Free New Welsh Short Stories by Author: QuarkXPress Page B

noticed coal ships heading downriver, a line of them, prow to tail, empty and unlit, sliding towards the coast. It pleased me to think of Elizabeth’s job at the shipping corporation. The world would not stop turning for love between two strangers. Then, at 10 pm sharp, all the skyscrapers’ show lights blinked off.
    I woke late and opened my laptop. No messages. I sent Elizabeth an image of the view from my bedroom window and said: The boats pass on their way to you? I send my love downriver.
    I went to the hotel buffet for lunch. They had everything: broths, dumplings, eel, snake, duck’s tongue. How quaint the row of Western food seemed: roast potato, chicken breasts, sliced cheese. After lunch, I went for a walk and the air was so close I had the urge to loosen my tie though I was not wearing one. Back at the hotel, I had a message. Elizabeth was accompanying her boss on important business, she said, and would not be back till late. She apologised sincerely and attached a picture of her in her underwear.
    I settled in then, to work. I was happy to stay in the hotel. I wanted to save my exploration of this new city for when I could hold the hand of my tour guide. Half my suitcase was weighed down with a draft of a PhD thesis. My student was a small, intense woman with veins visible through the thin skin on her forehead. For the most part she did excellent work, though I felt she was being led astray by the glamorous allure of dark matter.
    At 1 am, I got a call from reception saying Elizabeth was at the desk and would like to come to my room. I was in bed. I was not ready. After a day of buffets, I had grown a little soft. I straightened the duvet, put on a shirt and trousers, turned on a bedside lamp and opened the curtains to the crowd of sleeping skyscrapers.
    When I answered the door, she was backlit by the light of the corridor, her black hair glowing at the edges.
    â€˜You’re here,’ I said.
    â€˜For you.’
    That was the last English she spoke. I took her into my arms. She was so small or I was so large. We kissed and her breath tasted of cigarettes. We kissed and she took off my glasses. I have never touched skin so soft. ‘Wo - ah she - e wan.’ Afterwards, she lay beside me as the air conditioner hummed us to sleep. I was so happy. In the morning she was gone.
    I’d known, of course, that the woman I’d just spent the night with was not Elizabeth. Even without my glasses, even in low light, they did not share the same body, the same face. They had different teeth.
    I received an email. Elizabeth said it had been the best night of her life and what sadness to disappear. Work had called her away for urgent administrating. She would be out of town for a fortnight. I should catch the next flight home, she said, and – if I would allow it – she would visit me in England. She attached a picture of herself in the changing room of a department store.
    I gave naiveté to myself as a gift. I let myself be happy and booked a flight home. For my last day in Shanghai, I drank local beer in hotels and hostels overlooking the river. In the street below, there were shops for Swiss watches, Italian couture, American sportswear. When I was drunk enough, I walked back to the hotel, admiring the androgynous models on the posters that lined the street. That was when I saw her or what I thought was her, advertising denim on a spinning billboard high above a junction. I sat on a bench across the road to watch her turn her back on me, over and over. Westerners are famous for not being able to tell apart the faces of those from other cultures. I was drunk. I was being primitive, unreconstructed, I thought, for not seeing the obvious differences between this face and Elizabeth’s.
    I became angry. I stood up and started walking at the pace of international business. The pavements were still busy with men and women in suits jousting for taxis until I turned down a side road where