Massage

by Bi Feiyu

  The mood at the tuina centre was no longer subdued; no, it was demoralised, almost mutinous. Yes, mutinous. It was time to find a way out now that the smart ones were leaving. How could Ji Tingting be going home to get married? Who ever heard of marrying someone after a month of phone talk?

  She was not lying; she really was getting married. Bold women tend to be like that. People think that these women are adept at romance, but they are not; they do not know how to love, so romance and marriage often come out of the blue. It was even more the case with Ji da-jie, a blind woman. In her case, it didn’t matter if she didn’t know how to love; she was resigned to her fate and not picky, waiting for others to make arrangements. When they found a man for her, that was who she would have. People like her share an attitude towards love and marriage: simple, almost careless, and cavalier. Yet, strangely, no matter how careless and cavalier they are, they often end up in marriages that are happier than those who spend excessive energy and thought on the matter. Does this make sense? No, it does not.

  Though she knew little about romance, she cared a great deal about the relationship with her co-workers and friends, and was happy and willing to give. So she was sad when she was reminded that she would be leaving them soon. It was partly for fun and partly as entertainment for her to announce her resignation in such a special way, but deep down it was because she was truly saddened. She had expected applause but had not got it, at least not initially, and that meant they did not want her to leave. An emotional bond had formed after being together so long. She blinked several times, feeling more emotional than she would have with prolonged applause.

  Zhang Zongqi remained motionless. He may have been the one with the strongest reaction, but only on the inside. For a boss, it was both a loss and a shame to lose a money tree like Ji Tingting. To be sure, it was not the end of the world; what hurt was her timing. She picked a critical moment to leave, and the domino effect of her departure could be inestimable. The blind tend to follow other people; when one moves, others follow. When one leaves, two might go, and when two depart, three more may quit. Major trouble results from a mass resignation; in business the effects are often immediate.

  No matter how he looked at it, Jin da-jie had been the direct cause for how things had developed, and he was the root source; he was responsible. He was not convinced that marriage was the reason Ji Tingting was leaving; how could anyone get married after knowing someone for less than two months? He had to get her to stay, even if for two or three months; things might improve by then and her departure would take on a completely different significance.

  ‘Congratulations,’ Zhang said. As boss, he was the first to break the ice and offer his best wishes, as representative of the ‘organisation’. Turning his head in Sha Fuming’s direction, he said, ‘Fuming, we ought to get something for the bride.’

  ‘Of course,’ Sha said.

  ‘Why don’t you see to it, Gao Wei?’ Zhang said, before changing the subject and saying earnestly to Ji, ‘Marriage is important, but so is work. Why don’t you go home and get that taken care of, and we’ll talk about other matters later.’

  Sitting off in a corner, Sha Fuming, like Zhang, was doubtful of Tingting’s reason for leaving, but his disbelief differed from Zhang’s. Zhang had never been the talkative type, but today he’d been first to express his reaction. That was unusual, and that meant trouble. The two bosses had just talked about splitting, but before Zhang could leave, Xiao Ma had left and now Ji da-jie was quitting. If all the centre mainstays left, the business would hit the skids, and when that happened, Zhang would leave with a hundred thousand yuan and Sha would be stuck with a big mess. That’s how things go in business; it’s hard to get the business up and running, but it takes little for it to go downhill, which can happen fast, and with an effect that is as sharp as a knife. The chances of coming back after that? Hard to say. That was why business people believed in feng shui. When the feng shui is ruined, it doesn’t matter how hard you work; your fingers can touch sweat, but not money.

  While Ji Tingting was giving her important speech, Du Hong and Gao Wei were trying to get the other person to take a piece of tofu, which unfortunately wound up on the floor. Such a shame. They were going a bit overboard in their intimacy; even Gao herself once referred to them as tongzhi, a gay couple, adding that she was the lustful type. She was, of course, joking, but it was nevertheless flattery that made Du Hong happy. Sha Fuming was pleased, too, as he stood to one side, grinning from ear to ear, nearly blurting out a thank you to Gao. He had lavished special treatment on Gao Wei in recent days, and she knew it. She was amused by what happened between people and by how her relationship with Boss Sha had taken a detour and manifested itself in her bond with Du Hong.

