by Sheng Keyi
The salon was not very busy. Whenever a scalp came through the door, one of the girls would scrub it, wash the face and add on a massage, all at a leisurely pace without having to worry about anyone sitting in a queue rushing them.
‘How long you been away from home?’ Xiaohong asked Ah Qing, who seemed like an old hand at this business.
‘Two years,’ she said after a pause.
‘Two years?’
‘Yeah. I can cut hair too, but my technique isn’t as good as Ah Ling’s.’
‘Ah Qing, what a pretty name,’ Sijiang said in a sing-song voice.
Ah Qing laughed, her teeth looking like rice that had been washed clean.
‘Ah Hong, Ah Jiang,’ as Xiaohong and Sijiang had become known, in keeping with local custom, ‘there’s a lot to learn. You’ll pick it up as you go. Anyway, I’ve got no real interest in working in a salon, but it’s better than working in a factory. That’s exhausting. The dorms are bad, the food is terrible and the wages are even worse,’ Ah Qing whined.
‘Can you teach us to do facials?’ suggested Sijiang.
Ah Qing looked at the two girls in the mirror and patted the seat in front of her. ‘Come on then. Who wants a seat?’
Sijiang sat down. Ah Qing wrapped a dry towel around her neck and another tightly around her hair. She squeezed facial products out of tubes and set to work applying them to Sijiang’s face, with Xiaohong as an eager spectator.
A man entered, interrupting them. His face was as dark as a chestnut. He carried a helmet in his hand and wore faded jeans that were almost completely white.
‘Ah Qing, how about a facial? Oh! Two new girls, huh?’ he said.
‘Hey Bud, you want a wash? This is Ah Hong, and this is Ah Jiang. Which one you want?’ Ah Qing obviously knew him well and she spoke as if she were the mama-san at a brothel.
‘Either one’ll do.’ Bud sat in the chair and held out a comb, offering it to whoever would like to give him a hair-wash and facial.
‘Ah Jiang, go ahead. You’ll be fine. This is Bud Kun. He’s a nice guy.’
Bud really was nice. Sijiang stood behind him. He quietly looked at her in the mirror, closed his eyes, and tilted his head to one side. Sijiang, copying Ah Qing’s earlier actions, wrapped a towel around him and began applying the scrub cleanser. Bud’s face was like a toad’s, covered in pimples. Sijiang cringed as she touched it.
‘Bud, you still out catching bad guys day and night?’ Ah Qing asked, leaning against another stool.
‘Yep. Thieves and robbers, they’re everywhere. Everyone’s looking for something extra to take home for the Spring Festival.’ He couldn’t open his mouth all the way, and his words came out muffled.
‘Bud, what do you do?’ Sijiang asked.
‘Village security.’
‘This is a village? With all the factories and tall buildings? How can it be a village without any fields?’
‘There are still fields, but with villagers these days getting so many benefits from the government to build factories, who wants to farm the land anymore?’ Sijiang stared at him. She suddenly felt the lump under her fingertips was less repulsive – maybe even a little endearing. Her fingers began to move with more confidence, taking great care over her work. When Bud finally left, his face was no longer the same dull chestnut that had come in earlier.
That night, the two girls slept in the salon’s massage room, with its one small window and set of bunk beds. The air was stagnant and stale.
‘Hey Honghong, what’s that smell?’ Sijiang was always sensitive to odour.
‘Sijiang, I think you must have been a dog in a previous life. The air is pretty bad, well… I think it’s semen.’
II
Ah Ling gasped in the massage room, a deep-throated hum like a woman in the throes of ecstasy sounding on and off at irregular intervals. The human expressions of pleasure and pain are often interchangeable, like when tears of joy flow or a nervous laugh escapes. Xiaohong saw no contradiction here. Joy often has a hint of sorrow buried within it, and even a series of horrifying events can transform into happiness.
