The Dark Road

by Ma Jian

  ‘We just want to help you secure a good future for your daughter, and for your family as well,’ Gu says. ‘If you sell her, everyone will benefit.’

  ‘Yes, it will be a win–win situation, just like President Jiang Zemin said to the US in the international trade discussions last week,’ Hua says. ‘Come on now, let’s go and choose our eggs.’

  When the sisters walk past her, they seem to give off more heat than the scorching pot on the stove.

  KEYWORDS: flea-ridden, magnet, scum, beautification fee, gangsters, Custody and Repatriation Centre.

  RETURNING TO THE hut and seeing Nannan sitting alone under the porch and the boat gone, Meili knows at once that Kongzi has gone to give Waterborn away.

  ‘Where’s Daddy, Nannan?’ she shouts.

  ‘He said he’s taking Waterborn on a trip. He said he’ll be back very soon, and when he comes back I’ll be his only daughter and he’ll only love me.’

  ‘The evil bastard! I know what he’s done – he’s gone to sell her to a Welfare Office! Kongzi, you monster! You force me to get pregnant, then you take my baby from me. You’re worse than the Communist Party. I despise you. I never want to set eyes on you again!’ Shaking with rage and howling curses, she kicks out at the wok and bowls on the ground, stamps on the peanut oil and mosquito coils she just bought in the village, then turns round and marches away into the fields. The ducks in the pond flap their wings and take flight.

  ‘Mummy, come back, I’m frightened . . .’ Nannan cries out, but Meili is so delirious with rage she can’t hear her. She strides across the fields all the way to the public road, then stops a passing minibus and jumps aboard. She wants to go as far away as possible. No – she wants to return to Nuwa Village, to her birthplace. She finds a seat at the back, buries her face in her scarf and weeps. May you get struck by lightning, Kongzi! she mutters under her breath. All these years you drone on about benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, then you go and sell your own daughter! How could I have married such a monster? . . . When she met him at seventeen, she believed marriage was for ever, that the government protects and cares for the people, and that husbands protect and care for their wives. But as soon as she got married, these naive beliefs were shattered. She discovered that women don’t own their bodies: their wombs and genitals are battle zones over which their husband and the state fight for control – territories their husbands invade for sexual gratification and to produce male heirs, and which the state probes, monitors, guards and scrapes so as to assert its power and spread fear. These continual intrusions into her body’s most intimate parts have made her lose her sense of who she is. All she is certain of is that she is a legal wife and an illegal mother. I’d be better off dead, she mumbles to herself. I should throw myself into the Yangtze and join Happiness on the riverbed. With a jolt, she remembers Nannan and wishes she’d had the presence of mind to bring her with her. She decides to spend the night in whatever town the minibus is taking her to, then to sneak back to the hut in the morning and fetch Nannan.

  Only at night, when the minibus pulls into the terminal and she steps off, goes outside and looks at the dark road running downhill, does she begin to feel helpless and alone. On a dimly lit fruit stall, peeled pineapples gleam like freshly plucked ducks. The pavements are littered with the trampled pulp of chewed sugar cane. Sensing that the road leads to the centre of town she follows it down. It stretches on through the darkness, desolate as a barren field. At last, in the distance, she sees neon signs flashing from tall buildings, and begins to walk towards them as though pulled by a magnet.

  The road bends and becomes wider and brighter. There are cars and buses now. After crossing two junctions, waiting for the pedestrian lights to turn green, she begins to realise that this is not a town but a city. She must ask someone where the train station is. She’d like to go home now and see her parents. The thought of being fined or arrested doesn’t frighten her any more. If there’s no train to Nuwa, she’ll return to Guai Village in the morning, take Nannan and a few belongings, and set off for Heaven Township, leaving Kongzi to fend for himself. She approaches a small kiosk to ask for directions. When she sees the red telephone on the counter, she has a longing to phone Weiwei and pour her heart out to him, but she doesn’t have his number on her. She thinks of phoning Kongzi’s parents, but is afraid the line might be bugged, and besides, she’s not in the mood to speak to them. Clubfoot has a telephone too now, as well as a laptop computer and satellite TV, but she has forgotten his number. The only other person in Kong Village whose number she can remember is Kong Zhaobo. He’s opened a dairy farm that supplies milk to an infant formula company. She phoned him a couple of times in Guai Village, asking if he could give her brother a job.

