Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 324

pen and pondered what to write to Mr . Dujardin on the card - something like “ I wanna say that I ’ m deeply in love with you . I don ’ t know why but please forgive me -- because I really do ...” -- however , she did not have the guts to do so and later went with the dreadfully dull and impersonal :
SALUTATIONS FROM ST . PETERSBURG ’ S DEPARTMENT STORE . EMPLOYEE 371-C .
Then she went down to the post office . There she stood in front of a postbox , hesitant . What would happen ? Why would Mr J . Dujardin even care ? There ’ s not a soul that was alive enough to be in sight in the cold night . Lin dropped it eventually , despite being unsure . That night , she flung herself on her bed and drew a line with pence on a piece of paper . And another line , carefully and slowly . A world was born around her , like a forest with millions of golden leaves . There was not a single moment when she did not dream about or see Mr Dujardin in her mind , and all she witnessed , she seemed to see through Mr Dujardin , as if the milk bottle dropped and broken on the floor , became insignificant to her .
JANUARY 1943
It was January . January was mysteriously familiar , yet strange at the same time , for which one could almost but not quite define .
“ You ’ re wanted on the telephone ,” Mr Yang told her , pointing to the telephone by the wrapping table . “ Hello ?” she said .
“ Hello , is this employee three seventy-one C , Mialin Wang ?” the operator ’ s voice said over clicking and buzzings .
“ Yes ,” Lin answered . “ So it was you .” “ Oh -- hello . Mr Dujardin ? Did you receive the train set alright ?”
“ I did . And the Christmas card . Thank you so much for sending it to me . I just called to say -- thank you , really .”
“ Of course ,” she said subtly . “ Do you get a lunch hour there at St . Petersburg ’ s ? Let me take you to lunch . It ’ s the least I can do .” Lin held a long breath before replying . “ Yes , I ’ d like that .” “ How about tomorrow ? Shall I meet you at the Old Shanghai Teahouse at ... around twelve ?” “ Sure ,” Lin said enthusiastically .
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The next day came . It was eleven thirty in the morning and Lin was already waiting at the front of the restaurant . Mr Dujardin came shortly after Lin had arrived . They sat down at a miraculously quiet table , with white tablecloths and wooden rafters . Mr . Dujardin ordered creamed spinach over poached eggs and a dry martini , and invited Lin to have the same . And when Lin hesitated , Mr . Dujardin sent the waiter away with the order .
Mr . Dujardin then offered Lin a cigarette from his pocket . Mr . Dujardin lit Lin ’ s cigarette and Lin proceeded to smoke it , though not without some effort . Lin thought he was beautiful -- the way that he moved , the way that he did things and the way that he talked . His face was now a blur because Lin could not bear to look at it directly .
“ So what kind of name is Mialin ?” “ It ’ s Mialina . It ’ s changed ,” Lin said softly . “ It ’ s very innovative .”