Maybe 1 out of a 100 of you will have read, "Kafka on the Shore" (Amazon Link ) but whether or not you have, Murakami's style of writing in this and 'The Elephant Vanishes' appeal to me greatly. So I've done my best to mock up his style in a short story below.
My name is Wei Fu although I guess everyone who knows me calls me by the name on the tag pinned to my t-shirt, ‘Sarai’.
I started this story by mentioning that I own a tag and it has probably led you to conclude that I am not a very important person. I guess that in the grand scheme of it all you would be right, for a start I am one person in a city of millions, all with similar dreams and ambitions and my job is far from unique most of the time.
I work in a hotel, a business place for the most part and it’s generally foreigners that come here. I think we have an international website where you can book from your home in the States.
I am a gym instructor, for six days a week I help these high-powered men, (occasionally women) with their exercises, whether it’s showing them how to use our machines or doing one-on-one classes in tai-chi or the like (not real tai-chi mind you, none of our guests stay long enough to even learn the first circle). I guess I should describe myself a bit, so you can think through the guests eyes when they stare at or sometimes through me.
I am around 5 foot and 3 inches. I am neither therefore tall or very short in my country. If I am to go outside to maybe a restaurant I will wear heels that add a couple of inches. Sometimes I think that maybe I should just stay on flats because every girl is doing heels, everyone is 5 foot 5 inches at night, I am compelled to obey this rule as well because even amongst poor people like me, you need to have certain fashions and class to stay “socially mobile”.
I have long black hair that falls down my back to my waist, it is longer in the centre than at the sides and when I am using gym machines I must tie it up or pin it back because I wouldn’t want to have my scalp taken or some other accident.
I am thin and toned to the level I need to be to work this job but no more. I don’t tan myself or give myself other fakeness, so in all I am nearly typical of your twenty-three year old woman.
“Hello Wui”, the thirty-something American says. I am at work now and he is my first one-on-one session for a minor 30 minute workout, warm-up and cool-down. I don’t bother to correct his mispronunciation of my name, but automatically I step down my English comprehension a bit, I have to keep my face you see. He is around six foot one inch but slightly out of shape by the looks of it, a little too much paunch around his waist.
“Sariee”, (I stress the ‘E’ to fulfill the stereotypical Chinese accent) “will be most so happy to help sir with exercise this night-evening, what sir wanting to be doing first?” I can see by his face that he is feeling two things; superiority and disappointment – both understandable I guess, I am after all only a gym worker and with poorer English his training won’t be as quick or as good. This pleases me somewhat, I have regained my face.
“Okay Sarai”, (He got it right, does he know I am playing a game?), “I want to work shoulders, legs, abs and cardio”, (He knows his stuff it appears as this is an exact thirty minute work out)
“Music want?”, I point over at a battered looking Sony CD player, he shakes his head. He is serious business I guess.
I start with the simple warm-up exercises and lead him through a routine that I have learnt during a recent training session at the larger gym in Shanghai. We get going through this on loosening our muscles and improving the blood-flow through stretches and then jogging. Time goes quickly and I am absorbed in my work, I take pride in it, it is important to do a good job. I don’t get paid per job, just a daily rate, but good customer feedback is important to a small bonus at the end of the week and then chances such as going on training in Shanghai where my sister lives who I can’t see otherwise.
Our thirty minutes are almost up and we both check our pulses at the end, they are both healthy. I use my hands to work on the muscles in his thighs and the joints around his shoulder. He has a slight sheen of sweat on his brow but the cool down exercise has worked and he is not out of breath.
“Thank you Sarai, that was very good. I feel very relaxed and I would…” he cocks his head slightly to the side, “You did a good job.”
“It is only my job, I am glad it is your satisfaction, I hope you enjoy next stay at our hotel in future.” I am already thinking about the next slot, it’s an aerobics session with no appointment required; sometimes it’s busy, sometimes not.
“I’ll be seeing you then after your next session”, his words startle me back to the here-and-now.
“Oh” I manage, “It’s like that?” my voice is lower.
“Yes, it’s like that. I was recommended, the manager agreed.” He waves his hand vaguely behind him in the direction of the front-desk, “I just wanted to see you first, you know. It’s expensive so therefore you have to be right.”
“I see. I guess later then.” I am desperate for him to leave so that the dwindling ten minutes between now and my next class can be my time, for my thoughts.
“See you Sarai”, he turns and leaves taking his towel and small Nike bag with him.
I walk out of the gym and over to the front desk. The manager scowls at me as I am wearing gym clothes outside the gym, he would think that I am ‘bringing the tone down’. He bustles me into the office and it’s the same as always. He says the money is good this time, (It always is for him, less for me), that Xuan will watch over me so I am not hurt, (I think Xuan likes to watch too much herself but I don’t say anything, she is better than nothing) and that how he is sorry that it is only Tuesday. I ask why he is sorry that it is Tuesday he tells me that the American has booked a room for the week and paid for me in advance. ‘Oh’ I say. I think hard about this now. It is only Tuesday and I wanted to go out on the weekend and look at travel agents, I don’t think I would be able to go out after four days of the American. I tell this to the manager hoping for a little shred of human decency. He however reminds me of the fact I am working here illegally, without a X’ian residency permit, that I am a second child and that my parents could be fined a lot if he told anyone and that it is only the start of the month, he has my pay in his safe (along with my passport).
What can I do? Even though his is a stupid man who only manages the hotel because of his family connections, those connections mean so much more than any claim to intelligence or humanity I might deserve. He can say what he wants about me and I would be in jail.
Maybe the reader is interested in what I do, perhaps reading you think I am a prostitute. I am not, but my manager does sell my body. He is a pimp of my body, I try not to think this way much as it just depresses me.
Part 1 of 2
