Bar Wujiaoxing was a pub off campus. The rain was coming down again but it wasn’t too far away. When we arrived, the place was full of lonely old men who looked at us with hungry eyes. It made me self-conscious.
Suddenly, a hand pinched my ass.
I screeched.
I turned to Madam Macaw, who was grinning.
‘You gotta be alert. I’ve gotta make you a lert!’
‘A lert?’
‘A lert. Lerts are the best type of creatures. Kind, good-hearted, but always vulnerable to a pinch on the bum!’
I thought about the two boys. The way Lan had kissed Min on the mouth, however briefly. I felt a shiver of disgust. I wondered if Madam Macaw wanted to kiss me like that. Was she some type of homosexual too? Or was she normal? Who on earth was she?
But then it occurred to me that no one wanted to kiss me that way. I’d had some kind of relationship with Gen but aside from that no boy had shown interest in me romantically. So it seemed unlikely that someone like her – so gregarious and full of colour – would be interested in me that way. At once I relaxed.
‘What are you having?’
I didn’t know.
Madam Macaw smiled all the more.
‘Barkeep,’ she called, ‘a couple of specials!’
The barman looked at her with a rueful grin.
‘Coming up.’
‘Something that will grow hairs on your chest!’ she said with a wink.
The drinks were chocolate milkshakes infused with chilli and a liquor I couldn’t identify, a delicious hit to the taste buds.
I began to relax.
‘So what’s your story?’ she asked.
I took another sip.
‘I don’t have much of one, I guess.’
She raised her glass, clinked it against mine.
‘Nobody has a story. Then they drink and everyone has one.’
‘Do you have one?’
Her expression assumed a flash of sadness.
‘Yeah, I guess, but that’s not for here and now.’
She spoke softly and with great seriousness. It didn’t even occur to me to question her.
‘But tell me, Funny Bunny, what’s up with the old hack-and-slash?’
I blinked at her.
‘The what?’
She peeled her sleeve up and began to stab theatrically at her wrist while humming the music from the Hitchcock film Psycho.
I had forgotten that she had seen me at my lowest ebb.
I wanted to speak, but my lips trembled and my eyes welled up. I was furious and helpless in the same moment. Was I close to walking out? I don’t remember. But I remember she could do that to you. One minute you were having a casual conversation, the next minute her words were ripping out your innards.
‘I don’t know what you think you saw …’ I mumbled.
She looked at me for a second or two. Then her arm shot out and she took my hand. Her grip was firm and warm.
‘Hey,’ she said, ‘I’m not judging you. Your level of crazy is nothing compared with some of the things I’ve done. I’m a pro and you’re an amateur when it comes to the insane stakes. But you got me curious all the same.’
‘Curious about what?’ I murmured reluctantly.
‘You,’ she said, with a smile that was almost kind.
My head felt heavy. The truth was I had never even considered why I did it. I sometimes noticed how the smooth caramel-coloured skin of my left arm was overlaid by a faint lattice of white scar tissue. I knew what I did was odd. But at the same time it felt automatic and instinctive, like breaking the surface of water and taking a gulp of air.
I glanced at her, glanced away. Took another tentative sip of the rich cocktail. Eventually I found myself speaking.
‘When I was younger, I’d get this feeling. This hateful feeling. Like I was a nothing. As if a great weight was pressing down on me, stopping my breath. Suffocating me. My heart would race. And I’d fight to breathe. And then one day something happened. And I took a knife. And did … that. And then, straight away, I could breathe again. Just like that.’
She watched me with her unnerving green eyes.
‘And what was it?’
‘What was what?’
‘What was it that happened to you, Funny Bunny? What made you pick up the knife that first time?’
I gazed into her eyes, the alcohol melting into me, figures blending into the background; the old men in this dark, dusky bar, the softness of the shadows. I went to say something, but then:
‘Voilà! We’re here! Hold our seats while we get drinks!’
The two boys had arrived, Min wearing a small pink bruise on his forehead with a certain wounded pride. The much larger Lan was smiling shyly, his hefty body ungainly and out of place in this subdued, intimate space, a vulnerability in his bearing, like that of a lost child. He followed Min docilely to the bar, the contrast between them almost comic. The memory of their kiss was imprinted on my mind; a lingering stain of distaste. I thought about it some more. What if they did more than kiss? What if they did the type of thing Gen and I did?
I felt her studying me with amusement.
‘You are picturing them having sex, aren’t you?’
‘No, of course not,’ I blurted out indignantly. ‘I would never …’
She said nothing but smiled a voluptuous cat’s smile full of sly delight.
