Wild Fruit

by Keyi Sheng

  When I left the treatment centre and the metal gate clanked shut behind me, I felt like I had been released from a prison for ghosts. The little ghosts I had interviewed floated in my mind, with their blood-red lips and their teeth stuffed with human flesh, making my back feel cold. A motorcycle suddenly slammed on its brakes. A cloud of dust and black smoke came out of the bike’s rear end. Hu Lilai appeared riding on a cloud, as if the God of Earth had appeared from the ground.

  ‘Get on,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

  We went to a herbal tea shop. There were two fans mounted on the wall, rattling and circulating the warm air. I turned on my recorder and wrapped my hands around my cold drink, hoping to cool off. Hu tossed his straw aside and took a couple of gulps of his mango smoothie, then puckered his mouth as if he had been burned.

  ‘Can you please introduce yourself briefly?’

  ‘I’m Hu Lilai, a nurse support worker at the Detention Treatment Centre. I’ve been working there for three months.’

  ‘What does a nurse support worker do?’

  ‘We wear camouflage uniforms and carry rubber batons. We keep the patients from making trouble, and also assist the nurses when they distribute meals or medicine.’

  ‘What sort of people are the patients?’

  ‘All sorts. They come from different shelters.’

  ‘Are they all ill?’

  ‘Not necessarily. Some are delinquents, so they come here for “treatment.”’

  ‘Was Ma Liujia one of these?’

  ‘When Ma Liujia came in, I was on duty. He kicked up a big fuss as soon as he came in. He was really strong. Some people had just been released that day, so he shouted for help. Before long, Qiao Feiyan said to me, “Someone is way too noisy in there. Put him in Cell 206; let them have some fun. Play hard, but be careful not to hit his head, and don’t draw blood. Anyway, if you kill him, it doesn’t matter. A person dying here is like an ant dying.” So I put Ma Liujia in Cell 206, and I kicked him a couple of times. I did that just so Qiao would see. If I didn’t kick him, Qiao would kick me. He’s very strong. He can kill a dog with one kick. We’re all afraid of him.’

  ‘What was were the cells like?’

  ‘A dozen or so cement bunks. Those who pay the nurse support workers money become the cells’ chiefs. They get to sleep next to the window. They’re responsible for snitching.’

  ‘So who are the ones who beat people up?’

  ‘They’re also sent from the shelter. They don’t want to beat people up, but if you’re told to beat and you don’t do it, you’ll be beaten. It’s miserable. Cell 206 is especially for beating people. When those sent there have been beaten, they’ll be transferred. They go in standing erect, but they’re carried out.’

  ‘Tell me about Ma Liujia’s beating.’

  ‘Seven or eight people surrounded him. They hit him with their fists and elbows, and they kicked him, then picked him up and threw him to the ground. When Ma Liujia squatted and covered his head, some of them jumped on his back and stepped and stomped. He knelt and begged for mercy. Qiao’s girlfriend tried to stop them, but Qiao scolded and chased her away. Feeling the beating had not been severe enough yet, he wanted them to continue. The cell chief said if the instructions of the security were not carried out well, everyone would be in trouble, so they should keep beating him for another half hour. When they finished, Ma Liujia was moved to Cell 208. I saw him through the window. A nurse support worker was using a police baton to poke Ma Liujia. Ma went from screaming to groaning. He lost his voice quickly. The next morning when the nurses were making their rounds, Ma Liujia was lying on his stomach on the cement bed, his face purple. He was hardly breathing. They carried him to the emergency ward, but he died shortly after.’

  I imagined his dead, purple skin, like a yam.

  The electric fans whirred.

  ‘I’ve resigned. I smuggled some material out for you.’ He stood up. ‘Actually . . . The Detention Treatment Centre is a prison. Those who aren’t ill will become sick.’

  He put the material in front of me. Without waiting for me to shake his hand or thank him, he turned away and left the teahouse. His motorcycle roared, and its rear kicked up a cloud of black fog.

  I immediately looked at the material and found some amazing data. There were only four medical professionals in the treatment centre. It had been open for over a year, and had received more than eight hundred patients. More than a hundred of them had died, and the cause of death had not been specified.

