by Hua Laura Wu
Xue did not respond to his remark but simply said: “If you do not want to go home, you’d better rest here. I’ll go out to be with my parents.”
The airplane flies through sleepy clouds. Xue’s heart sinks. She also feels exhausted. The stewardess pushes a loaded cart along the aisle, and when she reaches Xue’s seat, she says something in a gentle, low voice. Xue does not understand her. She thinks that the stewardess is telling her that she is wanted at the back of the plane, for some reason. She stands up and searches around for her seatmate, the fellow Shanghai native who has been sucking up to her. The stewardess realizes that Xue has no idea what she has said, so she gestures to her to sit down. Standing up and sitting down right now is arduous because something very hard and stiff is wrapped around her slender waist and round buttocks. As her anxiety increases, she begins to anticipate problems. Xue is hiding fifteen thousand U.S dollars, but the money is not hers. When she lands at Toronto’s Pearson International Airport, she must give it to the man who is to be her husband in her arranged marriage, Canadian citizen George Zhang.
“I asked the stewardess to fetch you. I have changed my seat to the back. There are two seats there now. If you want, you can lie down. You look really tired,” her fellow Shanghai native whispers into her ear.
Xue is relieved. “Thank you. I am not tired. Sorry, but I have not asked your name.”
“No problem. I am Liang Zhengjun.” He wants to continue, but Xue turns her head and goes back to her seat.
Xue is worn out. It is quiet inside the plane, and the nightlights give out a milky yellow glow. This is not an illusion. She is indeed flying to Canada as a new immigrant. No one can stop her now. But still she cannot enjoy food or sleep in peace; she has been living in fear and anxiety for too long. She still owes the money she borrowed when she tried to immigrate as a skilled professional, and she spent another twenty thousand U.S. dollars on this marriage scam. A small mistake in the documents she submitted or any misstep during the interview could jeopardize her application. If she cannot secure a visa, all the money she has spent will have been wasted. George Zhang has informed her that even if he did not take a single penny, an appeal would cost double what she has spent so far, and it would take a long time. The Canadian bureaucracy is as slow as the Chinese one. Her monthly salary is only about three thousand RMB. If she tries to pay off the debts with her salary, it will take years. Yihai may have the money, but he is married with a son. Even if she were content to be his second wife, which would bring shame to her parents, she would still have to wait a very long time for his divorce.
At night, with all the lights on, Pearson International Airport, is shining. It doesn’t have the dazzling beauty that Shanghai Rainbow Bridge Airport does, but it has a grandeur that Rainbow Bridge lacks. Xue meanders, along with the crowd, through long corridors. Air Canada, American Air, Northwest…. Endless glamorous advertisements adorn the walls. Many white women walk past her, their smooth necks bare and unornamented. There is a young woman; her flat back is fully exposed, and around her bare arm is a piece of bright blue scarf decorated with sparkling beads. She is gorgeous but not coquettish. Five or six minutes and quite a few corners later, the crowd thins out. Only Xue and a number of her compatriots from Shenyang remain. She suspects that they will probably take the same exit, but she dares not ask. So she pretends that she knows the way.
Xue has already made up her mind that she will perform a disappearing act at the airport, escaping before encountering her “husband,” who is waiting for her at the exit. Her aim is to save the fifteen thousand U.S. dollars she carries. George Zhang has it so easy. All he has done is fly to China, go to a banquet, have a couple of pictures taken, and make a few long-distance calls, and he has already earned three hundred thousand dollars in Chinese currency. Why should he get so much money for so little effort?
Yet sneaking away under so many pairs of eyes at the arrival level in a huge and unfamiliar airport is not going to be easy. Even if she covers her face, George Zhang will still be able to pick her out, because her above-average height always attracts attention. On their “wedding” night in the Wuxi village, George Zhang indicated, with a thick-skinned grin, that if she agreed to make the sham marriage real, he would not mind at all giving up the second instalment of the payment. Reckless because she was slightly drunk, she squinted her eyes in order to bring him into focus, and told him bluntly that even if he paid her twice the amount, she would not consider his marriage proposal. George Zhang is an independent immigrant and a bona fide professional, but nevertheless he is selling himself to make money. Of course, he knows that to have Xue means he would have to give up some of that money.
