Ma Jian - Beijing Coma

The left pulmonary vein climbs up the heart’s red cliff face, brushing past the right coronary vein on its way. The peritoneum clings tightly to the duodenum.

Behind the scent of tangerine blossom in the air, I detect a distant smell of rotting carcasses. Perhaps someone is cleaning the street, and the stench is from the muck in the gutters.

If I were to wake from my coma now, I’d go straight to a library and leaf through all the new books and magazines. No, the first thing I’d do is jump on a bus and visit Wang Fei.

I can hear people speaking in the room downstairs.

‘Are you married?’

‘Am I married, indeed! I’ve got a kid at school!’

The air slides across my face like warm water. When the sun leaves the room this afternoon, I hope the air will become colder and less fluid.

Someone down the corridor opens a window again and shouts, ‘Turn right at the watchtower, then left after the Taitai Oral Liquid poster… What? If they won’t give you a refund, just come straight back.’

Then another voice leaks into my brain. ‘All right then, I’ll tell you the truth. I didn’t want to crease my skirt. Are you happy now?’ It’s Tian Yi speaking to me on the bus, the day we first met. The conductress shouts impatiently, the doors close, and the engine splutters as it revs up. It was a very ordinary remark, but as soon as the words left her mouth, I knew I was doomed to fall in love with her.

I imagine walking through the sunlight on the left side of a lane and looking up into the blue sky. As I remember my hair being warmed by the sun, I feel blood rush to my scalp. I like to gaze at the sky when I walk through the streets on a sunny day. It makes me feel giddy. Sometimes, when I look down to see where I’m going, then suddenly look up again, I forget I’m still walking.

How wonderful it feels to walk! When my feet touch the ground, clouds of dust lift into the air. I walk down stone pavements and asphalt roads that are sometimes soft and sometimes hard. I step over high kerbs and low kerbs, and stamp on empty cardboard boxes heaped in the corner of the street. Sometimes I tread on a shard of broken glass that hasn’t yet been crushed into pieces. With one kick, I can make an old plimsoll that’s been lying under a tree fly several metres into the air. I spot a pile of scaffolding rods stacked against a wall. If I climb up it, I’ll be able see the tree’s upper branches stretching into the sky.

By the time the sunlight has shifted onto the floor, my mother comes back from her lunch, smelling of oil and deep-fried fish. ‘The prices keep going up. Even a plate of stir-fried tomato and eggs costs 1.8 yuan now.’

Someone knocks on the door and asks softly, ‘Do you have any matches?… Is that your son?’ It’s a woman’s voice.

‘Come in and sit down, won’t you? Are you in the room next door?’

‘Yes. I can’t stay. I’m having trouble with the kerosene stove I bought. It’s a nightmare to light. I’ve gone through a whole box of matches in just two days.’

‘Come on, sit down, just for a minute. Have you had lunch?’

‘I really can’t stay.’ She nevertheless perches on my bed, pulls the sheet flat, then shifts her bottom about until she’s found a comfortable position. ‘Hmm, what a shame,’ she says, sitting still at last. ‘He looks so young. How long has he been like this?’

‘Two years,’ my mother lies. On the train down here, she told the attendant I’d only been in a coma for two months.

‘What happened to him?’ The woman is speaking towards my face. Her breath smells of garlic.

‘He ran into a washing line while trying to cross a road and fell onto the ground.’ My mother has told this story many times. The first time I heard it was in the hospital in Beijing.

‘You mean he became like this just from a fall?’

‘He was running very fast and the metal caught him here — right here.’ I presume my mother is gesturing to her neck. ‘He went flying backwards and landed head first on the concrete pavement…’ Her sleeves make a rustling sound.

‘Tss. I see what you mean. Head first, like an upturned leek…’

‘What are you here for?’

‘I’ve got tumours in my bladder.’

‘How long have you had them?’

‘Eleven months, almost a year. This is my third time in hospital.’

‘Have you been operated on?’

‘Yes. I’ve had two tumours removed already. I’ve spent over four thousand yuan on hospital fees. I sold all our pigs for this next operation, but only made half of the two thousand yuan I need. The doctor said that if I don’t pay all the money upfront, I’ll have to go home and wait to die.’

‘It must be a complicated operation.’

‘I’ve been here six days. They found strands of blood in my urine. They said I needed to be operated on at once.’

‘Have you got someone to look after you here?’

‘My husband is with me. He’s had to leave all the work in the fields. I’ve told him to go back, but he refuses.’

‘Oh, is he that tall guy who came here this morning? How many children have you got?’

‘Two. They’re both grown up now. My daughter went to Shenzhen three years ago. She works as a hair washer at an expensive salon. She’s sent us more than two thousand yuan already. She even phoned our village leader once and asked to speak to us. I had a conversation with her. It was very strange. It sounded like she was standing right next to me…’

The room grows dark. A smell of fried rice travels down the corridor and escapes through my open window. The noises around me become muddled. I feel like I’m lying in the sleeping car of a moving train.

There’s a train in front of me. It appears to be moving, but in fact it hasn’t set off yet. I run as fast as I can, trying to grab hold of a handle. Although I’m aware I’m chasing a stationary object, I know that however fast I run, I will never reach it. My tendons edge towards my skin’s sense receptors, allowing me to gauge the position of my legs and experience a sensation of weariness.

The soles of your feet exchange longing glances. The large mole on the small of your back yearns to speak.

Flocks of sparrows settle on the roof of this hospital which was once a small government-run hotel. The loud chirps are accompanied by a scent of leaves. As the sparrows fall asleep, the mosquitoes fly out of their nests. Last night they covered my face with bites.

Someone in a room at the end of the corridor has put on a tape. ‘ I don’t want to live alone. I want to meet someone new… ’ The pop singer has a strong local accent. I haven’t heard her before.

Another song blares from a cassette player in the small shop outside: ‘ If you want to go, go. But don’t come back again… ’

When the door of the room at the end of the corridor is opened, probably to let out some of the smoke from the food being cooked on the camp stove inside, the pop song becomes much louder. ‘ This loneliness is unbearable. Marry me tomorrow and take me away… ’ It’s already dark enough to turn on the lights. Now that the heat of the day has subsided, everyone is rushing around again, making a lot of noise.

My mother is sitting quietly by my side, reading the newspapers and magazines she borrowed from the woman next door.

No one hears your silent breaths as despair waves its beckoning hand to you.

The evening is gloomy and damp. Moisture that evaporated during the day soaks back into my quilt, pillow and skin, and condenses onto the bedside table and floor. Everything in the hospital room becomes heavier. My mother and the furniture are sinking down. In fact, the whole building is sinking.

This is how every night begins in this small mountain town.