VANCOUVER / GUANGZHOU / DATONG / DETENTION FACILITY STORY // (Forgive me an old, old story that I've told many times before)
: The prologue is unnecessary. And so, even though I will start this story in Vancouver, drift through Shanghai, and linger in Guangzhou, I don’t blame anyone that only wants to read about the cell in Datong. (Let me argue for the prologue. It might explain how I ended up in the situation that I did. And, as you consider my mindset in the Datong cell, you can understand the thoughts running through my head, and know all the moments that I played over and over for myself.)
: I am basing this only on my own recollection and notes. These events occurred almost a decade go.
PROLOGUE ONE: I lived with X□□□□□ in a rented room in a house across the street from the McDonalds on Number Three Road in Richmond. I spent many years in that type of room, made when landlords divide their houses up with particle board. These are called: fángzhōngfáng—houses within houses, rooms within rooms. The landlords live in condominiums on Coal Harbour, or in Yaletown, or maybe they keep a heritage home in Kitsilano. And they wait for their investments to appreciate. As long as the real estate market is hot, the rent is low. A couple hundred bucks a month. A shared kitchen. A shared bathroom. So, you never feel lonely. So, you can never retreat forever into yourself.
Across the hall, there lived a mother and son from Fujian. Down the hall, there was W□□□□□, a student from Beijing. The bottom floor was occupied by the landlord’s elderly parents, who maintained the vegetable plot in the backyard. We kept the curtains shut all of the time. When we were together, X□□□□□ and I ate our takeaway meals on the desk in the corner. I took the Skytrain into the city and then the B-Line through Kitsilano to sit in the damp chill of the Asian Library. She took a slow bus grinding through the city to a part-time job waiting tables at B□□□□□□□. I was dreaming of leaving. I know she was dreaming of something else, but I couldn’t tell you what it was. We were unhappy together and happy apart. I can no longer say with any confidence whether or not we were in love.
She would resent me retelling the story, which means so much to me, about the afternoon we walked to the temple on Steveston Highway and took from a fountain enough change to buy a box of KFC to share—and, to her, this would not represent an isolated shameful episode, but my use of it in literary montage and reminiscences to her years later is proof that I will never escape my romanticization of or acquiescence to poverty. But one afternoon, after we made love, she rolled over and started to cry. I paced. She refused to speak. I asked her if she was pregnant. She told me that she had a plane ticket.
I helped her to pack her things. She left for Shanghai that night.
I spent a few months alone. Expecting her to return, I told our mutual friends, when I saw them, that X□□□□□ was too busy to see them. Later, I told them that she was on a trip to visit relatives in H□□□□. Later, I told them that she had been delayed and I would be traveling to see her. I finished my final courses. I spent most of the rest of the time drinking in my room. I tried to move on. I tried to fall in love with the cashier from Safeway that made me Tupperware dishes of noodles, and with W□□□□□, who I would drink with and talk politics in our shared kitchen in the evenings, and with a Polish girl with fuzzy blond hair on her cheeks. But in the end, they each spotted my vulnerability and I confessed to them that I missed X□□□□□.
I decided to chase after her. We talked on QQ. She was studying Marxism in Guiyang. She wanted to volunteer with people in the mountains. She agreed to meet me in Shanghai.
I landed in August. It was a hundred degrees. I took an airport shuttle to the train station and met her in the square. I took her hand because we had never formally declared our relationship dead. We walked together into the station. She bought a ticket to Guiyang. I had expected to spend a few days with her. But she was gone again. I had nowhere else to go, so I bought a ticket to Guangzhou. I pretended it had been my plan all along.
PROLOGUE TWO a: I didn't have a seat on the train. I tossed my bag in a pile that had already formed against the wall between bathroom door and the car attendant's office. I crouched down with ten people other people, shoulder to shoulder, racketing out of Shanghai at dusk. Twenty-four hours ahead. Most of the riders slouched in the walkway were kids in their late teens, mostly coming from jobs in the north, going home to Hunan or Jiangxi. We fell asleep pressed together, our arms and legs weaving dreamily together, heads resting on shoulders. I woke up in rural Jiangxi. We stopped at every station. I stood in the space between the cars, looking out at the clusters of concrete towers looking out over fields and dirt roads. Kids swimming naked in drainage ditches looked up at our train as we pass. Hopeless for comfort, I lay down in the dust and ash and oil of the floor. The clack of railway passage turned into thick hypnagogic hallucinations the second I closed my eyes. I woke up in Shaoguan and stared out the window until the train arrived in Guangzhou.
