"Each time I was driven by an inexplicable, impetuous impulse, and each time I would feel dejected and regretful afterward. Nevertheless, each time I patiently waited in the cold night and in loneliness, feeling the most demeaning, emotional suppression, but I kept on waiting and watching for an hour, two hours."
"Watchful Waiting" - 1947
灯笼不像灯笼，电灯又不像电灯的华埠路灯，疲倦地射出橙黄色的光芒。 我怀着一般快要爆烈的情欲，走到那站惯了的路口，那较为黑暗的一隅，把饥狠般的眼睛，扫射着来往的行人，尖锐地分辨他们的种类，搜寻那长的卷发，朱红的口唇，高的乳峰，活动的屁股，和显露的小腿。
我狼狠狠地扫逻一遍后，立起一阵不快意的感觉，我不是看不到女人，却是找不到我的目的物。 我自然而然地想着：我得等待。 这不是自己安慰自己，这仅仅告诉我：守望的工作开始了。
我站在路旁，等待我的泄欲工具过来，已经不只一次了。 每次都受了那莫名的冲动力所驱使，每次过后都颓丧后悔，无而每次都忍耐地等候，在寒夜和孤寂中，受着最难堪的感情上压迫，守望一个钟头，两个钟头。
相离不足二十步的酒吧，大声地传出音乐箱中的流行曲，和着低沉的拍子， 拨动我那一触即要狂跳的心房。 这淫荡的音乐，和着橙黄淡色的灯光，都是在提示着性器官和色欲的引诱。 无论走到那一个地方，都碰到酒巴，听到刺激着性感的音乐和看到引诱性的灯光。 就在这灯光粉饰下，自己带着欺骗自己的眼光，看见在昼间要作呕的女妖，却显得美丽和可爱。
来往的行人多得很，但是几乎每晚来来往往的都是那些人。 他们好像有逛都扳街四五遍的义务—— 华埠的行路者。 我的心像吹红了的火炉，烧得怪难受。 我觉得血液在脉管中迅速地奔流，有冲出皮肤的威胁。 我渴望着那热气的发泄， 头脑弄得有点发晕，眼睛像看到虚构的图画似的。 这压制感情所产生的感觉，跟着久候的时间而增加起来。
我偷偷地虎视着过女人的肉腿，注视着原子分裂时代的分裂裙子。 在那裂缝一开一合的动作中，我的脑海中顿时浮起一堆与性有关的人体器官，在狂跳着， 在飞舞着。 我的眼睛也被旋转得花了起来，看见路上的人一个个都赤裸裸地在走动。 女人的所谓时髦服装，不过是某一部身体的逐步摆露，在中国是手臂，在美国是大腿，更有趋向于胸部的倾向。
一阵清风吹来，把我从无意踏进的刺激性图画中回到现实来。 我连忙闭上不知何时张开的口，把鼓胀得要爆炸的眼球，暂时垂下。 望着微微弯起的鞋尖， 口喉十分干燥，我用力地吞下一口唾涎。
一羣青年男女大声欢笑地一对对拖着走过， 我连忙迅速地把头转望他方，我不能忍受这种讽刺。 我无法安宁地看着别人快乐，这凄然的对照，使我的眼眶突然滚出了热泪。 到底这景象有点熟稔，我的弱点立刻就纠正过来。 为什么我所等待的还不来呢？ 我知道已经等上一句钟了。
“等人吗？” 一个女郎的声音把我吓得几乎跳起来。
“。。。。。是” 不灵敏地看了一下，记忆告诉我这个女郎是谁。 于是润了两次喉头，才简短地答了一个字，面部却已热腾腾地红起来。
她又作一个微笑之后走过了。 我顿起了憎恨她的心。 她的微笑好像是识破我的秘密的表示。 我的牙根，上下合得更紧一点。
然而我望着她的背影。 她是我的女同学，年纪最多不过是十六岁，却是早熟的女子，长得怪好看。 我无意中常常有污辱她的意念，越想驱除这个恶意念，越觉得这意念强烈。 可是每次碰到面，却又都害怕得面红起来，连打招呼也不敢。
“回去吧，还是回去吧”。 我劝自己，脚跟却不肯移动，死死的要贴在那里。 我承认自己的下流，每次过后我都悔恨自己的损失。 但是自从第一次，因为别人无数次的述说而自己尝试之后，却又不自主地站在这路旁守望，等候着泄欲工具的来临。 上帝呀，你创造人类就够了，为什么要给他们性欲的冲动呢？
夜深了，酒巴早已合上两扇门。 街上行走的影子，也少得几乎没有。 而我还渴望那些吸血的女性鬼魂到来，但每次都失望。
教堂的钟照例扣了一下。
Neither like a lantern nor a lamp, the Chinatown streetlights wearily emit amber hues of light. With the usual libido that is about to burst, I walk to the street intersection where I habitually stand in that relatively dim corner. I scan across all the passing by people with the eyes of a hungry wolf keenly identifying their kinds and searching for that long curly hair, red lips, high breast, moving buttocks, and bare legs.
