The Yellow Papers (40 page)

It would soon be the end of term and he'd be going back, but the waiting was becoming unbearable. He missed his friends, and he knew this was all a waste of time. No, that wasn't quite true – if anything, his time in Adelaide had simply reinforced the wisdom of Chairman Mao's teachings. Nothing here convinced him that capitalism was good for the people. Knowing how easy it was to show only the positive, he'd decided to see for himself, and so had walked the streets on his own at night, and he'd seen the homeless sleeping in parks and in doorways, the drunks staggering down streets, the poor scavenging rubbish bins. How much better was the Great Leader's idea of sharing everything, so that none had more than his brother?

They had tried, his lecturers and tutors, to change his ideas, but he hadn't been fooled. They'd tried – not overtly of course, they were too clever for that – but he'd seen through their clever talk. Their meetings with him were not, as they pretended, an attempt to help him improve his marks, but simply a thinly veiled stab at his position. They knew he didn't have a scholarship, and they obviously wanted him gone. They believed in the bourgeois theory of ivory tower education, which favoured the elite of this country, or if not, then the brilliant. They didn't want someone like him in their university.

Aakesh came into the room and threw his satchel on his bed. In the time Huang Ho had been here, he had become the closest thing to a friend.

‘Hey, Huang Ho, come down to the common room. We're having farewell drinks for Chanarong.' Chanarong was a Thai student who'd started at the same time as Huang Ho, and was in many of his classes.

‘He's leaving?'

‘Yes, his father's ill. He's going home, but he'll be back. Don't know when though.'

Huang Ho liked Chanarong, even though
he
had a scholarship. When he'd stormed out of the lecture room last month, after thinking Suzie Mitchell was laughing at him, Chanarong had sought him out; he'd noticed the girls giggling, and guessed Huang Ho's interpretation.

‘You're wrong, you know,' he'd told Huang Ho. ‘I think she likes you. My sisters always whisper and giggle like that when they like someone. Trust me, I know – they drive me crazy with it! That girl must like you.'

Huang Ho had never thought a girl might like him. In China where love was denounced as bourgeois decadence, and permission had to be obtained from local officials before even thinking of starting a relationship, sexual attraction was not a thing he remembered experiencing. Since the Communist takeover it hadn't been patriotic to dress in fashionable clothes, and expensive fabrics, jewellery and cosmetics had disappeared, to be replaced by drab unisex clothing. But even if this hadn't been enough to dull any attraction, sex was not a priority when everyone worked every single day to the point of exhaustion. In Hong Kong he'd noticed the girls, of course, with their colourful clothes and makeup, but he'd subjugated any feelings they may have aroused with intense political study, self-criticism and scorn at those who flaunted their sexuality.

Only in Adelaide, where the pace was so much slower and he'd had time to think, and where there were no political sessions to occupy his mind, did he experience sexual arousal. He fought these feelings constantly, reminding himself that sex and love shifted focus from working for the collective good, that it encouraged an exclusive world of decadence where personal happiness mattered more than the political life of the community. He'd even tried joining the others from the rooming house in the back garden, where they often gathered in the evening to drink beer and relax, hoping the alcohol, jokes and roughhousing in exclusively male company would dampen any such sensation, but though he tried hard to conquer himself still there were nights when he couldn't sleep, and he'd toss and turn in frustration until at last his hand would reach between his legs and he'd masturbate, all the time hating himself for being so weak. And now Chanarong thought Suzie Mitchell liked him; it was an idea he would never have contemplated. An idea he didn't know what to do with.

He rose from his bed and washed his face, then went down to wish Chanarong farewell.

By the time the sun set Huang Ho had drunk more than usual and didn't feel like returning to his room, so that when Aakesh suggested they all move on to a party he knew about in Glenelg, right by the beach, Huang Ho agreed to join them.

The Beatles LP finished on ‘Nowhere Man' and someone put on The Atlantics' ‘Bombora'. As the sound of reverb-drenched guitars vibrated around the room, Huang Ho lounged back on a stack of cushions on the floor and watched Suzie Mitchell dance.

This was her and her flatmates' party and he wouldn't have come had he known, but he'd only found out once there and Suzie had seemed pleased to see him, so he'd decided to stay. He'd never been to a party before.

He looked around at the room. It was sparsely furnished – an old couch covered by a blanket pushed against a wall, piles of cushions on the floor, a bright yellow plastic coffee table in front of the cushions. Young men with either Beatles' haircuts or hair touching their collars, girls with long loose hair or short geometric cuts, bright coloured clothes, plastic jewellery, heavily made-up eyes and pale lips. The room was crowded. Noisy. The air thick with perfume and smoke.