PROLOGUE TWO b: I remember those first few hours in Guangzhou. I had enough money to buy a plane ticket somewhere else. But that was all I had. If I stayed too long, my opportunity would be gone. I walked in Xiaobei and practiced my Russian with a tout doing business on one of the blossomed flyovers. He was changing money and directing traffic to his cousin’s rooming house. I spent the next few days wandering. Smile at the pinkscarved Tajik girls selling phone cards from behind cardboard counters. Nod uselessly at the somber African traders scraping robes in the dust. Brush off the drugdealers. Bleach myself clean in the air conditioning of the Friendship Store. I answered a job advertisement. I told them I could fly in right away. I took the train to Baiyun and spent the week in a rooming house by the airport.
PROLOGUE TWO c: I scraped together a life in Guangzhou. I had an apartment in Panyu in a xiaoqu with water features and palm trees, dusty Panameras, and a forgiving gate guard. I sat at a computer all day in an office in Zhujiang. On payday, I bought myself a new pair of Levi’s and a pepperoni pizza and □□□□ □□ □□□□□□ □□□ □□□□ □□□ □□□□ □□□ □□□□□□□□ □□□ □ □□□□□ □□□□□□□□ □□□□ □□□□□□ □□□ □□□□□□□□. □ □□□□ □□□□□ the spell of a □□□□ □□□□ Xiguan □□□□ □□□□□□□ □□□□ □□□□ spoke English with □ □□□□□ □□□□□□ and □ □□□□ from □□□□□□□ that claimed to be invisible. I □□□□□□ □□□□□□□□□□ □□□□□ □□ □□□□□ □□□□. I hitchhiked north and south down the coast. I spent weekends in Hong Kong or in Shenzhen or □□□□□□ □□□ □□ □□□□ □□□□□□ □□□□□□□□□□□ □□□□□□□□□. I took □□□ in a resort □□□□□□□ □□ □□□ □□□□□□□□ □□ □□□□□. I chased geckos around the shower. But I wanted to trash it all. I wanted to suffer. I was still in love.
PROLOGUE THREE a: With summer closing in, I decided to go to Guiyang. X□□□□□ told me not to come. Don’t come. I wanted to run away from everything. I found an email from a friend that I had ignored for a while. He claimed to be a People’s Liberation Army tanker, but I knew him as a fixer for the software company that had hired me a while before. He □□□ □ □□□□ problem. I knew that he made most of his money running some kind of logistics operation. His father □□□□□ □□□□□□ □□□ □□□ □□□□□□□□ □□ □□□ □□□□□. He had a job for me in Beijing. He had another job in Datong. I chose the second option. I took a slow train headed north. I felt the weather growing cold. I texted everyone I knew to say that I was going to Tibet, just to throw them off the trail, as if it really mattered. I woke up in Datong to find that my notebook and phone had been stolen when I drifted off to sleep.
PROLOGUE THREE b: I found a new stability. There were no distractions. I walked everyday from my apartment on Xiangyang Jie to an office on Yongtai Nan Lu. I worked for a man with bad teeth and a lot of money. He diversified out of the coal business into heavy equipment, manufacturing, hotels, and a half dozen other sidelines. I met him once. His cousin was my contact. I saw him rarely, too. My duties were few. I was mostly left alone in the office with the five girls that came in at eight thirty, including □□□ □□□□ □□□□ □□□ □□□□ □□ □□□□ □□□ □□□ □ □□□□□□□ □□□□□ □□□□□ □□ □□□□ □□□. Occasionally, we would look over mockups of brochures together. I took a long lunch break and stayed until five thirty. I returned home in the evening and ate dinner alone. The city was grey and dull. They were engaged in building a fake city wall and demolishing the old city. I took this in without any interesting. Lacking an internet connection at home, I spent most of my time writing or playing Mystic Quest on an emulator. I made no friends.
