The Lost Garden Page 7

  As if the spell had been broken, the fancy car did not come equipped with an elaborate ritual—Lin opened the rear door for her and followed her in. When he shut the door, she noticed the luxuriously appointed interior as well as the driver, who looked to be in his forties, with a crew cut like a worker from the countryside. Wearing a flashy patterned shirt made of synthetic fabric, he placed his large, brown laborer’s hands on the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

  She laughed despite herself as the car began to glide forward, the windows shutting out all outside noise. A soundless world existed beyond the window on late-night deserted streets, removing all sense of the real; what flashed past her eyes was more like a moving stage set. The car rolled on smoothly, at a steady speed; she felt no bumps in the road. Everything before and around her was a silent declaration of an imposing air that left no room for questions, the thought of which made her somewhat light-headed, as if caught up in a strange dream.

  Her place was in a one-way alley off Zhongshan North Road in the Yuanshan District. It looked to be too narrow for the Rolls, but that, in fact, provided a moment for the driver to show off his skill. She told him to stop in front of the red gate of a two-story building. Lin showed no sign of opening the door for her, nor did the driver, who was sitting comfortably in the front seat. She reached out for the handle, opened the door, and pushed out; it was unexpectedly heavy, like the car itself, as if its express purpose were to impress.

  “Such a heavy door,” she said.

  Lin followed her out.

  “It’s late and I don’t want to wake up Mudan. I have to walk all the way across the yard.” She knew she was being incoherent. “It’s late, I … I’m kind of scared. Could you wait by the gate until I open the door?”

  Wordlessly he moved to the side.

  She opened the gate, revealing a large yard with a red-brick path flanked by lush vegetation several feet tall. The overgrown greenery had gone wild, trees layering on top of and into each other, an untamed mass that was overtaking the path.

  The lush foliage had migrated into a grove of dark and light greens, overcrowding as it reached upward, displaying its indomitable vitality, a force to be reckoned with. It took him a while to realize that a patch of dark-green vegetation was, in fact, overgrown weeds. But, with its powerful urge to grow, it spread all over the place, filling every possible space, wild and disorderly. But when he realized that it was only untamed weeds, the patch of green emitted a sense of extreme degradation, a sort of ruin from prolonged neglect.

  By then she had passed through tall, dark-green weeds that brushed against the hem of her long skirt, and reached the far side of the yard, where she stopped beside a small red door.

  Like many lovers, they often repeated the story of how they had fallen in love. Naturally, she wanted to hear him talk about it; he was quiet at first, and she detected the same shyness on his face as before. He even looked away to avoid her gaze.

  “It was that night when I took you home and you said you were afraid to walk across the yard,” he said evasively, obviously uncomfortable with revealing his emotion, like most Taiwanese men at the time.

  She brought it up again when they knew each other better, for she needed more verbal assurance. Now that they were so much closer, he was increasingly at ease and direct:

  “Didn’t I say you looked like someone born in the last century? Few girls these days have your demeanor, an air of competence instilled by growing up in an established family. I always thought you were so strong, capable of anything,” he said in a soft, tender voice, “so I was surprised to know you weren’t as brave as I thought, even frightened sometimes.”

  A few days later he called her at work, asking about her schedule. He was in such a hurry he hung up after she managed to say that she went to bed late.

  At eleven that night he called from Los Angeles, where it was seven in the morning; the shades in his hotel room were drawn and his wristwatch still showed Taipei time.

  He’d gone to L.A. on real estate business. Over the past thirty years, a large number of Taiwanese had emigrated with the fruits of Taiwan’s economic growth; it was no longer just a dream to create a high-end residential area for Taiwanese immigrants in L.A. This was exactly what he’d always wanted—a global empire.

  This was the first time they’d talked by phone. It was late, so every word he said in the quiet of the night seemed to go straight to her heart. She just listened. Though thousands of miles apart, his voice sounded as though they were in the same city; it was truly as the saying goes, far apart and yet so close.

  She had picked up the phone in the living room, which had kept her from putting on something warmer. Now the cold spring-night air began to seep through her white silk pajamas, forcing her to cover herself with several cushions. The black satin cushions with their gold threads had been cold, but after coming in contact with her body, the cotton filling began to serve its function of warming her.

  Gently she brought up the cost of international calls, especially because they had been talking for some time.

  He went quiet for a while on the other end.

  “You know what? I found your sense of decorum particularly endearing.” He quickly added, “I never have time to make phone calls except when traveling. Back in Taiwan, I’m always busy with so many things it’s impossible to have a good phone conversation. All my friends know I’ll only call them when I’m on the road.”

  She laughed softly and said:

  “An expensive hobby.”

  “I work so hard, traveling back and forth between Taiwan and the U.S. And for what, if not to be able to spend money whenever and however I like?”

  Then his tone turned serious.

  “I’m proud of being a Taiwanese now. Finally, we can afford to chat on international calls and fly first class on business trips or personal travel. Pretty soon, we’ll own private jets, like the super rich in developed countries.” He was getting animated. “I take great pride in the fact that, within a brief decade or two, we have amassed so much wealth that we can spend money however we want.”