From the sounds emanating from the massage room, one could guess that the old Taiwanese guy was giving his best effort, despite the helpless embarrassment he must have felt. It was unlikely he knew much about what went on in a young woman’s mind and he certainly had no clue about how to manage her sexual needs. No matter how long he spent with her, panting unevenly, he never seemed able to bring her any satisfaction. Ah Ling hoped the old man would give her money to open a coffee shop and offer an escape from salon life. He always dressed in brilliant colours that reflected well on The 007 Salon, though his manner of speaking betrayed some stinginess.
Whenever he came to the salon, Ah Qing would smile like a thief and say, ‘He’s just an old cat gnawing on a hunk of fish. He can’t even finish the task. Just the smell of it, and he’s already full!’
‘Gross. With those age spots all over, it must be horrible to do it with him!’ Xiaohong giggled as she combed her newly-dyed blonde hair.
‘Sijiang, don’t get cleanser in Bud’s eyes,’ Ah Qing warned. Sijiang had been assigned to wash Bud’s face on a regular basis and the two had become quite friendly. When he was free, he would take her for a spin on his motorcycle or out for a snack. Sijiang, having grown used to cradling his head against her chest, no longer blushed when she washed Bud’s face. The more experience she gained, the chattier she became. She was as comfortable scrubbing as he was lounging against her, and the time she spent giving him facials grew longer with each of his visits.
A perceptive girl, Ah Qing was good at discerning what ought to be said and what ought not. When she chose not to speak, as she seemed to do more often in recent days, she wore a lonely expression, like fallen leaves floating on water.
One day, after his facial, Bud suddenly said, ‘There’ve been lots of crooks to catch lately. I’m aching all over. How about a massage?’ Ah Qing turned away as Sijiang followed him into the massage room. Xiaohong, having just finished washing a customer’s hair, caught sight of an embarrassed look on Ah Qing’s face as she went into the washroom.
‘Ah Jiang, how many siblings do you have?’ Bud asked when they were in the massage room.
‘I’ve got two sisters. I’m the oldest.’
He lay down on his stomach and Sijiang, not quite knowing how to go about giving him a massage, proceeded on a chaotic program of pinching and prodding at his back. He didn’t seem to mind, concentrating instead on chatting idly with her. When she’d finished with his back, he rolled over. For a moment, Sijiang couldn’t decide where to begin. Bud took her hand and said, ‘Ah Jiang, I really like you.’
Having never heard words like these from a man before, Sijiang felt her apple-shaped face begin to burn. Her lips moved to form the words ‘I like you too’, but just as the words were ready to burst forth, they inexplicably pulled back before she could release them.
‘Ah Jiang, you like me too, right?’
She nodded vigorously.
She took hold of his arm just above the elbow and started massaging. He looked at her and said, ‘My leg’s a little sore.’
She moved to his thigh and began her massage on the outside, working her way inward as she went. Pulling himself up and propping himself on an elbow, Bud asked, ‘Ah Jiang, are you a virgin?’
She hesitated, an unhappy expression coming over her face.
‘Never mind, I’m just asking. Don’t be mad. It doesn’t matter a bit whether you are a virgin or not. I thought… I just wondered if you’d massage this part,’ he said earnestly. His jeans looked like they were inflated. Exhaling, he opened his zip, caught her hand and pushed it inside his trousers.
III
The fellow whose head was currently in Xiaohong’s hands had been to the salon several times before. He worked at the neighbouring factory. He wore an employee ID card on his chest that read ‘Project Supervisor: Si Daling’. In his mid-twenties and quite good-looking, he love
d to come in and chat with Xiaohong. She always called him Supervisor, since that was what his badge said. When she’d finished washing and drying his hair, she’d massage his scalp using so little force that it was more like caressing than massaging. He always kept his head forward, avoiding the natural cushion of Xiaohong’s breasts, which made his neck look tense. ‘Relax, lean back a little,’ she said. Upon leaning back, his head touched her chest and he immediately closed his eyes, a seemingly automatic response.
‘Si isn’t a common family name. Is it your real name?’
‘Yeah. I only ever knew one other Si at college. We were especially close, sharing the same surname.’
‘You’re such a nerd. Are all college boys like you?’ Xiaohong’s hand was working on his neck. She felt the skin turn hot and his pulse increase. The Supervisor said nothing. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and looked straight ahead at the mirror’s reflection of a pair of eyes staring at him with a flirtatious smile.