  ‘Want to use the phone?’ the vendor asks, leaning over the counter. ‘Domestic calls are four jiao a minute. Dial the area code first. The list’s up there.’

  ‘It’s a Hubei number,’ says Meili, as she dials the last digit. As soon as the ringing tone sounds, she immediately regrets making the call. Kong Zhaobo says hello in his heavy accent.

  ‘It’s Meili,’ she says, feeling drops of milk start to leak from her full breasts. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone I phoned.’

  ‘Won’t tell a soul, I promise. Where are you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve just got off a bus.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. I just wanted to hear how things are in the village.’

  ‘Oh, there’ve been big changes. You know Kong Dufa who took over your husband’s teaching post? Slimy bastard. Well, he’s village head now. His son graduated from university last summer and has got a job at the County Transport Bureau. You won’t believe it: the village has become a tourist destination! Six coachloads of visitors arrive every day. My neighbour has built a side extension and opened a restaurant called the Happy Farmer. And that painter, Old Cao, who created the mosaic mural for you. Well, his son, Cao Niuniu, has done well. He’s a successful artist now. Lives in Beijing. He came back to the village a few months ago and bought the Sky Beyond the Sky Hotel and has turned it into a painters’ colony. He’s got a hundred artists living there, churning out copies of foreign masterpieces that he sells back in Beijing. And you heard that Kong Qing’s wife was arrested for complaining about her forced abortion? Yes, she’s still locked up in the mental asylum . . . Five of the villagers who were arrested in the riots are still in jail. One poor sod is serving fourteen years. Kong Guo was released last month, thank goodness.’

  ‘What about that sweet, gentle man . . . ?’

  ‘Kong Fanhua? He’s all right. He chopped down the huge tree in his yard and sold the timber to pay off his fine. His wife has gone to work in Guangzhou. He still cycles around the village every morning collecting eggs . . . Listen, if you do give birth to a son and earn enough money to pay the fine, don’t come back here. Go and live in the county town. The schools are much better there.’

  ‘How’s Li Peisong, and his son, Little Fatty?’

  ‘Oh, Little Fatty – he’s in a juvenile detention centre. Granny Kong told him off about something, and he ended up beating her to the ground with a stick. Well, it’s not surprising he’s turned out that way. His parents were left destitute after paying the fine for his birth, and couldn’t even afford to send him or his brother to school . . .’

  As Meili puts a ten-yuan note on the counter to pay for the call, a man behind her says, ‘You’re not local, are you? Where are you from?’

  ‘Hubei Province,’ she says, counting the change before putting it in her pocket.

  ‘Do you have a temporary residence card for this city?’

  ‘No, I haven’t brought any documents with me.’

  ‘Well, you won’t be able to get a room in a hotel, then. Come with me. I’ll take you somewhere that provides free food and lodging.’

  Meili follows the man back to the main road. Growing suspicious, she asks, ‘So, how come the food and lodging are free?’

&nbs
p; ‘The city authorities pay for it. They know hotels won’t accept flea-ridden peasants like you, and they don’t want you sleeping on the streets, spoiling the city’s image, so they’ve built a guest house where you can stay for free.’

  ‘Are you trying to say that no one in the city has fleas?’ Meili says indignantly. ‘I can’t believe that’s true.’

  They reach a dark doorway. When Meili reads the words CHANGSHA CITY CUSTODY AND REPATRIATION CENTRE on the sign above it, she turns to run, but the man grabs hold of her and drags her inside.

  ‘This is the fourth one I’ve brought in today,’ he says to a uniformed officer at the front desk. ‘So that’s 120 yuan you owe me.’

  ‘The child you brought in this afternoon doesn’t count. He was ten years old and mute. We couldn’t have sold him on, so we let him go.’

  ‘You never told me you don’t take children,’ he says, fingering the loose threads on his shirt where his top button has been tugged off.

