A Kiss From Heaven (Excerpts)
I posted the opening of A Kiss from Heaven (fiction). Here posted are some excerpts of the narrator's (Mimi) voice and a scene of the narrator in one of the otherwise discrete stories without the narrator. When I first thought about writing this fiction, I pronounced my purpose as "to see the larger society from the smallest perspective (i.e. one person's perspective)." This person is the narrator, a mind lost and distraught. I did and still do intend this fiction only to present a time period of 10 years (late 1990s and early 2000s) in one part of China (north) as close to the social reality as possible. The 10 years immediately before this period to a certain extent explains the depicted 10 years. I am writing while improving my writing skills as I hope in the end this fiction can be precise and logical.
As a sociologist, I cannot help observing and agreeing that professionals are gradually yet actually moving away from that authoritative figure of knowledge to a service provider, not much different from the construction workers in one of the excerpts. 

A Kiss from Heaven (Excerpts)
Cynthia Zhang
2009

Chapter 2 The City: On the Unavertable Route to Modernity

          Imagine you see a unicorn in your garden. You don’t know if you’re crazy or the unicorn is crazy. You stare at each other. The eyes of the unicorn are as big as Shandong red dates: watery and alert, ready to escape. A giant head on a skinny body, the unicorn has a belly smaller than its eyes. It’s almost like God snapped a lion’s head and roughly put it on a street hound’s body.

          You know what? That’s what modernity looks like. A head full of crazy thoughts sets on a body of malnutrition. The intestines of the unicorn don’t digest anything other than the vomit of the alcoholics, the cynics, the wonderers, the ass lickers, and the zombies of the past bright dynasties. The hard wired brain, though, winds back again and again to that rustic peace of green pasture, black cattle herds, and a bull riding kid shepherd playing a slow piece on a jade flute. Its head wants to go west. Its body east.

          You know where in the end modernity goes? Nowhere. Its head just twists on its body, wanting to go east now. And of course, its body really really wants to go west now.

Chapter 3 The Mass: On the Usefulness of Monarchy

          Mimi looked up into David’s eyes: the pupils, black yet bright like laser light, squat on the glassy light blue shade around. Mimi waved her hands and turned around. She paused at the door, but there was no voice from behind to invite her back.

          It was a cold morning outside.

          Mimi decided to visit those temporary on-site dormitories of the workers. It had been nice living in the headquarter villa with other staff in the developmental zone, but as the secretary to the general manager, she felt the responsibility to know and care for her workers. She strolled in the dorms with some cigarettes in her pockets to befriend the workers.

          The dormitory buildings were two-storied bright blue steel sheet structures arranged in two rows on the inner part of the site. On each floor, there were about 5 to 10 rooms ranging from 15 to 30 square meters. Mimi stepped into a 30-square-meter room. There were dozens of black iron bunk beds, spreading randomly around. Most beds were mot made. In fact, there was no need to make beds as the one or two filthy quilts in each bed were usually dragged hastily to cover the workers’ cold bodies after work. There were a couple of electric heaters in the room which barely warmed a corner of the room, a gift from the general contractor company. There were a couple of luggage cases under each bed. No toilet. The cold running water was outside for brushing teeth, washing faces and dishes. There was a kitchen close to the general manager’s office providing food and hot drinking water.

          Mimi noticed some one-story mud houses with straw roofs. For a moment, Mimi felt she was back to her grandparents’ house. But these houses were much lower and of a temporary nature. Mimi hesitated. She had always been frightened by horror movies, especially those from Hong Kong. The ghosts never showed themselves to people other than a long shadow slamming the doors of a disserted house. She opened her eyes wide to stare at the doors made of black canvas supposed to be white, quite sure the chill worming along her cotton military coat collar was colluding with those unknown creatures.

          This is where my people live. They should have a revolution. But do I know my people? Are they ghosts or angels? To have a revolution, I need to talk to them, like Mao Zedong himself.

          Inside the house was like a huge cave. The dim light forced in from the ceiling windows made of plastics. Some crude lumbers were propping the ceiling every 5 meters. Mimi blinked, trying to see something. The smell of cigarettes was wafting across from somewhere.

          Out of the darkness came an elderly voice, “Miss Mimi, have some time to walk around?”

