Fish Heads and Duck Skin

by Lindsey Salatka

  “Because in Arizona we know that you aren’t getting where you need to go faster by acting like a lunatic! Because Arizonans are fucking smart!” I said.

  “So smart,” Kristy said.

  I scooted my barstool closer to hers. “And another thing—in Arizona, we’re kind. Like when we have bad news to share, because bad things happen everywhere, we’re nice about it. We break news gently, because the fact is, Arizonans believe in kindness,” I said, my voice cracking.

  Kristy’s eyes went wet and glossy. She grabbed my hand. “Of course you do.”

  “The doctors in Arizona would never say, ‘The fetus is dead, Tina,’ after I accidentally find myself pregnant even though it’s next to impossible for me to accidentally get pregnant.” I inhaled sharply and looked at Kristy through newly forming tears. “And then this baby, who wasn’t even supposed to be here but who somehow had already found a space in my dark, shriveled heart, just dies, for no fucking reason.”

  She wiped her eyes and reached out to hug me again. “Tina, I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could make this easier for you.”

  I pushed her away. “That’s not your job! That’s what the bottle’s for! You don’t need to assume my misery,” I said, looking down. I tapped my empty shot glass slowly on the wet, shiny wood, contemplating a refill, but suddenly feeling blecky.

  “I’m your friend, Tina. Your misery is my misery.”

  I looked at her and wiped my eyes with the back of my hands. “You must have some Arizona in you, Kristy, because that’s the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me, or at least in a long, long time.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “It may just be an Alaskan kindness thing since I’m pretty sure I’ve never been to Arizona,” she said and handed me a clean napkin.

  I took it, balled it up in my fist, and then lay my cheek on the wet bar while still looking at her. I briefly wondered if the mysterious liquid my face was resting in would splash into my eyeballs, and if it would sting when it did. “I want to go home,” I whispered.

  “Great idea, I’ll call us a cab.”

  “No, not home in Shanghai. Home home.”

  “Back to Arizona?”

  “No.” I hiccupped. “It’s still too hot there. I guess I don’t really have a home anymore; all I know is I need to be somewhere far away from here. Maybe I’ll just go to the airport and buy a ticket to the first place on the departures sign. I can make that place my home.”

  “Tina—”

  “But first I need to sneak into my apartment and get my passport and some money.”

  “You’ve just been through a traumatic experience and you aren’t making sense right now.”

  “Really?” I lifted my head. “Because I feel like I have more clarity in this moment than I’ve had in the last year and a half, since crash-landing on this terrible planet!” I laughed. “I can now see that I can’t do this anymore, Kristy, not for another minute. I thought I could find myself here, be a better wife, a better mother, a better Tina. But instead I’ve become the worst version of me I can possibly be.” I raised my head. “And furthermore, I think I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “No.” I hopped off the barstool. “I mean yes.”

  As I weaved out of the bathroom, the floor slid beneath my feet like black ice. Kristy kept her arm firmly around my shoulder. “I’m pretty tired all of a sudden,” I said.

  “Why don’t I take you to your home in Shanghai now? You can sleep this off and then figure out how to get to your new home tomorrow.”

  “No.” I shook my head and then regretted it. “I can’t go home.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “How about we go to your place and talk about it?”

  “Tina—”

  “But, before you wave down a cab, I need to show you something, something I learned in Arizona.” I flung her arm off my shoulder and stumbled out the door onto the curb, nearly face-planting. I caught myself and stood up, swaying under the streetlight.

  “Tina, I—”

  I backed away from her, holding up a pointy finger. “Line dancing is a big thing in Arizona, HUGE,” I called and clapped my hands twice. “Heel, toe, do-si-do, come on baby, let’s go boot scoot!” I stomped my foot and quarter-turned to the right. “Cadillac, black jack, baby take me out back, we gonna boogie!” I sang louder and prouder as locals waiting for taxis on the sidewalk turned to stare. “Oh, get down, turn around, go to town, boot scoot boogie!” I sang and then shouted, “Line dancing is Arizona-style tai chi!”

  “Wait, what?” Kristy said.

