My mother was always encouraging me to take up a sport, something I could do in my spare time that would be good for my health. It was a chance to get a bit sweaty, she said, to relieve some stress, and if I learned a sport now I’d have a skill for life. Why not give it a go? After thinking it over, I decided swimming might be fun. I imagined myself gliding through the water like a turtle, stopping to float whenever I wanted. And I thought that girls’ faces looked so lovely and white in blue water.

There weren’t many swimming pools in the city when I was in primary school. Aside from the enormous pool at the Workers’ Cultural Palace, I knew of only one other. It was just across the road from where we lived, down a narrow alley busy with tricycle trucks and opposite a school for children with special needs. The sign outside said swimming pool, but if you gave a driver the address, you had to say ‘Hai Shan Bath House’, because people mostly went there to bathe or shower. Swimming was quite expensive whereas a body scrub was more affordable. We lived in an old building, which was hard to keep warm, and in the winter, it was a hassle for the three of us to take showers. The shower attachment was a late addition, which meant you had to hold it up the entire time, and since neither the water nor the room were heated, whenever you took a shower, you risked catching a cold. My father would have sooner died than go to the public baths – he was too shy to take his clothes off in public – so I started going with my mother. It was less stressful that way. And naturally, we went to Hai Shan Swimming Pool.

The second time we went, the woman at the front desk talked my mother into buying more than just a shower. You’d be better off with an all-inclusive ticket. It covers everything: shower, scrub and swim. It’s much better value. She glanced down at me. Looks like your daughter could use some swimming lessons. I’m not sure what she saw in me. I was more tanned back then; perhaps she meant I should spend more time in the water.

My mother and I were very excited. We went straight to Bai Hua Yuan, a little wholesale market around the corner, and bought two swimming costumes, two pairs of goggles, and a swimming float for me. The seller there was persuasive too. If you buy an inflatable ring, she’ll never learn to swim! He turned to me. Here, take this. I took the swimming float. You have to stretch out your legs and kick them up and down like this. He threw away the snack he was holding, malatang in a plastic bag, to show me what to do. When you get in the water, hold it like this. Imagine you’re in trouble, and this float is a piece of decking that’s fallen off a boat. My mother had no time for this, but I got really into it, listening closely as he continued, his voice getting louder and louder. Imagine there’s a shark chasing you and a big wave right behind. You can see the beach just ahead. You hold on tight, and go for it. When you hit the shore, lie down on the float like this, like it’s a mattress . . . My mother cut in. I’ll give you ten yuan tops, and that’s it. And just like that, he turned away, and I never got to hear the end of the story.

When we got home, I pestered my mother. When can we go swimming? At first it looked promising. I’ll take you tomorrow after work, she said. But the next day, she didn’t come home after work. There was a drinks party, and then another one the next day, and the day after that. When she did come home, late at night, bleary-eyed and muddled, she stamped loudly in the corridor to activate the light and banged on the door with the heel of her shoe. My dad just accepted it, but I was furious. She saw the swimming float on the bed in my room and lay down on it, mumbling. Where are you? Come and sit next to your mum. I asked why she’d taken her shoes off. She said she’d cut her foot on the way home. There was broken glass on the ground. I didn’t see it. I moved closer and looked at her right foot. There was a bright red gash near her big toe. Without a word, my father went to fetch some sterilising wipes. When he returned, I stood before them with my head down, clenched my fists, and prepared what I was going to say. I took a deep breath and pushed my shoulders back. My mother finally noticed me. Oh, I’m lying on your float. I stared at her. When are we going swimming? Tell me exactly which day. She grinned. It’s up to you. I took another deep breath. Tomorrow. You won’t be working. It’s a Saturday.

My parents looked at each other. I’ve cut my foot, my mother said. I won’t be able to go in the water. I stood my ground. Two days ago, your foot was fine. Yesterday, your foot was fine. I think you did this on purpose. My father stayed quiet, just watching. In the silence that followed, reason slowly sided with my mother: she had an injury, even taking a shower would be difficult; several hours soaking in a pool full of disinfectant was out of the question. But at the time, I was indignant. Let your father take you, she suggested. He refused immediately – it would mean baring his pale upper arms. I didn’t want that either. I hung my head again, and as planned began to cry. It worked. My mother must still have been drunk, or else she would never have promised. When my mother drank, we were equals. Even so, she seemed reluctant. She grasped my hands and tried to make me touch her foot, but I pulled away. She sighed. Do we really have to go?

My father said she spoiled me, but it wasn’t like he was going to do anything about it. For him, Saturday was set in stone: it was his gaming day, spent, from breakfast until dinner, in front of the computer. The next day, my mother, having promised to take me swimming, wrapped a piece of plastic around her toe, and secured it with a rubber band. We crossed the road with our new kit and walked into Hai Shan Swimming Pool. Although, as I said, I’d been there twice before, both times it was just to the showers. I’d never been further. Today I was going all the way inside. In the changing room, putting on my swimming costume, I felt a cut above everyone else. I treated the brand new swimming costume like I used to treat my ballet leotard when I was younger. I took it out of the locker and put it on slowly. A little girl watched me very intently and asked her mother what I was wearing and why. The swimming costume was dark blue, with a little skirt and a yellow duck on the front. It was a bit big for me, and the straps kept slipping off my shoulders, so I had to straighten up and walk with the posture of a ballet dancer, wearing the matching dark-blue swimming cap that showed off my big forehead. Meanwhile, my mother attended to her toe: the elastic band was too tight and blood wasn’t getting to the toe, which was beginning to go white.

