Chen and Zhou printed up flyers and distributed them in bars, restaurants and teahouses. They charged much less than the fancy hotels, which had large saunas that offered both full-body and foot massages. Chen, drawing on his management experience, hired some teenagers who were loafing around nearby and offered them a commission on any customers they brought in. Zhou set up a separate room off to the side, where he provided acupuncture and cupping. We didn’t get the rich customers that the hotels got, but we did get small shop owners and people in town on business. Chen also went around to motels and inns and drew in visitors who were there on group tours. We made pretty good money for being a brand-new business. Chen had already become something of a community leader in the neighbourhood.
*
When I look back now on how I wound up crossing the ocean and coming all the way to England, I can’t help but blame my name. Grandmother told me the story of Princess Bari every night in our cosy little dugout hut, but it wasn’t until after I was on that ship that I thought about the princess going west in search of the life-giving water — out where the sun sets.
One day, Xiang and I were up on the third floor, sleeping in late, when we heard men arguing loudly downstairs. Their voices were punctuated by the sound of glass breaking. Startled, our eyes opened wide, and we heard a man’s high-pitched scream. It was Zhou. Xiang and I looked at each other, sprang out of bed and ran downstairs in our bare feet. The door to the massage studio was wide open. The first things I saw were glass shards and goldfish writhing and flapping around on the cement floor: the fishbowl was knocked off of the table. Four men stood over Zhou, who was sprawled on the floor, blood pouring from his head. Xiang shielded him with her body and yelled at the men.
“Who are you? How dare you hit him?”
One of them, a short, chubby man in his fifties, shook a piece of paper at her.
“Do you know what this is? It’s a promissory note. You think you can borrow someone else’s money and not pay it back?”
Xiang shook her husband and gave him a searching look. He grimaced and answered weakly: “I didn’t know either. They say Chen borrowed money from them.”
“Why are you responsible for Chen’s debts?”
In response to Xiang’s sharp tone, the older man let out a guffaw.
“Because he borrowed it under this shop’s name. You are business partners, aren’t you?”
A man with a shaved head pointed the jagged neck of a broken bottle at us and said: “Not even the deposit on this pathetic business of yours will be enough to pay back the principal.” Then he flung the broken bottle away.
Zhou, who’d already been on the receiving end of the bottle, cowered and crawled into Xiang’s arms. The men, back-alley loan sharks, threw open the doors and rummaged through every cabinet, going all the way up to the third floor, as if tallying up the value of every item and piece of furniture in the building.
The older man took off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt.
“Come sit here,” he said to Zhou. “The rest of you should get lost.”
He glared at us as he said this, but instead Xiang dragged her husband over to the spot he’d indicated and crouched firmly beside him.
“Both of our lives depend on this shop,” she said, “so whatever you say is meant for my ears, too.”
“Very well. I have two suggestions for you. Pay back the full amount of the loan before the end of the month, or pay off the principal with interest month by month.” Zhou was speechless.
“What’s the full amount?” Xiang asked.
“One and a half million.”
I couldn’t even fathom that much money. One serving of three dumplings cost one yuan — this was my dinner when times were hard. Xiang stared off into space and laughed in shock.
“And if we can’t pay you back?” she asked.
“You’ll pay us back with your bodies.”
Xiang and I were at a loss for words.
“We need more time,” Zhou said quietly.
“More time? Don’t try to worm your way out of this.”
“I own a small plot of land back in my hometown that I can use as collateral for a loan, but I’ll need time.”
The man thought this over for a moment; then he rose, buttoned up his shirt and put his jacket back on.
“Fine. You have exactly three days.”
“My hometown is all the way in Heilongjiang Province. It’ll take me three days just to get there and back.”
“Yeah? Then I’ll give you two extra days. But if I come back in five days and you still don’t have my money, I’ll gouge your eyes out.”
After the men left, we all sat slumped on the floor and cried quietly. I was crying from fear, but Xiang and Zhou were probably weeping at having their dreams shattered. Then we heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and the bald man who’d threatened us with the broken bottle came back in. He handed two train tickets to Zhou.
“Economy. Looks like I’ll be suffering too, because of you.”
Even after Zhou and the bald man had left for the station, Xiang and I didn’t bother to clean up. We went up to the third floor and sat there in a trance. In the afternoon the masseuses started reporting for work, and came to find us with confused looks on their faces. Xiang barely summoned the strength to send them home, saying we would be closed for a few days.
Early the following morning, we heard someone banging on the door downstairs. Zhou had returned with the bald man, who entered right behind him. The two of them had been drinking. The bald man was red-faced, but otherwise sober, whereas Zhou was dead drunk. Neither had much to say. Xiang and I guessed that they’d come to some sort of agreement, but we had no idea what. Zhou whispered to us to pack our clothes for a trip. He wouldn’t explain why. I threw a few toiletries, underwear and clothing into a bag and followed them. We slipped out without anyone seeing us and crossed Changjiang Road, where we caught a taxi about a block away from our building. We headed to the north side of Dalian Bay to the train station near Ganjingzi Park. The bald man walked ahead and led us to a cheap motel down a dark, muddy alley. The room was cramped and dark, and even the wallpaper was black with dirt. It was the kind of place that was mostly used by migrant workers from other provinces. The bald man disappeared again without a word.
“What on earth are you up to?” Xiang demanded.
“We can’t stay here anymore,” Zhou said. “We have to leave China.”
Zhou had gone to Dalian Station with the bald man in tow to keep a close eye on him. While waiting for the train, he had pleaded for their lives. The bald man listened silently and then asked how much the deposit was on their building, and whether or not Zhou could get it. His change of heart was not out of pity. He was just tired of performing menial tasks in exchange for a few coins from his boss, and was thinking about going into business for himself.
The man asked Zhou if he knew what “snakeheads” were. Back in Yanji, Chen had told Zhou over drinks one night about these gangs of smugglers who worked at the harbour. Zhou remembered that people smuggled out of the country were referred to as “snakes”. The bald man told him the down payment was at least five thousand dollars per snake. Anyone who didn’t have enough could have their family back home write a promissory note for the balance, and any money made abroad could be sent back to the family to pay down the total debt. The interest was nearly thirty percent. Rumour had it that if you missed a payment, one of your family members’ fingers would be cut off and sent to you as warning. After hearing the whole story, Xiang looked shocked.
“Where are we supposed to get that kind of money?” she asked.