to be entered into lightly, as the big man appeared to have the unpredictable nature of a child, being mild and petulant by turns. He would have to pick his time carefully. He began to form his inquiry in his head, hauling the heavy English words around, groping for politeness and concision. Excuse, please, do you have a phone number for to call my wife?
Kevin was leading them down a corridor. Ding Ming admired the carpet, which seemed a luxurious touch even though it was stained and pocked with cigarette burns, and the floral designs on the wallpaper. He peeked into a room and saw bunk beds lining the wall and mattresses on the floor. There was enough space between the mattresses to walk one foot in front of the other, and this space was cluttered with clothes and packaging. The window was boarded and nailed shut and the room stank of men. He wondered where they all were, who did the cooking and cleaning, whether there were rotas and responsibilities. He supposed it would be like the teacher training college again.
Kevin led them past a shabby bathroom with no door and pointed at a Western toilet, an outlandish porcelain lily.
‘English speaker. You tell them, this is a toilet. Pissing and shitting only. Don’t go washing in it. You wash with this.’
He gestured at a sink. One tap was marked with a red dot, so Ding Ming asked, ‘Is there here hot water?’
‘Don’t be funny with me, son. Be glad you’ve got a roof over your head.’
Ding Ming felt awkward. He did not know how to deal with this man at all. Now it would be even harder to ask about the number. Excuse me, please, would it be possible for you to give me a number for to call my wife?
They trooped into a kitchen. Ding Ming was impressed that there was a refrigerator, not something he associatedwith kitchens. Back home fridges were kept on display in living rooms.
On a table sat a TV with attached video recorder and a pile of videos labelled in Chinese. One video had a picture of a naked lady on the label and Ding Ming looked with guilty fascination at enormous breasts, long legs and an expression of invitation. It reminded him that men without women were animals. He mentally promised his wife that he would not be watching any of those yellow films, and filled his mind with images of her to take away the after-glare of those legs and lips. Her nose was little like a mouse’s, her eyes strikingly far apart and big like a squirrel’s. He supposed she was now in similar surroundings and he hoped she was getting on alright and not missing him too much.
Kevin said, ‘Bucket of rice there, bowls in there. Fill up.’
‘Excuse me, please…’
But the man was striding out.
Ding Ming caught up with him on the front step. It was nerve-wracking to be outside, the street was deserted but anyone might walk past, he felt dangerously exposed. All his careful thought, and it came out in a garbled rush.
‘Very sorry. I want to ask a thing. You know my wife go to where number, please?’
‘What? Oh yeah.’
Kevin looked Ding Ming up and down.
‘What’s your name?’
Aware that English speakers could not pronounce or remember Chinese names, he used the title he’d chosen at the college.
My English name is William.’
‘William, come into my office.’
Kevin clambered awkwardly into the back of the van, and indicated the seat next to his.
Ding Ming resisted an impulse to squat on his haunches on the floor, which would put Kevin above him and accord with their social rank, and daringly he did as Kevin instructed, and sat next to him. It put him and Kevin at the same level, as if they were equals, and encouraged him to be bold.
‘You have got a way me speak at wife?’
He sensed that he had made mistakes there, and worried that with each effort he was only wandering further from the correct construction. It was incredibly hard to talk English to a native speaker, because whenever he got it wrong he felt he was losing face, and grew flustered, and
Kevin was leading them down a corridor. Ding Ming admired the carpet, which seemed a luxurious touch even though it was stained and pocked with cigarette burns, and the floral designs on the wallpaper. He peeked into a room and saw bunk beds lining the wall and mattresses on the floor. There was enough space between the mattresses to walk one foot in front of the other, and this space was cluttered with clothes and packaging. The window was boarded and nailed shut and the room stank of men. He wondered where they all were, who did the cooking and cleaning, whether there were rotas and responsibilities. He supposed it would be like the teacher training college again.
Kevin led them past a shabby bathroom with no door and pointed at a Western toilet, an outlandish porcelain lily.
‘English speaker. You tell them, this is a toilet. Pissing and shitting only. Don’t go washing in it. You wash with this.’
He gestured at a sink. One tap was marked with a red dot, so Ding Ming asked, ‘Is there here hot water?’
‘Don’t be funny with me, son. Be glad you’ve got a roof over your head.’
Ding Ming felt awkward. He did not know how to deal with this man at all. Now it would be even harder to ask about the number. Excuse me, please, would it be possible for you to give me a number for to call my wife?
They trooped into a kitchen. Ding Ming was impressed that there was a refrigerator, not something he associatedwith kitchens. Back home fridges were kept on display in living rooms.
On a table sat a TV with attached video recorder and a pile of videos labelled in Chinese. One video had a picture of a naked lady on the label and Ding Ming looked with guilty fascination at enormous breasts, long legs and an expression of invitation. It reminded him that men without women were animals. He mentally promised his wife that he would not be watching any of those yellow films, and filled his mind with images of her to take away the after-glare of those legs and lips. Her nose was little like a mouse’s, her eyes strikingly far apart and big like a squirrel’s. He supposed she was now in similar surroundings and he hoped she was getting on alright and not missing him too much.
Kevin said, ‘Bucket of rice there, bowls in there. Fill up.’
‘Excuse me, please…’
But the man was striding out.
Ding Ming caught up with him on the front step. It was nerve-wracking to be outside, the street was deserted but anyone might walk past, he felt dangerously exposed. All his careful thought, and it came out in a garbled rush.
‘Very sorry. I want to ask a thing. You know my wife go to where number, please?’
‘What? Oh yeah.’
Kevin looked Ding Ming up and down.
‘What’s your name?’
Aware that English speakers could not pronounce or remember Chinese names, he used the title he’d chosen at the college.
My English name is William.’
‘William, come into my office.’
Kevin clambered awkwardly into the back of the van, and indicated the seat next to his.
Ding Ming resisted an impulse to squat on his haunches on the floor, which would put Kevin above him and accord with their social rank, and daringly he did as Kevin instructed, and sat next to him. It put him and Kevin at the same level, as if they were equals, and encouraged him to be bold.
‘You have got a way me speak at wife?’
He sensed that he had made mistakes there, and worried that with each effort he was only wandering further from the correct construction. It was incredibly hard to talk English to a native speaker, because whenever he got it wrong he felt he was losing face, and grew flustered, and
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