Son of The Tank Man

by Winfred Wong

  Whiffs of nervousness then inundated the atmosphere, and as huge beads of perspiration dribbled across my forehead down to my eyebrows, she finally looked up at me, puffed out a short breath as if she had been holding her breath the whole time and shattered the intolerable silence, “They are everywhere. You have to be very careful the next time you talk about them or the government, especially in such a disapproving way.”

  “Disapproving!?”

  “Yes, you said they have gone too far.”

  “Is it illegal to say that? And what do you mean they're everywhere?”

  “It's not illegal, but as I've told you, you won't be fond of what they will do to you if they overhear it. Now turn around,” she said, leaned close to me and whispered in my ears, as I turned around. “There. See the man surrounded by several ranks of armed guards stepping out of the main entrance? The man wearing an old-fashioned red coat. He is the Chief of Police. Don't you see? They're everywhere.”

  I turned to face her again. “But I haven't done anything wrong, plus I'm not a freedom-pursuer, nor am I a citizen of this country.”

  “In this place, you don't have to be starting a revolution to be imprisoned,” she threatened in her coarse tone of voice, emphasizing the last word, and that's when I first realized she didn't have that slurring accent when she spoke.

  And she seemed to be very aware of how things worked in this place, thus I surmised, “You must be one of them.”

  Out of the blue, “OH! What!? NO! I'm not! What?” she raged and scowled at me sullenly.

  “Why – ”

  “Go away! I don't want to see your face! Go away from me, you idiot!” she said, as two cascades of tears rolled off of her eyes.

  I was utterly bewildered about why she was suddenly so upset and was at a loss for words. It was apparent she had misunderstood something I had just said but I was clueless about what it was. Of course, now that I have already asked her why she was suddenly so angry with me at that time, I know that she was just pretending to be furious. She just wanted me to walk out of the arrival hall so that Kaylen could find me and pick me up. And when she was explaining this to me, she sounded like it's just some trivial matters that she could barely remember. But to me, it's something I'd never forget.

  “Get out of my sight! Now!” she then barked firmly.

  And it dawned on me it was better to give her space to cool off, so I tottered away and headed for the exit clumsily. Then as I planted my foot on the pavement outside, I shielded my face again, then moved to the edge of the street – carefully stepped around that puddle of blood – and looked for a cab, which was supposed to have a sharp yellow color for easy recognition, and waved at the cabs among a group of vehicles as they swooped by loudly. I remember half of them were cabs, but none pulled over no matter how hard I flailed my arms. I bet they ignored me on purpose. People there really had a tendency to disregard everything.

  After five further minutes of incessant waving, I grew so frustrated that I had to curb my urge of rushing out to the road to stop a cab driven by a man wearing sunglasses by striking the back of my head. Just a moment before I was about to give up, a seven-passenger, two-door silver vehicle that appeared to be some sort of an extravagant limousine came to a stop right in front of me, and then the man sitting behind the wheel waved at me and said, with the window lowered all the way down, “Hey, need a taxi?”

  It looked very much like a sophisticated swindle when every official cabs were paying no heed to you but an unknown car approached, maybe he wanted to lure me into his vehicle and rob me, but after weighting up the situation, knowing there was almost no access to the internet and the only person who spoke English in this place wouldn't want to talk to me again, I decided to take the risk and answered, “I need to go to a hotel.”

  “Which hotel? There are hundreds, if not thousands, in this city!” the driver exclaimed, sticking his head out the window with a trustworthy, subtly amiable beam, and I thought he must be someone's good father.

  “I don't know. I just need a place to stay for the night,” I said, sizing him up as one of those criminals I occasionally heard about from the radio. “But do you have a taxi license?”

  Tall and a bit rotund, with squinty, beady black eyes, glinting with honesty, and a flat nose, somehow he had already gained my trust with his signature smiley face when I first laid eyes on him. And I guessed I just asked it to make myself look smarter.

  “A license!? It's the last thing I would like to have. You honestly think a licensed cab would stop by just because you tried to flag it down? You must be kidding me.”

