TIME PASSES QUICKLY in a small town where people don’t use their calendars except to note holidays. Soon it was the summer of 1995, and I had been at the school for two years. I was only twenty-one, but I didn’t feel young at all. On the contrary, I felt old and drained, like the sugarcane dregs kids dumped at the side of the road after sucking out all the juices. When the safflowers started to open their buds, in hopes of throwing off my depression, I decided to take a trip to Shanghai and to visit Paul, the horse-faced American consultant I had met at the Grand View Garden two years earlier.
I got up at dawn and crept off the school grounds. I trotted along the miry ridges, which smelled of soil and manure, crisscrossing the safflower fields and avoiding the main road leading to the bus station. Very few cadres rose this early to bike to their offices in town, but I still couldn’t take the chance that one of them might see me. Nor did I want to be seen by the gossipy farmers in towel turbans on their way to market with loads of fresh vegetables on their shoulders. I didn’t want my leaders to know about me going to Shanghai. “Keep your mind on your work, Little Shen,” I could picture Ms. Xu advising me sternly. “It doesn’t look good if people see female teachers from the middle school running around.”
I took a deep breath and let the chilly morning air fill my nostrils. I sighed heavily at the sight of the rows of village houses rising up beyond the fields. Two years—it had been almost two years since I had become a teacher in this town, a position I would have to hold—and a place where I’d have to stay—until the day I died. This seemingly benign town had unleashed a devil in me. That devil had turned my world upside down, and I didn’t know how to make him leave. I had allowed a married man to impregnate me. I had let Hao and now Gold Hill sleep with me. Why did I spread my legs to any man, like a whore? Surrounded by golden safflowers, I wondered why I felt so worn out from my seemingly simple teaching life. It was as if I had slipped into a river two years ago and had since been flapping in the water, struggling to get out.
Two hours later, the bus entered Shanghai, one of the largest cities in China. It dropped me off under a huge overpass and then zoomed away, leaving a tail of black exhaust. Every car and motorcycle on the road seemed to be running toward me and everyone seemed to be honking at me. The passersby all gave me strange looks—what was this scared-looking country girl doing just standing around? I felt as if I had washed up on a desert island. I stood on the sidewalk, holding the piece of paper with Paul’s address on it, not knowing what to do. When the cars stopped before the painted white line in the road, I steeled my nerves and started to walk toward the bus stop across the street, praying that I had chosen the correct signal for “walk.” I hadn’t. Before I reached the middle of the road, I heard tires skidding and then strings of loud curses flying from car windows. “Are you looking to die, country bumpkin?” someone shouted. I stumbled across five lanes to the island in the middle of the road and took shelter there, frightened like a duck in a thunderstorm. I put my hand against a column to support myself.
I decided to do what I had seen on TV—get a taxi. I held out my arm to the flying cars. Luckily, the Shanghai taxi drivers would stop anywhere, even in the middle of a road. A red cab pulled up, causing a series of deafening honks. The cab started off again as soon as I had crawled into the passenger seat, and we soon merged into the traffic. The driver, his white-gloved hands holding the wheel steadily, didn’t move his head when he asked curtly, “Where?” Panting out Paul’s address, I realized this was my first time in a car. The experience would cost me a quarter of a month’s salary.
Half an hour later, the cab dropped me off in a new brownstone neighborhood hidden amid trees and flowers. I found Paul’s apartment on the second floor of his building. I paused for a moment, composed myself, and then knocked cautiously on the door. To my surprise, a young Chinese woman answered. Paul appeared behind her shoulder, a warm smile on his long face.
He came out and shook my hand. “Come in, come in. This is my wife, May.”
“Thank you for inviting me over,” I stuttered nervously to Paul and May in English.
May nodded her head politely, a grin on her thin, freckled face. I said hi to her awkwardly and didn’t know where to look. I had never been good at interacting with women and was especially uncomfortable with a city woman married to an American. She was most likely superior to me in every way.
May turned around, walked to a rosewood table in the living room, sat down in a leather chair, and continued reading the book my knock had obviously taken her from. “Let me show you around,” Paul said. “Let’s start with the kitchen.” He led me away from the living room. I followed him rigidly.
