care who came into the building. The floor was pale, with a covering of dust, and streaked with black marks that Phoebe could not identify. On the walls there were patches of cement where the crumbling brickwork had fallen away and been hastily filled in. The wooden notice boards and the metal pigeonhole letter boxes were old and had not been changed for at least fifty years—their green paint looked almost black. The place was dirtier than some of the factory hostels she had lived in. As she waited for the lift to take her up to her new life, she felt the heavy weight of dread descend upon her shoulders. There were hundreds and hundreds of apartments in the building and only one lift, and as she waited, a crowd began to gather around her, everyone starting to push forward. These people were not the sort of neighbors she had imagined. She had envisaged herself surrounded by the kind of women she saw on TV, well-dressed modern Shanghainese, but instead she found a crowd of old-age pensioners dressed in revolutionary clothes, stern padded jackets, and shapeless trousers that matched their expressionless faces, which seemed to have crumpled inward. No light shone from their eyes, no feeling sprang from their gazes, and when Phoebe looked at them she felt a shiver of fear run down her neck: It was like looking at an abandoned house where everything had been kept as it was in the past, the clocks ticking, the furniture clean and shiny, the plants watered, only no one lived there; they had long since gone away. Even the younger people seemed old and worn down by unknown cares, their clothes as uninspired as their faces.
They shuffled past Phoebe as the lift neared the ground floor, their shoulders and arms jostling her. She watched the numbers light up on the counter, and as she did so she felt as though her life was also descending—4, 3, 2, 1. Soon it would be zero. As the lift doors opened, she saw that it was tiny and filled with cigarette smoke, so she decided to take the stairs instead. She had only her small bag with her—she had learned to travel light. Even so, she was soon out of breath, because the stairs were steep andthe windows that lined the stairwell were open and let in the dust and pollution from outside. There were pipes everywhere, and some of them were leaky. Where they dripped onto the floor, there were crusted brown patches that looked like mushrooms sprouting from the concrete.
As she climbed the stairs she could see more clearly out the windows, could gaze down at a giant construction site taking shape right next to the apartment block. Huge steel columns jutted out from the hole being dug for the foundations. Beyond it there was a shopping center, painted in coral pink and blue. In the daytime, its neon signboard looked like scaffolding, and it was hard to read what it said: SHANGHAI LITEFUL FASHION SHOPPING MARKET . The signboards that covered its entire length advertised cheap clothing brands that Phoebe had never heard of before, the colors gold and bright green and yellow. Nothing matched. The streets below were dark with a mass of people waiting for buses or emerging from the shopping center—it must have been a wholesale market, where you could buy anything from skirts to electronic goods to dried food very cheaply. Even from where she was, she could hear the thumping of music and the cries of advertisements from loudspeakers. She paused and looked at the scene—at the thick wriggling river of bodies so dense and colorless that it was hard to make out each human being. She could be anywhere in China, she thought. In fact, she could be in any no-value town in Asia. She had known so many of them, and they all looked like this.
But maybe her room would be nice. Maybe her view would not be of this no-place city that she was now staring at; maybe she would look out at the river instead and wake up every day to views of Shanghai.
She reached the top floor. The corridor was long and stretched into
They shuffled past Phoebe as the lift neared the ground floor, their shoulders and arms jostling her. She watched the numbers light up on the counter, and as she did so she felt as though her life was also descending—4, 3, 2, 1. Soon it would be zero. As the lift doors opened, she saw that it was tiny and filled with cigarette smoke, so she decided to take the stairs instead. She had only her small bag with her—she had learned to travel light. Even so, she was soon out of breath, because the stairs were steep andthe windows that lined the stairwell were open and let in the dust and pollution from outside. There were pipes everywhere, and some of them were leaky. Where they dripped onto the floor, there were crusted brown patches that looked like mushrooms sprouting from the concrete.
As she climbed the stairs she could see more clearly out the windows, could gaze down at a giant construction site taking shape right next to the apartment block. Huge steel columns jutted out from the hole being dug for the foundations. Beyond it there was a shopping center, painted in coral pink and blue. In the daytime, its neon signboard looked like scaffolding, and it was hard to read what it said: SHANGHAI LITEFUL FASHION SHOPPING MARKET . The signboards that covered its entire length advertised cheap clothing brands that Phoebe had never heard of before, the colors gold and bright green and yellow. Nothing matched. The streets below were dark with a mass of people waiting for buses or emerging from the shopping center—it must have been a wholesale market, where you could buy anything from skirts to electronic goods to dried food very cheaply. Even from where she was, she could hear the thumping of music and the cries of advertisements from loudspeakers. She paused and looked at the scene—at the thick wriggling river of bodies so dense and colorless that it was hard to make out each human being. She could be anywhere in China, she thought. In fact, she could be in any no-value town in Asia. She had known so many of them, and they all looked like this.
But maybe her room would be nice. Maybe her view would not be of this no-place city that she was now staring at; maybe she would look out at the river instead and wake up every day to views of Shanghai.
She reached the top floor. The corridor was long and stretched into
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