Massage

by Bi Feiyu

  Her music teacher welcomed her backstage with an embrace, one that incorporated both happiness and sorrow. Du Hong wondered where all that joy and sorrow had come from, and did not know how to respond to it. The girl felt the overheated breath from her teacher’s nostrils.

  And it looked as if Du Hong had been burned by her teacher’s breath, for she never stepped into the piano room again. Her teacher went to her dorm to ask why. After sending her roommates out, Du Hong said, ‘I am not going to play the piano ever again, Teacher. Please teach me the two-stringed er-hu.’

  ‘Why the er-hu?’ The teacher was baffled.

  ‘It’s the best instrument to take with me if I need to make a living singing on the streets.’

  Her response came out of nowhere and was too barbed for a girl her age; but it was the truth. She was not a child any more and must think about her future. She could not spend the rest of her life mounting a stage to repay a debt, could she? Could it ever be repaid?

  To hell with music! Music was a fucking whore! All she’d done was play a tune by Bach, and had ended up incurring a huge debt, one that she could never repay. The performance constituted a humiliation she would carry with her for the rest of her life.

  Halting the proverbial horse at the edge of the cliff, she was steadfast in her refusal to continue piano lessons and all opportunities to perform. Finally she had a clear sense of what charity performance and acts of kindness really meant; in the end, they were merely occasions to drag the disabled out to touch the hearts of healthy people. People like to be touched emotionally, society needs to be touched emotionally. Be moved, shed some tears, that makes you feel good, but don’t drag me into that, I’m just fine. Don’t waste your time crying for me.

  After much consideration, she chose tuina, though it wasn’t much of a choice, since that was all she could do. With that decision, she stretched her hands out again, not to touch piano keys, but the bodies of her fellow students. Yet life seemed to play a cruel joke on her when it came to tuina. Playing the piano is hard, yet she mastered the skill with little effort. By contrast, tuina is so much easier and yet she had trouble learning it. Take the acupoints for instance: it took her a long time to memorise their locations, but even once she had, she could not locate them accurately on the body. And when she finally did find a point, her fingers couldn’t ‘nab’ it. Playing the piano requires using the fingers gently or forcefully, quickly or slowly, a skill she applied to the bodies of her classmates during practice. They thought her style was so funny they began to mock her, saying ‘do’ when she pressed, followed by ‘re’, and naturally ending with ‘mi-fa-so-la-ti’. She’d pinch them, making them yelp, and everyone had a good laugh, but Du Hong was mired in remorse. After all that wasted valuable time, what was she going to do after graduation?

  After a major detour, Du Hong came to Nanjing. Through the friend of a friend of a friend, she met Ji Tingting, who was working in far-off Nanjing. Ji was one of those extremely helpful types, with an expansive personality that said ‘I’ll take care of everything’. An uncommon trait among the blind, it had its origin in the eyesight edge she had over the others. With correction, her eyesight could reach level B-3. Though Du Hong was only the friend of a friend of a friend, Ji announced into her mobile phone, ‘We’re all friends, so come on over, Mei-zi, little sister. Nanjing’s not bad.’

  Ji began calling Du Hong ‘Mei-zi’ even before they met, so Du Hong had to follow Ji’s logic and called her Tingting jie, big sister Tingting. Du Hong would have preferred not to. It sounded provincial, like something an itinerant entertainer might say, and she abhorred that. But people like that tend to be the no-nonsense type. And as soon as she arrived in Nanjing, Ji Tingting took her to see Sha Fuming.

  ‘Boss Sha, here’s another money tree for you.’

  Sha Fuming said he wanted an interview, which was given. Tingting had been in this line of work long enough to know that it was a required procedure. So she led him into one of the treatment rooms and pushed him down onto the massage bed. Then she took Du Hong’s hand and placed it on his neck. That left a very bad impression with Du Hong. Ji was clearly showing off her ability to see things. One touch of Du Hong’s fingers was all Sha needed to know. This was not her calling.