I nodded my head and smiled nervously as Paul showed me the various items in the apartment that had been shipped directly from the U.S.: the Sealy king-size mattress, the HarleyDavidson Fat Boy, the Braun coffeemaker with Starbucks coffee beans. Occasionally he would ask, “Have you heard of it before?” and I’d shake my head, embarrassed by my ignorance. Everything I saw seemed to have fallen out of an American movie.
Afterward, we sat down at the polished rosewood table and Paul brought coffee over in elegant porcelain teacups. I held my cup daintily with one hand and covered the stain on my overwashed beige cotton dress with the other. I had scrubbed the stain for a long time the night before, but the cheap soap hadn’t helped much. Now the stain seemed to be growing larger and more eye-catching by the minute. I felt ill at ease in this exquisite apartment under May’s casual glances.
Perhaps Paul sensed my nervousness, because soon we were in a taxi speeding through the tunnel that connected the main city with the new Pudong Development Area. The Oriental Pearl TV Tower, the world’s third-tallest TV tower, had recently opened to the public, and Paul suggested taking me there for sightseeing. May sat in the passenger seat and stared out the window, completely blasé. Eager to express my appreciation, I cleared my throat and said painfully in English, “May, you are from Shanghai?”
“Oh, no, I am from San Francisco,” she replied in a flat tone without turning around. My face turned red instantly with embarrassment at my obtrusive question. San Francisco, a place where the sunshine was said to be brighter than in China. How ignorant of me to assume that she was from Shanghai.
“So what do you want to do in the future, Juanjuan? I know you don’t like teaching,” Paul said, breaking the awkward silence.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, well, don’t worry. You are too young to know what you want. I don’t think you’ll figure that out before you turn . . . uh . . . twenty-five.” He turned to May for confirmation. “Right, honey?”
May hummed in agreement.
The Oriental TV Tower was swamped with tourists. From a distance, it looked like a candy bar covered with ants. After squeezing through the crowd and fighting to get into the elevators, we reached the top of the tower.
I leaned against the railing and looked down at the city. Shanghai was under my feet. The wind blew my hair up. I wondered how seventeen million people could all fit into this small square and how everyone managed to find food and shelter. They must be different, more capable, or just fundamentally better than me, I thought.
Paul pointed out all the landmarks surrounding the tower and told me their names and histories. I nodded and once in a while tried my best to comment in my broken English. My eyes squinted in the sun and smiled at Paul, but deep down I felt at sea, like a person from the Qing Dynasty who had accidentally fallen through a time tunnel into the modern world. All these differently shaped skyscrapers were like UFOs to me.
I saw May walking gracefully in her blue denim skirt and high heels. I wished I could step forward and express my gratitude better, tell her how nice they had been to invite me, a country girl, into their home and how generous it was of them to show me around the city and even pay for the taxi and ticket into the tower. But as if there were a ring of dazzling light around her, I flinched and couldn’t gather enough courage to face her educated, delicate eyes.
Paul and I gradually lost sight of each other in the flock of tourists. I moved along with the crowd, lost in contemplation. A few minutes later, I raised my head. Paul and May were walking in front of me. I saw Paul lean his head low, whispering, and then I spotted his hand on May’s buttock. Quickly I averted my eyes. Foreigners were so different from Chinese people, and the city was so different from the countryside. How could a man grab a woman’s butt in daylight and in public? It was unthinkable in the town in which I was living, where the public security officer might arrest a couple who kissed in public. I gazed at their backs as they moved forward. It felt strange, to see something so new and sweet and yet know it didn’t belong to me.
Half an hour later, we were at TGI Friday’s. A waiter in a bow tie greeted us in English more fluent than mine, and I became even more nervous. I sat with a stiff back and both hands in my lap, feeling my palms grow sweaty. The French windows with voile curtains and the soft country music didn’t bring out the pleasant feelings that I imagined I should have had in such a classy Western restaurant. Why had I worn this washed-out dress and put my hair up in such a countrified ponytail? I peeked around and saw many city girls in the restaurant. They proudly displayed their milky skin in their strapless dresses and tittered to the men surrounding them. Cigarettes dangled between their fingers with polished nails. I curled my fingertips to hide my dirty nails and chastised myself for not even buying lipstick before I came to Shanghai. Teachers were not allowed to wear lipstick, but I should have known that city women wore it every day. I felt totally out of place, like a collier who had accidentally walked into a completely white room.
