Gold Boy, Emerald Girl by Yiyun Li Read Free Book Online Page A

Lieutenant Wei’s desk when I enteredher room. She signaled for me to sit down on her chair. “What’s the book about?” she asked.
    “A lot of things, Lieutenant.”
    “Like what?”
    “Men and women, Lieutenant,” I said. “And children.”
    “What about them?”
    What about them? I thought about the question and wondered what kind of punishment Lieutenant Wei would give me. The only time I had come to her notice was when I scored perfect marks during shooting practice. It was one of those useless talents you don’t ask for in life. Still, at practice I aimed and pulled the trigger with the utmost concentration, my mind calm; the care-taking of the rifle—disassembling it and laying the parts at perfect angles on a sheet of newspaper, then cleaning them with a soft rag and putting them back together with precision, all while the training officer timed us on his stopwatch—gave me immense satisfaction.
    “Are they romantic stories?” Lieutenant Wei asked.
    I would not call them romantic, I replied. What would you call them, then? she asked, and I said they were stories about mad people.
    “Are they worth breaking the rule of internal affairs?”
    “Not really, Lieutenant.”
    “Are you lying?”
    “No, Lieutenant,” I said.
    Lieutenant Wei picked up the book, ready to tear the pages. I wished I could plead with her that the book was a present from a dear friend, but the truth was, I had always known that I would be punished for having it: Apart from the volumes of
Essential English
, which I had little interest in reading, Professor Shan had never allowed me to take a book away from her flat; Ihad stolen the stories of Lawrence when I decided not to go back.
    “I can see you’re lying,” Lieutenant Wei said. She closed the book and studied the cover. “Do you want the book back?”
    “No, Lieutenant.”
    “Why not?”
    “They are unworthy stories, Lieutenant,” I said.
    She stared at me, and I tried to look as blank as I imagined I had in front of Professor Shan when I told her, a few days after the departure of Nini’s father, that my schoolwork no longer allowed me to spend time with her. For the briefest moment Professor Shan had looked disappointed, or perhaps even hurt. One has to do what she thinks suits her best, she’d said, and I mumbled that the coursework was heavier than I’d expected. I had wished to leave her with the impression that I would return once the summer holidays began, but she must have seen through me. She told me to wait and then left the room. I still cannot understand what I did next; I quietly took one of the story collections of Lawrence—the one we had just finished—and slipped it into my book satchel. A moment later, Professor Shan returned with a bar of Lux soap, which had just begun to be imported, the most expensive and most luxurious soap. It was wrapped in a piece of peach-colored paper with a beautiful woman printed on it, and I recognized the fragrance that I had always connected with her flat. Be good to yourself, she said, and before I could think of words of gratitude or apology, she waved for me to leave and told me to close the door behind me.
    The soap and the book had traveled with me to the army. At night I slept with them, sometimes opening the book to a random page and imagining Professor Shan’s voice reading it. I had seen her around the neighborhood a few times after that, and sheacted as if we had never known each other. I wondered then—and wondered again in the army—why she did not confront me about the stolen book. Could it be that she had stopped reading the stories after I left, so never realized her loss?
    When Lieutenant Wei asked me if I was certain that I did not need the book, I replied that as far as I cared, the book could be tossed into the garbage can at this very moment.
    Lieutenant Wei said that in that case, she would keep the book for herself. I wanted to remind her that she did not read English. “Who knows? Maybe