A Blood-colored Rose

Our bodies unfolded as never before. Like two shards of earth that had been pressed together, we rubbed, we touched. While in this trance, suddenly the wildness and emotions of the French writer Zola’s depiction of cows having intercourse floated before my eyes. I thought, once a person lies upon that bed, like those cows, she can’t help herself; she’s filled with powerful desire. After all, aren’t animals the truest form of human being?

At dusk on the fourth day of the New Year, I dressed in a rose-colored dress and spent a bit of time on my makeup. I powdered my face first, added a bit of rouge, then put on some rose red lipstick. I put on a black coat, a black woolen hat and threw the same small black Gucci bag over my shoulder. My long, black hair flowed down my back like a waterfall and almost floated as I walked. I told my mother I was going out to spend some time with the American. I'd be eating there and would probably spend the night.

"It's raining. Go tomorrow," she said as she closed the window.

"I promised, Ma. He's a good person and he's lonely. It wasn't easy for him to come all the way to Shanghai," I answered nonchalantly. In my heart I repeated again and again: tomorrow, tomorrow…

My mother didn't say another word.

I was afraid to look at her directly, but chose instead to watch her from the corner of my eye. Suddenly I remembered something – I took a diamond necklace from my neck. "Ma, I don't want this necklace. You wear it."

"What am I going to do with a thing like that at my age? Wear it yourself."

"Ma, you must wear it. It's my favorite necklace," I said as I clasped the necklace, still warm from my own body heat, on her neck. I didn't tell her that it was Graham's wedding present to me.

I led her over to the mirror. "Look Ma, it's so pretty." The mirror reflected a perfect mother and daughter portrait. My mother didn't know quite what to do. I was forcing a smile, but there was something else in my eyes. The final portrait for the final moment.

"I'm going, Ma." My nose twitched, I could feel the sadness and I had to turn away. I walked to the door without uttering a goodbye.

"Here, take this umbrella."

"I don't need it, Ma. I'll get a cab at the door."

I ran out of the front door and moved quickly down the road in the rain. My heart was beating a mile a minute, as if I were a criminal leaving the scene of the crime. "Come back early," my mother's voice followed after me, like the voice of a police officer in pursuit.

I ran for most of a block before stopping on a corner about fifteen meters from home to catch my breath. I leaned against a tree, then a cement wall. All I could hear was the beating of my panicked heart.

I craned my neck around the corner for one last look at the window of our house. At that very moment, my ashen, dead heart was filled with love, with memories. I couldn't let go. But then the misery returned, choking my heart and pouring from my eyes. The pain of bidding farewell to my home was so desperate. I felt as if I were sinking in quick sand. The rain, the rain – I was floating in a river of rain. I took off my hat and in the stormy dusk of my hometown, I bid farewell to the person I most loved on this earth, "Farewell, Mama, farewell. I love you. Forgive me for not staying longer…" My throat was choked with sadness. I could say no more. With the taste of tears in my mouth, I turned and lost myself in the growing darkness of the city…

"Wow, when I saw the rain, I thought you might not come." John was so happy to see me and hugged me tightly.

He's more like Graham every day. The same musky smell, a mixture of wild grass and tuberose. I closed my eyes and breathed it in.

"John, years from now, when you're old, will you still remember this trip, that there's a Peace Hotel in Shanghai, will you remember me, what I looked like? Will you remember that there was once someone called "traveler"? I purred, still in his embrace.

"I'll remember. Even if I die, I'll never forget. By that time, you'll have to hold me up. We'll walk hand-in-hand by the sea soaking up the sun. And when the day is done, we'll reminisce about our far off romance. We might even have a daughter by then. And she may have given us a granddaughter. I'll tell our granddaughter every detail of how we fell in love. I want to grow old with you slowly though. The road will be long, very long," John whispered in his deep voice.

"You're such an idealist. But it makes me feel good. I've always wanted a daughter, a gentle, beautiful girl with dimples that pierce her cheeks when she smiles. I even chose a name for her. I'll call her "Cao'er", "Little Grass". Grass survives forest fires and is reborn in the spring wind. Oh, how wonderful! She's just a forever dream now though," I said almost to myself, slipping into private thought.

"It's not a dream. You'll have a daughter as cute as you one day." He rubbed my back, caressing my long hair.

I felt as if I might cry and buried my head in his chest, trying desperately not to let the tears begin.

"John, a trip to China doesn't happen every day. Don't just stay in Shanghai; you should visit Beijing, Xi'an, Guilin and other places. I checked with the front desk and they'll take care of your travel arrangements."

