Shanghai Girl (36 page)

I gaped at the tiny straw-matted floor space and nodded absent-mindedly. A faded blue plastic sheet served as the curtain to a wood-framed window, which wouldn’t fully close. A mound of envelope-sized papers sat in a corner. A wooden stool and a child-size bamboo chair constituted all the furniture.

Coach Long switched on the 15-watt bulb hanging down from the ceiling by pulling the attached rope. I was astounded to see that the rope was connected to a replica of the plastic lasso used in our training.

“
Why do you use this here?”

“
Oh, I took it from the pool because it’s easy to be grabbed from the coffin in darkness. Now don’t just stand there like a candle. Sit.”

I fidgeted on the bamboo chair and wrung my hands.

Coach Long came squatting before me, one knee on the
tatami
. “I’ve got something very important to tell you, but first promise me you won’t cry.”

“
I promise,” I said, my hands clasped tighter.

“
Good. Now, I didn’t announce this in front of everybody, but today was your last training session as well …”

“
I knew it! I knew it!” I shouted, tears misting my eyes.

Coach Long put his hands on my shoulders and said, “You promised not to cry, Mo Mo.”

Biting my lip hard, I struggled to hold back tears. “Sorry, Coach,” I murmured, sniffing.

“
Good. I told you I had something to show you, didn’t I?”

He fumbled around in his trousers pockets. I caught a glimpse of something green. He tucked it down under one of his thumbs, stretched out all eight other fingers, palms down.

“
If you guess correctly which thumb I’ve got it under, I’ll show it to you.”

I stared at his hands, transfixed. Here was a pair belonging to a man in his prime: big, firm, blue veins popping, and very much in use. The nails were so closely clipped that their white tip sections were nonexistent. In yet another effort at water resistance reduction, swimmers often wore their fingernails short. No dirt could accumulate under those nails buried inside the flesh.

“
Right one.”

“
You’re right!” he chuckled, un-clutching to reveal a rectangular packet of five thin sticks with white paper sleeves, two of them empty. “See? These are the only three left -- American
kouxiang tang
that a former teammate of mine brought back from abroad!”

Ah, genuine American “mouth fragrance candy”! What an extremely precious commodity!

“
This … for my birthday?”

“
You bet! Would you like to share one with me?”

I bounced up on my tiptoes. “Of course! Thank you!”

He took out a slice and let me hold one end of it. My hand shaking slightly, I stared at the wrapper bearing the letters “WRIGLEY’S
SPEARMINT
CHEWING GUM”. The word “
SPEARMINT
” was italicized and distinctively printed across a forest green arrow pointing towards a little tree with three branches.

So on that day, my thirteenth birthday, I had the privilege for the first time of touching something made in the U.S. This was the time before Wrigley’s “Double Mint, Double Pleasure” came into being, before the green-on-white wrapper was changed to mint green, before I knew that three quarters of the population of Singapore were ethnic Chinese and that chewing gum would be banned there. This was before I had a clue as to what life was like outside of China, before I could picture white people walking down the street chewing gum or drinking a whole can of Coke.

“
Happy birthday to you, and let’s
haaf
oo
haaf
oo
this,” he said, using
pidgin
.

He gave the stick a little tug and I let go of my end of it. I watched intently as his flesh-tipped index finger edged the foil-covered stick out of the wrapper and opened the saw-toothed silver paper. He broke the human flesh-colored piece into two halves, handed me one and put the other in his mouth. He then folded the foil along its creases and slid it back into the wrapper, inching along in the direction of the arrow, deliberately, precisely, one millimeter at a time until it was all the way, and snugly, in.

Seeing that I still had my half in hand, he said, “Let me feed it to you.”

“
This is delicious. Thank you!”

He chewed and chewed and studied me. I sensed the rhythm of his breathing in and out and visualized that pair of arms spearheading in water, his body defying its resistance. I broke the awkwardness and said, “Now I know why your teeth are so white. It’s the American
kouxiang tang
.”

He shook his head. “Nothing to do with it. This is the only packet I was given. My teeth are white because I don’t smoke like most of the others do.”

“
And what made you not pick it up, then?”

“
Revolutionary self-discipline. I don’t believe an athlete should smoke. One has to exercise self control if he wants to accomplish something big in the long run.”

Just as I savored the deep meanings of his words, he stooped down and switched to a playfully tone. “Let’s see whose teeth are whiter, yours or mine.”

I displayed an exaggerated grin. He loomed closer, his sweet breaths blowing on me. The pair of hands he used to slide the gum stick in and out of the wrapper was now burning on my cheeks. “
Nong zen piaoliang ah!”
– You are gorgeous!

I nearly bit his lip in instinctive resistance. But the next second saw us intertwined like a dragon and a phoenix, engaged in an effort to knead the two halves of the gum back into one. He cupped my breasts as if grasping on to a kickboard, admiring them uncontrollably.

“
Mo Mo you are beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!”

He was breathing the way he normally did immediately after a few thousand meters of non-stop swimming. Then he lifted me onto the ‘coffin’, bellowing “
Ngo yao nong!
” – I want you!

