Sick Boy[s] Paddle Club↓

The Death of the Female Mannequin

Yu Zhou 周与

Translated by: Amy Sun

“Without love, I think I’d die.” The female mannequin said, staring at the empty streets.

“Love is their appetite. I want to eat noodles, too.” 

Ever since the male mannequin had been moved behind her, he had grown used to her opinions on romance. He took them as envy for humans, who could move freely through the streets.

He envied humans as well. In the morning, the curtain was drawn open, and murky fog emerged at the doorway like a magic trick, swirling upward until it disappeared into the sky. At the same time, he watched the sun rise through the fog from the corner of the window. There were often people who sneaked under the roof to avoid the wind. There was satisfaction on their face when they came back out. Bodies swung happily like florets, or saplings.

The female mannequin felt bittersweet at heart. She loved the salesgirl—a skinny girl who always napped on the counter at noon. The girl’s soft breath, filled the store, would always make her quiver. The female mannequin’s love was born in the moments when the girl wiped her body clean—a love any human being could imagine: spontaneous, slow, passive, and helpless.

She thought of this love as “impossible.” The more she belittled herself, the more she sank into the obsession. She told herself that she needed no greater attention and entrusted all her desire to the girl’s touch. There was always something new to revisit afterwards. Through this, she discovered the magic of memory—something that could always be rewritten.

She drew a firm line between humans and herself, never letting herself imagine that her fingertips might move. She committed herself to stillness, forever.

That day, after the salesgirl locked the glass door, the male mannequin began their late-night conversation.

“Well, people eat noodles only to excrete them later. All that work for nothing. What do you think? Love is probably useless, too. All that commotion ends in vain. It’s like when Ms. Salesgirl dragged me from the left window over to you. My elbow hit her, and she called me ‘useless.’”

“The brain asks, and the heart answers.”

“When we came from the factory, there was never a spark between us…and…compared with humans, we’re noble because we never have unnecessary desires. Like, we never touch each other, so neither of us is forced to carry a scent that doesn’t belong to us.”

The female mannequin understood the bitterness in his words. She didn’t really care. She knew he loved her. They were like two sailors tied to a ship that would never touch the ocean. At least they would never drown in the boundlessness of their thoughts.

So she answered him only with lighter words. Every night, they endured each other’s unshareable worlds and cared for them nonetheless. At the same time, they rejoiced that they could look in the same direction with only ten inches between them. Their eyes had met only for a split second.

When the salesgirl adjusted the male mannequin’s posture, she had originally wanted the two of them to stand face-to-face. Yet they never looked harmonious together, so she gave up. Their impressions of each other were just a glance—something that had been processed in the memory factory several times.

“We could never touch each other, idiot.”

“You’re right, darling. You couldn’t touch her either.”

“She wipes me quite often, so…”

“With a cloth. That’s different from a fondle after all.”

“For us, as you said, we don’t have that many desires. That’s enough.”

“Lie.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Dear Miss, I have no feelings. Thanks for asking.”

The conversation stopped. Today would be a long night.

There were no tourists on the street. The store was located in an international art park. The mannequins changed their clothes at least once a week, wearing pieces tailored by several designers. After seven, almost no one passed the windows. The two mannequins knew the pattern.

A couple walked past the display, one after the other. They moved so quickly that the mannequins barely had time to notice them before they came back and sat on the steps outside.

The man was clearly angry. The woman began fumbling in her pocket for a small square box. Not playing cards, but a box of cigarettes, the kind of long, slender cigarettes that women smoke. She fumbled for a little longer and pulled out a lighter. A thin cloud of mist struck the window.

The mannequins couldn’t hear their conversation. Perhaps they weren’t speaking at all. Inside and outside, there was only silence. 

They waited for the sunrise. The male mannequin knew the steam would soon rise from the noodle shop across the street. 

Finally, the couple left, leaving cigarette butts all over the ground. Some sank into puddles. The drizzle washed away all the gentleness. The cigarette butts floated like wrecked ships, making their hearts ache.

Water splashed as the salesgirl kicked the turbid puddle and wandered drowsily toward the window. 

I need to clean the glass again, she thought. If the mannequins were to be real people, they would make a perfect couple. 

Recently, she had fallen in love with a customer who always came to choose dresses for his girlfriends. He knew that with small, narrow, and round collars, attention should be paid to the silhouette of the shoulders; pointed high heels could be bought two sizes larger, with soft Velcro stuffed into the toes. Most importantly, he was almost as tall as the male mannequin in the window.

When the store purchased a pair of life-sized mannequins, the salesgirl had wondered what it would be like to have a real person with the same figure standing beside her.

He hadn’t visited for a while. 

Was he still in contact with his old loves? Or had he he met someone special, and didn’t bother to come at all? No, if he cared about me, and brought his girlfriends to the store…but doesn’t that mean he has lost interest in me…but, don’t overthink, he hasn’t even looked into your eyes…

Still thinking, the salesgirl picked up a cloth and walked over to the female mannequin. Standing on tiptoe, she began at the shoulders.

The female mannequin held a breath that did not exist. Today’s cloth was a little too wet, like the damp rainy season outside. But by the time the girl reached her ankles, she felt as though a gentle breeze were resting beneath the branches. The words slipped unconsciously from her lips. 

I love you.

The girl heard her. She was just about to wipe the mannequin's face. Water still clung to the soles of her shoes. She had overestimated the mannequin’s weight. The moment she realized she was losing her balance, she threw herself towards the female mannequin.

A muffled crash. Invisible dust shivered in the air, followed by the male mannequin’s gasp. The female mannequin lay on the floor. She was made of soda-lime glass. Her neck, slender as a swan's, had broken.

I love you, the male mannequin whispered.

Yu Zhou

Born in 2007, is an undergraduate at Tongji University. She is the author of the novel Yunyao and an invited contributor to the provincial-level publication Teaching Examination.