Skinner's Box (Fang Mu (Eastern Crimes)) (25 page)

Everything had ended the moment he had aimed his gun at the knife-wielding Sun Pu in that basement and pulled the trigger.

Many things can be impossible, or at least difficult, to face. As soon as one can turn around and try to take a hard look at those things, one can be taken aback by what was once considered to be an incontrovertible fact.

Is killing a man actually a way to solve problems after all?

Fang Mu lay on his bed later, staring out the window at the cool moonlight as it spilled quietly over the city and traced the objects on his desk in shadow. Due to how it was tilted, the only thing glistening was his police badge.

Perhaps Tai Wei had had another reason for declaring him unfit for police duty.

Guessing what another person was thinking was truly a difficult thing to do. But it was even harder to face one's own innermost thoughts.

That night Fang Mu was unable to sleep.

CHAPTER
22
Mr. J's Story

I
t couldn’t have been more painful.But he begins. Mr. J takes a deep breath. "Today I am going to tell you all something that is very hard for me to talk about. Before I begin, I want you to know that I've psychologically prepared myself for your disdain, even your revilement. Mr. Z, go ahead and show everyone the photographs. "

Photographs out, his secret laid bare, he continues.

"Okay. As you might guess, these photos were taken without my knowledge. The person in the photos – me – is masturbating. "

Reactions are as expected.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Q, for making you have to see such vulgarity. But the thing I must explain, the thing I have no
choice
but to explain, is this: those panties you see in my hand belong to my daughter.

"Ahh... " he says, emitting an uncomfortable chuckle. "I know you must all be very surprised; perhaps you are even cursing me in your hearts, thinking that I am an animal, or worse than an animal. I
know
I am an animal. But please believe me; to this day I have never laid a finger on my daughter—not once. The worst I have ever done is what you see in these photographs. "

Mr. J lifts his teacup with a trembling hand, causing half of it to slop over his shirt. Miss Q hands him a napkin.

"Thank you, Q. I'm much better now… No, Mr. Z; I am completely fine to continue with my story. Trust me.

"As with the rest of you, this contemptible mental state of mine had its origin in an encounter. It was something that happened nineteen years ago.

"At the time I was fifteen-year-old. I was an extremely unsophisticated second year high school student who had no life outside of studying. I knew that if a person of my humble background did not work hard in school, there was no way on earth I would amount to anything. Back then things might not have been as liberal as they are these days, but nevertheless here and there around the school you could see couples off in a corner somewhere, hugging or exchanging furtive kisses. I myself was too busy to even glance at any of my female classmates, let alone talk to them, so the idea of finding a girlfriend was absolutely foreign to me.

"During summer vacation before junior year, unlike most of my classmates who were out playing and having a great time, I spent my days studying alone in the practically empty high school. It was not a very fun time for me, as you might imagine. I was a strong, healthy young man sitting alone in a deathly still classroom, working on math problems day after day, and my only other pastime was to stare out the window at the nearby playground in a daze. Now that I think of it, I wish I had partied hard all that summer instead; who cares if I wouldn't have been able to get into any advanced placement classes or test into a good university. I'd be perfectly happy now, even if I were unemployed. At the very least I would be a healthy, upright father of sound moral character! "

Mr. J places his palms on his forehead and arches his back painfully, obviously stressed at the revelation. Luo Jiahai is about to get up to walk over and comfort him, but Mr. Z signals for him to stay put. Everyone waits in silence for Mr. J to calm down.

"“I gradually came to notice that every afternoon,"” he says, "“a father and his daughter would come to spend time together in the school's playground. The reason I know the girl was his daughter was I heard her call the man '‘Daddy.'. ’ She was about twelve- or thirteen-years-old, very pretty, and her hair was done up in a pair of long pigtails that came most of the way down her back. She usually wore a colorful skirt, often patterned with flowers. Her daddy was quite handsome; he wore a pair of silver-rimmed glasses that lent him a refined look.

"Back then the classrooms were in single-story buildings, and right outside were rows of flowerbeds. In summer, their fragrance wafted right in through the windows. Sometimes the father and daughter would be over on the other side of the playground, fooling around with the horizontal bars; sometimes they would be closer to my window, picking flowers in the flowerbeds, catching dragonflies, and so on. Every time I heard the sound of the girl
'
s laughter, it would remind me that I should take a break. For me, taking a break meant sitting next to the window and watching the father and daughter play. Sometimes they would see me and beam a friendly smile at me. Whenever they did that, it made me feel how beautiful life was. Just think! In the gorgeous afternoon sunshine, a father taking his daughter out to play in the flowers. It was such a moving tableau, and sometimes it led me to daydreaming about my future—a life of comfort and plenty, me looking smart and elegant as I take my daughter outside to play to our hearts' content, and off to the side is a poverty-stricken boy throwing envious glances our way. Every day I looked forward to seeing the father and daughter come to the playground, because only then could I pull myself away from my mundane reality and daydream for a few minutes. It was great satisfaction for me at the time. "

Mr. J appears lost in thought, a slight smile touching his features. At the same time he is trembling, as if remembering a bittersweet scene.

"
I remember it was an extremely hot afternoon, without even a hint of a breeze. I was sitting in my empty classroom, sweat running down my back, and it felt as if the very air had congealed. I remember thinking there was no way they would venture out again on such a hot day. But a little after three in the afternoon, the father and daughter again appeared in the playground.

"They walked directly over to the flowerbed beneath my window, and the girl's father nodded his head at me in greeting. However, I noticed he wore a very nervous expression, and his daughter kept her head lowered the entire time they were there.

