by Greg Arritt
He had taken a tremendous risk borrowing the money, but the gamble was about to pay off. Unfortunately, Redding’s antics would cost him nearly a million dollars. There was the seven hundred thousand that was owed to Mr. Azzian, which meant he would have to rush the sale of the painting. If he had had the luxury of time, he would have handled the sale through a process of private showings and sealed bids. That would have ensured greater control over the sale’s price, allowing him to make substantially more on the painting. All other costs were trivial by comparison. He considered the five thousand yuan he had paid the Chinese bikers as money well spent. They had received the five thousand upfront and he had stiffed them for the rest. As hard as it was to stomach the loss of a million dollars, at least Redding received one hell of beating, and at half the price.
* * *
Well outside the city, traffic had thinned to almost nothing. Bored with the scenery, Joran closed his eyes, and with the hypnotic whine of the engine and the drone of the tires reverberating in his ears, he fell asleep. Ahead of the taxi was a tractor plodding along in the adjacent lane. The only other traffic was a Toyota that breezed by only to slow directly behind the tractor. As the taxi approached, the Toyota changed lanes, effectively blocking any opportunity to pass. Then suddenly, the Toyota stopped directly in front of the taxi, leaving the taxi driver no alternative but to brake heavily. He managed to avoid a collision, stopping just inches from the back of the Toyota. The heavy braking had caused Joran to jolt forward. He opened his eyes and divided reality from dreams. He sat there calmly assessing the situation only because he hadn’t heard the motorcycles.
The bikers had strategically positioned their motorcycles, one on each side of the taxi and two directly behind. It wasn’t until Jie opened the passenger door that Joran realized what was taking place. He grabbed for the garment bag and screamed at the driver but there was nothing the driver could do. The taxi was boxed in on all sides, leaving the driver cowering in his Plexiglas enclosure, staring straight ahead as if he were an unwilling bystander.
Jie leaned in the right-side passenger door and slammed his fist into Joran’s head. The blow landed square on Joran’s ear, partially rupturing his eardrum. Weichao had opened the other passenger door. He braced himself by holding onto the door jamb and drove kick after kick into Joran’s torso. Joran held the handle of the garment bag with one hand and tried to deflect the blows with the other. He took a swing at Jie but it only glanced off his helmet. Jie managed to grab Joran by the hair. He pulled Joran’s head just outside the passenger door and repeatedly pummeled Joran’s face with his fist. Weichao angled his way into the backseat and pried Joran’s hand from the garment bag before retreating with the luggage. Joran broke free of Jie’s hold and spun in the other direction, but Weichao was already clear of the taxi. Standing at the open door with a leather jacket half zipped over his Metro Grand uniform was Qiang.
“You leave China today, or you die!”
“Fuck you! Give me back my bag!”
Suddenly, Joran felt an intense burst of pain in his right side, which caused a momentary cessation of breathing. The pain was so severe that all of the muscles in his body seemed to seize at once.
Jie withdrew his knife from Joran’s ribcage. He had driven the blade only a few inches deep. It was meant as a warning.
“Leave China, or you die!” Qiang said again.
“All right! Just give me my bag!” Joran demanded just as his body seized with another intense burst of pain. He muttered a low guttural sound and then gasped for air. Jie had stabbed him a second time.
The Toyota had already moved onto the dirt divider between the east and westbound lanes. Weichao was on the back of Fangxu’s motorcycle with the folded garment bag sandwiched between them. They waited while the others mounted their motorcycles.
Joran stumbled from the taxi holding his side but managed no more than a few steps.
“I’ll pay you! Just give me back my goddamn bag!”
He desperately tried to reach them, but his efforts were wasted. The bikers revved their motorcycles and released the clutches, spewing dirt and gravel into the air.
“Please! You don’t understand!” Joran yelled, but it was too late. They had already crossed the center divider.
He stumbled back into the taxi, pulled the door closed and tried to catch his breath.
“Go Pu Dong Airport. Go America.” The taxi driver said as he put the car in gear and began to accelerate.
“No, you idiot! We have to go back to Suzhou,” Joran screamed, but the driver ignored him and just continued on in the same direction that they had been heading.
One way or another Joran had to get the taxi turned around. If they arrived at the airport it would be impossible not to be noticed. With bloody clothes and two stab wounds in his side, it would not be long before the police had him.
He shifted his position in an effort to minimize the pain. Even with pressure applied to the wound, the blood continued to ooze, saturating his shirt and jacket.
