Yuan Changming (China/Canada) is 9-time Pushcart nominee, grew up in rural China, began to learn the English alphabet at 19, and published monographs before moving to Canada as an international student. While pursuing his graduate studies in University of Saskatchewan, he helped establish the Saskatchewan Chinese Monthly, and served as its chief editor until 1992. After obtaining his PhD in English, he began to work as a private tutor in Vancouver. In early August 2004, Changming started to write poetry in English and is now probably the world's most widely published poetry author who speaks Mandarin but writes mainly in English: since mid-2005, Changming has had poetry appearing in more than 1,000 literary journals/anthologies across 38 countries

 

 English

 

 

CLOUDY NIGHT

 

 

 

“How about doing some hiking on Cloud Trail today?” Hua asked after you finished eating the leftovers from your previous pigeon feast.

 

            “What kinda trail? Where’s it?”

 

            “It’s an 11-kilo-long pedestrian-only road built above trees in Fragrance Hill, only three bus stops from Fuhua Square.”

 

            A passionate lover of nature, you jumped at her proposal.

 

            To evade recognition by someone, Hua disguised herself by putting on her fancy sunglass and extra-large facial mask in addition to a black baseball cap. When you entered the nature park and began to climb along the path sloping slightly upwards, you found yourself instantly lost in the scenic landscape. Standing almost at the center of the inner city, the hill was the second tallest one in greater Zhuhai, with several creeks joining in the Fragrance Lake, which was as large as 74,000 square meters. Walking slowly hand in hand, you were greeted and kissed and caressed from time to time by accommodating mists as if drifting along with the clouds. On the peak, you could see the whole city spreading around along the shore, with as many as a hundred islets, each glistening like an irregularly-shaped pearl. As your body and mind became harmonized with nature, you could not help reciting Li Po’s well-known poem “Staying Overnight in a Mountain Temple”:

 

            The tower stands a hundred feet high,

 

            Stars can be plucked from the sky.

 

            I dare not raise my voice, for fear of

 

            Disturbing folks in the heaven nigh.

 

            “This poem makes me feel like a Daoist immortal.” Hua said.

 

            “Me too! Aren’t we a happy immortal couple now?”

 

            “Yay! I wish to have brought my staffs to do a landscape sketch here.”

 

            “But we can use your cellphone to take pictures,” you suggested.

 

            “Let’s do it.”

 

            As you continued to walk along and shoot photos of the scenery, you told Hua that you had a passionate love for trees.

 

“Why?” Hua asked.

 

“To me, every single tree is a good living poem, always full of vitality, having such a graceful shape and looking so really handsome,” you answered.

 

“What’s the most beautiful thing about it?”

 

“Its uniqueness. Look, each is different in both body and spirit.” 

 

             

 

 

 

When you finished hiking and had a quick meal at a food outlet close to the park, Hua told you to return to Fuhua Square alone and take a good nap by yourself, because she had some errands to do.

 

            Back into her suite, you looked around only to see every piece of furniture covered with plastics in every other room. Out of curiosity, you checked in Ping’s personal bedroom and washroom on the west side, and could not help feeling both sorry for, and envious of, him. Though he had been Hua’s “perfectly loving husband,” tall, handsome, and reasonably wealthy, though she had kept portraying him as a humorous and “extremely smart” man, he had nevertheless been made a poor cuckold. -- How many husbands in this world are cuckolds without ever knowing it, just like him, you wondered. From her appreciative tone and frequent references to him, you knew she still loved him very much, probably even more than she did you, but why did she eventually yield to your unintentional seduction? What was exactly the single remark you made, or the single act you performed, that had caused her fall? This question had no easy answer, but it was amusing to you.

