Massage

by Bi Feiyu

  ‘You deal with me,’ Wang said. ‘Don’t touch my parents.’

  ‘We can’t deal with you.’

  As a handicapped individual, Wang knew exactly what the voice meant. It was intended to belittle and humiliate him, which had the opposite effect – it calmed him. ‘What do you want anyway?’

  ‘Money.’

  ‘But we don’t have it. We really don’t have it.’

  ‘We’ll give you some time.’

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘A year.’

  ‘Five days.’

  ‘Six months.’

  ‘Ten days.’

  ‘Three months,’ Wang said.

  ‘All right, two weeks.’ The same voice. ‘This is the last two weeks. Your brother’s no good, he doesn’t follow the rules.’

  It was past nine in the evening when Wang arrived back at the therapy centre after a ride in a crowded bus, where he had stared straight ahead, his usual posture in public places. But there was no straight ahead in his mind, only money. He did a calculation; he didn’t have twenty-five thousand. The only way he could put that much together was to squeeze money out of his stocks. He immediately vetoed that idea. He wouldn’t do that even to get married. No, and especially not for this. He hardened his heart. Fuck it, he didn’t owe money to anyone.

  In reality, hardening his heart was a trick to make him feel better. As the sportscaster Han Qiaosheng said when commenting on Chinese football games, so-and-so made a beautiful feint when no one was guarding him. Right after the feint, his heart softened, like the legs of football players on the Chinese team. Soft-hearted people hate easily. Wang Daifu hated money, hated the gang. Hated the gang members. Hated his brother.

  His brother was a scumbag, a pile of stinky rotten flesh, clearly spoiled by their parents, and Wang felt sorry for them. They had worn themselves out, had showered their love for two sons on one, and in the end, this is what they’d wound up with. His younger brother had been born as Wang’s replacement. That thought led him to self-loathing. He hated himself and hated his eyes. If not for his bad eyes, his parents would never have had a second child, and they definitely would not have turned him into a prodigal son. No matter how he looked at it, Wang realised that he was the source of all the trouble.

  He had to settle the debt himself. It was his fate.

  Wang thought about calling the police, but he couldn’t. He could not win, not when they held his brother’s IOU. Wang knew he’d never learn what was on that piece of paper. The bastards had a tight organisation, and acted properly, because they played by the rules.

  But the money. Where could he get the money?

  Suddenly it dawned on him that he had yet to speak with his brother. He dialled the number; the phone was still off. Why not talk to his wife, Wang thought. He called his mother to get the number for his brother’s wife. It worked. When she answered, ear-pounding sounds of explosions and dive-bombers assailed his ears, a sign that she was at a movie. ‘Xiaoning?’ Wang Daifu said, consciously lowering his voice.

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Elder brother. Is he there?’

  ‘We’re watching a movie.’

  ‘I know,’ Wang said with an ingratiating laugh. ‘Would you hand him the phone?’

  Finally he’d found his younger brother, who was in hiding. But at least he’d located him. ‘It’s your brother,’ Wang said. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Anhui, in the countryside.’

  Ah, Anhui. The countryside. A pretty place. Well, he could hide there for now, but not forever.

  ‘What’s up?’ his brother said. ‘I’m watching a movie.’

  ‘You owe the gang money, don’t you?’ Wang asked cautiously, trying to stay calm so his brother wouldn’t get angry and hang up.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘They came for it.’

  ‘So they came for it. What’s the big deal?’

  ‘What do you mean, so they came for it? You’re hiding in Anhui, but where are Ma and Pa going to hide?’

  ‘What do I have to hide from? Xiaoning and I came to climb Huangshan.’

  ‘Then why did you turn off your phone?’

  ‘There’s no money in the phone account, so what’s the point in keeping it on?’

  That effectively shut Wang up. He could tell that his brother was not on the run; he didn’t sound like he was hiding out. He was calm and poised, and didn’t sound like he was faking it. His younger brother was a great man, with a wide-open mind, who could treat weighty matters lightly. Flustered by this realisation, Wang raised his voice. ‘Why aren’t you worried? You owe them a lot of money!’

