The person asked what the gesture had been. Hongmei felt a wash of warmth in her heart. When she first fell in love with Glen, these waves of tenderness often had overtaken her. Now they felt unfamiliar, as if she hadn’t experienced them for many years. She wrote about this sensation, then described the evening Glen took her to Jianguo Hotel. This was about two weeks after her classmates had started giving her the cold shoulder. She no longer remembered if they’d had a big meal, but they probably had—back then Glen always ordered enough food for six. Then the bill came—Glen’s lips didn’t stop their stream of light conversation, nor did his eyes leave her face, but his right hand slipped into the left inner pocket of his suit and pulled out a black leather wallet. Moving casually, his second and third fingers fished out a credit card. The movement was infinitesimal and yet spoke of great generosity. He was still speaking to her, occasionally correcting her English grammar, then warmly apologizing. When the waitress came back with the receipt, he pulled a pen from his pocket and, with just a few wriggles of his wrist and an energetic tilt upward, he signed it. There it was, the living embodiment of someone from the wealthiest nation on Earth, a rich man who didn’t care about money, giving her a new sense of cash with a flick of his pen. She pondered how rich a country would have to be to breed such nonchalance around money. She couldn’t understand why that gesture had made Glen look so good, so American. They took the bus home. It was after eight, and the sky had just darkened. Glen’s breath smelled faintly of wine, mixed with his after-dinner coffee. It was Sunday night, and the bus was crammed—everyone was rushing home. She and Glen stood facing each other, the alcohol swirling inside them. When the vehicle swerved violently, she took his hand. It was like the closing of a dam—in an instant, her drunkenness dissipated, swept away.

She told the secret talker that till this day she had been shocked at how reckless, desperate, and shameless she’d been. She hadn’t even been thinking what future they had; only that she loved him in that moment. She wanted to conquer Glen, to possess him. She said Glen agreed, saying yes to her. His hand clasped hers back, tightly. Next, it slid up her naked arm. His fingers were icy cold, finally stopping at the collar of her dress, on her collarbone. Even if he’d touched the very center of her womanhood, he wouldn’t have elicited such a strong reaction. Something murky happened inside her body, a vague tensing and relaxing. She said, Oh, you don’t know how good it felt—like punishment, like pleasure.

* * *