英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(70) 天堂之影

何木

Chapter 70          1/2




Next morning Bing woke up late, and again heard the sweet clatter of utensils in the kitchen. The holiday was like weekends, when he could stay in bed as long as he would like to, and enjoy the indolent indulgence a modern, busy life can hardly obtain. And for the sake of his rest, his mother wouldn’t disturb him.

And of course, if he were only in a hotel, and had a girl with him, this would also be the best time to make love. For he felt very refreshed, after a night’s good sleep.

That would be ideal, he thought, with his hands laid under his head, looking at the ceiling. And the ceiling lamp, round and cool and silent, eyed him.

Look at this guy, it said, the night before you enjoyed a prostitute of better quality. So now what? Go to that place again? Do that again? But well, you are a rather poor bloke. Without Hui and his friends, do you think you have any chance to do that sort of thing? One bottle of XO will cost your entire budget for the holiday. You are nobody, in monetary terms, in this place, at your ‘home’. You have given your house to your ex-wife, and you have barely any savings in the bank, and you have to keep up the mortgage payments for another three years. Of course, you have a job, that you don’t like. But you have to do it, because what else can you do?

He blinked, as swiftly as his mind was thinking. Yes, by any standard, you are no better than Hui. True that you have not much fat, without diabetes bothering you, but that is because you have been forced to be so in Australia. Should you have stayed in China, what would have become of you? Still satisfied as an English teacher? Would you feel okay still riding a bicycle, go playing guitar along the little stream, which might have already become as polluted as the one at Shangwai? And perhaps no more birds and flowers are there to inspire your cheap sentiments? Or, have you already quit your poor job and gone for some sort of business, like Hui, or Wei, like one of the millions of Chinese pioneers whose eagerness for money had never been so fervent in Chinese history?

You are now forty. Because of your migration to Australia your opportunity in China was gone. Oh, these golden twenty years for wealth accumulation, when China’s economic train had been running so hot that the other nations had either envied its unstopping growth, wishing it would collapse soon, or feared a stronger China would begin invading them, devouring their resources and taking their land, avenging the bully and the discrimination the Chinese had for the last century suffered from the west. And you, a Network Administrator, had been all these years staying in a peaceful, complacent Australia, where a little piece of ‘road work’ would last many months if not years, looking after the little networks in a small company, fixing one or two PCs every day.  

Or maybe, you can start over again, as Hui has suggested? But you are holding an Australian passport…

So without hope, he relapsed into sleep. Then he was awoken by the noise of a loud vehicle’s screeching coming from the street, followed by a man’s bellow, ‘不雅 your mother, are you blind? 不雅 your mother, haven’t you grown any eyes?’

Ah, what a curse! What a road friction between a car driver and perhaps a bicycle rider. If you are the one receiving such shit from the man, what would you do? Would you fight back? Would you step forward and grab the man, and slap him, and spit into his face? Or pick up a stone or even lift your bicycle to smash the car with it? Or just keep quiet, tug your tail into your thin buttocks, allowing the man’s insult to ram down your humble throat?

Well, if fairly drunk, surely I will strike back. Otherwise I really don’t know. I must be mad enough to confront such a situation, without thinking highly of my own life. Otherwise my courage to face the conflict will be discounted, because of my conscious fear of blood and death.

But alcohol is no good. It will only damage my body and morality, and bring forward my ultimate death.

So without any point in talking to himself any longer, he got up, and after breakfast, his mother said she was going to buy food and some other things.

‘I go with you,’ he said.

They went to the grocery just a few blocks away from their building. It was so convenient; in Baulkham Hills he had to drive some miles to buy such little things, not to mention the chronic trouble of finding a parking place.

He carried all the bags. His mother, with her hands free walking beside him, was embarrassed.

‘Mum,’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘Can we go out today?’

‘Go out? To where?’

‘Just go to the city and look around.’

‘But how about lunch?’

‘We can eat outside.’

‘But they will come back for lunch.’

‘I will call them,’ said the son, ‘and let them know.’

So soon enough they were back on the street. His mother appeared younger. Her coat was new, so was the bun held up with a black hairpin, that seemed to contrast well with her hair.   

She was only up to her son’s shoulder. So to talk she would raise her head, and he would slow down, to accommodate her steps. Unlike in their old days walking to his primary school, when she had to wait for him, hurrying him up.