  Du Hong was the one who was most surprised to hear Tingting’s news. But what surprised her most was her impending wedding, not her departure. It was a hugely important private matter, and yet she hadn’t breathed a word of it. What did that say? It said that Tingting had stopped treating her as a confidante. But Du Hong knew she had no right to complain, for what chance had she given Tingting to talk to her? None, none at all. Now Du Hong was convinced that she was responsible for the departure, at least partially; she’d been the inconsiderate one, a common ingrate, one who destroys the bridge after crossing the river. Rice bowl in hand, she was overcome by unspeakable guilt and resolved to be nice to Ji da-jie, if only for a day, or an hour. She had to let her know that although she might have been a fair-weather friend, deep down she still considered Ji her da-jie, a friend for whom she felt genuine gratitude and fondness.

  Du Hong waited all afternoon, waiting for when they got off work. She would not ride Gao Wei’s three-wheeler today, no matter what; instead, she’d take Tingting by the hand so they could grope their way home, walking, talking and laughing together all the way back to the dorm. They would resume their intimate connection and sweet sisterly past, and Tingting would know that, no matter where she went, there would always be a little sister in Nanjing thinking about her. Tingting is a good person. A good friend. Du Hong was saddened as she recalled all the nice things Ji had done for her; it was her incredible luck to have met someone like Ji. She made up her mind to tell Tingting some of her secrets, since she was leaving. She’d tell her how Sha Fuming was pursuing her in his silly, clumsy, pitiful and disgusting, yet comical, way. She’d never marry Sha, a lustful man who was always staring at her and asking, ‘How pretty are you anyway?’ Who does that? It tickled her to think about it. She would squeeze into Ji da-jie’s bed that night and touch her ‘little secrets’. She would tease Ji da-jie: They’re too far apart, like separate entities, not a pair.

  And of course there was that really important thing that she wanted to bring up with Ji da-jie and ask for her advice. It had to do with Xiao Ma. After working for some time, Du Hong had begun, quietly and secretly, to pay attention to men. In her view, Wang Daifu was the best man at the tuina centre; he was quite a bit older, but that was no problem. The problem was, he had a girlfriend. If she wanted to break them up and steal him, Du Hong knew she’d have no difficulty removing him from Xiao Kong’s side and installing him on hers. She was confident of her abilities, but she wouldn’t need to do that; it was just a thought. What interested her most was Xiao Ma. The clients all said he was good-looking and that they made a striking couple when they stood side by side.

  Strictly speaking, Du Hong had secretly come on to Xiao Ma once already. Of course, she had employed a special trick, instead of speaking her mind. One day they were both with clients who were associate professors at the Nanjing Institute of Fine Arts, one an oil painter, the other an art theorist, both well known. With nothing else to do, the professors began to comment on Du Hong’s beauty in a professorial manner, like putting together a creative work, as they took apart her body and face to admire part by part. She got the amusing idea of pressing the button on the digital clock with each round of praise, with the clear intention of drawing Xiao Ma’s attentio
n. ‘Did you hear that, Xiao Ma? Did you hear what the professors are saying?’ She had gone a bit wild in her mind as she engaged in the wilful, somewhat flirtatious act. She knew she was provoking and seducing him, being a coquette. But he remained unmoved. Afterwards, he even commented to her, ‘Du Hong, how come you have such a terrible sense of time?’ She was greatly disappointed, naturally; he would never be an associate professor at the Nanjing Institute of Fine Arts.

  Du Hong was not sure how much she really liked Xiao Ma, but it was clear that she was interested in him. If he had actively pursued her, she might have thought about it and could have fallen for him, but she would never have gone after him. She didn’t like him that much. He was a handsome guy, but not without his flaws; too quiet, too reticent, too solitary and too gloomy. He hardly said a word from dawn to dusk. Would she be able to live with someone like that? She wasn’t sure, which was what she wanted to talk to Ji da-jie about. She could never bring this up with Gao Wei; they were good friends but could never be close enough to talk about stuff like that.

