by Charles Yu
PHOEBE
Waking up sweaty.
Getting eaten by a witch.
KUNG FU DAD
Two and three.
PHOEBE
A pebble flying into your eye.
KUNG FU DAD
That’s a good one.
She pauses.
KUNG FU DAD
We’re only up to four so far.
PHOEBE
I know.
KUNG FU DAD
What’s five?
PHOEBE
I don’t want to say.
KUNG FU DAD
Why not? Just say it. I won’t be mad.
PHOEBE
Okay.
(then)
My dad dying.
KUNG FU DAD
You don’t have to worry.
I’m very tough.
She looks at him, confused.
PHOEBE
Everyone dies, Daddy. You live until you’re one hundred. You turn one hundred and then you die.
KUNG FU DAD
Let’s go with that.
She seems satisfied. For the moment.
PHOEBE
Can you tell me a story?
KUNG FU DAD
I don’t know how. No one’s ever asked me to.
PHOEBE
Can you try?
KUNG FU DAD
Okay. I’ll try.
(deep breath)
There once was a little girl who was—
You pause. Unsure of what to say next.
This is a key point in the story.
The next word, and whatever you say after that, will determine a great many things about it, will either open up the story, like a key in a lock in a door to a palace with however many rooms, too many to count, and hallways and stairways and false walls and secret passages, or the next word could be a wall itself, two walls, closing in, it could be limits on where the story could go.
You search for the right word, the pressure and expectation from her little face mounting with each millisecond of silence that passes, and it is about to come to your lips and tongue, you are just about to say it when your daughter turns to you and says—
PHOEBE
It’s okay, Daddy.
KUNG FU DAD
It is?
PHOEBE
Yeah. I can tell you don’t want to right now.
KUNG FU DAD
No no, I have one. Here it goes.
PHOEBE
Wait!
She tucks herself tightly under her blanket, up to her neck, so she’s just a head, two big blinking eyes. You study her features, see bits of yourself in there, but thank God, much more Karen.
KUNG FU DAD
Ready?
PHOEBE
Ready!
KUNG FU DAD
This is a story about a guy.
PHOEBE
I like where this is going.
KUNG FU DAD
This guy, something weird happened to him.
PHOEBE
Weird things happen to me all the time. Yesterday, two of my toes got stuck together for a whole minute.
KUNG FU DAD
That is weird.
PHOEBE
So weird.
KUNG FU DAD
Are they okay now?
PHOEBE
I unstuck them.
KUNG FU DAD
That’s a relief.
PHOEBE
Dad?
KUNG FU DAD
Yes?
PHOEBE
I’m getting sleepy.
And then the children start singing softly, an indistinct chorus of sounds, together sounding like a lullaby. She falls asleep, and you watch her for a minute, stroke her cheek. When the sun is all the way down, you rouse her for the nightly routine, following the music cues, learning to be a parent on the fly, out of necessity, winging it, getting help from imaginary beings and strange neighbors who are weirdly judgmental but ultimately helpful. Your kung fu is useless here.
Instead, this. A kind of dream. Her own bedroom, her own bed. Her own yard. Without a restaurant downstairs, or sirens or cops or dead bodies. No fishy garbage fumes, or flumes of mildewing vegetation, no cacophony of five dialects being smashed together, a solid block of sensory overload rising up the dank central corridor of INT. CHINATOWN SRO. Instead, PHOEBE LAND. This place, without Generic Asian Men, unshaven, sweating through their yellowing undershirts, no Hostess/Prostitutes, no Old Asian People with their weird breath and liver spots and interminable wandering remembrances of the old village and hardship and how they got there. None of that. Just songs and flowers and upbeat jangles and jumps. She lives here, without history, unaware of all that came before, and who are you to say that this isn’t the end point, this wasn’t the goal all along, that Chinese Railroad Worker and Opium Den Dragon Lady and Kimono Girl and Striving Immigrant and Honorable Dead Asian Guy and Kung Fu Guy weren’t all leading to Xie Xie Mei Mei? To this dream of assimilation, a dream finally realized, a real American girl.
INT. PHOEBE’S ROOM—NIGHT
You do mealtime, you do bedtime. No kung fu. Just spaghetti, and broccoli. PJs and story. Brush. Floss. Pee. Glass of water. Feed your fishes. Okay. Okay. Kiss kiss. Wait! What? You didn’t kiss the baby lion. Where is the baby lion? I don’t know. Oh come on. Here it is. Okay, I kissed it. And the hamster dog. And the hamster dog. All of them are kissed. Okay. Night night. Stop talking. I’m not talking. Stop whispering. Phoebe, really, no more. She washes her face. Small, chubby hands, holding the soap. Scrubbing her cheeks and forehead with her soft baby hands. It looks familiar and then you understand. That’s how you do it. She’s been watching you. Learning. Brush. Floss. Pee. Glass of water. Feed your fishes. Kiss the baby lion. Kiss the hamster dog. Kiss, kiss. Finally, after what feels like months without a break, the moon comes out, with its creepy but sweet moon face, the sun closes its eyes and sinks down to the painted horizon, and Phoebe, along with the rest of Phoebe Land, goes to sleep.