Overwhelmed by fatigue, exhaustion, and with the onset of shock, he struggled to keep his mind focused. The intense pain in his ribcage had subsided into a throbbing pain. The stab wounds were serious but not fatal. He needed medical care, but that wouldn’t be so easy. Just the nature of the wounds would attract the police. They would have their questions about why he had been targeted. Questions about why his garment bag had been taken but not his money. Even before they questioned the driver they would know that this wasn’t some random attack.
There would be a lot of questions, but his answers weren’t likely to save him. Being discovered by the police all but guaranteed his deportation.
Without the painting life was meaningless. Returning to New York empty handed was the same as a death sentence. Everything had gone so badly and yet he had been so well prepared. He had to track down the bikers, but for some reason he could no longer visualize their faces. He would have to find them and negotiate, but suddenly he couldn’t remember why. He was sure it was about something important, yet nothing came to mind.
“Go Pu Dong Airport,” the taxi driver said. “Go America.”
“No, goddamn it! I told you. We have to stop for cigarettes,” Joran said, but the driver in his Plexiglas enclosure never heard a word.
Joran lay down in the backseat and pulled himself into a fetal position. He had never in his life felt so tired, but he knew he had to stay awake. There was a bitter, baying sound in his ears and it harped at his brain with an annoying flatness. He couldn’t focus his thoughts. He tried to concentrate but all that came to mind were dark, blurry images. Moments later, he drifted into unconsciousness.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Redding silenced the alarm even before it went off. He raised himself on one elbow and looked at Lin Ming. She was still asleep. Even with her hair in disarray she was absolutely beautiful. During the night they had become entangled in each other and a few minutes later they were making love. Adapting to a new life wasn’t without its difficulties, but for the most part, he thought their meager apartment felt like home. He shot a glance around the room. Folded clothing and linens were neatly set in boxes, and shirts, slacks, and dresses hung from the doorway. It seemed as if every space had been filled with something, and yet the only piece of furniture in the room was the bed. He slid out from under the covers, taking care not to wake Lin Ming, and headed for the bathroom.
The past few weeks had been hectic, but his work permit had arrived and his employment agreement had been finalized. They had stayed almost three weeks at the Bamboo Grove Hotel before they found a suitable place to live. The apartment was only average by Suzhou standards, but for them it held all the excitement of a first home. In the evenings they darted from one store to another selecting furniture, but so far only a few pieces had been delivered.
Lin Ming continued to work at the tour office, but only part time. She handled the scheduling and payables, but no longer conducted any of the tours. To
ease Redding’s concerns, she cut her schedule to half days; only until they knew for sure. On the night that he proposed he had pressed her about seeing a doctor, but she resisted. She said that her late cycle was just an aberration. She never actually said why she didn’t want to be tested. He figured she just wasn’t ready to accept the fact that she was pregnant. Some two weeks had passed before she finally relented.
* * *
The marriage took place in small, drab room of a government office building. It wasn’t so much a ceremony as it was a formality. Of the dozen or so people crowded into the room, Redding was the only foreigner. He and Lin Ming sat next to each other, holding hands, anxiously waiting for their moment with the government official.
The day after the wedding they went to see Lin Ming’s family. She had steeled herself against all apprehension and even offered to go alone, but Redding wouldn’t have it. He flat out insisted that he accompany her. Aside from announcing to her family that she had married, she needed to collect her things.
Everything was exactly the same as the last time he was there. Mei stood busy in the kitchen while Father dozed in his wooden chair. His head tilted forward and then jerked back as he fought off the drowsy effects of his nap. He turned his head and glared at Redding and Lin Ming standing just inside the door. He hadn’t exactly heard them come in, but it was their entrance that had stirred him from his nap. With Father and Mei’s eyes both on them, Lin Ming made the announcement. Redding never saw Mei’s reaction. His attention had been drawn to the low growling sounds that rose from the living room. The old man’s grumblings culminated into a sneer and then his face contorted with anger. His seething erupted into a verbal assault meant for both of them. His words may have been unintelligible, but Redding understood the meaning. Mei said something to Father, but he dismissed her with a wave of his hand and continued his barrage.
