Massage

by Bi Feiyu

  One day a group of special clients came in; a production team of seven or eight crowded into the hallway, led by a man in his fifties. Addressed by everyone as ‘Director’, he spoke with a hoarse voice in a perfect Beijing accent. Sha Fuming knew what a film director was. The group was only passing through the city, but he decided to offer them top service. After ascertaining the headcount, he sent them his best therapists, except himself, naturally, though he did include the other owner, Zhang Zongqi. The centre was not spacious to begin with, and now it seemed to overflow, with eight clients crowded in at once. All of a sudden, the Sha Zongqi tuina centre exuded a bustling air, pleasing Sha endlessly. After pairing up therapists with clients, he came into the lounge, rubbed his hands and said, ‘TV dramas. He directed The Great Tang Dynasty series. You must have heard of it.’

  Du Hong had not only heard of the show but had seen a portion of it. The music was just all right, she thought, but the theme song, ‘The Moon is Brighter than the Sun’, wasn’t bad. Sitting to the left of a table facing Sha, she kept a smile on her face as she laid her hands on her thighs. She didn’t sit like the others, she sat with style. As a former pianist, she always sat with her torso straight, showing off the curve of the small of her back and highlighting her breasts. A ninety-degree angle was formed between her upper body and her thighs, and between her thighs and her calves. Her shoulders were relaxed, evenly spread out, while her knees were gathered together for her hands, one over the other, to rest serenely on her thighs. It was clearly a posture for a piano performance, as she seemed to be preparing herself for what was to come; or perhaps it was a posture after a lovely piece had been played. So there she was, sitting properly to the left of the table, smiling, though in fact she was stewing in anger. She was mad at Boss Sha and mad at herself. Why hadn’t he paired her up with one of the clients? Was she really that much worse than the others? That little bit of income wasn’t what bothered her; what she cared about was face. Yet she habitually smiled when she was upset, not for the sake of others, but for herself, stemming from a deep-seated demand upon herself to appear elegant and graceful even when she was displeased.

  She smiled for about an hour, which meant she was angry for just as long. An hour later, the film director walked out with his entourage; seemingly in high spirits, he wanted to take a look at the centre. He said he’d like to check it out as a possible location for his next show. Sha took them to the lounge, opened the door and said, ‘The director is here to see you. Let’s welcome him.’ The therapists all stood; some even applauded, creating a warm atmosphere even if the applause was a bit anaemic. It felt somewhat awkward, mainly because the therapists were excited; these were, after all, members of a TV production team.

  Du Hong continued to smile, nodding but not getting up. The director spotted her right away, a pianist who had just completed a performance. He stopped in his tracks, silent, before softly calling over a woman from his group. Sha heard the muted exclamation from the woman and knew it was a sigh of admiration. But he naturally did not know the true meaning of that sigh; in the woman’s eyes, Du Hong was no longer a pianist, but an empress during a coronation. Personable, elegant, gorgeous, motionless, awe-inspiring and regal.

  Oblivious, Sha asked politely, ‘Would the director like some water?’ Ignoring his question, the director whispered to the woman, ‘She’s so beautiful.’

  ‘My God!’ the woman responded. ‘Truly beautiful,’ she added with authority, leaving no room for doubt, like presenting the results of scientific research.

  Sha Fuming did not know what was going on. He heard the director walk over and ask in a low voice, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Du Hong.’ He heard her answer after a seemingly eternal silence.

  ‘Can you see?’ the director asked.

  ‘No.’

  The director sighed, expressing boundless regret and profound sadness.

  ‘Take down her mobile number, Little Six.’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t have a mobile phone,’ Du Hong said in an even tone, neither servile nor haughty.

  Sha Fuming heard the director pat Du Hong on the shoulder and walk out.

  ‘What a shame,’ he was heard to say just past the door. ‘Really, truly beautiful.’ This was followed by another long sigh from the woman. She sounded sincere and serious, her sigh coming from the bottom of her heart and filled with deep feeling.

