And her body has not forgotten: she is thirsty still, thirstier than before. She wants water so badly. Surely it is all right to want that? She can go to the kettle and pour herself a glass. But she notices that even now her thirst is still greater than her unhappiness, and as long as this is true, she might be okay.

When her husband does finally stir, the room is bright with morning. His face is pale, squashed from sleep, his features soft and blurred. He yawns and sees her sitting in the chair and says, “What are you doing over there, Mei?”

His hair is sticking up at the back like a duckling’s tail. He looks somehow younger, and there is a question in his eyes, almost helpless or expecting, as if he knows she’s been leading a secret life and is waiting for a confession.

And she replies: “Nothing. I just got up. Want some coffee?”

She goes over to him and kisses him on his forehead. While he is in the shower, she drinks five glasses of water, and after that she gathers up the chandelier pieces, gets back on the chair, and one by one hooks them back into place. All except for one.

Later that morning, sitting next to her husband on the flight back to Hong Kong, she drinks an orange juice and clutches her head during the descent. She reaches into her pocket and squeezes the crystal, digging its edges into her flesh. She thinks of an apple being slowly peeled. Then she thinks of bolts of silk spilling out with quick drama. She tells herself that somehow it will happen, it must happen: a time when she will be able to tell someone everything, and not want or fear anything.

Accident

ACCIDENT