If you would like a copy of the film on DVD fill out the form on the website.
This is the short story on which the screenplay is based. It is from the book, Fragments from Beijing which is a collection of short stories. It is still in working form.
Xiao Mei
What time are you coming home? Her back was towards him as she fed the baby. He tucked his shirt into his trousers and pulled on his jacket. I don’t know. It’s up to them, he braced himself but there was no reaction so he slipped his keys into his pocket and quietly closed the door behind him.
He felt the money, a creased wad of bills in his pocket as he waited for the lift. Hot isn’t it? The woman sat knitting, brow furrowed and nodded at she pressed the button. He looked at the numbers as they lit up as the sweat trickled down his back, soaking into his clean white shirt. He said goodbye but the door was already closing and went out into the fetid night air. Crickets screeched from the trees, pulling up their roots to escape the arid heat. He passed a huddle of men, fanning themselves and playing chess. Cigarettes drooped from rubber lips, sweat trickled down the sinewy arms as they crouched in sullen thought.
He nodded to the gate keeper, who sat outside on a small stool eating noodles from a tin basin. He raised his eyebrows the only visible parts, the rest of his face hidden in the bowl. He passed a group of old women, legs spread, sprawled out across the pavement. They complained about the weather and slapped mosquitoes. A man cycling past sang Beijing opera in a clear voice, his trousers rolled up to the knees, a dry chain rattling against the frame.
Big Zhang stood by the roadside waiting for a taxi. He looked up at the building, his eyes found the window where his wife used to wave to him as he waited for the bus in the morning. He waved down a taxi and rolled the window down as far as it would go. The driver looked him over in the mirror as he pulled out onto the road. Where do you want to go? Zhang gave him directions to the hotel. Expensive. How much do you make? Zhang told him and the driver moved in his seat like a slapped hen. You could go abroad on that. Get out of this heat. Zhang moved his finger under his lower lip and flicked off the sweat. I like Beijing. Beijing. The driver spat out the window. Big Zhang turned his face to the street and the words moved around him. His shirt and jacket now stuck to the seat.
He paid the driver, enjoying the feel of the wad in his hand as he rolled off a bill. Enjoying the look of the driver as he saw it. He pulled his jacket away from his back as he walked up the steps, nodded to a woman dressed in a tight qi pao who opened the door for him and told the woman at the desk which party he was with. He followed a waitress to a room. She opened the door and smoke belched out. He felt his mouth crease up into a smile as he moved around the table slapping backs, greeting old friends. He took the cup of arguato and held it up before draining it slammed it on the table and smiled at the laughter.
Someone pulled out a chair and a hand pressed his shoulder to sit. A menu was placed in front of him, he chose carefully. More wine and toasts. A hand on his shoulder, lips near his ear, I need to speak to you. Later. He patted the hand and an audible sigh as the man sat back in his chair and poured another round of drinks. Toasted him. He nodded to all round and they gulped back their drinks, a pause and then the shouting, laughing and cigarettes were handed round.
They congratulated him on his newborn son and he felt himself blushing. They cheered and banged their cups on the table. The food was laid out, it smelt good and his stomach turned. Cups were raised to the host. They clapped as he stood, This is to my friends. Good fortune to you all. Another round of applause as he sat, the slaps on the back forced saliva into his mouth. He excused himself, went to the toilet and threw up. He straightened his shirt and smoothed his hair. His face was red and hot. He threw cold water over his head and rinsed his mouth. Spitting the dregs into the sink. He stood by the fan outside, listened to chiefs chatter, kicked some rubbish piled by the door. Then found a waitress and paid the bill.
He was greeted with cheers as he found his place. They were discussing which club to go to. They quietened as his opinion was sought. Of course his choice was perfect and they called for the bill. They shouted at him as they should when they found it was paid and tried to give him money. Which he wouldn’t accept as he should.
They stood outside and waited for cabs, it seemed even hotter than before and it quietened them as they peeled of jackets and stood hands in pockets looking at the road. The heat is going to kill me. Little horse said. Either that or your dick. Someone called and they all fell about laughing. Little Horse puffed his chest and laughed along with them. They got into the taxis and soon pulled up at the club.
