Shen covers the bruise on her cheek with one hand. Her normally friendly face is expressionless and she does not raise her eyes when Jiang greets her.
“Tian-ah.” exclaims Jiang, “What happened?”
She does not look up, just holds out the recycling. She wears simple but well-fitting clothes and her hair is tied in a ponytail with a bright red ribbon.
“Did you argue with your foster mother?” he asks softly.
She nods. “She tells me I will stay until I am twenty two. The maximum allowed. Only then will my debt be repaid...” Her voice trails off.
He picks up the bundle of newspapers and magazines, hooks them onto his weighing stick and calculates the money. He adds a little extra and hands it all to her.
Recycler, Taiyuan, China (Photo: M Griffiths)
A previous set of stories was published in 2012 in a book entitled After Oil: SF Visions of a Post-Petroleum World, available from Amazon (Amazon) or in Australia from Fishpond (Fishpond).
[Also see my new story: Beijing Private Eyes - A foreign teacher in Beijing meets an unexpected and attractive visitor in need of assistance. He offers to help and things begin to get complicated.
Read Beijing Private Eyes here ]
Outside-In
Shen covers the bruise on
her cheek with one hand. Her normally
friendly face is expressionless and she does not raise her eyes when Jiang greets
her.
“Tian-ah.” exclaims Jiang, “What happened?”
She does not look up, just
holds out the recycling. She wears simple but well-fitting clothes and her hair
is tied in a ponytail with a bright red ribbon.
“Did you argue with your
foster mother?” he asks softly.
She
nods. “She tells me I will stay until I am twenty two. The maximum allowed. Only
then will my debt be repaid...” Her voice trails off.
He picks up the bundle of newspapers
and magazines, hooks them onto his weighing stick and calculates the money. He
adds a little extra and hands it all to her.
He often gives her extra
money, or sometimes a bag of seeds from his occasional trips to the country, or
books for her collection. In return she gives him scavenged bits of equipment
she finds on her way to the market or the family allotment. The first time she
brought the recycling to this side gate in the alley, he saw her put a small
portion of the money in her pocket before she went inside to give the rest to her
foster mother. Shen told him once she planned to get out of the city as soon as
she could. She went silent after that and did not speak of it again for a long
time.
“You should be grateful for
the chance to come to the city.” Jiang reminds her. “You garden, shop, clean,
help in the kitchen. It’s not so bad. The years will pass quickly. I would do
anything to have your opportunity.”
Her
face wears a sour expression. “You don’t know what it’s like. This is not the
life I want.”
Jiang shakes his head. “Be
careful. It will be worse if you anger Madam Yao and she passes you on.” He
steps between the two long wooden handles of the cart and begins to pull it
slowly down the alley and out into the street in front of the large walled
house. It reflects the rank of the owner. Shen’s foster father is an advisor to
a Deputy Minister in the Ministry of Food and Population.
After three blocks Jiang
turns left and slowly pulls his cart along the potholed boulevard that was once
the grand main street of the city. Tall trees stand along either side and provide
some welcome patches of shade. He goes past the high concrete walls of the Leaders
compound, a nine block complex of apartments reserved for the Leaders and their
families and other important officials. It also contains a hospital, a temple,
and even, he’s been told, a swimming pool. Only they have electricity and gas all
day and all night. Only they can afford the luxuries his grandparents told him
about. And only top Leaders, high monks
and generals ever get to use cars. Next to the compound is the main shopping
area and to the south the city’s largest park with trees, flowers, lakes and elegant
arched stone bridges.
Shen
has told Jiang little pieces of her story. She was the second daughter in a family
that wanted a son. The Leaders’ two-child population stability policy is
strict, but compassionate. Abortions are illegal, not like the unenlightened
times. If you did not want a child you may donate it to a family which can’t
have children. There are lots of those. The effects of industrial pollution and
contamination of the soil have left many people infertile. Selling children is
illegal but for your donation you receive a substantial cash reward from the
government. Donating a second son generates an even greater reward.
Unfortunately despite the
wisdom of the leaders and the compassion of their policies the end result is too
many girls, and so some are donated to foster parents who feed them and clothe
them and send them to primary school. And from the age of twelve until eighteen
or twenty or twenty two, depending on the generosity of the family, they work
in the household or family shop or business to repay the debt to their foster
parents. When this is repaid they are free to live in the city, although many
find it difficult. The system has another flaw too, a blind spot. Sometimes
foster children are passed on for a considerable fee, and then have to work to
repay the debt to the new family, and for much longer.
