Chapter 8 Section 8

"Tell me about that Chinese girl of yours? How is she now?" Margaret put down the wine glass in her hand, raised her thick black and long eyelashes painted by Jingxin, and looked at you from the opposite side of the small round table. "I don't know, I must still be in China," you said vaguely, trying to avoid the topic. "Why didn't you let her out? You don't want her alone." She asked, staring at you. "That was already ten years ago, why are you still talking about it, or you will forget it if you don't mention it." You try to speak as plainly as possible, what you want at this moment is to flirt with the same place.

"Then how do you remember me? That night, the first time we met at your house?" "It's hard to say, sometimes I can remember a little bit of detail clearly, sometimes! Even people I knew well at the time even forgot their names, and sometimes I can't remember how I lived for a whole year—" "Did you forget her name too?" "Marguerite!" you said, squeezing her hand, "Memories are always heavy, let's talk about something else." "That's not necessarily the case—there are good memories, too, especially of loved ones."

"Of course, I'd rather forget about the past." For a while, you really couldn't call the girl's name, and what you aroused was only some kind of pain, and the voice and appearance were also blurred. "You will forget me too?" "So alive, so vivid! How can you forget?" You stared at her eyes covered by shadows under the eyelashes, avoiding the topic. "Then she—isn't that girl?" She didn't avoid your gaze, but also stared at you and said, "She is so young, small and cute, and so sexy. Opposite me, she is holding her skirt with her hands and wrapping her legs, but the hem of the skirt is drooping. I just saw that she was wearing nothing underneath. You must know that she was in China at that time. This impression is very impressive. deep."

"Probably, you might have been having sex when you heard the knock on the door." You grinned and tried not to put on a serious face. "You will also forget me, and it won't be many years." She withdrew her hand. "But it's different, very different!" You have no choice but to argue that you have nothing to say, and your words are not smart. "To a man, a woman's body doesn't matter who she is." "No!" What can you say?Every woman wants to prove that she is different, the desperate struggle in bed, the search for love in the desire, always wanting what is left after the lust is over.

In the most fashionable listening bar in Lan Kwai Fong small street, across a small round table, you are face to face and get close to her, trying to catch her eyes.The music is rock, loud, and the howling is English.Under the dim blue fluorescent lights, the white shirts are shining brightly. The men behind the counter who wear bow ties and bartenders and the girls who lead the seats are all tall Westerners.She was dressed in black, and she was a shadowy figure. The well-drawn red lipstick on her lips was shiny, and dark purple under the fluorescent light, like a phantom, which confuses you.

"Just because you're a Western woman?" She stared at you, frowning slightly, and her voice seemed to be far away. "It's not just Western women, how should I put it, you are very feminine, but no matter how you say it, she is still a girl." You looked frivolous and teased. "What's different?" She seemed to ask to find out. You saw cunning in her unblinking eyes, and said: "She doesn't know how to suck, she just gives, she doesn't know how to enjoy..." "Every woman will naturally, sooner or later..." She retracted her gaze, and the eyelids with painted eyelashes drooped.

When you think of her ups and downs, stiff yet soft, her wetness, fragrance and panting all arouse your desire, you say you miss her again. "No!" she said decisively, "You don't think about me, but you want compensation from me." "Where is it! You are beautiful, really!" "I don't believe you," she lowered her head and twirled the wine glass with her fingertips. This small movement was also a temptation, and then she looked up and smiled, showing her cleavage hidden by her head, and said: "I am too fat." You were about to say no, but she interrupted you:

"I know it myself." "what do you know?" "I hate my body." She suddenly became very cold again, took a sip of wine, and said: "Come on, you don't know me, my past, my life, you don't know." "Well, tell me!" you tease her, "Of course I want to know, I want to know everything, everything about you." "No, all you want is to have sex with me." Well, you have to mock: "There's nothing wrong with that. People have to live. What's important is to live in this moment, and let the past go by it and cut it off completely."

"But you can't cut it, no, you can't cut it!" She was so stubborn. "What about the partition?" You grimaced, a serious girl who probably was good at math in high school. "No, you keep cutting off memories, always hidden in your heart, and pop up from time to time. Of course, it is painful, but it can also give people strength." You said memories might give her strength, but they were like nightmares to you. "Dreams are not real, but memories are real things that have happened and cannot be erased." She just kept fighting like this. "Of course, it may not be over if you say it again," you sighed and said casually.

"It may come again at any time. If you don't remind me, fascism is like this. If no one speaks, exposes, or condemns, it will be resurrected at any time!" The more she spoke, the more vigorously she seemed to feel the suffering of every Jew on her body . "So, you need pain?" you ask her. "It's not a question of need or need, the pain is there." "So, you want to bear the suffering of all mankind? At least the suffering of the Jewish people?" You asked her. "No, this nation has long since ceased to exist. They are scattered all over the world. I am just a Jew."