  “Watch this!” I said and attempted a combo twist twirl-stomp with an exaggerated arm sweep, but my twist got wonky and my twirl spun off balance and my stomp went sideways, and I hurled myself into the gutter instead, landing in a large, murky puddle. On my back. In white jeans.

  I moaned. I couldn’t move. My ribs felt like they’d been lit on fire. My breath came in puffs. I closed my eyes. That’s the last thing I remember.

  51.

  Sometimes I think I’ve woken up from a nightmare when I’m still actively experiencing the nightmare. I may trick myself into thinking the danger is behind me and the scary-awful part is over, but I’m not actually out of the woods yet. This felt like one of those moments.

  I heard voices speaking before I opened my eyes the next morning. Voices I didn’t want to hear from people I didn’t want to see. And then I remembered—the miscarriage, Malone’s, the tequila, the puddle.

  The miscarriage.

  The miscarriage.

  I sealed my eyes tightly, but tears still leaked out. I ached everywhere, inside and out, heart, body, and soul. My tongue was a small section of beef jerky, drier than carne seca.

  The miscarriage.

  Someone with a snarky British accent a lot like Barbara’s said, “Well, go on, what’d he say then?”

  Someone with a mild Chinese-American accent a lot like Katie’s said, “He’s coming, he’s waiting for Ayi to show up to watch the kids.”

  My heart began thumping double-time. What if this is real, and they’re talking about Daniel? I thought. I have to get out of here before he sees me. But I don’t know where I am. I should hide. But I’m too ill to move. I should pretend I’m in a coma. Yes, that’s the most sensible thing to do. Wait—how would Barbara and Katie know each other?

  I opened one eye.

  “Well, good morning, Tina! How are we feeling?” Barbara said, far too loud. She sat on a poofy, luxurious single bed parallel to the one where I lay sweating. She was surrounded by a fluffy white duvet and perfectly placed, embroidered, white on white pillows, staring at me from a simple cream-colored caftan and matching cashmere pashmina.

  “Been better,” I croaked.

  “Have some water,” she said and pointed to the crystal goblet on the antique bedside table between us.

  “I can’t, it might make me puke.”

  “Ha!” she laughed. “I doubt that, there is nothing left in you to puke. No bile in your gallbladder, either. You are gloriously empty.”

  I swallowed painfully. “Is this your house?”

  She nodded with a closed-mouth grin.

  “How did I end up here?”

  “You were causing quite a ruckus in front of my bar, and I couldn’t have that now, could I? So I whisked you up and brought you home, like a little lost puppy.”

  I lifted my head slightly. “You own Malone’s?”

  She tossed her head. “The land, no, the bar, yes. I’ve owned it for seven years. It’s quite a cash cow, really, very popular with the expats, especially the Singaporeans.” She laughed. “And last night one of my American patrons drank a significant amount of my best tequila—a bottle I’d hand-carried in my luggage from New York City, I might add. A fine vintage like that is meant for sipping.” She smirked. “Not for disgorging in two separate taxis.”

  I looked down, unable to argue or agree.

  “I’ll assume you’d had a ro
ugh day.”

  I nodded.

  “How long have you been in Shanghai?”

  “Eighteen months.”

  “Ah yes. That’s about the time when everything gets turned inside out. The adrenaline has worn off, and you start to experience some of the, shall we say, less savory aspects of this culture—things you might have missed earlier, or been too bowled over by the rest of it to notice.”

  I blinked in assent because nodding my head hurt too much.

  “Where’s Kristy?” I whispered. I noticed I was wearing a sand-colored silk negligee, the likes of which had never touched my skin before. I touched it gingerly with one index finger. Painfully soft.

  “She went home after I offered to bring you here. She needed to clean up, wash the vomit out of her hair—”

  “Oh no.” I winced.

  “Where do you keep the tea again?” Katie, my tutor, tapped into the room wearing a skin-tight off-white cable knit sweater dress that pulled open in all the right places and matching thigh-high stiletto boots. She smiled when she saw I was awake. “Nǐ hǎo wǒ de péng yǒu.” She bowed slightly in my direction.

