The man lay naked under the duvet. It had not been a cold day, but the nights still dropped low, and he had the blanket up to his chin.
He slung an arm over his face. He felt the smoothness of his freshly shaved face against the skin of his inner arm. He kissed himself. Savored the tender flesh. He leaned his head to the side and kissed his shoulder. The hollowness below the joint. The bicep. He made out with himself. His loneliness abated.
Then his thoughts turned to another. A woman who had been born on the shores of the Yellow River and was named after that powerful beginning. Li Huanghe. She had even taken an English name in honor of that birth. River.
And as he lay in bed that night he pictured her in his mind. Her delicate features and short cropped hair. Narrow almond eyes. Small nose. Small breasts. Tiny mounds of flesh with outsized nipples.
He went hard beneath the blanket.
As he thought of her, he stroked himself. Slow rhythmic motions. He brought himself up to a heat, then he stopped, let his endorphin high diffuse. He intended to take it slowly tonight.
When he was soft, he opened his eyes. Outside the window was a large magpie. Its blue and gray wings fluttered in the spring air. Black crowned. Long tailed.
The bird was an omen. A symbol in Chinese mythology of separated lovers. A symbol of hope for reunion.
The man knew what to do. His eyes rolled back in their sockets. He left his body. His consciousness entered the magpie. The bird blinked. Stunned by the intrusion. When it opened its eyes, he saw his own body through the smudged glass. He was laying on the bed, under the duvet. Eyes rolling beneath the lids as if dreaming.
His secret power. Walking the Way.
Then the bird took wing. He was in the driver's seat. Saw the world through the bird's eyes. He watched Shanghai pass below. There were neon lights and signs and advertisements. There was traffic, even this late. Lights of white and red reflected off the recent downpour that still lay pooled on the roads. There were no stars overhead. Never in big cities. Only a velvet darkness. The buildings he flew over were closed. Most of the windows were dark. But there were a few lights still on. A few people still awake to enjoy the night.
Together him and the bird flew out over the dark waters of the Yangtze River, then over the French colonial buildings of the Bund. The bird wheeled, tracing a wide circumference in the sky. The man knew his destination.
When he saw the gate, the bird descended. It flew low over trees. Then banked into a complex of high rises. He counted the floors. Knew which unit. And fluttered to a perch on the windowsill.
There were potted plants in a narrow aluminum box suspended from the window. The magpie gripped the rail. It lowered itself on its haunches. Fluffing feathers. Settling in for the show.
Li Huanghe lay atop the blankets. Her head rested comfortably against a stack of pillows, loose hair tumbled freely. She was naked. She took a bottle of lotion from the nightstand and rubbed it on her legs.
The magpie's gaze crawled across her creamy thighs. He was enchanted by her beauty, by her perfection. He loved her with all his heart.
This woman was his wife.
He had met her through a mutual friend. She worked with a foreigner he had gone to college with back in the States. They exchanged contact information and talked on the phone.
It was sometime later that they got a chance to meet. Sometime after that, they married.
The man never regretted his decision. She was strong and soft. Intelligent and passionate. She was cold to him at times and yet she loved him with all her heart.
There was a light on in the bathroom. There was the sound of running water. It stopped. Then a man stepped out.
She smiled at him. Beckoned him to her despite her nerves. Knowing this was wrong and knowing that she wanted him all the same.
The man approached the bed. He was Chinese. Lean build, with a dark complexion and some minimal hair on his chest and lower legs. In the soft glow of the lamp, he removed his boxers, hard member erect. He was uncircumcised.
Dark and passionate. Goofy and naïve. He seemed oblivious to her discomfort.
Then he slipped under the covers and held her in his arms. His touch electric.
She trembled harder now. She knew what she was doing, what this encounter meant, and it terrified her.
They spoke some words in Mandarin. The man understood a little. The rest was muffled by the window and his own lack of fluency.
There was a blare of traffic. Cars passed below him. A chill wind washed over the bird's body.
The man searched the room. Noticed a spider in the corner. He stepped out of the magpie and Walked into the jumping spider's mind.
The warmth slapped him after the chilly air outside. The two lovers' bodies glowed golden in the warm lamp light.
