One Man’s Bible

Behind big front windows, the bar by the footpath is dimly lit and people are sitting around small tables with candles.

“Shall we go in?” you ask. “Or would you like to go somewhere by the sea where it will be more romantic?”

“I was born in Venice, so I grew up by the sea,” she replies.

“Then you should count as Italian. That’s a beautiful city, always bright and sunny.”

You want to ease the tension and say that you have been to Piazza San Marco. At midnight, the bars and restaurants on both sides of the square were crowded, and musicians were playing in the open air on the side near the sea. You remember they were playing Ravel’s Bolero and it drifted through the night scene. The girls in the square bought fluorescent bands from peddlers and wore them on their wrists, around their necks, in their hair, so green lights were moving everywhere. Beneath the stone bridges going out to sea, couples sat or lay in gondolas, some with little lanterns on their tall prows, and, rowed slowly by the boatmen, they glided toward the black, smooth surface of the sea. Hong Kong lacks this elegance but it is a paradise for food, drink, and commodities.

“All that’s for the tourists,” she says. “Did you go as a tourist?”

“I couldn’t afford to be a tourist. I had been invited by an Italian writers’ organization. I thought at the time it would be good to settle in Venice and find myself an Italian woman.”

“It’s a dead city with no vitality, which relies on tourists to keep going, it has no life,” she cuts in.

“Still, people there lead happy lives.”

You say that when you got back to the hotel, it was well after midnight, and no one was on the streets. In front of the hotel, two Italian girls were amusing themselves by dancing around a tape recorder on the ground. You watched them for quite some time; they were really happy and even tried to get you to talk and laugh with them. They were talking in Italian, and, even though you couldn’t understand them, you could tell they were not tourists.

“Just as well you couldn’t understand them, they were just baiting you,” she says coldly, “they were a couple of prostitutes.”

“Probably,” you say, thinking back, “but they seemed passionate and very lovely.”

“Italians are all passionate, but it’s hard to say if those women were lovely.”

“Aren’t you being overly critical?” you say.

“You didn’t hire them?” she asks instead.

“I wouldn’t have had the money,” you say.

“I’m not a prostitute,” she says.

You say it was she who started talking about Italy.

“I’ve never been back.”

“Then let’s stop talking about Italy.”

You look at her and feel dejected.

You return to the hotel and go to your room.

“How about if we don’t make love?” she says.

“All right, but the double bed can’t be separated.”

You don’t make a move.

“We can each sleep on our sides of the bed and we can sit up to talk.”

“Talk until morning?”

“Haven’t you ever slept with a woman without touching her?”

“Of course, with my former wife.”

“That doesn’t count, that was because you no longer loved her.”

“It wasn’t only a case of not loving her, I was also afraid she’d expose—”

“Your relationships with other women?”

“At the time it was impossible to have other women. I was afraid she’d expose my reactionary thinking.”

“It was also because she didn’t love you.”

“It was also because she was terrified; terrified I would bring disaster upon her.”

“What kind of disaster?”

“It’s impossible to explain in a few words.”

“Then it’s best not to try. Haven’t you ever slept with a woman you loved or liked and not made love?”

You think about it and say, “Yes.”

“That was the right thing to do.”

“How was it the right thing to do?”

“You must have respected her, respected her feelings!”

“Not necessarily. If you like a woman and don’t touch her—that is, when you are sleeping in the same bed—it’s very difficult.” For you, anyway.

“You’re quite honest,” she says.

You thank her.

“No need, there’s no proof yet, let’s see.”

“It’s the truth, it actually happened. Afterward I regretted not having touched her but I was no longer able to find her.”

“In other words, you respected her.”

“No, it was also because of fear,” you say.

“Fear of what? Fear that she would report you?”

You say it was not that former wife of yours, it was another woman. She would not have reported you. She was the one who had taken the initiative and, of course, you wanted to, but you were too afraid.

“Why?”

“I was afraid of being discovered by the neighbors. Those were terrifying times in China, I don’t want to talk about those old happenings.”

“Talk about them, you will feel better after you talk about them.”

She seems to understand something of the human mind.

“But just don’t talk about women.” You think she’s acting like a nun.

“Why not talk about women? Whether it’s a man or a woman, they’re human in the first instance and it’s not only a sexual relationship. You and I should be the same.”