Jiang
continues along the street looking ahead to the city walls and the west gate in
the distance. Beads of sweat run down the back of his neck and the glare of the
summer sun makes spots dance in his eyes. He pulls his straw hat lower over his
face. Donkey carts pass him, axles squeaking and hoofs clip-clopping on the
cracked concrete. Bicycle rickshaws also creak by, customers enjoying the shade
of the covers while the drivers pant and strain. He glances around for some of
the other recyclers. They all know each other by sight at least. Some of the
older ones help him out, especially those that knew his father and grandfather.
Ahead he sees oxen pulling a nutrient cart, slowly lurching and swaying along
the road, removing the human and household waste of the city to the gas digesters
and compost piles outside.
Suddenly
the ground rumbles and shakes. Jiang lowers the cart and stands still, adjusting
his body to the movement. It stops after a few seconds. There have been quite a
few tremors recently. Buddha is displeased the Leaders say. Jiang hopes He isn’t
displeased with him personally. He tries not to think about the previous two exams.
The second year was better but the score was still not high enough. He also doesn’t
want to contemplate what he will do if he does not succeed this third, and final,
time.
He will take his load to the
recycling center tomorrow morning. Tonight he needs to study. The exam is in
two days, his last chance to get a government scholarship to a senior high
school and get a good job in the city, or even go to university. Maybe one day
be a Leader himself, a good Leader. He shakes his head and scolds himself. Such
ambitions are unenlightened.
The Leaders control the few
big factories and the trade of important goods with other republics, and a few
foreign counties. This region is known as the ‘land of coal and steel’. Some of
the big mines and mills still operate. They make steel for other places, and
produce pots and pans, bikes and carts, tools and solar equipment. In turn the
republic imports rice and rubber from the south, and solar panels and equipment
from the ‘Hi-tech’ republic on the east coast. Where the land is still clean
enough, farmers grow wheat, corn and other crops. Where there are more people
than clean land they form cooperatives and run village workshops and factories to
produce bricks, baskets, pottery or cloth. Families grow some of their own
vegetables on whatever land they can find. The memory of the famines, although
distant now, is still strong.
Philosophy is difficult. He
can understand the current transition stage of history to the state of enlightenment. It makes room for society’s obvious imperfections
and allows for some minor vices, like drinking, smoking, and gambling - in
moderation. He knows enough of life to see that people find those kinds of
things hard to give up. His grandfather used to laugh and say that this phase will
last a long, long time. But some aspects are just too hard to comprehend.
History hurts his head, even more than
philosophy. So many events and dates: wars, floods, droughts, famines,
dynasties beginning and ending, the population rising and falling. The Red
dynasty that preceded the current federal republic was the end of the unenlightened
times when people craved money and had no say in their government. Following
the global economic crisis the government began to fall apart. Bad luck befell
the country, flood and drought and famine in turn. An earthquake broke a great
dam, killing three hundred thousand people, or was it three million? He can
never remember. Wars broke out on the
borders. It was not clear who started them or exactly how they finished. At least
the version in the books does not match what grandfather told him.
China split into nine
republics, roughly based on the old military regions, but the generals had the
wisdom, after a bit of persuasion Grandfather said, to cede power to the monks
and new Leaders who brought a new philosophy and order to the land and ushered in
the three decades of stability. Material growth is shunned as greed which would
bring further bad karma, oil and coal and other resources are scarce and must
be conserved, and the environment must be protected, not exploited and poisoned;
compassion and enlightenment are the goals of society now.
Jiang
showers in the communal solar shower block near his home. Four minutes of hot water
bliss, the time strictly controlled by the smiling but eagle eyed attendant. Some
old friends from junior high school invite him to join them after dinner to
play cards and pool, and drink weak beer from the local brewery. They are still
too young to be allowed stronger liquor, and the monks frown upon it anyway. “I’m
studying tonight.” he tells them. “The exam is the day after tomorrow.”
“Dreamer!” they shout, laughing.
“You’re wasting your time. Come and have some fun.” He climbs up the rough concrete zigzag stairs to the eighth floor.