Midway through his rage, he suddenly fell silent. Urine started dripping from under his chair, which soon intensified into a full release. He stared into his lap as a spot of wetness widened in the crotch of his pants. Mei rushed to his side, placing a cloth under his chair to absorb the urine. She tried to help him to his feet, but he refused. He quashed any notion that he would bathe or change. Instead, he just sat there in his puddle of urine, pounding his fist on the armrest, defiantly awash in humiliation. Mei turned away from Father and grabbed Lin Ming by the hand. She led her down the hallway and into a bedroom. When they returned Lin Ming was carrying a suitcase that had long outlived its years. The contents of the frayed canvas case strained against a lid that was held shut by an old belt secured around its girth.
* * *
The banquet dinner followed the wedding by more than three weeks. It had been held at Mei’s insistence. The semi-private room consisted of four large tables. Redding had expected Mei and Ching and, of course, Ting and Sam, but he wasn’t expecting the nearly three dozen guests that arrived. A few were extended family, but most were friends and co-workers. Of course, Father was noticeably absent, but that didn’t need to be explained.
Redding and Lin Ming sat side by side, accepting the toasts of their guests late into the evening. As the banquet drew to a close and guests began to drift away, Redding leaned in close to Lin Ming. He extended his hand, which came to rest on her belly. Their eyes met and he whispered something to her so that no one else would hear. The moment was innocuous enough, but his actions hadn’t gone unnoticed by Mei.
Mei had raised her hands to her face but the effort only partially obscured her startled expression. She rushed over and wrapped her arms around Lin Ming and the two of them spoke quietly in Chinese. Redding was pretty sure he knew what was being discussed. Lin Ming looked over at him before turning back to Mei and nodding her head. It hadn’t been their intention to say anything about the pregnancy, but Mei had figured it out.
* * *
A few days later Mei was clearing the table when Father started with one of his lectures. It was the same boring lecture on traditional values he had delivered dozens of times before, but Mei and Ching weren’t paying any attention. They had become engrossed in their own conversation and Father didn’t appreciate it. He tried raising his voice as if to demand their undivided attention, but they didn’t even notice.
“I know some good names for the baby,” Ching said.
“Well, keep them to yourself,” Mei said. “It’s not your responsibility to name the baby. That honor belongs to the parents.”
“What baby?” Father asked, sidetracked from his lecture.
“Lin Ming’s. She’s pregnant,” Ching said.
“She will have a baby?” Father asked, but he wasn’t expecting an answer. As if struggling with the thought, he repeated the words to himself several times.
“A baby’s mother needs good food so the baby will grow strong,” he said. “It’s important to eat good food, like the kind we have here.”
Both Mei and Ching understood. That was Father’s way of saying he wanted Lin Ming and Redding to come to dinner. He may have been hardheaded about tradition, but he wasn’t a complete fool. He wasn’t about to isolate himself from his only grandchild. His years as a malcontent had come to an abrupt end. Just like that, Lin Ming was in his good graces and Redding had become a wholly accepted member of the family.
* * *
Redding wasn’t surprised when Sam resigned his position at the school. He had half expected it ever since he paid the twenty-five-thousand dollars. Ting had decided to sell the tea house and Sam spent every spare minute fixing the place. She had wooed just about everyone she knew before finding a willing buyer. As soon as the sale was complete, they were moving to the United States. Of course, their pending move saddened Lin Ming, but it meant little to Redding. Sam may have been the only American that he knew in China, but he didn’t exactly fit the profile of a friend. His dislike for Sam had little to do with Sam’s trying to steal the painting. Admittedly, it had pissed him off and that was understandable. The problem with Sam was more along the lines of socializing. Other than the subject of teaching, Sam didn’t seem to have an opinion about anything.
* * *
After he had shaved and showered, Redding woke Lin Ming. While he dressed, she made coffee and breakfast. It wasn’t something he expected of her; they just liked spending time together before he left for work.
Although they weren’t quite covering the monthly expenses, he wasn’t concerned. He still had a hundred fifty thousand dollars in the Yangtze Bank. That alone would supplement their income for years to come. He had already made arrangements to lease out his condo and the proceeds from the sale of the partnership had been placed with an investment broker.
His life had changed more in the last six weeks than he would have ever thought possible. He mused over the changes and wondered what the next few years would bring. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to assimilate to the Chinese culture, but Lin Ming would always be there to bridge the cultural divide. Their marriage may have been hurried, but he never second-guessed his decision. He loved her and didn’t have any regrets, not about living in China, selling his share of the partnership, or damning the cello painting to some obscure existence. As far as he was concerned, the painting was Joran’s problem.
The End