Big Zhang had invested heavily in this place and was greeted like the boss as he stepped out of the taxi. Two heavily made up women led him up the marble stairs while others helped his friends. He was shown into a large room with a huge chandelier, glittering like sun trapped dew. The women seated themselves beside him on a large soft sofa. The sofa bounced as his friends joined him. Then the boss came in, big Zhong and clapped his hands. The women left. He ordered Brandy that came with heavy crystal glasses and the Karaoke machine was switched on. He patted Big Zhang’s knee and talked about the old days when they first started out stealing bicycles. How once they were chased by a security guard and ran so far that when the guard caught up he congratulated them on their speed and offered them a cigarette. Big Zhong flicked his ash onto the thick carpet and gold glittered beneath his cuffs.
Little Horse and Big mouth sang a song. When Big Zhong left, Fat Xiu came over. You said we could talk. Fat Xiu was drunk. Tears rolled down his bloated red cheeks as he grasped Big Zhang’s hand. You’ve always been my big brother. His voice cracked, Big Zhang patted his cheek. I can’t get those supplies you wanted. He held onto Big Zhang’s thumb. I don’t have the money. Not anymore, my wife, she… He buried his head in Big Zhang’s shoulder. Big Zhang took his hand. You’re my little brother. Your problems are mine. Have a drink. He poured a large glass of Brandy and handed it to Fat Xiu.
Fat Xiu wiped his eyes and cradled the glass. The door opened and a line of women came in. The oldest stepped forward and said, With Big Zhong’s pleasure. Please choose. She waved her arm towards the women, all dressed in tight, Qi Pao’s made of thin, high quality silk. Little Horse threw down the microphone and walked up and down the line, he chose the youngest at the end and they sat in a corner, his hand already on her knee.
Big Zhang watched them all choose as he sat back and sipped his brandy. There was one left, her cheeks a little flushed, chipping at her bright red nail varnish. Hey! Big Zhang. If you don’t want her. She’s mine. Little Horse called. Big Zhang patted the sofa beside him and she sat down, neatly crossing her ankles. She poured him a drink, offered it to him with both hands. How old are you? She looked up at him through her lashes, I’m nineteen. He smiled. I haven’t seen you here before are you new? She nodded. How long have you been here? One month. Do you like it? She nodded. Big Zhong should have told you I don’t do this sort of thing. I have a wife and a son. I called you over to save face. He watched Little Horse take the woman’s arm and lead her to the door, the others banged their glasses on the table and cheered as he left.
I’ll keep you company. She moved a little closer, he felt her thigh against his. A waft of perfume, from her hair. He gently removed her hand from his arm. Have some tea. He poured and gave her a cup. She didn’t take it. He pulled her hair away from her face and saw she was crying. What’s wrong? Don’t cry. He put down the cup. I hate this work. I hate these fat, ugly men. Her hands clutched the silk and her shoulders heaved with a long, drawn sigh. Big Zhang laughed. He slapped his leg and roared. What’s wrong Big Zhang? Little Xiu moved his eyes keeping his head towards the woman he was with. Nothing Little Xiu. He turned back to the woman, his facial muscles aching, If you don’t like the work, why do you do it? That’s my business. Well, if you don’t want to talk about it… He shrugged, drained his glass then looked at his watch. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad, he rolled of a couple and held them out. She didn’t move, just turned her eyes and gave him a deep look of hatred. He dropped the notes on the table, feeling her eyes on him all the time he said good bye to his friends, as he opened the door, even as he walked down the corridor. Like two nails hammered into his back.
He woke up that night covered in sweat, his arms stretched out, fingers clawing. He sat on the edge of the bed taking deep breaths. His wife was in the other room walking the baby up and down, singing softly. What’s wrong? Nothing. He got up and gulped down a glass of water. You shouldn’t drink so much. He wife said as he passed her on the way back to bed, her eyes swollen with lack of sleep. He waved his hand at her and went back to bed.