His Grandmother turns and her lined face
creases into a smile. “A good day?” she asks.
“Hai ke yi.” Ok. “About the usual.”
She
lifts a pot off the solar cooker that faces the late afternoon sun, brings it
into the kitchen and places it on the cold brick stove. They only use that in
the morning and through the winter to heat the rooms and the kang, the solid brick bed through which
the hot smoke travels to warm it before it wafts outside. The other exceptions
are festivals and other special days when Grandmother cooks stir fry, rather
than noodles, boiled vegetables, rice or soup. The briquettes of coal dust are
too expensive to burn all year round, and rumors say the coal is getting deeper
and harder to mine. Wood is even more expensive. The hills are covered in regenerating
forests planted by monks and soldiers and are protected by Buddhist prohibitions
against harvesting until they reach maturity. Only one or two more decades to wait.
After dinner Jiang lights
the oil lamp on the table and begins to study. Grandmother takes another lamp
and goes out into the twilight to chat and sing with her friends or watch the
neighborhood TV. By midnight she is long in bed and the characters in the text
books swim before Jiang’s eyes. He thinks of Shen. What had she done in a past
life?
Grandfather never believed
all that stuff. Opium of the masses just like the red emperors said.
Grandfather said how could you be responsible for things in a past life when
you couldn’t even remember them? This life was difficult enough. All the same Grandfather
did his best not attract bad karma, but Grandmother still scolded him for not
visiting the temple enough between festival days.
The
next morning Jiang wakes up to the sound of the kettle boiling. “Qi chuang.” Get up. “Come and have some
breakfast.” calls Grandmother.
After eating he carefully
lifts the nutrient bucket and carries it down the stairs to the recycling tanks.
Then he washes it at the designated tap.
No one uses this unclean tap for drinking. Nearby he sees small flowers
growing in the thin layer of dust that the winds blow over the sporadic piles of
brick, concrete and stones. There is no need to go to the water tap today and
haul it up the stairs on the shoulder pole. He filled two extra yesterday
morning. There is no point either. Today the water is turned off, a reminder of
the consequences of unenlightened behavior. The last day of the month is tax
day. The government officials visit each neighborhood and village to collect
the designated amount from each family, a set fee or quantity of food or goods calculated
according to income, occupation and time of year. The city holds regular
elections of new Leaders and hands out harsh punishments for corrupt or greedy
officials. Outside the people elect community councils who negotiate on their behalf
so the taxes are high but not unbearable. The officials come with monks who
confer blessings on the contributors and armed soldiers who ensure order. When
all the taxes are paid the water is turned on again.
Back
in the kitchen he glances at the calendar, the Year of the Horse, with a
picture of horses running wild. He stares at the picture next to it on the wall.
Heavenly Apartments the caption reads.
The picture shows glittering tower blocks surrounded by trees and flower filled
gardens. Below it on the page is another picture, night time with the apartment
windows glowing with lights and large neon signs shining on top of each
building. Just like the apartments in the Leaders’ compound. He saw them once
when he hid inside the city overnight with his school mates. The paper is tattered
and the edges brown with age. Grandfather kept it all these years.
“That was the apartment they
promised us.” Grandfather used to say. “The 23rd floor. Right
there.” He would stab his stubby finger at the page. They took our farm land
and demolished the houses for some project, and then when we got to the city
the building wasn’t finished. Just this empty concrete shell. A ghost tower.”
The construction company, like most at that time, had gone broke.
His grandparents built this
small house on the eighth floor of the tower. Two rooms made of brick. Double glazed
windows of salvaged glass. The sunny side of the concrete slab floor was coved
in troughs of soil for growing vegetables and herbs. The building’s bare
skeleton decorated with a green fringe up to the tenth floor. Between them they
had hauled all the soil up by hand. Grandmother had brought her treadle sewing
machine from the country and went to the market every day and set it up,
mending clothes for a small fee. When the garden was finished Grandfather went
with her with another small hand operated sewing machine with a thicker needle
and thread and shoe fixing tools. He hauled them in his cart and pulled goods
around the neighborhood and into the city in between shoe repairs. Grandmother
still goes there almost every day and continues to make her living that way.
