He could not remember how the girl got under his quilt, or how she had undone the tight buttons at the waist of her trousers. The smooth, moist part between her thighs had no hair yet, but he did not know whether or not she was a virgin. He only remembered that she didn't squirm, didn't resist, didn't kiss him, and didn't take off her thick padded trousers, but only pulled them down to the knees so he could fondle her. Then, she pulled up her sweater and shirt again, but, under the quilt, the soft part between her legs was all wet. What he did remember was that, as the girl snuggled against him with her eyes closed, the light under the shade shining on her slightly parted, full, red lips, he felt a tenderness for this girl whom he thought unattractive and not yet grown up. This incident was unexpected, and, not being prepared, he was afraid of getting her pregnant. He did not dare go any further, he did not dare to enjoy her. He didn't know if this was why she had come, and didn't know what she meant by showing him the scar on her breast. He didn't know what would happen the next day, didn't know his tomorrow or the girl's, or whether they still had a tomorrow.

He lay there quietly, listening to the ticking of the clock on the table in the all-pervading silence. He wanted to ask about the scar. The girl had clearly come because of it, and would have thought about things before resolving to act. Afraid of shattering the suffocating silence, he turned on his side and looked at her for a long time. The ticking of the second hand alerted him that time was passing. It was when he raised himself to look at the clock that Xiao Xiao opened her eyes and, under the quilt, pulled together her clothes, buttoned her trousers at the waist, and sat up.

"Are you leaving?" he asked.

Xiao Xiao nodded and, still with her purplish-red socks on, crawled out from under the quilt. She got out of the bed and bent down to put on her shoes. All this time, he lay there, watching in silence as she put on her padded coat and wrapped the long scarf around her head. Then, as he saw her take her knitted gloves from the table, he asked her, "Are you in some sort of trouble?" He thought to himself that he sounded harsh.

"No," Xiao Xiao said, looking down. She took her gloves and slipped them on, a finger at a time.

"If you're in some sort of trouble, then speak up!" He felt he had to say this.

"It's nothing." Still looking down, Xiao Xiao suddenly turned and started to unlatch the door.

He quickly got up and went barefoot across the icy-cold brick floor, thinking to stop the girl, but not knowing what to do.

"Go back, you'll catch a chill," Xiao Xiao said.

"Will you come again?" he asked.

Xiao Xiao gave a nod and went out, slowly pulling the door shut behind her.

But Xiao Xiao did not come again, nor did she reappear at the workplace headquarters of their rebel faction. However, he did not have Xiao Xiao's address. Of that gang of middle-school students, the girl had stayed the longest in their rebel group, but he had no way of finding out what had happened to her. He only knew that she was called Xiao Xiao, which could even have been a nickname used by her schoolmates. But what he clearly knew was that on this Xiao Xiao's breast-below the left breast, no, the right breast, it was his left hand and the girl's right breast-there was almost an inch-long, still raw, blood-red scar. He recalled that the girl was yielding and didn't squirm, but that she wanted to show him the scar. Was it to win his sympathy or to seduce him? She was probably seventeen or eighteen, and still had no hair between her legs, but her body was beautiful, beautiful enough to arouse him. Maybe it was only because the girl was too young, too frail, that he was afraid of shouldering such a responsibility. He didn't know if Xiao Xiao's parents had been attacked, and there was no way of knowing how she had been wounded. Had the girl come to him because of the scar? Was she seeking his protection, someone to turn to? Maybe she was afraid and confused? Maybe she got into his bed hoping to be comforted? But he didn't dare accept her, and didn't dare ask her to stay. For some time after, whenever he took his bicycle out, he would make a detour past the hutong where Xiao Xiao had got off, but he never saw her again. It was only then that he regretted not having got Xiao Xiao to stay. He hadn't said anything kind or comforting to the girl. He was so careful, so overly cautious, and so spineless.

29

"Why were you arrested?"

"I was sold out by a traitor."

"Were you a traitor? Speak up!"

"The Party examined my history and came to a decision long ago."

"Should I read this document to you?"

The old scoundrel started to panic, and the bags under his eyes twitched a couple of times.

" 'At a critical juncture in the fight against the Communists, to stamp out disorder in order to save the nation, I was not vigilant, careless about whom I befriended, and was led astray.' Do you remember those words?''''

"I don't recall having said them!" The old man was adamant in his denial, and the sides of his nose began to sweat.

"That's nothing, just the first sentence to prompt you, should I read on?"

"I really can't remember, it was many decades ago." The old man's tone had softened, and his prominent Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed saliva.

He picked up the document from the table and waved it. He was acting out a repulsive role, but it was better to be the judge than being judged by others.

"This is a copy, the original bears a signature and a thumbprint. Of course, it's the name you had at the time. You had to change your name and surname, surely you can't have forgotten that?"

The old man was silenced.

"I'll read some more sentences to help jog your memory." He read on, " 'I earnestly beg the government for a lenient acquittal and hereby sign this guarantee that should there be any suspicious persons ingratiating and aligning themselves with the Communist bandits, I will forthwith report them.' Doesn't this count as being a traitor to the Party? Do you know how the underground Party dealt with traitors?'' he asked.

"Yes, yes." The old man nodded repeatedly.

"Then what about you?"

"I didn't ever betray anyone…" Beads of sweat began to ooze from his bald forehead.

"I'm asking you, were you a traitor to the Party?" he asked.

"Stand up!"

"Stand up when you speak!"

"Make an honest confession!"

Several members of the rebel faction were all shouting rowdily.

"I… I had to sign the guarantee so that they would let me out…" The old man stood there, trembling. His voice, low in his throat, was barely audible.

"I didn't ask how you were released. If you hadn't capitulated, would they have let you out? Speak up! Isn't that being a traitor?"

"But I… But, afterwards, I reestablished links with the Party-"

He cut him short. "That was because, at the time, the underground Party didn't know you had capitulated."

"The Party forgave, pardoned me…" The old man bowed his head.

"You were pardoned? You were brutal with punishing other people. When you punished the masses, you went into a rage and didn't let people off even after they had written a confession. 'Instruct the branches under your supervision to make sure the evidence sticks so that the verdict can't ever be reversed.' Did you say this?"

"Speak up! Did you say this?" someone roared.

"Yes, yes, I made an error. It was the same as having betrayed the Party," the old man quickly admitted.

"How can it be just an error? You make it sound like it's nothing! You had people jumping out of the building to commit suicide!" Someone banged on the table.

"That… That wasn't me, that was how it was carried out-"