  As he lay on the bed, asking questions, Du Hong demonstrated her tuina skills. Where was she from? How old was she? All unimportant questions, which he asked in an unpleasant tone, sounding just like a boss. Du Hong answered all his questions. Eventually he got around to asking where she’d gone to school. She answered him. Rather than follow up in that line, he changed the subject to education while Du Hong worked on his neck. With his face resting in the cradle, he had to laugh to himself. This was no tuina; it was like scratching an itch. He heaved a deep sigh.

  ‘Education these days really misleads the younger generation,’ he said.

  Du Hong wasn’t part of the education that Sha was disparaging, but she was a smart girl and stopped what she was doing. After a brief pause, she removed her hands.

  Sha said nothing to Tingting about Du Hong coming to work for him. At the door, he took out a fifty yuan note.

  ‘I’ll give you the day off,’ he said to Tingting. ‘Take her to stroll around the eastern suburbs. She’s had a long trip, and it is, after all, Nanjing.’ His meaning was crystal clear. But Tingting pushed the bill back into his hand and held it there. She was making a silent request. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile. ‘You’re forcing my hand,’ he said. Then he leaned over and whispered to Tingting, ‘She’s worse than average bad at this.’

  With a couple of pats on her shoulder, he walked off. He’d always looked out for Tingting, treating her a bit better than the others. But this was a matter of principle, and he had to stick to his guns. He didn’t go back to the lounge, because he knew Du Hong was still there, and he wanted to make sure they didn’t accidentally bump into each other. Better to avoid that.

  As Ji stood in the doorway, she felt her heart plunge. She blinked rapidly, before taking out her mobile phone to call Zhao da-jie in a distant city. Zhao had asked her to help Du Hong, so now what was she going to say? ‘Do your best to help the girl, no matter what it takes,’ Zhao had said over the phone. It had sounded like a plea. But a plea at some point can turn into a demand. Tingting hesitated and thought things over before putting her phone away.

  Then her phone rang. She was surprised to hear Du Hong’s voice on the other end. ‘You don’t have to say anything, Tingting jie,’ she said. ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In the bathroom.’

  ‘Why don’t you come out and talk to me?’

  Du Hong paused before saying softly, ‘I’d like to stay in the bathroom a while longer.’

  At this point, Ji didn’t know what to say. Finally she said, ‘Did you know there’s a Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum in Nanjing?’

  Du Hong neither said she knew nor that she didn’t. All she said was, ‘It’s all right, Tingting jie.’

  Tingting felt a tightness in her chest. Du Hong’s non-answer could mean only one thing – she was feeling lost. Tingting understood what the girl was going through. It was, after all, her first trip away from home. The most difficult task a blind person faces is that first trip away from home, especially if it’s on her own. The worries, anxieties, intimidation and sense of low self-esteem all come together in exaggerated form, like a deep, dark and very scary hole. The fear is both real and unreal, right and wrong at the same time. But real or unreal, right or wrong, it depends on what they encounter. Their fear is boundless, as vast as the world they cannot see. What exactly is there to fear? They cannot say. Luck was not with Du Hong, who had started out by missing a step. She had missed a step, not tripped and fallen, which is substantially different. When you trip and fall, you are still on solid ground, even though it hurts. Missing a step is something else altogether, for you have no place to fall to; you just plunge down and down and down. The shock is much more te
rrifying than falling and breaking bones.

  Clutching her phone tightly, Ji Tingting, who had been there herself, did not know what to say.

  That night she let Du Hong squeeze into bed with her. It was such a tiny bed they had to lie on their sides, back to back at first. Feeling awkward, Ji turned to face Du Hong’s back. She had nothing else to say to the girl, so she just rubbed her shoulder to try to bring her at least a bit of consolation.

  Du Hong rolled over with the intent of draping her arm around Tingting’s back. In the process, her arm brushed against Tingting’s breast. Cupping her hand over it, she said innocently, ‘Yours are so nice!’ It sounded odd, but it worked for the two women, who were trying to find something to say to each other.

  ‘Yours are better,’ Ji said as she touched Du Hong. ‘Mine used to be nice, but not any more. They’re growing farther and farther apart.’

  ‘How can that be?’ Du asked.

  ‘Why not?’

