Backstroke

 Dream I Had in Shanghai a Few Days Ago

In a city where Chinese and Japanese control blurred into each other, on the eve of war, my girlfriend didn’t come home after work. I got a call from her—she said she was going to the safest place. Yet she kept calling me, saying she was worried about me. I believe she truly was. But deep down, I resented that she didn’t choose to rush toward me like a moth to a flame. Ours wasn’t the kind of love I had seen in films.

So I answered her calls in silence, swallowing the bitterness inside me. It hurt to hold it in, but I sincerely hoped she would be safe. She deserved the life she wanted.

I don’t know how I met the guy from Fuqing. He worked as a bouncer in a hostess club in Japan. Though he was a man, he had a full chest, and two Chinese girls followed him around—one liked him, the other just tagged along for fun.

They invited me to a restaurant, saying their **big brother—a gang leader—**had just been released from prison, and they were celebrating. I didn’t want to be alone with my sadness, so I went.

More than twenty people crowded into a KTV room. The Fuqing guy clinked glasses with me, then tried to kiss me. Drunk, he asked why I didn’t use my tongue. I said I didn’t even do that when kissing women. He was shocked, turned to his girl, and she laughed, saying, “Don’t listen to him.” I had been exposed, but I kept pretending.

Trying to change the mood, I told the girl that the Fuqing guy was actually a woman. She smiled, unconcerned: “No, he’s still closer to a man.”

I thought I’d leave soon.

Their big brother wanted to sing, but after just a couple of lines, the KTV owner cut the music and told him to behave now that he was out. I expected him to get angry, but he didn’t.

When I turned my head, I saw, about thirty meters away in the yard, a madman planting crops, singing loudly like he was drunk. No one paid him any attention.

I told the Fuqing guy I felt lucky to have met him, but I had to go. I thought he might be upset, but he wasn’t. He just said, “Alright, see you.”

We parted ways on the street. I told him, day or night, he was always welcome to come by. He said yes.

Around us, a crowd of Westerners arrived, playing music in the street. Suddenly, images flashed through my mind—group sex, a mix of men and women, they kissed and intertwined with one another regardless of gender.

I snapped out of it, feeling a bit afraid.

Then suddenly, my body lay flat, as if floating, and I began swimming on my back through the air.

At first I worried I might bump into someone since I couldn’t see ahead, so I occasionally tilted my head to check. But there was no one close—only people far away—so I let myself drift freely.

The deep, dark blue night sky opened between massive clouds, vast and beautiful.

I swam freely, on my back, through the air.

A familiar melody came from the sky—I think it was With or Without You by U2.

I felt light, at ease.

I loved the night. I loved the rhythm of the bass.

I was like a free fish, in this night of separation that was not entirely separation.