We walked past the steaming showers, through the huge relaxation hall with the lights switched off, and all the way down a long, narrow corridor towards a light at the far end. A middle-aged woman in short sleeves and shorts sat on a stool checking tickets. She checked our wristbands. Go through the foot pool. The swimming pool is just around the corner. There aren’t many swimmers today. I nodded blankly. My feet finally came out of the slippers and the feeling when they touched the white tiles was exhilarating. My mother went first and paddled through the ankle-deep footbath of disinfectant. As I held her arm in support, I noticed some water slip inside the plastic around her toe. The middle-aged woman had sharp eyes. What’s the matter? Something wrong with your foot? My mother had been waiting for someone to ask so she could embarrass me. I went red as she explained. Well, you’re here now, the middle-aged woman said. Might as well let her do what she wants! I reasoned that if no one came to swim, the woman would have nothing to show for having sat there all day. She waved us past and my mother led me around the corner. A bright blue world came into view. The water was calm.

Holding the float, I stepped onto the ladder and climbed down into the water. My mother had gone first and was waiting for me. I managed to get into the pool, but as soon as she let go of me, I started screaming. At the time I was about 1.3 metres tall, and even on tiptoes I could only just keep my head above water; the moment my feet were flat on the floor, water went up my nose, in my ears, gushing at me from every direction. The float was no use at all. My mother hauled me up a few times and I hung from her body like a sloth from a tree, cold and frightened. When I gazed over at the deep end, the pool seemed to go on forever. The lifeguard, who had a toned upper body and visible ribs, stood at the side of the pool watching me for ages, and then said to my mother, Your daughter could choke on all that water. My mother scowled back. And it’s your job to save her life. I want her to know what it feels like to be in the water. The lifeguard said, I think she’s felt enough. I would stop before it’s too late. My mother gave up on me and dipped down into the water. She hadn’t gone swimming for a long time, and she wanted to enjoy herself. It was as if the cut on her foot had transferred to me; I felt that my whole body was covered in cuts that were aggravated by the water. The lifeguard told her to let me swim in the little pool upstairs, where the water was shallower. We were both surprised to learn that there was a children’s pool. Why hadn’t they told us earlier? I climbed out, shivering with cold, while my mother glided back and forth like a mud loach, a girlish smile on her face as she waved at me. Go upstairs and practise. You’ll only hold me back here.

There were two small pools upstairs. And whichever way I looked at them, they were for soaking, not swimming. The water wasn’t blue, it was hot and there was sand at the bottom. I stepped into the smaller one. Standing up, the water just reached my calves. I tried to float in the water, but the tiles on the bottom kept sticking to my legs. Even without the float, it would have taken some effort to drown. While I was trying to practise, I heard a few people enter the downstairs pool. I could hear my mother laughing as she chatted with a group of men and women who had arrived together, and were about to race each other from one end of the pool to the other. The lifeguard shouted, Go! He seemed to be using a stopwatch. My little pool felt strange and quiet. I tried kicking the water a couple of times, and it sounded all right, but when I stopped splashing, there was no shark, no big wave. I was already on the beach, and it didn’t matter how I swam because I was stranded.

I leaned against the upstairs railing and looked down. A supple figure appeared in the vast blue swimming pool; it moved like a tadpole, feet flickering, legs moving as one, like a single tail. She swam to the far end of the pool, then almost without stopping, turned and swam back, leaving my mother and the others half a length behind her. I saw the lifeguard bring her a white bath towel, and I saw her nimbly pull herself onto the side of the pool, and sit there draped in the towel, casually kicking her dainty white feet in the water. My mother wiped water from her face, moved her goggles up to her forehead, and asked, How old are you? She said that she was eleven. I recognise you, Auntie, she added. Li Wu and I are classmates. My mother sat down next to her, and said, What a coincidence! My daughter’s here too. What’s your name? She should learn from you how to swim. She said that her name was Yang Yang. Before I could dodge out of sight, my mother raised her hand and pointed in my direction, as though blindly firing a gun. I stayed exactly where I was, though part of me fell to the ground as the gun fired. Li Wu’s a lost cause, my mother said. She’s in the shallow pool. Why don’t you go and find her? I waved stiffly down at Yang Yang. She looked up at me. She already had girlish curves, and as she stood up, drops of water rolled over the muscles on her leg. She laughed, Pshht. Her eyes were jet-black and kind, her eyebrows thick, almost meeting in the middle. She looked as if she had been born knowing how to swim, as if she had mastered sword fighting and hunting too. After she had done a few stretches at the side of the pool, she said goodbye to my mother and went to get changed.

Outside, after my mother and I had fastened our padded jackets, she looped a scarf several times around my neck and mouth. Did you know that your straps were slipping down your arms when you were standing at the railing? And when you saw your classmate, you didn’t say anything, you just did a silly smile, like the children at the special school across the road. I shook my head. It wasn’t a silly smile, I said. I was being sarcastic. My words were muffled by the scarf. Why? asked my mother. I thought about it as we walked along. We were almost home when I spoke again, my voice still muffled. It was a good thing she didn’t come upstairs. My sarcasm might have put her off. My mother looked at me quizzically, only then thinking to ask what it was like upstairs. How was the water? I pulled the scarf down and let out a long breath. The inside of my scarf was wet through and dotted with tiny crystals of ice. It was pretty deep, I said. I’m glad I had the float. And I can float now.