letter dated 28 august 1998 from the permanent representative of
Preface.
Returning to the imaginary countryside in my heart, I couldn’t find the spring in my heart. But ran into a visitor from a foreign country, to me to show off his hometown style, although I am a little unconvinced, but also take out, to make up for Afan and Wolf’s Xing. The foreign country is Russia, less appear in the Yuan Yuan, is also a reason to post it.
She didn’t understand why the people around her kept trying to pity her, she had been used to this kind of environment from the moment she was born. Although she had heard others talk about things she couldn’t imagine, she didn’t think there was anything wrong with her own little world, and she didn’t envy the flowery world others talked about.
Her own world is full of flavors, sounds, and contact.
Other people tell her many, many things, and sometimes they shout at her and say something very unpleasant and hurtful to her self-esteem, and at this time, all she can do is cover her ears. She also dreams, and in the world of her dreams, others find it strange because her dreams are invisible.
That day, everything in the house was at odds with her; nothing obeyed her; dishes fell on the floor, chairs tripped her, and the window, which had been closed, was now open. Even the doll, whose every fold she knew by heart, hid under the bed and would not come out to play with her.
Her mind was a little foggy from the flurry of events, but she stubbornly tried again and again, and eventually, everything seemed to be in order again, restored to its former order.
The dishes held the meal in readiness for mamma’s return; the chair that had tripped her had been put in its proper place; the window, behind which the whole strange great world was hidden to her, she left wide open; the doll, hidden under the bed, as if fearful of being taught a lesson by her tiny fists, was dutifully permitting her to comb her braids made of its rough twine.
Then the evening arrived.
Mom came home from work. She and her mom ate dinner and then did some more chores before going to bed to get ready for bed. Her mother sat on the edge of the bed and read her some miracle-filled fairy tale. Then her mother leaned over and kissed her with dry lips, her mother’s lips bitterly mixed with the taste of tobacco and wine. The house began to fall silent as her mother was on her way out the door to a part-time job. She heard the wooden staircase “rattling” as she left, as if telling the little girl about her past.
Later the little girl recalled that this was the night she first met him.
She was terrified, especially when she realized that she was not dreaming, but that someone was really standing by her bedside. She said in shock, “Please don’t kill me, please…”
She felt him smile, and he smelled like a beast, and she knew that smell. Once, when her mother had taken her to the zoo, she had smelled it from the tiger’s cage, and it was that kind of smell, that strong odor, buried deep in her memory. She had lightly touched that tiger’s cage, and she seemed to understand that the reason people were afraid of tigers was because they had such an odor.
The man sat down on the edge of her bed and reached out to place his hand on her cheek. To her surprise, she realized that the hand was exactly as strong, steady, and warm as the one she had always fantasized about, her father’s.
She couldn’t help but gently caress and lightly kiss the hand. His hand had that same sharp odor, but it didn’t stop her from continuing the kiss. As if inspired, the hand slowly slid from her face to her voluptuous body. The reaction of her body to whatever part of her body his large hand passed over caused her nerves to quiver.
After a while, she realized that it was a terrible, pleasant, never-before-tried shiver. She wished fervently for more of this sensation, and she began to worry a little that he would suddenly disappear and not come back. In time, she laughed out happily as more of the shuddering sensations came together, and she pleaded petulantly for him to slow down a bit before too many of the shuddering sensations coming from too many different parts overlapped and made her miss out on chewing on those flavors in detail.
But, in lieu of an answer, there was his sudden disappearance, and she knew by her acute hearing that he had jumped out of the window. At any rate, she felt happy that she could have such a strong and dexterous one of him.
The next night, he came back, touching her, breathing in and out, realizing that her ripe, voluptuous body brought him pleasure, and that made her happy. Throughout the day, she talked to her dolls, and even to the dishes and chairs, telling them in detail what had happened during the night.
She knew now what he, whom she loved, feared, and what he liked.
She kissed his body, she started from his hands, to his arms, to his face… She tried not to look so raw and clumsy, but she didn’t know if she had succeeded. Because this was the first time she had ever, kissed a man’s vibrant organ.
Then he patiently taught her how to kiss.
She learned it very hard and got the hang of it easily, simply she was a genius at it. Now she did know that this was her man, and with him she was no longer afraid of anything. His large hands, gliding over her entire body, were steady and strong, his fingers touching her skin, yet they seemed so gentle and timid. Throughout, he was afraid of being too rough and causing her pain. At this point, she had to convince him to feel free to do what he loved to do, and it was with the cooperation and encouragement of her passionate movements that he broke through to her virginity.
She didn’t think it counted as pain at all, like being pricked by a needle. In her days of learning to sew, the number of times she had been stabbed by a needle couldn’t be considered a handful, no matter how you counted it. Now this feeling of being stabbed by a giant needle was quickly overwhelmed by other sensations. Soft, miraculous sensations.
Her mom always liked to tell her stories of miracles, and she was really feeling it now. She arched herself up, responding to his stroke after stroke as he taught her how to love and be loved.
They spent many cozy nights together. Near dawn, or when he heard his mom’s footsteps approaching, he would go to the window and disappear into the night. Leaving her alone, drenched all day in sweet flashbacks, and the agony of anticipating his return.
One day she realized that it was a much noisier place outside than the usual quiet. All day long on this street there was the roar of cars and sometimes the sound of police cars. She was surprised why there was so much noise outside. Some of it even seemed to be happening in her usual peaceful yard.
She heard a shot afterward, and she hid herself under the bed, very much frightened, and praying in her heart that he would come quickly to protect her, but he never came in in the daytime.
Instead, Mom came home unexpectedly early. Mom said something very strange, as if to say that a fugitive, who had been hiding in the utility room in their yard, had been caught back today.
Mom poured more wine than usual to cope with the excitement, and then she poured more wine for herself, and more wine, and more…
Because for the first time in years, this was the first time she had seen that tears filled her daughter’s blind eyes.
(concluded)