  Du Hong was wondering if the same thing might happen to her one day, when Ji whispered into her ear, ‘Has anyone ever touched them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Having found a worthwhile conversation topic, Ji quickly followed up with another question. ‘Who?’

  ‘A female sex maniac. A pervert.’

  Ji puzzled over that for a while until she figured out what Du Hong was referring to. She reached over and savagely pinched one of Du Hong’s nipples, hurting the girl so much she sucked in one breath of air after another. Tingting didn’t know what her fingers could do.

  After fooling around for a while, Du Hong, whose spirits were still low, shut her eyes and fell asleep. She snuggled into Ji’s arms, her shoulders rising and falling.

  The blind’s sense of insecurity can be very intense. As to how intense, only they can answer that. Ji put her arm around the girl, only to realise that she wasn’t sleepy any more. She thought back to her own first interview, in Beijing. It had lasted less than ten minutes before she’d been sent away. She could still recall the feeling of her body falling, down and down, with no end. But she was lucky. Zhao da-jie showed up and lent her a helping hand. Eternally grateful to Zhao, Tingting wanted to repay her. But how? There didn’t seem to be any way to do that, other than to help someone else the way Zhao had helped her. You help me, I help someone else. Had she done that? No. And sleep was out of the question.

  Ji felt enormous guilt. She’d failed in her attempt to help Du Hong. Now what would happen to the girl? Tingting could only put her arm around Du Hong. Her heart ached for her.

  She had to make Du Hong stay for another day, no matter what. If they didn’t go to the eastern suburbs, the girl could use a day of rest. Maybe they could stroll around the Confucius Temple and enjoy some snacks. She’d buy her a little gift. In any case, she had to show the girl that Nanjing wasn’t a place of failure for her. She must know that there is someone in Nanjing who cares about her; she’s just had lousy luck. With this thought, Ji was almost afraid to fall asleep. At least she mustn’t sleep so deeply that Du Hong could sneak out with her luggage early the next morning.

  Tingting did not fall asleep till late that night, and was fast asleep when morning came. What had worried her that night didn’t happen. When they woke up, Du Hong told her she didn’t want to visit the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum or the Confucius Temple. She was adamant. Instead, she wanted to go with Tingting to the tuina centre, giving Ji the impression that Du Hong didn’t want her to lose out on a day’s work and cost her money. When they got there, she realised how wrong she was; she had underestimated her little sister.

  Having changed into a red blouse, Du Hong followed Ji into the Sha Zongqi tuina centre, where, in front of everyone, she called out to Sha Fuming.

  ‘Boss Sha, I know my skills are not up to your standard, but can you give me a month? I’ll even clean the toilets and work as an assistant. All I ask is three meals a day. I’ll sleep with Tingting jie. If after a month I’m still no good, I vow in front of everyone here that I will leave on my own. I’ll send you money for my meals within a year. I just want Boss Sha to give me a chance.’

  She must have rehearsed this beforehand. In a timid tone, she sounded breathless, pausing often. The whole thing seemed memorised, though she could not have predicted that her action would stun everyone who heard her. While seemingly terror-stricken, she managed to show that she was a girl with backbone.

  This was the last thing Sha Fuming expected. If Du Hong had been sighted, this would have been a very ordinary speech. But she wasn’t, and it was anything but ordinary. The blind have an astonishing sense of pride. In the face of rejection what matters to them is the preservation of their dignity. They display their flair in the manner of: ‘If I’m not wanted here, I’ll go where I am.’ But not Du Hong, and Sha Fuming was flabbergasted. Under similar circumstances, he asked himself, would he have done the same? The answer was no, he wouldn’t have. But she had, and rather than finding that inappropriate, he was impressed by her courage. It seemed to him that the greatest obstacle for a blind person is not eyesight, but courage, as well as the frailty caused by excessive pride. Sha experienced a moment of great clarity. Why should the blind need more dignity than the sighted? We force so many things upon ourselves. There is only human dignity, never dignity belonging only to the blind.

  ‘No problem,’ he said, still dazed.