  He quickly changed the subject, as he often did.

  “Before I left, I sat in on a management forum at the Shangri-la Hotel. The speaker was a young M.B.A. who seemed to be following the trend of critiquing everything. He said that the flour sacks from the American Aid all had serial numbers. When we fashioned clothes out of those sacks, we each wore a number, like piglets raised on American flour. We were branded, just like the cattle in American Westerns.”

  “That was a time of pervasive poverty,” she said gently.

  “It sure was! Back then almost everyone was poor.” He agreed casually, obviously unperturbed. “The M.B.A. also said that it began with the American Aid, followed by all sorts of special treatment by the American government, which steered Taiwan onto the road of a capitalist model we can never shake off. The multinational companies and our reliance on foreign capital give the Americans absolute control of Taiwan.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I stood up and cut him off.” There was still a hint of righteous indignation in his voice. “I told him I don’t know a thing about multinational companies or capitalism, but I know that Taiwan’s economy took off because many, many hardworking, diligent Taiwanese, like myself, worked tirelessly to make it happen.”

  She laughed softly again.

  “Then what?”

  “Everyone in the audience applauded.”

  Time passed quickly as they talked. She had wanted to remind him that it was getting late and, no matter what he had said, they really shouldn’t be chatting on international calls. But then what he was saying caught her attention, until she was startled to sense that it must be very late, for all was quiet around her. She was feeling drowsy and her ear was getting numb from having the receiver pressed against it for so long. The voice on the other end sounded hoarse, deeper, fatigued even.

  That reminded her of the first time they met, when
he’d appeared reserved and weary.

  She hurriedly offered an apology for keeping him on the phone for so long.

  “What time is it? I don’t have my watch.”

  “Mine is still on Taiwan time; it’s 3:30.”

  So they’d talked for four and a half hours on a call between L.A. and Taipei. After she hung up, she remained curled up on the sofa, deluged by a weighty sense of fatigue in the late-night quiet. His voice was gone, but a buzzing sound lingered in her ear; she was tired beyond description and yet her mind was crystal clear. She was experiencing a dreamlike sensation, as if she were still riding in the Rolls Royce, with its seemingly unreal steady speed, or the carnal indulgence of Elixir with its sound, lights, and flesh, compounded by four-and-a-half hours of trans-Pacific conversation.

  A few days later he called again at ten at night. He was back in Taipei and had just dealt with urgent matters at the company. All he said was he wanted to see her.

  She recalled how since the first day, they’d always met in extravagant places, so she thought he’d take her to another, maybe even more exquisite, more expensive place. Instead what emerged from the familiar voice was:

  “Let’s go for a walk.”

  Caught off guard by her own erroneous assumption, she didn’t react at once, but quickly recovered and laughed softly.

  “It’s raining.”

  “Walking in the rain, that’s even better.”

  Looking at the soft spring rain, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go. When was the last time she’d walked in the rain now that all indoor spaces in the city were air-conditioned? Then a sense of adventure made her agree with a laugh.

  She opened the door when he rang the bell, only to see him standing in the dark in the rain, his white Rolls Royce nowhere in sight. That behemoth of a car was nearby wherever he went, so its absence that evening was confusing, as if he’d come out of nowhere.

  They walked along Zhongshan North Road toward Yuanshan. Streetlights that glowed brilliant white in the rain illuminated a profusion of tender green leaves on red maples along the street, while those leaves threw the area beyond the light into a dark shadow.

  A mist was rising. Strolling down the red-brick sidewalk, she looked around at the arboreal canopy that, in alternating light and darkness, looked as if green tips had been painted on the leaves before they sent their profusion of greenery down the street. It was like a man-made backdrop that had been beautified, so impossibly pretty it seemed unreal.

  The rain increased as they walked and talked. He pointed to a small neighborhood watch booth.

  “Let’s go in there.”

  “I pass by here every day. Why haven’t I ever noticed this little booth before?” She was surprised by her own lack of observation, then added, “That’s for a neighborhood watchman. Can we go in there?”

  “If we can’t, then we must. On my way to L.A. this time, I saw a movie on the plane. I forget its name or what it was about, but I remember the male lead said to the female lead that he wanted to do something for her to remember him by.”

  He carried on with his usual confidence, which in turn made him sound more arrogant than ever. She recalled how much of his knowledge came from fragments of conversation or lectures; now he even had to take a page out of a romantic movie. She was about to tease him about that, but his self-assurance and his conviction in the rationality of his action changed her mind. Silently she followed him inside and sat down in the low, blue wooden booth.

  Two makeshift planks were the only furniture; the lower one served as a chair and the higher one was obviously the desk. The cramped space made it natural for him to put his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned against him. He had a well-proportioned, powerful hand with clean, neatly trimmed nails.

  A casual glance showed that he was wearing a plain-looking Patek Philippe watch, not the gold Rolex favored by Taipei businessmen. A bit surprised, she commented:

  “Nice watch; good taste.”

