our job and now you and your families have to start honouring the terms of the repayment contract.’
Ding Ming had the number memorised but was shaking with excitement and found it difficult to hit the right keys. He’d given his mother his mobile when he left, for just this occasion.
‘Mama? Mama? Dao le! Dao le! … I arrived! I arrived!’
‘How is it? Is it cold?’
A good line – it was just like he was calling from across the street.
‘No, not too cold. Everything is fine. Tell everyone you have an abroad worker as a son now.’ He added, though he knew it was inane, ‘Sorry if I woke you up.’
‘No, I was about to go to market, it’s seven in the morning.’ He had forgotten about the time difference.
‘Celebrate. Buy some meat.’
Black Fort said, ‘Enough. Hand it over.’
‘Bye. Bye.’
Ding Ming felt his eyes growing damp, so he blinked quickly. He reminded himself that he’d see her soon enough, that when they did meet again she’d have a fancy phone like that one, paid for with all the money he’d sent back. And after he came home he’d build her a magnificent house, the biggest in the village. He could see the expression of joy on her face when she saw it.
Mister Kevin was eating fried rice and sweet and sour pork balls with a plastic fork. In easy conversation with him, Black Fort worked a match from one corner of his mouth to the other.
He said, ‘Yeah… yeah,’ which Ding Ming recognised from films as American English slang for the affirmative. He must have been born over here, there was no other way to achieve such an enviable level of English ability. How cool he was, with artfully dishevelled hair, a gold earring, jade necklace, bomber jacket, black jeans. When Ding Ming had money he’d dress exactly like that. He couldn’t get taller and paler, and he doubted he could ever achieve that self-assurance, but at least he could buy the look. He craned forward to check the brand of shoes, and the man grew aware of his attention.
‘ Ni kan shenme? … What are you looking at?’
‘Your shoes.’
Black Fort rested a foot on the dashboard.
‘For basketball. They have air in the soles. Like walking on clouds. I understand you speak some English.’
‘I did some training to be an English teacher.’
‘I have to tell you, you won’t be able to use your English here.’
‘Why not?’
‘They think all Chinese are scum, they won’t talk to you. And if you even try, well, that’s your lookout. One of our guys, he looked at a white girl a little too long, and he was arrested.’
‘Arrested?’
‘They kept him in the cells, beat him up. Just for looking at a girl. What you have to remember is, these people think of us as rats.’
‘We are rats!’ declared a man, who had succeeded in following that much at least of their conversation. ‘We are the Fujian rats!’ He’d been watching Kevin’s fork go up and down. All the migrants, Ding Ming suspected, were wondering when they would get fed.
They made a chant of it.
‘We are the Fujian rats!’
Black Fort beckoned Ding Ming closer. ‘That guy was lucky.’
‘Lucky?’
‘We had another guy, he went into the police station to ask the time and he never came out. Rule number one is, you don’t have anything to do with authority. You’d be taking your life in your own hands. They’re bastards – even worse than in China. They’ll knock you on the head and whip out your heart and liver and eyes and sell them for transplants. You go in the police station, you never come out. Tell the others.’
Ding Ming repeated the advice. A man asked him to inquire about prostitutes, and he blushed as he did so, though he was glad to be of use. His Mandarin, it seemed, was proving handy, even if his English wasn’t going to be.
‘The chickens here are expensive and ridden with AIDS. We provide films and magazines.’ Black Fort worked thematch to the other side of his mouth. ‘I’m not going to lie to you. You’ve
Ding Ming had the number memorised but was shaking with excitement and found it difficult to hit the right keys. He’d given his mother his mobile when he left, for just this occasion.
‘Mama? Mama? Dao le! Dao le! … I arrived! I arrived!’
‘How is it? Is it cold?’
A good line – it was just like he was calling from across the street.
‘No, not too cold. Everything is fine. Tell everyone you have an abroad worker as a son now.’ He added, though he knew it was inane, ‘Sorry if I woke you up.’
‘No, I was about to go to market, it’s seven in the morning.’ He had forgotten about the time difference.
‘Celebrate. Buy some meat.’
Black Fort said, ‘Enough. Hand it over.’
‘Bye. Bye.’
Ding Ming felt his eyes growing damp, so he blinked quickly. He reminded himself that he’d see her soon enough, that when they did meet again she’d have a fancy phone like that one, paid for with all the money he’d sent back. And after he came home he’d build her a magnificent house, the biggest in the village. He could see the expression of joy on her face when she saw it.
Mister Kevin was eating fried rice and sweet and sour pork balls with a plastic fork. In easy conversation with him, Black Fort worked a match from one corner of his mouth to the other.
He said, ‘Yeah… yeah,’ which Ding Ming recognised from films as American English slang for the affirmative. He must have been born over here, there was no other way to achieve such an enviable level of English ability. How cool he was, with artfully dishevelled hair, a gold earring, jade necklace, bomber jacket, black jeans. When Ding Ming had money he’d dress exactly like that. He couldn’t get taller and paler, and he doubted he could ever achieve that self-assurance, but at least he could buy the look. He craned forward to check the brand of shoes, and the man grew aware of his attention.
‘ Ni kan shenme? … What are you looking at?’
‘Your shoes.’
Black Fort rested a foot on the dashboard.
‘For basketball. They have air in the soles. Like walking on clouds. I understand you speak some English.’
‘I did some training to be an English teacher.’
‘I have to tell you, you won’t be able to use your English here.’
‘Why not?’
‘They think all Chinese are scum, they won’t talk to you. And if you even try, well, that’s your lookout. One of our guys, he looked at a white girl a little too long, and he was arrested.’
‘Arrested?’
‘They kept him in the cells, beat him up. Just for looking at a girl. What you have to remember is, these people think of us as rats.’
‘We are rats!’ declared a man, who had succeeded in following that much at least of their conversation. ‘We are the Fujian rats!’ He’d been watching Kevin’s fork go up and down. All the migrants, Ding Ming suspected, were wondering when they would get fed.
They made a chant of it.
‘We are the Fujian rats!’
Black Fort beckoned Ding Ming closer. ‘That guy was lucky.’
‘Lucky?’
‘We had another guy, he went into the police station to ask the time and he never came out. Rule number one is, you don’t have anything to do with authority. You’d be taking your life in your own hands. They’re bastards – even worse than in China. They’ll knock you on the head and whip out your heart and liver and eyes and sell them for transplants. You go in the police station, you never come out. Tell the others.’
Ding Ming repeated the advice. A man asked him to inquire about prostitutes, and he blushed as he did so, though he was glad to be of use. His Mandarin, it seemed, was proving handy, even if his English wasn’t going to be.
‘The chickens here are expensive and ridden with AIDS. We provide films and magazines.’ Black Fort worked thematch to the other side of his mouth. ‘I’m not going to lie to you. You’ve
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