  ‘Why worry? It’s me who owes them money, not they who owe me.’

  ‘Aren’t you afraid they’ll take it out on Ma and Pa?’

  ‘What’s the big deal? Why worry? It’s not enough for them to resort to violence.’

  ‘How can you not pay what you owe?’ Wang demanded.

  ‘Did I say I wouldn’t?’

  ‘Then do it.’

  ‘I don’t have it.’

  ‘You have to do it, even if you don’t have the money.’

  ‘What are you worried about? Why can’t you just enjoy life?’

  His brother was smiling; Wang could not hear the smile, but he could sense that his younger brother was smiling in Anhui. That smile made Wang feel like a lout, that he was less than human, from head to toe. Stung by a sense of shame, he snapped his phone shut.

  Wang Daifu stood alongside the road, looking around with a blank stare.

  He was reminded that people in Nanjing had a nickname for people like his brother – living ghost. Wang had never known what it meant, until now. These living ghosts were wondrous creatures; no one knew how they managed to survive in this world. Their existence was a deep, deep secret, hinting at evil magic. Everyone was worried that they were fated to die, yet they not only survived but lived well, better than most people. They lived outside of life, but inside it as well. They were at the bottom of life, as well as at the top. They were neither optimists nor pessimists. A smile was never absent from their faces. They shared one observable trait, or, better yet, trademark: pet phrases that encompassed their philosophy of life – ‘Why worry?’ and ‘What’s the big deal?’ They dealt with any problem, no matter how serious, with ‘What’s the big deal?’ and ‘Why worry?’

  The sun sets, what’s the big deal? Why worry? It’ll rise again. It rises every day, so not to worry. It sets every evening, so what’s the big deal?

  Xiao Kong was with a client when Wang returned to the therapy centre. Suddenly tired, he sank into an easy chair to rest and do nothing but sit there. All he could think about was money. He decided to make two preparations, no matter what: first he had to put the amount together, that was the right thing to do. It wasn’t his fault his brother had been born to replace him. So he decided that he would act as a replacement for his younger brother. He had to laugh: so this is life. It was all about replacing one thing with another. Raze the east wall to repair the west wall, and then raze the west wall to repair the east wall; raze the south wall to repair the north wall and then raze the north wall to repair the south wall; raze an inner wall to repair an outer wall and then raze an outer wall to repair an inner wall; raze a tall wall to repair a low wall and then raze a low wall to repair a tall wall. Raze and repair, and when you finish razing and repairing, life remains the same and yet has taken on a brand new look.

  He didn’t think he’d have any trouble borrowing the money from Xiao Kong. But then again, she wasn’t the easiest person to deal with where money was concerned. He decided to talk it over with her. She finished with her client a little before ten o’clock, so Wang took Sha Fuming outside and whispered to him that he’d like to have an early-off and go back to the dorm with Xiao Kong before the others. The therapists were allowed to get off work early, which was part of the policy of early-on and early-off. In general, the therapy centre had few clients before ten in the morning, so most of the therapists cam
e to work at ten, but some had to be there before ten to keep the place open, which was called early-on. For the sake of fairness, those who came early in the morning were permitted to leave an hour early the previous night. Pressing a button on his talking watch, Sha learned that it was ten o’clock, an hour before the early-off time of eleven.

  Sha ran a tight ship and was impartial in regard to work scheduling, of which he was about to remind Wang. But then it dawned on him that Wang and Kong were lovers. This was the first time Wang had made such a request, which Sha appreciated. A manager had to be strict but not lose sight of humane treatment.

  ‘Sure,’ Sha said. ‘But let me be clear. Only this time and you’ll have to pay me back.’

  ‘Of course,’ Wang said.

  Before Wang turned around, Sha found his shoulder and slapped him once, then a couple more times. The last two slaps were loaded with meaning, which embarrassed Wang tremendously when he understood. ‘No, that’s not it,’ he hastened to say. But what was it? Wang could not explain.

  ‘Go on now,’ Sha said cheerfully, which intensified the insinuation and so mortified Wang that he was even more tongue-tied. Wordlessly he went into the lounge.