"Wouldn't it be better? More like a human being." She needs to identify herself, how do you say that?Just want to take off the Chinese label on you, you don't play the role of Christ, don't put the cross of this nation on your body!You're lucky enough not to be crushed to death.She is still young when it comes to politics, and she has a lot of brains as a woman. Of course, you didn't say the last two sentences. A few fashionable Hong Kong youths came in; some had ponytails, and they were all boys.The tall blond who ushers sits them down at the table next to yours.One of them said something to the lead girl, the music was very loud, the girl bent over and smiled after listening, her exposed teeth were white and shiny under the fluorescent light.Another small round table was moved, obviously they still had an appointment.The two boys touched each other's hands, both polite and polite, and began to order wine. "After 1997, are homosexuals still allowed to gather openly like this?" He leaned closer to you and asked in your ear. "This is in China, not to mention public gatherings. If homosexuals are discovered, they must be treated as hooligans and sent to labor camps, or even shot." You have seen some cases during the Cultural Revolution published by the public security department. She stepped back and leaned back in the chair without saying anything, the music was still loud. "Shouldn't you go for a walk in the street?" you suggested. She moved the glass with some wine left and got up, and you went out.This small street is full of neon lights, and it is very lively with people coming and going. One bar after another, there are more elegant pastry shops and small restaurants in Siyuan. "Will this bar still exist?" She asked obviously after 1997. "Who knows? It's all about business, as long as it makes money. This is the way the people are, without the penitential spirit of the Germans," you say. "Do you think the Germans have repented? After the Tiananmen incident in 1989, they still did business with China." "Can we not talk about politics?" you ask. "But you can't hide from politics," she said. "Can you hide away for a while?" You asked with a half-smile, trying to be as polite as possible. He looked at you carefully, smiled at you, and said: "Okay, then let's go eat, I'm a little hungry." "Chinese food or Western food?" "Of course I eat Chinese food. I like Hong Kong, it's always so lively, the food is good, and it's cheap." You lead her into a brightly lit diner that is bustling with customers.She speaks Chinese with the fat waiter.You ordered local side dishes and a bottle of old Shaoxing wine.The waiter brought a bottle of flower carvings soaked in a hot water bucket, put the wine jug on it, and put Huamei in the wine cup, and said to her with a smile: "This lady's Chinese is—" He gave a thumbs up and said again and again: "Rare! Rare!" She was happy and said: "Germany is too lonely, I prefer China anyway. In winter, Germany is so snowy, there are few pedestrians on the way home, and people are locked at home. Of course, the housing is spacious. Unlike China, there are no such problems as you mentioned. I live in France. Although Yikefu lives on the top floor, there is an entire floor. If you want to come, you can also live with me and have your room." "Not in your room?" You asked tentatively. "We were just friends," she said. Coming out of the hotel, there is a beach of water on the road!You go to the right and she goes around to the left. After that, the two of them are separated on the road.Your relationship with women is always not going well, and you hit a rock somewhere, so you stay there.You are probably hopeless, it is easy to go to bed and difficult to understand!It's nothing more than a hasty encounter to relieve loneliness. "I don't want to just go back to the hotel and walk down the street," she said. There is a bar on the sidewalk, the lights are dim in the large glass windows facing the street, and men and women are facing candles lit on small tables. "Can you go in?" you asked. "Or go to the beach, which is more romantic." "I was born in Venice and grew up by the sea," rebuffs you. "That should be Italian, a lovely city, always sunny." You want to lighten the mood by saying that you've been to St. Mark's Square, and at midnight the bars and restaurants on both sides of the square were still full, and on the other side by the bay...a band was playing in the open air.I still remember that it was Lavelle's Bolero who played, and the melody swirled and flowed in the night repeatedly.The girls who come and go in the square wear the luminous rings sold by vendors on their wrists, necks or hair, and swim around in a green light.Couples of couples under the stone bridge going out to sea are sitting or lying in the kondola with the high bow of the boat. The boatman paddles leisurely, and some of the boats have a small light hanging on the bow—sliding to the dark and smooth sea.But Hong Kong doesn’t have this elegance, it’s just a paradise for eating, drinking and shopping. "That's also designed for tourists," she said. "Are you going on a trip?" "At that time, there was no such luxury. It was invited by an Italian writers' organization. At that time, I thought, if I want to live in Venice, it would be wonderful to find an Italian girl." "It's a dead city, lifeless, just tourism, no life," she interrupts you. "In any case, people there still have a good time." You said that it was late at night when you returned to the hotel, there were no pedestrians on the