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through your hair. “Switch on the table lamp, I’ll go and switch off the main light.”
    “No need. Just now we were in too much of a hurry for me to have a good look.”
    You utter sweet words, bend down to kiss her lustrous white belly in the bright light, and ask, “Do you feel cold?”
    “A little,” she laughs. “Want some more cognac?”
    You say you’d like some coffee. She gets out of the bed, switches off the air-conditioner, plugs in the electric kettle and puts instant coffee into a cup. Her full breasts sway weightily.
    “Don’t you think I’m fat?” she says with a laugh. “Chinese women have better figures.”
    You say, not necessarily. You adore her breasts, their solidity, their sensuousness.
    “Haven’t you ever had . . . ?”
    Facing you, she sits in the round chair by the window and leans back, tilting her head and letting you look as much as you want. She is blocking the illuminated building with the elevator, and the mountain behind looks darker. On this wonderful night, you say that her body is incredibly white, as if it’s not real.
    “And you want coffee so that you will be more awake?” There is scorn in her eyes.
    “So that I can hold onto this instant better!”
    You say that life, at times, is like a miracle and you are lucky to be alive. All this is pure coincidence and yet it is real and not a dream.
    “I’d like always to be dreaming but it’s just not possible. I prefer not to think of anything.”
    She sips the cognac and closes her eyes. She is a white German woman with very dark hair and long eyelashes. You get her to part her legs so you can see clearly and have her deeply imprinted in your memory. She says she doesn’t want memories, only to feel this instant. You ask if she can feel you looking at her. She says she can feel you roaming over her body. Where have I roamed? you ask. She says from her toes to her waist, oh—she’s gushing again, she says she wants you. You say you want her, too, but you also want to see how this body, so full of life, twists and turns.
    “For a better photograph?” she asks, her eyes closed.
    “Yes.” Your eyes are fixed on her and scour her entire body.
    “Can you photograph everything?”
    “Nothing is left out.”
    “Aren’t you afraid?”
    “Of what?”
    You say you have no inhibitions. She says she has even less. You say this is Hong Kong, and China is now far away from you. You get up and press against her. She asks you to switch off the main light, and you again enter her moist body.
    “Are you deeply attracted to me?” She is slightly breathless.
    “Yes, I’m buried.” You say you are buried in her flesh.
    “Flesh only?”
    “Yes, and there are no memories, only this instant.”
    She says she also needs to be fused like this in darkness, in nebulous chaos.
    “Just to feel the warmth of a woman. . . .”
    “Men also have warmth. It’s been a long time since. . . .”
    “You’ve had a man?”
    “Since I’ve had this sort of sensation, this trembling. . . .”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know, I don’t know why. . . .”
    “Try to say why!”
    “I wouldn’t be able to make myself clear. . . .”
    “Is it because it happened so suddenly and was totally unexpected?”
    “Don’t ask.”
    But you want her to tell you! She says no. But you keep at her, keep taking it further, go on asking her. Is it because you’ve met by chance? Is it because you don’t understand one another? Is it more exciting because you’re strangers? Or does she simply seek after such thrills? She shakes her head each time to say no. She says she’s known you a long time; even though many years have passed and she’d only seen you twice, your image stayed with her and grew more and more distinct. She also says that just now, a few hours ago, when she saw you she became excited. She says she doesn’t casuallygo to bed with men, she isn’t a slut, but she doesn’t lack men either. Don’t hurt her like