"This time they did not pick flowers or chase dragonflies. Instead they sat behind the bushes on the concrete step that enclosed the flowerbed with their backs against the wall, completely hidden from view from the playground. But I had a clear line of sight, and what they did next was laid bare before my eyes. The father sat his daughter on his lap, and then…"

Mr. J swallows with difficulty, his mouth apparently very dry.

"And then he hiked up her skirt and tore off her panties. "

The room is thick with shocked silence, time seeming to lag.

"My mind went blank, and I couldn't move a single muscle, as if my entire body had been frozen by a curse. Right in front of me, the girl's body rose up and down on top of her father, and all I could hear were the man's heavy breathing and his daughter's light moans.

"They changed positions several times, as if performing: the girl on top, the missionary position, doggy style; finally the girl's daddy growled in climax and wilted behind her. And then they wiped themselves off and put their clothes back on as if nothing unnatural had just happened. The man even placed the handkerchief his daughter had used to wipe her nether regions on the window ledge, flashed a satisfied grin at me, winked, and walked off.

"I was still staring out the window in a daze long after they had left. The next few hours seemed to fly past in an instant. I didn't wake from my paralysis until close to nightfall, when my mother came to the school hollering at me that it was past time to go home for dinner. Before I left, I secreted that handkerchief into my book bag. Then, head down, I followed my mother home.

"The next day I went to school very early, and the following day and the day after that I did the same. But for the rest of the summer I never again waited for the father and daughter to appear. My days after that were just the same as ever, but I knew I had changed. After witnessing such an absurd sexual act with my own eyes, I felt I had been forced into becoming aware of a secret of some sort. It was an evil feeling, but one brimming with temptation and excitement. I loathed it from the bottom of my heart, but at the same time I desperately longed for it. If I were to use a scent to describe it, I would say it was a sweetness with a slightly fishy tinge to it—and in fact, most days for the rest of the summer I sat hidden in that classroom, holding that handkerchief to my nose with one hand and masturbating with the other.

"After that I tested into an elite senior high school and then studied law at university. On the evening of graduation I passed the bar, and after that I got married and we had a daughter. Everything happened smoothly, as if following a prescribed order. And ever since that strange afternoon in the classroom, that handkerchief never left my side; I kept it with me from youth all the way into middle age. I had formed a habit out of masturbating, and that did not change even after I got married. As I grew from a boy to a man, I discovered I had a soft spot for little girls. And even my wife's slender, petite build had undeniably been a factor in my making the decision to marry her.

"My secret accompanied me, and tormented me, for twenty long years. Every time I saw a coworker or a neighbor
'
s young daughter, I was unable to control my inner passion. No, this was not the caring love and tenderness that a normal grown man might feel toward a little girl; it was blatant perversion! They had no idea what was going through my mind as they called me 'uncle' in their sweet little voices! And while I might have forgiven myself for harboring sexual fantasies about other men's daughters, the birth of my own daughter was, for me, an utterly sweet disaster! "

Mr. J suddenly falls silent and hangs his head almost down to his knees. It is a long while before he finally looks back up, but he continues to cover half his face with one of his hands.

"When my daughter was six, she was already very pretty. My wife loved her very much; every day she would think of new ways to dress her up and do her hair. She had no clue that the older our daughter got, the prettier she looked, the more it tortured me. I was too afraid to hug my own daughter. I was worried that after looking into her angelic face with her perky pigtails, and touching her soft, tender body, I would be unable to keep myself from having an erection! But no matter how much I tried to conceal myself, things finally came out the year she turned seven.

"That day my wife and daughter were bathing together in the bathroom. When they came out, my daughter's face was flushed pink, her long, dripping wet hair draped over her slender shoulders. All she had on was a thin bath towel. I felt my manhood growing at the sight of her, so in an attempt to hide it – but even more out of an urgent need to release – I rushed into the bathroom. Just as I had my trousers off and was beginning to whack-off, I caught sight of the panties my daughter had just taken off, draped over the lip of the laundry basket. Without thinking, I wrapped the panties around my shaft, then fished out another pair and held it against my nose, breathing in deeply. I was about to ejaculate when my wife suddenly burst through the door to fetch her skin toner. We stared at each other stupidly for a second or two, and just then I came. When my wife realized that the clothes made sticky by my cum were actually our daughter's underwear, she stuck her fingers in her mouth and took a step backward in horror. I reached out and grabbed her other hand, begging her to forgive me, give me a chance to explain. But she just bit down harder on her fingers and shook her head violently; no matter what I said, the only response I got out of her was a muffled screaming sound from deep within her chest. We tore at each other quietly in the cramped little bathroom, not letting go until our daughter walked up and knocked on the door.

"From that day on, my wife never let me near our daughter. Nor did we ever share the same bed again; she moved into our daughter's bedroom and slept there. Our daughter had no idea that something had happened between us. She continued trying to hug and kiss me as always. But after my wife yelled at her a few times to quit it, she gradually became estranged from me. On the surface, we still appeared to be a peaceful and harmonious family of three. But inside I was suffering unbearably and quite close to breaking point. Several times I thought of approaching my wife and attempting to communicate with her, but every time I saw the profound disgust and disdain in her eyes, I lost the courage to open my mouth. "

Mr. J's voice becomes more and more choked, and big, thick tears drip from his chin onto his knees.

"I knew I was not a good father or a good husband. But I couldn't control my urges. After losing my family, the urges seemed to just get more and more intense. I kept trying to think of ways to steal my daughter's underwear and use it to masturbate, and then in the middle of the night I would hide in the bedroom and slap myself in the face over and over. I thought about killing myself, and so I dedicated myself to my work, taking case after case. My plan was to save up 200,000 yuan over the next three years, enough for a mother and daughter to live on. And then after that, I would go off some place and end my life. And so I continued, right up until…"