One might suppose that Sasha was deserving of pity, but Sasha himself had no idea of what he was getting into. Taking Wang Qiyao’s sudden affection and Kang Mingxun’s retreat as a mark of his victory, his vanity was greatly flattered. As a trophy won, Wang Qiyao took on additional importance to him. When he noticed that she was lethargic and listless in her appetite, he had his Russian friends make bread for her. He willingly played the part of her assistant, making cotton balls and sterilizing needles. This aroused some guilty feelings on Wang Qiyao’s part, but remorse immediately gave way to the image of Kang Mingxun, her apron around his waist, protective sleeves on his arms, his forehead oily and perspiring, trying so hard to please her. Her resolve stiffened — she could not afford to turn back, she could only move forward.
The first time she went to bed in Sasha’s arms, she noticed, as she caressed his body, how fair his skin was — almost transparent — and that his muscles were slight and soft. He was only a boy. Running her fingers gently through his hair as he lay lost in deep sleep, his hand resting on her breast, she was astonished to discover that his feather-light hair was not evenly colored. This amused her, and teardrops fell from her eyes. She saw too — what his eyeglasses normally kept hidden — the long, fan-like lashes over his eyes and the delicate flanks of his nose, which twitched faintly. She felt remorse at taking advantage of him, but, lacking an alternative, she could only apologize to him silently. She comforted herself with the thoughts that he did not have parents to answer to, and that, sheltered by his position as the heir to veteran revolutionaries, he could afford to take this rap. At the same time, though, Wang Qiyao found Sasha intimidating. She had not expected the child-like Sasha to be so experienced with a woman’s body; he was obviously well practiced, and she nearly lost control of herself. She was not a novice herself when it came to men, but Director Li was in the distant past, and intimacies with him, always rushed, had left little impression on her. Moreover, she was young then and was much too preoccupied to pay attention to her own sensations. With Kang Mingxun she had had to play teacher. Sasha was the first man who made her feel the thrill of being a woman, yet that thrill was somehow repulsive to her. During those moments a thirst for revenge overrode her guilt and she could only think, Sasha, you deserve every bit of this.
When she told Sasha about her pregnancy, suspicion flickered in his eyes. He started to ask incisive questions that showed he knew nearly as much as any gynecologist. Traps were laid for Wang Qiyao, but she was careful to sidestep them, and there was nothing he could do. She marveled inwardly at his calmness. This was certainly no Kang Mingxun. It was fitting that he, of all men, should own up to the responsibility. After all the questioning was over, Sasha still did not believe her, but he kept quiet. They continued their dinner and went on to bed.
Later Sasha, sprawled on the bed, placed his ear to Wang Qiyao’s belly. When she demanded to know what he was up to, he giggled. “I’m asking the baby its name.”
“Well, you won’t get an answer out of her!” Wang Qiyao retorted.
They spoke in double entendres because what they really wanted to say was out of bounds. All Wang Qiyao knew was that this time Sasha came into her with unusual force and her own climax was correspondingly intense — all of which made her feel that he truly deserved what was coming to him, and her conscience was eased.
For the next two days Sasha made no allusion to their discussion, behaving as if nothing had happened. Wang Qiyao could not restrain herself from asking, “What are we going to do?”
“What’s the hurry?” Sasha casually replied.
Wang Qiyao was compelled to suppress her impatience and play along with him, but she was determined not to let him get away. Anger allowed her to see matters in simplistic terms, and she was able to joke: “Let’s have this child and take it with us to Russia to live on bread.”
“And what if the child prefers Chinese pancakes and fried dough to Russian bread?” Sasha rejoined.
Half suspecting that her secret had been discovered, Wang Qiyao did not dare carry the joke any further. However, her resentment gave her strength. Meanwhile, two more days went by. Sasha came as usual and, after lunch, sat picking his teeth. As the sun shone on his face, one could see the tiny blood vessels beneath his skin. After a while he nonchalantly announced that he would take her to the hospital the following day.
“Which hospital?” Wang Qiyao asked.
“The one in Xujiahui.” He said he had made a special effort to find a doctor who had studied in Russia. Feeling that an enormous load had suddenly been lifted off her shoulders, Wang Qiyao heaved a sigh of relief, and was then struck with a spell of dizziness.
They took a public bus to the hospital. Sasha — deliberately it seemed — let two buses pass by before taking the most crowded one. Wang Qiyao rarely went out, much less took the bus. Not being used to pushing and shoving, she let other people go ahead of her. The door closed behind her as she got on board, pinching her heels. By that time Sasha had made his way deep into the crowded isle, out of Wang Qiyao’s sight. There she stood at the door, unable to move forward or backward, pushed and grumbled at by all the passengers getting on and off. By the time she got off at Xujiahui, her hair was disheveled, a button had fallen off her dress, and her shoes were dirty from being stepped on; she was beating back the tears and her lips were quivering. Sasha, the last to emerge from the bus, asked her how she was feeling. She gritted her teeth, swallowed her tears, and said she was all right.
Quickening her steps to keep up with him, she made a point of always getting ahead of him, as if to say, “Don’t you even think about getting away.” Sasha, who had a few more tricks left up his sleeve, was compelled to get down to business. They found themselves at the imposing gate of the hospital, which was marked with a red cross. Sasha led her twisting and turning down many a corridor before they found his friend, the resident doctor, who was resting in his office, having just finished his rounds. He stepped in first to talk to the doctor before motioning for Wang Qiyao to come in. Wang Qiyao, seeing that the doctor was a man, blushed with embarrassment. He asked her several questions and told her he needed a urine sample before the examination. Wang Qiyao wandered furtively around the building like a thief, too intimidated to ask where the restroom was. When she finally found it, a janitor was cleaning it and she was forced to wait outside. As soon as she entered, she was overcome by the harsh smell of Lysol and began to vomit, though nothing but acrid liquid came out. Soiling the freshly scrubbed bathroom filled her with shame and dread. She started to cry, so hard that she was afraid all the pent-up grievances inside her might explode in a scream of anguish. Stuffing her handkerchief in her mouth, she doubled up, racked with spasms of sobs. The back window, on which she leaned to steady herself, offered a vista of undulating rooftops. On some of them, rice was spread out on mats to dry. The sun shone on the rooftops, even on the grains of bug-infested rice. A flock of pigeons rose and glided in circles, their wings flickering in the light. Wang Qiyao stopped sobbing, even though her tears continued to flow. The pigeons wheeled round and round, up and down, growing more distant and then closer, like seagulls soaring over the ocean of rooftops. Wang Qiyao straightened up, wiped away her tears, walked out of the bathroom, and went downstairs.