to a custody centre.’
‘No, he looks like a tax collector to me,’ replies Kongzi. ‘And only large cities have custody centres. Sanxia is smaller than Hexi. Look, that department store is only two storeys high, and there are hardly any cars about. So stop worrying.’
A young man on a motorbike passes them, then looks back and shouts to Kongzi, ‘Hey, my friend! Five yuan a ride. How about it? I’ll take all three of you.’
Kongzi shakes his head. ‘Dad, me want motorbike!’ Nannan cries as it speeds away. ‘Me want sit on motorbike!’
‘We’ll walk,’ Kongzi says, setting off down the dirt road.
‘You horrid!’ Nannan says in a huff. ‘Me hate you.’
Kongzi doesn’t understand how I feel, Meili says to herself. If the police arrest us, I’m the one who will be punished. The condemned fetus is hidden in
my
belly.
They pass houses and billboards smothered in dust then, further along, the gloomy skeletons of gutted and abandoned buildings. Wooden beams, floor tiles, glass panes and revolving chairs have tumbled onto the dirt road. The rows of ancient houses clinging to the steep slopes above appear to have subsided into a layered heap.
‘Look at all those houses squashed together up there,’ says Meili. ‘None of them have doors. How do people get inside?’
‘Don’t you know? In river towns, all the windows face the river, and the doors are at the back,’ says Kongzi. They come to a pathway of stone steps that leads endlessly up the mountain. Kongzi takes Nannan’s hand and begins to climb.
‘So many steps,’ Meili says, struggling up behind, sweating and puffing. ‘How high are we going? What if I faint and fall down? Kongzi, will your cousin still remember you?’
‘Of course. We ran through the village together as kids, stealing peanuts and dates from the neighbours’ yards. We grew up eating from the same cob of corn!’
‘Daddy, you got your energy?’ Nannan says, lifting her sweaty face to his, her ponytail skewed to one side. Her red quilted jacket is far too hot for this town.
‘No, I left it at home,’ Kongzi says, knowing she wants him to carry her.
‘Me tired. Carry me.’
‘I told you, I haven’t brought my energy,’ he says, squeezing her hand. ‘Keep climbing. Don’t look up.’
Halfway up they reach a narrow lane. Kongzi leads them to the left and stops outside a dark entrance. Rows of rusty letter boxes are nailed to the cement walls inside. Some have been smashed open, others are stuffed with flyers offering to buy unwanted television sets.
‘Look at that slogan on the wall,’ says Meili, still catching her breath.
Kongzi turns to the crumbling wall and reads out loud: ‘“After the first child: an IUD. After the second child: sterilisation. Pregnant with a third or a fourth? Then the fetus will be killed, killed, killed!” Don’t worry. That’s an old one. Look, the paint is flaking off. Yes, this is definitely the right place. Here’s his letter box. Flat 121.’ He dumps his plastic bag on the ground and opens the door to the communal stairwell.
‘Daddy, careful, big bad wolf in there,’ Nannan whispers.
‘I’ll wait here with Nannan,’ Meili says. As he disappears, a smell of boiled mutton blows out from the stairwell and makes her stomach churn. She falls to her knees and vomits. Nannan jumps back in disgust.
‘Quick: cover it with some of that rubbish,’ Meili tells her, pointing to the dusty newspapers and orange peel in the corner.
Kongzi returns a few minutes later. ‘He’s not there. The woman in the flat next door said he moved to another town two months ago.’
‘I need to pee,’ Meili says in a panic.
‘You can’t do it here – we’re not in the countryside any more. Let’s go back down to the wharf and find you a toilet.’
So they pick up their bags, tramp back down the steep steps and book into the stationary barge hotel.
At night, the newly built apartment blocks jutting from the mountain top resemble
Alana Hart, Michaela Wright