  What he was trying to say seemed strange, yet, judging from what I had seen in this country so far, I bet he was being honest with me. So, found myself at a loss for words again, I rolled my eyes and simply nodded.

  “Hop in,” the driver said and drew his head back, and I gladly hopped into the back seat, which had a spongy leather car seat, with my suitcase. “So, Golden Hotel? What do you think?”

  “What do you think?” I said, my eyes automatically fixated upon a cumbersome-looking photo pendant that was reminiscent of some kind of an ancient metallic pocket watch that had a long attached chain, dangling from the rear view mirror, with the clean metal flip cover open, yet the dangling motion, which absorbed my gaze at first, prevented me from taking a glimpse at what's inside clearly.

  “It's good, probably the best in this region. A superb place to unwind. You'll love it,” he said, as he put his foot hard on the pedal, and the car started off with an amateur-like lurch.

  “Great,” I said, as a sudden burst of curiosity prompted me to dig deep into the licensed drivers' behavior. “Can I ask you a question please?”

  “You just did!”

  “Why did they ignore me? Do I look like a beggar or something?” I leaned in until I was in between the two front seats and asked.

  “Wrong guess. It isn't your fault, my friend. They just don't want to pick up random customers who are trying to flag them down in the streets. Here's the point. The licensed cab drivers' wages are fixed. They earn the same amount of money wages regardless of how many customers they have picked up in that month, they just don't have a decent motivational incentive to work, but, to me it's actually a good thing. Their lack of motive gives people like me a chance to earn a living,” he said, resting his right elbow on the lowered window, brisk wind ruffling his trimmed brownish hair.

  “But if their wages are fixed, who – ”

  “They're hired by the government, and yes, the policy of fixed wages doesn't make any sense, but the government's reluctance to admit their own fault is hampering it from being abolished.”

  Then I felt that how things worked in this place was decidedly quirky, first the document I was compelled to sign, then the staff, who couldn't speak English, at the information counter, then the app, the headband man, the emotional young woman, and the licensed cabs now. Everything was just vastly distinct from what I'd imagined. But I thought I would just have to get used to it if I was going to stay here for a long period. After all, I knew no one would be coming after me since I wasn't a freedom-purser, and more essentially, there wouldn't be hypocritical and inconsiderate people singing and dancing in the middle of the road during rush hour or any farcical news, and that's more than enough for me.

  As my pondering came to an end, the particular word he had used floated up in my mind, and I stared at him through the rear view mirror, drawing my left brow down, and drawled, as I wondered if it was legal to say that, “Reluctance? Are you criticizing?”

  From the mirror, I could see him smiling vividly, and he said after quite a few minutes – this few minutes were hard for me as the hushed environment was kind of awkward and I wouldn't be too surprised if he then pulled out a gun from nowhere and blew my head off, “You're one of them? Now they recruit foreigners as well?”

  Having a desperate feeling of not wanting to be misunderstood again, “No, I'm not. Trust me. It's just that I have wit
nessed what they'd do to people who criticize them,” I said, as the car turned right into a boulevard, which ran over sweeping meanders.

  He stayed silent, yet I could see his sharp eyes roving furtively over me in the mirror, and I continued, “Trust me. I'm not what you think I am.”

  “Out of my car,” he said in a horribly flat tone that didn't quite match his smiley face and stopped the car abruptly when blaring police sirens could be heard. “Out!”

  Realizing the high-pitched sirens had just ruined my only chance to prove myself, I fought against my willingness to explain and left the car hastily as a lethal car chase was the last thing I would like to get involved. At the second I sealed the car door, he immediately drove off like he stole it, with three police cars trailing along behind – I had actually doubted if it was a stolen car or not – and I truly hoped he would somehow manage to elude the police even the whole thing happened like it was me who called in the police. But then a mild choke brought me back to reality, and I coughed when a sour taste in my mouth made me retch. Without a doubt, the cause was the slightly better air quality that contributed to a thin layer of seemingly poisonous murk.

