off, she would somehow return for a fresh assault. At last, to get her away from the telephone, he gathered her up to his chest-much as one would capture a large bird by wrapping one's arms around it-carried her to the bed and threw her contemptuously down onto it. He then trampled very deliberately over the bits of plaster, grinding them to dust, as he repeated over and over to her and to himself: `Still think you're going to make that phone call? Think you're going to go running to Security?' He placed his bare foot on the Chairman's head and twisted it down, hard. `You heartless bitch,' he said again, staring at Liu Lian as he twisted it back the other way. When he'd reduced everything beneath his feet to powder, he realized-rather to his surprise-that he hadn't heard her say a single thing through this entire violent outburst of his. Taking a moment to look more calmly at her, he discovered that, far from seeming traumatized by the political cataclysm of the last few minutes, she was sitting serenely on the edge of the bed, gazing at him, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining with anticipation.
Glancing down at himself, he realized that their violent, naked struggle had reawoken in him that elusive sense of furious excitement. For some reason, the way she was gazing almost wonderingly at himas a tourist might gawp at a j umping, squawking monkey in a zoo-- only intensified his rage at her ruthless attempt to betray him. Roughly, he turned her onto her front and entered her from behind, pouring-just as he had done three days earlier all his desire for revenge into this intense sexual impulse.
Again, as she had done three days ago, she burst into loud, happy sobs.
When she'd regained her composure, she turned over, slid off the bed and came to squat, smiling, down next to him. `I put that statue under your clothes. I knew that as soon as you tried to get dressed, you'd knock it to the ground.'
Discovering he'd been tricked, he might have grabbed hold of her hair-perhaps to hit her, or just to shout at her, to express his anger. Instead, he took her ravishingly pretty face in his hands and kissed it. `I didn't mean it when I called you a bitch) ust then.'
She shook her head at him, her face pink with gratitude. Outside, after some light drizzle, the sun was coming back out into an almost clear sky, filling the room with the mellow, golden light of approaching autumn. She stood up and sat, straight backed, on the bed once more. A modest glint of triumph lit up her face, her beatific smile sharpened by a kind of knowing, feminine mischief.
A deep quiet fell over the room, as if the physical world around them had dissolved into nothingness. The sweat steamed off their bodies, adding a salty tang to the room's musty air.
They gazed at each other, both their faces suddenly wet with tears. It was as if this unhinged passion had, somewhere deep inside their numbed psyches, awoken a capacity for love of which neither had known they were capable; a love that both knew could only end in painful separation. Neither dared say or do anything, for fear it would bring their fragile, unsustainable liaison instantly to an end. Their tears pattered onto the ground, like raindrops falling from eaves. He took a step forward and, kneeling before her, laid his head on her lap like a child looking for comfort. As she distractedly ran a finger through his short hair, her tears fell onto his face, mingling with his own before running down her legs. She tilted his face up toward her and kissed him, as a prelude to speaking.
`Would you like to marry me?'
`Yes.'
`I'd like to marry you, too, but it's impossible.'
His eyes asked why.
'Have you forgotten who my husband is?'
She spoke mildly, without emphasis; as if talking about some trivial object she had absentmindedly lost. But to him her words sounded like a warning. His tears stopped, cut off at the source. At the same time the gentle sorrow in her expression stiffened into awkward
Glancing down at himself, he realized that their violent, naked struggle had reawoken in him that elusive sense of furious excitement. For some reason, the way she was gazing almost wonderingly at himas a tourist might gawp at a j umping, squawking monkey in a zoo-- only intensified his rage at her ruthless attempt to betray him. Roughly, he turned her onto her front and entered her from behind, pouring-just as he had done three days earlier all his desire for revenge into this intense sexual impulse.
Again, as she had done three days ago, she burst into loud, happy sobs.
When she'd regained her composure, she turned over, slid off the bed and came to squat, smiling, down next to him. `I put that statue under your clothes. I knew that as soon as you tried to get dressed, you'd knock it to the ground.'
Discovering he'd been tricked, he might have grabbed hold of her hair-perhaps to hit her, or just to shout at her, to express his anger. Instead, he took her ravishingly pretty face in his hands and kissed it. `I didn't mean it when I called you a bitch) ust then.'
She shook her head at him, her face pink with gratitude. Outside, after some light drizzle, the sun was coming back out into an almost clear sky, filling the room with the mellow, golden light of approaching autumn. She stood up and sat, straight backed, on the bed once more. A modest glint of triumph lit up her face, her beatific smile sharpened by a kind of knowing, feminine mischief.
A deep quiet fell over the room, as if the physical world around them had dissolved into nothingness. The sweat steamed off their bodies, adding a salty tang to the room's musty air.
They gazed at each other, both their faces suddenly wet with tears. It was as if this unhinged passion had, somewhere deep inside their numbed psyches, awoken a capacity for love of which neither had known they were capable; a love that both knew could only end in painful separation. Neither dared say or do anything, for fear it would bring their fragile, unsustainable liaison instantly to an end. Their tears pattered onto the ground, like raindrops falling from eaves. He took a step forward and, kneeling before her, laid his head on her lap like a child looking for comfort. As she distractedly ran a finger through his short hair, her tears fell onto his face, mingling with his own before running down her legs. She tilted his face up toward her and kissed him, as a prelude to speaking.
`Would you like to marry me?'
`Yes.'
`I'd like to marry you, too, but it's impossible.'
His eyes asked why.
'Have you forgotten who my husband is?'
She spoke mildly, without emphasis; as if talking about some trivial object she had absentmindedly lost. But to him her words sounded like a warning. His tears stopped, cut off at the source. At the same time the gentle sorrow in her expression stiffened into awkward
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