I Am China by Xiaolu Guo

Author:Xiaolu Guo [Guo, Xiaolu]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-385-53872-5
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2014-09-01T16:00:00+00:00

Alone, Iona walks along the South Bank, buffeted by the night wind. A certain desolation wraps itself around her. She feels very cold, a chill climbing up her spine and tickling the back of her head. Looking down at her shadow under the lamps on the pavement, at her hands and the slim shape of her arms, she feels dazed. She walks up to the railing along the river walkway and gazes down at the dark Thames. Below the concrete bank, driftwood is washed onto the narrow mudflats and she makes out a pink plastic shoe among the rubbish. A tourist barge passes, illuminated by the strings of fairy lights. The passengers leaning out wave at the people on the bank and on the bridges, as characters do in films—big smiles and nostalgic sentiments. Iona watches them with indifference and walks away.

She turns and walks up onto the Millennium Bridge, heading in the direction of St. Paul’s Cathedral where she can catch her bus home. Halfway across, she finds herself pausing and leaning over the rail to watch the scene below. The water is dark under the pale moon, the tide subsiding now. She contemplates the waves, thinking how fast the tide runs out. Then, from nowhere, she hears a voice beside her speaking.

“Old Thames, such an ancient bitch river, pouring herself into the old muddy Channel.”

She turns her head, sees a figure, standing quite close to her, breathing roughly, leaning over and watching the same scene. It’s an old man, rough coat on to protect him from the keen chill in the air and the wind that spins up from the surface of the river; unshaven face with a multitude of protuberances and folds. When the man catches her eye, he continues.

“I know you,” he says in a rusty, rasping voice projected from oily lungs.

“Sorry? Sorry?” She’s a little startled.

“You heard. I know you! Seen you here before. Seen you look into the river. You ain’t gonna jump, are you?” He gives a kind of laughing grunt.

All Iona can do is stare, and retreat, stammering, “I’m sorry. No. I’m sorry.”

“Nuffing to be sorry about, love. You ain’t gonna jump. Ain’t nuffing down there, my girl. Nuffing at all. Just shitty cold, it is. And worse, too. I got my eye on ya, you know!”

The old man seems like an apparition from another world. Her throat dry, unable to speak clearly, all she can do is mumble, “Sorry, I have to go. Bye.”

She hears the old man start humming to himself as she hurries over the bridge. Then suddenly she remembers the old Englishman in Milwaukee from Mu’s diary. Now his voice descends from the sky above the water: “If you ever visit England, then send my regards to that old hag of a town, London, though I’m sure she’s tarted up well enough now.”

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