Bing waved for a taxi.  

‘Taxi? Don’t spend the money,’ said the mother. ‘Bus is very convenient, just three stops.’

‘But the stop is some way down there.’

Then a taxi arrived, which helped to end a debate. He opened the door for her.

The trip was quick. The first thing that caught his eyes, as they got out of the taxi, was the two streamers pouring down from the roof of a tall building. They said, along with many colourful, hollow-hearted balloons and flower baskets, ‘Congratulations on the Grand Opening of Lotus Shopping Centre.’ And further down on its left, on the brow of another skyscraper, was the large face of a celebrity. Her lips were pink, her eyes seductive; diamonds were dangling from both sides from her ears.
Then Bing felt a sudden yank at his cuff. It was a man, his clothes in tatters, since what time Bing didn’t know standing in front of him, and murmuring, and praying like a Buddha.

Bing’s mother said, ‘A beggar, don’t mind him.’

So Bing walked away from him. But the man dragged him again, nodding his head, his dull eyes like those of fish. ‘Please, have pity,’ he said, clearly, ‘please, have pity.’

Bing opened his wallet, but he couldn’t find any money smaller than one hundred. So his mum pulled a five Yuan note from her own pocket and gave it to the man. The beggar put away the money. Then he began to bow, seriously, very low to both Bing and his mum, and said, ‘As you wish, ten thousands things will be realized,’ and bowed again, ‘The roads of your money-making will be wide and broad,’ and bowed again, ‘May you have a lifetime of happiness.’ Then abruptly he walked away.

After the incident, they decided to have an early lunch, for the sign of ‘Authentic Xinjiang Beef Hand-pulled Noodle’ drew his eyes and encouraged his saliva.

Near the door of the restaurant was a man in a well-made suit. With his mobile glued to his ear and his red tie lapping on his belly, he talked, or actually shouted, over the phone, pacing anxiously at the narrow entrance. So the two had to walk cautiously around him, and found a table inside the restaurant, which was scarcely occupied at that hour of the day.

‘Is there a Xinjing noodle restaurant in Australia?’ asked his mum, soon after they sat down.  

‘There must be,’ he said, who had never eaten the special sort of noodle since he left China. ‘But I don’t think the taste can be as good as here.’

‘Australia is so far away.’

‘Yes, but it only needs a day or two to come back home.’

‘The ticket is very expensive.’

‘Hehe, or, I come back to find a job here?’

She was delighted, briefly. ‘But no, Adina is still young,’ she said.

He smiled a little, and didn’t reply her.

‘You are thinner,’ said his mother.

‘And you are fatter,’ he replied, finding the topic a little amusing. ‘Does your back still ache?’

‘My back is getting better, but now I have discomfort with my stomach.’

‘Really? Have you seen a doctor?’

‘Yes, Ming took me. It is only an ulcer, not very severe.’

‘Which means you need to be careful of what and how much you eat.’

Then the waiter came, carrying a tray with two bowls of beef-noodle. Bing began to eat immediately, and his mother took the time to pick a share out of her bowl to put into his. ‘I need only a little,’ she said.

And she watched him.

‘Mum, you eat as well.’

‘You eat, I wait a while,’ said his mum. ‘I am not hungry.’

The noodles tasted taut, and slippery and spicy, pleasing his teeth, and his mind. His mother gave him more as he ate into his bowl’s content.

After lunch, they went to a shopping centre. They passed a jewellery shop, at which entrance two pretty girls, both in the sexy Chinese chi-pao, bowed to them solicitously, ‘Sir and madam, please come in to have a look, we have specials today.’
Indeed, today was special. So he slipped into the shop, followed by his mum. One of the girls advanced quickly to their front. ‘Sir, we have a wide range of brackets and rings for ladies,’ she said. ‘Would you come this way, please.’

So the mother and the son were led to the counter, behind which was a row of salespersons, all dressed in scarlet uniform, standing upright like soldiers, with their hands laid crossed demurely on their front.

‘Good morning, Sir, for whom is the gift? ’ the girl behind the counter asked. ‘Your mum?’

‘How do you know?’

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘You two look like each other.’

He turned to look at his mum, not much convinced, ‘Really?’

‘Yes, you do,’ the girl said. ‘Especially the eyebrows and also the cheeks.’

