Fish Heads and Duck Skin

by Lindsey Salatka

  Daniel looked up. “She’s not going to let it go.”

  “Daniel, please, I—” I started.

  “Excuse me?” Andrew said.

  “You don’t know my wife when she’s convinced that she’s right. You can go ahead and tell the jingcha—he was right, and I was wrong.” He rubbed his thigh with his knuckles.

  “It’s not about who was right, Daniel!” I said, my voice getting high and screechy. “I just don’t think we should try to exact justice from this, from an unjust system!”

  Daniel pushed his chair back and stood up. “So, he goes free and tries this trick on the next foreigner?” How is that better?” He threw a ball of crinkled up TP on the table. “Never mind. Just tell him I hit the wrong guy so we can get out of here.”

  Andrew looked at us both and said nothing, then looked at the officer and spoke quietly, too quickly for me to understand.

  The officer threw his hands into the air, shouting, gesturing wildly, first at Daniel and then at the man in the corner. Andrew spoke calmly again. The officer bellowed back. Andrew spoke again at almost a whisper, this time gesturing at Daniel. The officer finally stood, his chair legs scratching the cement in a high-pitched screech as he pushed back. He stormed from the room and slammed the door behind him.

  Andrew sighed. “He said to write your confession on this paper and then sign it.”

  “Confession?” I asked.

  “Another formality. You also must pay 500 kuai directly to him or he can revoke your work visa.”

  “That’s fine, I can pay the fine since I still have my wallet.” Daniel glared at me.

  “Daniel, I’m sorry—”

  “You’re always sorry.”

  I paused and closed my eyes. “I’m just trying to get to the least-bad resolution. To make sense of things the best I can.”

  Daniel was silent as he scribbled his confession.

  “It’s not worth his life,” I said.

  “I hate to tell you this, but he may lose his life anyway,” Andrew said.

  “What?” I looked at him, startled.

  “Look, I’m just being honest with you. You’ve done what you can to save him; there’s nothing else to do that won’t jeopardize your visa, or worse.”

  I turned to Daniel, tears welling in my eyes.

  “But,” I started.

  Daniel dropped the pen on the table. “Here’s my money.” He slammed five 100rmb notes on the table. “I’m getting out of here. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

  Once outside Daniel speed-walked down the road, frantically waving his arm for a cab.

  “Go talk to him, Tina. Hurry,” said Andrew.

  “Yes, I will,” I said and gave him a hug. Then I took off after Daniel.

  When I caught up to him, I said, “Daniel, please stop!” But he wouldn’t stop, so I strode next to him and hollered, “Why won’t you talk to me? What are you so mad about?”

  He wouldn’t even look at me. “It’s always the same with you, Tina. You’re not on my team. Not ever. Not at home, not here. You’ll always find some lame excuse for me to be wrong.”

  “A man’s life is not a lame excuse!”

  He stopped to glare at me. “A man’s life that he chose to throw away for a wallet! He knew the consequences! You forget that life is cheap here, Tina. And there’s literally nothing we can do to fix that large of a societal flaw.”

  “But we can’t just stand by and watch it! We have to try!”

  He started walking again, as did I. “Go ahead and attempt to fix this place. And while you’re at it, try making Jello in a sieve—you’ll have about the same rate of success!” Then he stepped toward me and leaned in with cold eyes. He wasn’t yelling anymore, but his words bit. “You can try and try and try, but at what cost, Tina? What price do you pay to be self-righteous, to assert control and uphold your vision of how everything should be, even when this vision undermines the ones you love? You don’t hesitate to protect people you don’t even know, but it’s an altogether different story when it comes to me. I get hijacked. And I’m sick and tired of it!” He backed away to flag a cab again.

  I was a fireball of emotions, regret and remorse among them, but fury and fear were dominant. I marched up to him again. “Oh yeah? Are you on my team right now? Or the team of our unborn child? Have you asked yourself that?”

  He left his cab-flagging arm up but looked at me and spoke calmly. “You can be right about that, too, if you need to be. But we didn’t agree to another child. That’s on you.”