  The large group swept out of the centre, plunging it back into silence, although it was a different silence than before, borderline anxiety. It had suddenly dawned on all the blind therapists that they now possessed an unnerving secret; there was a shockingly beautiful girl in their midst, pretty as a fairy descended from heaven. It was not a playful comment from an ordinary client; it had come from the director of The Great Tang Dynasty, a comment recited with sincerity and thoughtfulness in Putonghua, standard Mandarin, by the director of The Great Tang Dynasty; it sounded like a stage line, and had been substantiated by a woman.

  That night, the female therapists sent text messages to friends in distant cities, using high-strung phrases, as if stunned. ‘Can you believe it? There’s a girl here called Du Hong. You have no idea how pretty she is.’

  Not a hint of jealousy. How could there be, since it was a TV director who had spotted her? They could not put Du Hong’s beauty into words, but so what? They could rely on exaggeration, and if that wasn’t enough, there was sentimentality. To them, beauty could be expressed only in astonished tones. This was not mere speech, it was a chant, it was singing.

  It was a solemn night for Sha also, who lay in bed, his mind filled with unformed images of Du Hong. A question surfaced and intensified in his mind, a very serious question: exactly what is beauty?

  He could feel his mind growing unhinged as he was mired in profound anxiety.

  Chapter Five

  Xiao Kong

  SEXUAL DESIRE IS a thoroughfare that leads in all directions; on the surface, it looks like a single thread, but deep down it has endless complexities, like the twisted branches of a tree. From the day they came back to work, Xiao Kong felt consumed by sexual desire, and so did Wang Daifu. When desire reaches a certain level, new branches sprout, new leaves appear. Kong and Wang had a fight. People in love have eager lips best suited for kissing; but if that is denied them, quarrelling is the next best thing. That is a basic pattern for people in love.

  Did they really have an argument? Not really, and yet it was worse; it was a cold war, unspoken displeasure with one another. But they knew they were having a fight.

  Kong came to Wang’s dorm late every night, which made him happy. But when it began happening too often over a period of time, he could tell that she was there to see Xiao Ma, not him. That was fine with him, for he thought of himself as open-minded. Yet little by little it began to bother him, for she wasn’t there simply to see Ma but to flirt with him. To his credit, Ma was passive, sitting motionless. But just look at Xiao Kong, the way she’s throwing herself at him. Wang could not see his own expression, but he knew he wore a long face, on which his lips moved ceaselessly against his front teeth. With his mouth opening and closing constantly, he felt wretched, and unspeakably sad.

  Kong wasn’t at all flirtatious; she was actually feeling somewhat glum, a despondence caused by too much pent-up energy and suppressed excitability, which was most noticeable at work. After work, when she came to the men’s dorm, that despondence was transformed into exuberance. Boundless energy. Her enthusiasm was clearly directed at Wang, but it took a curious detour by manifesting itself on Ma. This is a common trait among young women in love, who often point to one direction while heading in another. But Wang knew nothing of that. He just felt that his girlfriend was engaged in inappropriate behaviour, acting coquettish around another man. It was a loss of face for him.

  All was going well when suddenly Kong and Ma had a fight. It was not Ma’s fault; Xiao Kong hit him first. For what? Still for the term of address, Sao-zi, a problem from early in their history. O
n this night, Kong was more than usually headstrong, snatching Ma’s pillow and threatening to hit him if he called her that again. Unaware that weak, seemingly ineffectual people like Ma can be uncommonly stubborn, she held his pillow with both hands and thumped him on the head. It was just a pillow, she knew, it couldn’t hurt him.

  Her action created an unintended consequence. Instead of being upset, Ma was secretly pleased. Never one to talk back, on this night he did. ‘You are my Sao-zi.’

  That added fuel to the fire. She turned the pillow into a storm that rained down on him; the more she hit him the better she felt, venting suppressed emotions. So she laughed as she hit him; her laughter grew louder, showing signs of reckless delight.

  She was happy, but Wang Daifu was not. His face fell and his lips moved, but he said nothing as he quietly climbed up to his bunk. Xiao Kong was too high-spirited to notice. Holding the pillow over her head, she continued to hit Ma until she wore herself out. Panting hard, she turned to find Wang Daifu, but he wasn’t there.

