Ma Jian - Beijing Coma

‘You haven’t got any cleverer since you’ve been abroad. I’ve warned you countless times to stay away from politics, but you never listen to me… How much are you paying for your hotel room?’

‘Don’t ask, Mum. I’m going to give you £800 before I go, so you can buy what you need. This flat is like a scrapyard. No normal person would dare set foot in here.’

‘What time does your hotel lock its front door? Your girlfriend will be waiting up for you. You’d better go back.’

‘Don’t worry. I bought her a ticket for a Beijing opera performance. It doesn’t end until eleven. It’s so hot in this flat, Mum. I’d like to get some air conditioning installed for you.’ My brother bought a microwave oven for my mother yesterday, so that she can have hot food whenever she likes. But she discovered that it’s a 100-watt machine, so I know she’ll never use it.

After my brother leaves, Master Yao performs a few Falun Gong routines with my mother, then takes a quick shower.

‘You pick things up so quickly,’ Master Yao says, sitting down on the sofa. ‘I suppose artists must have a natural aptitude for spiritual cultivation… I have a ceramic figurine of Bodhisattva Guanyin at home. I’ll give it to you next time I come. The only thing I keep on my walls now is a photograph of Master Li Hongzhi.’

‘This flat is so cramped. I wouldn’t want the figurine to get knocked over. Where could I display it?’

‘On that side wall of the covered balcony. I’ll put up a wooden shelf for you, and give you a photograph of Master Li Hongzhi to hang above it. That way, when you burn the incense, both Guanyin and Master Li will be able to enjoy the sacred smoke while they meditate in the Falun paradise.’

‘Tell me, what does the Falun paradise look like?’

‘Once Master Li has installed a wheel of law inside you, you will see it for yourself. It’s a beautiful, golden realm. There are pavilions made of gold and agate, and emerald ponds covered with lotus flowers. You never have to worry about material concerns. You can pluck whatever food or clothes you need from the trees. It’s even better than the Buddhist realm of Utmost Bliss.’

‘And what happens when you achieve enlightenment?’

‘The soul escapes its fleshy prison. Some enlightened beings are able to climb onto the backs of white cranes and fly into the clouds.’

‘Yes, the body is a prison. As soon as it falls sick, you have to visit doctors and buy expensive medication.’

‘If you continue with the exercises, you will never need to see a doctor again.’

‘I understand the medical benefits of Falun Gong, but I have to admit, I still find the mystical elements a little confusing.’ My mother has also taken a shower. She’s sitting on the sofa now next to Old Yao. The electric fan is purring away beside them.

‘Some people believe that Master Li is the reincarnation of Buddha Sakyamuni. While I was meditating one day, he appeared to me as an old man with a long white beard. He looked just like the Taoist sage, Zhuangzi…’

‘Is Master Li on a higher plane than Buddha Sakyamuni?’ My mother puts down her cup. There’s water on the glass top of the table. The cup squeaks as it slips across it.

‘Master Li exists in many different forms. Sometimes he appears to me as a luminous golden Buddha. When I reach higher states of consciousness, his expression becomes cold and stony.’

‘So, you’ve managed to open your Third Eye,’ my mother whispers.

‘My Falun wheel rotates constantly, even when I’m asleep. If you stand close to me, you can feel it moving.’

‘I used to take sleeping pills, but I haven’t needed to since I started the exercises. Even when I get up in the middle of the night to empty Dai Wei’s bedpan, I’m able to go straight back to sleep again afterwards. Come on, let me put my ear on your stomach and see if I can hear your Falun wheel turning.’ My mother rests her head on Master Yao’s stomach. Smells of male and female perspiration mingle in the air.

‘I wish I wasn’t so uncultured. I know nothing about music or opera…’

‘Let’s climb onto the back of a white crane and fly into the clouds! We don’t have to wait until we’re immortals…’

You’re a fish that has been tossed onto a riverbank, a bird that has been plunged into the sea.

My mother is on the phone again. ‘She’s invested a million yuan in it. It’s called the Paris Wedding Photo Studio, I think. Lots of people have copied her idea. There are at least five other studios on the street now. They’re very stylish. The managers redecorate every two or three months, trying to outdo each other… Most of the customers are from the provinces. They come up to Beijing on honeymoon and have their photos done while they’re here. You can choose whatever backdrop you want: a shot of Sydney Harbour, the Eiffel Tower or a traditional Chinese courtyard, and you’re allowed six changes of costume. If you choose the 10,000-yuan package you can have exterior shots taken in front of Tiananmen Gate or outside the church on Wangfujing Street.’

Earlier this morning, Wen Niao phoned up to wish my mother happy Chinese New Year. She said she has a four-month-old son now, and has moved to Guangzhou. She doesn’t like it down there. It’s too hot for her. Our television was on very loud, so that was about all I could gather.

I was shocked to hear she’s had a son. Could it be possible that I am the father?

‘There’s so much infidelity about. All the men seem to be having affairs with those girls from the provinces who work in hair salons and nightclubs… Their wives? They just stay at home playing Mahjong and pretend not to know. What else can they do?… I’ve taken up Falun Gong. I do the meditation exercises every day, trying to rectify my heart and cultivate my character.’ I don’t know who my mother is speaking to. She’s been on the phone with this person for half an hour.

Wen Niao promised that next time she comes to Beijing she’ll visit us and show us her son. I can still feel her presence ticking away inside me.

I hear a bicycle being hauled up the stairwell, and people on the ground floor stamping the snow off their shoes. The government has forbidden people to let off fireworks tonight. But occasionally I hear one exploding then whizzing through the sky.

‘… No, I won’t be making dumplings tonight. The municipal propaganda bureau has told us to celebrate Spring Festival in a “modern, civilised style” this year. So I’m going to have lunch in a restaurant tomorrow, with my younger son and my daughter-in-law. It will make a nice change.’

The truth is, Dai Ru and his girlfriend aren’t in Beijing. They returned to England in September. My mother doesn’t want to admit that she’ll be spending Spring Festival alone.

She dials another number. ‘… I know, isn’t it ridiculous? The bureau said, “Let a thousand shops hang red lanterns and a thousand restaurants serve Spring Festival feasts! Everyone must celebrate Chinese New Year in a modern style this year!” What a joke! I’ll be spending it alone in the flat, staring at my comatose son… Huh, the chairman of the neighbourhood committee told me the mayor would visit our district over the holiday to hand out bags of American rice to families who are in difficulty. He said I was bound to get a bag. But in the end, the Tuanjiehu committee managed to persuade the mayor to visit their district instead. They told him there’s a building in Tuanjiehu which houses five disadvantaged families, including two elderly couples, a widow and an orphaned child. So if he visited it, he’d be able to distribute all the rice in one go, which would save him a lot of trouble.’ My mother doesn’t put on a front when she’s speaking to An Qi.