Xue takes her suitcases from the conveyor belt and watches the other passengers depart one after another. She feels edgy. At that moment, she catches sight of Zhengjun, who is about to walk out of the sliding door. She reacts immediately, rushing towards him and waving. “Liang Zhengjun!”
Zhengjun spins around, surprised to see her. It is a pleasant surprise, but he is at a bit of loss, completely unlike his former self on the airplane when he tried repeatedly to strike up a conversation with her, ignoring her constant rebuffs. Xue hesitates. Then she catches a glimpse of the crowd anxiously waiting beyond the automatic doors. George Zhang is there, waiting to ensnare her.
“Do you want my address? If you need my help, you can contact me.” Zhengjun tries to get out a pen.
“Are you in a hurry? I want to ask you a favour. If you have to leave immediately, I won’t bother you.”
Zhengjun really does want to leave immediately. The minivan he has arranged to pick him up is waiting outside. If he misses it, he’ll have to spend at least fifty or even sixty dollars on a taxi ride. Still her soft voice and weary but still disarming beauty are too much to resist. “I’m not in a hurry. What do you want me to do?”
Xue knows that she doesn’t have the luxury of being anything but honest, so she looks directly into his eyes and says: “I can’t go out through that exit. I don’t want to see the person waiting for me there. Would you help me? I must leave through a different exit, and I’ll need a place to stay. Just for one night. I can explain why later on.”
Zhengjun is astonished at her request. Xue senses his reluctance so she assures him: “Don’t worry. I won’t cause you any further trouble. And I can pay.”
Zhengjun thinks to himself that the very act of confiding in him is trouble enough. No wonder people say that women who succeed in coming to Canada, except students, all have hidden motives. To get involved with them is inviting trouble. Even if I wanted to, where would I find the time for an affair? But he cannot say no to her expectant eyes, even though it is already midnight and he is not sure where he can take her.
“We are both from Shanghai, so I’ll help you. Give me your suitcases. You go upstairs. There you can go to Hilton Hotel on the other side. Then you go down and find Section 12, and I’ll wait for you there.” He bends over to take her suitcases as he is speaking. Xue intuitively recoils, and the silver necklace with tiny drumstick charms around her neck trembles. Am I making a mistake now because I’m desperate? she wonders
Zhengjun guesses what is going through her mind and hands her the leather bag he carries. “My passport is in it. Don’t be afraid. Go upstairs. I will wait for you.”
His words put her at ease, and she is almost touched. This is, undoubtedly, the crucial moment that makes their emotional involvement later on possible. Xue grabs his bag, and without a moment of delay turns and runs towards the staircase. She is afraid that George Zhang might see her through the automatic doors that are sliding open and shut constantly.
After rushing through the hall and the overpass connecting the airport and the hotel, Xue comes out in the Hilton lobby. She finds a place where she can hide beside the revolving door but still be able to watch the busy lanes of traffic. She opens Zhengjun’s bag and takes out a booklet with a blue cov
er. It is a Canadian passport issued to Liang Zhengjun. The place of birth is listed as Shanghai. She does not have the time to give it a thorough examination, but she is sure that it is not a fake.
After he has picked her up, the minivan travels at high speed on Highway 401, through twinkling urban lights. Xue and Zhengjun keep quiet most of the time, apparently deep in their own thoughts. Mr. Yang, the driver, rambles on: “I am lucky today. Yesterday I had a long wait. My customers didn’t clear customs until one-thirty in the morning…. No matter how many passengers there are, I can only pick up those from one flight…. Pretty girls from Shanghai like you should not do labourers’ work, no matter what. When a girl, young and tender goes into a factory, she comes out a wrinkled old hag no one wants to look at. Any work beats a factory job…. I have long ago stopped dreaming of finding an engineer’s position. I’ll stick to this job as long as I can. Whatever changes they make to the immigration rules, Chinese will always be coming to Canada, legit or not…. If they ask me, I’ll tell them they’d be better to stay in China. Why give up a good life back home and come here to swallow bitterness and endure hardship?”
