she has killed herself.’ Weiwei takes off his tortoiseshell glasses and rubs his tear-filled eyes.
Meili searches for words of comfort. ‘I’m not a good mother,’ she says at last. ‘To tell you the truth, I’ve had an IUD fitted. I don’t want to have any more children. I want to work hard, make money, and live the kind of life where I can eat my meals at a proper table and wash my clothes in a machine.’
Weiwei looks up. ‘That shouldn’t be hard to achieve. Times have changed. Any woman can set up her own business now, become her own boss. But not every woman can be as good a mother as you . . .’
‘I’d like to take a television correspondence course,’ Meili says, glancing back at the professor on the flickering screen. ‘I venerate learning, but I’m so uncultured and poorly educated. I only went to school for two years . . . Kongzi doesn’t know I’ve had an IUD fitted. Please don’t tell him.’
‘Your secret’s safe. I’ll be leaving tomorrow and will probably never see either of you again.’
‘I know you look down on us peasants. Once you’ve gone, you’ll forget all about us.’
‘No. I’ll never forget you. I’ll leave you my address. You and Kongzi would be more than welcome to come and stay with us.’ Their eyes meet as they inhale the smell of each other’s sweat. ‘You really are beautiful,’ he says. ‘How easy life would be if I had someone like you by my side.’ In the dim light, Weiwei’s hair looks shinier and less grey. ‘You have something caught . . .’ He points at her mouth, but before she has a chance to touch it, he reaches over and picks out from between her front teeth a strand of spinach. Meili jumps to her feet and asks Kongzi, who’s just walked in, where the toilet is.
‘Don’t go. It’s pitch black out there. Wait until we’re back on the boat.’ She can smell that he’s just vomited. His face is purple and bloated.
‘It’s so quiet now,’ Weiwei says, ‘I feel much better after that swim.’ Meili watches the water drip down his bare back and hands him a towel. Then she goes into the cabin, slips off her wet dress, dries herself quickly with a sheet and puts on Kongzi’s long white vest. ‘You can sleep in here with us,’ she says, poking her head round the door curtain. ‘We’ll have to squeeze up, I’m afraid.’
The night is breezeless, but a faint smell of osmanthus seems to be moving through the still air. Meili and Weiwei are now lying on either side of Kongzi, who’s quietly snoring. Meili can sense that Weiwei is still awake. When they returned to the boat, Kongzi crashed out in the cabin, and she jumped into the river for a swim, having noticed when they arrived at dusk that the water was clean. Weiwei jumped in after her. It was too dark for her to see the expression on his face; all she could make out in the light from the restaurant was the dark outline of the boat.
‘I’m so sorry to have inconvenienced you like this,’ Weiwei whispers to her across Kongzi’s sleeping body.
‘Don’t worry. It would have been too dangerous to sail at night. This boat is wooden, and would fall apart if it collided with anything. We’ll sleep here and head back to Xijiang in the morning.’ Although the smells around her are familiar, the cabin feels strangely different. She can’t sleep. Kongzi’s snoring is embarrassing her. ‘You don’t snore, do you?’ she asks Weiwei. She wedges a jumper under her pillow to raise her head a little, then flaps her damp sheet in the air so that it falls flat over her body.
‘No, I don’t snore,’ Weiwei whispers. ‘But I’m finding it hard to fall asleep. I’ve never spent the night on a boat before.’
‘I couldn’t get used to it either, when we first moved onto the boat,’ Meili says, her nose touching the back of Kongzi’s head. ‘But now, unless I’m rocking from side to side, it takes me hours to drop off. Are you hot? Our electric fan’s broken, I’m afraid. Here, use this bamboo one. I suppose you town dwellers all have air conditioning on at night.’
‘No – not many people can afford to have it installed. And even if they can, they’re afraid to use it because the electricity costs so much.’
‘Which university did your wife go to?’ Feeling