The 8th Sky_A Psychological Novel With An Unforgettable Twist

by Leigh Lyn

  When I got out of the cab, a film crew was shooting a group of school kids singing patriotic Mao songs. I crossed the huge plaza to the outer edge, which was lined with a heavy stone balustrade and pairs of old-fashioned street-lamps. Twelve feet down lay the Chaotianmen docks, which turned out to be little more than a narrow road on top of a seawall built of white chalky rocks that wrapped around the headland. Beyond it, the muddy water of the Yangtze and Jailing rivers converged in the scorching sun.

  I descended the stone steps to the docks with its outward fanning, floating piers. The water welled up, submerging their decks by an inch, after which it receded and then welled up again to kiss the soles of people’s shoes. A vast troupe of locals stormed toward me the second I set foot on the boardwalk, each yelling, “Hello” and “Ni hao.” They patted my shoulders and pulled my arms, each offering me the last ticket of unique and exclusive cruises to the Three Gorges Dam.

  Yelling “Bu yao!” I shoved through the crowd to get inside the ticket-office, where queues were massive. By the time I got to the front of the line, the ferry was sold out except for fifth-class dorm tickets

  “Dorms on ferries are for locals,” the woman behind the counter said when it was my turn. “Tourists must take hydrofoil or cruises. Earliest one leaves tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine,” I said, looking at the choice of vessels available. “I want a hydrofoil ticket for Tuesday.”

  I glanced at my cell and noticed a text from Suki:

  News leaked about planning official’s suicide. Peter re-issued memo warning that Corinth’s staff must keep clear of client-government liaison.

  This was no surprise after the drama on the job, but it did change my schedule.

  “Wait,” I told the woman and asked for a ticket to the local ferry in as local an accent as I could. I slipped her two hundred Renminbi notes underneath the twenty dollars for the ticket. An hour later, I was one of the last to shuffle on board behind a farmer balancing two wicker cages from a yoke with live chickens and ducks.

  The privately-run ferry was filled to the brim, and the crowd on the deck dispersed slowly. The sleeping facilities were at the back of the lower deck where eight people shared smalls room with overflowing toilets. The adjacent dorms shared by a dozen people and animals were worse. The combined stench from the livestock, the toilets and the ointment people had smeared under their noses to cover the smell was overwhelming.

  I made my way to the deck where wind dispersed the overpowering odor. I waddled through the passengers seated and squatted on every square inch of the deck, the farmers in their thin, blue patched-up garments, migrant workers in their eclectic, miss-matched cloths, the local tourists in their provincial best, until I found respite from the smell near the stern. There, the green nylon canopy overhead had become detached, leaving the space underneath unprotected from the sun and, hence, less crowded.

  For hours, I stood pressed against the railing as the scorching sun above overtook the ferry to look me straight in the eye. My brain felt fried. The air was so dense it was hard to swallow. I concentrated on the scenery while the vessel glided through breath-taking fissures in the emerald mountain-scape on the back of a gold river snake. Cold sweat poured down my steaming face as mountains toppled over.

  “You ren yun le (Someone fainted)!” a male voice shouted.

  Patches of fuzzy gray, oily black, and gritty brown filled my vision. It took a while before I recognized it as dirt accumulated in gaps in-between the wooden deck onto which my face had landed. I lifted my head up to see two women in white shirts and navy-blue work pants rush over while talking fast and grabbing me by the arm. One of them said something to the mother of a little girl in a chair nearby. The mother took the girl on her lap, and they helped me into the emptied seat. Only now did it dawn on me, it was I who had fainted.

  Mouths opened and closed, making shapes, forming sounds that lagged behind. Slowly, it occurred to me they were words that formed sentences. A woman kept talking at me until, at last, it occurred to me she was asking if I was alright.

  “Yes,” I heard myself, in a feeble voice. “I’m so hot.”

  “She needs air, give her more space!”

  A kind-faced woman held the corners of a little gray handkerchief, fanning it up and down. A tiny flask of green ointment was passed from hand to hand, and someone rubbed it under my nose. The sharp smell of eucalyptus hit me before my upper lip turned icy cold and thousands of tiny little needles pricked my skin. Luckily, the commotion and comments died down soon. As the evening set in, the air cooled and people returned to their own business. I drifted in and out of slumber most of the six hours it took our barge to reach the first stop.