Avoiding her gaze, he said, ‘Why don’t you come and work in the plant? Girls who work in salons pick up lots of bad habits.’
The pair continued to chat. When they’d finished, Si said, ‘Would you like to come to my factory and have a look round?’
The shop was not busy. Ah Qing was arranging towels and clearing up some scattered hairpins. Sijiang had not come out of the massage room. Xiaohong said to Ah Qing, ‘I’m going out for a while. I’ll be back soon.’
Situated on a huge lawn, the factory looked like one big garden. They went into the dormitory and climbed to the third floor. ‘Here it is,’ Si said.
‘You live here alone?’
‘Yes. It’s a bit messy. You like to read? I’ve got lots of books.’
Xiaohong went to the bookshelf to have a look. She picked up a book on appreciating Tang poetry. Flipping the pages, she finally found the starting point. Fortunately, Si was busy pouring tea and didn’t notice her unfamiliarity.
‘You like Tang poetry?’
‘Yeah.’ Though she had, in fact, read some of Li Bai’s poetry describing the moonlight falling into a bedroom, she regretted her affirmative answer as soon as she’d given it. ‘Hey, Supervisor, where are you from?’ she asked, fearing Si would start talking about classical poetry if she didn’t quickly change the subject.
‘Zhejiang. After I left college, I came south to Shenzhen on my own. It’s a tough city. Ah Hong, have a seat.’
She sat on the edge of the bed and Si sat down next to her. Both were antsy in their movements, obviously feeling the awkwardness of the situation.
‘You want to see my photo album?’
‘Of course!’
He pulled out a large album. It was huge. He placed one side on his right leg, the other on Xiaohong’s left thigh, each bearing half the weight of the oversized album. Neither his right arm nor her left moved. They sat as still as if they were soldiers standing at attention, waiting for Cupid to descend upon them. They drew their heads together over the album, Xiaohong’s fringe brushing against Si’s nose as his breath blew softly against it.
‘You’re so handsome. None of these guys are as good-looking as you.’ Their hearts leapt to their throats, making their breathing heavier. The chemistry in the air was dizzying, making them lose all sense of space. Xiaohong struggled to find something funny to say, just to prove she was not getting carried away.
The fingers of his right hand sought those of her left. One, two, three, four, five – step by step, it moved nearer until it pressed upon her left hand. She moved her hand a little and he responded more forcefully. The left hand gave in and the right hand caressed it softly. The album sat on the thighs, with no free hand to turn the pages. The left ear felt hot breath flowing over it, then a tongue tickling it before it was overcome wholly, lost in a tide of lips, mouth and tongue. Her mouth turned to meet the coming flood. There was half a second’s pause and they surrendered to the deluge in a frenzied pleasure.
‘I don’t want to mislead you. I’m sorry. I got caught up in the moment.’ The lips released her gently and the tide receded.
‘You should find a better job,’ Si said, casting his gaze upon her ample bosom.
IV
A woman’s life is never easy. All of the ladies employed by The 007 Salon were unwell. It was not physical, but more of a mental issue. They had all changed during their time at the salon. Ah Ling was thinking of how she could overcome the old man’s stubbornness, breaking down the barrier securely established between them and moving things on to a new level. She was determined to go out and find an easier way to make a living. Ah Qing was so distracted that whenever she washed hair, shampoo dropped onto the customer’s body, but no one knew what was bothering her. Sijiang suddenly seemed like a full-grown woman, her gestures taking on a new charm. Meanwhile, Xiaohong was busy learning to appreciate Tang poetry and, though Si came by less frequently, her mind was forever dwelling on the moment that had passed between them that day in his room. Educated people were different, more easily upset over small matters. Even after all the men she had been with, she’d never felt so intoxicated before. Could it be love?
It was only upon hearing that Si wanted her to find a better job that Xiaohong realised that she had completely forgotten about the Lucky Duck Handbag Factory. Even if she went now, it would be too late. Flinging the book away, she said, ‘Hey Sijiang, come and give me a massage!’
