Soaked, she got home to find Glen had left her a note. Two of his doctoral students needed to see him urgently, so they were meeting at the Blue Danube. He didn’t sound suspicious of her; his writing was neat and clear. She took off her wet clothes and wrapped herself in a soft towel. All of a sudden she was ravenous. All she’d had for dinner was a few mouthfuls of vegetables. Slapping a slice of cheese on some multigrain bread, she chewed away as she went online.

His message was waiting for her.

He said he knew she must be very disappointed, to have gone out in the rain for nothing. He’d seen her come in from the storm, looking just like a young girl ready to sacrifice herself for love, so determined yet so unbearably delicate. The rain had dissolved her mascara, leaving two dark circles around her eyes, and a skein of damp hair plastered beside her severe mouth. He never knew he was capable of such tender affection, quietly blossoming within him. He remembered she was from a small village, the one where two hundred thirteen girls had died in a single night. Those virgins had collectively sacrificed themselves, for the lovers they hadn’t met yet. And so they hadn’t had to get married, hadn’t been let down, had avoided the twisty road of sin down which wives seek affairs. They simply had died for their potential lovers.

So you left the small village and came in my direction. I watched you standing in the doorway. I was thinking, What if there were a haystack behind you, a lover’s grave? You talked about the boy who came to the village, the one who liked cursing and playing the harmonica—he was buried in an unusual grave too. That’s the place you left, a small village like that.

Hongmei wanted to reach out and touch these words, the way they were touching her. She understood what he meant by tender affection.

He said she’d walked past table after table, and it had been obvious even through her clothes that she was breathing hard. The storm had brought out the fear, sleeplessness, and need for alcohol that had been plaguing her for days. It was almost as if this whole affair had become an addiction for her. He’d wanted to come over and embrace her, and tell her how much he regretted his actions. He oughtn’t to have frightened her like that. He’d asked for a new beginning, starting with bodily warmth and breath. If Glen hadn’t been there, he’d certainly have gotten things started properly with her. She’d fled in such a panic, not even noticing that she’d lost her shawl. He’d picked it up—it still held the warmth and scent of her body.