  ‘Well, you’d better read the detention criteria again.’

  ‘This one’s a peasant. She has no documents.’

  ‘Let me go, comrade,’ Meili says to the officer. ‘I’ll make my own way to the train station. You won’t need to escort me.’

  ‘You think you can escape that easily? We’ll only release you if someone pays your bail. Old Wu, give her a body search. When did you arrive in Changsha?’ The officer picks up a pen and takes out a registration form.

  ‘About an hour ago.’

  ‘Why did you come here? Where were you planning to stay?’

  ‘I was just passing through, on my way to the train station.’

  ‘Education?’

  ‘Primary school.’

  ‘Where were you travelling from? Take off your belt.’

  ‘I’m not wearing one,’ Meili says, slapping Old Wu’s hands as he runs them up her legs.

  ‘Put all your cash and valuables on the table, then,’ Old Wu says, pointing at her aggressively. ‘If you try to hide anything from me, I’ll fucking kill you!’

  ‘All I have is the thirty yuan I made from selling eggs this morning. Comrade, can I ask you something?’

  ‘What?’ the officer behind the desk says, looking up.

  ‘The sign outside said Custody and Repatriation Centre. So is this a prison? Have I committed a crime?’

  ‘No, it’s not a prison.’

  ‘What is it, then?’ Meili says, her voice shaking.

  ‘It’s a place that houses undesirables like you. We’ve been ordered to evict 300,000 peasants and vagrants from the city before the National Day celebrations next week, and you’ve fallen into our net, I’m afraid.’ He hands her the registration form, tells her to sign at the bottom, then passes her a sponge filled with red ink, two blank sheets of paper and tells her to sign and fingerprint these as well.

  ‘But there’s nothing written on them. What am I signing for?’

  ‘None of your business. Just get on with it.’

  Meili does as she’s told.

  ‘Now take her to the warehouse!’ The officer files away the forms, brushes some orange peel from his desk and takes a sip from his mug of tea.

  Meili follows a policewoman into a warehouse in the backyard. The interior is dark and cavernous. A single bulb hangs from the high ceiling. There are no beds, just numbered rectangles painted in yellow on the concrete floor. Meili is taken to number 15. A narrow path between the rectangles leads to a large plastic bucket at the far end for the detainees to use as a toilet.

  ‘Where do we go to make telephone calls, comrade?’ Meili asks a girl with glasses who’s lying on the rectangle next to hers.

  ‘You’ll have to wait until the morning.’

  ‘Where do you come from?’ Glancing around her, Meili notices that all the detainees are women. Some are crying, others are eating and chatting, but most are curled up like shrimp on their yellow rectangles.

  ‘Me?’ the girl says with a look of unease on her face. ‘I’m a graduate. I came to Changsha to find work.’

  ‘Ah, you must be very knowledgeable then. So can you tell me, is this a prison?’

  ‘Look at point number 8 of the notice on the wall: “Voluntarily confess your crimes and expose the crimes of others.” So it’s obvious they consider us to be criminals.’

  ‘I’ve only had one baby out of quota,’ Meili says. ‘Is that enough to get me locked up?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with family planning. You’re here because you’re a peasant, and peasants aren’t allowed in the cities unless they have a temporary urban residence permit. Surely you know that?’

  A female correctional officer sticks her head round the door and shouts, ‘Shut up and lie down, you scum. The light goes out in five minutes!’

  ‘I beg you, government lady, let me go home,’ a voice cries out. ‘My son’s alone in the flat. What if he walks onto the balcony and falls over the rails?’

  ‘You can’t just abduct people in broad daylight and lock them up for no reason,’ another woman says. ‘You’re behaving like gangsters.’

  ‘I’m not a peasant. I was just having a meal in a restaurant after work. Is that against the law now? Please let me go. Look, I have a train ticket to Guangzhou. It’s leaving in two hours. My uncle will be waiting at the other end to collect me.’ This girl has a fashionable bob and a smart dress and could easily pass for a city dweller were it not for her thick rural accent.