  No wonder Qiao Feiyan had said a person dying was no different from an ant dying.

  I called Yu. ‘A storm is coming,’ he said.

  *

  Yu did not go home. I wrote, and he waited for my article. He said that when this report came out, it would be earth-shattering. This was Yu’s form of praise. His two dimples appeared every time there was a major event. They were not sweet, but solemn and full of worry. Even so, I had the desire to swim nude in those dimples, especially when I thought that in private, they also had their non-serious moments. The small claw in my heart was scratching. Weariness did not dull my instincts. The wearier I became, the greater my desire. I really wanted to finish the article, then have a go with him. If he were willing, he should reward me according to my demands.

  As my thoughts strayed, Yu answered a call from his wife. He told her not to leave a light on for him; he would be at the office all night.

  The words ‘leave a light on’ hit me like a dart, striking coldly in the bull’s eye of my desire.

  The lights in the office were incandescent. They made it look like a morgue.

  Yu was beside me; he was the light left on for me. So, I was like any wife in the bedroom, heart warm as I went about my day’s work. We were all preparing for battle, though each battlefield was different. Theirs was the bedroom; mine was the newsroom.

  By three in the morning, I had finished a 4000-word report. Yu read it, then tweaked the title to read, Death of the Lowly.

  When day broke, we went to a small restaurant for breakfast, waiting for the paper to hit the streets. We ate green bean porridge, eggs, preserved vegetables, and dumplings. Yu suddenly started talking about my brother, saying how much I was like Xiazhi, sharing his stubborn streak. A bicycle sped by. Wearing a yellow Mandarin jacket, the newspaper delivery man pedalled on, desperately. I smelt the fragrance of ink. My words flew about. The number of diners around us gradually increased, their topics of conversation behind the time. We silently munched on our dumplings. Yu said something was sure to happen. I did not want to go home and sleep.

  Not long after we returned to the newsroom, the phones started ringing. We answered the calls one after another, listening to the angry voices of readers, calling to share their own experiences. A middle school student got lost in the streets, was sent to the shelter and, when he returned home four days later, he was black and blue all over and incoherent. Two 13-year-old girls in the shelter were pimped and forced into prostitution. When a young woman showed her temporary residence permit to the police, the other party ripped the document up and detained her. She was gang-raped by a group of rabid men in the human cell in the shelter.

  Traffic to our website increased rapidly. People were sharing the story everywhere.

  At ten o’clock, Yu called for an emergency editorial board meeting.

  ‘We’ve just received instructions from above, telling us to stop reporting on the Ma Liujia case.’ Yu went straight to the point, ’We all know the situation of the Today Newspaper. I think if we put a temporary stop to reporting the Ma Liujia case, we can continue to report on other similar cases. Even if they prohibit us from reporting similar cases, we can still attack the C&R system. In short, continue questioning, and attack the detention system until the whole thing is finally abolished.’

  ‘The C&R system was first set up to help vagrants get back home, but when the police started using it for their own economic gain, it became government-sanctioned kidn
apping and ransom. It’s black gold politics,’ the deputy editor said, ‘But this system has been around for twenty years, and just one small newspaper will not be able to abolish it.’

  ‘When you have a sword in hand, you have to polish it. You can’t let it get rusty,’ Yu said. ‘A thousand miles of embankment can be broken by ant nests, and we’ll be that small ant colony.’

  ‘Mr Yu, the C&R system involves very solid interests. In five years, one of Guangdong’s shelters have earned four million. If you trim the fat, you make yourself their enemy. And anyway, we’ve been warned twice now,’ reminded the director of the editorial department.

  ‘A good newspaper should promote social progress,’ Yu said. ‘Perhaps each time we are warned, we should wear the mark proudly.’

  The atmosphere in the room was quite dignified. Yu started telling stories. He spoke of Xiazhi and their generation. A new young reporter was shocked. He had never known that sort of thing had happened in his country.