INT. PHOEBE LAND—NIGHT
You lie awake, staring through a small open window at a full blue moon, complete with a silly face. This is the dream. Sustainable employment. Some semblance of work-life balance. Talk white. Not a lot. Get contact lenses. Smile. They will assume you’re smart. The less you say, the better. Try to project: Responsible, Harmless. An unthreatening amount of color sprinkled in. That’s the dream, a dream of blending in. A dream of going from Generic Asian Man to just plain Generic Man. To settle down. To stay here. But you can’t stay here forever. This isn’t real. It’s just another role. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t. Can you?
* * *
—
You go to the window, peek out.
KAREN
Is everything okay?
PHOEBE
The police?
KUNG FU DAD
Don’t be scared. They’re here for me.
PHOEBE
I’m scared.
KUNG FU DAD
I’m ready. I’ve been waiting for this.
The sirens stop. From a megaphone, a voice you recognize.
TURNER
Come out with your hands up.
PHOEBE
Daddy no. No. No.
GREEN
Give yourself up and no one gets hurt.
PHOEBE
Are you going to jail, Daddy?
(to Karen)
Is Daddy going to jail?
KAREN
No, sweetie. Daddy is going to prison.
KUNG FU DAD
It’ll be okay honey. This is a good thing.
PHOEBE
Prison is a good thing?
CHILDREN (O.S.)
Prison is not usually a good thing!
KUNG FU DAD
In this case it is.
KAREN
I don’t understand. How did they find you here?
KUNG FU DAD
I might have stolen Turner’s car.
KAREN
They tracked the vehicle.
She laughs. You laugh.
KAREN
You wanted them to find you.
KUNG FU DAD
I wanted them to find us.
ACT VI
THE CASE OF THE MISSING ASIAN
EXHIBIT A
LAWS OF THE UNITED STATES
1859 Oregon’s constitution is revised: no “Chinaman” can own property in the state.
1879 California’s constitution is revised: ownership of land is limited to aliens of “the white race or of African descent.”
1882 On May 6, the U.S. (Federal) Chinese Exclusion Act is signed into law by President Chester A. Arthur, prohibiting all immigration of Chinese laborers, the first law preventing all members of a specific ethnic or national group from immigrating into the United States.
1886 Washington Territory’s constitution bars aliens ineligible for citizenship from owning property.
1890 In the City of San Francisco, the Bingham Ordinance prohibits Chinese people (whether or not U.S. citizens) from either working or living in San Francisco, except in “a portion set apart for the location of all the Chinese,” thereby creating a literal, legally defined ghetto.
1892 The U.S. (Federal) Geary Act requires all Chinese residents of the United States to carry a permit, failure to carry such permit (at any time) being punishable by deportation or one year of hard labor. In addition, Chinese are not allowed to bear witness in court.
1920 The U.S. (Federal) Cable Act decrees that any American woman who marries “an alien ineligible for citizenship shall cease to be a citizen of the United States.”
1924 U.S. (Federal) Immigration Act of 1924, also known as the Johnson-Reed Act, limits the number of immigrants allowed entry into the United States through a national origins quota. It completely prohibits immigration from Asia.
INT. COURTROOM
You’re seated at the defendant’s table, wearing the only suit you own. The one you got married in. Still fits, mostly.
Your lawyer walks in. It’s Older Brother.
YOU
Huh?
OLDER BROTHER
Hey Will. You been working out?
You stand up, shake his hand. Older Brother pulls you in for a hug.
YOU
Where have you been?
OLDER BROTHER
You serious?
YOU
Yeah.
OLDER BROTHER
Law school.
YOU
Oh. Right.
OLDER BROTHER
How is he?
YOU
Sifu?
OLDER BROTHER
He need money?
YOU
Nah. I mean, yeah. But nah.
OLDER BROTHER
All of those roles. He never got a story.
YOU
You were the story. Supposed to be.
OLDER BROTHER
I know that’s what everyone wanted. A kung fu hero. But I couldn’t.
YOU
I think I’m starting to understand what you mean.