  When I awoke, the sun had set, and flickering lights delineated a misty, deserted-looking settlement at the foot of the mountainside in the dark of the night. The barge swerved sideways toward a pier lit by the meager light of three oil lamps hung from poles. Around me, people got up and gathered their belongings together. In the seat next to mine, a little girl cuddled in the lap of her young mother tucked at her red nylon blouse. “Are we there yet? I want Granny’s almond cookies.”

  The woman shook her head. “Not yet; Granny lives upstream in a new village.”

  Recognizing the little girl as the one who had given up her seat for me earlier, I offered her a bag of toffees the twins had left in the weekend bag. The little girl hesitated and looked at her mother, who nodded. With big and curious eyes, the little girl accepted the candies.

  I turned to the mother. “Is this Wushan?”

  “Oh no, this is Fengdu. Wushan is another five stops away,” the woman replied.

  “What time will we get there?” I asked, pointing at my watch.

  The woman shook her head. “It’s another two to three hundred miles upstream, but the boat is staying here tonight.”

  Next to her, the husband was arguing with his neighbor. “The government has done good; my mother-in-law lives in a new apartment, which is much better than her old shed.”

  The toothless farmer next to him disagreed. “A scam, that’s all it is. The land exchange proposal for urban Hukou is a fraud to con us out of our land.”

  “At least, someone is helping the rural people. Look at all the development and the prosperity it has brought.”

  “I’m not falling for that. Without land, what do we have?”

  The woman hugged the little one tighter with one arm and patted her husband on the shoulder. He said goodnight to the farmer and grabbed their belongings, after which the three of them disappeared in the direction of the dorms. More people followed them while others disembarked, leaving the deck deserted. Dreading the foul stench, I lay down across three seats, too tired to take much notice of the small wooden slats delineating each. The only thing I heard was the croaking of invisible frogs. As I adapted to life at the slow pace the locals lived in, the notion struck me I was in the same boat with more than a billion others. My anxiety subsided, and I fell asleep.

  At the break of dawn, the ferry resumed its journey as forested mountain slopes parted to let the Yangtze slither through. Eerie blankets of clouds hung low over the water. One by one, passengers spilled out from the cabins and dorms, wiping the sleep from their eyes. On this second day, the conversations seemed to have run dry, and people were taking in the raw terrain in silence. Thoughts became superfluous as I became one with the vessel in this immense scenery. Time was robbed of its meaning, and every one of us blended with the vast gorge. In the bigger scheme of things, everything seemed to be taken care of. The all-pervading serenity both calmed and frightened me.

  One after another, the ferry reached its stops where its passengers disembarked and drifted back into the perpetual humdrum of local life. Toward the evening, we arrived at Feng Jie, and again I was told we would discontinue the journey for another night. When I woke up the second morning, the sun had risen high up in the sky, and the barge had already continued its voyage. A few hours later, I saw a bridge ab
ove us. Spanning the gorge near the peak rather than the water, it was not more than two red lines drawn between the two mountains. Without passing underneath it, the ferry turned into an enclave off to the left. A jumble of ferries docked at piers came into sight, growing out of the shore like the extended legs of a centipede. Purpose-built vessels were moored at larger piers in the middle of the river. I asked the farmer next to me the name of the enclave. At last. I was in Wushan.

  Chapter 42

  Like Lego blocks, gray and concrete buildings were scattered at the foot of Wushan’s low mountain range. A complicated network out of plastic barrels tied together, brought passengers to and from the ferries docked at pier structures sprawling out from the shore to the middle of the Yangtze.

  I followed the stream of people until I set foot on solid ground for the first time in three days. Once ashore, I headed to the ticket office of the small ferry terminal to borrow a phone when a man in patched-up peasant clothing and straw sandals leaped out of the crowd. He veered toward me, but I jumped back and tried to walk around him.

  Blocking my way, the man’s baritone voice reverberated, “You want to go up the Daning stream by boat?”