  ‘The reason a newspaper exists should be for the rights and well-being of the public. We have come into this world, and we should do something.’ Yu’s words gradually heated up the atmosphere, and everyone was eager to get into action. This group of ordinary editors and reporters was transformed into soldiers during peacetime. Suddenly, we felt the adrenaline of being armed with live ammunition and sent to the battlefield.

  ‘Before, we would lose our lives. Now, at most, we might lose our jobs.’A young reporter made the worst of calculations.

  ‘Li Xiaohan, you continue to interview Ma Liujia’s family. Any problem?’ Yu asked me.

  ‘No problem,’ I said. ‘We’re all from Yiyang. We speak the same dialect, so we should be able to communicate easily.’

  One of my colleagues pushed the door open and came in, her face flushed. ‘Mr Yu, a CDC interview turned up a death suspected to be SARS-related. Do we want to report it?’

  Yu nearly stood up from his seat. He adjusted his position and said, ‘Let’s discuss it. I want to hear everyone’s opinions.’

  ‘It’s the first case. We’ll be the first to offer media coverage of SARS.’

  ‘But there are the unified propaganda specifications from above. If we . . . ’

  ‘Right. With both of these issues together, the Today Newspaper will attract too much attention.’

  When he had heard all the pros and cons, Yu asked, ‘What is the beast trainer’s whip made of?’

  ‘Just ordinary material. Nothing special.’

  Yu asked, ‘And why are wild beasts afraid of an ordinary whip?’

  ‘They’re afraid of hunger and punishment.’

  ‘They’re afraid of the pain inflicted by the trainer’s whip.’

  No one spoke.

  ‘No,’ Yu said, smiling faintly. ‘The beasts are afraid because they have lost their freedom and their savage ambition.’

  Shui Qin valued saving money more than her own life. She became a piece of fabric. Threads grew out from her head, her hands were scissors, and her feet were fastened to the sewing machine’s pedal. Her voice mingled with the sounds of the machine, just as rapid and precise, as if she was constantly trying to avoid being pricked by the needle. She occasionally felt abdominal pains, but would endure the suffering. When she could take it no longer, she would lie down for a while, but even as she did, her hands continued to sew buttons onto garments. With Xianxian growing up as quickly as the crops, she could not afford to waste time.

  One night, Shui Qin and Shunqiu were in bed reading through their deposit book. Shunqiu looked at the numbers, like snails crawling across the page, and said dully, ‘It would be fine if Xianxian tested well enough to get into one of China’s famous universities. She doesn’t necessarily have to drink all that foreign ink.’

  Shui Qin closed up the deposit book resolutely and said, ‘She wants to go abroad, too. You don’t need to worry about it.’

  My brother knew what she meant: he was just supposed to give her any money he earned and not interfere. Inwardly, he felt awkward, and lonely too, but he did not have any way to refute her. Ever since she had married into his family, she had taken control of all household matters. Shunqiu was used to it. He admitted she was a good helmsman, a capable sailor, and an excellent navigator. She had defeated countless odds and ends in life; their large ship would soon be brought home to the ideal harbour.

  Calculating according to their current income, there would be just enough money for Xianxian to go overseas for high school, if the parents continued to work like beasts of burden without letting up. Shunqiu did not quite understand it all. Sighing deeply, he turned over and went to sleep. Shui Qin turned his body over, wanting to discuss it further. She said that there was a farmhouse restaurant that had its own vegetable garden and fish pond, and they wanted to hire a few capable people to take care of them. ‘Farming allows for freedom, and it’s your strong suit. If you caught frogs at night, it would meet both areas of need.’

  My brother mumbled, ‘I doubt I would be up to it,’ but did not make any further comments. He knew it was useless to do so. Shui Qin only believed in practical results, even if he worked until he was dead tired. If he were a hired hand, she would not trust him completely, but he was Xianxian’s father, so she knew he would not hold anything back. At that moment, she would naturally believe that it was too much for him.

  My brother turned back over to go to sleep. After a moment, he asked, ‘Who opened the farmhouse restaurant?’

  Shui Qin said, ‘I don’t know. An old customer recommended it. It doesn’t matter who opened it, as long as it pays your salary.’