OLDER BROTHER
I never left. Not really. Not in the way that counts—inside. In my mind. Another part of me is in a different place now. Interior Chinatown isn’t the whole world anymore. I had to leave in my own way. Just like you tried to do.
A door opens. Commotion in the gallery. Lawyers shuffle papers. The judge enters the courtroom. Stares you down.
Green and Turner in the first row, just behind you, ready to testify for the prosecution. The judge smiles at them.
BAILIFF
All rise. Case No. 47311, People vs. Wu.
(then)
The Case of the Missing Asian.
YOU
Hey.
OLDER BROTHER
Yeah.
YOU
Did you do well in law school?
OLDER BROTHER
Really? Come on, Willis.
(flashes a winning smile)
I was editor-in-chief of the law review. Or did you forget who I am?
JUDGE
The prosecution will call its first witness.
The assistant DA, brilliant and hard-charging and also has this incredible head of hair, auburn or chestnut, sexy in her crisp navy pantsuit, looks like she stepped out of an ad for navy pantsuits, rises, heads toward the witness stand. Older Brother also rises.
OLDER BROTHER
Objection.
JUDGE
Objection to what?
OLDER BROTHER
Your Honor, we object to all of this. The whole thing. This mock trial. The entire justice system is rigged against my client.
JUDGE
Let me get this straight. Your objection, presented to the court and to me as its arbiter, is to the very legitimacy of the body you are presenting that objection to.
OLDER BROTHER
When you put it that way it does sound a little silly.
PROSECUTION
The prosecution rests, Your Honor.
JUDGE
You can’t rest. You haven’t presented your case yet.
PROSECUTION
Based on what’s going on right now, we’re feeling pretty good about our chances.
JUDGE
Noted. Nevertheless, as a matter of law, you have the burden of proof. You need to present some kind of case.
PROSECUTION
Ugh. Fine. The prosecution calls Miles Turner to the stand.
Turner is wearing a charcoal gray suit, very faint pinstripes, cut for his build. He takes the stand, clenches a couple of times. The bailiff almost faints.
PROSECUTION (CONT’D)
State your name and rank.
TURNER
Detective Miles Turner.
His pec flexes under his shirt. Involuntary? Maybe.
PROSECUTION
Detective, you’ve been investigating the Case of the Missing Asian, correct?
TURNER
That’s correct.
PROSECUTION
And in that time, you have had opportunity to observe Mr. Wu.
TURNER
I’ve had opportunity to observe that he’s a punk.
OLDER BROTHER
Your Honor, come on.
JUDGE
(to Turner)
Detective, I’ll caution you to keep your comments professional and, more important, relevant to the matter at hand.
TURNER
Fine. He’s not a punk. He’s a weenie.
OLDER BROTHER
Objection.
PROSECUTION
Is that your only move? Let me guess, you got an A in Objections at law school.
OLDER BROTHER
(to judge)
I don’t see how my client being a weenie is relevant.
YOU
Can we stop referring to me as a weenie?
PROSECUTION
&n
bsp; Your Honor, I will establish relevance. If only defense counsel would stop objecting.
JUDGE
Okay, I’ll allow it. For now. But you better get to the point, fast.
(then)
That’s a beautiful pantsuit.
PROSECUTION
(giggles)
Thank you, Your Honor.
OLDER BROTHER
(under his breath)
Uh oh.
YOU
Why did you say uh oh?
PROSECUTION
Now then, Detective, how is it relevant, your observation of Mr. Wu’s character?
TURNER
He’s internalized a sense of inferiority. To White people, obviously. But also to Black people. Does he realize that?
A pause. Silence. All eyes in the courtroom turn to you.
TURNER
He thinks he can’t participate in this race dialogue, because Asians haven’t been persecuted as much as Black people.
(to you)
Don’t you need to take some responsibility for yourself? For the categories you put us in? Black and White? I mean, come on? Do you think you’re the only one who’s trapped?
Your cheeks flush, your foot starts twitching.
PROSECUTION
Thank you, Detective. No further questions. Prosecution calls to the stand Detective Sarah Green.
Green takes the stand. The prosecutor makes eyes at her.
GREEN
Detective Sarah Green, with the Impossible Crimes Unit.
PROSECUTION
Oh, I know who you are, Detective Green.
OLDER BROTHER
Objection, Your Honor.
JUDGE
What now?
OLDER BROTHER
There’s too much tension in the courtroom. It’s way too sexy in here.
JUDGE
That’s a problem because?
OLDER BROTHER
For starters, it could influence Detective Green’s testimony.
The judge leans back, considers this.
JUDGE
Eh. I’ll allow it.
OLDER BROTHER
(to you)
We might be screwed.
YOU
I thought you were a good lawyer. You should have stuck to kung fu.