There were no latches on the bedroom door—Ling had checked, and rechecked—and no lock button on the knob.
Shall I put a chair against the door? she considered. Would that be silly—a pathetic effort? Besides, there was no chair in her bedroom. She’d have to carry one from the dining room, which would make a noise that Chen, sleeping in the other room, might notice.
Outside her window, the night in the country was pitch black. Ling imagined acres and acres of dark bush drowning the dim light of the lamp on her bedside table. The forest must be bustling with life at this hour—past 1am.—bats, possums, even Kiwis.
He wouldn’t hurt her, would he? He could, though—she had provided him the perfect opportunity. At this thought, she let out an almost inaudible sigh. Jenny would say that she was right again. She recalled Jenny’s incredulous look: “Are you mad? You’re going to stay with him in such a remote place? Just the two of you? He’d think it’s an invitation. Don’t say I didn’t warn you if he slips into your bedroom one night … unless—” Jenny paused here, “—unless you want him to.”
Of course Ling didn’t want him to—she wasn’t that kind of person. Sex had to wait until she was sure that she and he had a future together. She wasn’t sure about that yet. Although she had been very hopeful before meeting Chen in person, there was at least one hurdle: he lived in Christchurch, and she in Auckland. Then again, perhaps she—or he—was worth moving cities for?
“But there’d be two bedrooms in the house. It’s just like two hotel rooms, isn’t it?” She had protested to Jenny. Her voice was a little weak. Hotel rooms didn’t sound as intimate.
So, probably, she had made a mistake; she had been impatient. But she had longed to take a trip like this—away from the crowds and the noise of the city, with no kids, just herself and the man. She had barely had a trip like that before—not even a honeymoon, not with Keith.
She used to put thirty dollars a week into a savings account for a trip. But Keith had always found excuses to blow away her hard-earned savings and to break his promise for the trip. She had thought she married Keith for love. She had thought that by marrying a Kiwi she’d fit in. She had thought he and she would make beautiful children—that part had come true: there were two of them. Then, five years later, the marriage dissolved. Ling had the kids and Keith would find ways to avoid paying for child support.
*
Stirs and rustles in the next room. There hadn’t been any snores like the night before. Was Chen awake too? Ling reached for the lamp and hastily turned it off. Her eyes were wide open, blind in the new, complete darkness. A few minutes later she heard footsteps—hesitant first, then soon approaching. A scream almost escaped her throat, but she covered her mouth in time to choke it. Then the footsteps, accompanied by a flash of light from the thin gap under her bedroom door, shifted away.
He’s going to the toilet now, she thought. What would she do if he comes on to her afterwards? The house was surrounded by forest—the off-the-grind kind, with poor mobile reception. The next neighbour would be at least ten minutes’ drive.
She waited until he finished his business and returned to his room. Maybe he wasn’t that bad after all. True, he had made advances towards her earlier today, but most of the time he behaved decently and seemed harmless.
Back in the days when they were chatting online, Chen had been good-natured and jolly—the very qualities she was looking for. She had wanted to be with a man she could feel relaxed around. She loved the way he spoke to her: gentle, attentive, full of warmth. And gosh, it had felt so sweet to be cared for—at last. It was always she who looked after the others—her kids, her parents, Keith. Up at five every morning, making breakfast and lunch boxes, long commute to work, picking up the kids from after-school care, cooking, cleaning, taking the kids to football practices and ballet lessons on the weekends. She was grateful that her mother was able to mind the kids for this trip.
On the dating app she had described herself as a “single mother with two children” in her profile. It was her statement: if you were interested in dating her, you’d have to accept her children. Maybe that was why she only attracted three men—Chen was one of them. The others weren’t suitable. She didn’t know how to put it that her children were mixed-race, and that wasn’t in the profile. When she mentioned this to Chen during a chat, he said he was a Christian, and all children were a blessing.
He was divorced. His daughter, 22, had lived with her mother before leaving the nest. He lived alone in a house he owned, and he also had an investment property—or so she had gathered. She hadn’t yet figured out whether he was mortgage-free.
Wouldn’t it be lovely not having to worry about money? That was what Chen seemed to have achieved. He had spoken of his overseas trips, which happened at least once a year; the many restaurants he dined at with friends in Christchurch; his daughter’s private school, which he paid for.
All of this was encouraging, and when she picked him up from Auckland Airport, she found him even better looking than in his photo. Boyish good looks—he wasn’t faring too badly for a man in his late forties. No baldness, no potbelly, not even much grey at the temples.