When the waiter brought the food Paul had ordered for me, I froze. I stared at the rack of ribs decorated with asparagus and flowers carved out of vegetables on a big ceramic plate, the spotless white napkin, and finally the fork and the knife. I had no idea what to do with them. Everybody in the restaurant must be laughing, I thought, and I felt their eyes judging me. May looked at me quietly from across the table. Paul saw my embarrassment and gently showed me how to use the utensils.
When we finished dinner and walked out of the restaurant, Shanghai was blazing with lights. I said a quick good-bye to Paul and May and took a cab back to the bus station, pleased yet overwhelmed by my new experiences.
Shanghai became a sweet dream of mine. I knew I could never be one of the girls in TGI Friday’s. My skin could never be so creamy, and I could never laugh that softly and enticingly. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder: could I at least linger on the streets of Shanghai and watch those pretty girls clinking wine glasses through the windows? I would be happier to be a real beggar in Shanghai than a backroom beggar in Ba Jin. Confucius once said “Contentment brings happiness.” But how could a person know when it was time to feel content? If someone had brought Confucius to Shanghai, showed him the air-conditioned buildings, and fed him delicious ribs at TGI Friday’s, would he ever have been content with his old life?
Three weeks passed, and my mind still dwelled on the city. It was the end of the month, and Big Shen reminded me to go to the payroll department and draw my salary. Thinking of the little money I was about to get this month and every other month for the rest of my life, I was knocked back to reality. I couldn’t go to Shanghai. I was destined to be a teacher forever. The government had paid for my education, and it was my duty to serve the people my entire life. They would never allow me to leave. Who would want to throw away an iron rice bowl, anyway? This is what secure government jobs were called. An iron rice bowl was unbreakable. You’ll always have food with an iron bowl, my mother reminded me every time I went home. The rest of the family had only paper bowls that could disintegrate at any moment. She said I must have burned many cases of incense in my past life to get such a job, which would ensure me food and shelter as long as I lived.
I dragged my feet to the payroll department. Old Liu, the kindly accountant, sensed my low mood. “What’s wrong, Little Shen?” he asked while counting out my stack of money on the table.
“Oh, nothing,” I straightened my neck and said with a smile. Then I bent over the table and signed my signature next to my printed name in the book.
I glanced over the names on the list and noticed one I didn’t recognize. Signatures were absent next to this name every month, which meant he had never picked up his salary. Curious, I asked Old Liu who this was.
“Oh, Chang? He is a teacher here, but on leave.”
“What do you mean by ‘on leave’? Isn’t he a teacher at the school? How can he not teach?”
“He belongs to the school, but he doesn’t have to teach. He can do whatever he wants, but he has to give the school a lot of money every year to keep his position. He can come back any time he wants. After all, nobody would want to give up a teaching job.”
“You can do that? You can not teach but you can still come back?” I exclaimed excitedly. I could leave but still keep my iron bowl.
Old Liu threw me a knowing look and immediately started to lecture. “Little Shen, do you know who Chang is? He is the son of the richest man in this town. His father donates tons of money to the school. That’s why Chang can do this. Do you see any other teacher acting like this? Nobody, not even the boldest male teacher who’s been at the school for many years. Don’t you even think about it, little girl. How are you going to make all this money every year? Besides, the leaders will never ever let you go.” With him rattling on at my back that I should be content with what I had, I walked out of the payroll department despondently.
But I craved Shanghai like a drug. For weeks, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Everything—the smell of dust and gasoline, the car horns, the overlapping faces on the streets, and the feeling of being an ant on a vast plain—drew me to it like a magnet.
When July came, I found myself on the bus to Shanghai again.
I didn’t know where I was going, so after getting off the bus I roamed the streets. With construction sites all over, the city was like a sick person in the process of a long surgery, riddled with gaping wounds. Giant cranes digging the ground grumbled day and night, and the mantles of dust they produced hung above the city like a big gray wok. People with frowning eyebrows walked by me in a hurry, but I felt happy. I raised my head and inhaled the dirty air, enjoying the brief freedom of being a total stranger in a city.