Jiang
doesn’t remember his parents. His grandparents brought him up from infancy. His father had been a small child when they
moved to the city and had eventually married a girl from one of the neighboring
buildings. After two miscarriages Jiang had been born to great happiness. But
soon after his mother and father died in one of the epidemics from the south, something
that the medicines couldn’t fix.
He sits down to study. No
work today, this is his last chance. He opens the books but his mind wanders. What
will he do if he doesn’t do well in the exam? Haul the cart for the rest of his
life? Join the long waiting lists at the factories like some of his school
friends? Become a monk? He doesn’t think that would suit him. A soldier
perhaps? Become an apprentice in the electrical village, or learn some other
craft? That is a good livelihood but it won’t get him into the city, unless he
becomes an expert. Go to the country like Shen? Would that be better than
living in the ghost towers?
One time Jiang had asked
Shen what she would do if she left the city.
“I will find some land and
remove the contamination so I can be a farmer.”
“How can you do that?”
“There are special plants
that remove the poisons, the invisible metals, and after a few years you can
grow food again. I sto……I got some seeds from my foster father. The government
is experimenting. I will collect fallen branches from the forest to burn. I
have the farming books you gave me. I will teach myself to plough and sow and
harvest the crops. I will get a donkey to turn a grindstone and make flour. I’ve
heard travelers talk about other parts of the country that are better than here.
Where there are woman leaders too, not these monkeys with hats. ”
Jiang
had protested. “The Leaders are compassionate and wise, Shen. They don’t make
unnecessary rules and they ensure everyone has food and even the villages have primary
schools and doctors.”
Jiang pores over his books
again.
Shen throws the food scraps
from the kitchen to the chickens in the coop at the rear of the walled yard, collects
the eggs and takes them into the kitchen. Then she steps out of the gate and goes
to tend the plants in her foster parents’ allotment, weeding, watering, and
checking the crop so she can report back on when the vegetables will be ready
to pick. She imagines it is her own garden in the country. Somewhere further south, over the border into the Central republic,
where the weather is warmer in the winter and the droughts not so frequent. Free,
with no debt around my neck. One day. Soon.
When she finishes in the allotment
she walks swiftly to an empty building nearby. She looks behind her to make
sure no one follows her. Then she slips behind a wall. Out of sight at the back,
she tends a small plot of her own. She squats among the plants, patiently extracts
the small seeds and places them in a bag.
When she gets back to the
house Madam Yao shouts at her. “You’re late. What have you been doing you lazy
girl? We feed you, clothe you and look how you repay us. Hurry up, get to the
kitchen.” Madam Yao raises her arm and Shen cowers as she runs inside.
Madam Yao lies on her bed, her white blouse turning bright red. Shen stands
and watches, frozen in place as blood drips from the long knife in her shaking hand.
The woman’s breath gives a last gurgle as her lungs fill with blood and she falls
silent. Shen snaps out of her trance and runs from the room.
Shen
wakes with a start. Her skin is damp with sweat and her long hair sticks to her
forehead. She gets up and sips some water from the pottery flask on the small
table by her narrow bed. She washes her face in a small basin and lies down
again, searching for sleep.
Jiang rises early, washes
and dresses in his best clothes. After breakfast he puts his things into a bag
and bikes to the city to the exam hall at one of the city high schools. The
first step in his journey. If he does well he will study hard and then get a
job and an apartment in the city, near the wall at first. Grandmother will come
and live with him. She will make more money selling to customers in the city
too. It will be just like the picture on the kitchen wall, except for the neon
sign on top and the lack of lights at night, at least until he can afford a solar
panel, or a bright, fancy, and expensive, wind up lamp.
As
he approaches the city gate he hops off his bike and pulls his papers out of
his pocket. He eyes the soldiers and frowns when he sees Sergeant Wang. He drops
his eyes and joins the waiting line.
“Ai ya. What’s this?” Wang sneers, hand
resting on his holster, feet planted wide next to the soldier checking the
papers. Jiang keeps his head down. “Someone wants to sit the exam, does he?”
Jiang nods slightly. “Another outsider wants to get into the city. Think you’re
better than pulling carts do you?” Jiang stands motionless. “Well?”
“The
monks say everyone has the chance to improve their karma.” says Jiang quietly.
“Improve
your karma? Ha! You can’t find ivory in a dog’s mouth. Give me your bag.”
