiao, I think the dog looks like Maxim Gorky.” The comparison surprised Tiao, who just couldn’t imagine a puppy resembling a person, but they did look alike. Then, as if to confirm their conclusion, the puppy turned around to them again. Tiao couldn’t help cracking up, and she laughed so hard that she doubled over. The lily in her hand almost got crumpled and Fan pulled her into a restaurant called Big Shot. Both would remember the walk for a long time, and how they ran into “Gorky” on Goethe Street.

David came home in the evening and the three of them went to eat Japanese food. Time flowed like water with the arrangements, and everything seemed to go very well. Fan stayed in Tiao’s room until late at night, chatting. They hadn’t indulged in any girl-talk in ages, and now Fan started first—with confidences about a couple of brief affairs she’d had. Tiao then mentioned the friend named Mike who had invited her to Texas. “So the friend is a man,” Fan said.

“Yes, it’s a man,” Tiao said. “We met at a conference. His Chinese is very good, and he worked as an interpreter for my paper at the conference. Now he’s studying Chinese at Beijing University.”

“Are you interested in him?” Fan asked. Tiao said nothing. “Then he must be interested in you,” Fan said.

“He’s too young, seven years younger than I am. What does he know about love?” Tiao said.

Fan said, “Here people admire you if you have a lover who is seven years younger than you are. Older sister, I really envy you. I never expected you to be so … daring.”

“Me, daring? But nothing’s happened.”

“He … What colour are Mike’s hair and eyes? Do you have his picture?”

“No, I don’t, but you can talk to him and try his Chinese. I also need to give him my flight information. He said he would come to the airport to pick me up.”

They went ahead and called Mike. Both felt the need to avoid David, so they chose to make the phone call in the kitchen. Tiao and Mike exchanged greetings and talked a little, and then she introduced Fan to Mike. A Chinese who speaks English so well, and an American so fluent in Chinese, wouldn’t it be fun for them to have a conversation? So Fan took the phone and started to talk to Mike.

She insisted on talking to Mike in English instead of Chinese. Mike must have been complimenting her English on the other end of the phone, because Tiao saw her smile proudly. She was smiling, and speaking English at length, ignoring Tiao, who was standing next to her—maybe it was exactly because Tiao was next to her that she insisted on isolating her from them with English. Isolation was certainly what it was, with some condescension and insensitivity. The message seemed to be directed at Tiao, with this graceful and melodious English, that this was America, and no matter what kind of relationship Tiao was going to have with Mike, she was still a person who couldn’t speak. Tiao and Mike couldn’t talk like Fan and Mike could. She rattled on in English, making happy gestures and laughing heartily, as if she had known Mike forever. Her sense of humour and cleverness were enough to make their conversation lively and interesting. “Oh, Mike, why do you have to speak Chinese? Forget Chinese. Don’t try to tell Tiao you love her in Chinese.” She went on and on, maybe starting to feel nervous about the fact that Mike could speak to Tiao in Chinese. What right did Tiao have to be friends with an American? How could she have an American friend, considering her survival-English skills, her bare ability to ask for food on the aeroplane, directions in the street, or to buy simple things at the store? Unfortunately, it so happened that the American fellow spoke good Chinese. Her luck just confirmed the Chinese proverb: “The gods send good fortune to fools.” So she couldn’t have tolerated Mike speaking Chinese to Tiao. If she didn’t hear it, her heart could be at peace. For her not to hear meant it didn’t exist. Once heard, it would have become a reality: an American’s vocal cords could produce the sounds of Chinese, and those sweet words were not spoken to Fan but to this strange Tiao beside her. She couldn’t bear it, and hated her own vulnerability.

This English phone conversation had been going on for too long, long enough to make Tiao suspicious. Finally Fan brought the phone away from her ear and held it out to Tiao. “Mike is asking if you have anything else to say to him.”

For some reason Tiao grew apprehensive about taking the phone. The way Fan had seized control of the phone conversation and that tone of hers, assuming the role of the host—”Mike is asking if you have anything else to say to him”—only brought a single word to mind: cruelty. She lost interest in talking to Mike, and whether out of a sense of inferiority or low spirits, she hung up.

They halfheartedly said good night to each other and returned to their own rooms; both seemed to be trying to maintain a semblance of good relations.

If Tiao hadn’t made a small mistake the next morning, her stay in Chicago might have ended as well as it began. Unfortunately, she had a little accident; she had been having her period and accidentally got blood on the bedsheet, a very small spot, the size of a nickel. Immediately she got up, pulled off the sheet, and went to the bathroom to wash it, where she ran right into Fan, who was brushing her teeth.

Fan’s mood had changed overnight. For some reason Tiao holding the bloodstained bedsheet set her off. “Older sister, what are you doing?”

“I have to wash this spot.”

“You don’t have to wash it. I’ll take care of it when I do the laundry.”

“Let me take care of it.”

“Put it down. Put it down. Can’t you just put it down?”

“Why are you getting so worked up?”

“I don’t understand why you don’t use the tampons. I always do, and it never stains the sheet.”

“Didn’t I tell you that I wasn’t used to tampons?”

“Why can’t you get used to them? Why can’t you get used to the things that Americans are used to?”

“I don’t like stuffing things into my vagina.”

“But your thingies with the little …” In her exasperation, she momentarily forgot how to say winged pads. “They leaked on the sheets.”

“I’m sorry about the sheets, but it’s my choice to use the kind I want. Why do I have to use what you order me to?”

“I’m not ordering you, but I do have tampons at home. Only you refuse to use them. Didn’t I drive to the store to accommodate your habits—the fussiness you brought with you from China to America? What more do you want me to do?”

“You’re right that I’m fussy in some ways. I’ve always known that you didn’t like that about me. My clothes, my luggage, my friends, my job, all of it annoys you, makes you unhappy. You want me to say that only what you do is best, right? Your cat, and your tampons. I have to throw my arms open and embrace everything you recommend, right?”

David came over and asked them what they were talking about. Fan lied and said they were gossiping about a mutual acquaintance in China. David noticed their strange mood, but couldn’t understand a word they said. That was the convenience of the language barrier; they could talk about vaginas and tampons right in front of David.

Fan lied to David and then turned back to Tiao. “You’re right that I’m not happy. It was you who brought me all the unhappiness. You! When I was seven years old …”

Tiao knew very well where they were heading yet again; the unfortunate “before,” the “before” that was embedded in her heart, tormenting her constantly. Strangely, though, she was not as panicky as when Fan first mentioned it in China, as if the change of venue had performed some magic. Even the most shameful thing, when mentioned in a strange place, far from its original setting, didn’t seem that terrible. Strange places are ideal for recalling past horrors. So Tiao wasn’t frightened by Fan’s reference to the event. She even felt that she had the courage to stand here, in Chicago, Illinois, right in front of Fan, to retell the whole story from beginning to end, and simply to declare again, I was the murderer. Her candour, no matter how detailed and complete, would be overwhelmed by the vastness of America, because America doesn’t care—has no interest in denouncing the secret crime committed by a strange foreigner. It made her feel as if she were about to tell someone else’s story—half truth and half fiction—with calm and detachment. This was a new discovery for her, which disconnected her from the incident. Maybe she was not all that detached, but she was at least granted calm by the foreignness of the place. Calmly, she interrupted Fan. “I want to say something that I have held in for a long time, and today I’m going to let it out: don’t you try to terrify me with ‘before.’ Even if everything I did before was wrong, it doesn’t mean what you did was right.”