marriage pulled on us
like a fish to be reeled in.
Back then, if she was to leave her parentâs house,
we had to be married.
âWe were thinking of some nice hall. A lucky day.
Everyone in red.
But then, one morning, my beloved failed
to show up at our usual time.
I went to her house. Her mother said she was very ill
and I should call again in no less than a week.
But after three days I stood in the rain below her room,
in case she opened a window, I would at least glance her face.
I was quite romantic then, Wengânot like now,
where my only excitement is from karaoke and Weibo.
When seven days had passed I went back
and we sat at the kitchen table not talking.
It seemed her short illness had changed her,
and over the next few weeks
she would not talk about our wedding plans,
and made excuses not to see me.
âOne day I asked if she could tell me,
what month we should have the wedding?
And she said I must go back home and never see her again.
When I asked why, she covered her face.
Anyway, I defied her wish and continued to visit.
Finally I got a letter saying that she wanted to break up.
Talk about angry.
âMy parents were bitterly disappointed and I was ashamed.
After one month I went back to her house in the early morning.
Her mother came to the door. Asked calmly what I wanted.
Her little sister was standing behind trying to see;
In my frustration I shouted out:
Does your older sister have another she is engaged to?
IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE IN THERE
RIGHT NOW
IN MY SEAT
EATING BUNS?
Her mother closed the door, and I never went back.
In time I just learned to accept my disappointment
like everyone else in the world.
âBut thatâs not the end of my tale,â Uncle Ping told him.
âA few months later I woke in the middle of the night,
because there was knocking on my window shutter.
I looked out cautiously, expecting to see something sinister,
but it was my beloved shivering in the darkness.
I rushed around to the front door,
led her inside, heated some water.
I had so many questions but was afraid of scaring her away.
She told me she had been in Shanghai.
Wouldnât say why. Did she have someone there? I thought.
A Shanghainese?
âThen she saidâand even now Iâm a little shy to say it:
Make love to me, Ping
We had only kissed before,
so you can understand I was hesitant.
But I put my teacup down and helped her into my small bed.
She put her arms around me.
It was like a film, but with breathing for music.
When we woke, dawn had come.
She asked if I would take her home and sing.
We held hands and swayed through the alleyways.
She could hardly walk as though seeing me
had made her sick again.
Anyway, I sang a few songs. Kept her hand in mine.
In my naïveté I thought we were back together,
but the next day I went to her motherâs house
and found it empty.
A neighbor called to me from a window,
said they had gone in the night.
âFor the next few years, anytime she came into my head,
a part of me hurt.
There was no relief. And I never saw her ever again, Weng.
Over the years, other women came and went.
I got on very well in my job, with a reliable income.
But my heart had tightened like a southern fist.
Some girls I met wanted to marryâbut I was stubborn,
so they went on to marry others and have nice lives.
In the end, to be happy, itâs not enough to love someone,
you also have to accept something in return.
âA few years ago, about when I turned sixty-eight,
I fell down at a restaurant.
The waiters thought too much grape alcohol ,
but felt guilty later for not rushing over.
At the hospital, the doctors said
there was a problem with my heart
and I would need an operation.
A chance I might not wake up after.
Say your good-byes now , they told me.
âFor a long time after surgery I stayed in bed.
At night, when the nurses drifted like swans through the ward,
I began to think about
like a fish to be reeled in.
Back then, if she was to leave her parentâs house,
we had to be married.
âWe were thinking of some nice hall. A lucky day.
Everyone in red.
But then, one morning, my beloved failed
to show up at our usual time.
I went to her house. Her mother said she was very ill
and I should call again in no less than a week.
But after three days I stood in the rain below her room,
in case she opened a window, I would at least glance her face.
I was quite romantic then, Wengânot like now,
where my only excitement is from karaoke and Weibo.
When seven days had passed I went back
and we sat at the kitchen table not talking.
It seemed her short illness had changed her,
and over the next few weeks
she would not talk about our wedding plans,
and made excuses not to see me.
âOne day I asked if she could tell me,
what month we should have the wedding?
And she said I must go back home and never see her again.
When I asked why, she covered her face.
Anyway, I defied her wish and continued to visit.
Finally I got a letter saying that she wanted to break up.
Talk about angry.
âMy parents were bitterly disappointed and I was ashamed.
After one month I went back to her house in the early morning.
Her mother came to the door. Asked calmly what I wanted.
Her little sister was standing behind trying to see;
In my frustration I shouted out:
Does your older sister have another she is engaged to?
IS THERE SOMEONE ELSE IN THERE
RIGHT NOW
IN MY SEAT
EATING BUNS?
Her mother closed the door, and I never went back.
In time I just learned to accept my disappointment
like everyone else in the world.
âBut thatâs not the end of my tale,â Uncle Ping told him.
âA few months later I woke in the middle of the night,
because there was knocking on my window shutter.
I looked out cautiously, expecting to see something sinister,
but it was my beloved shivering in the darkness.
I rushed around to the front door,
led her inside, heated some water.
I had so many questions but was afraid of scaring her away.
She told me she had been in Shanghai.
Wouldnât say why. Did she have someone there? I thought.
A Shanghainese?
âThen she saidâand even now Iâm a little shy to say it:
Make love to me, Ping
We had only kissed before,
so you can understand I was hesitant.
But I put my teacup down and helped her into my small bed.
She put her arms around me.
It was like a film, but with breathing for music.
When we woke, dawn had come.
She asked if I would take her home and sing.
We held hands and swayed through the alleyways.
She could hardly walk as though seeing me
had made her sick again.
Anyway, I sang a few songs. Kept her hand in mine.
In my naïveté I thought we were back together,
but the next day I went to her motherâs house
and found it empty.
A neighbor called to me from a window,
said they had gone in the night.
âFor the next few years, anytime she came into my head,
a part of me hurt.
There was no relief. And I never saw her ever again, Weng.
Over the years, other women came and went.
I got on very well in my job, with a reliable income.
But my heart had tightened like a southern fist.
Some girls I met wanted to marryâbut I was stubborn,
so they went on to marry others and have nice lives.
In the end, to be happy, itâs not enough to love someone,
you also have to accept something in return.
âA few years ago, about when I turned sixty-eight,
I fell down at a restaurant.
The waiters thought too much grape alcohol ,
but felt guilty later for not rushing over.
At the hospital, the doctors said
there was a problem with my heart
and I would need an operation.
A chance I might not wake up after.
Say your good-byes now , they told me.
âFor a long time after surgery I stayed in bed.
At night, when the nurses drifted like swans through the ward,
I began to think about
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