Ma Jian - Red Dust

While I sit on our gatepost repainting another hoarding, I catch sight of the Great China Hotel across the park, and it occurs to me that if we managed to stick some posters in there we might get some foreigners to come. So I jump down, roll up a couple of posters and go to try my luck. A crowd of northern peasants stands at the hotel gates, staring at the brightly clad foreigners who stream from the minibuses. A doorman in a red uniform and round cap bars my entry and chuckles as I walk away.

Ten minutes later I return in long trousers and leather shoes, and sneak in through the duty-free shop on the right. I have visited the shop twice before to admire a beautiful assistant Li Tao has discovered. She stands behind an array of frighteningly expensive perfume bottles, making it impossible to find an excuse to approach. On both occasions I paid a visit to the gentlemen’s lavatory to steal a roll of toilet paper. It is the most elegant room I have ever seen. It has gold taps, potted plants, air-conditioning, piped music. When I sit on the toilet seat I can almost imagine I have escaped to Hong Kong.

The man at the reception listens to my request and calls the public relations officer. The pleasant Hong Kong woman with gold earrings takes my posters and agrees to visit the exhibition. I rush back to the park and tell Shen Chao to fetch her and give her a guided tour.

A few days later I find my way to Guangxiao Temple, one of the oldest Buddhist sites in Guangzhou. The twin iron pagodas that stand in the courtyard look rough and wild. I step into the Hall of the Sixth Patriarch and see a large brass statue of Huineng, the founder of the southern school of Zen Buddhism. As a young man Huineng travelled north to seek religious teaching. When the Fifth Patriarch balked at taking on a southern disciple, Huineng swayed him by arguing that while men are divided into northerners and southerners there is no division in buddha-nature. Upon his return to Guangzhou, Huineng entered Guangxiao Temple and heard two monks arguing over a banner fluttering in the wind. One monk said it was the banner that was moving, the other said it was the wind. Huineng said, ‘Neither the banner nor the wind moves. It is your mind that moves.’ He understood that man’s greatest enemy is himself. A side-chapel holds the ashes of a thousand dead sages. A black-and-white photograph is pasted to each box. If the sages have managed to transcend the fetters of samsara, why do they feel the need to leave these mementoes behind?

I come out of the temple gate, go to a cake shop and order a glass of papaya juice. A little girl is leaning over a plastic table doing her homework. A sour smell of sweat wafts from the soles of her feet. My daughter’s feet used to smell like that. She could never keep them still. By the time her homework was finished, the floorboards beneath her chair were always hot and shiny.

I ask her how old she is and what she wants to do when she grows up.

She swings her legs about and says she wants to make money.

‘Why do you want to make money?’ She is only seven years old.

‘If you have money, even the devil will scrub your floors,’ she says, paraphrasing an old proverb.

‘Where is your father?’ I ask.

‘Gone to fetch cash.’

I ask her mother what she means. ‘He’s gone to work. In Cantonese fetching cash means going to work.’

I check my watch. The bonfire dance is about to start. Unfortunately, this is a city where no one has time to be a spectator.

On the way back I walk past the Sacred Heart Church. From close up it looks old and dilapidated. It is hemmed in on all sides by tall concrete buildings, its two steeples struggle towards the sky. A hundred years ago French missionaries came here to build a heaven on earth, but now their heaven is suffering the tortures of hell.

Although I too feel squashed as I chase through the city streets, I can always sense the sea is just around the corner.

After the exertions of the exhibition, I take a rest for a while and move in with Li Tao at Shenzhen University. For a month I work on a story, but find the money I earned in Guangzhou and the comfort of being among friends has dulled my creative spirit. I feel the need to start travelling again, and decide to take a boat to Hainan Island, the most southern province of China.

An hour before my boat is due to leave, I make my way to the bus stop. Workmen are hammering cement blocks into the pavement. The newly tarred road in front is covered with sand that has spilled from a nearby building site. Two trucks drive past leaving a cloud of yellow dust, so I retreat into the doorway of a hairdresser’s salon. The girls inside stare at a television screen as they shake their hairdryers about. Suddenly I see Fang Li, the Xian drug addict, walking towards the door. Her dark shiny hair does not match her yellow skin. She smiles and says, ‘Mr Ma, isn’t it?’

‘Fang Li! What are you doing here?’

‘I was discharged from the centre in March and flew straight here. What brings you to Shenzhen?’

‘I’m just off to Haikou. My boat leaves in an hour.’ At last my bus arrives.

‘Let me see you off then.’ Her miniskirt is very tight, so I help her onto the bus. Her arm feels cool and dry. At the traffic lights the conductor sees a policeman and tells the standing passengers to crouch down. When we have crossed the intersection, we stand up again, and she starts telling me about her life.

‘This is the year of the ox. I was born in the year of the monkey. They say monkeys leap over the ox’s back, so it should be a good year for me. I met a guy on the plane here. He fell in love with me at first sight and asked me to move in with him. It was two months before he realised I was using drugs.’

Shenzhen is a vast construction site. There are no corners. Parallel roads lead straight into open fields. People from every province wander the streets in their best clothes, searching for a new life.

‘He is a model worker,’ she continues. ‘If his unit knew about his relationship with me he would get into terrible trouble. I told him I would keep quiet for ten thousand yuan. His wife and daughter are transferring here soon. .’

The air outside the window smells of manure and tilled earth. The high-rises sprouting from the ground make the fields look smaller. Local peasants in new shirts drift aimlessly between the buildings. The young men pouring from the office blocks with polystyrene lunch boxes have light blue shirts and shiny shoes.

When we get off the bus she says, ‘You must write a story about me. I lied when I told you I never sold drugs. I lost ten thousand yuan the last time. I have a girlfriend now, you know. We met at the Palace Ballroom. I fell in love with her when I heard her sing. When my husband gets out of jail next year I will file for divorce. A lesbian? Me? I don’t think so. Go back to Xian? Never. I met a Canadian man last week. He works for a Hong Kong company and sends me flowers every day. I can’t speak English so we have to talk through the dictionary. Love him? I don’t know yet. I’ll wait for him to take me abroad then see how things go. The other guy? He’s terrified to touch me now. I’ll move out as soon as he pays up. .’

I watch her figure disappear into the crowd. She looks like any other pretty girl on the street. You would never guess she has a child in nursery, a husband in prison, a married boyfriend, a girlfriend, a Canadian lover and an opium addiction.

As the boat casts off, I think of Li Tao and Chun Mei. They are in love now. Mimi has agreed to a divorce. Yesterday, Chun Mei came with me to the post office when I sent my letter to Wang Ping. On the way back she stopped and said, ‘Ma Jian, by the time you have finished your travels, Li Tao and I will have an apartment. You must come and stay with us. Shenzhen is a new city, an empty shell. It is waiting for us northerners to come and fill it with our dreams.’