 

Meanwhile, you felt more envious than sympathetic with Ping. For all Chinese men including yourself and him, the most ideal wife was a woman not only beautiful and elegant to show to family and friends or the public, but also capable and diligent enough to have at home. Just as the husband is “the sky” or the wallet of a wife, the wife is “the earth” or the “face” of a husband. In this traditional sense, Hua was an even more desirable woman than Helen, for she was just as presentable as your “face” as Helen, but a much more remarkable home-maker in every sense, with better cooking skills, cleaner habits and higher working efficiency. Indeed, based on your close observation for the past few days, you knew Hua had been playing her social roles extremely well as a dutiful daughter, a caring sister, a good mother and a perfect wife. You wondered why her husband, a quite mediocre rival to you, a lazy, talentless and tone-deaf man who was a second-rate individual at best in Chinese standards, should deserve such a first-rate woman. You knew it was just a matter of karma or yuanfen, but as a popular saying goes, it is a fact of life that “pigs have ruined all the good cabbage crops.” Of course, in a sense, you were a pig as well, much shorter and less rich and handsome.

 

You remembered how Hua agreed to marry Ping, her first and last date, as a result of the several particularly touching things he had done for her in their junior college, and how she found you acceptable as an old flame mainly due to the words you had written for her. Once, you argued with her that all marriages were economical deals, but she insisted that hers was a result of pure love rather than of socio-economical deliberations.

 

You thought of the lover’s dilemma, a classic suppositious situation for every Chinese lover, where you could save only one when your parent and lover both were drowning. Who would Hua choose to rescue, Ping or you, if she had a Hobson’s choice to make? Before you could reach a conclusion, Hua returned home, her forehead and neck sweating quite profusely.

 

“Try these clothes I’ve just bought for you!” she said.

 

It was a long-sleeved formal shirt and a collared T-shirt, both black, and luxurious-looking. "Why? I don’t need either,” you said, while putting on the T-shirt obediently.

 

“See? It fits you so perfectly well!” she exclaimed.

 

“I like it very much!” you said, thinking that Helen had never bought anything so expensive for you. Most clothes she had purchased were either unfitting or unlikable in terms of style, color or quality. Touched and confounded at the same time, you asked Hua when and why she decided to buy the clothes for you, and even one for your mother.

 

“Just on a whim. I believed they must look good on you,” Hua explained.

 

“Why such a costly sweater for my mom as well?

 

“Because I wanna give her a gift since you’re returning to your mom’s home in a few days.”

 

Her response made you believe that you had most probably defeated Ping and won the emotional contest, at least for the moment. To show your appreciation, confirm your victory, or reclaim your sovereignty over her heart and body, you helped her take a shower, dragged her naked to the bed where you offered to do some special Taoist messaging. She said she enjoyed ganbei most, in which you used your thumbs, fork and middle fingers to pinch-roll her muscles on the back in a wave-like cycle.

 

“You wife is lucky to have you as her personal massagist!” Hua said.

 

“No, I’ve never given her any massage!”

 

“Not even ganbei? It’s so wonderfully relaxing and enjoyable!”

 

“Absolutely not. You’re the only person I feel like massaging.”

 

When you both lied down, Hua asked you to begin to tell her your life experiences between 1980 and 2000, saying that she actually preferred to listen to your story rather than read the first part of your To My First Loves as you suggested earlier, The main reason was, she emphasized, that those letters were addressed to Yiming, not Hua herself to begin with.

 

“Is there anything you would like to hear first today?”

 

“You once mentioned something about your wife’s ‘spiritual derailment,’ now tell me all the ins and outs of the story!”

 

            Well, it took place in the mid-summer of 1993, you recalled, shortly after you moved from Saskatoon to Vancouver. While busy with your graduate studies at UBC, you worked part time as an ESL instructor in Stanford College, a language school founded in North Van by a Dr. Chen, a middle-aged businessman who owned a highly profitable private clinic in Taiwan. After an in-depth chat, you and Chen both “regretted not having met earlier.” Knowing that you had had much teaching and managing experience before leaving China, Chen promised to hire you officially as the dean of his college once you received your doctorate. Before that, he would like you to help “supervise” the current dean, a senior English gentleman who used to be the principal of a local public high school before retirement.

 

            Several months later, when Chen returned from Taipei, you invited him to have a homemade dinner together. To show his gratitude or appreciation, Chen said that he would like to offer your wife a part time position as a dorm supervisor after getting rid of the present one.   

 

            “We’re really fortunate to have met Chen!” Helen said as soon as your guest left.

