Naked Earth (25 page)

“Yes, I hope we’ll always be friends,” she said quickly.

After that neither of them spoke.

At length she said, her voice childishly toughened and obstinate from obvious effort, “When we were in Han Chia T’o we were all very tense and maybe a bit over-wrought. Afterwards when we’ve quieted down, probably we feel different about things. But anyhow we’re friends. Surely we can be frank with friends.”

After a moment of silence Liu said, “I’ve always loved you.” It was as strenuous as talking in sleep, when your lips feel numb and heavy, moving with difficulty, and you think you hear your own voice but perhaps you never did speak, or if you did, you only got out half the sentence.

Su Nan said nothing to that. Nor did he follow up with any other remark. Presently they turned again to the blackboard newspaper.

“Let’s go. It’s almost stopped raining,” she said eventually. “Look, you’ve got chalk dust on your back.” She looked round, flicking the white and blue powder off her own back.

The casualness in her tone seemed to close the scene between them. Suddenly feeling desperate, he put his arms around her, pressing his face down hard on her hair.

“Why are you so unhappy?” she murmured after a while.

“Because—” Then he started again, “Because I haven’t seen you for such a long time.”

She smiled. “Feel like we’re strangers?” she asked in a low whisper. The words, all but inaudible, created a ripple that expanded, fading away, over the face of his heart which expanded with it until he could hardly breathe.

“Not now,” he answered after kissing her. Then he kissed her again.

Somewhere down the lane a sticky oil-paper umbrella opened with a loud whirr like the sound of startled wings. Before anybody came their way Liu and Su Nan started walking out of the lane.

Liu looked at his watch. “There’s still time to do another movie,” he said, yearning for the cover of darkness.

“But there’s nothing to see,” Su Nan said. Sixteen theatres were all showing the Soviet film they had just seen and the remaining eleven were showing a revived Chinese film they had both seen before. Group showing was becoming a fad among movie exhibitors.

“Let’s go and see the Chinese picture,” Liu suggested. “Haven’t seen it for a long time.”

“No, it’s not worth seeing a second time. Let’s just walk.”

Liu took her to the old shopping center downtown. “You might like to see old Shanghai,” he said. “I don’t know this part of the city myself. Only been here once. To order an embroidered pennant.”

“Who was it for?” she asked.

“Oh, for some actress who bought a plane singlehanded, in the Contribute Airplanes and Big Guns Movement.”

The rows of silk shops were deserted. The sedate shop clerks had turned barkers, standing on the pavement clacking two yardsticks together, yelling for people to come in. Su Nan thought it was great fun. The embroidery shops on the next street were enjoying a new boom though, with orders for pennants pouring in, to be awarded to record-breaking labor heroes, progressive opera troupes or private collectors who voluntarily gave up heirloom curios or rare editions to the government.

In the gathering dusk women had begun to appear under the lamp posts. They looked like housewives in their quiet gowns and seedy, knitted sweaters. They either carried a baby or held an older child by the hand as camouflage. Su Nan glanced at them once or twice without saying anything.

“You haven’t seen the Native Products Exhibition yet, have you?” Liu said embarrassedly. “Then let’s go.”

A trolley took them to one of the back entrances of the Race Course, where the exhibition was held. Liu had been here twice before, together with his unit. It took two separate Group Sightseeing trips for them to cover all the exhibits conscientiously. These were scattered over the vast ground in newly erected frame houses.

“They all say the House of Aquatic Animals is the most interesting,” Liu said. “There’s a big tortoise there.”

The queue was so long in front of the House of Aquatic Animals, they doubted they could get in before closing time.

“The House of Manual Arts isn’t bad,” he offered. “With embroideries and lacquer things from Fuchien.”

The queue was shorter in front of the brick building, the old Race Course Club which housed the Manual Arts products. So they got in line. Moving slowly up the cement steps into the lighted hallway, they came at once face to face with a huge embroidered portrait that occupied a semi-detached partition by itself. It looked very much like the touched up and tinted photo of a wealthy old lady, ruddy-cheeked, with glossy still-black hair smoothed back on her oval head, but combed down a little on either side to cover the receding hairline. A big flesh-colored mole grew on her chin.

