featureless planks of wood. A few have lights on, but most are still dark.
‘Look at that block up there: it must be twelve storeys high,’ Meili says. ‘If the top windows were opened, birds could fly straight in.’ Now that Nannan is asleep, she and Kongzi have come out to sit on the barge’s open deck. The hotel is mostly occupied by migrant workers. The cabins reek of mould and the toilets are so squalid no one dares to use them.
Kongzi wraps his down jacket over his shoulders and looks out at the river. ‘What a fine view! It reminds me of that Tang Dynasty poem: “In spring the river swells to the height of the sea. / The bright moon lifts from the surface of the water and rises with the tide.”’ He takes a drag on his cigarette then exhales slowly, clouding his thick glasses.
‘I’d like to go up one of those blocks and see the view from the top,’ Meili says, still staring at the lights twinkling on the mountain.
‘What a philistine you are! How can you look at apartment blocks when we have the eternal Yangtze to gaze upon? Our greatest poet, Li Bai, sailed down this river a thousand years ago and immortalised it in his verse. The Yangtze is our nation’s artery of life. It’s by these banks that the Chinese people first settled and cultivated the arts of civilisation.’
‘You think I haven’t heard of Li Bai? “I bid farewell to Baidi Town in the rosy clouds of dawn. / By nightfall, I’ll be back in Jiangling, a thousand miles away. / On both sides of the gorge, apes cry unceasingly. / My light raft has already passed through ten thousand mountain folds.”’ Meili smiles proudly, then, as she always does when Kongzi accuses her of being uncultured, says, ‘I can’t be too much of a philistine, or you wouldn’t have married me, would you?’
‘I taught you that poem,’ says Kongzi, his white teeth gleaming in his thin, dark face.
‘Nonsense! I learned it at primary school.’
Kongzi takes another long drag. ‘What a crime it is to destroy this beautiful ancient town!’ he says, and after a long sigh recites: ‘“Against the river’s jade waters, the birds appear whiter. / Against the blue mountains, the flowers appear aflame. / Yet another spring ends. / How many more will pass before I can return home?”’ Then taking Meili’s hand, which she’s been keeping warm in the sleeve of his down jacket, he says, ‘I’d love to hear the “Fishing Boat Lullaby” now. It’s an ancient zither song. Do you know the words?’
‘Stop testing me,’ she says, stuffing her hand back into his sleeve. ‘You know I only like pop songs.’
‘Well, sing “In the Village Lives a Girl Called Xiao Fang”, then.’
‘No, we’ve left the village behind. I want to sing songs from the city. Listen to this one:
. . . You say you’re mine, but still I’m not happy. What is love? What is pain? I don’t know any more . . .
’ Before she reaches the end of the chorus, Mother looks up, takes off Father’s glasses and says, ‘Kongzi, promise me that once this baby is born, you and I will get sterilised. I don’t want to go through this again.’
‘Only if the baby’s a boy. I have a duty to my ancestors to carry on the family line. Huh! Since time began, the Chinese people have been able to procreate in freedom. Just my damn luck to be born in an age of birth control!’
‘But I’m your wife – you have a duty to protect me,’ Mother says, resting her head on Father’s shoulder. ‘It would be reckless to have a third.’
‘What is a wife for if not to produce sons? Besides, now we’re here, you’ve no need to worry. The family planning officers of Sanxia leave boat people alone. The hotel didn’t even ask to see our marriage certificate when we booked in. It’s full of fugitives like us. We’re safe.’
‘Why are you so obsessed with having a son? It’s so feudal! Don’t you know that men and women are equal now?’
‘My brother has no sons, so it’s my