It was pouring outside. Mrs. Bento always worries when it rains this hard. It is about the building, especially the second floor - the east facing room. The exterior bricks around the window have deteriorated so much that, when the rain is substantially heavy and wind exceptionally strong, water would seep through the cracks, trapped inside the dry wall causing it to swell. The sight is not pleasant. Before they have money for the big fix, Ginger has the good idea of cosmetic it up by adhering a big patch of vinyl, which has the approximate grey colour of the wall. The floor suffers damage too. When dried, the top layer of the engineered wood starts to peel off, bit by bit. What the heck, thought Mrs. Bento. There are always worries. We have to deal with it day by day. Day by day? That did remind me of the girl, whom I bought six little drinking glasses from, she broke one of them, the one with DAY BY DAY printed on it - that's my lovely quote of life! And she broke it. Why didn't she break the other ones, like ORGANIC, HEALTHY FOOD or YOU MADE ME SMILE. Bad luck that's all. Oh, already on the third floor, and it's only eight thirty, maybe I can spend a little time in the library.
The familiar paper smell inside the library. She slid her fingers along different notebooks and met one with ring binders, thin and maybe less than 30 pages, the colour of the cover faded to a dull ruddy blue. She flipped through it and stopped at a page with scribblings not only hard to read, but also sounded like drunk talk.
The night after April 28th. 1974 (?)
A party in the room turned w..h..y…w..i…l..d. Bed facing this way, turntable on the right? A small room, how many people, not many I suppose? Don't remember. For the roses, angel hair, gold flowing, knee high suede boots. No no, not my birthday. A lot of confusion, wine, smoke, music, shouts. Your hand on my shoulder, sing with Joni you said. Small room it is, sit on bed, on knees, lie, body to body, stay up, lie down, make room, how many bodies? A dart, yours. Love the touch. Never mind tonight, waste wine, waste breath, waste life, make mistakes, love, touch, moments, mensch.
Okayee, what's this. Maybe too private. Should I read on? I don't get it anyway. She turned over the page. It was written in Chinese and looked like a poem. Let's see, tha..tha..that I can comprehend. Perhaps it will make some sense?
四月廿八晩之後
好
我去告訴他們
但
現在
我要睡覺
門內門㚈截然兩個世界
弄了張被單
便倒下一身子的頽然
煙和酒味
和
一室剩餘的嘈音
在這種半睡眠狀態下
維持了六個多小時
我很口渴
很孤獨很恐懼
喝了兩次你倒的熱水
竟如此冰冷
那一定是過了很久
翻了個身
不
我不是睡覺
我仍在旋轉
在想
剛才的狂野
和一切難以忍受的叫囂
叫活不是醉的人去受罪
面對面，六隻眼睛
我在聽，在受
一番過多修飾的指控
而我疲憊得只能説
好
我去告訴他們
但
現在
我要睡覺
然後我關上門
趟下
一直留滯於這個狀態
四月廿九日寫
The scenario seemed connected - a music drinking party inside a room. Remembering something she turned back to the previous page and studied the title: The night after April 28th. 1974 (?). So it was written around 1974, or somewhere around that period. Must be a young woman then she. What was this madam mystery like in her youth? Was she…yeah…a flower child, did she drink and take drugs…live a life dreaming of Yasgur's farm and going there to get her soul free? At this point, Mrs. Bento fell back, and reflected upon her younger days in Hong Kong. Women were more conservative, but they'd already begun to walk out of their kitchens and homes to join the work force, as office clerks, bank staffs and civil servants. Mrs. Bento once worked in a bank for five years. She fondly recalls her bank uniform - Cheongsams that changed colour every year - olive drab, steel grey, and her favourite: the colour of Medjool dates…