PROLOGUE THREE c: A few months after arriving, I flew to Guangzhou, picked up the paperwork I needed for a visa (this was facilitated by □□□ □□□□□□□ □□□□□□ □□ □□□ □□□□□□□ □□□□□ □□□ □□□□□□□□□□ □□□□□□□ and would be impossible now). I took the train to Shenzhen, crossed into Hong Kong, spent the night in a hotel off Lockhart Road in Wanchai. I got my visa and took the reverse trip back to Guangzhou.
As the night wound down, I was alone in a bar in Taojin with a guy I knew from my earlier stay. He was a Ugandan, who ran a business shipping furniture and heavy equipment to East Africa, and a man from □□□□□□, who lived in Guangzhou and was married to a Mexican girl that I knew through a friend. The Ugandan left as the □□□□□□ and □ □□□□□□□ to take a taxi a few □□□□□□ away to a □□□□□□ □□□□ □□□□ □□□□□□□ □□□□ in Xiaobei. Over drinks, the □□□□□□ asked me a longshot favor. He had a friend, a □□□□□□□□ going to medical school, who brought over a younger brother. The kid was getting into trouble. Nothing with the police. But the brother was very religious. He wanted to get him out of Guangzhou.
I met S□□□□ the next morning. We boarded a flight to Beijing and took the bus to Datong.
PROLOGUE FOUR a: I got to know S□□□□ well. He had grown up in K□□□□, the son of middle class Baluchi family, civil engineer dad with two wives (he discovered it when his dad ended up in the hospital and he ran into a boy that looked exactly like him in the corridor: his half brother). The family ended up in T□□□□□□, claiming refugee status on bogus □□□□□□ passports. His passport said he was twenty-two, but he had actually just turned twenty. His two brothers became religious in Canada. They married Pakistani girls and became active at their mosque. S□□□□’s phone still rang the call to prayer five times a day, but he was more passionate about Bollywood and fashion and writing poetry. When his eldest brother had gone to Guangzhou for medical school, he had followed. That was when they found out he was gay. S□□□□ came home still high from a night of smoking methamphetamine. He admitted to everything. Plans were made to send him into exile.
He lived in my apartment and came into the office with me. The girls loved him. He taught them to dance. They trained him to take their lunch order down to the restaurants lined up in the alley behind our office tower. I paid him out of my salary. On Fridays, we took a taxi to the mosque and I waited outside for him, chatting with the woman that came weekly to sell frozen halal chickens from her Hyundai trunk. I translated what I remembered of the imam’s speech for S□□□□. I was content to eat meat pies and noodles, but he insisted on religious grounds that he wouldn’t, so I cooked for him. We talked. We drank beers together in front of the TV. Some nights, we would go out together to the nightclubs along Fang’gu Jie. We drank too much. I stayed out of his business. His brother wouldn’t have approved, but it was under control. I lectured him. I did my best. I told him that he could never be happy unless he learned to control himself.
PROLOGUE FIVE:
INTERMISSION: I have never been completely forthcoming about the events that immediately proceed those you are about to read. We went out the night before. I was with a woman that I had met a short time earlier. Her name was M□□□□□□□. She was living in the living room of our place. Her and I left early. I gave S□□□□ taxi fare. You will read that. I know what happened next, because he told me. It is unsavory. It involves bad behavior, although probably no violation of the law. But I can’t tell you anything more.
MAIN TEXT ONE into: M□□□□□□□ left at six in the morning. It was still dark. It was late autumn. She knocked on my bedroom door and told me that S□□□□ was still out. I went back to sleep.
At ten o’clock, S□□□□ came home with the police. A woman was in charge of the team. She had on a black trench coat. A man with a camera snapped pictures of our apartment. She asked to see my passport. She wanted to know why I was still in bed at ten in the morning. She was relieved that I spoke Chinese. It made things easier. She invited me for a drive. S□□□□ looked like he had been crying. There were two black Passats waiting outside. I got into the backseat of one of the cars and S□□□□ got into the other. Two plainclothes cops sat on either side of me.