  ‘Xiao Kong,’ he said softly, ‘let’s go to the dorm now. I’ve talked to the boss and he said it was all right.’ Wang thought he sounded sneaky.

  She did not know what he had in mind, but true to her straight-forward nature she blurted out, ‘It’s still early. What are we going to do if we go back now?’

  She understood even before she finished. What else could a couple of lovers do when they returned early? She turned red as blood rushed to her face.

  A dry cough from Xiao Ma in the corner turned the situation odd, or maybe it was odd only to Xiao Kong’s ears. Ever since Xiao Ma’s ill-considered move, both he and Xiao Kong had been on edge, which had introduced tension into their relationship. Known only to them, of course. Xiao Ma was concerned that she would tell Wang what he had done, while she was worried that he’d try it again. That tension caused them to desperately avoid bodily contact, which, in effect, made them even more conscious of the other.

  He stood up after coughing and moved slowly to the door, banging his knee against something before he got there. Xiao Kong did not turn around, but she sensed an immense void that had opened up behind Xiao Ma.

  Xiao Kong’s heart ached for him, which surprised even her. Why did she feel that way? It wasn’t right. And at that moment, she actually saw herself as his sister-in-law, his Sao-zi. Almost motherly. This role, which had materialised out of the blue, made her feel warm all over. She was, after all, a woman, and she wished the best for Xiao Ma.

  To be sure, this was little more than an incidental thought. Mainly she was embarrassed. And when people are embarrassed, they turn slightly obtuse, something that often manifests itself in affected attempts at cleverness. ‘Have you brought me something good to eat?’ she said, unnecessarily, of course.

  Wang Daifu was weighted down by what was on his mind. He stood there dawdling for a moment before replying, ‘No.’

  A real blockhead, a dope of the first order! Would it have killed him to lie to her?

  ‘Go on,’ Zhang Yiguang spoke up, ‘go with him and sample the treat.’

  It was a funny line that no one in the lounge laughed at. Xiao Kong was mortified. It felt to her as if what she and Wang were up to was out in the open for everyone to see.

  No matter how embarrassed she felt, she knew she could not make Wang lose face in front of so many people. So, with her face burning and feeling larger than ever, she took his hand. ‘Let’s go.’ The vigorous sound of her voice belied the confusion she felt. There was a measure of displeasure towards Wang amid that confusion.

  What had been anticipated as a talk about money had, through twists and turns, become something quite different. There was nothing he could do now but take her hand and walk to the door. By then he was so flustered he’d no sooner stepped through the door than he stumbled and would have fallen if not for her hand.

  ‘Slow down,’ she said, in a strange, slightly tremulous voice. Wang Daifu forced himself to hold back, but that was the wrong thing to do, for now slowing down required even greater control.

  It was ten o’clock Beijing time, an hour before the early-off hour of eleven o’clock, which meant they had an hour together, or, to be more precise, forty-three minutes, after the seventeen-minute walk. When their forty-three minutes were up, Zhang Yiguang and Ji Tingting, the early-off therapists, would be back. The situation was dire and urgent, meaning they had to take advantage of every minute and every second. They didn’t exchange a word on the way and were drenched in sweat by the time they got home, where they confronted the first question: where do they go, her room or his? They were breathing hard as they hesitated. Time for Wang to be decisive, so he chose his room. He opened the door and stepped in, followed by Xiao Kong after a pause. He shut the door when she was barely in and secured it with the deadbolt. Then they kissed. Xiao Kong let out a sigh of relief and fell limply into his arms.

  They quickly separated, knowing they couldn’t afford to waste their precious time on kissing. Still kissing, they began to move and stopped when they reached Xiao Ma’s bed, where they stripped themselves naked, littering the floor with their clothes. Wang hoisted Xiao Kong up to the upper bunk and she lay down, but then suddenly realised that they had been too rash. They should have taken off their clothes one item at a time and laid each one down carefully. This is a routine the blind invariably follow before bedtime. Everything they take off has to be piled item by item – socks at the bottom, followed by pants, shirts, sweater, and jacket or a coat. Only with this regimen would they be able to get dressed in an orderly fashion after getting out of bed, picking up and putting on each item in its proper order. But they’d been in too great a hurry, and their clothes were strewn all over the floor; worse yet, they were all jumbled together. It had taken no time to undress, but how would they put the clothes back on? They couldn’t still be groping for their socks when the early-offs returned. The blind can never be impulsive, not even a little. Xiao Kong was agitated and upset.

