Ma Jian - Beijing Coma

‘Skip that,’ a doctor says through his surgical mask. ‘Just check his most recent reports.’

These records are forged, of course. My mother asked Wen Niao to write them.

I’m turned onto my side. There are three or four people surrounding me, assessing my physical condition.

‘Is there any evidence of past pressure ulceration on the small of his back?’

‘No, the skin there looks healthy…’

‘This page says, “Insufficient growth of granulation tissue over head wound, shattered skull”. The next line is illegible…’

‘Are you taking out the left one or right one?’

Someone is now rubbing alcohol solution onto my back and legs.

‘Do you want me to shave him?’

‘No. Just rub him all over with the solution. Make sure he’s clean.’

A nurse grabs my penis and cleans it brusquely, as though it were a dirty beer bottle. Another pair of hands wedges some pillows around me to keep me in place. My thoughts return to the executed convict we dissected. I’m now lying in the same position as he did in our lab.

‘He’s as thin as a rake… Have you double-checked his blood group?’

‘Yes, it’s definitely O positive.’

‘Shall I get the anaesthetic ready?’

‘I think he’s sufficiently unconscious as it is!’

‘… Is there any hope for that man in a coma next door? He got run over by a car, didn’t he?’

‘It’s been a week since the accident. If he dies now, the cause of death will be recorded as medical mistreatment, instead of road injuries, and we’ll all lose our bonuses.’

‘No one’s come to claim him. The authorities will stop paying for his treatment tomorrow. I think we should dump him outside the hospital gates.’

‘Let’s put him in the incinerator. We can say he died of septicaemia.’

‘No, you can’t do that. It’s not right. He might be a successful businessman, for all we know, and could reimburse us when he wakes up.’

‘So you’ve taken a fancy to him? Well, he’s the right age for you.’

‘Shut up! I’m sick of you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You’d be better off keeping an eye on that unfaithful wife of yours!’

‘Hey, calm down, I was only joking…’

Another alcohol swab is wiped across my lower back, then a knife pierces my skin and digs through the superficial fascia and muscle tissue. Balls of medicated cotton wool are wedged inside the incision. A pain signal shoots to the postcentral gyrus of my brain. If my neurons were functioning properly, the pain would be intolerable. Small drops of blood reach the wound through a web of capillaries and escape into the outside world.

The cold metal knife cruises through my warm, soft flesh. As it penetrates deeper, the blade becomes warmer, and the dissected muscles fall neatly to either side.

Clamps are quickly attached to the ends of the severed veins. But I’ve lost so much blood already that my vessels have slackened. There’s not enough oxygen reaching my brain. I see a blurred haze before me, like the fuzzy whiteness on the screen of a broken television set.

The blade reaches the fascia transversalis. Death is close at hand. Soon I’ll be able to leave my body and let my soul drift into the ether… I see a rabbit shivering on a frosty street. The kerb behind it is covered with frozen wastewater. Cabbage stalks, cigarette stubs, newspapers, frayed rags and empty pill bottles lie trapped within the frozen mass.

‘Be careful not to cut his subcostal nerve.’

‘If I resign due to illness, I’ll still get 45 per cent of my salary.’

‘This vein here, clamp it tight, tight as you can.’

‘I could work in a private clinic, or a Sino-foreign hospital. The salaries are much higher there.’

‘And now…’

My energy suddenly drains from my body, like air from a burst balloon. After the renal fascia is punctured, I see the face of my dead father. I quickly try to erase it from my mind. I want the last image I see before I die to be poetic and uplifting. A car speeding off down a long, empty road, for example, like the closing shot of a film.

‘We can leave the fat on for the moment. Clamp that one, no — that one.’

‘They’ve opened up the other patient, Doctor. You must get this kidney to them within the next five minutes.’

‘Tell Dr Zhou it’ll be there in a minute. Get the tape ready…’

A cold pair of scissors is inserted between the renal pelvis and the urethra. There are no more vessels to cut. My renal vein and artery have been severed and clamped. My kidney can now be removed and transferred into the body of the patient next door.

‘Does it look healthy?’

‘Yes, the outer membrane seems fine. We can use it.’

My urethra is pulled out onto my stomach. It’s tugged so hard, my bladder shudders. Everything suddenly goes black. I try to scream for help. The nerves in my oesophagus instruct my throat muscles to contract. Blood rushes to my face. I’m ready to shout, but the connections to the language area of my brain have been damaged so severely, they’re unable to transmit the correct signal.

The blood around my wound begins to oxidise and coagulate… I see my skeleton walking down the street now. I’m walking behind it. Our feet touch the ground at the same time. I am my own shadow. The road we’re walking along looks familiar. The trees lining the pavement have been bleached white by the sun. There are stone steps on my left. I climb them. This is the route home I used to take after school. There’s a deep ditch in front of me. I jump across it and walk towards the entrance of the opera company’s dormitory block. I’m in the corridor now. It’s very dark. The skeleton has disappeared.

‘What’s this book doing here? Throw it out!’

‘It’s called China Can Say No . It’s a bestseller. It’s about how we must learn to stand up to the United States.’

‘Everyone ready now? Cut it, then! Good! Leave enough length on it.’

My kidney is pulled out from its warm, fatty cocoon and whisked away. In a few seconds, it will sink like a submarine into the body of the wealthy colliery boss.

‘It looks a bit smaller than the receiver’s kidney we just removed.’

‘Careful, don’t drop it.’

The hole is empty now. At last my soul can leave my body. But just as it’s about to slip out, a nurse quickly sews up the incision. Death eludes me once more. My heartbeat returns to normal. This heap of living flesh refuses to let me die.

‘Make sure you’ve removed all the clamps before you finish sewing it up!’

I keep seeing myself chasing after my father then falling into a ditch. The fluorescent light in operating rooms makes the faces of dead people, or of people who are about to die, look flat and mundane. It’s impossible to feel a sense of transcendence here, or gain an intimation of a higher realm. In these rooms, both life and death appear sordid and banal.

‘The operation went well. Just wait outside. We’ll call you if we need you.’

‘Oh…’ My mother seems to want to ask a question, but before she has a chance to, the door is shut in her face.

You drift through an ocean of thoughts like a silent submarine. No one can hear you breathing.

‘A mob stormed in here and shoved a flannel in my mouth,’ Wang Fei panted. ‘Then one of them said, “Sorry mate, it’s not you we’re after, it’s her !” Luckily, we managed to break free and run away.’

‘Dai Wei, you’re supposed to be in charge of security,’ Bai Ling said, straightening her collar. ‘We were nearly kidnapped just now. How did they know we were sleeping in this tent?’

‘Sorry. I had a beer and dozed off. What happened to your bodyguards?’