  My brother thought this made sense. One need not know the hen personally in order to eat her eggs. He spent the night in dreamless slumber after that.

  My brother went to take care of the vegetables for the farmhouse restaurant. When he came back to see his family a few days later, he was quite happy with his work. He seemed more cheerful and chatted more. Shui Qin said, ‘Looks like the workers at the restaurant know how to take care of you.’

  My brother said, ‘They’re mostly old women.’

  ‘I can’t believe there’s not one decent person there,’ Shui Qin replied.

  ‘I don’t care if they’re decent or not. That’s got nothing to do with me,’ he said.

  ‘So there are some decent sorts?’

  ‘If you’re worried, I’ll quit.’

  Shui Qin said, ‘I was playing with you. Who would be interested in an old, sick fellow like you, and . . . ’

  She had inadvertently poured out what was really on her mind. She stopped suddenly, then told a few jokes to try to cover up her mistake.

  My brother’s face did not turn red. He slowly added, ‘That’s right. And a reformed prisoner.’

  ‘Don’t say that about yourself,’ Shui Qin said.

  My brother confirmed, ‘But it’s the truth.’

  ‘I don’t like to hear it.’

  My brother looked at her. ‘I’m a reformed prisoner. You married a reformed prisoner.’

  Shui Qin reached to put her hand over his mouth, but missed, instead twisting his face until his mouth and eyes were distorted. My brother did not move, but just repeated those few words, as if he was under a spell. Growing anxious, Shui Qin slapped him. He stopped talking.

  In all their years of marriage, this was the first time they had got angry with each other.

  Shui Qin’s monthly cycle was irregular. When it was ten days late, she went to the hospital and learned she was expecting. She sat in the corridor, thinking everything through. Before long, she had made her decision. She privately went for an abortion, then after sleeping for half a day, got up and went back to work. A month later, she had still not recovered. She experienced excessive blood loss, making her limbs weak and her lips pale. She lost a dozen pounds and could not walk upright. When she really could not carry on, she went to the hospital. The doctor said she was haemorrhaging, and he suspected it might be a tumour. Shui Qin was suddenly in a st
ate of chaos. For several days, she was uneasy, cutting clothes to the wrong measurements or messing up the fabric while cutting. She wanted to weep, to nestle against Shunqiu and take a long holiday in his embrace, letting him carry the weight of the world for a while.

  On the day of the diagnosis, Shui Qin felt she was like a frog, jumping and hopping all the way to the hospital with her heart. She jumped up the steps of the hospital, jumped past the lobby, jumped along the corridor, and finally hopped onto the stool, her abdomen heaving. Her eyes bulging, she looked at the doctor, a woman with very dark features and thick lips.

  ‘The situation is not very good,’ the doctor said, opening the thick valve. She rolled out these words like glass marbles, letting them lightly graze the surface of the table.

  ‘Just say it. I’ve prepared myself mentally.’ Shui Qin did not say anything, but the frog croaked.

  ‘It really is cancerous.’ Seven glass marbles were all lining up in a row now. ‘It’s a rare sort of condition.’ Seven marbles at the back squeezed out the seven before them.

  ‘So what is it?’ Nineteen glass marbles glittered with a strange light, making Shui Qin a little dizzy.

  ‘It’s like this. It’s choriocarcinoma, a very malignant tumour that usually occurs after childbirth or an abortion.’

  A heap of crowded glass marbles caused Shui Qin’s mind to be more confused than ever. ‘How much longer do I have to live?’

  It is instinct for a drowning person to grasp for something to hang onto. She wanted to calculate how much she could earn before her death, and how much she lacked for Xianxian’s foreign education fees.

  ‘Don’t worry. You won’t die.’ The doctor removed the lid from her teacup and took a sip. Her thick lips looked even fluffier after being in contact with water. She licked her lips and said, ‘We can treat it slowly, but it will take up to two to three years for you to recover.’

  Shui Qin heaved a half-sigh. The belly of the frog deflated. ‘What sort of treatment does it require?’