  On that night Gao Wei was not cooperating; unable to understand what was going on in Du Hong’s mind, she would not leave her alone. When it was finally time to return to the dorm, Gao Wei began to close the centre by piling up used blankets and towels. Du Hong wanted Gao to leave without her, but could not say so to her face, so she took Ji da-jie’s hand at the door to the lounge and snuggled up to her. Gao did not understand what she was doing, but Ji did, and patted her on the head to signal for her to wait while she went into the lounge to get her purse. Du Hong had no choice but to lean against the wall.

  Ji’s hands were so big, she fumbled with small objects, making more noise than anyone, even when she was putting things in her purse. Du Hong heard her every move. ‘Don’t rush, Tingting, I can wait.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Ji said. ‘I’ll be done in a minute.’ Her elation was palpable, she was overjoyed, and that was contagious. Du Hong was happy too. But her happiness was short-lived. She had no time to treasure it.

  As she waited, Du Hong thought back to when they first met. With her hand on the door, she rubbed the frame and reminisced, as if it were no longer a door frame she was caressing, but Ji da-jie. She wished she wasn’t leaving.

  At that moment, Gao Wei walked by on her way to load her towels and sheets onto the three-wheeler, so Du thought she might as well explain the situation to Gao Wei. She would understand, since Ji da-jie would be leaving soon and Du Hong wanted to spend some time with her.

  A breeze blew in, a natural breeze that felt good. Du Hong’s chest expanded as she took a deep breath. Then she heard Xiao Tang yell her name. It was so sudden it startled her into backing up and grabbing hold of the door. She immediately realised that was the wrong thing to do, but she did not have time to let go. Bang! The door slammed shut.

  It was clear from Du Hong’s scream that it was too late. When Ji heard Xiao Tang yell, she knew exactly what was happening. Tossing aside her purse, she ran to the door and found Du Hong’s shoulder; Du Hong was doubled up by then and her limp, inert body began to slide from Ji’s hands. She had obviously passed out. With one hand under Du Hong’s arm, Ji reached out to touch her right hand, finger by finger. They were all fine, all but her thumb, which was badly split. ‘Oh my God. Oh no!’ Ji stomped her foot and blurted out.

  The cab tore down the street. Sha Fuming held Du Hong in his arms, her back tight against him. Holding her was something he’d dreamed about countless times, a long-cherished hope. Today he finally was given the chance to do it, but not the way he wanted. He was cupping her injured hand in both of his. It broke his heart, which slowly turned to ice and appeared in the form of a hand. Sha was baffled by how hands and ice always occurred in pairs in his life, eternally inseparable. He believed that hands were once water that branched out in all directions and were extremely fragile. A hand turned to ice once fate raised its head. This thought turned him half to ice, and spread to Du Hong lying in his arms.

  Du Hong woke up in agony. Struggling to bear the pain, she twisted miserably in Sha’s arms. Now that he had full knowledge of what pain felt like, he wanted to suffer in her stead, wishing he could drag the pain out of her body, put it in his mouth and chew it into pieces before swallowing it down. He didn’t mind pain; he could take it. As long as she was free of it, he could stuff any kind of pain into his own stomach.

  Sha held Du Hong’s injured hand in the palms of his own and was careful not to stroke it. Then he did, and his heart sank. ‘Oh my God!’ No wonder Ji had screamed. Du Hong’s thumb was broken.

  To a tuina therapist, the importance of the right thumb is abundantly clear. A person has but two hands and, except for left-handed people, the left hand plays a secondary role. The strength of the right hand comes from the thumb, no matter what activity is involved – splitting, pinching, pushing, kneading, pressing and rubbing. Once the thumb is broken, a tuina therapist’s hand is ruined, even if a surgeon can repair the digit with a steel plate and pins. Being blind, Du Hong was already disabled, and now she became handicapped within her disability. Her hand was no longer just ice alone. To that was added iron and steel.