  Meanwhile, other hustlers rushed en masse toward any non-local passengers stepping ashore.

  “No, no, I’m fine,” I said and walked away from the hustlers’ aggressive hotel, cruise, and tour-group offers.

  “Are you Xiao Mo’s friend?” the man boomed above the others.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Xiao Mo? He told me you want to go to 8th Day,” he said, while the hustlers looked on with curiosity.

  “Your friend is the taxi driver?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “Do you want to charter a boat?”

  “Yes, I do.” The surrounding hustlers started shouting, promising cheaper fares. “Can you take me all the way?”

  “No problem,” he said, spreading his long arms to ward off the others and yelling. “Back off, you all. She doesn’t need a ride; she’s my mate’s friend.”

  “Damn you, Xiao Xiong!” a middle-aged woman exclaimed.

  “Damn you too,” Xiao Xiong growled, forming a protective barrier around me with his arms while leading me to the main street along the waterfront. Five and six-story buildings, which had been white once upon a time but now looked drab and rundown, lined the waterfront street with shabby shops and eateries.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, while my eyes scanned the eclectic collection of vessels anchored along the shore guessing which one would be his.

  “Up the Daning,” Xiao Xiong said, “but I’ve got to pick up a few items.” He pointed at a bland guesthouse with a small salmon-colored sign saying Wu Shan Beng Quan. “Do you want to freshen up and eat something before we go?”

  Through gaps between posters advertising tours, I saw men in white shirts and dress pants lounge in the ground-floor lobby, smoking local cigarettes that I knew smelled like wet haystacks set on fire.

  “I’d rather come with you. Is that okay?”

  “It’s quite a long walk and wait,” Xiao Xiong said.

  “I’ve been glued to a chair for two days,” I replied. “I can use the exercise.”

  Xiao Xiong walked me to one of the many piers floating in the Yangtze along the full length of the small town. Soon, three bare-chested coolies in thin drawstring trousers with towels draped around their necks joined us, casting curious glances at me. They spoke in a local dialect I didn’t understand. A freight boat arrived and docked in front of us, and the four of them went on board. When they returned, two of the coolies balanced a yoke-bar between them, from which hung three large wicker baskets filled to the top with brown linen sacks of rice and other groceries. The third man and Xiao Xiong carried on their shoulders wooden boxes so large their arms barely reached their center. They reminded me of ants carrying morsels many times their body size.

  I followed as they walked along the shore through the quieter part of the town. An hour later, we reached a small crevice in the shoreline that was not more than a crack at the foot of two mountain slopes filled with muddy water. A small shed stood at the edge and overlooked the riverside. Somewhere, a dog barked.

  “QiQi!” Xiao Xiong shouted, putting down the box, and a pretty young woman half his height, not much older than eighteen, came rushing out the doorway in a flowery apron. Seeing me, she came to an instant halt.

  “This is my wife, QiQi,” Xiao Xiong said, “and this is Lin.”

  The rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed young woman smiled and went back inside. I settled in front of their wooden shed and watched the men load the freight into Xiao Xiong’s eight-yard long fishing boat with a stern wide enough for three people to sit side by side. The cabin in the middle had a bitumen-coated canopy fixed to a steel frame from which a tall mast rose. The canopy had been extended with bisected oil barrels at both ends.

  “It’s a long trip,” QiQi said, coming outside again to offer me a glass of water. She pointed at a steaming wok on a stove. “I’m cooking food for you to bring along. I do it each time the men deliver their supplies.”

  “That smells good,” I said. “They deliver to 8th Sky?”

  She nodded.

  “Have you been?”

  She gestured at a wooden box hung by chains from the ceiling in the middle of the shed. A red blanket stuck out at the sides. “Before Ah Bee was born, I went with them all the time, but I haven’t been inside since,” QiQi replied.

  I craned my neck to steal a peek. In the box lay a baby tightly wrapped in pink.

  “She’s cute,” I said. “QiQi, would you have a bathroom I can use?”