At a turn in a seemingly endless flagstone street lined with ivy-covered buildings, I stumbled upon a group of magnificent Western-style villas behind a tall Victoria arch. On the open ground near the arch, I saw two middle-aged country women chatting and four white children playing at their feet. The children looked adorable, like the dolls in movies from the West. Standing outside the guardrails, I stared curiously at them for a long time. This must be a foreigners’ residence, and these two women must be nannies, I realized. I watched the two women enviously at the same time as I felt my chest expanding with excitement at seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. If these two peasant women could work here as nannies, maybe I could too. I didn’t care how little money I’d make. As long as I could get out of Ba Jin, I would be happy. Besides, more doors would open to me in the city, and eventually maybe I would make enough money to keep my teaching post in case I needed to come back to it, I thought.
The next Sunday, despite the scalding sun, I went back to Shanghai, with a stack of handwritten seeking-nanny-job letters in my bag. I waltzed through the arch when the security guard was looking the other way, and I started to knock on the doors of the villas.
A tidy middle-aged white man with a thick moustache came to the first door. Facing his interrogative eyes, I held out my letter and stuttered that I was looking to be a nanny. Holding the door edge, he politely told me that he didn’t have any children. Undiscouraged, I kept going. Nobody answered the second door. Then there was a polite rejection. Doors slammed before I could open my mouth. People pressed their eyes against the peephole and didn’t even open up.
Two hours later, I had gone through all the villas, but nobody was interested in talking to me. Between a wall and some lush roses, I dropped down on the cement ground and buried my face between my knees, holding back my tears. The broiling heat of the sun was melting my limbs and cracking my lips, but I knew that the weakness I was feeling right then came from within. There was a desert in my heart, and I was the only traveler in it, and now I had lost my direction. I had never felt so desperate before.
Soon it got dark. I left the villas and started to walk on the street. I didn’t know how far I went. I just kept going, not feeling tired. Finally I stopped at a small bridge and leaned against the stone railing. The sewage ditch under the bridge gave off a smell of rotten meat after the day’s heat, but it didn’t bother me too much. I stood there for a while, ignoring the looks from passersby.
A man in shorts and flip-flops stopped about a yard away from me and then leaned against the railing, glancing over at me once in a while. After five minutes, he had shown no sign of leaving, so I decided to go. As I walked away from the bridge, I heard him following me. I started to get nervous and walked faster.
After a few minutes, the man quickened his steps and was soon at my side. He was middle-aged and balding. He looked at me with drooling lust and smiled. “How much, Miss?”
He thought I was a hooker. I gave him an angry look and walked off in a huff.
What on earth made him think I was a hooker? How could he? Was it written on my forehead? Maybe I had been born a hooker. I chuckled to myself. I spread my legs quicker than a hooker. At least hookers got something in return. They were probably happier than me, too. Maybe I should become a hooker, I thought. Why not? It wasn’t as if I couldn’t use the money.
I wheeled around and made eye contact with the man. “How much can you pay?”
He pointed to a building across the street. “There’s a café over there. We can go there and talk.”
I followed him to the café, which was hidden in a basement. The only light came from a few candles flickering against the wall. A quiet, mysterious woman led us to one of the love seats behind the thick red curtains. As soon as we sat down and the curtains were shut behind us, the man grabbed me, and his hand started to rove my body. I sat still, closing my mouth tightly to avoid the man’s wet lips, which were searching for mine.
When his hand unzipped my shorts and dug beneath my panties, I felt empty and anxious. When he inserted his middle finger inside me, an immense feeling of invasion came over me. The cuticle around his fingernail scratched me. I suddenly felt so miserable that I wanted to die.
I pulled his finger out with a jerk, and then I started to sob. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t do this. I’m a teacher, not a hooker. I just want to find a job here.”
He seemed confused, but he just shrugged and didn’t try anything else. We walked out of the café in silence. He took out a piece of paper, jotted down a number, and handed it to me along with a fifty-yuan bill. “Give me a call if you come here to stay,” he said and walked away.
The evening lights were lit on the street, and a popular Cantonese song was playing in the distance. A crowd of people stood in front of a ditch left by construction on the street, sticking their heads over the edge and all talking at once. Beside it, a bicycle was lying upside down with its wheel still turning. Someone asked anxiously, “Is he dead?”
I rolled the piece of paper into a ball and tossed it into the ditch.