Cut Sleeves Sigh

But now the coolness of the autumn was upon the lakes. P'ai now shivered inside his torn red brocade robe when clients were fumbling within its folds and an unexpected breeze fluttered across the water. And coolness came upon Wang-t'ao too. They didn't make love every morning upon returning from the lake as they originally had, and the rhythm of their life they were setting into was not one of red-hot ardor, but more one of domestication, habit . . . and a bit of dullness.

P'ai's first thought that he was losing Wang-t'ao came the late autumn afternoon he had been sent out to do the marketing and had come right back because he had forgotten to take the money—the chi'en—that he needed.

When he drew close to the apartment, he saw Wang-t'ao out on the porch in front of the door. He was talking with a young man—certainly younger than P'ai was. They had their heads together, and the young man was holding a length of the most beautiful scarlet brocade P'ai had ever seen.

A chill raced down P'ai's spine, and he instantly remembered a conversation he had had with Wang-t'ao shortly after they had returned to Wuhan.

"You came back to Wuhan to your own pleasure barge and to acceptance in the Floating World, Master," P'ai had murmured one morning as Wang-t'ao held him still from behind, all in stillness except for Wang-t'ao's masterful yang chu working in and out of P'ai's love hole.

"Shih. Shih. Yes, I did," Wang-t'ao said through teeth working their way across P'ai's shoulder.

"It does not seem easy to gain position in the Floating World," P'ai had whispered.

"Pu yao, No, it's not," Wang-t'ao answered, as he moved his lips from P'ai's shoulder and nuzzled his face up into P'ai's arm pit, as the youth raised his arm and emitted a low moan to the effect of Wang-t'ao's tongue and teeth in his sensitive flesh there. "I have been a pleasure boatman for many years."

"And you must have had many youths such as me entertaining the men's yang chu's then," P'ai had murmured.

"Shih, Many. But none as fine as you, of course." Wang-t'ao had moved his mouth to the youth's nipple and was sucking it hard between his teeth.

"Aieee," P'ai groaned. "And the youth before me. How long was he with you."

"Alas, only one full turning of the seasons," Wang-t'ao had said with a low growl. "But enough. I want you to practice coming together." And with that, Wang-t'ao had fisted P'ai yang chu and started to pump it as hard as he could while diving deep inside the youth with his yang chu. And P'ai was forced to abandon his questioning at that point and concentrate on coming together as commanded.

And P'ai had forgotten what had been said . . . until now. It was already late autumn. Only the winter to go. He could not live without Wang-t'ao. There was nothing in life without Wang-t'ao. He certainly could not go back to Zigui after having lived Wuhan.

The next market day, he did not forget the chi'en, but he came right back to the lakeside apartment, already knowing the truth, but wanting to be proved wrong.

But he wasn't proved wrong. The other youth was there now, standing outside the apartment with a beaming Wang-t'ao. Wearing a newly tailored robe from the beautiful scarlet brocade P'ai had seen the previous market day. The handsome youth was turning this way and that way, and Wang-t'ao was looking at him with approval—and, yes, P'ai was convinced, with that look of speculation and desire that he had seen in Wang-t'ao's eyes when they had first met in Zigui in what seemed so long ago and so far away.

* * * *

P'ai stood at the highest point of the Bridge of Sighs on Wuhan's lakes on that first day of winter, still cool but with that touch of frost on the air promising the bleakness to come. He was staring down into the frigid lake water, holding his torn red brocade robe tightly around him, whispering not only of what had gloriously been but, in melancholy, also of what might have been—what he had dreamed would be.

He was not angry—just regretful. If he had stayed in Zigui, life certainly would not have been any better. He had had his peach spring, perfectly ripe summer, and mellow autumn. He would not stand in the way of Wang-t'ao. He had been a superb lover, and P'ai loved him still. Would love him forever.

P'ai looked down into the swirling water as it moved from the larger lake into the smaller one, the new water brushing the old water aside, pushing its way into the smaller lake. Life was ever thus. P'ai leaned out farther over the stone railing, bending down toward the swirling, welcoming waters.

* * * *

"P'ai, P'ai," Wang-t'ao was crying out over the water in the advancing twilight as he poled the pleasure barge out onto the large Wuhan lake. "Anyone seen my P'ai?" he cried out to the other pleasure barges casting off with their first cushioned nesting of treasured clients for the evening.

"Shih, Wang-t'ao hsien sheng," another poleman called out to his friend. "Just moments ago, over at the Bridge of Sighs."

"Hsieh, hsieh—thanks," Wang-t'ao called back. "It's not like him not to be ready for the first castoff. And I wanted to show him what I had made for him."

"Gifts for a lover?" the friend bantered back, needling him gently. "I've heard you have an ever-stiff yang chu for that one. You know it isn't good business to fall for your cut sleeve."

"Fuck you," Wang-t'ao called back, but in a tone that obviously was given in good humor. "This one is special. I am getting too old for this business. This one I take away with me. And look, see what I had made for him. His robe is old and torn; I've bought him this splendid new scarlet brocade robe. Cost me a month's taking. But he is worth that and more to me. He is worth everything to me."

As they had bantered back and forth, they had been poling across the lake toward the Bridge of Sighs. And as Wang-t'ao had carefully, lovingly folded his love gift and set it down on the cushions at the center of the pleasure barge, he looked across to the entry of the greater Wuhan lake into the lesser . . .

. . . and saw the familiar torn red brocade robe floating on the surface of the frigid Wuhan lake just below the Bridge of Sighs.