  A term leaped into his head: crippled. The term disabled had first appeared in China a few years earlier; before that the handicapped were called cripples. It was a term the disabled abhorred; it was taboo. Later, society made an admirable concession in agreeing to change the term from crippled (canfei) to disabled (canji), a major gift by society to China’s disabled. This gift of a single word had cheered the blind. But Du Hong, my dear Du Hong, you are no longer disabled, now you are crippled. Sha raised his head to look at the sky from inside the taxi. He saw a starry sky made of steel plate that gave off an unpleasant metallic odour.

  Du Hong wasn’t old enough. She was too young. What would she do in the future, now that she could no longer support herself? All she had left was time. She was faced with huge chunks of future time, vast and abundant time. Time is like that; when there’s too much of it, it takes on a sinister mien, fiendish as fangs, surging and rushing from all directions towards this beautiful young woman. You’re damaged. That’s what you are now, and nothing more.

  You have to go on living, Du Hong. How will you do that?

  Something warm stirring inside made Sha blurt out, ‘Marry me, Du Hong.’

  With a shudder she slowly struggled out of his arms.

  ‘How could you say that at a time like this, Boss Sha?’

  Now it was his turn to shudder. Yes, how could you say that at a moment like this?

  Putting his arms around her again, Sha held her tight. ‘I swear, Du Hong, I’ll never say that again.’

  His body was dead, all but his stomach, which was as lively as a leaping dragon and a roaring tiger. That is how his stomach ached.

  Du Hong was dreaming. It was a recurring dream as she lay in her hospital bed. It revolved around a piano, but the music was unfamiliar, peculiar, like a tragic past. But it had a surprisingly wide range, which required complex finger movements. She was playing, making the peculiar music flow from her soft, supple fingertips, each of which expressed an emotion. She could feel the flexibility in her fingers, so pliable they did exactly what she wanted them to do, virtually without limit.

  She raised her hands at this point, for now she was conducting, not playing. She was the conductor of a chorus with four voice parts, soprano, mezzo-soprano, tenor and bass, the last of which was her favourite, for its penetrating power, the foundation of all voices. It stayed low and began to spread and extend, opening up matchless depth.

  Her dream approached its end, when a terrifying scene would play out before her. Though her hands continued to lead the chorus, the soaring music played on; she was shocked when she touched the keys, for her fingers were not playing the notes; the keys were moving on their own, up and down, as if manipulated by demonic fingers.

  She woke up, drenched in cold sweat, yet the piano music continued to surge.

  Ji Tingting stuc
k around. She refused to leave. Why? She would not say, so the others did not ask. Twice Du Hong urged her to go. Go on, please. I beg you. But Ji quietly tended to Du Hong, with a single logic in mind: if she had not wanted to be married, she would not have planned to leave; if she had been staying on, Du Hong would not have been waiting for her; and if not for that, Du Hong would not have suffered such a disaster. She could not live with herself if she left after what had happened. All she could do was reproach herself; she even thought of suicide.

  Ji surely knew that Du Hong would not want her to blame herself. Du Hong wanted her to go home and get married as soon as possible. Viewed differently, sticking around this way was also a torment to Du Hong, and the longer Ji remained, the worse Du Hong’s agony. So should she go or should she stay? Unable to make up her mind, Ji thought she might go crazy. But she sat quietly at the girl’s bedside, clutching her hand sometimes and occasionally touching it lightly. Most of the time, though, they simply held hands, each finger a display of their distress. Only the old man in the sky knew how intimate the two women were at that moment, wishing the best for one another, though neither could find the proper means, or the method. There was nothing they could say to each other, for anything would sound wrong. In order to force Ji to leave, Du Hong decided to ignore her after three days of the quiet bedside vigil. She would not even let Ji touch her fingers, driving the two intimate friends into a surreal dead-end, each wishing she could pluck out her bloody heart to show the other.

  It was a decision made by Jin Yan that finally sent Ji on her way. When Jin Yan arrived at the hospital one day, she found, to her surprise, that Du Hong was not speaking to Tingting, who was fawning on her, but getting no response. Tingting’s breath had an unpleasant smell. Jin Yan’s heart sank, but she could do or say nothing, except to take each by the hand. Ji Tingting held tightly to her left hand and Du Hong clasped her right, the two despairing hands extinguishing hope in Jin Yan.