We were brought to an office of the Public Security Bureau. I answered questions, giving an outline of my activities over the night before, the previous several days, and during my time in Datong. Although I had a valid working visa, I had to not registered with the local PSB. I admitted to this fact. A statement was written up. I signed it. S□□□□ and I were taken to a hospital, urinated in cups cups, and had our blood drawn. I knew we were going to be deported, but I couldn’t talk to S□□□□.
We got back into the cars. We stopped at a KFC on the edge of town. I ate one sandwich and stuffed the other one in my pocket for later. We drove for an hour out of the city. When we pulled up at a walled compound and walked the gravel driveway up to a row of low, grey offices, I knew S□□□□ would not be able to read the three characters at the entrance—jūliúsuǒ.
We stripped our clothes off in a cold back office of the detention center, and were photographed back, front, and side. We were given orange vests and flip-flops. Any metal pieces and strings were cut out of our clothes.
One of the guards gave us a tour of our cell. Four bunkbeds. A cupboard. Plastic basins to collect our meals. A TV on the wall. A camera in the corner. Two stools. We received our instructions.
Draw cold water in this bucket in the morning. Put hot water in this canteen. Shit and piss in this bucket. Pour any dirty water in there. These basins are to get your food. Wash them when you’re done. This rag is to clean. Don’t touch the beds until it’s time for bed. Sit on these stools. Lights out at nine thirty. Out of bed at seven. Breakfast is at eight. When you get your breakfast, you can go to the bathroom and dump your shit bucket. That’s when you get your water. Inspection is at nine. Fold the blankets like they are now. Clean the floors. Lunch is at eleven thirty. You nap between one and two thirty. You eat dinner at four thirty. Listen to what everyone says. Follow the rules.
We sat on the plastic stools in our cell. I had the first chance to talk to S□□□□. We’d spend that day together. It was a Friday and we’d taken a taxi to the mosque. We’d gone home and I’d gone into the office for the afternoon. That evening, □□□ □□□□□ □□□□□□□ □□ □ □□□□□□ □□□□□□□□ □□□□ □□□□□□□ □□□ gone to a club together. I left early. □□ □□□ □□□□ □ □□□□ □ □□□□ □□□ □□□□ □□□□ □□□. I gave S□□□□ a handful of cash to make sure he got home safe. The □□□□ □□□□ □□□□□□□ in the early morning and □□□ □□□□□□□□ that S□□□□ was not back yet. He was discovered □□□□□□□ □□□ □ □□□ □□ □ □□□□ □□□□□ □□□□ □□□□ □□□ □□□□□□□□□.
MAIN TEXT TWO morning: We were woken at six each morning by the roar of a guard across the courtyard.
There were three cells on our block, connected by an outer walkway, which had a doorway out into the courtyard. In the center, there was a bare tree and a dry fountain. There were classrooms off the courtyard. Nobody entered them, except when the guards went into one of the activity rooms to play pool at night.
The other cells each held five men. The men in the other cells were slow to get up in the morning. The guards banged against the metal bars on the outside of the walkway.
S□□□□□ was slow to get out of bed, too. When I saw the guard making his long walk across the courtyard, I would warn him to jump up.
I was up before anyone. I took pride in obedience to the rules. Even if the rules were casually enforced or ignored completely, I enjoyed following them.
On the walls of our cell were the rules of detention and the rights of prisoners. I read them until I memorized them.
When I got out of bed, I urinated in the bucket in the corner, folded my bedding and exercised. I ran on the spot, did pushups, and jumping jacks. The cell was cold in the morning. Snow had not fallen yet. A dusty wind blew through the screen of our cell door.
S□□□□ had been given an army surplus parka. The guards took pity on him. He was skinny and perpetually chilled. I was wearing a waxy fake leather jacket, bought from a Datong wholesale market. Below it, I wore the tight orange sweater that the police brought to me after they searched our apartment. It belonged to M□□□□□□□. Below the sweater, I had a grey V-neck shirt that I had been wearing when the police came to the door. I had a pair of Levi's jeans with the metal button and the zipper cut off when I was booked. I was given a piece of short length of cord to tie them up.
