I glued my eye to the peephole. And I saw Evergreen put down his Mao book.

Wild Ginger raised her head.

They stared at each other.

Evergreen picked up the cup and drank down the water. "Page five hundred four, paragraph three. Ready? Begin." He read almost angrily, '"Communists must be ready at all times to stand up for the truth..."'

She looked distracted but followed the reading,"'...because truth is in the interests of the people ... Communists must be ready at all times..."' He suddenly got up, then sat down frustratedly. "'... to correct their mistakes, because..."'

"'...mistakes are against the interest of the people.'" She took a deep breath.

He stopped turning the page.

She closed the book.

He looked at her.

She turned her face away.

"I have to go," he uttered, standing up.

"One more paragraph," she said. "We must meet our day's goal."

He sat back down.

"Page five hundred six, paragraph three, Chairman Mao teaches us..."

"'Communists must always go into the whys and wherefores of anything,'" he recited. '"They must use their own heads and carefully think over whether or not it corresponds to reality and is really well founded..."'

She stole a glance at him, then continued, "'...On no account should they follow blindly-"'

At that he rose and rushed toward the hallway. Without saying goodbye he ran out and slammed the door behind him.

Wild Ginger sat still like the clock on the wall.

"Thank you, it's a success," she said weakly.

"Do you wish that he had stayed?"

She turned to me and recited, '"Provoking positive thoughts is just as important as battling the negative. Encouraging sentimentality is just as bad as selling national secrets to the enemy.'"

I detected tears behind her voice.

That night I went home and asked my mother about men for the first time.

"Shame on you," was Mother's reply. "Why don't you think of something better to do? We're out of food again. Why don't you go to the market with your brothers and sisters and pick some leaves from the trash bin?"

"It's afternoon, the edible leaves are long gone." I felt depressed.

"Well, try to go early in the morning while everybody is still asleep."

Wild Ginger and Evergreen had been practicing the same ritual for three weeks now. They sat head to head and acted like poorly made puppets whose movements were stiff. They didn't even say h.e.l.lo to each other when Evergreen arrived on the last day. The experience of being together seemed to offer no joy, yet neither of them called it quits. It was as if they were catering to an addiction.

I was getting sick of the closet. I was losing patience. In the dark, my thoughts raced. My mind was a jar of marinated pictures. Pictures of unrelated events, past and present blending into each other. Pictures of my swelling imagination, which produced horrifying results. I became obsessed with what could happen and was determined to stay in the closet until I saw "it."

I couldn't pinpoint when my focus began to change. I peeped through the hole one night and realized that I had been looking at Evergreen. I was examining him, in the most disgusting way: I memorized the number of pimples on his face, their location and size, how they changed day by day, and how his old skin flaked and grew new skin. I paid attention to the shape of his wide shoulders, big hands, and thick fingers. I indulged in the movement of his lips. My ears picked out his voice from their duets. Something rotten was infesting my insides.

I told Wild Ginger that I would like to quit.

"I'd call it a betrayal if you dare." Displeased, she threatened to terminate our friendship.

I pleaded, almost begging.

Wild Ginger held my hands with great concern. "Let's talk."

I shook my head. "You must release me from this before something terrible happens."

She laughed. "You are just bored."

"Let's take a break," Wild Ginger said at nine o'clock. She looked at Evergreen. There were b.u.t.terflies in her smile.

Evergreen had acted oddly since his arrival. He had been struggling with himself from the moment he sat down. He kept changing his sitting position. "Have we read enough?" he finally asked.

She avoided his eyes. "Would you like to have some tea?"

He got up and followed her to the stove. She lit a match and put on the pot.

Standing behind her, he examined the stove.

"Try it." She turned the gas off and threw him the matchbox.

He lit the match.

She turned on the gas. "Now!"

He reached out.

The flame ring looked like a blue necklace: He turned to her with the match still burning between his fingers.

"Whooo!" She bent over and blew. "Are you thinking about burning my hair?"

They were inches away from each other.

His hands went out, as if by themselves.

She was held, her head, her neck.

He held the pose in shock, didn't dare to move.

She struggled, but didn't run away.

He bent down toward her lips.

Her mind seemed to halt.

He let his mouth fall.

My heart raced.

Gradually their kisses turned into a wrestling match.

His hands went to free himself from his clothes.

He moved her toward the kitchen counter.

His clothes began to fall on the floor piece by piece. First the jacket, then the shirt. His chest was now bare.

Her will seemed to be paralyzed. She let him wrap her with his arms.

Pushing her against the corner of the wall he rocked himself against her.

My chest swelled.

There was no air in the closet.

My sweat steamed. I tried to hold my breath and tried not to blink.

I saw his hand reaching down to his zipper.

The pants peeled off like banana skin.

His b.u.t.t was dark brown, tightly muscled. It reminded me of a horse's.

"Evergreen," Wild Ginger cried.

He didn't answer. He got down on his knees, pressing her onto the floor.

"Evergreen!"

He reached one arm out, lifted her, and spread his jacket beneath her. In one motion he laid himself on top of her and began caressing her.

I was completely rapt.

Wild Ginger cried. I couldn't identify whether it was from pain or pleasure.

His hands unb.u.t.toned her shirt. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s popped out, and he threw himself onto them.

"No!" she screamed as if waking up from a dream.

He locked her back into his arms.

"No!" she repeated, pushing him away. Then she sat up and looked in my direction.

He seemed confused. He followed her stare toward the closet.

I became nervous. In a hurry to pull myself away from the peephole I accidentally knocked down a tiny piece of decorative wood frame.

"What is it?" He was alarmed.

"My neighbor's cat." She turned him away. "It likes to visit the closet."

The night ended. Evergreen went home frustrated. I came out of the closet exhausted. Wild Ginger thanked me. She was proud of herself and promised that she would not be needing me much longer.

I felt somehow manipulated and said that I would like to go home.

"You don't want to chat?" Her cheeks were rosy red. She was stunningly beautiful. "You don't want to know what I feel? You saw everything, didn't you?"

"It's kind of late."

"Your mother knows that you're at my house." She followed me to the door.

"So how do you feel?" I stopped and turned around.

She didn't seem to detect my emotion. "I almost regretted that I signed that letter to give up my personal life."