by Chen Kehua
translated by Hsiang Hsu

Eileen Chang said it well: power is an aphrodisiac.

Women who do not duke it out with the males on the playing fields of power using their “raw talents,” must have suffi cient self-awareness and restraint. But in matters of instinct, sometimes, is it up to women to decide?

He suspected her. At the same time he suspected his own insecurity.

Until one day. She was bringing a document to him in the midst of work. She leaned over. He was just about to get up. But he was sure. He did not get up more. He just stopped. He was sure he did not move anymore. He did not try to get fresh with her.

He was sure at that moment she propped herself against him using her braless tits.

He wanted to recoil.

But then he immediately stilled himself.

The tits lingered on his body for about a few seconds, and then left.

He could not explain the reason for his reaction at the moment. He acted woodenly as if nothing had happened. The image of her backside when she left seemed to impart no particular expression either. He was stumped first: a woman who was about to get married in a couple of months…

And he did not understand himself—

And he did not understand himself—

And he did not understand himself he could have kept moving while acting oblivious to it, or retracted pretending it was an error in movement, his own fault. But he held still, clearly indicating to her that he had received her signal. And the significance of her tits not having left right away, when she was certain that he knew, had the air of aggressive assertion.

Asserting to whom? Asserting what? He was not her boss. He did not have the power she wanted—if that was what she wanted.

But the lingering warmth where the tits propped against him, remained undissipated in the nerves and senses of his body for a long while—even after work there seemed to be a mouth suckling tightly on that piece of skin.

In the next several days, he and she kept busy by themselves like nothing had happened—on the surface with him returning to his professionalism, and her maintaining her impeccability, when in fact he was still in a state of mental shock induced by the propping of that set of tits of hers against him.

He did not believe in his attractiveness to the opposite sex.

Chen Kehua was born in Hualien, Taiwan, in 1961. An ophthalmologist at the National Taiwan Medical School, Chen began writing poetry in the 1970s, and made his debut in 1981 with a collection of poetry entitled Qi Jing Shao Nian [Whale-Riding Boy]. A highly acclaimed writer, Chen’s more recent works include Qian Kan Tou Shi [Head-Hunting Poems, 1995], Hua Yu Lei Yu He Liu [Flowers and Tears and Rivers, 2001], and Wo Lu Tu Zhong De Nan Ren. Men [The Man/Men in My Journey, forthcoming]. He has also written film criticism and song lyrics, as well as produced art and photography exhibits.

Hsiang Hsu is a doctoral candidate in philosophy at the Europäische Universität für Interdisziplinäre Studien (EGS), and has published in Symposium, Angelaki, Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology, International Journal for Baudrillard Studies, and New York Studies in Media Philosophy. His translations also appear in Words Without Borders and Turntable + Blue Light.