 

            So you really were. Since that meeting, everything went well for both you and your wife. Except for a couple of night classes to teach every week, you didn’t have to do anything else for Chen’s school, so you focused on your dissertation, hoping to get your degree and take the job in due course.

 

            But on a moony and quite hot night, Helen didn’t return home around ten as you had expected. Assuming she must have missed the last seabus to cross Burrard Inlet, you became worried about her safety. Without a cellphone, which was still very rare back then, you could do nothing but wait passively until midnight.

 

            “How come you’re so late this time? How did you get home after the seabus stopped for the night?” you asked her.

 

            “Dr. Chen gave me a ride,” she answered, with a note of uneasiness in her voice. 

 

            “But how come you arrived nearly two hours late? I’ve been worrying about you!” you asked her again, more curious than suspicious, as it should have been just a half hour’s drive at night.

 

            “We had a talk,” she responded impatiently. 

 

            “About what? For so long? And where were you two talking?” You had never meant to interrogate her, but for the first time since your marriage you felt something quite fishy. On the one hand, you just couldn’t imagine what they two could possibly have been talking about, since she had begun to work for the school only two days before, and should have little to say to him or anybody else about running a language school in Canada. She had neither the knowledge nor the experience nor even any interest in this respect. On the other, it was as much contradictory to her character as extraordinary for any prudent Chinese wife like her to stay alone with a male boss so late at night. Most disturbing was a strong suggestion in the dark atmosphere of your small rented suite about her desperate effort to hide something from you.

 

“About the students, in his car,” she responded briefly as she usually or habitually did, but in an unusually reluctant way.

 

“You’re saying you two had been staying in his BMW talking about the students for nearly two hours at midnight?” you asked her again to make sure of the situation.

 

            Probably because her explanation didn’t sound plausible even to herself, she softened her tone into a murmur, adding, “He invited me to have a night snack at an Earl’s.”

 

            “Did he try to … harass, or flirt with you?”

 

            “Oh, no, no!”

 

            “Then, why didn’t you tell me this the moment you got home? If I hadn’t kept asking you, you’d never have told me the truth, wouldn’t you?”

 

            “.…”

 

            “The cat got your tongue?”

 

            “.…”

 

            If she had explained that she avoided saying anything in the first place because she didn’t want you to become jealous or suspicious, you would have had every reason to shrug off the matter. But the more hesitancy she showed in addressing your concern, the more you felt resentful and even hurt. Apparently, she had at least hoped to develop a relationship with Dr. Chen, even though he might not necessarily have had such a romantic agenda hidden in his heart. Put differently, she was prepared for or, rather, actually beginning the process of, a spiritual derailment, unilaterally if not in accomplice with him. Though at your home party Chen had praised her as “an ideal wife whose cooking skills are as good as her looks,” you knew that he was just trying to be polite when he quoted the famous Chinese saying; furthermore, you didn’t think Chen was really her type, nor was she a loose or frivolous woman in the first place. As a quite traditionally minded woman, she was in every sense the opposite of Daisy in Great Gatsby.

 

But why was she anticipating a relationship with Chen? You asked yourself in agony. Perhaps she had become keenly aware that you could no longer give her a safe and decent life here in a new country. At the depth of her mind, you had depreciated into a doomed pauper who had no future, not to mention a rosy one! This idea was particularly excruciating.

 

            Thinking Chen might have been coming on to your wife, you found yourself overwhelmed with rage. Early next morning, you went to the school to settle the score with Chen. Unable to locate him anywhere, you left a written message to him and quit your job. By the end of the same week, you sent your wife and son back to China for the summer vocation.

 

            “You’re too sensitive,” Hua said. “You must have overreacted to the situation.”
            “Maybe or maybe not,” you said. “But I felt so hurt then I began to think of you constantly.”

 

            “What’s that to do with me?”

 

            “Because with our common zhiqing experience, you would never even think of leaving me when things look gloomy ahead of us. I mean, you would definitely share weal and woe with me.”

 

            “Goes without saying. Now I see why you’re not so morally troubled by our affair as me.”

 

            “Why?”

 

            “Because you think she has emotionally betrayed you first.”
            “I agree. Consciously or otherwise, I always try to find a way to do myself justice, especially in such emotional matters, just as some people do when law fails them.”

