Free Chenxi and the Foreigner by Sally Rippin Page A

sitting position and waited for her head to catch up. Was it possible the hashish had made her so sick?
    Anna gazed out through the window at the grey sky. Thoughts gathered in her head like shifting storm clouds. She heard the aiyi leaving. From below came the noise of the traffic and the ringing of bicycle bells. In her room it was air-conditioned and clean.
    April 9th, 1989
    Chenxi met me at the consulate last night. Well, out the front anyway, but he came, so I am sure he must be interested in me. I met a French student, Laurent, good-looking but arrogant, who gave us some hashish to smoke. He told me he has a friend who travels regularly to Tibet to buy it, then Laurent sells it around his university campus. Chenxi knew what it was but he didn’t smoke any. It made me sick.
    By the time her father arrived home Anna was feeling better. Not quite well enough, however, to accept her father’s offer of an Australian steak. Mr White shrugged and made himself a cheese sandwich from a block of imported cheddar he fished out of the freezer and thawed in the microwave. Standing over the sink, his mouth crammed, he called to Anna, ‘How about getting outside for a while, love? It might make you feel better to get some fresh air.’
    â€˜Fresh air?’ Anna joked from her bedroom. The air in Shanghai was so fresh she could pick it in big black chunks out of her nose.
    â€˜Well, not literally speaking, I suppose. How about exercise then? We could catch a taxi and have a walk around the antique market. You haven’t seen it yet, have you? It might be a good chance for you to pick up some souvenirs to take home.’
    â€˜How about riding our bikes, if you really want some exercise?’
    â€˜Oh, it’s too much hassle to get them out of the shed, love. Besides I think mine has a puncture.’
    Anna heard him slap the crumbs off his hands and then step into the lounge room. ‘It only costs one yuan to get a puncture fixed, Dad. That’s twenty-five cents.’
    â€˜Really?’ Mr White mumbled, mostly to himself. ‘They always charge me ten yuan!’
    Anna emerged from her bedroom, buttoning her shirt and grinning. She poked her father in the ribs. ‘That’s because you’re a foreigner, Dad!’
    â€˜A Wai guo ren ,’ Mr White chuckled, emphasising his Australian accent.
    â€˜A long nose.’
    â€˜A foreign ghost.’
    â€˜A cheese-smelling, F.E.C-spending, foreign devil!’
    â€˜That’s going too far!’ Mr White laughed. ‘Come on, let’s go out and spend some of this filthy F.E.C. that the Chinese seem to want so much!’ He linked his arm in Anna’s.
    â€˜Hey, Dad? I’ve written some postcards home. Can we stop on the way to send them?’
    â€˜Just leave them on the chair by the door for the aiyi ,’ Mr White said. ‘She’ll do it. I have to warn you though, the postal service is unreliable. You might get home before your cards do. We can give your mother a call tonight, if you like. If you want to speak to your sisters.’
    â€˜Nah, it’s fine,’ Anna said. ‘I’ve only been away a few days. They’ll be fine. Maybe next week.’
    Mr White squeezed his daughter’s shoulder in a sudden burst of affection.
    On a worn straw mat, a peasant girl laid out her meagre wares. She had travelled for two days to reach Shanghai, leaving her elderly grandmother in the care of her neighbour. She would not make much money that day but, since her mother had died and her grandmother was ill, any extra money would help towards the doctor’s fees.
    She unwrapped the last item, hesitating before she placed it among the other objects on the mat. It was a silver snuffbox inlaid with precious stones, dating from the Ching Dynasty and handed down from mother to eldest daughter over many generations. Today would be the day it left the family, the peasant girl thought wistfully. She thanked