‘Ha, thank you.’

The customer rapport having been established, the girl began to introduce the products. ‘See, this jade is a new design, great colour, precious gift,’ she took it out and placed on the counter. ‘It was 8800, but today you can have it with 20% off.’
Inwardly shocked by the price, Bing was calm, with the sort of pride retained by an overseas Chinese. ‘20% off, so how much will it be?’

His mother, already puzzled at their entering into the shop, was now worried. ‘No, no, too expensive, don’t spend that money. Let’s go,’ she said, ‘I don’t wear the bracelet.’

The girl must be very familiar with this kind of disapproval, for she said, ‘My dear auntie, jade is precious, it retains value. Actually, the longer you wear it, the more valuable it will be. Please, auntie, let your son show his filial piety.’ She then picked up the bracelet, and gently pulled his mother’s hand to try it on, ‘This design has the best value for the price, a lot of people have bought it as gifts for their wives or mothers.’

His mother withdrew her hand, ‘No, no, I don’t need it, very inconvenient with it in the kitchen.’

‘Mum, just try it,’ Bing encouraged. ‘To see how it looks. We don’t have to buy.’

‘Yes, just try,’ the girl echoed his words, ‘you don’t have to buy it if it is not suitable.’

Though still hesitant, his mother made her hand into a shape of peacock’s head, allowing the girl to push the bracelet onto her wrist. For a moment, Bing suspected his mother’s reluctance to try the product was not so much due to its daunting price as her shyness of exposing her rough hand.

The girl began to praise the beauty. And, from his mother’s eyes Bing noticed her joy, which was certain, though mingled with an uncertain reality. He was thinking of the 4000 Yuan in his wallet. It wouldn’t be enough. Maybe go home to fetch his remaining 2000 Australian dollars, and get it exchanged somewhere? He could also borrow some from his sister.

The salesgirl might have detected his hesitation. ‘Let’s try a few other ones,’ she said, and opening the closet, she brought two more items on the table. ‘This one was 5600, and this one 4500, both of them 20% off for today,’ she said, taking off the one on her mother’s wrist, ‘Just try, Auntie, don’t worry, just to see which one is most suitable.’

His mother was more willing to try them now, not because they were cheaper, he observed, but because, like himself, she was very much lured by the capable salesgirl. The girl couldn’t possibly cheat them, Bing thought. After all, it was a gift for his mother, not something an affluent man bought for his mistress, the so-called Little Third in the current Chinese society, in which nothing seems to matter but the amount of money.

Then an item inside the closet drew his attention; the price tag; of 200,000 Yuan stunned him. Oh, what a stuff on earth was so much valued by people? He re-counted the number of zeros, and no mistake it was 200,000, not 20,000 as he was more willing to believe. But ignoring the price, the jade was indeed marvellously beautiful. With its purplish streaks, and its emerald translucency, and its glowing and glistening mystery, it seemed to have carried five thousand years of Chinese history.

In the end, a decision was made to buy the bracelet costing 4500 Yuan, which cost 3600 after the discount. They left the shop, bathed by the triumphant smiles of the salesgirls. But even happier was he, as well as his mother, who, as he noticed, had frequently fondled the jade with her other hand, in her inconspicuous way.





--To Next Post --

何木

Chapter 70        2/2




After that, the mother and her forty-year-old son continued to amble along the street. They drank tea and ate ice-cream in the shops, so that his mother could sit and rest. They also watched a long file of expensive-looking cars, crowned with ribbons and flowers, as a wedding procession moved slowly along the street. Then the procession stopped, and from one of the cars stepped the bride and the groom, whose back was as straight as the electric pole beside him.

In the mid afternoon, Bing and his mother went back home. And that night, after dinner, with more approval from his mother and sister than they had given for Karaoke, it was the Feet Bathing that Bing and Hui decided to go to. During the last ten years when China’s economic growth seemed to have lost control, Feet Bathing had become very popular, as an indulgent service with the special Chinese characteristic.

The service was nothing new; you could see its shops hither and thither along the streets. But Bing had never experienced it. There was no such thing in Australia. True, he could have enjoyed it on his last two trips back in China. But unfortunately then he had been either sick or in mourning for his father’s death.