“That’s not embroidery. Practically a photo!” a man in the line clucked admiringly. “Even that mole is there.”

“I’ve always said the best thing about Chairman Mao is that mole of his,” quavered the old woman in front of him. “Ought to be Emperor, to judge by that mole.”

“Move on, Ma,” the man said a little nervously, giving her a little push.

“All I’m saying is this mole is good,” his mother protested.

Next to the portrait a whole wall was covered by little pink satin bibs embroidered with green sprigs of blossoms. All of them were of exactly the same color and design. The rows and rows of identical bibs marched dizzily to the ceiling.

A strong whiff of the scent of a newly opened orange drifted through the shuffling crowd. Liu looked around and saw Ko Shan peeling the fruit. She probably had not come alone. The two men behind her were also eating oranges. She had not seen him, being very much farther in front. But he knew that she was bound to see him sooner or later, the way the queue was inching forward step by step. There was no getting away either, railed in as they were by the movable, red-and-white striped fence.

So he was prepared for the orange peel which hit him on the shoulder. Su Nan happened to be turning around talking to him. Ko Shan looked at her hard and then flashed a knowing smile at Liu. Liu nodded at her politely. She had more make-up on than usual. Her cheeks were deep pink with rouge but there were tired shadows on her face under the glaring overhead light. The sea of pink satin bibs behind her made up an embroidered backdrop. As the queue continued to move forward she disappeared into a doorway. By the time Liu went into the room she was no longer in sight.

From there the queue went out a French window on to the verandah and then out of the building down another flight of steps. The shadow of the clock-tower stood above the house. Strings of colored lights and kerosene lamps dotted the darkness but they were too far-spaced to light up the vast enclosure. Soviet music poured out of the many loudspeakers and ran together, a broad gray river under a brooding Russian sky. The uneven dirt ground, the Race Course lawn gone bald, was filled with big puddles bridged by wobbly boards. The place was so large and unkempt and unfinished-looking, it did succeed in looking like somewhere in the Soviet Union.

The music stopped. A recorded speech was being broadcast now. The microphone was turned on too loud; not a word could be heard. It sounded just like furious quacking, coming from all sides, wafted on the evening breeze, as if a shoal of ducks were closing in on their rendezvous. Both Liu and Su Nan broke out laughing without saying anything.

When they passed an ice cream wagon they stopped to buy frozen suckers. Somebody suddenly came up to them from the shadows and said, “Here, hold this for me. So heavy!” A paper parcel dangling from a twisted straw was thrust into Liu’s hand.

“I bought a ham from one of those mat sheds over there,” Ko Shan said. She had never behaved familiarly to him in front of people, probably because she had her own reasons for keeping their relations in the dark. But now slipping her arm through his, she asked, “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“This is Comrade Ko Shan of the
Liberation Daily News
. This is Comrade Su Nan,” he said.

“Oh, so it’s Comrade Su. When did you come to Shanghai, Comrade Su?”

“I only got here about two weeks ago,” Su Nan said smiling.

“Got a cigarette?” Ko Shan asked Liu. He was carrying his coat over his arm because the evening was warm. Before he could answer she had already stuck her hand into his coat pocket and found one of the loose cigarettes he always had on him. “Ai-ya, your coat’s all wet. Isn’t it hot today?”

“Yes. Up north it’s getting quite cool now,” Su Nan said.

“Yes, you came from the north, didn’t you? How did you like Chinan?”

“It’s a very quiet place.”

“Where’re you working now?”

“I’m with
Wen Hui Pao
.”

Liu said conversationally, “You’re both newspaper workers.”

“We ought to get together for the Cross-flow of Experience,” Ko Shan said smiling.

“I know so little. I have a lot to learn, Comrade Ko,” Su Nan said.

“You’re too modest. You must come and see me when you have time. Make him bring you along.” She took the ham back and nodded at Su Nan. “I’ll be seeing you,” she said, ignoring Liu.

Liu had thought that she would not leave them just yet. He had expected further insinuations and revelations. She left behind her a short silence.

Then Su Nan said, “How did she know I came from Chinan?”