"Then let's go together. This is what I've been hoping for." He seemed so excited.

"I'll be with you through today, but starting tomorrow, you'll have to lock me up in your memory. We simply met by chance. I will always be wishing you well. Oh right, before I forget, I have something for you to remember me by." I walked over to the bag on the sofa, took out a bracelet and put it on his wrist. "This gold bracelet has been passed down from generation to generation in my family. The four Chinese characters engraved on it, chang ming bai sui, stand for "long life". When my grandfather was born, his grandfather bought this bracelet and had someone engrave these lucky words. So many years ago."

John pulled me into his arms and wouldn't let me say another word. I held him closely. "Tell me, tell me everything that happened today. No matter how bad it is, tell me. I'll share it with you. Be strong, hold on."

I managed an exhausted smile. My face went pale. "You'll know soon enough. You'll know everything, John. You're such a good person, so good," I murmured.

We stood by a long mirror and kissed. At first our lips touched as if a leaf was slightly brushing another leaf, then it seemed as if waves were crashing against waves. The wind rose up, the rain came. The storm overtook us, devoured us. We wallowed in the pleasures of the wide-open ocean.

He kissed my neck. Heat rose in my body. Like a spring, waters flowed forth. He took my dress off roughly and began to cover my body in kisses. "You are so beautiful. You're like a fairy that's just broken out of her shell -- silky skin, it's like you were made in heaven. I've never seen such beauty, never!" I closed my eyes and lost myself in his passion.

Passion is a strange thing. Here I am, painfully making my way, step by step, toward that station in the sky, but I still can't resist him. Every part of my body is aroused. I open my eyes just a bit. He seems obsessed, as if something precious that was lost has now been returned to him. Passion fire burns in his eyes and threatens to melt my entire being.

"You're really unbelievable." He spoke quietly, "Take a look at yourself in the mirror."

He's right. I should take one final look.

I opened my eyes and walked out of his embrace to stop before the mirror. I'm so familiar with this naked body. So many times it's burned with passionate love. It seems almost as if my body was created for lovers. "White Rose," I hummed. That's what they called me in college. Oh the purity of young love. Later on, love from men turned this white rose a deep shade of red. I looked down over my graceful, full figure, my skin flawless like white jade. My body seemed made of marble. I saw all of those drunken eyes of men from my past. They sparkled, jumped. The first man in my life, Ah Gen, was committed to a psychiatric hospital after he lost me. My Japanese lover, Chishima, upon losing me jumped from the peak of Mount Fuji. In his suicide note, he noted his everlasting love for me. And finally, my greatest love of all, my Wall Street fiancé, each farewell, every parting, even our morning goodbyes were lingering and so full of passion. My eyes filled with tears for all of them, one final time.

Through teary eyes, I took one last look at my body: my broad shoulders and long neck, my breasts full like ripened fruit stood erect like two melons ready to burst in the summer sun. They were full of taut sweetness, yet so soft. I turned a bit and my eyes fell on my tiny waist, my rounded hips, long legs, and soft white toes. Such curves as men could not refuse. Their hearts stop here…

John's soul seemed to have escaped his body. If I closed my eyes, I could hear his heavy breathing, the beating of his heart. Suddenly in the mirror I saw a huge bunch of red roses in a vase on the bureau. I'm sure John bought them for me. A miserable feeling crept its way into my heart. Roses, the color of blood, even at night they're dazzling to the eye, so tender and fresh, like a woman; those final silent lips, what worries are they trying to express. In those final speechless moments, they ponder their own burial.

"John, I'm sorry, so sorry!" I fell into his arms, then began to undo the buttons of his shirt. My breasts rubbed lightly against the surface of his chest. We moved together towards the bed, falling together upon it in each other's arms.

Our bodies unfolded as never before. Like two shards of earth that had been pressed together, we rubbed, we touched. While in this trance, suddenly the wildness and emotions of the French writer Zola's depiction of cows having intercourse floated before my eyes. I thought, once a person lies upon that bed, like those cows, she can't help herself; she's filled with powerful desire. After all, aren't animals the truest form of human being?

"I love you. I love you!" John repeated again and again.

"I'm yours. Tonight I'm all yours." I answered.

At the very moment of climax, Graham was there again, lying beside me. "Oh how I wish I could die in your arms one day," I had once said to him.

