Chapter 26 Chapter Twenty-Four

Ben goes to work, and I'm in his shower at 9am.This is one of the many strengths of the Baan House.The house is modern and new, and features features I had hardly even thought about before.The shower in Terry's place was more like a dripping faucet six feet above the bathtub, and the water would drip on you if you stood under it.Even the hot water was cold as it dripped down.And the shower room of the class is a genuine equipment, with an endless supply of hot water, power supply and pipelines.And that's not in the bathroom, it has its own door and space.I squatted in a corner of the shower, imagining myself on a planet that was constantly being battered by heat and rain.Of course, such a planet has its downsides when you want to eat, sleep or read, but it feels good right now.A strong shot of hot water hitting my head is also a good way to keep my thoughts from wandering.

I'd love to stay there until spring, or until the man is arrested, but I end up turning off the shower and drying myself with the slowness and meticulousness of a woman in no rush for an appointment.I wandered into Ben's bedroom, wearing mostly his clothes: sweatpants and a baggy blue T-shirt that was a few sizes too big for me, huge football socks and me behind his cupboard. Found a pair of slippers.I boiled water in the kitchen and made half a pot of coffee. Someday I'll have to start thinking about reentering the workforce out of this uncertain situation, but that can be discussed later.Everything can be discussed later.

I drank some coffee and then absent-mindedly tried to clean up and organize the environment.I don't know enough about Ben's house to do a lot of cleaning, I don't know what goes in which drawer or hangs on which hook, and I'm not really into mopping floors or anything too strenuous, so I just It's satisfying to wash the dishes, wipe the tables and chairs, pull the sheets and get things roughly in order.Even doing these things took me less than an hour, so I had a whole day to do before my shift came home.I had the opportunity to spend my time the way I've always wanted to do but didn't have time: jump on the couch, drink coffee, listen to music, read a book, and be a leisurely woman who steals half a day of my life away.

Laid-back women don't listen to the deafening pop music in my collection, they appreciate more refined music.I rummaged through the class CD and finally found a piece that looked jazzy and had a soft tune.I played it and it sounded mature and solid, more like a movie soundtrack than the average song, but that's not bad.I want to read a book and sip coffee, so a little background music is all I need.When you have a whole day to kill, the problem is picking out a book to read.I'm not in the mood for awe-inspiring seriousness, and heavy thrillers don't seem to help either.In fact, when I flipped through the books from the bookshelf, I suddenly realized that I was not in the mood to be a leisurely woman.Besides taking a long time in the shower and having nothing to do, I'm actually still restless and can't concentrate on anything.I couldn't stop thinking about the thing I was about to leave behind.

The class has a great collection of photography books, and I sat and flicked through them, but couldn't concentrate on them.The longest I have read is an anthology of nineteenth-century photography.This book collects many pictures of exotic landscapes, dramatic events, battles, revolutions, major disasters, etc., but what I see are faces, both men and women, young and old, some looking dazed, frightened, and others In the joyous scenes of festivals and celebrations, sometimes there will be a face looking back at the camera with a sinister smile. What struck me most was the strangeness of these faces.I thought, and couldn't help thinking, that all these people, beautiful or ugly, rich or poor, high or low, good or evil, religious or atheist, had one thing in common at this moment: they were all dead.Everyone died alone on the street or died on the battlefield or died in bed.Everyone in that world is dead.I think about it and not just think about it, I can feel it too, like a toothache.This is also a process that I have to go through.I looked at some of the lighter books on the upper shelves, the kind that don't come with photos.A collection of poems, just what I needed.I have probably only read about eight poems since I left school, but I suddenly feel compelled to read one, which has the added advantage of being short.

