This summer a terrible thing happened. My wife became friends with my Chinese teacher. They go shopping together in the mall. Serena has been trying to get my wife to wear the same tantalisingly short skirts and hot pants that she wears to my lessons. They talk about diets and Chinese parents and men. Men! Yes, and women, too. And women’s legs!
It used to be that my Chinese lessons consisted of me telling my teacher things about my wife and my teacher telling me things about her husband.
Then I would go home and tell my wife things about my teacher.
It worked well for a while and I suppose I should be glad that I’ve known at least some happiness in my life, however briefly. Now I try as much as possible to say nothing to either of them, although the talk at home is all of Serena.
The first pair of hot pants Lanying came home in were so short she couldn’t sit down. She had to take them back to the shop the next day and get a more comfortable pair. I told one of my colleagues about it. He shook his had sadly. “I can’t say anything,” he said, “that one of us won’t regret.”
Lanying talks every day about my Chinese teacher. Yesterday she told me something Serena’s husband had told her. “He likes looking at legs,” Serena told her. “He thinks there should be a law against women wearing long trousers.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard!” I said. “But that doesn’t mean he likes other men to look at Serena’s legs.”
“No, of course not. He likes looking at other women’s legs.”
“Not that Serena doesn’t have good legs,” I said diplomatically.
“Serena has great legs.”
“She does. But, you know, in general, a man doesn’t like the world to see his wife’s legs.”
“Exactly,” said Lanying, “no matter how good his wife’s legs may be. ”
“Between a man and his wife, of course, it’s quite all right. But in public, it’s a different thing.”
“But I suppose a man gets bored of looking at the same legs all the time,” she said, “and needs fresh legs to look at.”
“Fresh legs. Indeed.” I’m always happy when I can agree with my wife.
“She is still very young,” Lanying said. “She wants to please him.”
“Yes. I’m sure that’s the reason she wears hot pants all the time.”
“But, really, I think her skirts are too short.”
“So you won’t be buying any short skirts?”
“Definitely not. I’m not a teenager any more.”
Once again I was able to agree. “I’m glad you understand men so well,” I told her. “You don’t try and please me, at least.”
“I dress only for myself,” she told me.
We were walking along the River Thames at the time and I noted that although winter was well under way, the day was exceptionally fine.
“It’s going to be cold on Thursday,” she said.
“Oh, that’s a pity. I suppose you shall have to put away your hot pants and get out your winter clothes.”
“You shall have to get out my winter clothes. The box is too heavy for me.”
“I will be only too glad,” I told her.
And I felt gladder than I’ve felt for a while. The warmth of the sun was very pleasant on my face and the rolling of the waves in the river made a beautiful sound that covered our words and seemed to promise a beautiful English autumn ahead, leading into an even more beautiful English winter.