One Man’s Bible

You say you really want to know, particularly want to know, about her feelings, her life, her private life, and her psychological secrets. You ask her, “Were the things you said while we were making love true?”

“I couldn’t have said anything. Maybe.” She adds, “One day I’ll tell you. I really want to communicate with you, not just sexually. I can’t bear loneliness.”

You say you are not afraid of loneliness and that it was through loneliness that you were not destroyed. It was this inner loneliness that protected you, but at times you longed to sink, sink, into that hole in a woman.

“That isn’t sinking. To regard women as bad is a male prejudice. What is disgusting is that men use but don’t love.”

You are trying to get her to reveal her secrets.

“You think they love you then you find out it’s a fraud. When men want women, they say wonderful things, but once they’ve finished, that’s it. But women need to be deceived like this so that they can deceive themselves,” she says. “You still only think of me as a novelty and you haven’t had enough, I can tell.”

“The Devil is in everyone’s heart.”

“But you’re fairly sincere.”

“Not necessarily.”

She cackles with laughter.

“Now this is Margarethe!”

You also relax and start laughing.

“A prostitute?” she asks, sitting up.

“It was you who said that!”

“A slut who brought herself to your door?”

Her eyes are looking right at you, but you can’t see behind those gray-blue eyes. She suddenly starts laughing so violently that her shoulders shake, and her big, pendulous pearlike breasts tremble. You say you want her again and push her down onto the pillow. The phone rings as she closes her eyes.

“Take your call. Soon you will have a new woman,” she says, pushing you away.

You pick up the phone. It’s a friend inviting you to Lamma Island for dinner. You say to hold on and put your hand over the mouthpiece to ask if she will come. If not, you will postpone for a day, so you will be able to spend the time with her.

“We can’t spend all the time in bed! If we do, you will turn into a skeleton and your friends will blame me for it.”

She gets out of bed and goes into the bathroom. The door isn’t shut and there is the sound of splashing water. You put down the phone and lie there lazily. It is as if she is your partner, and you can’t be away from her. You can’t resist calling out loudly, “Margarethe, you’re a wonderful woman.”

“I offered you a gift, but you didn’t take it!” she shouts back above the sound of the splashing water.

You call out loudly that you love her. She also says she wants to love you but that she’s afraid. You instantly get out of bed to get into the bath with her, but the door slams shut. You look at your watch lying on the table and open the curtains. It is already after four o’clock.

Coming out of the underground at Sheung Wan station, you see a line of wharves along the coast. The air is crisp and fresh. The boats in the harbor are tinged with the gold of the setting sun and there is a bright glare. A barge with the waterline almost right up the sides is cutting through the waves and churning up white foam. The texture of the concrete and steel buildings on this side of the water can be seen clearly, and the outline of the buildings seems to be shining. You want to have a cigarette to confirm that it is not an illusion, and you tell her everything underfoot seems to be floating. She draws close to you and gives a chuckle.

There is a row of food stalls below a huge Marlboro advertisement, but once through the iron gates, “No Smoking” posters are everywhere, like in America. Work has just finished, and every fifteen or twenty minutes, there is a ferry to each of the islands. Most of those going to Lamma Island are young, and there are quite a few foreigners. The electric buzzer sounds and is followed by the clatter of hurried but orderly footsteps. On board, people doze off or take out a book to read, and it becomes so quiet that only the sound of the motor can be heard. The ferry quickly leaves the noisy town, and the clusters of tall and even taller buildings gradually recede into the distance.

A cold wind starts up, and the boat gently rocks. She’s tired. At first she leans on you but then draws up her legs and lies down in your arms. You feel relaxed. She is asleep in an instant, docile and peaceful, and you cannot suppress a feeling of sadness. There are no signs in the cabin apart from the “No Smoking” signs and, with its mixture of races, it does not look like Hong Kong and it does not look like it is soon to be returned to China.

Beyond the deck, the night scene gradually grows hazy, and you become lost in thought. Maybe you should live with her on some island and spend your days listening to the seagulls and writing for pleasure, unencumbered by duties or responsibilities, just pouring out your feelings.