The room is large, comfortable, anonymous, the big plush bed
looks inviting with its white sheets and huge pillows. A huge bed all to myself
for the next few nights! The prospect is extremely appealing.
I draw the curtains and close out the view of
Beijing, its grey buildings looming, vehicles shooting by.
I place my computer, papers and books on the
table, slip off my shoes, unzip my dress. Everyone was pretty happy with my workshop. I move into the bathroom, turn the taps and draw the bath. I remove my pearls and tie my hair up, only to discover this bath is just warm and the hot tap is a warm tap.
I sigh, fetch the kettle from the
other room, and start to fill it. Jug after jug of boiling water I pour in,
watching the steam rise each time. In between I read my book, trying not to get
it wet, but something in my memory stirs.
I am taken back to the concrete building in Baguo, concrete
walls, roof and floor. A small window from the bathroom to the outside, a small
lamp to supplement the little natural light. Naty has boiled a third pot over the stove. She takes it into the bathroom and steam rises as she
pours it into the big plastic bucket of warm water she is preparing for me.
I
sit on a chair in the kitchen watching. I feel like death. My hair is matted,
my face is red and round and peeling off, I can barely move and my stomach is
waiting for the next unusual smell to unleash its bile and gin contents. The
family around me yabbers away in Tagalog. Matilda plays with the children in
the dirt just outside the front steps.
After another two pots of hot water I wander into the
bathroom and sit on the floor. I pour a small bowl of water over myself, my
hair, face, cover myself in shampoo and soap and scrub with all my strength. I pour several small bowls over
myself to wash it all off. Immediately I feel a little better. I hear the sound
of children through the small window. I brush my
teeth, squeeze all the water from my hair and take the thin threadbare dry
towel from the wall to dry myself. Naty has picked my underwear and clothes for
the day and I put them on.
Naty comes back to check on me. The bucket of water is still half full. She takes a mouthful of her coffee, fills the pot in
the kitchen, turns on the stove and prepares for the next bath. I sit down in
my chair again in silence, now fully dressed. Someone passes me a comb and I
hold it in my hand for a while before putting it down. Naty hands me a coffee
which I shoo away.
I go back into the room the family has vacated for Matilda
and me, rustle around in my bag. I find the half empty bottle and take a swig,
eyes watering as the sickly sweet chemical taste washes into my mouth in the
few seconds before the warmth spreads through my veins. I will my belly to
accept it, not throw up. I take a few deep mouthfuls, open my throat and start
to feel normal again. I check the other bottle in my bag, it is still there, ¾
full, everything is going to be ok. I
put on sunglasses and wander outside clutching the bottle, sit on the door step
and start to think about combing my hair.
I smile at Matilda and she looks unsure and a little sad,
wondering where her mum has gone and if she is every coming back.
The family looks at me from time to time, some warily,
others expectantly, wondering what behavior will come next, or if, ideally, this
will be one of the days where I am quiet and pass out, don’t cause any trouble.
The kind 20 yearold girl, the one they
say is retarded, smiles at me. Yesterday she gave me an orange, seeing that I
could not eat pig with the family and wretched at the sight of it. She goes to
the store to fetch my gin and orange juice each day on this terrible, disastrous
trip.
Please madam, please
stop this while you are here
The thing is
Naty, I would love to, but its actually
really dangerous to just stop. You get seizures and can die. I need to go back
to hospital.
She knows I am sick and the sympathy is giving way to
disgust.
Back in the present moment in the sparkling room at the top
of Beijing I think the temperature is almost
right. I take the kettle and pour the last
boiling water in, watch the steam rise, return it to its nest. I slide
into my hot bath and remember the family in that concrete house, both watching
me expectantly, wondering what behavior would come next, if I was going to comb
my hair, and giving me a wide berth. The memory is not comfortable but I am grateful to have turned life around.