คืนหย่าร้าง เธอกดผมแนบกระจก — Chapter 15 The Floor-to-Ceiling Window

Chapter 15 The Floor-to-Ceiling Window

November's rain came colder than July's. On the evening the first cold rain fell, Fang Qitong came back from the renovation hotel site. Her shoes were wet. The drawing tube smelled of cement. There were no more cartons in the corridor. She opened the door herself. There was already light inside. It was the lamp whose edge went dark, and in the kitchen a small flame was stewing soup. Zhou Yu had her apron on. On him the apron was too short, short enough to be absurd. When he saw her he took the drawing tube first, then crouched and undid her wet laces.

"The soup needs another twenty minutes," he said. "You shower first. I set the water. If you want to curse the site first, I'll listen."

"There's nothing on the site worth cursing." She looked at the top of his head, and her heart went soft all the way through. "It's only that the rain is heavy. Like a certain time. Do you still remember?"

"I remember." He looked up. His eyes were bright. "That day my shoulder was wet. Your agreement was in the paper bag. Later you had me against the glass. I'll remember it my whole life."

She bent and kissed him, kissed until neither of them could stand steady. The drawing tube rolled aside. In the kitchen the soup simmered in a small voice. She pulled him to the floor-to-ceiling window. The rain cut the city into strips again. The river's lights shivered behind the curtain of water. She did not turn the lamp off. She said if the building opposite could see today, let them see a woman who had come home kissing her boyfriend.

"May I?" she asked him.

"You're asking me?" He laughed. "Yes. Of course. I've been waiting since summer for you to still be willing to ask me, in front of this window."

She took her own clothes off. The wet coat, the sweater, the underwear, falling piece by piece onto the rug. She untied his apron and threw it on the sofa. Under it he had only house trousers. She drew them down. The two of them stood naked at the window. The cold of the rain seeped in through the glass. Their bodies were hot. He knelt first. The position was almost the same as the first night. One of her legs rested on his shoulder. Her back was against the glass. What was different was that her hands were steady, and his tongue knew her better, knew her so well that a few licks made her tremble. He held her clit in his mouth. His fingers bent slowly inside her, and he listened to her breath to decide fast or slow. When she came she did not bite her lip. She called his name, soft and clear. Wetness soaked his mouth. He stood and kissed her, and let her taste herself.

"Come in," she said. "Facing me. I want to see you, and I want to see the rain. The condom is on the left of the coffee table. You put it there. You look more like a person of this apartment than I do."

"I only live here often." He put it on and lifted her onto the narrow ledge by the window. Under her he had padded a soft cushion, one they had later set there on purpose. "Living here often is something you allow. Qitong, I love you. This time it isn't like. It's love. You don't have to find a word of the same weight to pay me back at once. I'll set it here first."

Her legs locked around his waist. When he entered, her eyes were open. The rain flowed in her pupils. The feeling of being filled was familiar and brand new. Familiar was his shape. New was this sentence. She tightened her arms. Her voice shook a little.

"Say it again."

"I love you." He began to move, stroke after stroke, very deep, and not fierce. "I love you cursing materials. I love you steaming fish. I love you changing the bed. I love you refusing that city. I love you wanting me against the door. I also love you coming home tonight with wet shoes. I love you. Fang Qitong. I am inside you. I am here."

Her tears finally fell. Different from the fullness of the first night, this was a fullness that had been caught. She kissed him, deep and disordered. Below, she met his thrusts. Every stroke ground her clit against his lower belly. The glass fogged again. Her handprint covered the place where a handprint had been before, like a reunion. His hands cradled her ass, so she would not be iced, and so every entry would go all the way. She could hear the rain. She could hear the sound of their bodies. She could hear the small flame of the soup in the kitchen. She could hear her own love and her own panting, sound after sound.

"I love you too," she said when the orgasm was near, said it urgent and true. "Not paying you back. It's my own. I love you. Don't stop. Come with me. I want to come inside this sentence."

When she came her whole body went taut. Her forehead rested against his. Her walls contracted hard. He came too, driven to the deepest place, repeating her name under his breath, his body releasing in jumps. They held each other. Neither wanted to separate first. For a while the fog hid the city outside the window. In the home there was only their breath, and the pot of soup that had not yet boiled dry.

A long time passed before he withdrew, tied the condom off, and wrapped her in a dry towel. She stood barefoot on the rug. Her legs were still soft. Still she pulled him to the kitchen and turned the flame off. The smell of the soup rushed out at once, ginger and pork rib. The steam wet the tear-tracks on her face further. She ladled two bowls. They sat on the floor by the window under the same blanket and drank, shoulder against shoulder. The rain was still falling. No one was leaving.

"On the day of the divorce I thought this window was empty," she said. "Empty was what made it good to look at. Now it isn't empty. There are your handprints. There are mine. There is a pot of soup we almost boiled dry because we were making love. I choose this kind of not-empty. Zhou Yu, will you be here on rainy nights from now on?"

"Here." He put the meat from his own bowl into hers. "I have a key. I have the pillow on the left. I have you. If one day you want to watch the rain alone, tell me. I'll go next door and leave the door open a crack. If you want me back, knock on the radiator. Or just call me. I'll hear."

"Then I'll call you now." She looked at him. Her eyes were bright. There was the shine of soup-oil at the corner of her mouth. On the thirty-eight-year-old face there was a vividness that no longer kept guard. "Zhou Yu. When the soup is finished, go to the bed. The new bed. Once, slowly. Then sleep. Tomorrow there's still the site. I want you to wake me in the morning. When you wake me, kiss me first, and then talk about the alarm."

"Received," he said.

Later that night they did do it once more on the new bed. Very slow, very sleepy, and very deep. She lay on her side. He entered from behind. His hand was locked finger to finger with hers. The speed was like raindrops finally growing sparse. Half dreaming, half awake, she came once more, lightly, like a hum. He came lightly too, and held her without withdrawing for too long, until he had to go and clean up. When he came back he warmed her feet between his calves. Before he turned the light off, he glanced at the floor-to-ceiling window beyond the bedroom door, still bright with the city.

The window was still there. The rain was still there. The person had stayed.

Before sleep, Fang Qitong found his pulse, the way she had on the first night. The pulse was steady, hot, and it did not belong to any marriage that had already ended. She set her lips on that wrist and said the last waking sentence.

"This is my home," she said. "You are too. Tomorrow we go on."

In the dark he answered, "Tomorrow we go on. The day after, we go on too. When the rain stops, we go on."

She smiled once. The smile sank into the pillow. Shanghai's cold rain knocked the glass. It could not knock its way into this new bed. Her body was sore and satisfied. In her heart there was no seam. The floor-to-ceiling window in the outer room kept watch over the whole city. She was no longer the person who, after signing, did not dare turn on a light. She was the person who had turned the light on, kept someone, and said love aloud. This night was long, long enough to become the beginning of a new life, and not anyone's ending.