The Train to Lo Wu - Jess Row [29]
Going to the toilet, I said, setting down my beer. Siu Wong, sitting next to me, slapped me on the back. As I passed I glanced at her, and she looked away; tracks of mascara were beginning to run from the corners of her eyes.
Here, take this, I said abruptly, taking a packet of tissues from my jacket and thrusting it at her. She accepted it silently. I went into the bathroom, used the toilet, and washed my hands several times over. When I looked into the mirror my own face was red.
Thanks, she said, as soon as I opened the door, and handed me back the packet of tissues. Where she had wiped around her eyes was now blue-black, and she looked like a panda bear. I feel better now, she said. Everything’s OK.
It’s not your fault, I said awkwardly, trying to remember the Mandarin words. It isn’t your language. Maybe next time try a bar without so many Hong Kong people.
Hong Kong people tip.
I must have looked bewildered, because she laughed in my face, with a harsh sound. Aiya, she said, you really are one of them, aren’t you? Haven’t you ever been to China before?
Never.
Well, let me tell you something you don’t know. I have a college degree. You won’t catch me working in some bar for lowlifes. This is good money.
What was your degree?
Primary school education.
She crossed her arms and turned her head away, glancing at me sideways. She’s waiting for me to laugh, I realized, and pursed my lips and nodded, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. You couldn’t find a teaching job here? I asked.
Are you crazy? A country girl like me, from Anhui?
Maybe I can help. I took a business card from my wallet and gave it to her, and she accepted it formally, with both hands. I have some friends who work in Shenzhen, I said. Maybe they could find you something better. Have you ever worked as a secretary?
She wasn’t listening; she was still reading the card, her lips moving silently. Hah vay, she said. That’s your name?
It’s pronounced Harvey.
Well, listen, Harvey, she said, turning to face me, her arms still crossed. I won’t embarrass you by giving your card back in front of your friends, but I’m not interested in your kind of help.
But I was just—
Are you deaf? Leave me alone!
When I returned to the table Little Brother had already told them the punchline, and everyone was reeling with laughter, clinking their bottles for another round. Siu Wong leaned over into my ear.
You can do much better than that, he said. Why play around in the trash? Just ask Little Brother to take you to Second Wives Village sometime.
It was all I could do not to turn and smack him across the face.
I don’t think I was as naïve as I must have seemed to her that day. I knew how many men go over the border on “business trips,” and how many Chinese women stay in Shenzhen for years, waiting to be allowed into Hong Kong to join men they think are their husbands. But I’m not the kind of person to connect a face with something I saw on the TV news. And I’d never imagined that someone could look at me that way: as a predator, a slippery eel, as Hong Kong people say. For weeks I thought about her, rewording our conversation over and over, wondering if I could have done anything differently.
I was out sailing the first time she called. When I returned to my locker and checked my pager there was a strange, garbled message: Club Nikko girl returning best time before 20:00, and a Shenzhen telephone number. When I called I could barely hear her voice over the blaring music and strange banging sounds in the background.
Where are you?
Never mind, she said. I want to meet you again.