“I am a Maik-ling. Maik-lings do not wear clothes.” -- II

Once again, she initiated the conversation, with a courtesy.

“Good morning, Mr. Zhu.”  As she stood respectfully before me I noticed that one of her cold-stiffened nipples was marked with what looked like ketchup.  With so many American visitors the crudities of the American diet here are an unavoidable presence.  She also smelled vaguely of stale hamburger.

“I just have a few more questions. . . Do you take out the garbage every day?”

“Yes.  Also I sweep the floors at night, and close the skylight.”

“How do you do that?”

“I climb up the ropes.  There is a ladder near the top.  I turn a winch which closes it.”

“Have you ever been hurt by one of those . . . demonstrations?”

“Of course not.  Nothing can hurt us Maik-lings.  Though sometimes it is uncomfortable.”  This must have been an understatement.  I remembered her nipples being twisted and her cries of what must have been pain.

“What do you think about, when you are stretched out in those ropes?”

“Mostly school things.  When you first saw me I was conjugating French verbs.”

Though her face was smudged and dirty I must note that Zhenzhen is stunningly beautiful.  All the Maik-lings are pretty but this one is mesmerizing.

Again I asked, “Does being so exposed ever bother you?”, hoping to get a different answer this time.

Alas, no.  “I am a Maik-ling.  Maik-lings do not wear clothes.”  She thought for a second and elaborated.  “We do not need clothes.  Or shoes.”  I have to admit, this appears to be a true statement.

“Did you talk to the American girl you replaced?”  Uniquely among the Maik-lings, Zhenzhen had been yanked from school early for this purpose.  This two-week stint was her second.

“We met once, when I was first brought into the Hall, but we couldn’t talk.  She was onstage giving an orgasm and we spoke only with our eyes.”  (Maik-lings never speak of “having” an orgasm; it’s always “giving” an orgasm, to the cause of the People.)  In a concession to the cold, she hugged herself.

I longed to take off my coat and drape it over her delicate shoulders but she would have been much insulted.  “Do you Maik-lings share your . . . impressions about this summer’s assignments?”

She looked down at her grimy, freezing feet, as if wondering if she should answer.  Then she looked up at me, the rising sun shining in her eyes, and said, “We talk at home on weekends.”