Chapter 33: The Number 14

The number 14 bus crawled along the river at two o'clock on Sundays, and today every seat was taken.

Xiao Chen had the window, with the duck thermos between his feet and his coat hanging open over his belly.

He was twenty-five weeks along. Nothing in his wardrobe fit except the coats.

Shen Yan sat beside him with a rolled newspaper and a paper bag of dried plums.

The bag had been full at the first stop. At the fifth he turned it upside down and shook it.

"I ate them all," he said. "I'm sorry."

"They're yours."

"I know. I'm still sorry."

Xiao Chen smiled at the window.

Then he smelled it.

Orange blossom, rising fast, with a warm edge of salt underneath.

Shen Yan's hand closed on his sleeve.

"Chen. It's starting."

"Here?"

"I was fine at the stop. I was fine a minute ago."

His voice had gone thin.

"It's the nest-fever. I can feel it in my legs."

"Give me your hand."

The palm was hot and damp. Under the jumper his belly had gone tight, and his knees were pressed together hard.

Xiao Chen laid his other hand over both of theirs.

"Breathe me in. I'm right here."

Shen Yan turned his face into Xiao Chen's shoulder and breathed.

It was too late to hide it. The scent was already rolling down the aisle.

A woman with a shopping basket pulled her scarf over her nose. A boy stared. At the back of the bus, a man stood up.

He was big, in a football shirt, with a can of beer at two in the afternoon.

He came down the aisle with one hand on the rail.

"What is that?" he said, loudly. "Somebody's in season on a public bus."

He stopped at their seat. He looked at Shen Yan's belly, then at Xiao Chen's, and laughed.

"Two of them. Look at that. Somebody paid for both."

"Move along," said Xiao Chen.

"I'm only saying hello."

The man reached down and took Shen Yan by the wrist.

"Come on, sweet thing. Sit on my lap and I'll look after the bump."

"Let go," Shen Yan said.

The man pulled.

A sound came out of Xiao Chen that he did not decide to make.

It was a growl.

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