  ‘Hey.’ She was baffled. ‘Where are you?’

  He was already in bed.

  ‘I said, where are you?’

  ‘I’m going to sleep,’ he mumbled from the bunk, his mouth partially muffled by the pillow as he lay on his side.

  The key to lovers’ communication is not the language but the tone; it is what is implied in the voice. Xiao Kong’s heart skipped a beat as she sensed that he was upset. A sudden quiet descended in the room, one that put a scowl on Xiao Kong’s face, the sort of look that accompanies an embarrassing situation. Now she was unhappy that he was unhappy. Why are you unhappy? Do you have any idea what I’m feeling? What do you have to be unhappy about? Her shoulders sagged as she threw down the pillow, a dispirited expression frozen on her face.

  She turned to Ma and said politely, ‘It’s late, Xiao Ma. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  This marked Wang Daifu’s first ever sleepless night. After Xiao Kong left, he tossed and turned, making it impossible for Xiao Ma to sleep, who also tossed and turned. They could sense each other tossing and turning. Wang realised that Xiao Kong was not yet his wife, only his girlfriend. He was wrong to assume that she belonged to him just because they’d had a two-week ‘honeymoon’. That realisation made him aware of how serious the situation was. He sat up to phone her, but was startled when he heard the phone ring next door as soon as he dialled. I can’t call her now. It would be like a live broadcast. With no time to think, he hung up. Afraid she might call back, he turned off his phone. The thought had never occurred to him that distance could become such a hurdle between people in love – too far was a problem; too close was another problem.

  It turned out that there had been no need to turn off his phone, because Kong ignored him, and not just that night but the next day as well. He had gone too far the night before, embarrassing her in front of all those people and making her look like a fickle woman, one who blew hot and cold. She could no longer indulge him. She got up and left whenever she heard his footsteps. The centre has lots of beds, you can go ‘sleep’ on any one of them.

  None of this went unnoticed by Wang Daifu, but he did not dare go after her. It was their first argument, and he had no idea how she would react if he braced himself and went to her. A proud man, he could not lose face at the tuina centre. That he refused to do.

  Time passed slowly, and Wang Daifu was at a loss. Nightfall finally arrived, and he waited in vain for her to show. He was miserable, but that only further stopped him from going to her dorm. Unable to sleep, he tossed and turned again that night. Ma could not sleep either, but he couldn’t allow himself to toss and turn, since he didn’t want Wang Daifu to know he couldn’t sleep. Forcing himself to lie in the same position and pretend he was sound asleep made for a terrible night.

  On the third day, Wang realised that the situation had grown more complicated and more troublesome. She hasn’t fallen for Ma, has she? Hard to say. By this time, he knew how painful it must be for her. This was the sort of pain she had experienced during the first stirrings of love, and she had grown listless. The same lethargy had reappeared; he could sense it in her voice. Her pain made his pain worse than ever, but he simply could not find a way to untangle the mess. The centre was busier than usual that day, and by the time he’d served a long line of clients, Wang Daifu was exhausted. He blamed himself for what had happened, and he was worried. He could not have known that this is what love is all about. By that afternoon, he could barely hold out. He’d been driven to distraction. He had to phone her, he just knew he had to. Just how he’d do that he wasn’t sure. Finally, finishing up with a client, he went into the bathroom, locked the door and called her number.

  She picked up at once, but there was no warmth in her voice.

  ‘Hello, who’s this?’

  He was at a loss for words. Where to begin?

  ‘Who’s this?’ she repeated.

  ‘I miss you,’ he blurted out.

  She was with a client and was similarly feeling out of sorts, as distracted as he. When his sudden declaration of ‘I miss you’ sounded in her ear, she was flooded with a myriad of emotions, relief and gratification, as well as a sense of ‘salvation’. A burden was lifted; she couldn’t have admitted defeat to Wang, but she had been worried – could this mark the end of their relationship? It was the third day of their cold war. It had gone on too long, much too long, and Xiao Kong was exhausted. All she wanted to do was have a good cry in his arms. Was there any greater happiness than having your lover admit defeat?