As the minivan jolts and bumps, Xue’s round, curved knee keeps knocking against Zhengjun’s. She does not move away, but she is not sure why. Does she feel grateful or is she still frightened? Anyway, she holds out her hand, seeking his. Holding his big hand in her own, the air in the van becomes still while their breath becomes short and laboured.
Xue gets a basement room in the guesthouse run by their driver, Mr. Yang. It is a single-family house with a front lawn and a back garden. The Yangs live upstairs, and downstairs is the guest house, their family business. The main floor and basement are divided into seven or eight rooms, all for paying guests. In Shanghai, you can find houses like this one only along Huashan Street or Kangping Road. Here houses of similar size and design line both sides of the street. On their front lawn, tiny lamps flash like fireflies. Xue assumes that she has been taken to a neighbourhood where rich people live. Zhengjun informs her that her room is paid for. He will come the next day to help her find permanent accommodation. He gives her the telephone number of the computer company where he works and then leaves in a hurry. Xue stares at his shadow as it slowly disappears, and she feels a sense of total loss.
Xue checks each and every corner of the room carefully. Only after she is certain that no one is spying on her, does she take out all the U.S. dollars hidden around the sensitive parts of her body. She spreads them on the bed and counts them. Every single note is here. She has counted them so many times that she remembers clearly all the creases and folds in the few worn notes among them. She gathers the notes together, puts them in a plastic bag, and takes the bag with her to the bathroom. After a shower, she returns to her room, spreads a sheet she has brought along, and stretches out on the bed. Her entire body is relaxed. Even her usually high breasts, though still softly pink, now droop languidly. She smiles coquettishly because she knows a gentle touch will make them pop up. Xue feels drained, and a moment later she is fast asleep, her hand tightly holding the bag full of money.
Totally unaware of the mayhem that her disappearance has set off, Xue is enjoying a sweet sleep during her first night in Canada. George Zhang has been waiting anxiously for her the whole night at the airport. Even the security guards take notice of him and find his presence suspicious. George has to approach them, asking, “My wife is missing. What should I do?”
The security guards don’t care about his missing wife. They are concerned only with what he is doing at the airport, and are not of much help to him. Eventually, with help from Air Canada staff at the information desk at the airport, he gets in touch with the Shanghai office of Air China. He is told that nothing untoward has occurred during the flight and the airlines cannot disclose any information about individual passengers. Neither can immigration and customs at the Vancouver Airport. He doesn’t want to, but he finally has to admit that Xue has vanished right before his eyes, and that her disappearance is premeditated. He has rented a room for Xue and paid the deposit. He is waiting for the second instalment of the agreed payment, which he plans to spend on tuition and expenses for a degree from the University of Windsor. After he gets his degree, he may have a chance to find a job in the States. He has given up any hope of finding a decent job in Canada, and now realizes that his hope to make this sham marriage a real one was wishful thinking. He recalls how Xue behaved back in Shanghai, bossing people around, and guesses that she must have some influential friends. Also, Zhou Bu kept a close eye on both of them. Obviously, Zhou has his plan, too: when Xue has settled in Canada, he will follow her. Eventually they will pick an auspicious day and get married. George Zhang did not anticipate that this woman could strike so quickly and so ruthlessly. She has robbed him and left him penniless! He calls Xue’s parents, Zhou Bu, and even some of those who attended their “wedding” banquet in the Wuxi village and from whom he had managed to get a telephone number. No one, except for Xue’s parents and Zhou Bu, gives a damn. It is crystal clear what has happened, and he should have known better. He is enraged and exasperated. He paces back and forth beside the row of telephones at the arrival level.