 

            “Go on with your story!”
Shortly after Helen returned home from her lengthy China trip, you recalled further, she first found a job as a secretary for a Cantonese-speaking boss in Chinatown, and then worked as a receptionist for an Italian owner of an ice cream factory until she began to work as a casher for a grocery store. Seeing it was too hard for her to deal with her bosses, who were either too nasty or too demanding, you decided to buy a small laundromat so she could work just for herself.

 

            As a self-employed operator, Helen felt greatly relieved because there was no more need to worry about any boss or co-worker’s harassment, though she had to work twelve hours a day to earn a few hundred dollars per month after paying the rent and all the bills.

 

            A couple of years later, you realized that there seemed to be no safe working place for your wife. Around lunchtime on a mid-summer day in 1999, Helen was washing and folding towels and uniforms for a local community center all by herself in her laundromat when a young Caucasian guy sneaked in quietly like a poisonous snake and held her tightly from behind all of a sudden. Aghast, she tried hard to turn back and see who the person was, but found herself being dragged forcefully to the washroom. The moment she realized this was a sexual assault, she began to scream at the top of her voice while struggling fiercely with all her strengths against the offender. As soon as the evil guy was scared away, Helen phoned you. And immediately you called the police about the assault, who arrived at the scene almost at the same time as you did from your teaching trip as one of the busiest tutors in town.  

 

            Seeing her neck and arms full of bruises, you felt a wave of tender love for your wife surging high in your heart. As the owner-operator of the laundromat, she had not only been working extremely hard for the past two years, but she had also suffered from bullying customers from time to time. Once she was verbally abused by a Vietnamese client. Another time, she was molested by an eastern Indian. For several months in a run before the millennium celebrations, she had been approached quite aggressively by a gentleman-like Caucasian, who gave her a bouquet of roses each time he went to wash his clothes there. Only after she told him that she had a loving husband and happy family did the guy give up his courting effort. Recalling all the hardships your wife had gone through there, you decided on the spot to sell the small business to free her from strenuous work and personal danger. By then, you had come to see your Canadian dream as something quite attainable, though it was full of nightmarish elements.

 

            “So, by rejecting the white guy, you wife did stand the test well this time,” Hua observed.

 

            Instead of arguing whether that had really been a test at all, you began trying to have sex with Hua again, but she pushed you away slowly and steadily, ordering you to continue recharging your sexual battery.

 

“You’ve had two orgasms, three ejaculations and five entrances already within the past three days,” she counted. “Now behave yourself and go to your bed for another night!”

 

Translated by the Author

 

 

 

 

Chinese

 

 

 

 

多云夜

 

 

 

“今天到‘云道’去走走怎么样？”吃完鸽宴的剩菜后，华问道。

 

“什么‘云道’？在哪儿？”你反问道。

 

“这是一条建在香山树顶上的步行道，长 11 公里，离富华广场只有三个车站。”

 

作为大自然的狂热爱好者，你欣然接受了她的提议。为了避免被人认出，华戴上她那副花哨的太阳镜和超大口罩，还换了一顶黑色的棒球帽伪装自己。进入自然公园后，你俩便开始沿着略微向上倾斜的栈道向上攀行，不久你发现自己迷失于如画的风景中。香山几乎位于全市中心，是珠海的第二高山，几条小溪汇入面积达 74,000 平方米的香湖。你们手牵手缓缓而行，云雾不时迎面而来，仿佛随云飘荡。在山顶上，整个城市沿着海岸延伸，多达百余个小岛，每个都像一颗颗形状不规则的珍珠，闪闪发光。当身心与自然融为一体时，你不禁吟诵起李白的名诗《山寺夜宿》：

 

危楼高百尺，

 

手可摘星辰。

 

不敢高声语，

 

恐惊天上人。

 

            “这首诗让我觉得自己像个道教仙人。”华说。

 

            “我也是！咱们现在不正是一对幸福的神仙伴侣吗？”

 

            “是啊！我真想带我的画架在这里写生。”

 

            “不能写生，可以用手机拍照啊，”你建议道。

 

“说得也是。”

 

你们边走边拍着风景，你告诉华，你对树木情有独钟。

 