  He squinted into traffic as I wiped burning tears away with my right forearm and then with my left forearm, like Wonder Woman batting away arrows. My outrage grew until I jumped up and down and seethed, “How can you say I’m not on your team? If I’m not on your team, then why did I come here?”

  He shrugged. “That’s a question between you and your astrologist, Nancy Reagan.”

  There were so many things I wanted to say, such as “She wasn’t an astrologist!” and “How dare you call me Nancy Reagan!” and “I know the career pressure was getting to me just like it’s getting to you, but I also knew I had a good thing!” Plus so many more things. But the only words that floated to the top of my lungs and then flung themselves out into the world to Daniel and the city where we lived and anyone else that could hear them were: “I HATE YOU!”

  That was the last I saw of Daniel before he left for Beijing, and I didn’t answer his “I arrived safely” call that night. I wondered how his appointments would go with his face so scratched, and I worried that he could get an infection, but I refused to take his calls for the whole week because I was still mad and unable to see how our conversation could be anything but a continuation of our argument, and I didn’t want to say something else I might regret.

  47.

  That Wednesday I went to Mt. Trashmore to see if a shred of peace could be found there.

  “Something is different about you today.” Mr. Han paced slowly by his friends and stopped in front of me as we practiced our tai chi sequence in a line.

  “Don’t distract me, I’m focusing,” I said.

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Really.”

  “Zhēn de ma?” he smiled and turned his head to get in front of my line of sight.

  “Zhēn de,” I grunted and swooped my arms in a dramatic turn to face another direction.

  He observed me for a few moments. “This is new then. Maybe you are present today, Ting Ting. What changed?”

  “I read online that tai chi is good for anxiety,” I said and scrunched my face in concentration, inhaling loudly through my nose.

  “Ah, jiāo lú. Dāng rán,” he said. “Of course.”

  “Well then right now I need it by the truckload.”

  “Eh?”

  “I’m frustrated by this place, Mr. Han. And on top of that, I’m anxious for other reasons, and I can’t sleep. Normally I would take medication or drink wine, but right now I can’t. I need to find other ways to feel better about everything.”

  “Ah,” he said. “So now you listen.”

  “Yes.”

  “Step from the line, Ting Ting.”

  I dropped my arms and walked toward him.

  He took my hand and led me slowly behind the hairy hill, then stopped and turned to face me. “Our regular sequence is eighteen minutes,” he said.

  “Maybe here it’s eighteen minutes, but if I’m practicing by myself, away from the team, it takes me about twelve,” I said.

  “Zhēn de ma? Because it is too difficult for you to go slow?”

  “Zhēn de. Bingo.”

  “Eh?”

  “Yes, slow is hard for me.”

  “Then you won’t like what I’m about to tell you.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. He raised his arms straight overhead and then, almost imperceptibly, began to lower them. “For ultimate relaxation, you must go slower. The tai chi master will take one hour for this same sequence. His breath will be shallow; he will be in a pe
rfect meditative state. Tranquil on the inside, his mind is peaceful.”

  I watched him as his arms slowly dropped. His shirt peeked out from the bottom of his faded black jacket which was thin and had a hole in one armpit. He wavered a little bit and I stepped closer in case he lost his balance.

  He opened his eyes and brought his arms back to his sides at regular speed. “For power, you must go faster; for relaxation, slower.”

  I exhaled loudly. “I must have super-human power then.”

  “Indeed,” he said and patted me on the shoulder. “But more power comes to those who are also peaceful. Just imagine your strength if you could relax. Why you worry so much, Ting Ting? Why you jiāo lú?”

  I shook my head, blinking, trying not to cry. “For a complicated confluence of reasons, Mr. Han.”

  He paused. “If you breathe and go very slowly, the complexity of your problem may reveal itself to be very simple.”

  I laughed. “Very simple?”

  “Exactly,” he said. “When we meet here next Wednesday, we will practice going slow.”

