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 was moved behind her, he was used to her opinion on love. He perceived it as she envied humans, who could move freely in the streets.

He envied humans as well. In the morning, the curtain was drawn open, and murky fog emerged at the door like a magic show, swirling into the sky until its disappearance. At the same time, he watched the sun rise from the corner of the window through the fog. There were often people who sneaked under the roof to avoid the wind. There were satisfaction on their face when they come back out. Body swang happily like a floret, or an sapling.

The female mannequin was deeply bitter-sweet in heart. She loved the salesgirl here—a skinny girl, always napping on the counter at noon—deeply. The girl’s soft breath that would fill the store always made her lightheaded. The female mannequin’s love was born in the moments when the girl wiped her body—a love any human being could imagine: spontaneous, slow, passive, and helpless.

She viewed this love as “impossible.” The more she deprecated herself, the more she dove deeper into the obsession. She told her that she didn’t need more attention and entrusted all her desire to the girl’s touch. There was always something new to revisit later. In this process, she learned the magic of memory—something that could always be rewritten.

But she separated herself from “humans,” never imagining that her fingertips could move. She placed herself in silence, forever.

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

“Well, people eat noodles and excrete them. All useless work. What do you think? Love is probably useless, too. All these commotions end up in vain. It’s like Ms. Salesgirl dragged me from the left window to you. When my elbow hit her, she called me ‘useless.’”

“The brain asks, and the heart answers.”

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

The female mannequin understood the bitterness in his words. She didn’t care, really. She knew his love for her. They were like two sailors tied up on a ship that would never touch the ocean. At least they would never drown in the boundless thoughts.

So she only picked lighter words as responses. Every night, they endured yet cared for each other’s world in the unshareable silence. At the same time, they rejoice that they could look in the same direction with only 10 inches between. Their eyes met only in a split second.

When the salesgirl was adjusting the male mannequin’s posture, she primarily wanted them standing face-to-face. Yet they were never harmonious together, and she gave up. Their impression of each other was just a glance—something that has 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.

No tourists on the street. The store was located in an international art park. The mannequins change their clothes at least once a week, tailored by several designers. After seven, there wouldn’t be people passing by the windows. The two knew the rules.

A couple walked past the display, one after the other. They walked very fast, so fast that the mannequins in the window display didn't have time to realize they had come back and sat down on the stairs in front. The man was clearly angry. The woman began to fumble out a small square box from her pocket. Not playing cards, but a box of cigarettes, the kind of long, thin cigarettes that women smoke. She fumbled for a while longer and pulled out a lighter. A narrow cloud of mist hit the window.

The mannequins couldn’t hear their conversation. Perhaps they weren’t saying a word. Both inside and outside, there was silence. They waited for the sunrise. The male mannequins knew the steam from the noodle shop across the street would rise. The couple finally left, leaving cigarette butts all over the floor. Some soaked into the puddles. The drizzling rain took away all the gentleness. The cigarette butts were like wrecked ships, making their heart ache.

The water splashed as the salesgirl kicked the turbid puddle, drowsily moving to the window. I need to clean the glass again, she thought. If the mannequins were to be real people, they should be a perfect couple. She had recently fallen in love with a customer, who always picked dresses for his girlfriends. He knew that for small and narrow round collars, attention should be paid to the silhouette of the shoulders; pointed high heels could be bought two sizes larger to fill the toe with malleable Velcro. Most importantly, he was almost as tall as the male window mannequins in the store.

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

He hadn’t visited for a while. Was he still in contact with his old loves? Or he met someone special, and didn’t bother to come at all? No, if he cared about me, and brought her 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…

The salesgirl thought, got a cloth, came to the side of the female mannequin, and stood on her tiptoe, starting from the shoulders.

The female mannequin held her heartbeat, which didn’t exist. Today’s cloth was a little too wet, like the damp rainy season outside. At first, she was nervous because the male mannequin was still on her side. Until the girl wiped her ankles, she felt the gentle breeze napping under the branches. The words slipped from her lips, unconsciously.

I love you.

The girl heard it. She was about to wipe her face. Water was still clinging to her shoes. She overestimated the mannequin’s weight. The moment she realized she was losing her balance, she threw herself towards the female mannequin.

A muffled sound. The invisible dust shivered, followed by the male mannequin’s gasp. The female mannequin lay on the floor. She was made of soda-lime glass. The neck, slender as a swan, was 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.