  “It’s not ni hao, it’s ni OW,” I said.

  “Zuótiān wǎnshàng ni où tu le. Jīn tiān nǐ tóu téng, duì bù duì?”

  “Yes, I barfed, and now I have a headache. Are you charging me for this lesson?”

  She smiled, then sat on the bed next to Barbara.

  I squinted at the two of them in their monochrome splendor and caught a whiff of my hair, which smelled maybe better than it ever had, like some exotic flower, probably a white one. It struck me that someone in this house must have bathed me last night because I smelled nothing like the fecal puddle I’d ended the night in. Plus, the nightgown. I looked around the room at the warm dark wood-paneled walls, the rich, earth-toned, non-Ikea area rug. “Wait, am I dead?” I asked. “I must be dead. Is this heaven or hell? It appears to have elements of both.”

  Barbara laughed. “You aren’t dead. More lucky I’d say.”

  I snorted. “Trust me, luck hasn’t made an appearance in my world for a while. I think she’s mad at me.” I flopped a hand in their direction. “How do you two know each other?”

  “I’m her biggest client,” Barbara said.

  Katie laughed. “Yes, we work together now, but many years ago, Barbara helped me and my family.”

  “You’re kidding,” I snorted. “You helped someone? On purpose? What was your upside on that?” I looked at Barbara.

  She smiled and looked at Katie.

  “She helps a lot of people,” Katie said. “It’s her, what do you call it, favorite past-time. When she found me, I was selling vegetables off the back of my bike, trying to earn money for my parents who were both ill. It was very difficult.”

  “And now look at her.” Barbara beamed. “She’s like the child I could never have.”

  I dropped my head back onto the perfectly stuffed pillow and closed my eyes. Suddenly I heard a baby crying. My eyes snapped open, and I inhaled sharply.

  “Ayi!” Katie hollered.

  A young Chinese woman in a tidy white nurse uniform hustled into the room holding what could only be described, without exaggeration, as the most adorable baby to inhabit our planet. She looked about five months old with an explosion of black hair, perfect pink cheeks and lips, and ensconced in what looked like a christening gown from a previous century.

  I gasped and my eyes filled with tears.

  “Wha! Xiǎo bǎo bǎo!” Katie exclaimed, leaping to her feet.

  “Zhēn piào liang de xiǎo bǎo bǎo,” Barbara crooned at her.

  The baby bounced and giggled. Katie took her carefully from the nurse.

  “May I see her?” I said softly, feeling the dull ache of my loss even as I propped myself on one elbow and reached my other hand out to her.

  She stepped next to me and bent at her knees so I was face to face with the baby.

  “This is Xiǎo Yù,” she said. “She’s a perfect example of the work Barbara and I do. Xiao Yu was born with her organs mostly outside of her body, which is surprisingly not a fatal affliction, as you can see. The fix is actually quite a simple and inexpensive surgery. However, when a poor family gets one chance at progeny, well, it’s bad enough to have a girl, let alone a girl with birth defects.”

  “So what happens?” I asked, smiling as Xiǎo Yù grasped my finger and thinking back to the baby in the gurney when Daniel broke his arm, all alone on the hospital gurney.

  “Let’s just say Chinese families often don’t keep children like this, so Barbara finds them, makes arrangements for their surgeries, and then locates a family to adopt them. It’s called the Bǎo Bǎo Foundation. Barbara’s the Executive Director.”

  “You save these babies?” I looked at Barbara, stupefied.

  She nodded. “We zip up bundles of cleft palates, too. Been at it for about a decade.”

  “Seriously? Why haven’t I heard about this before? Do people know this side of you exists?”

  “Only a select few. The more it gets out, the more likely my special favors will no longer be granted by the government. And it takes a lot of favors for this organization to work.”

  “That’s why I’m her partner; she needs my guānxì,” Katie said.

  “Guanxi?”

  She sighed. “This is vocabulary from our second lesson, Tina. Guānxì is a relationship where you can trade special favors, often from high level officials.”

  “Like the Godfather?”