Jiang
hands over his bag, Wang turns it upside down and the pencils, rubber, abacus, a
steamed bun wrapped in paper, an apple and water flask clatter onto the ground.
Jiang bends to pick them up. Wang’s knee shoves his shoulder and sends him
sprawling. Wang laughs. “Good luck.”
The people in the line
shuffle their feet nervously and look away. The food vendors on the side of the
street busy themselves with their wares.
Jiang stuffs his papers back
in his pocket and hurries through the gate.
He bikes until he is out of sight before he stops and brushes off the
dust.
Jiang rubs his eyes and massages his writing
hand. The hundreds of students around him begin to pack up. He has the same
feeling as the year before; good, but is
it good enough? He puts his pencils and abacus in his bag and gets up to
leave. Then the rumbling starts. He stands calmly and waits for it to stop. But
it doesn’t. The violence of the next shake throws him to the floor and he scrambles
under the desk. The lurching and swaying
of the ground grows stronger. The air is filled with dust and screams, pieces
of the ceiling fall and crash onto the desks. Something hits his back. He grabs
the table leg and covers his head with his other arm.
When
the movement finally stops Jiang gingerly stands up and rubs his back. Some
students shout out to each other, others cry with pain or shock. He pulls a heavy
fragment of plaster off someone. Others help their classmates. A well-dressed teacher
holds up her hand and shouts for them to follow her out the door, the rectangular
hole in the wall leans drunkenly. Outside some buildings stand upright at odd
angles. He sees a hole in the sky where another ghost tower once stood. “Shang di.” he murmurs. God. He runs to
his bike and pedals as fast as he can.
The
west gate is a mound of rubble. Some soldiers tear at the bricks and concrete
trying to free their comrades. A voice yells from underneath. They shout to
answer him and the desperate activity increases. Jiang looks at the rubble and
choses a spot. He hoists his bike onto his shoulder, ignores the grease and
dirt on his clothes, and begins to climb over. Slowly he picks his way up, then
descends and finally mounts his bike again pedaling until his lungs burn and
his legs ache.
Where
the ghost tower once stood is an enormous pile of concrete. It has fallen
sideways into the next building, and both have collapsed into mountains of
jagged concrete and twisted reinforcing, decorated by smashed plant troughs and
the occasional brightly colored piece of clothing. Jiang and several others search
for signs of life, trying to pull off bits of concrete with their bare hands. They
shout out the names of the missing and listen for replies. None come. Jiang
hopes that Grandmother is still at the market, even though it is past the usual
time. He runs around behind the pile of rubble to the bike garage. The walls of
the big rusty corrugated iron shelter lean a little but the building still stands.
He rushes inside. There is Grandmother’s three wheeled bike, the sewing machine
and the bundle of cloth and thread tidily stored in the tray alongside
grandfather’s shoe repair equipment.
He
stands and weeps.
After
a while his Grandmother’s voice comes to him. He wipes his face on his sleeve
and walks back around to the front of the pile of rubble and squats in the
dust. He places his hands together in front of him and murmurs the prayers Grandmother
taught him, over and over again. A grey robed monk appears and asks him who is
inside. He tells him, croaking hoarsely with the dust in his throat. The monk begins
chanting alongside him.
He
squats in the road until his legs are almost numb and his stomach growls. As
darkness falls more monks and nuns arrive and distribute food to the survivors
in the dim light of their lamps. Many follow them back to the monastery to
sleep. Jiang sleeps on a mat on the ground beside Grandmother’s bike. The next morning
the caretaker nods glumly as he goes out. He still has the bikes, but few
living customers left to pay him. Jiang hands the man some notes.
Jiang picks up his cart from beside the garage and goes toward the
city. “The gates are blocked.” someone tells him. “The machines are still coming
from the mines.”
He returns to the ghost towers and hauls away whatever people pay him
to move and whatever else he can find.
The next day he returns and the west gate is still closed. The smell of
rotting waste rises up in the heat. “Things are bad in there,” a food seller
says, “people are climbing out to find food and water.”