Sijiang was eating some sour plums that Bud had left for her, sucking and chewing on them, her teeth and tongue at war inside her mouth until every trace of flesh had been scraped off the stone and there was no flavour left. She would spit out the pit and pop another plum into her mouth, as if eating the plums was a sign of her loyalty to Bud, though it might have been that the flavour simply helped her to savour her own affections for him. She stood behind Xiaohong, her hands aimlessly kneading away without any rhythm or pattern. Xiaohong’s head touched Sijiang’s chest and she cried out in surprise, ‘Hey Sijiang! Have you filled out? That’s some improvement. Is that what comes from constantly munching on those plums?’
Recently, Sijiang had begun spending the whole night with Bud.
Sijiang nudged Xiaohong, her eyes narrowed. ‘What’ve you been up to these past few days always reading that book? Did Mr Supervisor assign homework or something? What the hell’s so great about Tang poetry? And whoever heard of a book that you have to start reading from the back? Ah Qing, you ever seen anything like this before?’ she asked, looking at Ah Qing’s reflection in the mirror. Ah Qing grinned, her pimples coming to life, but said nothing.
‘Hey, some poems are quite interesting. How about I recite a few for you?’
‘Whatever,’ Sijiang spat out her plum stone in dismay. ‘Why don’t you just save your recital for your beloved Mr Supervisor?’
‘Ha! Who cares about him? He’s a college boy and I’m a shampoo girl. You think I’d be stupid enough to go falling for him?’ Xiaohong was scolding herself, but it sounded like her disdain was aimed at Si and that he was no better than a vagrant. In her left ear, though, there was always the sound of a warm surging tide, with a constant breeze leaving her left cheek a little paralysed.
V
Mr Zhan was a typical, jaded, middle-aged man. Short and stout, with sharp features and tiny eyes, he wore his long hair combed back and his face devoid of expression. One day, he decided to take everyone to pray at the local Phoenix Mountain upon which sat a temple where supplicants could burn incense and seek guidance in life. It was said that the pious would receive whatever they asked for. Mr Zhan divided the employees into two groups to make the journey. Sijiang and Xiaohong were in the first group.
Phoenix Mountain was not very high. After a short forty-minute climb to the top, Mr Zhan went about burning incense, praying to Buddha and seeking insight from the fortune-tellers there. He wore a very pious expression throughout his visit. Sijiang burned an incense stick but, too embarrassed to kneel, turned and walked away. Xiaohong, with a faint smile, turned her bu
lging bust to face the sun.
‘Ah Hong, come and make a wish,’ Mr Zhan said, waving her toward the censer.
‘Wish? What would I wish for?’
‘Money, love, marriage, health – whatever you want, just ask for it.’
Xiaohong, heart leaping, turned her back to the sun and went into the temple. On the ground was a red mat for kneeling. Of course, it was fine not to kneel too. But then, without kneeling, how would she show her piety? And without demonstrating piety, how could she hope to see her request granted? Xiaohong’s mind turned to the Supervisor. Remembering his breezy touch, her cheek numbed to all other sensations and she dropped to her knees on the mat. This was the second time she’d ever knelt. The first had been when that tall bastard had tried to force himself on her. Now, facing this Buddha, where such supplication was acceptable, Xiaohong suddenly felt that the act of kneeling was like offering to put her head into someone else’s hands. She closed her eyes and remained on her knees for about ten seconds, three columns of smoke from the incense she held rising into the air. She kowtowed three times, inserted the incense into the burner and stood up gloomily.
‘What’d you pray for then?’ Sijiang asked, giggling.
‘She can’t tell you. If she does, it might not be granted,’ interrupted Mr Zhan.
Xiaohong made a face. ‘It’s a secret. I’m not telling.’
They continued their ascent up the hill. The incline was not steep, making their trek more like a stroll than a climb.
‘Ah Jiang, Ah Hong, there’s something you should know.’ The mountain was tranquil, the air occasionally filled with birds flushed from their hiding places as the group walked by. Mr Zhan’s slicked back hair, blown by the wind, took on a chaotic look.