  Katie shrugged. “Yes and no.”

  “Why wouldn’t the government want to highlight your work and how they help you help people? That would be great PR,” I said.

  “Because fixing a problem means first acknowledging there is a problem. We, as a culture, don’t like to admit there’s anything wrong to start with. That’s how we lose face,” Katie said.

  “Let me get this straight,” I sputtered, leaning forward. “Your people will stand before a thousand strangers in a hot karaoke box bellowing an off-tune rendition of a B-side Richard Marx ballad, but only lose face when admitting one of the most universal and undeniable truths of humanity—that the world and all of its inhabitants have problems?” I set free a salt-and-vinegar laugh. “No wonder I can’t get this place to work for me—its basic tenet is denial, and I can’t relate! I mean, what would I even talk about if it weren’t for my problems? What would I do if I weren’t always on a quest to fix myself?”

  Katie and Barbara looked at each other, then Barbara leaned toward me and smiled. “There are many things you could do actually, for us and for the children,” Barbara said. “Which is why it’s serendipitous that you landed, quite literally, at our feet.”

  “We could use your help,” Katie said.

  I turned away from her. “My help? Very funny.”

  “I’m serious. So is Barbara. We’d spoken about you before last night happened. We need more strong volunteers at Bǎo Bǎo. The expats here are transitory, and lately we’ve lost more volunteers than we’ve gained. But it’s not a good fit for everyone we meet. There are lives at stake here. We need people who will work hard and fight for what’s right and refuse to back down; people who would not, could not, take no for an answer. It’s hard to find people like that in this environment—people who don’t already have a career—”

  “I had a career.”

  “I know that, Barbara knows that, anyone who’s ever had a conversation with you knows that.” She smiled. “We need stubborn, headstrong women like you to keep this foundation going. You fit the profile perfectly. You’re a, what’s your word for it? A ballbuster.”

  “A ballbuster,” I repeated softly, turning back to her, feeling like anything but that. I gently extracted my finger from Xiǎo Yù’s grasp and Katie stood up. Her little feet kicked underneath her gown.

  “What do you think?” Barbara said.

  I shook my head. “I don’t, I’m not, I mean, I’m flattered that you see value in how I am, but I—�
��

  She put her hand up to shush me. “Please, don’t answer now. Why don’t you think on it once you feel better? You’ll probably have some questions at that point. Let’s discuss it after mahjong on Monday.”

  As much as I hated agreeing with Barbara, I knew she was probably right. I wasn’t clear-headed. I couldn’t speak anymore either; I could feel myself starting to crumble again. I nodded my head and blinked several times.

  “Monday it is, then,” she said. “We’ll leave you to get some rest.” They filed out, and I gazed at the doorway after they left, considering the void they had left where there had been none before. I sighed and my eyes lost focus. Right then a dark, menacing form appeared in the same space, someone like Darth Vader, except more sinister and terrible. I closed my eyes.

  “Tina?” Daniel said.

  52.

  An unusually quiet taxi ride home ensued. Not on the outside of the taxi, of course, but on the inside, the silence was palpable and the animosity, thick. From both of us, it seemed. No apologies were forthcoming.

  I did regret a few things, and I wished I could issue a selective apology for them—for my disappearance and lack of communication. The rest of it was an opaque area where both of us were at fault to some degree. No one was to blame for the miscarriage—not Daniel, not me, not China. Even in my highly emotional state, I knew that. But I definitely should not have disappeared. However, when I dug a little deeper, I realized that my disappearance was in response to his insensitivity and overall asshole-ness, which, because it was so poorly timed, caused a chain reaction which led to my disappearance. So, in a sense, the whole thing was his fault. But I didn’t have the energy to explain this to him. And I didn’t want a simple apology to be misconstrued to include all the things I was most definitely not sorry about. This was why I stayed silent. I wasn’t sure of the reasons for his silence, but unless they were remorse-laden, I had already deemed them in my mind to be unacceptable. Wordlessness on his part may not have been his worst idea.

  He turned the key in the knob and pushed our apartment door open, stepping aside so I could walk through first. And my heart melted.