He awoke early the next day with a fever, his back ached just below the shoulder blades. He called the office and left a message to say he was going to the hospital. It was the first morning he’d had at home for years. He listened to his wife cooking breakfast, talking to the baby as he lay in his cot. Here, I’ve made soup. She put the bowl beside him on the bed. Hot, beef soup. I’m going to my mother’s. She gathered her things and soon the flat was quiet. Just the television from downstairs humming.
He passed in and out of sleep, waking trying to remember the dream but never quite being able to. It was always just out of reach. He flicked the channels on the television, wrapped in a blanket and drank the soup from the bowl. The feeling there was something he needed to do plagued him. Like the dream, it was there but always out of reach. He walked up and down the living room, his slippers slapping on the tiles. Drank orange juice out of the carton, ate some noodles left from his wife’s breakfast. He pulled out his lap top but couldn’t concentrate. He flung it on the sofa and went into the bedroom to get dressed.
He still had a temperature and felt weak, he staggered as he opened the door. It was humid and sticky. The sun hidden behind thick dirty clouds. He waved a taxi and went back to the club. It was closed up. The security guard was playing with the different rings on his mobile phone. He didn’t look up as Big Zhang asked him if anything had been left in the room last night. He just shrugged and said, How do I know? Big Zhang left the club and turned down a side street. Stinking piles of rotten oranges were piled in a corner by a stall selling savoury pancakes. He followed the alleyway, watched by people sitting in the shade, complaining about the weather.
He reached a makeshift road and crouched down by a wall shading his eyes from the sun. The road was lined with tall blocks of flats, every window open. Washing was hanging out to dry near him, dripping into the dust. The sound of high heel shoes clicked towards him and he looked up. They stopped near him, hesitated then continued with their steady tread. He focused on the figure, the slim form of a young woman, wearing cut off jean shorts and a white top. Her hair scraped back in a ponytail, carrying a bag of vegetables. Hey! Hey! He clambered to his feet and ran after her. When he caught up, he stooped over clutching his knees as she stopped and waited for him to speak. What is it? She tapped his shoulder. He unfurled, still breathing heavily, hands on his hips, Don’t you remember me? She screwed up her eyes, he saw the recognition in her face as it went from inquisitive to the look of a threatened dog. You. She spat near his feet and turned her back on him. Go to the club if you want to see me. You know where it is. She didn’t turn back.
He waited for her to enter a building then went into the courtyard where a group of small children were playing. They stopped and looked at him as he sank down clutching his knees, still gasping for breath. He was aware someone was watching him, intense as a stabbing headache. He sought the eyes through the windows but there was nothing but gaping empty panes. He thought about going home but the thought remained just that as he waited.
She appeared again, flitted from the building. The children were long gone, leaving a trail of laughter in their wake. Again she hesitated as she passed then hurried her step. Why are you following me? She said as they crossed a road. I don’t know. Are you crazy? She stopped, the orange sun glinted off her lip gloss, gave her hair a blue sheen. I don’t know. She leant on one leg, her hip jutting from her thin skirt like a concealed blade. He moved his arm and she flinched away. I’m going to be late for work. She stood for a moment looking at him, then began to walk backwards, finally turned and disappeared into a haze of heat coming off the road.
He hadn’t slept in two nights. Hadn’t changed his clothes, washed or left the flat. His wife complained he smelt like a corpse, she kept the baby away from him. The moon was full, bursting with a brightness that spilled out into a halo. The colour of fresh wet tofu. It wasn’t yet twelve. He pulled on the suit he’d worn that night, it still had the wad of money in the trouser pocket, smelt of dry sweat and cigarette smoke.
Music beat from the club, women hung round the entrance laughing and pulling on cigarettes with black shining lips. No one greeted him this time. He asked for the same room and was refused until he pulled off some money. Then he was asked to wait while they cleared the room. He sat there, in the same place on the sofa, the chandelier tinkling from the force of the air conditioning. Asked for water and noticed his hand trembling as he held the glass. There was a knock at the door, felt his mouth open and must have said something because the handle turned but it wasn’t her. A woman with a thick white powdered face, tattooed eyebrows and thin red lips came in and turned on the Karaoke machine. Are you waiting for your friends? She smiled with teeth yellow from the contrast with her face. No. I’m waiting for Xiao Mei. I think she’s busy now but I’ll check for you. The woman gently closed the door. He sat staring at the door, holding the untouched glass.