  Sha was a natural boss, with the corresponding affliction of the need to teach. So he started teaching Du Hong, giving it his all. Du Hong, on her part, was a hard-working student. Say what you will, tuina is easier than playing the piano; there is no profound learning to be gained, nor does it require great intelligence. The problem with Du Hong was simply a lack of understanding. So Fuming told her it was no big deal if she couldn’t find the acupoints right away. She just had to be sharp, and pay attention to a client’s reaction. Take the tianzong point, for instance – it produces pain when pressed. He demonstrated by pressing down on her tianzong point with his thumb, drawing a yelp of pain from her.

  ‘See what I mean? You felt that, didn’t you? Your clients will do the same; they’ll make a noise or move their legs. What do their reactions mean? They mean you found the point. You must pay special attention to these kinds of things.

  ‘Don’t worry about hurting your clients. What’s there to worry about? You must look at it from their perspective. This is how they would be thinking: they pay you for tuina and it would be a waste of their money if it didn’t hurt at all. People are all the same; they’re greedy, but that shows up differently on different people. To some clients, it’s real tuina only when it hurts; if it doesn’t, then it’s massage, the other kind. So go ahead, don’t be afraid to hurt them, that’s what makes them happy. If a client tells you to be a little less rough, do as he says, because then he won’t have any doubts about your skill.’

  As she listened, Du Hong realised that language has its acupoints also and Sha was no ordinary boss. He could always locate the acupoints of language, effortlessly clarifying things for his listeners. She soon sensed that the cause of her sub-par skills had been her attitude. Overly concerned about others, too cautious and too hesitant, she’d been afraid to push down hard. How could she have treated a client’s body as a piano? A human body could never be anything like a piano. She needed to press down hard when it was called for; it could not cause damage. Hard, that’s what was needed, especially by a new therapist. It was a sign of being responsible and hard-working. If a client cried out in pain, Du Hong would say, ‘That hurts a little, doesn’t it? You must have been overtiring yourself lately.’ How nice that would sound! She’d come across as personally warm and professionally competent and authoritative. She’d be guaranteed return clients. The simple fact is, a tuina centre is just that, a tuina centre, not a hospital; people come to relax, not to be cured. If someone is really sick, why come to a tuina centre? Go straight to a hospital.

  Sha Fuming had decided he’d teach Du Hong for a while. After that it was up to her. Al
l he wanted was a clear conscience. If she was good, she stayed; if not, he knew she wouldn’t stick around for free food. Absolutely not. But then something unexpected happened. Sha returned from a bathroom visit and found that the girl was with a client.

  He called Gao Wei to the side. ‘Who told you to assign her a client?’

  ‘A client asked for her.’ Gao Wei was stung by the criticism. ‘I couldn’t say no, could I?’

  Fuming didn’t say a word, but deep down he was beginning to rue his momentary kindness. Sooner or later, Du Hong’s lack of skill would ruin his business. The Sha Zongqi tuina centre had only just started to do well, and he could not turn things around if they gained a bad reputation for substandard work.

  What was incredulous was not that Du Hong had a client, but that her business grew right under Sha’s eyes, all from client requests, some who gradually became return clients. He couldn’t stop her from taking clients, who then came back for more. As a boss, it would have been unthinkable to show, from a theoretical point of view, that one of his employees was not a competent therapist. Still, he was worried, so he made a few furtive observations: Du Hong wasn’t just popular, she also got along with the clients extremely well. What was going on here?

  The answer to her popularity was soon revealed, almost knocking the wind out of Sha Fuming; she turned out to be a real beauty, stunningly beautiful. Sha had a fairly good sense of what his employees looked like, for he heard the clients talk about their appearance all the time. With nothing else to do, the clients gossiped, and sometimes they said something nice about the therapists’ looks, their figures or their faces. They used clichéd expressions, such as this therapist (a woman) was pretty or that therapist (a man) was handsome. Sha himself had been called handsome a few times, but it was just idle talk that no one paid attention to. Besides, he couldn’t see, so what was the point of paying attention, even if the clients were telling the truth about a particular therapist’s good looks? He didn’t care who was pretty and who wasn’t; all he cared about was the business. Everyone was pretty when the clients were happy.