The cell was large enough for eight prisoners. In the metal cupboard, we kept our plastic basins, our toilet paper, our toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, and leftover food. We were allowed to turn the TV on at nine every morning. We had to turn it off at eight. The only channel on it was CCTV-1. From its nest of wires, the camera watched us.
When S□□□□ got out of bed, he washed the floor beside his bed with a rag and did his ablutions. He poured hot water poured into a basin from the thermos and mixed with cold water from our clean water bucket. He cleaned his hands and rinsed his mouth and cleaned his arms from wrist to elbow and sprinkled water on his socks. He prayed on his army coat. After he prayed, he shook out his jacket, put it on and sat on his stool beside the radiator.
At seven thirty each morning, we got our first chance to leave the cell. S□□□□ refilled our thermos with hot water and drew cold water. I emptied the bucket that we used as a toilet. S□□□□ was too weak to carry it. The waste went down into a steaming concrete chute covered by a wooden trapdoor.
The officer on duty at the prison supervised the dumping of the waste buckets. They sometimes handed out cigarettes.
Before the police knocked at the door, I started every morning scrounging for my pack of Zhongnanhai. S□□□□ told me he knew I was awake by the click of my lighter. After a week in prison, the morning cigarette wasn't as much about feeding a habit as it was about enjoying the thrill of special treatment and contraband, and a minute of lightheadedness.
Breakfast was the same every morning. We got our breakfast through a window that opened onto the courtyard. We each had a small plastic basin and larger one to share. For breakfast, our basins were filled with pickled radish and carrot, and steamed buns, and the larger basin was filled with a thin porridge made from millet.
After breakfast, we used our rags to clean the floor. We folded our blankets. We sat on our stools and stared at the TV, waiting for inspection.
Whichever officer was on duty would come to our door. We would sit on our stools and wait for him to call our name. We had to put up our hand and wait to be acknowledged.
There were three PSB officers that rotated through.
The first was C□□. He didn’t care about the inspections.
He was in his late thirties. He hated his job. Everyone liked him. He let me sit in his office some afternoon. He sent someone for cigarettes. We discussed literature. He told me later that he was working on a martial arts novel. He mentioned he knew Cao Naiqian, a writer and PSB officer in Datong. He didn't think much of Cao's writing. He said that if I stayed a few more weeks that maybe he could set up a meeting. When other people from the facility wandered into his office to listen, he went silent until they left. This was his explanation: They don't understand any of the things we're talking about.
Z□□□□ was the oldest of the officers that rotated through the prison, a tough, short man with a crew cut and a heavy jowls. He was the only one that seemed attached to the rules posted on the wall of our cell. He was the only officer that criticized the folding of our bedding. He once walked us over to the neighboring cell and showed us their blankets, which were folded with angular exactness. He was the gruffest of the officers but free with his cigarettes. He had also been the one to dig up the parka for a shivering S□□□□.
W□□□ was tall, with a crewcut. He was always puffing a cigarette. Instead of lecturing us on the state of the floor, he’d ash his cigarette in the corner and spend a few minutes having fun at our expense, speculating about our poor upbringing or diminished marriage prospects, calling us slovenly, and generally breaking our chops. He was a joker.
W□□□ was unconcerned about the specific rules of the prison, but he couldn’t overlook screwing around. One of the men in the other cell clearly had connections and seemed to be the source of the smuggled cigarettes that the prisoners passed around during our outside time. The cigarette smuggler was often let out of his cell for trips to a bathroom inside the guards’ quarters. W□□□ was the only person in the prison that denied his requests and mocked him in front of prisoners and guards.
The Warden was always along for the inspection. He scowled at us when the officers gave us cigarettes. Maybe he didn’t like us, but he never really showed it. He didn’t say much. When he walked through the courtyard, he was accompanied by a trio of boys that looked to be in their late teens. We knew them by their outfits. Skinny Jeans, who had his hair teased up and cut with purple streaks. Black Jacket, for his shiny satin coat. Glasses, always watching us moodily through the bars. They were intimidated by the men in the other cells, who took pleasure in messing with them: jostling them in the courtyard in the morning, ordering them around, and making obscene comments. They were always around, fetching something for the Warden, opening doors for him, or lighting his cigarette.