I looked at her for a few moments longer, feeling the tingle in my cheeks. I tried to keep the disapproval out of my voice.
‘Why do they do it? Why do they do that kind of thing … to each other?’
‘Hooligans,’ she murmured softly.
‘Hooligans?’
‘That’s what the police call it. They call it “hooliganism”. They say “hooliganism” is against the law. They are too disgusted to use the actual word: “homosexuality”. When he was sixteen, Lan was sent to prison because he was caught with another boy his own age. They weren’t doing much more than kissing and cuddling. Nevertheless, the repercussions were … cruel. He was locked in a cell for a few days. With men rather than other boys. Fortunately his father had some influence. Lan wasn’t there for long. But I guess it was long enough. He doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t talk about much. I imagine some things are too awful to talk about.’
An image flickered through my head, a memory from long ago. The bright lights of an official building. The shadows of men. Pain snarling in my shoulder and arm. And a fear so great it had left me trembling like a small animal.
‘So why do they continue to take the risk?’ I asked softly.
She looked at me, her eyes flashing and cruel. And then she spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.
‘I imagine having to hide your true nature is the most awful feeling. A hateful feeling. As if a great weight is pressing down on you, stopping your breath, suffocating you …’
She’d thrown my words back at me. I felt a lump in my throat.
‘That’s not fair,’ I said petulantly.
‘No, it’s not,’ she agreed with a murmur.
But I knew she wasn’t talking about me.
We were interrupted once again. The two young men took their seats. Lan glanced up at me nervously every once in a while. He smiled shyly, but didn’t speak. Min, on the other hand, talked cheerfully and incessantly.
‘So, have you ever done any acting? No, don’t tell me, you are more of the directing type – quiet and thoughtful, I can see that. But maybe I’m wrong. I tend to prejudge people. You seem so normal! I don’t mean that in a bad way, but we actors tend to be all over the place and, and … you don’t seem as if you are all over the place. You seem normal. Did I say that already?’
Min spoke in a rapid babble. I found myself smiling.
He extended his hand tentatively.
‘It’s nice to meet you!’
His hand was warm and a little bit sweaty but his eyes were shining, as if he really was psyched to meet me. Perhaps it was the drink, but I began to relax. What these two guys did with one another didn’t seem so important. Because they were both looking at me like I was a person who had something to offer.
And that’s when Madam Macaw cracked a fart.
It was a volatile, violent sound that peeled across our conversation.
I was mortified. Women were supposed to be discreet about that sort of thing. To do it when nobody else was around. Anything to prevent the grim possibility of an eruption in public, anything to hide the fact that ours were bodies which farted. I had always been taught not to be a body at all – merely a metaphysical presence like my mother, a perfumed, coiffured creature who passed through life without ever emitting odours. That was what a woman was supposed to be. I looked at Madam Macaw and felt mortified on her behalf.
But there was no embarrassment in her expression. Instead she threw her arms back, releasing a long, luxurious ‘ahhh’ sound. She looked at us and winked.
‘Better out than in, boys and girls!’
For the second time, I was shocked. But my feeling wasn’t one of disgust but of amazed delight. The absurdity of the situation bubbled up within me, and I started to giggle.
It was hard to stop laughing.
Min looked at her.
‘You dirty bitch!’
‘Takes one to know one,’ simpered Macaw.
But then her expression grew serious.
‘This is definitely a warning. Defcon amber if you like. A clear sign of things to come. I’d better head to the little girls’ room!’
I watched her go, astounded. In the weeks and months that followed, this pattern would be repeated. She’d say or do something scandalous, and I’d watch her, utterly astonished, secretly elated.
I looked back at the guys.
‘Who the hell is she?’ I asked in astonishment.
Min smiled as if he understood exactly why I was so baffled, why I was asking that question.
But it was Lan who started to speak. His bulk oozed into the chair, huge and belligerent, yet his voice was soft and slight.
‘Well,’ he said quietly, ‘she is a real nice person. With her, you feel like you can always be yourself.’
I looked at him, surprised.
‘No offence. But she has clearly got you dressing up and acting out scenes from some fifteenth-century play by a Western playwright. How is that possibly being yourself?’
Min interjected at this point.
‘Sixteenth-century, actually. But that’s beside the point. Let me ask you this. What do you think about Batman?’
I was flummoxed.
I searched for the criticism, for the trap. But Min simply sounded curious and interested. It wasn’t like the way Gen looked to poke holes in what I was saying when I had the wrong opinion about a given poet or writer.
‘Batman? I guess he is … pretty cool!’
I was in my ‘pretty cool’ phase back then, it was what everyone said.