  I scowled. “I find it ironic that I’ve spent a lifetime practicing to go faster, to do more in less time, and now you’re telling me I should have done the opposite.”

  “That is not what I said.”

  “But—”

  “You have lived your life in exactly the way you were meant to, until now. I am saying that it may be time for you to consider another way, because only now are you ready.”

  I covered my eyes with my hands for a moment, trying to block out the light, but it filtered through my fingers. “Okay,” I said.

  “I see you Wednesday, Ting Ting. Until then you must rest. Right now, you need it more than ever.”

  He walked away from me then and, not for the first time, left me wondering if he already knew what I hadn’t told him.

  48.

  “When’s your first prenatal appointment?” Kristy asked over dumplings the next day. I’d unloaded everything on her when I’d gone to pick up the kids after the incident. I hadn’t wanted to get emotional then or talk about the baby, so I’d asked her to meet me in a few days, after I’d settled down.

  “Friday morning,” I said, pushing my plate away. “I can’t eat these; they smell like arm pits.”

  “Is Daniel coming with you?” she asked.

  “No, he’ll be in Beijing until Friday afternoon. But I wouldn’t invite him even if he were here. I haven’t even told him I’m going,” I said.

  “At least you’re handling this like an adult,” she said.

  “You know what? I’ll be an adult later, when he makes the tiniest effort to be supportive,” I said. “Until then, if I’m the only one trying to be remotely positive about this, I’ll go by myself.”

  “Do you want me to come? I’m supposed to work, but I can try to reschedule.”

  “No, no, I’ll be fine alone. I’m seeing your gynecologist, right?”

  “Yeah. She doesn’t have a lot of expat clients, but she’s definitely your most affordable option. She’s local but she trained in Hong Kong so her English is pretty strong. Don’t worry, you’ll be in good hands.”

  “If she’s your doctor I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I said.

  49.

  Dear Jennifer,

  I can’t believe it—I’m having someone else examine my crotch tomorrow to identify intra-terrestrial (Intra-womb-estrial?) life. It’s always been you down there, and now I feel like I’m cheating. I can only hope she’s half as good as you.

  -Tina

  Tina,

  I’m sure she’ll be a fine stand-in. Just don’t be nervous, and don’t clench. Let me know what she says about Jennifer Jr.

  -Jennifer Sr.

  50.

  “This fetus is too small,” the doctor said as she squinted at the screen behind coke bottle glasses. We were in a poorly lit, poorly ventilated room in the basement of the local hospital. She blinked at me with magnified eyes and then turned back to the screen. She was tiny, swimming in dingy blue scrubs sized for someone in the NFL.

  “What do you mean too small?” I asked as I scrambled to sit up. “I thought it was supposed to be the size of a peanut.”

  “No. According to your cycle, you eight weeks. This fetus five weeks. Not growing. No heartbeat. This fetus dead,” she said, snapping off her gloves and pushing her chair back. “You need make appointment for D&C.”

  “No I don’t! That’s not right! You are wrong. You must be wrong,” I scoffed. “I may have trouble getting pregnant, but I don’t have trouble staying that way.” I swung my legs around so they hung off the side of the table. “I’m going to find another doctor.” I slid down and rushed to button my pants and pull down my shirt. I stepped the front half of my feet into my black “Converse,” tripped to the door, then stopped and turned around. “You know, in the future, you really shouldn’t just make statements like that when, when, when you don’t even know what you’re talking about!” I stormed down the hall.

  I called Kristy sobbing from the taxi stand.

  “Here, call this midwife,” she said and read me the number. “She’s at the expat hospital and comes highly recommended by some of my clients. Apparently, she’s excellent; she trained in the US. She’ll give you a trustworthy second opinion,” she said.

  “Okay.” I sniffed. “Thanks, Kristy.” I paused. “You don’t think she’s right, do you?”

  “Oh Tina, I wish I knew that answer.” She paused. “I’m so sorry. I had a miscarriage here a few years ago, it was so awful.”