The mornings were cold. The radiator on the wall was off. S□□□□ sat leaned against it, dozing. We could see our breath.
Time moved slowly. The TV showed cartoons. I stared out the window. When the view of the courtyard got boring, I turned to the window high on the opposite wall, out of which I could see only a Chinese flag, flying somewhere in the distance.
MAIN TEXT THREE afternoon: Lunch began at noon. S□□□□ filled up our water. I took our basins to the window. It was usually more steamed buns, a basinful of boiled cabbage with lots of black pepper, and a more thin millet porridge. I sometimes found a fleck of pork fat in the vegetables, but I told S□□□□□ that he could eat it because it had no meat. He was skinny and cold.
After lunch, S□□□□ prayed again. We watched a soap opera called Let’s Get Married!, with me translating the dialogue.
We got into our beds for our nap. Apart from the two hours in the afternoon and lights out, we were not allowed to sit on our beds. Sleep came immediately.
I couldn’t stand the boredom.
S□□□□ couldn’t stand the cold.
I wanted to be uncomfortable. I thought I had found what I was looking for in Guangzhou. It was loud. I came home at dawn with soft, warm rain falling on the palm trees outside my apartment. But, all along, I had wanted to breathe dust. I wanted to be cold. I wanted not to have all the things that I wanted.
I knew I could tolerate a long time locked up. I guessed it would be two years at the most, but I was prepared for ten. I felt bad for S□□□□. He was cold and hungry. He never ate enough. He never got up to move around.
Even in his parka, S□□□□ shivered. Some afternoons, we would wake up to frost on the walls. We both wore three pairs of socks. Our shoes had been replaced with flip-flops. I exercised and then sat cross legged on the floor on my leather jacket with my feet tucked under me. It was warm in bed.
In the afternoons, we got time outside. It was cold but the sun was bright enough to make it warmer than our cells. We walked in the outer walkway and I talked to the men in the other cells. Most of them were petitioners. They had been grabbed in Beijing or Taiyuan and were sitting in detention for arbitrary stretches, until disputes were resolved, they were dissuaded from their causing more trouble, or some other requirement was met. Most of the them had been locked up before, although few could be described as criminals. The leader of the first cell was a man that wore an army coat with the gold buttons still sewed to it. He got arrested on his way to Beijing. Datong PSB intercepted him. The second cell was led by a fat man whose left eye had been gouged out in a fight.
Another cell, disconnected from the walkway and the courtyard housed petty offenders. They came and went. We never saw them.
The petitioners’ families visited some afternoons. They brought instant noodles and cigarettes.
The doors to the walkway were shut.
There was nothing on TV but cartoons. Boonie Bears or Pleasant Goat and Big Big Wolf. I never want to see them again.
For the rest of the afternoon, S□□□□ and I talked. We got close. We told stories to each other. He knew everything about me and I knew everything about him. We started to tell each other things that we had never told anybody else. This was out of boredom as much as friendship.
He vowed to me that he would reform himself. He said he would go back to K□□□□, where his cousin ran a school, work with him, and marry a woman.
MAIN TEXT FOUR evening: Dinner was the best meal of the day. There was sometimes meat.
The food was made by an elderly couple that lived beside the detention center. They cooked over a wood stove. In the evening, they served us handpulled noodles still in their plain, starchy soup. We had more steamed buns. And there was gristly lamb with cumin and potato, or ginger and wood ear mushrooms garnished with skin-on pork, or cabbage with the suggestion of chicken meat… There were always radish and carrot pickles and millet porridge.
S□□□□ ate very little, even when he abandoned certain halal guidelines and simply avoided dishes with visible pork. I ate well.
After dinner, S□□□□ prayed and we watched the news on CCTV-1.
The radiators came on. We cleaned our basins with water from the thermos. We scrubbed out armpits and crotches with hot water, and brushed our teeth.
We watched talent shows or whatever mini-series they were showing, sitting on the floor on our coats. I interpreted the dialogue until I got sick of it.
There was a store in the courtyard, which was staffed by a woman and her daughter. After my boss brought us some cash, we could buy instant noodles, shrinkwrapped tea eggs, toilet paper, and snacks. We waited until the evening to eat our Orion chocolate pies and custard-filled spongecakes.