The sign, etched in the middle of the building, read Man Zu – satisfaction. The two characters were linked together by a long curvy stroke, which looked more like a twisted snake than a person’s foot. But instead of the general meaning of the phrase, here it was ‘to satisfy your feet’, because Zu in itself means ‘foot’.

The lobby was furnished remarkably almost like that in a five-star hotel. A flock of pretty girls welcomed them, bowing. There definitely seemed to be more pretty girls in this country, than birds in Australia. But how could they feel their lives meaningful by just standing, and bowing like that? It was such a waste, even if he knew his logic was absurd in the pessimistic light of a life’s ultimate meaninglessness.  

But, ‘there was no private room available’ the guide girl told them. “You can either wait for a vacancy, or use the shared room.’

Bing was not concerned, whilst Hui was grudging. ‘I should have booked a private room in advance,’ he said.

‘What is the difference?’ asked Bing, curiously, even if he could guess something by Hui’s undertone. ‘Not big deal, just washing feet.’

Hui didn’t say but grinned, slyly.

Due to his daytime walking with his mother, Bing’s socks and feet were damp and smelly, as he took off them in the change room.

Then, he seemed to have heard a male speaking English, ‘This is sensational.’

What was it? Bing wondered. It sounded unreal. So he strained his ears hoping to capture more to confirm it had not been merely an illusion. But it must have been, because he heard no more.

However, just in another minute, the native English language was alive again. It was actually coming from the next door.

‘Ehm, this is interesting,’ this time was a female voice. ‘They said, in old dynasties, Chinese wives served in this way their husbands’ feet every night before sleep.’

‘That was fantastic. Are they still doing it now?’ said the man, with a stifled chuckle.

‘You reckon?’ the woman said, retorting, ‘even if they are, you don’t have to feel so nastily happy, do you?’

‘Well, I wish, ha-ha-ha.’

‘No way,’ she said emphatically, ‘unless you divorce me and marry a Chinese.’

So they were a couple, and from their accent, they came from US.

Bing asked Hui, ‘Strange, how could foreigners come to this place, and in Mianyang?’

‘Foreigners? I have seen them everywhere,’ Hui laughed. ‘Why strange, aren’t you also a foreigner?’

They laughed, and putting on the soft cotton slippers, trod to a large room where their feet were to be treated. And for a moment Bing felt himself standing somewhere in an opium-house, depicted in some movies he had seen. And of course, it was the smell of Chinese herbs rather than the opium smoke that seemed to float into his nose.

A lady welcomed them and led them to the unoccupied recliners. In a dim light, many pairs of feet, big or small, idle or being served, flapped down from among nearly 20 recliners.

Bing slumped into one, and lay comfortably, like Lao Ye – a spoiled old man. A sense of weariness soon affected him, lulling him into a lazy doze.

Then someone patted him on the shoulder. He opened his eyes to find a young man standing at his side, with a friendly smile. In his uniform, the man looked very cute and handsome, with an air of deference and professionalism. He couldn’t be older than eighteen, Bing guessed. And before Bing had the chance to say a word, the young man sat down onto a low stool, moving the basin with dark water in between Bing’s feet.

Frankly, Bing had not expected a man for the service, even if there were quite a few of them in the room presently doing the job. So, when the young man gently lifted Bing’s feet into the basin, he had not yet freed himself from an effort to coax his mind to face the reality that a young man was going to wash his dirty feet with bare hands. The dismay was fundamental - who else had ever caressed his feet in this way in his life? His mum, of course, when he was still a kid. But since then, nobody but himself.

He closed his eyes, and tried not to reflect who was rubbing his feet, that seemed to make some progress. Slowly, he was relaxing. The skin nerves of his feet seemed to awaken, receiving the strange pleasure from the intimate touch of another human being. The skin of the foot must be the most sensitive in a body, for most of the time it was enclosed in darkness, its sensitivity unscathed by the hot sun and rough soil. He wondered how much satisfaction those people, who don’t usually wear shoes, the Australian aborigines for example, could possibly relish from such a service. Or, if going to another extremity, how much more satisfaction the Chinese foot-binding women in old society could have enjoyed from it.

Then, his travelling mind was interrupted by the man’s raising his feet onto his lap, beginning to dry them with a towel. And to his surprise, the young man started to cut his toenails, which must have grown long because he had not cut them for at least two weeks. And some of them, he knew, were badly gnarled, difficult to cut without pricking the flesh. Bing used to cut the nails for his daughter, so he knew fairly well of the delicate nature of the task.

