The Noodle Maker(20)
When the first scene of the second act was completed, she was confident she could finish the play, and began to look more closely at herself. First she analysed her reactions to men’s gestures, body heat, sticky fluids, and the sounds and smells that issue from their internal organs. She remembered the first time she saw a man’s dark and dirty testicles, and the wrinkled stump that dangles between. Then she remembered how this man had pressed down upon her, and how the hole whose use she had been unaware of until then was suddenly filled with his hideously gyrating flesh. After she’d slept with him, she knew she would be incapable of feeling shy or innocent again. When she let the next man smear his sticky white mess across her thighs, she felt dirty and abused. She realised she was no longer a child, and that in order to appear like other women, she would have to walk outside with a smile on her face even though she felt as though she had been wiped down with an oily cloth. She understood that she would have to start pretending, and that this is what everyone did. Everyone has to learn to hide their feelings and get on with life.
As time passed, she grew accustomed to the slimy male fluids and the various ways men moved: stomping down the streets with their heads in the air, thrusting back and forth during intercourse, chomping noisily at their food at mealtimes. She learned about men’s cruelty and weakness, and became familiar with the smell of their feet and dirty plimsolls, the stench of tobacco on their teeth.
‘They invaded every part of me,’ she wrote. ‘They wanted my chastity, but they didn’t respect it. I wanted their love, but they just pulled out their dicks and squirted their sperm over me. They destroyed all my dreams. Where can I hope to find love now? They have polluted all the sources. Just because they have stolen my innocence from me, does that mean I must lay myself bare and expose every part of myself to them? If I don’t put on an act, how will I ever find love? Men are no better than dogs. They believe that when they lift their legs to piss, the ground beneath them becomes their territory. If I don’t conceal my true nature, how can I satisfy their desire for feminine restraint and refinement?’
As she progressed with her suicide plan, she caught a glimpse of her future, and she felt both calm and afraid. She was nervous that someone might guess her state of mind, so before she stepped outside, she always made sure to dress up like a woman who was passionately in love with life. ‘All suffering is man-made,’ she said, trying to console herself ‘The sublime state of confusion is only possible when your heart is numb. Suicide is the only permanent cure for despair.’ She forbade herself from thinking about her birth or her death. She knew that her birth and death were travelling in different directions, but heading for the same goal.
When she decided that suicide was the natural way to finish the play, she tore up the earlier scenes she had been working on and started again from scratch. She hoped that the new one-act play she came up with would bring her life to a glorious and radiant end. She dedicated the new script to the love she had once believed in, hoping that this would soothe her broken heart. She telephoned the Open Door Club, a venue filled with the type of liberal-minded people who had appeared since the launch of the reform policy. She wanted to use this club to stage the final climax of her life.
In the centre of the newly built club was a large basketball court. The space below the spectators’ seats was occupied by ping-pong rooms, rehearsal rooms, shops, the offices of an association for the handicapped, a social club for retired cadres, a local family planning centre, a senior citizens’ dating agency, a wholesale outlet for Victory Biscuits, and a tax-collection point. Walking through the club, one would bump into unemployed youths, company managers, artists, the two midgets who danced with the club’s singer every night, painters on the look-out for beautiful models, and women in search of their prince on a white horse.
A few months before, the club had hosted the first beauty contest to take place in the town since the launch of the Open Door Policy. When the young women glided across the stage, a beautiful scent flowed from their thighs, nipples, stomach, feet, backs and buttocks, and filled the competition hall. The first part of the contest was a quiz on the memorandums issued at the Ninth Party Conference. The eventual winner had spent six months studying the documents, and got every question right. The last test was the swimwear competition. The women waltzed delicately across the stage, as the choir behind them sang: ‘Let us follow the advice of the Party Central Committee, and go to the rivers, lakes and seas to perform our morning exercises …’