At nine thirty, someone shouted across the courtyard that it was time to sleep. The lights never went out. The radiator got hot. We undressed and got under our blankets. We talked. We were happy to be warm.
MAIN TEXT FIVE time passing: Days bled together. My imagination got good. I could close my eyes and move like a ghost through every place I had ever been before. I floated down the causeway in Lianyungang. I saw Munich. I saw Swift Current. I experienced again the loneliness of Wanchai. I was in my empty room on Number Three Road. I floated back north to East Cordova and Oppenheimer Park, up onto Powell, looking out on the harbor, past the sugar refinery and the container terminals. I went soundlessly through a dry coulee outside Mazenod. I wanted a pen and a piece of paper. My nails grew long. The woman from the PSB came once a week to tell us the same thing: she hoped we were doing well and to let her know if there was anything she needed.
They let S□□□□ call his brother in Guangzhou. I called X□□□□□ in Guizhou. She laughed. That comforted me.
Someone from the □□□□□□□□ □□□□□□□ came to see us. Before that visit, we were allowed to shave. We met in a conference room. We were each given a pack of cigarettes. It was a waste of time. They said: We have a lot of people in jail, so we probably won’t see you again, but we can inform your family of the situation. She let us use her cellphone. I had nothing to say to anybody. I burned my mouth on hot tea and smoked five cigarettes.
The cousin of the coal boss came to see us. It was clear that he was being extorted. He was covering the cost of our stay and being charged extra on top. He gave me a roll of hundred yuan notes.
Eventually, it was C□□ that let slip the reality of things. He told me that the plan was to wait until our visas expired. There was no trial coming. They wanted everyone out before Spring Festival, anyways.
MAIN TEXT SIX ending: This all came to a close without warning. The PSB woman came one morning and told me to book a flight. It could be going anywhere, but it had to be out of China. I called □□ □□□□□ □□□ □□□□□□ □□□ □□ □□□ □□ the money for a standby flight out of Beijing. I helped S□□□□ negotiate this with his brother. He wanted to fly to Hong Kong. The PSB agreed that it was good enough.
It was five thirty in the morning when C□□ came to our cell. It was dark outside. He told me that I’d be leaving. I hugged S□□□□. C□□ brought me across the courtyard to the guard’s office. He brought a pack of cigarettes for me. On the security monitor, I watched S□□□□ awake, pacing, tidying the cell.
I exchanged my flip-flops for my shoes and I took off my prison vest. I sat with C□□ for a while. He wrote down his work phone number and told me to call him when I came back to Datong. A black Passat pulled up to the gate.
MAIN TEXT SEVEN: Two men in plastic parkas and gray slacks sat on either side of me as we drove to my apartment. I packed a few things into the bag I had brought from Guangzhou. I changed into new dirty clothes.
We drove out to the airport. I walked with them to an airline ticket counter and watched as they tried to buy last minute tickets on a flight to Beijing. There was a frantic call to okay the expense.
When we landed in Beijing, the PSB men took me to a Real Kungfu restaurant. After lunch they slept with their heads on the table.
I thought that those could be my last moments in the country. I sat up while the PSB men slept, watching the waitresses wiping down the tables after the lunch rush.
The PSB men tried to take me right to the gate, but they were reprimanded by a teenager in an ill-fitting uniform.
We took one last picture together.
AFTER ONE: That is the story. My detention was brief and completely extrajudicial, so it didn’t cause me any further issues. My treatment was more than humane. But I have low standards.
I returned to China a short time later.
Whenever I am unhappy, whenever I feel the stress of everyday life, the place I think about going to is a detention facility in Datong. It was cold and boring. It was also a brief and absolute vacation from the pressures of the outside world. It was a different point in my life, and I had fewer connections, so there was no need to worry that I was causing distress to anybody else. I could breathe dust and shiver and retreat into memory and do jumping jacks and watch the news, knowing that a home cooked meal was going to be delivered across the courtyard.
AFTER TWO: What happened to S□□□□? Nothing good. In fact, some very bad things happened to him. I won’t talk about that. What happened to X□□□□□? She got what she wanted. What happened to me? I was fine.