So every time the man cut off a piece successfully from his toe, with the cool clipper, without hurting him, he felt an enormous sense of relief. But his concern proved to be unnecessary, for the man seemed able to feel his customer’s feel. So gradually, Bing began to settle his wary nerves, and in time surrender himself to the full control to the worker.

After all the nails were cut, the man proceeded to file and trim each of them.

In the end, he laid down Bing’s feet onto the pad, rose from his stool, and holding the basin, left him alone, without saying a word.

Bing was wondering what would happen next.

The man came back in less than a minute, with a basin that was supposed to contain the new water with herbs. He started to wash the feet again. He lifted Bing’s feet onto his lap, and dried them with the towel. Just as Bing assumed the whole service should now be complete, the man began pulling and snapping each of his toes.

‘Thank you very much,’ Bing said to him, heartily, as the man had at last finished the job, packing up things.

But the man didn’t reply as expected; he just smiled, at the same time pointing his finger at his mouth, which took Bing only two seconds to understand the man was dumb. Oh, no wonder he had not uttered a single word during the course, and mostly likely he was also deaf, could hear nothing!

Ah, what the hell, he had let a disabled person service his feet!

The moment Hui turned up in the change room, where Bing was waiting, he nearly shouted at him, ‘Why didn’t you tell me beforehand there is disabled labour working here?’

Hui was surprised, ‘What disabled? My one was a girl; she talked to me all the time.’

‘The man who served me was dumb, can you believe that?’

‘Well, I have no idea. This is the first time I have had my feet washed in the shared room,’ Hui said, easily. ‘Even if he is a dumb, so what?’

‘So what? How can I tolerate such an idea!’

‘Well, it doesn’t make much difference to me. At least he has a job to do.’

Bing couldn’t find the words to reply. But thinking wisely, what Hui said was not without sense. This was not Australia, where the disabled were looked after well enough, like a baby. And that man seemed rather happy; he was smiling, doing a job with skills and concentration similar to those Bing had used to handle his guitar.

But still, later lying in bed, he could hardly rid his feet of the feeling of being touched by a disabled man. But what was the matter? If it were a normal person, would he have felt any easier? Didn’t they all need a job, as humble as they were, to make a living, to survive in this society? Who in the world if given a second choice would like to handle other people’s feet? Or maybe someone did enjoy doing it? Or the notion of dirty feet was unfounded, only one of his many prejudices? And how about prostitutes, or in more civilized terms the sex-workers, that seemed to be flourishing in this country? Weren’t they all serving the parts, even more filthy than a person’s foot?

And to think he was just treated by, oh, no, practically he treated, a young girl the other night in China, and also some days earlier a woman in Australia. Why didn’t he feel a stabbing sense of guilt then? Did these girls will to do their job? But, wait a second, what was the willingness or unwillingness to do a job, for one to earn an income? He himself was doing a job of Network Administrator, was he willing to do it?

So, the more he thought of it, the idea of massaging another person’s feet seemed to be less unacceptable to his reserves of morality.

Then, all of a sudden, a sneaking sensation thrilled his spine - what if the massager was him, and he was serving the dirty people’s dirty feet? Or perhaps serving some very pretty girls, such as those celebrities’ feet? Or perhaps they served him? Or, now going a few steps further, to let the highbrows, the snobs, the politicians, the presidents, the rich heirs, the millionaires, and the billionaires serve the low people, for instance a beggar’s feet? Aren’t all men created equal? Why a soul can do this, can’t do that, has to do this, has to do that? Who dictates a life’s living circumstances?

And for the rest of the night, in sleep, or dead, he didn’t know.




-- End of Chapter 70 ---

尘凡无忧

斌给母亲买手链那一幕很感人。。
足浴那段写得也很细致。。
可惜没有中文版本，不然会有更多读者共鸣。。

何木

尘凡无忧 发表于 2014-11-20 09:38
斌给母亲买手链那一幕很感人。。
足浴那段写得也很细致。。
可惜没有中文版本，不然会有更多读者共鸣。。 ...

谢谢。。希望以后有人会替我翻译，否则我就开始学中文，自己写。

不过更多的读者和很少的读者对我有什么区别呢？

尘凡无忧

哈哈。被你问住了。。。