“为什么？”华问。

 

“对我来说，每一棵树都是一首活生生的诗，总是充满生机，形态优美，看起来非常漂亮。”你回答道。

 

“它最美的地方是什么？”

 

“就是它的独特之处。瞧，每一棵树都不同，无论是形貌还是精神。”

 

爬完山，你俩在公园附近的一家小吃店吃了顿快餐，然后华叫你一个人先回家好好睡个午觉，因为她还有一些事情要办。

 

            回到她家，你环顾四周，只见每个房间里的每一件家具都盖上了塑料薄膜。出于好奇，你去西边平的卧室和卫生间看了看，不禁为他既感到遗憾又感到羡慕。尽管他是华的“完美丈夫”，高大、英俊、富有，尽管华一直把他描绘成一个幽默和“极其聪明”的男人，但他还是在有些方面不无可怜之处。从她赞赏的语气和频繁提到他的话语中，你知道她仍然很爱他，甚至可能远胜过她爱你，但为什么她最终屈服于你无意识的引诱？究竟是你说过的哪一句话、做过的哪一件事，让她又爱上了你？这个问题很难回答，但你觉得很有趣。

 

同时，你感到对平的羡慕多于同情。对包括你和他在内的所有中国男人来说，最理想的妻子不仅要漂亮优雅，可以向亲朋好友或公众炫耀，还要能干勤快，可以在家里干活。正如丈夫是妻子的“天”或钱包一样，妻子是丈夫的“地”或“脸面”。从这个传统意义上讲，华是一个比你妻更令人向往的女人，因为她俩一样有很好的气质，就像你的“脸面”，但华在各方面都更出色，比如烹饪技巧更好，清洁习惯更好，工作效率更高。事实上，根据你过去几天的密切观察，你知道华一直是个孝顺女儿、贴心姐姐、好母亲和完美妻子。你想知道为什么她的丈夫，一个与你相比较为平庸的对手，一个懒惰、缺乏天赋、五音不全的男人，按照中国的标准最多算二流男人，居然娶了华这样一个一流的女人。你知道这只是因果报应或缘分的问题，但正如一句俗话所说，“好白菜都被猪拱了”，这是常见的人生事实。当然，从某种意义上来说，你也是猪，而且个子还矮一些，没那么富有和帅气。

 

你记得华是如何同意嫁给平的，那是她第一次也是最后一次与异性拍拖，因为平在他们上中专时为她做了几件特别感人的事，而她之所以又被你感动，主要是因为你为她写的情书。有一次，你和她争论说所有的婚姻都是经济交易，但她坚持说她的婚姻是纯粹爱情的结果，而不是社会经济方面的考量。

 

你想到了所有情人的困境，这是每个中国情人都会遇到的经典假设情况，当你的父母和情人都溺水时，你只能救一个人。如果华要在你和平之间做出选择，她会选择救谁，她的丈夫还是你？还没来得及下结论，华就回家了，额头和脖子上都香汗淋漓。

 

“试试我刚给你买的衣服！”她说。

 

这是一件长袖正装衬衫和一件有领 T 恤，都是黑色的，看起来很贵。

 

“干啥？我不需要啊。”你一边说，一边乖乖地穿上T恤。

 

“瞧瞧，这件T恤多合身！”她惊呼道。

 

“我很喜欢！”你想到妻从来没有给你买过这么贵的服装。她买的大多数衣服要么不合身，要么款式、颜色或质量你都不喜欢。感动加困惑之际，你问华是什么时候以及为什么决定给你买这些衣服，甚至还给你妈妈也买一件。

 

“只是一时兴起。我相信你穿起来一定很合身。”华解释道。

 

“为啥也要给我妈妈买这么贵的毛衣？”

 

“因为我想送她一份礼物，因为你过几天就要回你妈妈家了。”

 

她的回答让你相信你很可能已经打败了平，赢得了这场情感较量，至少暂时如此。为了表达你的感激之情，确认你的胜利，或者重新夺回你对她心身的主权，你帮她放水洗澡，然后提出要给她做一些特殊的按摩。她说她最喜欢赶背，用你的拇指、食指和中指以波浪般的循环方式捏揉她背部的肌肉。