  ‘Our clothes, what about our clothes?’

  ‘What about our clothes?’ Wang asked as he climbed up to the bunk.

  ‘They’re all over the place. How are we going to put them back on? Hurry, would you?’

  He finally got up, by then bone-hard. With virtually no foreplay, he entered her and immediately felt her shudder and tighten, something that had never happened before. But he had no time to ask why; all either of them could think of was time. They were fighting for time, which meant fighting for speed. He moved faster and pushed harder, almost aggressively. After a series of violent movements, he let out a sigh and it was over, filling the room with his smell. They were breathing hard, panting together. Before she could calm her breathing, Xiao Kong urged, ‘Get off and get dressed. Hurry.’

  Swiftly wiping themselves, they climbed out of bed, ruing the fact that they had lacked self-control a moment before. Now, see what happened, they had to grope for and identify each piece of clothing. This is yours, that’s mine. But time waits for no one. What if the others returned now? Their hands busy, their hearts fluttering, they couldn’t afford to panic; patience and composure were what was needed. After a quarter of an hour, they were finally dressed, but, still worried, they checked themselves in their mind’s eyes. By the time they were sitting down their foreheads were bathed in sweat. Not bothering to wipe his forehead, Wang opened the door and picked up his talking watch: ten twenty-four. He was stunned. Still thirty-six minutes left. Take away the time spent on the road and the time for undressing and dressing, and they’d probably spent less than a minute in actual lovemaking. If it could be called lovemaking. He had simply and hurriedly ejaculated inside the woman he loved.

  Maybe this was all that a working man like him could do for his woman. Wang Daifu said nothing. Thirty-six minutes. They had fought for the extra twenty-one
hundred and sixty seconds, and instead of giving them to his woman, they would now be wasted in meaningless waiting. What were they waiting for? For the early-offs to return so they could prove they hadn’t done anything? How absurd. Wang Daifu stood blankly at the door, doing nothing, not knowing what he could do. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It sounded like a sigh, a sweaty sigh. Walking back to her he found her hand and caressed it with extra care, tender and loving. It was only at this moment that he felt boundless, tender love for Kong. What had he just done? Baby, my woman. His heart ached for her.

  Xiao Kong was also aching, though it was her body. Bending over on her knees, she was in pain, feeling a burning sensation deep in that part of her body, worse than her first time. While similar, the pain this time was different. She’d cried back then, filled with a sense of proof for what the two of them possessed. Unable to put that happiness into words, she had cried. Like an idiot, Wang had felt the tears on her face and had apologised repeatedly, ‘I’m sorry.’ Only the word heartbreaking fit Kong’s happiness. The ache that time had been wet. This time? Bone dry. She couldn’t cry, she could only despair. What was she doing? Just what was she doing? She felt cheap. No one had defiled her and yet, for the first time, she felt humiliated. She had turned herself into a shameless bitch.

  ‘Let’s get married.’ She looked up and grabbed his hands.

  ‘What?’

  She cocked her head. ‘Let’s get married.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘But we haven’t made any preparations.’

  ‘For what? What preparations do we need as long as we have each other?’ Her hot breath spread across his face.

  ‘But . . . I have no money.’

  ‘I don’t want your money. I have my own. We can use my money. All we need is a simple wedding. Won’t that work?’

  ‘Your money? How could I do that?’

  ‘Then what would work?’

  His lips twitched, but nothing came out.

  ‘What’s the hurry?’ he said at last.

  That hurt. Xiao Kong had just about given up all the proper restraints of a young woman by bringing up the topic of marriage. What did he mean, a hurry? It sounded awful, as if she were used goods no one wanted, and she had to force him into marrying her in a hurry. Had it really come to that?