Ben was obviously not a regular reader of poetry, either, but there were some collections of poetry on the shelves that grandparents and godparents would send you when they couldn't provide you with wise words.Most of them look too much like textbooks to me, or I'm not interested in the themes of those anthologies, like singing about pastoral life or the sea or nature or something like that.But then I noticed a volume of Poems of Longing and Loss, and while I felt like a drunk trying to reach for vodka, I couldn't help it.I sat down with my coffee and savored the book.I have hardly explored the meaning of the individual poems.There's a vaguely sad, regretful, wistful, grayish vibe to the book, like a melancholic party, but that has its benefits.It would be unwise for me to try to pretend to be cheerful and carefree, and it makes me feel better to find that there are other lost souls who share my affliction, and I am not alone.After a while, I found myself showing a knowing smile that empathized with me.

I like this book, so I turned to the title page to see who compiled this poignant collection of poems.I saw a handwritten inscription on the title page, and a thought flashed through my mind that I should not read it.But I dismissed the thought.It’s not like finding Ben’s diary or old love letters while rummaging through Ben’s desk. The inscription on the book is like a postcard pinned to the wall. Even if it is sent to someone by name, it is still a public announcement.At least, that's what I was saying for a moment.However, when I saw the first nine words of the inscription, Dearest Beloved Class, I began to suspect that this was not actually a public announcement, but by then I had read it all the way.Here's the inscription I read: Dearest Dearest Beloved Class.There are several sentimental words in this book that describe my feelings better than I can.I'm really, really sorry about all of this and you're probably right, but I feel like a knife is piercing my heart and it hurts so badly.It is really nondescript to leave such an inscription on a book.All my love, Zou.The date is November 2001.

I simply don't believe there will be another Zou.I spent several days at Zou's house, and her handwriting was everywhere, including shopping lists, memos, and video cassette cases, and I could almost recognize it as easily as my own.I felt hot all over, and then trembled.fuck his class.Fuck him fuck his class.He confessed to that damned Li Ye clearly, he confessed everything about that relationship and how beautiful she was, except for the insignificant detail that he had fucked my missing roommate after breaking up with Li Ye do not mention.I remembered how he had rang her doorbell nonchalantly.They had been friends before, so there was nothing to be surprised about.We spent a lot of time trying to track down Zou's whereabouts.Or, at least, I had wanted to track it down.What has he been thinking?I eagerly thought back to my conversation with him, what had he said about her?He fucked her in the same bed that he fucked me.He didn't even mention it.But then again, he never mentioned to me that he'd fucked me.How many secrets does he have?

I tried to think of some unavoidable reasons why he might not have told me.He didn't want to upset me, that might cause embarrassment.But other reasons kept popping up.I've got to think about it, I've got to figure it out, but it's out of place here.Already other thoughts were beginning to come to my mind, and all of them demanded that I leave Ben's quarters as soon as possible.I looked at my watch and the time didn't seem so long anymore.I ran into his bedroom and took off my clothes and his clothes as if they were polluted.I started muttering to myself like a crazy woman.I'm not sure if that makes sense, but one thing Zou and I have in common is that we're both physically related to Ban Zeng.There is no doubt about this.Not only that, but we all had skin-to-skin relationships with him before he disappeared.I quickly put on my own clothes.I can't find a rationale for it, I have to find a place to think about it, a safe and quiet place, because I'm no longer safe here.The dead silence of the room enveloped me.

After I got dressed, I walked briskly around the house, picking up my must-have items: shoes, bag, sweater, purse, my weird but warm red jacket.What trick is he playing with me?He's lied to me, or sort of lied, or left out parts of the truth, so I'm not going to sit here and wait for him to come home.I try to recall that voice in the dark.I've also heard Ben's voice in the dark, sharing my bed with me, whispering in my ear, moans of love, telling me he loves me.Will that be the same voice? I ran to the desk of the class and began to rummage through the drawers. I impatiently pushed the files and notebooks aside until I found the passport photo of my target class.I studied it for a long time.Oh my god, he's such a handsome guy.I have asked people if they have seen Zou.But I never asked or thought about asking if they had seen Ben.I have been retracing the footsteps that I traced Zou back then.Maybe I could also consider going after Ban.I hesitated, then picked up his cell phone, which I now need more than he does.I opened his front door and glanced back before leaving, as if saying goodbye to a place I had fleeting fond memories of.

I am now alone.I have to cut through the mess quickly.I have nowhere to live.