Ma Jian - Beijing Coma

They began tallying the votes up on the blackboard. Old Fu and Han Dan were doing well. Fortunately about twenty more science students turned up at the last minute, so that after the final batch of slips was counted, Shu Tong came out with almost as many votes as Han Dan.

In the end, Ke Xi, Han Dan, Liu Gang, Yang Tao, Old Fu, Shu Tong, Hai Feng, Zhuzi and Shao Jian all made it onto the committee. Ke Xi came out top, and was appointed chairman. Sister Gao announced that the Organising Committee of Beijing University Independent Student Union had been democratically elected.

Shu Tong climbed off the stage, dripping with sweat, and said, ‘That strange guy, Shang Zhao, was a government agent. He was three votes away from being elected. How did he get so many votes?’

‘At least we managed to get four science students onto the committee,’ I said. ‘That’s not bad.’

‘They’re going to assign the posts now,’ Shu Tong said. ‘I want to be propaganda officer. That way I can make sure that we instigators retain control of the movement. Quickly, go and tell Shao Jian and Liu Gang to nominate me.’

‘Isn’t anyone going to give us something to eat?’ Wang Fei hissed through his gritted teeth. He was livid that he hadn’t made it onto the committee.

‘Just look at your face!’ Chen Di laughed. ‘Did you really expect people were going to vote for a villain like you?’

‘If you hadn’t had that big row with Han Dan, we would have got even more science students onto the committee,’ Shu Tong said, glancing angrily at Wang Fei.

Shao Jian wiped the sweat from his forehead, turned to Wang Fei and me and said, ‘Go back to the dorm and draw up a proposal for a speech unit, a donation collection unit, perhaps even a supervisory office. If they agree to setting them up, we can wangle some jobs for you two.’

‘This class boycott is going to change the history of Beijing University,’ Old Fu said, his face beaming.

‘You should have turned up earlier, Dai Wei,’ Liu Gang said. ‘We could have nominated you instead of Wang Fei.’ He had thick eyebrows and foldless eyelids which, according to the ancient art of face-reading, denote a man who would make an able prime minister.

‘I only like doing the practical stuff,’ I said. ‘I’m no good at giving speeches.’

‘Ke Xi is now chairman of this committee and of the Federation,’ Liu Gang said. ‘He’s got too much power.’

The previous night, thirty student leaders from several universities had met in the grounds of the Old Summer Palace and formed a city-wide coalition called the Beijing Students’ Federation.

‘Well, that’s your fault for giving him the job then, Liu Gang,’ Shu Tong said. The rest of us fell silent as it dawned on us that Liu Gang was the behind-the-scenes orchestrator of that organisation as well.

I wasn’t particularly upset about losing my position on the committee, but Wang Fei looked distraught. We headed back to Block 29, still discussing the ramifications of the election.

In the east corner of the Land of Big Heels is a place called the Cocoon Wilderness. A woman who has turned into a silkworm kneels on the branches of a tree there, muttering ‘Cocoon, cocoon’ under her breath.

I remember A-Mei saying to me once, ‘It frightens me how time just seems to go on and on for ever…’

I didn’t know what she meant. I turned my gaze away from her black plaits and said, ‘Yes. God knows how long it will take me to travel to all those places mentioned in The Book of Mountains and Seas .’

‘You should try listening to some Mozart…’ she said, clearly annoyed that I’d got the wrong end of the stick again.

The smell of the mattress I’m lying on takes me back to the Guangzhou hospital I stayed in after my break-up with A-Mei. The smell seeps into my muscles, causing me to re-experience past distress as physical pain. Do all unhappy memories stay etched in our flesh like this, remaining with us until the day we die?

‘Put a sheet over your brother’s stomach, Dai Ru,’ my mother shouts from her bedroom. ‘I don’t want him to catch a cold.’ Whenever the fridge’s motor starts humming, the heat in the flat becomes a little less oppressive.

‘Why have you got so many plastic bags hanging up in the kitchen, Mum? They’re not wall calendars, you know.’ My brother’s holiday is almost over. He’s been back with us for a month. He’s very lazy. He gets up late every morning then spends most of his time listening to music on his earphones.

‘They’re useful,’ my mother says. ‘I washed them this morning. When they’re dry, I’ll fold them up and store them in this sack. They take up very little space.’

The sack she stores the plastic bags in is made of stiff polythene. Whenever someone brushes past it, it makes an irritating crackling noise that sounds like dried beans tumbling onto a sheet of glass. My mother hoards rag cloths as well. There’s always one hidden away in some corner of the flat, letting off a damp and mouldy smell. I’ve grown up surrounded by that odour.

I presume that the ten volumes of Mysteries of the World are still lined up on top of the wooden cabinet. They were given to my father after he was rehabilitated, as compensation for the possessions confiscated from our family during the Cultural Revolution. They’d previously belonged to the opera company’s set designer, Old Li. My mother often talked about the valuable objects that were taken from us: the piano, radio and silk bedcovers, as well as the music scores, violin, silver tray and cutlery which my father brought back with him from America.

‘Damn! My train ticket is for tonight, not tomorrow,’ my brother suddenly cries out.

He’s been sleeping in the tiny balcony room since he came back, and has hardly left the flat. Despite his laziness, he’s been quite attentive to me. He’s massaged my clenched feet every day. They’re much less stiff now. He even carried me to the toilet once and gave me a warm shower. Last week, he put a tube down my throat and poured milk and orange juice into it, which improved my bowel movements. My mother has had to clean up so much excrement and urine, her fingers have become raw and infected.

‘Tonight? Then you’d better not carry your brother out to the park today. I must go to the bank and get some money for you. What time is it now?’

‘Dai Wei has pissed again.’ My brother lifts my feet in the air, peers between my thighs and whispers, ‘You’re as good as dead. What are you doing getting a hard-on?’

I have no control over my genitals, and I often get erections. It’s so embarrassing. Sometimes I get one when my mother holds my penis and tries to get me to urinate.

‘Take off the incontinence pad before his skin goes red,’ my mother says, rubbing analgesic cream onto her hands. ‘Then turn him onto his stomach and clean his back with alcohol. When you’re gone, I’ll have no one to help me lift him.’

‘Your hands are so rough, Mum. You should eat more fresh vegetables.’

‘I hardly ever go to the market. I’m afraid to leave him alone in the flat in case he has another convulsion. Last time he had one, the veins bulged out on his forehead and his face went dark blue. Anyway, I don’t have much of an appetite these days. When you’re not here, I never bother to sit down and have a proper meal. I just pour hot water onto a bowl of rice, or boil up some instant noodles.’

‘You must force yourself to eat. Those sores on your hands are a sign you’re not getting enough vitamins.’

My brother has grown up a lot. He’s begun to show concern for my mother. But in my mind, I still picture him as the fifteen-year-old boy he was when I left home to go to Southern University. Although we saw each other regularly after that, it was never for more than a few days at a time.