The holiday home near Dargaville was her pick. She had always fancied a holiday in a forest. He very generously offered to pay for it. Naturally she would cover the transportation.
The first evening they went to a Thai restaurant. They had a lot to talk about: their lives back in China, how they had moved here, what they liked to do, his work, her work, their families. While waiting for their food, he produced a red velvet box with a golden necklace in it, the kind usually found at Michael Hill. She said, “No, no, this is too much.” But he insisted, and what could she do but accept it?
Over green curry and Tom Yum soup she asked him whether he would consider moving to Auckland. “No,” he said. He knew no one in Auckland apart from her, and his work, houses, friends, and connections were all in Christchurch. How could he uproot himself from there? What about Ling moving to Christchurch? She should sell her Auckland house, and they’d live in his big house—or upgrade to an even bigger one—and be happy together ever after.
As if she didn’t have her own job, family, friends, and connections in Auckland! She’d have her kids and her parents to move with her—wouldn’t that be even harder? Her kids were thriving at school. Her parents enjoyed weekly meetings with their friends at the community centre. She liked her job. As Ling stirred the chicken curry into her rice, it dawned on her that despite her busy and sometimes exhausting life, she and her family had spread their roots deep and firm in Auckland.
*
They spent the days visiting sites and hiking in the forest. The canopy shielded the sky. Most of the time they walked in shadows. Sunlight sifted through the foliage, casting random bright patches over them.
Noticing that she was breathing heavily while climbing uphill, Chen offered a hand. “Need help? I’m older than you—how come you are the one puffing?”
“I’m good, thanks,” she said, stopping to catch her breath. “Too much sitting in the office, I guess.”
He nodded with a chuckle. They stood in a small clearing. He found his bottle in his daypack and took a few drinks. His eyes were hidden in the shade of his baseball cap. The lower half of his face looked ageless and obscure—he was a stranger, a man without a face. He could have been anyone on the street.
She shuddered, recalling a detail he had told her earlier: he was no longer in contact with his ex-wife and his daughter—both of them had blocked him in WeChat. What could a father possibly do to get blocked by his own daughter?
What does he want from me? Ling wondered. And what am I doing here? She doubted anything good could come of a long-distance relationship. Besides, was there any love between them at all? What was love, anyway?
She had put herself in an awkward position—she reflected on it and felt embarrassed. But the Airbnb was paid for and the holiday had to go on. She might as well treat him as her travel buddy.
When they arrived at Tane Mahuta, a small group of tourists were standing in awe, staring up at the giant tree. Ling could almost see light and energy radiating from its pale trunk like sunrays. A tree possibly 2,500 years old—what did that even mean? It meant it was as ancient as civilisation itself. Two and a half thousands years ago, Confucius was still toiling from state to state in his rickety wagon, seeking a ruler who might listen to his philosophy that would one day form the foundations of Eastern civilisation.
The tree’s age also eclipsed the entire history of Christianity. It had stood, silent and alive, in co-existence with baby Jesus.
All those years ago, it was just a young tree—she mustn’t forget that. To grow into such majesty, it had not only enjoyed two thousand years of sunshine, fresh air and rich soil, but also endured endless storms, pests, disease and decay. Tane Mahuta was a survivor.
She asked Chen to take photos of her with Tane Mahuta. He managed to include the entire length of the giant tree in the photo. At its foot, Ling looked like Thumbelina.
*
In the evening they pottered around the kitchen. Ling was cutting vegetables and making noodle soup while Chen hovered about, handing her the garlic or fetching the soy sauce.
“Next time you should visit Christchurch and stay at my place,” he said.
“I’ve never been to the South Island.
“I have a huge kitchen but I’m not much of a cook—you shall put it to good use. Maybe you’ll like Christchurch so much that you’ll want to move there.”
“That’s unlikely,” she said with a small laugh, pouring oil into the heated pan.
“Well,” he said, giving her a look, “you never know.”
On the couch after dinner, as they watched TV, he shifted closer to her, took her hand and held it. She wasn’t surprised by this, but neither did she know what to do. In her hesitation she didn’t withdraw her hand from his clasp right away. Had she unknowingly encouraged him in some way? Or, like Jenny said, was the fact that they were on holiday together itself an invitation? Did she bring this on herself?