Kneeling on a lump of clothes, he peeled off my pants and parted my legs. His hands felt familiar, for this was not the first time they were on my thighs. Showing me the angles of a precisely executed breaststroke with a frog-like kick during “on-land simulation” had required Coach Long to thus direct me by the poolside, with my stomach on a bench. But this time he separated me at the crotch, his hand massaged my peach fuzz, and chanted “Relax, relax … it’s alright.” Then, without warning, he thrust his index and middle fingers inside of me and started to churn.

As I cried out in a confused excitement, he pulled them out and dropped off his pants. His appendage, forever covered by his swim trunks, was now a fully extended “turtle’s head”. Spitting the piece of gum into his hand and flattening it with his palms, Coach Long capped it on his turtle’s head, lubricated me with his saliva, and inched into me the way he had just pushed the piece of foil paper into its wrapper. I shut my eyes, sensing his manhood reaching every cell of me. This must be the fun sensation of “sex” that Wang Hong told me about ...

The Coach’s same fingers retrieved the piece of the gum which by now was coated with a paste the texture of egg whites with streaks of blood swirling around it. As I stared at him in a daze, he propped me up next to him and put his arm around me like a coach often would after a race.

“
I’ve fantasized about you without a swim suit for who knows how long, Mo Mo. How can you be so perfectly developed without even starting your period yet?”

“
Period?” I repeated, turning scarlet to the tips of my ears.

He gave my cheek a quick pinch and said teasingly, “Don’t be shy, my beautiful Mo Mo. I know yours hasn’t started as I don’t have your Menstruation Record Card. I was just extra careful.” He glanced at our piece of gum, now discarded on the
tatami
.

My head began to reel. “What record card?”

“
No girls on your batch have had their onset yet, so you don’t know about it. It’s a card system to track and monitor our female athletes’ monthly cycles so that their potential can be maximized. I’ll show you one.”

From the pile of papers on the floor he pulled out a card with pre-printed grids. Crosses were marked on various spots indicating the duration and blood flow quantity as well as physical reactions and training schedule.

I looked away and covered my face. “Oh, it’s terrible of me to do this with you …,” I began, almost sobbing. “You’re my coach, and in my heart you’re like a hero to me – honest. But now we’ve done this together, you’ll think of me as nothing but a
la san
.”

Coach Long pulled me into his bosom. In an unprecedented soft voice, he said, “Don’t be silly, Mo Mo. You’re the woman of my dreams and no
la san
can ever come close to that. Do you understand?”

I jerked my head up and down nodding. Meeting his gaze, I gathered all my courage and said, “Yes, I do, but I’m not a woman yet ... maybe I developed faster because I’m not a hundred percent Chinese?”

He displayed the most charming smile I had ever seen. “Which is why I went out of my way to get you on my team.”

“
You did? … and you’ve been good to me only because of this?”

“
No … of course not … ”

But I was not going to let him finish. My beating fists were fast landing on his chest. He stood stationary, letting me hit him like a punching bag.

When I finally stopped, Coach Long put his hands on my shoulders and said, “Now that you’ve done beating me up, you won’t think of me as your custodian anymore, and I’m no longer your coach. You’ll always be my beautiful idol, and I hope you will always regard me as your hero.”

One arm encircling me by the waist, he lifted my chin with his free hand and kissed me gently on the lips. His facial muscles twitching, Coach Long held me up by my buttocks and carried me to a bare wall, pulling the noose switch off as we passed.

“
What do you say to some serious celebration of your birthday?” he whispered in my ear.

With my arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his waist, he pinned me onto that Japanese construction which did not wobble as much as pulsate.

There, we celebrated and celebrated,
with him wishing me many happy returns of the day.

I would now periodically go to the pool and wait for Coach Long to finish working. Then we would go utilize the coffin at his place, where he kept meticulous records on my cycles. As he had predicted, I had my menstrual onset shortly after turning 12. Everything will be all right with you from now on, the Coach had reassured me in his sonorous voice, placing his firm hands on either side of my shoulders Trust me! This went on for months.

So imagine my surprise when one afternoon, after the bus ride to the pool, I found him not at work. In his place was a wall-eyed, muscular young woman who shouted, Hey! Training is in session. Don’t stand around here! Having always stood by the poolside a few feet from where Coach Long would be, I didn’t know where else to wait, and worse, what had happened to the Coach. My heart missing a beat, I dragged my feet into the women’s changing room.

“
Ah, Coach Long’s former trainee girl’s here for his
Xi Tang
! Come over to my supplies locker. I still have a few packets to give out on his behalf.”

Xi Tang
, or Happiness Sweets, were customarily handed out by newly-weds to friends and colleagues to celebrate their union.

My heart stopped. “Coach Long got married?” I asked in disbelief.

“
You didn’t know? He sure has met his match. He showed me her photo before going to join her in Beijing. Took the train to the capital last week. Said to give these joyous candies out for old acquaintances who may stop by here. His former teammate just retired from the National Team and got her coaching position. Here, have a packet he left with me.”

I felt a weakness in the knees as I took the packet. Throat tightening, I turned without thanking her and dashed out, tears rolling down my cheeks. It all made sense now: the Wrigley’s chewing gum from abroad, the detailed account of the National Team’s
sashimi
feast in Japan, the Comaneci clipping from Montreal!