street, and the two Italian girls in front of the hotel were still enjoying themselves, dancing around a portable tape recorder on the ground, and you watched it for a long time.They are so happy, and they even joked at you, speaking in meaning, although you don't understand it, it is obvious that you are not a foreign tourist. "Fortunately you don't understand, just teasing you," she said coldly, "Two whores." "Maybe," you think back, "But after all, she is very warm and lovely." "Italians are warm, it's hard to tell if they're cute or not." "Aren't you a little too harsh?" you say. "You didn't greet them?" she asked back. "Can't afford the money," you say. "I'm not a whore either," she said. You said she was the one who talked about the Italian uprising. "I never went back." "Then let's not talk about Italian interests." You look at him, very disappointed. Back to the hotel, into the room. "Don't we have sex?" she said. "Okay, but this big bed cannot be separated." You are helpless. "We can sleep on one side, or we can sit and talk." "Talking until dawn?" "You don't sleep with a woman without touching her?" "Of course I did, with my ex-wife." "It doesn't count, it means you don't love her anymore." "Not only do I not love you, but I am also afraid that she will expose—" "Relationships with other women?" "At that time, there would be no other women, for fear of exposing my reactionary thoughts." "That's also because she doesn't love you anymore." "It's also because of fear that I will bring disaster to her." "What disaster?" "It's impossible to explain clearly in a few words." "Then don't talk about it. You don't sleep with the woman you love or the woman you like, and don't make love to her—two" You think about it and say: "Had." "now it's right." "What's right?" "You have to respect her, respect her feelings!" "Not necessarily, it's hard to be happy" a woman doesn't touch her, talking about sleeping in the same bed, "for you. "You're more frank," she said. You thank her. "You're welcome, it hasn't been confirmed yet, you have to see." "It's a fact. It's not that I didn't do it, but I regretted that I couldn't. I couldn't find her." "That means you still respect her." "No, I'm still afraid," you say. "What are you afraid of? Are you afraid that she will tell you?" What you are talking about is not your ex-wife, but another girl who will not report on it. She took the initiative and must have thought about it too, but you dare not. "Then why?" "I'm afraid that the neighbors will find out. It was a terrible era. In China, I don't want to bring up old things again." "Say it, and it will be easy for you to say it." She seemed quite understanding again. "Let's not talk about women." You think she's playing a nun. "Why is it only about women? Whether men or women, first of all, they are human beings, not just sexual relations. I should do the same with you." You don't know what to talk to her about, but you can't go to bed right away, and you try to look at the neatly painted set of color prints in the gilt frame on the wall. She took off the hairpin, loosened her hair, and said while taking off her clothes that her father had gone back to Germany. Italy was relatively poor, and Germany was good at making money. You didn't ask her mother, Xiao, cautiously kept silent, and tried not to look at her, thinking that she would not be able to relive the sweet dream of last night with her. She took a long dress and went into the bathroom, the door was open," she continued while she was draining the water: "My mother passed away, and I went to Germany to learn Chinese. German sinology is better." "Why learn Chinese?" you ask. She said she wanted to leave Germany far away.One day, if the neo-fascists raise their heads, they will still report on her. They are talking about the neighbors on the same street as her house.On weekends, when they clean the car, the car is polished as carefully as leather shoes, and she has to stand down and talk to them, but when the weather comes, just like what happened in Serbia not long ago, betrayal, deportation, It will be them, or their children, who gang-rape or even massacre the Jews. "Fascism is not only in Germany. You have never lived in China. The horror of the Cultural Revolution is no less than that of fascism," you said coldly. "But that's different, fascism is genocide, just because you have Jewish blood on your body, it's different from ideology, different political views, no theory needed," she argued, raising her voice. "Bullshit theory! You don't know China, you haven't experienced that kind of red terror, and that kind of infectious disease can drive people crazy!" You suddenly broke out. She fell silent, put on a loose skirt and took off a bra, came out of the bathroom, shrugged at you, sat down on the edge of the bed, lowered her head, washed off her eye shadow and lipstick, her face was a little pale, but she looked even more pale Feminine tenderness. "I'm sorry, my sexual desire is suppressed," you could only mock and smile wryly, "Go to sleep." You lit a cigarette, but she stood up, walked in front of you, hugged you, pressed against her soft breasts, stroked your head, and said softly: "You can sleep next to me, but I have no desire, I just want to talk to you." She needs to search for the memory of history, you need to forget. She needs to carry the suffering of the Jews and the shame of the Germanic nation on her own, and you need to feel in her that you are alive at this moment. She said that right now, she didn't feel anything at all.