Her face turned hot, but the hand he was holding suddenly felt cold and sweaty. She withdrew it quickly. He might have thought she was being shy, for he smiled and put an arm around her shoulder and a hand gently on her cheek. Now she grew stiff, and before she knew it, he had turned her face towards him and pressed his lips on hers. She tried to push him away, but he was too strong for her. She struggled in his firm embrace while letting out a deep-throated howl—it must have sounded so disgusted that he let her go. He stood up angrily, staring at her flushed face in disbelief and bewilderment. Then he sank into the armchair, sullen, while she retreated to her room, the door clicking shut behind her.
Bird calls awoke her. She opened her eyes, glad to find herself alive and whole. It was the last day of the holiday. They would check out. She would drive him to the airport, then go home, and that would be it. There had been some misunderstandings between them—she could forget about it and pretend nothing had happened—at least he had the decency to leave her alone during the night. She would return the courtesy and stick it out till the end of the trip.
The kettle roared outside. She changed and packed her suitcase half-heartedly, rehearsing in her mind what to say to him. When she came out to the lounge, Chen was standing in front of the glass door, gazing out at the lush garden, a mug in his hand.
“Morning,” she said, trying to stay neutral and matter-of-fact. “What’s the weather like today?”
“The weather is fine. It’s going to be a good day.” He stayed where he was, his face slightly turned in her direction.
At the breakfast table they chatted about the return trip and Auckland traffic. After finishing his last bit of toast, he was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “What do you think? Are you going to see me again?”
“I don’t know … long distance probably won’t work …”
She rose to clear the table. She brought the plates to the sink and started to wash them. He came around the bench, rubbed a hand through his hair, and said:
“If that’s the case, would you mind—it’s awkward to say this—giving the necklace back to me?”
Her temples throbbed. She felt a little dizzy. “Of course.” She dashed towards her bedroom to fetch it, stopped short midway, then rushed back to find a tea towel and wipe the soap foam off her hands.
“All yours.” She handed the red velvet box to Chen. “Even if I forgot to return it to you today I’d post it to you in Christchurch.”
She finished the dishes before running the vacuum cleaner through the rooms and wiping down the bathroom.
The house looked sparkling clean by now. It might even have been cleaner than when they first checked in.
They sat on the couch, looking at their phones, their luggage standing by the door. He lifted his face a couple of times as if he had something to say. Finally, he spoke.
“You are lucky it’s me. Anyone else would’ve—”
She looked up at him with wide eyes.
He shook his head with a wry smile on his face. “Are you really naive, or just plain foolish? You came here with me—in the middle of nowhere—to do what? You could have been raped, murdered, or who knows what … if it had been someone else.”
Ling rose from the couch, grabbed her suitcase and carried it out to the car boot. He followed behind and did the same with his bag.
“We could have had a lot of fun,” he went on, “but you didn’t want it. Come on, no need to be so prudish. I don’t understand—am I not good enough for you?”
She shrugged slightly. Her eyes darted about before fixing on the ground.
They went back to the house for a final check. For a moment they were both standing at the doorway.
“Sorry to be so blunt,” Chen said, “but I’ll be honest with you: even though you still look young and pretty, you don’t really rank high in the marriage market.”
Was that how other people viewed her? Or was it just him? She was speechless. She wasn’t a confrontational person. And it didn’t matter. He would be a complete stranger once she delivered him to Auckland Airport.
But he wasn’t finished. “You’ve got two little kids. Most guys don’t want to raise someone else’s brats. And they’re mixed—we Asian men can’t even pretend to be their dad!”
She turned to face him, her eyes piercing into his.
“I’m sorry …” he said, “sorry, can you wait a minute? I need to use the bathroom before the long drive.”
She waited outside, looking up at the blue sky and the candy-floss clouds. An idea suddenly descended on her. She opened the car boot, hoisted his bag, dumped it onto the grass. She slipped into the driver’s seat, started the car, fastened the seatbelt.
She had to be quick, and she was. As she rolled up to the driveway she imagined Chen rushing out of the house when he heard the engine, zipping up his trousers as he chased the car.
The drive towards the main road seemed endless. She rolled down the window, letting the sweet air of the forest embrace her.
Asked what was on her mind when she wrote this story of a date gone horribly wrong, Sherry Xu replied, “A friend of mine told me about an awkward online dating experience, and I was appalled by how she was treated. Words can hurt, even when there is no physical harm. I turned it into this story—half drawn from real life, half from my imagination and other sources. Through it, I’d like to explore the power play between men and women, and what we truly hold as precious and meaningful, despite how difficult life can sometimes be.”