Huang Ho stood up, a little unsteady on his feet. He detoured via the kitchen to get another beer then went to examine the posters covering the walls. A red cow on a yellow background, and beneath it ‘Andy Warhol - 1965'. A black-and-white poster of soldiers in battledress, the one at the front wearing a beret, sunglasses and a row of medals. Below, in blood red, the title
The Battle of Algiers
, and beneath that ‘One of the most gripping films ever made.' Next to that, cut out of a newspaper, a photograph of a couple. The woman, long haired and smiling, sat on the arm of a park bench. The man sat on top of the bench back and smoked a cigarette. Beneath the photo, the words ‘Bob Dylan and Joan Baez in London.'

He moved on to the next wall, tripping over someone's legs. There, a huge poster advertised last year's Beatles' tour, and attached to the poster with a drawing pin were two tickets stubs from the Festival Hall in Melbourne for Monday, 15
^th
of June 1965, seats F57 and F58.

‘Come on, Ho. Dance with me!' Suzie took his beer from his hand and put it on the floor, then grabbed his hand and pulled him to centre of the room. Huang Ho wanted to refuse – he didn't know how to dance. The music changed to Barry McGuire's ‘Eve of Destruction' and before he could protest Suzie put her arms around his neck and, close against him, swayed to the music. Huang Ho stood still, not knowing what to do next, but Suzie put his hands on her hips and smiled up at him, then she rested her head on his shoulder.

Huang Ho held his breath. He'd never held a woman. He could feel her swaying against him. Feel her breasts pushing against his chest. The soft material of her dress. ‘Just move your feet to the music,' she said quietly, and he slowly shuffled his feet. He was sure others must be laughing at his inability to dance, but when he glanced around no one was looking at them. He relaxed a little then, and breathed in the clean smell of her hair. He moved his arms to circle her waist and when she didn't protest he pulled her closer still and still she didn't object. He closed his eyes and nuzzled her hair and swayed to the music, and he felt himself swell but if Suzie felt his erection she pretended not to notice. The music stopped but still they stood, gently swaying to the echoes of the song.

‘My Boy Lollipop' broke the spell. Suzie pulled away and danced around him, hands behind her back, laughing and teasing him as he stood there, dazed and once more inept. He felt embarrassed, sure everyone would notice his erection. He reached for her hand but she pulled it away, shaking her head as she smiled, stepping further away, swinging her hips. He turned then, angry and frustrated, and got himself another beer.

For the rest of the night he stayed on his cushions, watching her, drinking. It seemed she danced with every man in the room, and when the music slowed she danced with her arms around her partners' necks as she had done with him, and he saw that it meant little to her, though he wanted to believe it had been different for her when with him.

By around 2 a.m. the party dwindled. Many had already left. The record player played Simon and Garfunkel. Huang Ho looked around for Aakesh and saw him on the couch, his arm across a girl's shoulder. She whispered in his ear and Aakesh laughed and kissed her and she didn't object. Suzie came back into the room, dancing and twirling on her own.

‘Who wants to come to the beach?' she asked. Most ignored her, though one or two shook their heads. ‘Come on! I want to go for a walk down the beach.' Still no one volunteered. ‘Ho, you'll come with me, won't you?' and she pulled him up from the cushions.

They walked to the end of Nile Street, turned right onto Jetty Road and within minutes were on the beach. Suzie took off her shoes and ran to the water. Huang Ho followed her, keeping to the hard sand and she laughed and splashed him. He took off his shoes and socks then, and ran after her and she squealed and ran further into the water. He turned back towards the beach and she ran up behind him, and when he felt her close he spun around and grabbed her by both arms and tried to kiss her.

‘Let go!' and she freed her arms and pushed him and ran on. He stumbled backward and fell, and Suzie turned and laughed, walking backward. When she saw he didn't get up she came back, concerned. ‘Are you all right?'

He grabbed her then and pulled her down to the sand and was on top of her, kissing her, his hands reaching beneath her dress but she fought him off, no longer laughing.

‘Get off me!' but through the alcohol haze, the blood throbbing in his ears, he didn't hear. ‘Get off me you filthy slant-eyed bastard!' and this time her words registered. He hit her then, a hard slap across the face, then sought her mouth again and reached under her dress once more. His hand met satin pants and their softness excited him further, and he worked his way to the waistline and pulled, trying to lower them but his weight prevented it so that he pulled harder and heard a rip.

‘Oi! Get off her!' The beam of two flashlights running towards them. He panicked and he was stumbling along the sand, only the beam of a single flashlight following now. The soft sand slowed his progress and broken glass cut his foot but still he ran. Faster. Reached Jetty Road. Saw a taxi cruising the street.

He lay on his bed fully clothed, his eyes closed, but still he felt the room swaying. Vomit rose in his throat and he just had time to lean over the side of his bed. He threw up but he didn't care. His head throbbed and the room stank. He lay back down. Heard a knock on his door. Ignored it. Heard the knock one more time.

‘Open up, son. We know you're there.'

He rolled off the bed. Pulled himself up and opened the door.

One of the policemen had Huang Ho's shoes dangling from two of his fingers.

‘These belong to you, son?'

Huang Ho just stared.

‘Come on. Come with us,' and the grip on his arm allowed no argument.