  But she was still at work; her hands had to remain on the client as she spoke on the phone, which was tucked between her ear and her shoulder. Besides, this was no time for lovers’ talk; not only was the client still there, but her co-workers were nearby. She must behave herself.

  Opting for a polite response, as if speaking to a friend calling long-distance, she said, ‘I know. I’m with a client. We’ll talk later.’ She clicked off, brimming with happiness.

  Gripping the phone tightly, Wang heard click and felt a chill rise up inside. He could tell that he’d been dismissed; only a total idiot could not have told that from her tone of voice. Feeling lost and dazed for a long while, he finally was reminded that he was still in the bathroom. He had to get out, he told himself, leave the bathroom. He reached out to pull the door open but the damned thing was stuck, so enraging him that he tried to force it open, until he recalled that he’d bolted it when he came in.

  Xiao Kong rushed into the lounge as soon she was done with her client, but Wang had already left for one of his. A clever girl, she’d heard water dripping during the brief phone call and knew that Wang had called her from the bathroom. If he could do that, why couldn’t she? So she went in, smiled as she took out her phone, and played with it for a moment before punching in the number with her thumbs. The phone rang and she returned the confession to the man she loved, adding ‘too’ to his three words. ‘I miss you too.’ What a clever addition, implying that things were back to normal and that their lovers’ secret remained intact. Even if more time had separated them, it wouldn’t matter, since it took only a moment to bring them back together. How wonderful it is to be in love.

  Half an hour had passed since he’d said ‘I miss you’, a period of great internal conflict, characterised by deep sadness. He was prepared to expect the worst. Then came the words ‘I miss you too’. He felt like crying, but, of course, Wang Daifu could not do that. He was with a client and surrounded by co-workers. ‘I know. Same here. We’ll talk later,’ he said politely, hating himself for that impassive tone. But hate it or not, he knew that life is fashioned by misunderstandings and that only personal experience can bring true understanding of many things. He’d learned an important lesson; he must remember to put himself in her shoes next time.

  They were finally back in the lounge together. Surrounded by people, they had to watch what they did, so they sat quietly, shoulder to shoulder, on an unused massage bed, their sil
ence different from that of a while before; this silence contained the tenderness of a resurrection, something they could treasure for the rest of their lives. He rested his hand on her leg and she grabbed his hand in hers. Everything was truly fine now; all his fingers were telling the spaces between her fingers ‘I love you’, and hers did the same. Xiao Kong turned to face him, as if this time they were truly falling in love.

  Quietly, ten fingers gripped as tightly as they could, stroking back and forth. They had made love in the past, and this rubbing carried deep meaning, a reminder of other touching details. They so wanted to make love, the one thing that would let the other know the depth of their love. But where could they go? There was no way. They could only hold it in. And not just that, but they had to use their fingers to persuade one another of the need to do so. What sort of persuasion was that? Soundlessly, it actually intensified their desire, and as the persuasion persisted, their desire was virtually irrepressible. And what did that lead to? The need to hold it in even longer. Endurance is not mental activity; it is physical labour, it wears you down. In the end, drained of energy, she leaned weakly against his shoulder and opened her mouth. He could smell her breath, so hot it nearly broke his heart. He was panting softly, desperately hoping that the day he became a boss would arrive soon. He needed to be a boss, and quickly. Working for someone else was no way to get through life.

  Xiao Kong never dreamed that an argument could lead to such contentment. But there was no denying that they’d had an argument, and it had been hurtful. Arguments were to be avoided. She thought back to the cause of their argument and had to admit to herself that it had resulted from her inappropriate behaviour. Clearly, she was in need of self-reflection. Whatever else might be said, flirting and carrying on with another man in front of her boyfriend was out of line. She told herself she must stop going to the men’s dorm. She hadn’t intended any of this, but Wang had misinterpreted her actions, and it had turned out badly.