A second knock, Please come in. His voice sounded reassuringly normal and firm. She was there, her black eyes meeting his own, no expression on her face, just a slight curve on one side of her mouth. She walked towards him, took the glass from his hand and set it on the table. Would you like me to sing a song? No. He patted the sofa. She sat and put a hand on his knee. He squeezed it and saw her jaw jut as she tried not to show the pain. When he let go, it hung limp, red finger marks appearing on the wrist.
He looked at the glass as he spoke, Why do you work here? I like it. You like what you do? I don’t do it yet. I’m not ready. A laugh tinkled, the sound in perfect harmony with the chandelier. You mean you haven’t? No. I haven’t. I don’t. I just serve drinks and talk, make men feel comfortable. Then why did you come in, that night, with the others? I was told to be with you. That you weren’t like the rest. The last was said in a different voice, sarcasm maybe. He felt the splinters leave his shoulder blades, he took a sip from the glass.
Where are you from? You don’t have a Beijing accent. I’m from Jinglin. Your family? She hesitated, then hung her head. They don’t know you’re here? They know I’m here. They just don’t know what I do. You said the other night that you hate what you do. Maybe I can help. She stood up abruptly, I don’t want your help. She went to the Karaoke machine and flicked through the songs. Then why did you ask me? He got up and stood behind her. I didn’t ask you. She shrugged his hand from her shoulder. Do you want me to sing or not? If you like. He went back to the sofa and sat heavily.
She sang a modern pop song along to the drum machine. Followed the words highlighted on the screen, her facial expressions and body movements obviously practiced in front of a mirror. He followed the movement of her hips, swaying out of time with the rest of her body. Why are you laughing! She dropped the microphone and stamped a petulant foot. I’m not. He tried to suppress the laughter by putting his hand over his mouth like a child but it burst through his fingers until his stomach ached with the effort.
She threw the microphone down and went to the door. I’ll find another girl for you. Maybe you’ll like her singing better. She slammed the door, he listened to her hesitate outside the door, maybe waiting for him to bring her back. Then the heels clicked off along the cold marble corridor. He stood up then fell back on the sofa as the blood rushed to his head. He was still smiling as he left the club.
Brother Zhong. It’s me, brother Zhang. Zhang! How are you? Your health is better? Yes. Yes. Have you eaten lunch? Yes. I have some business brother Zhong. A girl that works at your club. I want her phone number. You’re an old man brother. Leave the young ones to those with the energy. They laughed. Which one do you want? Xiao Mei. Xiao Mei? I don’t remember her. I’ll have to ask the manager. Wait a moment. Brother Zhang. The only Xiao Mei we had was fired a month ago. Do you know where she is now? No. But the bitch stole money. If you find her tell me. If you have any other business call won’t you. Yes. Sorry to trouble you brother Zhang. No trouble. We’ll have to go out soon, get together, bring the wives. Any time.
A woman in a cheap silk robe opened the door with slurred sleepy eyes. I told you lot I don’t know where she is. She tried to close the door but he pushed his way in. If you don’t get out I’ll call the police. No you won’t. Where is she? There were only three rooms, a bathroom, kitchen and bedroom. Who are you? The woman stood in front of him and shoved his chest. He grabbed her arm, Get the hell of me! Where is she? How should I know? She worked at the club and stayed here for a while. That’s all I know. Now get off me. He let go and sat on the bed, light spilled from a hole in the cheap blanket tacked over the window pane. Pop posters littered the walls, it smelt of cheap cosmetics and laundry soap. Here. He peeled off some notes from the thinning wad. Sorry to bother you. He stood up. I’m sorry about your arm. He left the money on the bed.
