In speaking of the ‘‘cause of this illness,’’ she said: ‘‘Murder is committed at night when the winds of hell break bones and muscles. When I ran around on the rooftop-Oh! Why did it turn out this way? Why couldn’t it have been the other way around?’’
In despair, she said, ‘‘He entered my dream only once, but as a person with a totally different appearance. But I knew it was he who stood at the head of my bed. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock… ‘Oh!!’ I shouted at him. ‘In the afternoon, at the intersection, in the sunshine, you showed up again in front of the window!’ I shouted like this as a substitute for courage.’’
Despite all these depraved notions, Madam X and Mr. Q’s adultery continued. How did they accomplish this in locations no one knew about? And how did they ‘‘enjoy themselves to the full’’? Also, how can she substantiate her views of men? God only knows. As for details, she revealed nothing even to her sister. She seemed too wary. Maybe what went on between them wasn’t as empty as the widow guessed. Even the widow wasn’t really convinced.
Yet, it brought about a kind of reverse psychology on Five Spice Street. No one knows when people started being enthusiastic about painting murals, but all of a sudden murals began appearing on the walls along the street. All of them depicted sexual positions. Cleareyed people knew at once that these were realistic depictions of ‘‘the adultery.’’ Those bold, bare means of expression doubtless alluded to the fallacy in the widow’s story. Everyone demonstrated a fierce appetite for invention. They didn’t eat, they didn’t sleep: they painted day and night. In his excitement, one spilled a bucket of oil paint on himself and turned into an oil-paint person. Another shouted crazily, tore a painted nude to bits, and then pasted the pieces on the wall and called it an ‘‘abstract.’’ Sighing with feeling, people said: ‘‘Art can give people such sublime happiness! Aside from rationalists like the widow, who isn’t moved by its power? Life withers if it’s separated from imagination.’’
Madam X was unaware of all of this. Immersed in the adultery, she seized the pleasures of the moment without any thought for the future. Actually, she correctly sized up her situation: she knew her fantasies could not last. Calamity already loomed overhead, but in the eyes of others, she was still like someone without a care in the world: every day, there were two things she couldn’t forget. One was the date at the intersection. She was always impatient: like a young girl, she ran until she was gasping for breath. She couldn’t see anyone else; she couldn’t hear anything. As soon as she reached the shop window, she grabbed the man with the beautiful eyes, as though clutching at a reef in the midst of surging waves, or as though burning with fiery lust. The second was the adultery which occurred in an unknown place. Although no one had any way to break this case and although this wantonness in broad daylight had become the shame of the community, Madam X and Mr. Q flaunted their adultery by holding hands in broad daylight as they crossed the street, ignoring everyone else. They grew younger and more sexually radiant by the day. The people on Five Spice Street did nothing but watch. What else could have better demonstrated our breeding? To move a step forward: Madam X and Mr. Q were sexually experienced adults (one can even say that Madam X had ‘‘abundant’’ sexual experience). Being in the prime of life, they took keen pleasure in their rapture. Is it possible that when they were in the unknown place, they did not remove their clothes right away and carry on in all kinds of ways? Is it possible that they carried on just as the widow had described- dumbstruck, bored, or reciting poetry, singing to each other, and murmuring sweet nothings to each other while sitting far apart? This was illogical. All the more so, since Mr. Q was not sexually defective (his two children are proof of that; at a glance, you can tell whose children they are). Madam X was even less sexually defective: the crowds on Five Spice Street blush for her, this woman to whom no standards could be applied. She had actually never acknowledged any of society’s restrictions.
After being enlightened by such analysis, as well as by the depictions of the street murals, we found in the granary a likely solution (for the moment, we hypothesized that the adultery was being carried on there). Never mind whether Mr. Q had ‘‘an unmentionable disease’’ or whether his body had ‘‘broken into two’’ or whether Madam X had a premonition that there would be a day when they would ‘‘part company,’’ right now they were like dry kindling, burning until they were possessed. In Madam X’s words, it was ‘‘her sexual dream come true,’’ ‘‘this life was not in vain,’’ she was ‘‘thawing in multi-colored eyes,’’ and so forth. Of course, this was all just beautiful words, perhaps used to conceal something. (Deep down, she should have been embarrassed by her abnormal lust.) After mulling her words over carefully, we finally understood that the words were hiding her thirst for sex, the number of times she had had sex, time after time of satisfaction and dissatisfaction, and so forth. Madam X herself understood what it was that she wanted to express, and so did Mr. Q. No matter how it was covered up or what pretexts were concocted (conversation at the intersection, the mirrors, the waves in the eyes, and so forth), sex was the only reason they met. For years, they had yearned for sex day and night, earnestly longed for it. (In this, Mr. Q lagged far behind Madam X. It was only after she teased him that his lust burst out.)
As the saying goes, ‘‘One who eats well doesn’t understand another person’s hunger.’’ Because of their unusual appetite for sex, Madam X and Mr. Q were always hungry. Ordinary people couldn’t understand this, either. We all liked a disciplined sex life (for example, two or three times a week, or up to ten times for some people) and were disgusted with lust that knew no bounds and harmed one’s health. With healthy sex, one could think straight and be active in life. It filled us with appreciation for life. Now two perverted persons had suddenly appeared among us. Not only did they engage in unlimited sex and not only were they shamefully lewd, but they probably were spreading this disease, making people uneasy. Their thoughts always wandered to this possibility. Acne had recently appeared on the faces of some young and middle-aged men. Blushing, their wives complained, ‘‘This is just too much.’’ Some others transformed bodily desire into spiritual desire and started painting. They also made up their minds ‘‘to devote themselves all their lives to artistic endeavors.’’
Mr. Q still dribbled balls, and in the daytime he was still a handsome, robust man. Even the widow often told people, ‘‘The instant his libido bursts forth, this guy is dazzling.’’ As for who caused his ‘‘libido to burst forth,’’ she had her own opinion. At this time, Madam X’s appearance also underwent a great change. The most notable change was in her eyes. Her pupils were darker than before, and her eye sockets were not as dry, but were shimmering with tears that flooded her pupils. Maybe she had caught this from Mr. Q. Her tear ducts were actually exceedingly developed. She couldn’t control them. When she blinked, liquid spilled out, blurring her vision. She had to carry three or four handkerchiefs and now and then pretended she had ‘‘caught a cold.’’ Frequent creative and exciting sex transformed Madam X’s internal secretions, as well as her breasts, which had been flat but now began to ‘‘grow higher and softer by the day.’’ Even the widow, who had ‘‘observed close up for a long time,’’ had ‘‘nothing to say.’’ She now ‘‘scorned talking of this matter.’’
The widow had gradually formed a new viewpoint, which represented something latent in the annals of history. As a result of her own transformation, she gradually felt the solitude of an outrunner and became even more superior and aloof. Sometimes she didn’t participate in the people’s activities. One day, the writer respectfully listened to her new thoughts: ‘‘To tell the truth, the ass, tits, or whatever aren’t the crux of the matter. The most important thing is a woman’s inner spirit. Without this, a woman is no different from an empty shell, a pillowcase, an ashtray, a pair of slippers-that sort of thing. A person’s appearance fades with the years, but the spirit blooms forever. Of the women I’ve known in my life, very few were enchanting. Excuse my honesty. Now my vision has changed a lot. I hardly see a person’s appearance. When I look someone over, my eyes perforate his (her) body and go straight to his soul.’’