graduate says, sitting up and smoothing her hair back. ‘God, what a stench. This place is a cesspit.’
‘It’s much nicer than the hut I’ve been living in,’ Meili says, scratching a loose flake of paint from her yellow rectangle. ‘It doesn’t smell nearly as bad as our duck enclosure, and there are fewer mosquitoes here, too. I wouldn’t mind staying a few days. But I’m worried about my daughter. My husband just sits down and drinks beer all evening. What will they eat?’
‘How old-fashioned you are. Don’t worry about them! What about you?’
‘Well, as Confucius said: “Men are the sky, women are the earth.”’
‘Patriarchal nonsense! Just wait until he leaves you for another woman.’
‘Only men from the cities behave like that. We peasants are much more traditional. My husband would never leave me.’
‘How do you know? There are no certainties in life. I never imagined my boyfriend would leave me and I’d end up having to sell my body.’
‘You’re a prostitute?’ Meili says in disbelief.
‘Yes. They arrested me while I was talking to a client in a hotel lobby. Look at point number 10: “Individuals involved in prostitution and whoring will undergo re-education and reform through labour for a period of six months to two years.” That’s what I’m heading for.’
‘But you wear glasses. You’re a graduate, for goodness’ sake! How did you get into this mess?’ The light is turned off. Meili smells a whiff of dirty nylon socks that reminds her of Kongzi. She still hates him for giving Waterborn away, but understands what drove him to it. If she were released now, she’d rush back to the hut and demand that he bring Waterborn home.
‘I came to Changsha last year to look for my boyfriend and tell him I was pregnant with his child,’ the graduate explains. ‘But when I found him, I discovered he was engaged to someone else. I was so distraught I went straight to a backstreet clinic and had an abortion. Love only strikes once – when it dies, you’re a walking corpse. After the abortion, I was too ashamed to go home. I ran out of money and needed to find work. I didn’t care what I did.’
‘How dreadful,’ Meili says, trying to find words to console her. Her eyes have become accustomed to the dark, and she can see the small flowers embroidered on the collar of the graduate’s blouse.
‘These custody centres are just moneymaking rackets,’ the graduate says. ‘If you can’t find anyone to pay your bail, local crooks will pay it for you, at a discounted rate, then sell you for double the price to village police who run labour camps up in the mountains. You’re forced to work on the fields for three months for no pay. They call it the “bail trade”. The city authorities get the bail money, the crooks make enough to build themselves villas in the countryside, and the village police can retire early on the profits from the labour camps. So everyone’s happy.’
‘Why’s the bail so high?’ Meili says, then thinks about the thirty yuan that the police confiscated from her.
‘They charge thirty yuan a night. It’s more expensive than a hotel! Then there’s the urban beautification fee, management fee, meals. If you can’t pay the bail, you’ll just have to come along with me to the labour camp.’
‘How will my husband and daughter cope on their own for all that time?’ Meili says, regretting her impetuous decision to storm off.
‘If your husband comes to bail you out, he’ll have to hand over at least a thousand yuan,’ the graduate says, shifting to the side so that Meili can share some of her mat. Then she opens her handbag and takes out a mobile phone.
‘Is there really no one in this city you can call?’ Meili asks, her eyes drawn to the phone. Until now, she’s only ever seen one on the television.
‘There’s no point calling anyone. This is the second time I’ve been caught for soliciting. I was allowed to pay my bail the first time, but this time they won’t take my money. Prostitutes are only given one chance.’
‘My parents could never raise a thousand yuan. They wouldn’t even be able to afford the train ticket here. And I don’t want to ask my husband to bail me out. I stormed off in a fit of anger. It would be too humiliating to have to beg him to come to fetch me . . . Tell me, what’s your name?’
‘Wang Suya.’
‘I’m