She got fired. The woman followed him to the door running a hand through cropped hair. I came back from work and she was gone. That’s all I know. Do you know where she is? He turned, took his hand from the handle. No. She looked over his shoulder at the door. The boss, Big Zhang wanted to sleep with her. He got a bit rough. She was fired. That’s all I know. She had friends at The Star Club on the North Side. Did she take the money? I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know. She scratched her scalp. I didn’t know her that well.
He wasn’t used to the bulk of the car yet. It still smelt of the plastic wrapping. He hadn’t worked out how to use the CD player so listened to the radio. He changed the channels searching for the song she’d sung, that night. Wondered who it was by and thought about buying a tape. He liked the tinted windows, enjoyed the way he could look at people passing but they couldn’t look in. Something he’d never had, that kind of voyeuristic privacy. He watched as people stopped to look at the sleek black of the car, admiring the machine and the man who drove it. He still felt like it didn’t belong to him.
He stopped at a stall selling vegetables to ask the way to the club. Listened to the hum of the electric window and watched the surprise on the old man’s face as he addressed him. He was directed to an alleyway half a mile down the road. He stepped out of the car and his shoe crunched on broken glass. A woman was sweeping the steps with a broom made of a shaft of twigs, he gave her some small change to look after the car. She folded the money into her apron with chipped dirty nails, with a look that immediately linked him to the others that came to the place. She turned her back to him and continued sweeping the dust.
The owner was sitting at a small round table doing the accounts, a woman on either side. He had a cigarette dangling from his lip, Hong Kong style and bleached white hair. He was wearing a white vest, his trousers rolled up to the knees despite the whirring fans. One of the women jumped up as he stood at the entrance and looked him over before coming near. We’re not open till five. The owner didn’t look up, just reached blindly for his glass and took a long gulp of tea. I’m looking for a friend. Xiao Mei. I heard she works here. Xiao Mei. The woman looked down pretending to remember the name. Then shook her head. Don’t know her. Come back later. He took a step forward. She’s new, maybe she’s using a different name. He described her and the woman laughed. An ugly laugh with no humour. All the girls look like that. She turned, he was dismissed. I don’t know. Some- He didn’t hear the rest but saw the owner glance over and laugh, a billow of smoke puffed from his mouth forming a circle that quickly dissolved. He went over, here’s my card. If you see her please ask her to contact me. He held out the card but no one took it so he let it drop onto the table.
She didn’t phone and when he went back to the club it was gone. There was a restaurant although the same old woman swept the dust from the steps.
His wife moved in with her mother. He felt a sense of relief that he didn’t have to face her black worn eyes anymore. He was alone in the flat and when he finished work, if he didn’t have a business dinner or function, he’d sit at home waiting for Xiao Mei to phone. Business wasn’t going too well and he had to sell some of his shares. The first one he sold was Big Zhong’s club. The day he closed the deal she phoned. I need to see you. Where. She named a bar. He went home immediately, showered and dressed carefully. He wasn’t supposed to meet her until seven but was at the club by five. A band were tuning their instruments, long haired student types. He bought a large Cognac and sat by the window looking out onto the street. His veins surging with the buzz of alcohol in his system and the thought of seeing her again. He knew she was there before he saw her. He didn’t turn but felt her presence behind him. She touched his hair, gently with the tips of her nails before sitting opposite him. She put her bag on the seat next to her and they avoided each other’s eyes while she looked at the drinks menu. She’d lost weight, her collar bone pushed its way through her skin as she reached over to take something from her bag. Her hair was cut into a modern style he’d seen on others. An uneven staggered fringe and dark red highlights.
You’ve lost weight. She didn’t take her eyes from the menu. So have you. He lit a cigarette that she took from his mouth and put in her own. She smoked for affect, she didn’t inhale. She looked at her reflection in the window, watched her mouth exhaling smoke. She tapped the cigarette on the side of the ashtray, her nails had flowers painted on them. She ordered an ice tea and snapped the menu shut before handing it to the waitress. Why were you looking for me? Her hair hid her face, he only saw the tips of her eyelashes and the glowing coal of the cigarette. I told you I wanted to help. And I told you I didn’t want your help. Then why did you want to see me. She shrugged, shaking her hair from her face as she took the tea from the waitress. What are you doing now? I’m singing. Her eyes stopped the smile forming on his lips. I’ve always wanted to be a singer. I’m going to get a record deal. Here’s to your success. He held up his glass and finished the Cognac. Where are you working? She named another bar he hadn’t heard of before. The manager says that when I’ve pulled in enough of my own customers I can start singing my own songs. A smile cracked her face but smiling didn’t suit her, as though aware of this she snapped her mouth shut, but her eyes held the essence of the smile as she held the thought. You’re not singing tonight? He unknowingly held his breath as she shook her head. I have two nights off a week. She looked at her nails as she tapped them on the table, then stretched her hand and openly admired them.