 

“你妻很幸运有你这样的私人按摩师！”华说。

 

“我可从来没有像这样给她按摩过！”

 

“连赶背都没有？真让人放松和享受哩！”

 

“绝对没有过。你是我唯一想按摩的人。”

 

躺下后，华让你开始讲起1980年到2000年间的生活经历，说她其实更愿意听你讲故事，而不是读你写的《致初恋》的前半部分。她强调说，主要原因是那些信是写给伊明、而不是写给华自己的。

 

“什么是你想先听的？”

 

“你曾经提到过你妻‘精神出轨’的事情，现在把事情的来龙去脉告诉我吧！”

 

你回忆说，那是1993年仲夏，你刚从萨斯卡通搬到温哥华不久。在忙于UBC研究生学习的同时，你还在斯坦福学院兼职做ESL讲师，斯坦福学院是一所语言学校，由一位在台湾拥有高利润私人诊所的中年商人陈医生在北温创办。经过深入交谈后，你和陈医生都后悔“相见恨晚”。陈知道你离开中国前有丰富的教学和管理经验，便答应你获得博士学位后正式聘请你担任他私校的校长。在此之前，他希望你能帮助“监督”现任校长，一位英裔老先生，退休前曾担任当地一所公立高中的校长。

 

几个月后，陈从台北回来，你邀请他一起吃了顿家常饭。为了表示感谢，陈说他想在辞去现任宿舍管理员后，给你妻提供一份兼职宿舍管理员的职位。

 

“真幸运我们能遇到陈！”你的客人一走，妻就说。

 

            自那次家宴之后，你和妻一切都很正常。除了每周要教几节夜课外，你不用再为陈的学校做其他事情，这样你可专注于撰写你的博士论文，希望拿到学位后适时找到工作。

 

            但在一个多云闷热的夜晚，妻并没有像你预期的那样在十点左右回家。你以为她一定错过了最后一班横跨布拉德湾的海上巴士，于是开始担心她的安全。当时一般人都还没有手机，你只能被动地等到午夜。

 

            “今天怎么这么晚才回来？海上巴士停运后，你是怎么回家的？”你问道。

 

            “陈医生开车送我回来的，”她答道，语气中带着一丝不安。

 

“怎么会迟到将近两个小时？我一直在为你担心哩！”你又问，更多的是出于好奇而不是怀疑，因为晚上开车过来应该只需要半个小时。

 

“我们聊了会儿，”她不耐烦地回答。

 

“聊什么？聊了这么久？在哪里聊的？”你从来没有想过要质问她，但自从你们结婚以来，你第一次感觉到有些事情很蹊跷。一方面，你无法想象他们俩有什么话题可聊，因为她两天前才开始在学校工作，她对在加拿大开办语言学校的事情一窍不通，既没有有关的知识经验，甚至没有任何兴趣。另一方面，对于像她这样谨慎的华人妻子来说，这么晚和男老板单独呆在一起，这既违背了她的性格，也很奇怪。最令人不安的是，在租住的小套房的黑暗氛围中，你强烈地感到她在试图掩饰什么。

 

“关于学生的事，在他的车里，”她一如往常地简短答道，但语气却异常不耐烦。

 

“你是说你们两个在午夜时分待在他的宝马车里谈论学生近两个小时？”你再次问她，以确保情况属实。

 

可能是因为她的解释连她自己都觉得难以置信，语气变得柔和起来，低声补充道，“他请我去伯爵店吃了点夜宵。”

 

“他有没有试图……骚扰你，或者调戏你？”

 

“哦，没，没有！”

 

“那你为什么不一到家就告诉我呢？如果我一直不问你，你就不会告诉我真相，是吗？”

 

“……”

 

“怎么不说话了？”

 

“……”

 