Jiang leaves his cart and climbs over the rubble. He walks his usual rounds. Some of his customers are
still there, cleaning up and repairing damage, others have gone completely,
along with their buildings. The noise of the big machines sounds in the streets
clearing a path through the debris. Shen’s
house is still standing, a few tiles fallen from the roof and some windows
shattered. Jiang goes to the gate in the alley. He bangs his fist and shouts
until eventually a wary eye peeks through the hatch. “What do you want?” says a
male voice, perhaps the cook.
“I am here for the
recycling. Usually the girl, Shen, brings it out.” said Jiang.
“We are all busy cleaning up
the mess from the earthquake. Come back another day.”
Jiang breathes a sigh of relief and heads home. There are no machines on the
outside yet. He looks through the rubble of the tower again. He recognizes
fragments of things from his neighbors’ houses. He washes his clothes and hangs
them up on a makeshift line. Then he squats, lights incense and repeats
Grandmother’s prayers.
The next day the west gate
is open and a machine comes to remove the rubble from the outside streets. It
lifts some of the concrete slabs from the pile of the ghost towers. Survivors from
the building are able to pull out a few small items. Jiang finds some of his clothes,
a small battered tin with his grandmother’s savings, what little is left over
after his school fees and grandfather’s hospital bills, some books, and a small
torn fragment of the picture from the wall. The wooden furniture is splintered
into a thousand pieces.
Later
in the morning he hauls his cart, almost overflowing with food, into the city. The
recycling business is good too. He focuses on his muscles stretching and
straining with the cart. The walking and pulling stops his mind from thinking
too much. In the evening he goes to the monastery, burns incense, makes a
donation and eats in the monks’ dining room. Then he returns to sleep in the
garage.
A few days later the city is
still dotted with rubble but life returns to the streets. The vendors and
wagons and rickshaws ply their trades. At the usual time Jiang leans against
the wall of the alley opposite the side gate of the official’s house. He holds an
apple in one hand and a fruit knife in the other and slowly peels the skin in a
long continuous spiral, the way his grandmother taught him.
He hears a click as a bolt is
drawn. Shen slips out of the gate and closes it silently behind her. She wears
plain clothes and her head is covered with a scarf. She wears a mask over her
face and carries a basket on her back, attached with straps over her shoulders.
It is filled with a large bundle.
“Shen.”
Jiang calls out.
She jumps at his voice.
“Shhh.” she hisses. She looks up and down the alley.
“Are you leaving?” he asks pushing
off from the wall.
She nods. Her hand slips
under her jacket to the hilt of her knife.
“What if Madam Yao comes
after you?”
Shen shakes her head and
whispers. “She won’t, and the army is too busy cleaning up.”
“My Grandmother has gone to
Buddha. The earthquake destroyed our house.” says Jiang.
Shen looks at him, “I am
sorry. What will you do?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know.
Now I sleep with the bikes and pull my cart.”
Shen’s dark eyes flit
between him and the end of the alley.
He
looks down at his apple. “I can take you south, at least as far as the electric
village, maybe a bit further. I know the road.” he says looking up, “If you
want to.”
She looks at him closely. He
stands silently staring at her, chewing. Her hand drops to her side. “Yes.”
He moves to the cart and
begins to pull it down the alley. She walks beside him.
“Did the exam go well?” Shen
asks.
“I don’t know. Everything
has been turned upside down.”
They spend the night in the
electric village. Next morning Shen stands beside Jiang’s bike, ready to head off.
“You have no home now.” she says. “Come with me. We can be neighbors. You can
share my seeds.”
He shakes his head. “I think
I might still have a chance to get into the city.”
She looks at him and shrugs.
“Come and visit me one day. I will show you a better kind of life.”
Jiang smiles and nods. “Maybe.
Good luck.”
Shen mounts the bike, pushes
the pedals forward and heads down the road to the south. She wills herself not
to look back.
Jiang reaches the city on
his grandmother’s bike in the heat of the day. He goes back to the neighborhood
that was once the ghost towers. Jiang stores the bike in the garage shed and
picks up his cart. He resumes his delivery and recycling rounds and works on
his plan.
After several days riding Shen’s legs are sore
and her stomach growls. She comes to the border. She stops and watches the
guards. A rudimentary barrier blocks the road. She gets off her bike and walks
around the area, investigating the fields to the left and right. As night falls
she ties a lamp to the handlebars and walks through the fields, until she is
sure she out of sight of the guards. She walks back to the road, gets on the
bike and slowly pedals on in the darkening evening. She smiles to herself. Free.