They both turned to watch the band, she sung along to a song, her eyes closed, lips pouting as though tempting him to kiss her. He put his hand over hers and when she didn’t pull away whispered, Let’s go somewhere quieter. She nodded and picked up her bag.
They made love and she said she loved him. That he was her first. When he held her afterwards, she told him about her mother. He watched her face as she struggled not to cry. As she described how she’s left her at home dying while she went to the city to try and raise enough money to help her. She had no other family. Her father had been died in an accident when she was a baby, she didn’t know the details, her mother had never spoken about it. Then, when she was eleven she left school and helped her mother in a clothes factory. Her mother had fainting spells, old before her time and they travelled to the hospital to have tests done it was too late. She needed expensive treatment or she was going to die. That was three years ago now. Whatever money they had saved was gone so she’d left to find work in Beijing. Sending money home whenever she could.
He tried to comfort her, telling her he’d pay for whatever her mother needed but she slapped him. One lash, hard on the side of his face. He never offered again.
After that they met regularly, went to good restaurants where he enjoyed seeing her eat. He bought her small, expensive presents, a gold watch, a necklace but never questioned why she didn’t wear them. She wore the clothes he bought her. He took her shopping every Saturday to the expensive boutiques. He went to see her sing at the club and took pride in the attention she received wearing the glittering, dresses they’d bought together.
Then, one day, she was gone. She’d changed her mobile number. Someone else lived in her flat and the club said she’d found other work. They didn’t know where. It was as though she’d erased herself. He spent his evenings looking for her, took associates to clubs he thought she might be. Went to the shopping streets they went every Saturday, asked the assistants if they’d seen her but he was chasing a shadow, a story he began to believe he’d imagined and tried to forget.
When he couldn’t stand the loneliness he visited his wife. They went for walks in the park near her house where they’d used to go before they were married. It was Autumn, the smell of winter haunted the chill evenings as they talked and after a time, laughed as they used to. She moved back into the flat and, although he didn’t love her, he had an attachment that was rekindled after a time. Sometimes he felt her watching him as though she was reading his thoughts and she’d turn away and sigh, a deep sigh. That he felt expelled in his own lungs, choking him with hurt air.
The memory of Xiao Mei was tucked carefully away, in a scented envelope that smelt of Spring when he opened it in his worst moments of despair. He listened to the radio in the car that was now two years old and annoyed his wife by constantly switching channels to search for her voice. And then one day it was her. She phoned him, he’d never changed the number. She said she was in prison and could he come and help her. She gave him the address of a place far away from Beijing. He promised he would and heard her hold back a sob as he put down the phone. It took him two days to travel to Gui Lin. He found a small hotel and paid for the night then asked where the prison was. He ran up the steps and spoke to the guards and they directed him to a cell where she sat, her and six other women dressed in cheap qi pao’s. She came to the bars, holding them with her painted flower nails. As he leaned forward, he smelt the scent of men, cheap musk aftershave, cigarette smoke, semen. He stepped back, turned and left. Big Zhang. This time I need your help. Big Zhang don’t leave me here. She screamed to his back and he heard the echo’s of the tittering women as he rounded a corner.
The next time he saw her was a year later. She was back in Beijing in a bar similar to the one he’d first met her. She didn’t recognise him until they were alone together. He pulled her close and cried. Told her how much he’d loved her, how he hated his life without her, could still love her if she’d let him. She drew the curtains and sat back on the bed, Love me all you want, she said taking of her shoes, Just make sure you pay first.
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