          Mimi turned her head to the direction where the voice came, “Yes, are you all right with that?” She had to be cautious without knowing what was inside there.

          “We’re honored to have you here. Would you like to take a seat? Lao Chen, get that stool for Miss Mimi.” The voice ordered.

          Mimi caught a shadow fetching a stool to her, “Here you are, Miss Mimi.” A younger voice invited.

          “Thank you.” Mimi sat down. There were two men sitting in one bed side by side. The bed was a wood board less than 20 centimeters above the dirt floor. One man was around 60 and the other 40.

          “We just got back from the site. We finished our shift.” The older man smiled to Mimi.

          “Oh, it must be a long day.” Mimi was very quick to switch to a tone she used to talk to her farmer aunts and uncles.

          “Yes, it was.” The younger man – Lao Chen nodded. “Miss Mimi, how did you decide to lower your status to visit us?”

          “Oh, I’m the manager secretary. It’s my responsibility to know your condition.” Mimi didn’t have to rehearse. “Lao Chen, you and …”

          “Just call me Lao Wei.” The older man answered, “We came from the same county. Miss Mimi, it’s dirty here. The only thing we have here is cigarettes.”

          “No need to be polite. I don’t need anything. Help yourself with your cigarettes.” Mimi smoothed out her woolen scarf.

          “Talking about cigarettes, I have to feed my addiction worm now.” Lao Wei turned to Lao Chen, “You want one?”

           “Sure,” Lao Chen nodded, massaging his crew cut with his palm.

            Lao Wei dragged a piece of newspaper from under his bed, folded it nicely into small rectangulars and reversed the seams to cut it into small pieces. He then groped in his pant pockets for a while. He took out a dark red sash, opened it. In the sash was almost powder like raw tobacco bits. He pinched some tobacco and spread it evenly on the newspaper laying open on his left hand, rolled the paper with his right hand and sealed the cigarette with saliva. He handed the cigarette to Lao Chen and then made himself one.

           When Lao Wei and Lao Chen each had a cigarette in their right hand, Lao Chen lit the cigarettes for them, Lao Wei first.

          They smoked deeply for a while, smelling each puff.

          Lao Wei then looked down on the floor and pondered slowly, “It’s close to spring festival. We’re going home soon.”

          Mimi took over the topic, “Isn’t that exciting? You’ll bring back home your salary and everyone will be happy.”

          Lao Chen sneared, “Salary? We haven’t seen its shadow yet since last year.”

          Mimi was in disbelief, “How could that be? This is a big company, right?

          Lao Wei hushed Lao Chen who was about to spit out his anger, “Miss Mimi, we’re just down to earth farmers. We left our family behind to come here to build this stadium. But we’ll go back to our farms when we’re too old, maybe 70.”

          Lao Wei stopped and then continued after a long pause, “Now it’s time to get the seeds ready for the spring.” 

Chapter 8 The Corruption: A City of Desire

          When the night comes, a city begins its life. So they say. The nightlife of a city is rich. So it seems. You can shop, dine out with friends, watch Peking opera, go to a bar, a concert, and best of all, you can go to a theatre. There, you are often amazed by some soul searching dialogues, monologues stripped of all the derivatives: costumes, make up, and even set. All the performing skills are nude in your naked eyes. You feel your spirits leap, drop, rise and ebb. You go to a bar, some bands are playing. The ode of joy in life blares. The cello sighs over some loss that cannot be named. The black long hair of that young singer glistens in the dark room and covers his expression of homelessness.

          In the city, everything glows in the evening: people’s jewelry and skin, streets, buildings and that unique light heartedness. If you lose your job, you’ll find another without much delay unless there is an economic crisis. If your heart is broken, you’ll find it full the next day in a new lover’s arms. Sometimes you have more than one lover. So your heart never breaks. Yet, this lightheartedness is unbearable sometimes. You struggle to grab something to keep yourself afloat on the surface of a starless sea. You know your life is so light that you might lose it to yourself, to the invisibility and the smallness people inevitably assume in their daily life begging for some meaning.

          That meaning is hard to find and retain, though, with so much desire so easy to satisfy. The sound of desire was the softest at night under countless roofs by the side of the lonely lovers.