  The comment only encouraged his smugness as he gestured at his clothes and gloated:

  “The shirt is from Thierry Mugler, the suit is Claude Montana. Only a girl from old money would recognize these name brands.”

  She smiled vaguely, making him aware of how inappropriate that had been; it brought a moment of silence between them. Then he continued in his usual high spirits:

  “There’s a story about a gold watch making the rounds in Taipei business circles. Here’s how it goes: there was this Shanghai textile tycoon, who was so big and tall that his Rolex already felt snug on his wrist when he bought it. But then he put on some weight and had to have the gold watchband extended. Over the years that followed, his weight continued to go up and his watchband got longer. When he died, his watch was so heavy it couldn’t be held in one hand.”

  She laughed, but by the time he finished, an eerie feeling made her shudder.

  It was getting late, so he walked her home. When they stopped outside the gate, he spoke into her ear in a low, gentle voice:

  “Still want me to wait for you here?”

  With a smile, she shook her head and said in a shy, coquettish voice:

  “No, but I’d like you to walk me to the door.”

  The weedy yard felt overpoweringly vibrant even in the dark, as it grew and filled every available crevice, like a raging fire, lacking only green flames. Pushing aside a knee-high weedy plant stretching across the path, he frowned and said:

  “I’ve never seen a stranger woman than you. Who lives in a house with a weedy yard?”

  “I once lived in a beautiful garden. It belonged to my father, in Lucheng. It was called Lotus Garden. Maybe you’ve heard of it. Like the Lin Family Garden of Taipei, it was one of the largest private garden compounds in Taiwan.”

  She paused on the weedy path and turned to look at him. All he saw was her dark, deep eyes on that rainy night, looking wild and mysterious against the vegetation around her.

  “After living in a big place like that, what do you think I could grow here?”

  She laughed softly.

  “Besides, this isn’t my house. It belongs to my uncle, who lets me live here.” She lowered her eyes, the long lids obscuring the light inside. “This house was part of my mother’s dowry.”

  “I could buy it from your uncle and you’d have it back.”

  He spoke in a confident, casual tone, obviously blurting it out without thinking. Like a reflex, a reserved, aloof look immediately settled over her face, with a hint of disdain and distance, effectively cutting him off. As if mute, he stood here, not knowing what to do or say next.

  For the first time since they had met, she turned and leaned up to him; he wrapped his arms tightly around her for a long moment before saying good-bye.

  Love came swiftly over me, like waves in a stormy sea. At first I was simply attracted to the dreamy sensation I received and everything surrounding him. In the midst of Taiwan’s economic boom of the 1970s, I witnessed how this tall, handsome, arrogant middle-aged man forged ahead with full confidence, resolve, and hard work; it was how he took care of his business and dealt with love. In the 1970s, when anything and everything was possible, he was a model of innovation and vitality; it seemed as though everything he put his hand to was a success.

  At that moment in time, I fell completely and hopelessly into a mystifying yet powerful love. I must admit that when I first met him, I was more attracted to his low-key attitude, so different from that of other Taipei businessmen. Drawn to his gloomy, enigmatic demeanor, I’d thought that an unstable, discontented self was hidden behind a facade of success.

  Once we were together, I felt that he had completely conquered me, and that gave me a powerful sense of happiness. Years later, when I longed to return to the moment when we first met, I became dimly aware that he had always been the one talking, and usually about himself—Lin Xigeng, his past, his business empire, his innovations, and his dreams. And I had been happy to be his audience, cautiously following his topics of conve
rsation.

  At the time, I was submerged in a mysterious and powerful love. A mere shred of self-awareness told me that I was falling fast, little by little, inch by inch. On every night we saw each other to the following morning, he never ceased to induce nonstop, manic love in me.

  I realized I was making fewer judgments and decisions of my own, as his imposing manner all but overpowered me. Now he became the center of my existence. My life revolved around him, as I thought about what he liked, self-consciously choosing what pleased him, and expressing myself in the way he preferred.

  It was as if I were in a hazy dream, engulfed in a saccharine blur. My senses, all but the powerful feeling of love, were reduced to a bare minimum. A mist seemed to have shrouded everything external, creating a sense of distance that made it unreal yet omnipresent. I continued to work and go about my life, but nothing commanded my attention; now I was lethargic and languid. I lived for his phone calls and waited for him to come see me at night in his huge, dreamy, white Rolls Royce.

  I’d been in love before, but never had there been a man like Lin, who seemed to take me back to my childhood, a girl who had everything arranged and decided for her. All that girl needed was to rely on others, to obey and follow orders, with few of her own ideas, as there was no need for her to have any. In fact, I was too lazy to make my own judgments and decisions.

  Worse yet was the fact that I was happy, truly happy. I didn’t have to think or worry, because there was someone to face the world on my behalf. What a carefree, indulgent happiness it is to be able to submit to a man you love, particularly if this man is so competent, reliable, and deserving of your wholehearted devotion.

  But then I began to feel frightened.

  Fear propelled Zhu Yinghong to try to learn everything she could about Lin Xigeng. It was easy enough; her uncle told her he had been married and that there were other women with whom he’d had intimate relationships.