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"Like that spot downstairs, sleek like?"
She glanced at me; her face fell. And she grew silent.
8
"Would you like to take a walk in the tu
"I don't think so."
"Whenever I'm unhappy, I go out walking alone. The tu
"I'm sure."
"Fine, whatever."
I was used to falling asleep in the small hours and was exhausted at this point. I looked for my key, wanting to be in my own bed. Although I'd be lonely in a dream, still it would be better to have that dream. I couldn't find my key. Maybe I left it behind when I went back for the cigarettes.
"I want to sleep."
"Go ahead."
She arranged the pillow and the blankets and let me sleep on the side next to the wall. Then she turned off the light and lay down beside me. The bed was very narrow. I could feel the chill of her skin. "How would it be if I held you?"
"Go ahead," she said.
I held her loosely.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"That you're quite young."
"That's not what I meant. Do you feel better?"
"About the same."
"At least you're honest," she said. "I used to think you always feel better with someone in your arms. When I'm alone, I often make myself think that way."
"Even now?"
"Yes." She wrapped her arms around my waist. "Want to go further?" she asked.
"No." As soon as I said that, I changed my mind. "Why not? Maybe I'll fall asleep if I tire myself out."
"Come on, then."
"I need the light on. Do you mind?"
She turned on the bedside lamp.
I removed her nightgown and took off my own clothes. Then I lay on top of her and looked into her face. She was gazing intently at a distant spot on the ceiling, looking sort of vacant. There was the sound of those footsteps on the roof again. I embraced her tightly. She smiled and turned her eyes to that distant spot again. I ceremoniously fondled her breasts, then stroked her face. I lay down beside her again.
She asked, "Finished?"
"Yes."
It was too quiet in the room. I couldn't help but listen to the sound of the footsteps. They were moving very slowly, from this end to that, back and forth, back and forth. I could hear every single step.
"Don't be afraid." She patted my back. "If it stops, then you should be afraid."
The footsteps stopped. I waited for them to resume, but they didn't.
She sat up, looking for the cigarettes.
"What's the matter?"
"Go to sleep. I'll just sit for a bit. I thought I'd be able to sleep with you here. But it isn't working."
"Maybe I can help."
I tossed away her cigarette and pulled her under the covers, and I began stroking her attentively. In order not to see her face and thereby spoil my mood, I even turned off the light. Every part of her I touched felt nice. It was like stroking an ivory sculpture. I'm normally easily excited. Yet strangely at this point, I was quite calm. The sensations somehow stopped at my fingertips and would not go higher.
"Enough, that's enough," she said harshly. With a jerk, she sat up. "You're just wasting your energy." She climbed out of bed and switched on the overhead light. She put on the jeans and shirt still damp with water stains. Then she put on her jacket.
"I'm not mad at you. Just a little restless. I have to go and take a walk." Her voice had become soft again. She put her hand into her pocket and pulled out a key. "Here's your key. I thought I could use it to make you stay. I've been alone for too long. I'm glad you came tonight. All I wanted was to have a good sleep for a change. You tried, but it didn't work. Not your fault."
"It's late. Want me to come with you?"
"No. I always walk alone. You've let me have my way in everything. I want to thank you for that. Just let me go take a walk alone now. You can either sleep here or at your own place, whatever."
I heard the door shut, then the cast-iron gate. The sound of footsteps resumed after a long hiatus. I turned my eyes toward the ceiling; it suddenly seemed to have become transparent. Against the pitch-black sky, I could see a pair of feet rise up and then come down. As though through a translucent glass, the feet came down, turning from murky to clear until I could even make out individual footprints.
The feet walked straight on. Following them, I returned to my own apartment.
In my imagination, I stroked the feet walking over my head. Yet the only thing I could really make out was the sound. It was like her voice, very soft, very young, yet not tempting. She was beautiful, both her body and her voice. Yet rather than tempting, she repelled. I was tempted by the repulsion. At this very point, I tried to respond to her repelling footsteps with my own spirit, not with my voice or with my body. I had already tried that. It didn't work.
I don't know how long it took, but I finally fell asleep. Even the wavelike noise of the cars below didn't wake me up. In my dream I was trod on by the everlasting feet, every single step treading on me. Suddenly I thought, In the whole human body, only the basest things, the feet, always leave traces on the ground. The things that never leave any traces are the head and the sexual organs.
Thus I slept on in a daze until the doorbell started ringing insistently.
9
At the door stood a middle-aged woman. She was very friendly and very gossipy. She said she was my neighbor, the owner of 602. She happened to be in the neighborhood so dropped in to have a look.
"I don't know why, but my door was open," she said. "It's happened before."
"Did you give the key to anybody?"
"No, never."
I followed her into 602. I could smell the faint scent of cigarettes. The rooms were very neat. On the desktop, there was a thin layer of dust.
I asked, "Anything missing?"
"Nothing much is kept here. Nowadays, what thief would steal a blanket? I wanted to trade this apartment. I've looked but just haven't found the right one yet."
"Why trade it?"
"It's haunted." She glanced at me and then said mysteriously, "A young couple moved into six-oh-one, your apartment, right after the building was completed. The woman was pretty, a baby face. The man was handsome, too. He could carry a bicycle all the way up to the sixth floor without even being out of breath. Then the woman went on a long business trip to Xinjiang. The man jumped out of the upstairs window."
She led me to the corridor and pointed to a spot downstairs. From way up here, no trace was visible.
"Dead?"
"Of course he was dead. Six floors. How could he survive?"
"After that, a lonely single woman moved in. She had such white skin and a soft, gentle voice. Also a baby face. She never made a sound all the time she was here. Nobody even knew if she was in there."
"No friends ever came to see her?"
"Didn't seem to." She pointed to the tu
"Dead?"
"Dead. Hit by a car. They say she slammed into the wall. Internal bleeding. Maybe the liver was punctured. Hit-and-run."
I let out a deep sigh.
"That's why I had to move out of here. This building is unlucky. Used to be a cemetery."
I invited her in. She looked around, then said she had some business to take care of. Said she'd drop in some other time. Before she left, she remarked in a small voice, "They say that every night there's the sound of footsteps on the roof. I've never spent a night here. Did you hear anything last night?"