Chapter Fourteen: The Onset of SARS

After April passed, the weather gradually began to warm. Yet the recent news of SARS spreading relentlessly brought a chill to people’s hearts, colder even than winter. Reports showed the numbers in quarantine and the death toll climbing each day, and for a time, panic swept through the city—every bush and tree seemed menacing, and everyone was on edge. In crowded places, the tension was palpable; people shuddered at the very mention of SARS. The media called it a war without smoke or gunfire. But unlike ordinary wars, the enemy here was minuscule, nearly invisible, yet its harm to humanity was immense.

Worried about potential shortages, residents began stockpiling everyday necessities, each thinking they were clever. Before long, a buying frenzy broke out everywhere. Prices skyrocketed. Even white vinegar, selling for the outrageous price of one hundred yuan per bottle, vanished from store shelves in the blink of an eye as frenzied shoppers snatched it up. White radishes, rumored to help with colds, soared to five yuan per jin.

At the same time, a patriotic hygiene campaign sprang up across the country. Without prompting, everyone threw themselves into it enthusiastically. These past few months had seen an emphasis on cleanliness unlike anything in recent Chinese memory.

But for us students, the only good news SARS brought was that we no longer had to go to school for extra classes on Saturdays. The education bureau issued a notice: all unofficial tutoring sessions were to be canceled. Our weekends, once packed to the brim, suddenly became free. With nothing to do, I thought about asking Lele to go out for a walk, but Lele’s grandmother, worried about infection, wouldn’t allow her to leave the house. Left with no other options, I lay on my bed, breathing in the heavy scent of vinegar that filled the room, and idly listened to my MP3 player to pass the time.

I was drifting off to sleep when the phone suddenly rang. I jumped up, grabbed the receiver, and heard Chuchu’s sweet voice on the other end: “Piglet Bei, don’t forget to come out for extra class tonight!”

“Extra class?” I was caught off guard and asked in confusion, “Didn’t the teacher say—”

“Yeah, yeah! Extra class.” Chuchu suddenly lowered her voice. “Idiot, I’m asking you to come out and hang out!”

I caught on at once and quickly played along: “Oh, oh, oh, we still have extra class even with SARS? Okay, got it!”

After hanging up, I turned to find my mother standing at the door with a pile of dirty clothes in her arms. “Xiaobei, there’s SARS going around and your teacher still wants extra class?” she asked, suspicious.

I took a deep breath to steady myself, then scratched my head and lied as casually as I could: “Yeah, that’s right! What can you do? The teacher wants to make some money, but the education bureau won’t allow it, so they just changed the location. The teacher just had a classmate call to inform me—we’re having class somewhere else tonight.”

My mother didn’t give it much thought. She turned and called toward the kitchen, “Old Li, Xiaobei has extra class tonight—make dinner early.” Then she took the clothes straight to the balcony.

I lay back on my bed, no longer in the mood for my MP3, and stretched out my legs, replaying Chuchu’s call in my mind. Where was she going to take me tonight? Could it be…?

“Ugh, what am I thinking?!” I slapped my forehead and glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It was just past four! That meant there were still three and a half hours until my meeting with Chuchu—a wait that felt like an eternity.

Lost in my thoughts, I soon drifted off to sleep. When I opened my eyes again, it was already dark.

“Xiaobei! Dinner’s ready!” My mother’s voice drifted in from outside just as I sat up.

The table was already set. I sat down and devoured my food, finishing dinner at record speed. I quickly put on my clothes, grabbed my school bag for show, and rushed out the door, barely able to contain my excitement.

I pedaled my bike to the street corner where I’d arranged to meet Chuchu. When I checked my phone, it was only 7:03. I was too early—she probably wouldn’t arrive for another half hour. The air was thick with the scent of disinfectant. Leaning against my bike, I looked around. The once-bustling street was almost deserted, only a few passersby drifting through the night, their shadows giving the place a desolate air that brought to mind the Great Depression across the ocean in the early twentieth century.

Half-leaning against the guardrail, I lowered my head and let my mind wander. It had rained earlier, and the ground was still damp. In the reflection of a puddle, I thought I saw someone walking toward me. Before I could look up, I felt a heavy thump on my shoulder, followed by Chuchu’s familiar voice: “Piglet Bei! How long have you been here?”

I grimaced in pain. “Geez, Chuchu! Can’t you be a bit gentler?” I looked at her with a frustrated expression.

Today, Chuchu was wearing a white long-sleeved T-shirt, layered with a dark blue short-sleeved one, light blue track pants, and a pair of creamy white NIKE sneakers—a look full of youthful energy. I stared at her, entranced, forgetting to say anything.

Chuchu, visibly uncomfortable under my gaze, gave me a hard shove. “Hey, what are you staring at? Come on!” With that, she grabbed my arm and started dragging me, bike and all, down the street.

“Hey, where are you taking me? Slow down, I’m pushing my bike here…” I felt like I was being kidnapped by Chuchu.

Dragged along, we turned into a side alley. “Oh no! Could Chuchu be planning…” My mind started to run wild, and a sly smile crept onto my face.

“We’re here.” Chuchu’s voice snapped me out of my reverie. Looking up, I realized she’d brought me to the “Tianfu” Internet café—the same place I’d taken her just a few days ago.

After an entire afternoon of excitement, it turned out Chuchu just wanted me to play online games with her! Disappointment washed over me. Chuchu, oblivious to my mood, pointed excitedly at the café. “Piglet Bei, come on, play Crazy Arcade with me!”

“Crazy Arcade… fine, I guess.” I agreed, reluctantly.

After parking our bikes, I followed Chuchu into the café, resigned. To my surprise, the Internet café was as busy as ever, seemingly unaffected by the SARS scare. After paying, I took the two temporary membership cards from the attendant, found two side-by-side seats in a corner, and sat down with Chuchu.

The keyboard at my station felt a bit greasy. Chuchu, ever prepared, pulled a pack of tissues from her bag, tossed one to me, and meticulously wiped down her station. No surprise—after all, it was the SARS era.