  ‘It’s strange that they should arrest you – you don’t look like a peasant at all,’ Meili says to the graduate, then scans the room again while the light is still on, breathing the unfamiliar, pungent smells of perfume and unwashed bodies. The graduate looks away, her expression blank. ‘So, when were you arrested?’ Meili asks her.

  ‘Three days ago,’ she replies. ‘There’s no one in this city who can help me. I warn you, if your family or friends don’t bail you out, you’ll be sent to a labour camp for three months. You must phone someone and ask them to rescue you.’

  ‘No, I’m a family planning fugitive. If any of my relatives turn up here, they’ll have to confirm my identity, and I’ll be sent back to the village and be forced to pay a huge fine.’

  ‘To think that we’re illegal residents in our own country!’ the graduate says, sitting up and smoothing her hair back. ‘God, what a stench. This place is a cesspit.’

  ‘It’s much nicer than the hut I’ve been living in,’ Meili says, scratching a loose flake of paint from her yellow rectangle. ‘It doesn’t smell nearly as bad as our duck enclosure, and there are fewer mosquitoes here, too. I wouldn’t mind staying a few days. But I’m worried about my daughter. My husband just sits down and drinks beer all evening. What will they eat?’

  ‘How old-fashioned you are. Don’t worry about them! What about you?’

  ‘Well, as Confucius said: “Men are the sky, women are the earth.”’

  ‘Patriarchal nonsense! Just wait until he leaves you for another woman.’

  ‘Only men from the cities behave like that. We peasants are much more traditional. My husband would never leave me.’

  ‘How do you know? There are no certainties in life. I never imagined my boyfriend would leave me and I’d end up having to sell my body.’

  ‘You’re a prostitute?’ Meili says in disbelief.

  ‘Yes. They arrested me while I was talking to a client in a hotel lobby. Look at point number 10: “Individuals involved in prostitution and whoring will undergo re-education and reform through labour for a period of six months to two years.” That’s what I’m heading for.’

  ‘But you wear glasses. You’re a graduate, for goodness’ sake! How did you get into this mess?’ The light is turned off. Meili smells a whiff of dirty nylon socks that reminds her of Kongzi. She still hates him for giving Waterborn away, but understands what drove him to it. If she were released now, she’d rush back to the hut and demand that he bring Waterborn home.

  ‘I came to Changsha last year to look for my boyfriend
and tell him I was pregnant with his child,’ the graduate explains. ‘But when I found him, I discovered he was engaged to someone else. I was so distraught I went straight to a backstreet clinic and had an abortion. Love only strikes once – when it dies, you’re a walking corpse. After the abortion, I was too ashamed to go home. I ran out of money and needed to find work. I didn’t care what I did.’

  ‘How dreadful,’ Meili says, trying to find words to console her. Her eyes have become accustomed to the dark, and she can see the small flowers embroidered on the collar of the graduate’s blouse.

  ‘These custody centres are just moneymaking rackets,’ the graduate says. ‘If you can’t find anyone to pay your bail, local crooks will pay it for you, at a discounted rate, then sell you for double the price to village police who run labour camps up in the mountains. You’re forced to work on the fields for three months for no pay. They call it the “bail trade”. The city authorities get the bail money, the crooks make enough to build themselves villas in the countryside, and the village police can retire early on the profits from the labour camps. So everyone’s happy.’

  ‘Why’s the bail so high?’ Meili says, then thinks about the thirty yuan that the police confiscated from her.

  ‘They charge thirty yuan a night. It’s more expensive than a hotel! Then there’s the urban beautification fee, management fee, meals. If you can’t pay the bail, you’ll just have to come along with me to the labour camp.’

  ‘How will my husband and daughter cope on their own for all that time?’ Meili says, regretting her impetuous decision to storm off.

  ‘If your husband comes to bail you out, he’ll have to hand over at least a thousand yuan,’ the graduate says, shifting to the side so that Meili can share some of her mat. Then she opens her handbag and takes out a mobile phone.

  ‘Is there really no one in this city you can call?’ Meili asks, her eyes drawn to the phone. Until now, she’s only ever seen one on the television.