  “But I’m not having a miscarriage yet, okay? She’s wrong; she could barely see the screen,” I cough-sniffed. “Plus, her bedside manner was absolute SHIT.”

  The Chinese midwife wiped her forehead on the arm of her white lab coat. It was later that afternoon, and we were in a clean, modern room on the third floor of the expat hospital, which felt more like a high-end shopping mall.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She put down the ultrasound wand and took off her gloves. “I know this is hard to hear, okay? I wish I could tell you the doctor was wrong. But I can’t tell you that, Tina. She’s right—this fetus is not viable. I’m very sorry.”

  I turned away from her sympathetic expression and closed my eyes. “You’re 100 percent positive?” I asked.

  “I’m positive. I checked everything. You’ve miscarried; you need a D&C.”

  I called Daniel from a taxi before turning off my phone. He was at the Beijing airport; I could hear the flight announcements in the background.

  “We aren’t going to have a baby after all,” I said when he answered.

  “What? You, you changed your mind?” he said.

  “No, I miscarried,” I said. I spoke calmly and quietly, without tears.

  “You, you what? When? When did you—”

  “It’s still stuck inside of me, but it’s dead.”

  “Oh shit, Tina. Are you okay? Where are you?”

  “You must be so relieved,” I said.

  “Tina, don’t say that. Where are you? I’m on my way back. Are you home?”

  “No, and I’m not going home,” I said. “I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to see anyone. I want to be alone.” I hung up.

  I spun around on my barstool when I heard the door to Malone’s bang open, and there was Kristy, running toward me.

  She hugged me hard, and I slurred into her shoulder, “How’d you know I was here?”

  “Because you finally texted me, dip shit. Daniel’s freaking out. He’s spent hours looking everywhere for you. Did you text him too?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged, then waved my arms around. “But you know what I do know? I know that Malone’s is the only bar in this godforsaken hole of a city that has tequila, the liquor of my homeland!” I held up the bottle. “I’m going to drink this whole bottle, and my friend, here,” I waved at the bartender, “Wait, what’s your name again?”

  “Buzz,” he said, continuing to wipe b
eer glasses and avoid eye contact.

  “Buzz Lightyear has been kindly serving it to me, one shot at a time, like the fine astronaut he is.”

  “Let’s call Daniel,” Kristy said.

  “Let’s not call Daniel, okay, Kristy? Since you’re my friend, and I don’t need him right now, I need you.”

  Kristy sighed. “I think—”

  “Do you know where I was born, Kristy?” I interrupted, lightly spraying her face. I wiped my mouth. “Sorry.”

  “Arizona,” she said, wiping her cheek.

  “Ari-fucking-zona, Kristy, you’re damn straight. I lived there from birth ‘til I was twenty-one years old, and then I got the hell out of that place, because it was always stinking, bloody hot, and I didn’t want to be hot anymore. Hot golf courses and hot drive-through ammunition stores; there’s only so much heat a person can handle in one lifetime,” I explained.

  Kristy poured herself a shot.

  I slapped my palm on the rim of the bar. “But I have to tell you—today, when I think about my homeland, I realize that Arizona is pretty fucking great. You wanna know why?”

  “Sure,” Kristy said with sad eyes.

  “Because in Arizona, people care about hygiene. You don’t just spit loogies anywhere you want! Not in Arizona, you don’t!”

  “No loogies in Arizona.” Kristy shook her head.

  I scrunched my face in fury. “And you don’t just cop a squat and poop on the sidewalk in Arizona either! No way would you do that!”

  “No way,” she said, resting her chin on her hands.

  “And you know what we do do in Arizona? We wait in line. Because we understand the concept that just because I want to go first doesn’t mean I get to go first. Because there’s no I in team, Kristy, and in Arizona, we’re a team.”

  “Team Arizona,” she said and sighed.

  “Exactly! And you know what else? In Arizona, we don’t rush people as they step out of an elevator. We wait until they’re all the way out, and then and only then do we calmly, enter, that, elevator,” I said.

  “Of course that’s what you do.” Kristy nodded slowly.