Five Spice Street

One noon, Madam X was lying alone on the beach at the riverside. Nobody else was there. ‘‘The sky was that kind of sentimental color, without a cloud to be seen, and the edge of the sun was filled with sharp triangles.’’ The sun ‘‘shone hot and unrestrained’’ on her body, giving her a lot of colorful hallucinations. She said, ‘‘It was just like his kisses.’’ She ‘‘felt the reality of carnal intimacy.’’ She didn’t know how it happened, but she was suddenly aroused and felt she ‘‘had to take off all her clothes.’’ And sure enough, she did. She lay there nude for a long time, and then stood up and ‘‘flew in the burning heat, running around wantonly, wildly.’’ (Luckily, at the time, no one passed by; otherwise who knows what farce would have ensued!) Afterwards, she went to the riverside a number of times, but didn’t take her clothes off. She just walked on the beach, in her words, ‘‘waiting for miracles.’’ If the weather was good, she said, ‘‘Perhaps he will walk toward me in the sunshine.’’ If it was raining, she said, ‘‘He’ll walk toward me through the rain; there will be row after row of white mushrooms on the ground.’’ But no miracles came; it was just wishful thinking. Inwardly, Madam X knew this very well. Later, after she was more experienced, she no longer played this kind of game. “You can only meet someone by chance,’’ she said. Madam X’s sister told a good friend her older sister’s secret. That good friend then told her husband, and the husband told his good friend. His good friend was a gossip. And so Madam X’s secret went the rounds of Five Spice Street until everyone knew it. Did she lose face as a result of this? Was she ashamed to show her face? Hardly. She didn’t give a damn: it seemed ‘‘an inner joy was revealed on her face.’’

After Madam X’s husband’s good friend heard this, he took the husband to his home, where they talked in whispers for two hours. He accused Madam X’s husband ‘‘of spoiling his wife this way.’’ Someday, ‘‘there would be a big problem.’’ By then, it ‘‘would be too late.’’ He pounded his knee; bitter remorse was on his face. At first, the sentimental husband was at a loss, but then he felt sorry for this friend and began consoling him. He told him not to be ‘‘too irascible,’’ for this would ‘‘be harmful to him,’’ and not knowing when to stop, he also gave an example. He said that, because of a trivial matter, a colleague in the past ‘‘had had his heart broken’’ and was left with a myocardial infarction that even now frequently caused unspeakable suffering. “You need to take it easy,’’ he said. The friend jumped out of his seat. ‘‘Hey!’’ he shouted. ‘‘Whose wife are we talking about? Are you a sadist?’’ To avoid a scene, the husband patted his shoulder and pushed him back into his chair. ‘‘Never mind,’’ he said. ‘‘Actually, there’s no need to make such a big deal about someone taking her clothes off. In fact, everyone thinks of doing this; it’s just that other people exercise self-restraint and consider forbearance glorious-just look at how much self-control I exercise, and how ascetic I am. If someone else did this, everyone would condemn it.’’ Sometimes he too wanted to strip and dance around on a public occasion, for he thought this would be great fun. But he didn’t dare: ‘‘I don’t have the guts.’’ Of course, his wife was much braver than he, although she could also actualize her idea only in a deserted place. He could only admire and respect this. He certainly wouldn’t interfere with her personal enjoyment. He wasn’t a fool! Nobody could force him to be a fool!

‘‘Then am I a fool?!’’ The good friend was furious. The husband looked at him with remorse: he couldn’t stand it. They parted on bad terms for the first time in years. As soon as he left, the good friend roared at his wife, ‘‘Throw the stool he sat on into the garbage! I have really fucking had it!’’ He sulked for several days.