After I ferociously swept through the street once, an instant sense of displeasure came upon me. It was not that I didn’t see any women, but I didn’t find the object I wanted. Spontaneously I think: I must wait. This is not to comfort myself, but merely to tell me: the task of watchful waiting has begun.
I stand on the sidewalk waiting for my prey of sexual outlet to pass by. This is not the only time. Each time I was driven by an inexplicable, impetuous impulse, and each time I would feel dejected and regretful afterward. Nevertheless, each time I patiently waited in the cold night and in loneliness, feeling the most demeaning, emotional suppression, but I kept on waiting and watching for an hour, two hours.
A bar less than twenty feet from me blasts out popular songs from the jukebox. Its low beats tempt my heart to dance wildly upon being triggered. This lascivious music along with the amber lights are all suggestive of sexual organs and sexual seduction. Wherever I go I would run into bars, hear the arousing, seductive music, and see flirtatious lights. It is under this prettified lighting and with self-deceitful eyes that I see the repulsive female demons in daytime becoming beautiful and lovely.
There are quite many visitors and they appear to be the same people passing by every night. Chinatown street walkers – they seem to have the duty of strolling on Grand Avenue four or five times. My heart is like a fully flamed stove, and the burning makes me unbearable. I feel the blood in my veins flowing swiftly, and it threatens to burst out of my skin. I desire for the release of that sensual heat that is making my head dizzy and causing my eyes to see delusional images. The feeling from these suppressed emotions increases with the time I spend on my long waiting.
I have covetously peeped at women’s bare legs and stared at the slit skirts of the splitting of this Atomic Age. From the opening and closing movement at the slits of the skirts, instantly a mass of human organs associating with sex flashes through my mind. They jump wildly and dance swiftly. From all the whirling my eyes become blurry and see each of the people walking on the street moving nakedly. What is considered as female fashion is merely the gradual exposure of a certain part of the body. In China it is the upper arms, and in America it is the legs and a tendency towards the bosom.
A gust of cool air brings me back to reality from the stimulating, sexual imagination that I had unintentionally fallen in. Immediately I close up my mouth that was unwittingly opened and lower my readily bursting eyeballs for the time being. Looking at the slightly tilted toes of my shoes, I find my throat very dry and I forcefully swallow a mouthful of saliva.
As a group of young men and women in pairs walk by, holding hands and with loud, happy laughter, I immediately turn my head to look elsewhere. I cannot bear such mockery. I cannot serenely observe others’ happiness. This dejected contrast suddenly rushed tears out of my eyes. After all, this happy scene is not what I want to see, and so I correct my weakness right away. Why is it that who I have been waiting for has not come? I know I have been waiting for a whole hour.
“Waiting for someone?” The voice of a young lady startles me, and I almost jump.
“…. yes,” I awkwardly take a glance. My memory tells me who this lady is. I cleared my throat twice before I could simply answer a single word. My face warms up and gradually turns red.
She smiles at me again and passes by. Instantly, a sense of hatred comes upon me. Her smile seems to indicate she has seen through my secret. My jaw closes up even tighter.
Yet I look at the view of her back. She is a classmate of mine no more than sixteen years of age, a precocious girl who is unusually pretty. Unconsciously, I often have the thought to defile her, and the more I want to drive out this evil thought the stronger I sense the thought. But every time we run into each other, I would be so nervous and blush that I would not even dare to greet.
“Let’s go back, better go home.” I urged myself, but my feet were not willing to move and stubbornly stuck there. I admit my obscenity. After each time I would regret my loss. But since the first time, a result of others' numerous recounts of their experience that led me to try it myself, I cannot help standing on this street waiting and watching again. I am waiting for the arrival of the prey of my sexual release. Oh God! It is enough that you created humankind, but why do you give them the impulsion of sexual desire?
It is late in the night. The bar has closed up its two doors. The shadows of people walking on the street are few to almost none, and I am still yearning for the arrival of those blood-sucking female ghosts. But I am disappointed each time.
The church bell routinely strikes once.