Jiang pulls the cart to a
stop in the alley beside Shen’s old house. He knocks at the gate. The man comes
to answer. “I’ve come for the recycling.”
The man grunts and comes back with a bundle. Jiang weighs it and hands the man
some money. “Where is the girl?” he asks.
‘Gone. Ran off.”
“Oh.” Jiang says. “Will the
family get a new child?”
The man shrugs. “Tai mafan.” Too much trouble.
Shen pedals south passes through farmland and villages and towns. Late in
the afternoon she arrives at the village tired and hungry. She finds an empty
house to lie down and sleep. In the morning she looks around at fields growing
nothing but weeds, and more empty houses. She brushes her hair and straightens
her cloths and goes into the village to talk to the people. She searches out an
old woman and asks about the fields and houses. “Gone.” the woman says.
“I would like to live here.” she says. “I have seeds to remove the
poisons and clean the soil.” The woman takes her to see a group of woman in the
village. Shen tells she is an orphan and ran away from a bad family. They hear
her accent and wonder. The village committee of Grandmothers debates, and then agrees
that she can stay.
She smiles and cries. Home at last.
The next morning Jiang
showers and dresses in his best clothes. He bikes slowly to the city and passes
through the hole in the city wall that was the west gate. He arrives at his
destination and parks the bike next to a wall. He stands in front of a big red
door, takes a deep breath and knocks. He waits, listening, and then knocks
again. The door finally opens. The scent of perfume wafts out of the dim
interior. An elegantly dressed woman looks at him curiously.
Jiang clears his throat, and
bows slightly. “Madam Yao?”
********
The Sequel to Outside In is Seeds of Time. In 2055 rural China prospers again after a period of dramatic changes, then things are complicated by a strange visitor and a hidden object.
MORE STORIES....
The Nature of Love - A couple in love enjoy a day out in nature but something is amiss...
The Nature of Love - A couple in love enjoy a day out in nature but something is amiss...
My Crazy China Trip - (Humour) A novice traveller gets more than he bargains for during 15 days in China. (10 Parts)
Love at First Flight - A foreign teacher arrives in China and falls in love with a local, but the path of true love is anything but smooth. (5 parts)
Trial by Fire - When a woman in Tibet self-immolates two witnesses face a dangerous dilemma. (4 parts)
Arrested Development - A development consultant in China finds life getting out of control. [Rated R] SHORTLISTED for the Lord Grimdark Award. See the list here.
Beijing Private Eyes - Drama, Romance, Karaoke, Kidnap! A foreign teacher in Beijing meets an attractive stranger and offers to help, then things get complicated. (A long story in 8 parts)
Tell him he's dreaming - An engineer has an environmental epiphany but things don't work out as planned. GAINED 5th PLACE in the New Zealand Writers College Short Story competition. See the list of finalists here.
Entries in the post-industrial / peak oil short story competition:
My story 'Promised Land' has been selected for the forthcoming anthology "After Oil 2: The Years of Crisis". You can read the other entries here.
A previous set of stories was published in 2012 in a book entitled After Oil: SF Visions of a Post-Petroleum World, available from Amazon (Amazon) or in Australia from Fishpond (Fishpond).
Stories set in China:
Winds of Change – In 2022 a migrant worker struggles to realise his dreams and fulfil his family obligations.
Outside In – It's 2050, the country and economy have changed. A recycler studies for an exam to improve his prospects, and an indentured servant plans her escape.
Seeds of Time – (Sequel to Outside In). In 2055 rural China prospers again after a period of dramatic changes, then things are complicated by a strange visitor and a hidden object.
Stories set in Australia: A North Queensland Trilogy
Robots on Mars – 2025. A space-mad city boy adjusts to life in the country and tries to solve a mystery. (Note: no actual robots or Martians involved)
Promised Land – (Sequel to Robots on Mars). It’s 2050 and development threatens the rural district. Is it what they really need and if not, how can they stop it?
Heart of Glass - (Sequel to Promised Land). The year is 2099, high school graduates prepare to step into adulthood and the community prepares to celebrate the turn of a new century.
Tell me what you think. Constructive comments welcome.
If you like the story share with it with your friends.
If you like the story share with it with your friends.
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