  QiQi took me to the side of the shed where there was a tiny space partitioned off by some wooden planks with a rusty tap inside. The water was blissfully cold. For the first time in three days, I washed. After I was done, I stuck my head out the open door of the shed. QiQi was wrapping pots in clothes. “I hope you like sweet potatoes,” she said.

  “That sounds good.” I walked up to the box-cradle hanging from the ceiling. I couldn’t resist giving it a little push and setting it in motion.

  The baby cried at once.

  “I’m so sorry,” I blushed.

  “It’s alright,” QiQi said. “He always starts crying half an hour before his milk.”

  She tied a red shawl across her body and put the baby in the pouch created in front of her chest.

  “Why do you want to go to 8th Sky?” QiQi asked.

  “To look for someone,” I said. “Do you know G.Y.? They seem to do a lot for the community.”

  “Yes, they do. The first time I went there was with my mother for her treatment. She was feeling unwell because of the stress of the relocation.”

  “How is she now?”

  “She’s good, thanks to 8th Sky, who offered to help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “I don’t know, but she said they took care of her,” QiQi said, avoiding my eyes.

  “The Eight Sky seems to be making its mark in the community.”

  “I guess it is. She decided to stay there.” She picked up the part of a fishnet that was dangling out of a large wicker basket and put it back. Her gaze wandered outside along the waterfront until they found Xiao Xiong. Nodding in his direction, she said, “I asked him to take me to visit, but he said they told us to wait.”

  I felt her pain. “Xiao Xiong is taking me there now. What if you come with us?”

  She smiled. “I’d like to…”

  “Come along then,” I said. “I’d love your company.”

  “G.Y. has a rule about appointments. You have to have one. They’re extremely strict.”

  What would Shi Gong say about me popping in?

  “I’m just going to hope for the best.”

  QiQi lowered her voice to a whisper. “Xiao Xiong says we should respect their rules. They helped us so much.”

  “How?”

  “Ah-bee.” She peeked at the inanimate box. “He’s my second ch
ild, so we couldn’t get a birth certificate, but G.Y. took in Ah-Mei, my first, so we can apply for one.”

  I gasped. “They took your daughter?”

  “We took her there. Before that, we were running from the Family Planning Police. They caught me once when I was about to give birth…”

  “I’m so sorry, I can hardly imagine what that must have—”

  “They aborted my baby.” QiQi interrupted me. “It started crying and—” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “And then they made us give them our life savings.” She opened her eyes. “But, with the help of G.Y., we’re no longer fugitives.” Her eyes lit up; I was not sure if it was hope or deviance, or both.

  “We’re all set!” Xiao Xiong’s voice boomed from the pier. “We need to sail soon to get a few hours of sea-faring before dark.”

  QiQi quickly wrapped the rice and a pot of mixed vegetables and potatoes in a tea-towel and brought it to the boat. I followed her. At the boat, she handed it to Xiao Xiong, who disappeared inside the dark cabin to put it away.

  “Good luck,” QiQi said, as I climbed on board.

  “Sure you don’t want to come?” I asked her.

  She glanced at Xiao Xiong, whose back was visible in the dark-barreled space, and nodded curtly, but her eyes were anything but determined.

  Xiao Xiong’s head appeared to shout something at the three coolies at the front of the boat, one of whom picked up a punting pole.

  “Take care of yourself and the little one,” Xiao Xiong said to QiQi. “I’ll be back in two or three days.”

  “And you be safe,” she said. Casting a quick, stealthy glance in my direction, she added, “May the wind blow your way.”

  Chapter 43

  The two days on the ferry must have atoned me to the Gorges. The terrain, the heat, and the air being the same, the trip up the Daning in Xiao Xiong’s little boat was, unlike the ferry jaunt, strangely comforting. When the evening set in, one of the men called Ah Ping brought out a fishing rod. He hooked a pink worm and swept it into the water with a dexterous swing of the wrist. The hook entered the muddy water twenty yards away. Time passed, and we had each retreated to our own thoughts when, in a split-second, the limp line tensed up. Whatever was on the other end of the line was putting up a formidable fight, and Xiao Xiong rushed up to help. After some struggling, the men hauled a gigantic snake with brown spots out of the silty water.