"My love, you're right. If all we have is one final day on this earth, I want us to die making love. Someone once asked me, ‘If you had one day left to live, what would you do?' I didn't have to think about it at all. ‘Make love with the woman I love more than anything or anyone else in the world.' We came into this world because of our parents' love and so should leave the world in the same way. If one day you were to die in my arms, I would go with you. If I were to go first, I want you to hold on, try to live, and try to love again. Die in the arms of another man…

"No, there is no other man for me! If you die, how I could I go on? I leaned into his back and cried loudly.

My love, my forever Graham, everything is as you said it would be. I'm at that final moment. I'm making love with another man because only you know that at this exact moment I'm closest to you. Only in the heat of passion can I touch you.

My love, I see you waving, calling me to you, throwing off the bow tie stained with lipstick. With wide-open arms I run, "Graham, Graham." We meet on that path between heaven and earth. We hold each other tightly, crying, then laughing, then crying again. You take my hand and in your protection I float upward like a cloud. Take me to an eternal place. From now on, I'll be a cloud; you are a spray of flowers. The sun will be my smile, the rain my tears.

Death and birth are one and the same

Both are beautiful moments

The final evening sky and the first dawn are one and the same

Both are the brilliance of the sun

Let the wind blow the years

Leave them to the eagle in flight

Let the clouds lift my body

Leave me in heaven…

The morning after, when he had fallen into a deep sleep, she rose quietly and once she had torn all of the rose petals from their stems, she lie down and covered every inch of her body with them. On her face was a look of sweet exhaustion; a matte rose lipstick gave her lips a dry, puckered look. She smiled and checked the time. 8:50am. She reached beneath her pillow and pulled out the Swiss pocketknife, then sliced it across her left wrist. She saw her dark red blood begin to flow, staining this bloody early morning. And then she was gone…

In her little black bag, she had left two letters: a short one in Chinese for her mother, another in English for the man who lie next to her. It was rather short as well.

Dearest Mama,

I've gone. Wearing the rose red dress that you made for me, I've left home once again. Please don't be sad, don't cry. Your daughter has simply traveled to another destination. She's lived, she's loved, she's known magnificence and has no regrets. The only thing I can't bear to leave behind is you. Ma, be strong. You'll make it through this dark period and one day, in another place, we'll be reunited for eternity. I'll scream your name loudly and run to you crying.

Ma, I only regret that I've never been able to repay you for all you've done for me. I left home so early and went out into the wide, wide world so long ago. I was immature. I didn't realize that one false move would ruin the rest of my life. I didn't know that one trip would turn into a lifetime of exile. It was my fate though. I've accepted it.

Ma, promise me that you'll live and live well. Only then will my soul be able to rest. Fifteen years of drifting has made me tired. Your daughter has returned home. Wherever you are will always be my home. When I fall into that final sleep, here in my homeland, I'll take my love for you, will always think of you and wish you happiness always.

Beneath my pillow is a small token of my love. Ma, I love you so.

Forever, your daughter

6:36am

The English letter went as follows:

Dearest John,

I thank you from the very bottom of my heart for spending these final moments with me. Please don't feel bad for me. I've known life's greatest happiness. Death for me is simply an escape.

You have no idea how much pain I'm in. You haven't been here; you wouldn't know. The love of my life, Graham, died on September 11, our wedding day. We could've avoided that disaster, because he was on vacation; but on the way to the church we couldn't help but hold each other and kiss. My lipstick stained his white bow tie. Because of this, only this, he returned to his office on the 102 nd floor of the World Trade Center to get a clean one. In a second, the most wonderful moment of our lives turned to disaster. How could I remain sane? How could I go on living? If you think back to the television you watched that day, you'll probably remember seeing a crazed Chinese woman in high heels and a wedding gown screaming wildly at ground zero. That beautiful woman, the unluckiest woman in the world, was me.

Beauty is perhaps my misfortune.

John, we barely know each other and now we have to part. Again, it's all been set by fate. That day in the restaurant on the ship by the Huangpu River, you asked me what I was thinking about. I was thinking about what would have happened if we had met and fallen in love fifteen years ago. My life would have been completely different. Maybe we would've had a daughter, maybe we would have walked by the sea in the late afternoon, soaking up the sun, you on my arm……the way you talked about us last night has stayed with me and warmed me for quite a while.

All of this is now but the stuff of my dreams.

I'm sorry John. I'm sorry that you have to face this frightening scene. Thank you for the roses. They've added fragrance and romance to an otherwise bloody morning.

If you're willing to do one thing for me, I only ask that you comfort my poor mother, lift her up out of the doldrums. If you love me, treat her as your Chinese mother.

Take care. Farewell

A Traveler

6:58am