“Everybody knows at the office. I’m always writing to Chinan. And well, there’re your letters. I keep getting them.”

“Aren’t people awful,” she laughed embarrassedly. “Such busybodies.” But she obviously felt pleased and walked closer to him. It made Liu feel worse.

“She knows you very well?” she said.

“She’s the same with everybody,” Liu laughed uncomfortably. “I heard she did underground work before. Even saw combat with the guerillas,” he said, as if that would explain everything.

“At least she’s not stuck-up like the other old
kan-pu
.” She finished her frozen sucker. She wiped her hand and lips with her handkerchief and passed it to Liu.

So she had not suspected anything at all. Perhaps because Ko Shan appeared much older than he, at least seven or eight years older. Somehow he resented it a little, if she looked at it that way. Of course that was foolish of him. He ought to be glad instead of feeling just a little indignant; he did not know why.

Girls are funny, he thought. A year ago when they were in Han Chia T’o, she had seemed to be a little jealous of Erh Niu, when there was really nothing between Erh Niu and him. Why did she feel nothing now, when there was real cause to be jealous?

Then he thought, she must have been sensitive back in Han Chia T’o because she had not yet felt certain about him. Once he had shown her that he loved her she had trusted him implicitly. He really ought to feel ashamed of himself.

He had thought that he had broken with Ko Shan. But now it looked as if he had been taking things too much for granted. He must go and explain to her. Theirs was not a case where “the lotus root is broken but the fibers are still connected.” He must make it very definite without being offensive, if he did not want to go about in dread, knowing she could make things awkward for him any time she chose. He had better go and see her at her place—they could not talk much at the office, and anyhow he could not risk having a scene there.

But wouldn’t that be just what she wanted him to do? Yes, that was why she had not stayed long just now, and had only said enough to get him alarmed. Because if she had been too obvious he would have been forced to make a confession to his girl, however much it cost him. Then she would be left with no hold on him.

He kept putting off the interview, knowing all the time that there was no getting out of it. These last few days he had been called back to his old office to help with a Shock Attack. A great batch of reading matter had to be catalogued before it left for the Korean front to boost the morale of the Volunteers. He went to the printer’s in the afternoon because of some delay in delivery. When he came back Chang Li told him, “Ko Shan telephoned you twice.”

“Oh? Did she leave a message?”

“She didn’t say anything.” Chang looked up from the desk and smiled at him. “Better be careful. She isn’t easy to deal with.”

Liu stared at him for a moment, then said “What?” softly, incredulously, laughing a little. “Don’t misunderstand. You know it’s purely business. They want me there at the office for something. I’m getting to be their odd-job man. As if I don’t have enough work of my own.”

“All right, all right,” Chang said smiling. “I’m only saying this to you because I treat you as one of my own.”

“Of course, I know. But really, there’s nothing in it.”

“Then you’re very lucky. Because that type of woman—It’s like they say, ‘handling dry flour with wet hands’—tough to get rid of. And not only troublesome—could be dangerous. I heard her background and connections are rather complicated. Rather complicated.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Liu said smiling. “But really! You think she’d ever go for small fry like me? Not much chance!”

“There’s no need for you to be so modest,” Chang said, and than just smiled at his further protests.

Liu could not tell how much Chang knew. It might be mere idle conjecture. Probably he was just warning him because he thought Ko Shan was running after him. A pity that the advice came too late to do him any good.

He would have to go and see her the next day. Not too early—she would be still in bed. He must try and get there just before half past five and catch her before she went to office.

“OH, IT’S
you,” Ko Shan said.

He had knocked over a bottle when he walked in. It rolled away clattering across the floor. The room was dark and, he now noticed, smelled of brandy.

“Aren’t you up yet?” he said.

“Pull the curtains back,” she yawned. “Though maybe I shouldn’t order you about like this—you’re such a rare guest now.”

He did not answer. It felt funny to draw the curtains and let in gray twilight. The room was not much brighter than before, but he could see her better now. She slept in her underwear like most Chinese. Her pink stocking-net singlet was badly torn. She was half sitting up, leaning on an elbow looking at him, her blanket pushed down to her waist. One of her breasts hung out of a hole in the frayed pink web.