Advertisement
Published: January 16th 2011
Edit Blog Post
Rhythms and ways of seeing
Two weeks ago, the frozen shoulder that has been plaguing me for about 9 months won its private battle. My right arm stopped working altogether. Of course, I had aided it by not swimming, being cold, not exercising, possibly not wearing enough layers and ignoring its nagging pain.
I knew my shoulder was in a pretty bad way but only when I was at school and I couldn't write and had to hold the weight of my arm, did I realise that it was serious. The weak arm dragged me down with it. Irrational sadness overwhelmed me in the corridor by our classroom whilst I tried to figure out what had happened and what to do next. Yes, too late, I know.
That day I went home early, self-splinting my arm. I also took the next day off school because all my arm could do was gently shake of its own free will from the elbow to my hand.
Tracey took me to for a massage at a place not far from where we live.
It is humbly fantastic. It’s the kind of place I gradually grow to love over
time by feeling its people and life. Eventually, they get to know me a little and accept me. And in the cycle of understanding, I learn a little more, enough to understand and become humbled by the people working over 15 hours a day here.
It’s a small typically Chinese place utilizing every inch - three rooms with 9 beds, all interchangeable, washed towels hang from strings criss crossing the ceiling, heaps of clean towels, cloths and a clean blanket are under each bed and everyone comes and goes. There are no set appointments but you can call and reserve a slot. Everyone shifts around together, beds are shifted to accommodate overcrowding – it all becomes normal and feels safe. Everything is audible. Moods flow around the room in the tones and melodies of people’s voices.
Initially, the receptionist who sits at the desk by the front door, next to the first three massage tables, greeted us in a disinterested way. She hardly looked up from her sewing only shifting to directly ask what we wanted. She picked up the phone and barked san hao (number 3) and er hao (number 2) nothing more, then continued with her
sewing whilst pointing the way to the other room. Two masseurs came from the back door way. My masseur blinked like a mole coming from underground - a young man with a gentle voice, introduced to me as Number 3!
Just before starting, Number 3 held his phone and inch from his nose to check the time. Yi ge xiao shi. (One hour)
Things have changed over the past two weeks. The edges of our lives have unfolded. Small snippets of information have been passed around like little words written on the corners of a piece of paper. But these are not written words.
Within the first 10 minutes, I asked and found that Number 3 is Xin Gao and he’s 26.
My conversation level is basic, supported by them all second guessing what I’m trying to say. Chatter happens across the tables involving clients, masseurs and the barking receptionist who has danced between being very helpful and positively rude.
Conversations overlap the massage tables in lilting tones of pure Mandarin, Russian and my English.
Today, Xin Gao told me that he and others considered him stupid at school but of course he has never
been stupid, he’s just blind. This seemed really heartbreaking to me that this young man who has skillfully almost mended my shoulder in 12 sessions was considered stupid. He went to Massage School in Hubei and then came to live Beijing. He can pin point every pain, knot, ripple and discord in my arm, shoulder and back and knows how it’s all joined up. He’s mapped and ironed many of the problems by touch only and by asking basic questions.
His hands read stories that I have forgotten, back pains from giving birth, shoulder pains from using the computer in the wrong way, my bad posture and my inability to care for my health properly. He can also read that I walk, swim, cycle, exercise. These stories have not been told in words but by unfolding layers to find the route, the source.
Undervalued.
Number 6 and I have become very friendly after only 2 sessions. She’s totally blind and yesterday, we had the chance to talk. She’s been blind since the age of 6 years when she had a cold and high fever which turned into a serious fever and she never saw a thing again.
She’s married and has a 3 year old son who lives far away with her parents who are farmers. She lives with the other masseurs from the shop just behind the building.
On Chinese New Year she’s going to see her son by taking 20 days off - 8 days of which are national holiday, the rest I think that she will have saved up from her rest days. Her rest days are just 3 days a month only. These 3 days are not weekends or 2 days a week – they are 3 days rest a month. I figured that this probably means she’ll have worked every day for 4 months to accumulate this time together for her New Year with her family.
She sends all of her money home for her son. She’s 30years old and considers herself old but says she’s young in her heart. She’s perceptive and reads life with her flowing fingers. And today, she asked me the colour of my eyes. She remembers colours.
I bought her a pot of flowering jonquils. I said I’ve bought you flowers because they are fragrant. She held out her hands patting the air to seefeel and I excitedly but rudely pushed the flowers into her nose. The smile that spread across her face was awesome. She never buys flowers for herself because of the cost. The cost for me was 10 kwai – One English Pound. No cost at all. If I lived here, I’d buy her flowers every week.
There are things she cannot read with her fingers like where I am in the room exactly, this she sees with sound. But I love the moment she is coming towards me when I arrive and she calls ‘Lai le, Lai le’ (coming, coming) I can see she’s coming feeling the way along the wall. I smile warmly and tilt my head like an interested puppy – this she can only feel in the unseen rhythms in the room that only the blind see. I like her very much.
She’s called Lina.
She speaks perfect Mandarin and Russian and can secretly speak a little English.
I have Never called her a number.
My favourite thing with Xin Gao is that after he has really poked the knots in my back and elbowed along my spine, he pulls my t shirt straight. It’s not a move in the massage book, shifting someone elses clothes is almost personal but this act is only necessary. He’s very talented – and in his young years, he’s managed to figure something out that I couldn’t get sorted in the UK but we have spent over 13 hours together as client and masseaur and no one has muckied up the cuff of my clothes like him, even though he holds my wrist with a cloth, my cuff gets grubby.
He has left imprints in my skin. And I have left an 15 hour imprint on the massage table.
I have Never called him a number.
The shop is open from 9am until 12midnight. This is heartbreaking in a different way. At 10pm, Tracey and I have seen every table taken by a client where the same staff who have started at 9am are still working. It’s the way it is but doesn’t make it any easier to see...
Tomorrow, I will give Lina a Kaleidoscope that I bought from the Forbidden City. She can give it to her son on New Year. I have no ability or idea how to explain what I can see through the hole in the tube.
And yet I can see.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.259s; Tpl: 0.015s; cc: 19; qc: 100; dbt: 0.1837s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.3mb
suzanne
non-member comment
beautiful
I love the way you write, very 'immediate' and personal. this is a really touching entry. Thank you. My dad put me on to your blog, and I know he adores it too. Keep it coming!