Laid-off workers have an saying, nan bao nü chao: “the men are secure, the women are super.” It means the men work as security guards, the women work in a supermarket. For every ten families where workers were laid off, there are seven or eight like that. Mei Fen and her husband were among them.
Mei Fen’s husband used to talk big. Like many in his generation, he heeded the government’s call to marry late and have a child late, and when layoffs came he was one of the first to be out of work. He didn’t marry until his late twenties, and he was barely forty when he lost his job. Some people figure out a way to get by in a situation like that. Some squander the rest of their days and never find a new purpose. Mei Fen’s husband was a likable guy, and he quickly got promoted to the head of his security team, and was later transferred to a leadership job. Mei Fen still worked at the supermarket, stocking goods and running checkout. Both worked irregular hours, and there were at least a few nights each week they didn’t even see each other. One summer night in 2006, right after the typhoon, while Mei Fen dozed at the cash register, her phone suddenly rang, jolting her awake. Within an hour she was a widow. Her husband had been coming home from work on his scooter when a motorbike hurtled by. The sky was too dark, the bike got too close, and Mei Fen’s husband was knocked off. When they picked up off the side of the highway, his body had been ripped to pieces. Mei Fen received a condolence payment from the government.
At the time, ten years ago, the money was a huge sum. People said he’d given his life to support his wife and daughter. Mei Fen’s wiser friends told by wise friends to invest it or buy a house, but her relatives were adamant. Don’t you touch it—that money cost your husband his life, and if people see you laughing or living it up, they’ll talk behind your back. Mei Fen didn’t dare spend it. She just deposited it in the bank, as though it were some sort of organ dug out of her husband’s body to keep in cold storage. Your father had nothing, she told her daughter, he just left this little sum so you could get married. But as the years went by, the amount grew less and less impressive.
下岗工人里有一句话叫作“男保女超”。男的当保安，女的当超市店员，十个下岗双职工家庭里，七八个是这种搭配。美芬夫妻随大流。
美芬老公从前常常调侃，同他一辈的人，响应号召晚婚晚育，下岗倒是迎面乘上了头班车。三十不到结婚，四十出头下岗，自谋生路的大有人在，混吃等死的也不少。美芬老公会做人，很快升了领队，再后来就调到保卫科去当小领导了。美芬还在超市里做，点点货，收收钱。两个人都是三班制，倒来倒去，每周有好几个晚上是见不到的。零六年夏天，台风刚过，美芬老公轮岗值班，美芬正在收银台打瞌睡，被手机吵醒。接通以后不到一个钟头，美芬就成了寡妇了。美芬老公的电瓶车开在下班路上，一部杀头摩托车从后面抄上来，天色太暗，贴得太紧，直接把美芬老公甩出去了。人从环城绿化带被捡起来的时候，浑身都散架了。美芬拿到一笔赔偿金。
放在十年前也算是一笔巨款了。人家都讲，美芬老公是拿命给母女俩买了一笔生活费。捧在手里滚烫，精明的人劝美芬去投资，买个房也好。亲密的人却同美芬讲，这钱万万用不得，性命抵来的，人家见你想得开，过得潇洒，要在背后戳手指头的。美芬不敢，只好存定期，像是从老公的遗体上挖出了一个器官，放到银行冰冻起来。美芬对女儿讲，阿爸什么都没有，就留这点给你当嫁妆。只是一年年过去，这嫁妆越来越显不出分量了。
Click here to go back to the original article or visit the Neocha Shop to purchase a copy of Air Cannon.
Copyright Wang Zhanhei. For any reproduction requests please contact the author.
