Su Tong - The Boat to Redemption

Xiaogai from the security group went in several times, with obvious evil intentions towards Huixian. He had a special talent for looking respectable when he walked through the door, even when he was harbouring those evil intentions. He walked out again, talking and laughing.

Among the boat people, Desheng’s wife was the shop’s most frequent client. Her appearance was especially important to her, and her husband doted on her. The other boat people, more money conscious, had their hair done by street vendors. But for Desheng’s wife money wasn’t as important as having the latest hair-style, and she and Huixian were closer than ever. She’d sit in her chair and chat away while she was having her hair done, looking around at the local girls’ fashionable hair-styles. With so much to see and do, it’d be a while before she left. On those days when she came by, I went inside the workshop to watch the cotton being fluffed, not knowing what I’d say if the woman, a notorious busybody, asked me why I spent my days sitting outside doing nothing.

At times my body felt hot all over as I sat there guarding my secret, and at other times I turned cold and stiff. The barbershop was open to the public, so why couldn’t I saunter in like everybody else? I had no answer. I was sitting there because of Huixian, gentler than anyone could imagine, but also gloomier. For eleven years I’d fallen under the constant scrutiny of my father, and the shore was the only place where I could escape his radar-like vision. These were the times when I tasted true freedom, and I put this precious time to good use, keeping a supervisory eye on Huixian — no, supervisory isn’t the right word. ‘Guarding’ is more like it, or, even better, ‘watching over’. Neither job, of course, was by rights mine, but for some strange reason it had become second nature.

Men were always entering and leaving the barbershop, and I could easily spot those who had something other than a haircut in mind. But was I any different? Maybe not. Probably not. I’d started going ashore wearing two pairs of underwear as a hedge against an ill-timed erection. That proves that I did have something in mind, and it was a worrisome thought. Wearing two pairs of underwear was proof of my sinful nature, and timidity and restlessness were a by-product of impure thoughts. Sometimes I got a fortuitous glance through the display window of Huixian standing behind her barber’s chair. More frequently, all I saw was her white moving image. Near her, I yet remained far away, and that was an ideal distance to lure me into dreaming up scenarios which frightened me yet brought me great pleasure: I imagined the conversations she had with the people in the shop, what made her frown and what made her smile; I imagined why she treated X with such warmth and Y with such aloofness; when she was at rest, I imagined what she was thinking; on those occasions when she was moving, I imagined the shape of her legs and buttocks; and when she was working on a client’s hair, I imagined the swift, agile movements of her fingers on the clippers. The one thing I would not let myself imagine was her body, though that was sometimes beyond my control, and then I limited my visualizations to the areas above her neck and below her knees. When even that was impossible, I forced myself to go over and stare at a dustbin on which someone had written the word kongpi . Could that have been a warning to me? If so, it was an effective sign. I read the word aloud three times — kongpi, kongpi, kongpi — lowering the temperature of my sex organ. An embarrassing sense of excitement mysteriously evaporated.

Spring arrived in May, with warm temperatures and flowers blooming at the base of the walls that lined the streets: Chinese roses, cockscombs and evening primrose. Even the sunflowers by the entrance to the People’s Barbershop were in full bloom. As I walked past the entrance, one of the big golden flowers actually struck me in the leg — lightly, to be sure, but it got me thinking about the past; since it was a sunflower, I had to believe this was either a hint or an invitation. How could I be unmoved? Unprecedented courage dropped on to me out of the sky. I got up, picked up my bag and decisively pushed open the glass door.

Every seat in the barbershop was taken, and no one took any notice of my entrance. The men cutting hair were too busy to greet me. Huixian, whose back was to me, was washing a client’s hair. But I could see her face in the mirror, and there our eyes met. A light flashed in her eyes, but only for an instant before they darkened again; she turned slightly, as if to see me clearly, but didn’t follow through as she slowly turned back again. She might have seen it was me, but she might also have thought she was mistaken.

I spotted a newspaper rack by the door, where a days-old copy of the People’s Daily hung crumpled, dog-eared and enervated. Just what I needed to keep anyone from seeing my face. I sat in a corner, trying to arrange the angle and distance between my head and the newspaper, but failed miserably. It seemed to me that Huixian kept looking at me in the mirror, and the stronger my feelings became, the more uncomfortable they made me. To be honest, I had no idea how to go about establishing a friendship with Huixian. I hadn’t known back then, and I still didn’t know. Hell, I didn’t even know what I should call her. Back on the boat I’d never called her by her name, and I’d never used the word ‘sunflower’. It was always ‘hey’. I’d yell ‘hey’ and she’d come running, expecting to get something good to eat. But she’d changed; so had I, and I couldn’t figure out how to talk to her. I thought hard about that, finally deciding to let nature take its course. If she spoke to me first, I’d count myself lucky. If she chose not to speak to me, it was no big deal, since I wasn’t there to chat her up. I was there to keep watch over her.

Women love to talk, and that was especially true of the women who came to have their hair done. Curious about Huixian’s stylistic talents, they were even more curious about her precipitous fall from grace. Dressed in a white smock, like a doctor, and wearing rubber medical gloves, she was washing the hair of Wintersweet, the female member of the security group. Buried in the sink, Wintersweet’s head was covered with soapy water, but that did not stop her from asking questions. ‘Huixian,’ she said, ‘I thought you were supposed to be studying in the provincial capital. What’s our famous Little Tiemei doing in a barbershop?’

By this time, Huixian had a ready answer for such questions. ‘I’m afraid that Little Tiemei has become Old Tiemei. What’s wrong with a barbershop? Do you think that someone working in a barbershop is inferior to other people? Aren’t we all serving the people?’

With a worldly look, Wintersweet snorted contemptuously and said, ‘You so-called artistes don’t know how to give an honest answer to anything. But I’m on to you people, don’t think I’m not. All you do is dance and sing and wear stage make-up. Have you planted a rice seedling or made a single screw nut even once in your life? Serve the people, you say? The people are serving you!’

‘Go and make that speech to somebody else,’ Huixian said. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree with me. I gave up that life long ago. I’m washing your hair now, aren’t I? You’re sitting and I’m standing, so who’s serving whom? Tell me that.’

That shut up Wintersweet, but just for a moment. Suddenly her eyes flashed as she looked up at Huixian. ‘Those are fine-sounding words, Little Tiemei, but you’ll never be happy serving people like us. I know why you’re working in the barbershop, you’re practising for the day when they send you to cut the hair of high-ranking officials.’