如果她解释说她一开始就避免说任何话是因为她不想让你嫉妒或怀疑，那么，你完全有理由对此事毫不介意。但她在回答你的问题时表现出的犹豫越多，你就越感到愤恨甚至受伤。显然，她至少希望与陈医生发展一段关系，尽管他不一定有如此浪漫的盘算。换句话说，她已经准备好了，或者更确切地说，实际上已经开始了精神出轨的过程，即单方面地与他相谋。虽然在你的家宴上，陈称赞她是“一个上得厅堂、下得厨房好妻子”，但你知道，当他引用这句中国名俗言时，他只是讲讲客套话；此外，你还认为陈真的不是她喜欢的类型，而她本就不是一个放荡或轻浮的女人。作为一个思想相当传统的女性，她与《了不起的盖茨比》中的黛西完全相反。

 

但是她为什么期待与陈建立关系呢？你痛苦地问自己。也许她已经敏锐地意识到，在这个新的国度，你再也无法给她安全而体面的生活。在她内心深处，你已经沦为一个注定要一贫如洗的人，没有未来，更不用说美好的未来了！这个想法特别令人痛苦。

 

            想到陈可能在打你妻的主意，你顿觉怒不可遏。第二天一早，你去学校与陈算账。找不到他，你便给他留了一封信，辞去了工作。等到周末，你把妻和儿子送回中国度暑假。

 

“你太敏感了，”华说。“你一定是反应过度了。”

 

“可能是，也可能不是，”你说。“但我感到很伤心，那时起我开始经常想到你。”

 

“跟我有什么关系？”

 

“因为我们都是知青，所以当前景不妙时，你绝不会想着要离开我。我的意思是，你肯定会和我同甘共苦的。”

 

“不用说啦。现在我明白了为什么你不像我一样对我们的私情感到道德上的困扰。”

 

“为什么？”

 

“因为你认为她首先在感情上背叛了你。”

 

“我同意。不管有意还是无意，我总是试图找到一种方式来为自己伸张正义，尤其是在这种感情问题上，就像有些人在法律无法顾及他们时所做的那样。”

 

“接着讲你的故事！”

 

你进一步回忆道，从漫长的中国之行回来后不久，你妻先是在唐人街找到了一份秘书工作，为一个说粤语的老板工作，然后为一家冰淇淋工厂的意大利老板做接待员，直到她开始在一家杂货店做收银员。看到她很难应付她的老板，一个个要么太讨厌，要么太苛刻，你决定买一家小洗衣店，这样她就可以为自己工作了。

 

作为个体经营者她感到如释重负，再也不用担心老板或同事的骚扰了，尽管她每天要工作十二个小时，在付完房租和所有账单后，每个月只能挣几百加元。

 

            几年后，你发现你妻似乎没有一个安全的工作场所。1999年仲夏的一天，午餐时间左右，她独自一人在自助洗衣店为当地社区中心洗毛巾和制服，这时一个白人青年像毒蛇一样悄悄溜进来，突然从后面紧紧抱住了她。惊恐万分之际，她努力回头看来人是谁，发现到自己被强行拖进洗手间。当她意识到这是性侵犯时，她开始大声呼救，同时用尽全身力气与施暴者激烈搏斗。恶人被吓跑后，你妻立即给你打电话，然后听你的话又报了警，等警方赶到现场，你也刚刚结束教学与之会合。

 

看到她满是瘀伤的脖子和手臂，你心中涌起对妻子的无限疼爱。作为洗衣店的老板兼经营者，她不仅在过去两年里工作非常努力，而且还不时遭受顾客的欺凌。有一次，她被一名越南顾客辱骂。还有一次，她被一名印度人骚扰。在千禧年庆典前的几个月里，她一直被一名绅士般的白人缠着，每次去那里洗衣服时都会送她一束玫瑰花。直到她告诉他，她有一个爱她的丈夫和幸福的家庭，那家伙才放弃了追求。回想起妻在那里经历的所有艰辛，你当场决定卖掉小店，让她摆脱繁重的工作和人身险地。到那时，你已经意识到你的加拿大梦是可以实现的，尽管它充满了噩梦的元素。

 

“所以，这次拒绝那个白人，你妻子经受住了考验，”华评断道。

 

听了这话，你没有争论那是否真的是考验，而是开始再次和华缠绵起来，但她慢慢地、坚定地把你推开，命令你继续给自己充电。

 

“在过去的三天里，你已侵犯了我五次，”她数着。“现在老实点，自己单独去睡！”