When Xue gets up the next day it is already noon. Actually, she is woken up by Zhengjun’s knocking on her door. The first thing she plans to do is to send the money back home. Only after she has her things sorted and packed does it occur to her that she forgot to make that important call to inform her parents of her safe arrival. She asks Zhengjun how to call Shanghai, and he uses his calling card and dials the number for her. Her mother cries once she hears Xue’s voice: “Where are you? We have been worried sick. Do not hang up, your dad wants to talk to you.”
Her father urges her to put her own safety first. She is in a foreign land and she should use extreme caution, especially when dealing with strangers. Xue takes the hint: her father is not simply urging her to be careful; something must have happened after she left. She wants to ask but is afraid to cause more trouble than she has already. She now regrets having given George Zhang her home number when they first met. Not surprisingly, George Zhang searched for her when he failed to see her at the airport and could not collect the money she owes him. Her mother takes over the phone, but she is choosing her words carefully and hinting at something that Xue cannot quite grasp. Zhengjun is busy loading her luggage and ready to go, so Xue ends her call and hurriedly grasps her purse.
Here in Scarborough, house after house is flanked by an expanse of green lawn and tall trees. The roads are wide, and there are no bicycles in sight. China should be like this, Xue thinks. “But how can I find work if I can’t ride a bike,” she wonders aloud.
“By bus. We have twenty-four-hour service here.” Zhengjun points at a bus running beside them while steering his car with one hand. Then he steps on the accelerator, and the car overtakes the bus. His hair, though not really long, blows in the breeze. Shanghai in July is so hot and humid that life is hell without air conditioning, but here the breeze makes the air crisp and fresh. Xue wears a bright pink dress and a pair of off-white sandals with silver straps and high heels. Her clothes, except for winter wear, are all new. Zhengjun stretches out a tentative hand to touch her, but Xue dodges it by leaning toward the door, her head turned away slightly, stiffly expressionless.
The affectionate intimacy she showered on him during the ride from the airport vanishes. Zhengjun is puzzled. There are more and more Chinese faces in this city, but Zhengjun has yet to experience any romantic involvement. Now this pretty woman from Shanghai, who just walks into his life, gives him boundless pleasure and surprise. The titillating warmth left by the caress of her slender and soft fingers still lingers. He is aware that new immigrants from his home country are all very capable. Those who adjust well live comfortably, like fish in water, while those who struggle, like fish out of water. But not a single person is idle. Even those who come with loads of money and can afford not to work for six mo
nths or more are still active, mentally if not physically. They surf the net to look for desirable jobs or strike up leisurely conversations in chat rooms. Zhengjun cannot figure out why this beautiful woman from Shanghai has come to Canada. She is too old to attend high school. She seems unattached, so she is not here to be reunited with a husband. Also, she has an unfathomable expression of secrecy that nevertheless fails to conceal a troubled heart. Zhengjun cannot suppress his burgeoning curiosity about this mysterious woman.
Zhengjun takes Xue to an old, two-storey house in a neighbourhood near Chinatown. He talks briefly with the landlady and then goes to work, leaving Xue behind. He is supposed to accompany his manager to a meeting with a client regarding a software project. Xue doesn’t want him to leave, so he promises to come back in the evening and urges her to have a good rest to get rid of her jetlag.
In her room are a single bed and a shabby table. The dull grey walls are spattered with spots and stains. Only the houses with pitched roofs across the street offer some comfort to offset her self-pity. Xue puts aside her suitcases and hurriedly leaves to explore Chinatown. There are all kinds of Chinese goods in the stores and a multitude of Chinese people on the street. They even have ear-picks.2 If she had known, she would not have spent an entire afternoon searching for them in the small shops along Yuyuan Street back in Shanghai. She asks two pedestrians for directions to a bank and both reply enthusiastically: “To open an account? Go to a Bank of China branch.” Even the shop assistants seem to know that she has just landed in the city. She is baffled. Her outfit is as fashionable as everyone else’s, if not more so. Why is she singled out as soon as they see her? What if they also notice the money she carries on her? When she finds the bank, it is already four o’clock, and the bank is closed. She peers through the window and looks around uneasily in order to remember its location. Then she beats a hasty retreat, fearing that she may be followed.