It didn’t seem to do the trick, though.
‘But he was really Bruce Wayne, right? That was his secret,’ I added, in desperate hope of scoring a point.
I thought they might be sarcastic and shoot me down. I knew next to nothing about Batman and had no idea why it might be important.
But Min’s look was kind.
‘He was really Bruce Wayne, wasn’t he?’
‘Well, I think,’ Min pronounced with a flourish, ‘that the real nature of Bruce Wayne was actually the man resembling the bat. That it’s the Bruce Wayne persona itself which was a fake. And it was only when he was the Batman that he became who he really was. I think it is only by using a mask that some people can be true to themselves.’
I mulled it over. The idea was fascinating to me.
‘But why would you need the mask in the first place?’
Min and Lan exchanged a look. My question must have sounded unbearably naive. I understand that now.
Min looked at me.
‘It’s harder and harder to be yourself on campus these days,’ he said seriously.
‘Why is that?’
‘Because things are changing. Did you know the administration has just introduced a “lights out” policy?’
‘No, what is that?’
‘Since the start of this month, Peking University has decided that you can’t leave your lights on after 10 p.m. And that means people can’t meet or talk to each other after that time. Of course, the university administration says it’s all just a question of saving electricity. But it’s more than that. It’s about controlling our movements. And now, in the Triangle—
‘The Triangle?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ nodded Min, ‘the Triangle is the garden in the middle of the campus. Lovely, I should say.’
‘Very lovely,’ mumbled Lan in agreement.
‘And it is the place where there are bulletin boards beneath the trees. You can find out about life on campus there, you can find out what is going on.’
I nodded.
‘But much more stuff has been going up recently. Since the administration has decided to crack down on our movements, posters are appearing with the heading “No lights out!” Nobody knows who has made them or is distributing them, but they have proliferated in the Triangle. They argue for our rights, our freedoms. That grown men and women should decide for themselves what time they choose to go out at night, and what time they go to bed. That students shouldn’t be blanketed in darkness like errant children.’
I knew nothing of this. But I felt myself swell with indignation. I thought about how my mother had controlled me. How she continued to do so. How powerless I felt a lot of the time. University, for me, had represented the possibility of an escape from that kind of thing.
‘So what’s going to happen?’ I whispered.
‘Well,’ said Min, leaning forward, taking me into his confidence, ‘it’s all up in the air at the moment. But motions are being made. Steps are being taken.’
He looked around him, then slipped a single piece of sweaty paper into my hand. I brought it down to my lap. Glanced around at the old men in the bar, none of whom were paying the slightest attention to us. And yet, it all seemed so clandestine, so exciting.
It read: ‘Our dorms are our collective home. As responsible adults, we can talk to each other, find solutions and live together as one. The school isn’t our mummy, daddy or dictator. Autonomy is the foundation of democracy.’
The paper seemed to buzz in my hands. I looked at the two young men, their faces nervous but expectant, and I realised they had let me in on a great secret. But more than that, I felt thrilled. I thought about my long-lost friend, the old man in the bookshop, and I remembered my Orwell.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’
Madam Macaw arrived, slamming a tray of drinks on the table.
‘I’m gone five minutes, and you’ve already got her talking about this kind of shite!’
Min looked up at her and for the first time the glow of admiration had dimmed in his eyes.
‘Don’t you think this kind of stuff plays a part?’
She looked at him without missing a beat.
‘Yeah. No. Maybe. Who knows? But do you think any of these student union wankers are gonna resolve the situation? Do you really think they are going to make life better? Let me tell you something now. They will issue their leaflets and their proclamations, and the same guys who issue those leaflets and proclamations will be the same guys who, sometime down the line, are the people on the university board demanding you stop issuing your leaflets and proclamations. And so the cycle of life goes on!’
She ended with a flourish of her arm.
Min looked as though he wanted to resist her with a stream of arguments, but in the end he only managed an aloof and detached throwaway comment.
‘You’re a cynical human being!’
Macaw’s eyes flared with delight. It seemed the finest compliment she could have been given. She raised her glass.
‘Here’s to that!’
We all knocked back our drinks.
Min glanced at me, smiling. His resigned and warm-humoured look implied that the personality of Madam Macaw was overpowering, and yet this was the way of things. I smiled back. Perhaps it was the alcohol again, but I felt a sense of camaraderie with him.
I glanced at Min and Lan. Min was still looking at me with awkward complicity. Lan was watching us both with an expression of gentle fascination. And although I was aware that these two boys were in some way ‘unnatural’, I was grateful for their kindness. And it occurred to me that they went together well.