Boy in the Twilight by Yu Hua Read Free Book Online

envelope, neatly folded. When she opened it, she found another envelope inside, folded just as neatly. Inside this envelope she found another folded envelope, and in that she found a key.
    It was an ordinary aluminum key, unremarkable in every way, so why would Li Hanlin store it inside three envelopes? Lin Hong studied the key in her hand and noticed that it was a little grimy: clearly it had been in use for quite some time. From its size she could tell the key would open not a door but a drawer or suitcase. She stood up, walked over to Li Hanlin’s desk, and inserted the key into the keyhole of the drawer, but found that it failed to turn in the lock; next, she tried the keyholes of her suitcases and Li Hanlin’s; and then she checked all the other locks in their apartment, but the key didn’t open any of them. In other words, it had nothing to do with this home of theirs, which meant that … it was an interloper.
    Lin Hong, a woman in her midthirties, was assailed by suspicion, disquiet, foreboding, and conjecture. Key in hand, she sat outside on the balcony, and for a long time she stayed there, unmoving; the sun above shifted its position above her stationary form. She felt lost. Only when the telephone rang did she rise and go inside to answer it. The call was from her husband, in a hotel far away. “Lin Hong, Li Hanlin here,” he said. “I got here okay and checked in. Everything’s fine. Are you okay?”
    Was she okay? She didn’t know. She stood there, receiver inhand. The voice at the other end was saying, “Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?”
    She said something at last. “I can hear you.”
    “Okay, I’ll hang up now.”
    The connection was broken, and all that came over the line was a long silence. Lin Hong hung up and went back to the balcony to stare at the key. Her husband’s call had been a routine formality, a simple confirmation that he was still alive.
    That was one thing there was no doubt about. His clothes were drying on the balcony, his smile was mounted in a frame on the wall, cigarettes he had stubbed out were still lying in the ashtray, and his friends were calling on the phone, unaware he was away. “What?” they’d say. “Another business trip?”
    She looked at the key. Her husband’s entire existence seemed to hinge on it. But just what did this grubby key signify? Someone she had thought was so close to her had kept a secret from her, just as neatly and securely as those three envelopes had guarded the key, and this secret had been concealed by time, concealed by time that she had imagined to be happy. Now that secret was about to be revealed, and—she felt sure—it was going to do her damage. She heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Steadily they approached her door, paused, then continued the climb.
    The following morning, Lin Hong went to Li Hanlin’s office and told his office mate that she needed to pick up a few things from his desk drawer. The colleague knew her. Wives were always fetching things from their husbands’ offices. He pointed to a desk by the window.
    She inserted the key into the keyhole of Li Hanlin’s desk, and the latch snapped open. And that was how she discoveredher husband’s secret, inside a large envelope. There were two photographs of the same woman, one of her in a swimsuit on a beach, the other a black-and-white portrait. She looked younger than Lin Hong, but not more attractive. Then there were five letters, all signed “Qingqing.” The name made her eyes burn. Qingqing … this was obviously a pet name. For a woman who was completely unknown to her to share a pet name with her husband … The hand that held the letters began to tremble. The letters were full of sweet sentiments and touching endearments. It seemed that this woman and Li Hanlin often met, and frequently chatted on the phone. That was the way it was. And there was no exhausting their sweet sentiments and touching endearments; letters had to be exchanged to allow more