  Pressing my nose into the palm of my hand, I scampered along the brick paved street, where there was a prominent fountain that looked dazzling but somewhat unattractive at the far end, while keeping an eye out for the hotel he mentioned, however, instead of the hotel, the first thing that absorbed my attention was the hostile peeps I was bestowed with from the local people around, and as I walked, the people all sidestepped away from my path in a hysterical way like I was infected with some kind of a highly contagious disease and glared at me with simmering contempt shimmering in their eyeballs; some middle-aged men even spat on the street when they saw me.

  I was terrified by their hints of menace that weren't as intimidating as the police officer's but was already good enough to strike terror into me. I felt like I was a limping lamb wrongly caged in a tiger zone occupied by tens of thousands ravenous lions, and it made my blood curdle. Fortunately, I then spotted a golden-framed and elaborately carved signboard saying “Golden Hotel” right across the street, so I hurried forward and descended down a flight of stairs that led to a dingy tunnel, which would probably take me to the opposite side of the street.

  It only occurred to me that finding that hotel right across the street wasn't something purely by luck after I have first met Kaylen in the house a day before I met Alvin – it's also the same day when he asked me to go on that road trip to that pond with him on a particular afternoon some days later. And on that day, when at a point we chatted about our first encounter, he admitted he was well aware of the location of the hotel when he asked me to get out of his car back then, and that he was just too disinclined to tell me about it. Perhaps it's because he had been sidetracked by the sirens and had forgotten to tell me about it, but who knows?

  So, after I had hurried through the straight rocky tunnel that looked like an air-raid shelter, I then walked up the staircase toward the street outside, headed directly to the main entrance of the hotel right underneath the shining signboard, pushed open the bulky golden-painted door, went in with my head down to avoid revealing my identity as a foreigner, which I considered to be the cause of people's detestation, and proceeded to the check-in counter that was set right under a lavish golden chandelier with oriental ornamentation on the corner of a spacious foyer, which was even larger than the excessively sizable office I had worked in, though I have to say that, no matter how showy the decoration there was, it's never comparable to the warm and shiny house, which is constructed behind a pearly gate and is surrounded by walls made of precious jewels, I am in right now. I don't mean to brag, but I am sure you will love this place more than that hotel when you get to catch a glimpse of it. Okay, maybe I am really bragging now.

  Anyway, the whole foyer had so much things that I could feast my eyes on and was delicately brightened up by merely golden things such as golden plastic flowers, golden armed chairs, and various golden ornaments. The least golden thing I could spot was actually a sumptuous piece of fine gold lying in a gilt plastic box set in the middle of the foyer protected by two guards.

  “Good afternoon, what can I do for you?” a courteous-looking young staff, wearing a plain black suit and a star-shaped golden watch, asked with an indifferent smile that reminded me of the woman in the elevator, standing behind a well-crafted mahogany desk with a sleek computer monitor atop it.

  “Good afternoon, I need a single room with a shower and a radio, for – a week.” I wasn't sure about how long I should stay in this hotel, but I thought a week was enough for me to find an affordable flat.

  “Do you have a reservation?” he asked while busy jabbing a keyboard concealed under the surface of the desk.

  “No, I don't.”

  “So, I'm glad to inform you that we do have a single room available on the third floor, room 301,” he said. “Could you please show me your passport?”

  “Sure.” I fished out my travel documents and gave it to him, but as I reached out, I noticed there was a piece of crystal-like camera lens, which was barely discernible through a tiny hole on the edge of the desk. “Is that a camera?”

  He seemed shocked when I questioned him, but he managed to keep a rein on his nervousness and replied calmly, “Yes, it's used to compare your facial features with the ones we've in our system in order to ensure your identity.”

  “The ones you've? But I have never taken a photo of myself in this country. Where did you obtain it? Where on earth did you acquire my facial features, and, in your system!? Seriously?” I prompted.

  “Sir, I am sad to tell you this, but I think you have,” he retorted and rotated the monitor horizontally so that it faced me, showing me a clear picture of me signing the incomprehensible document at the clearance point.

  Stupefied, “What!?” I bellowed out my astonishment. “I've never agreed to this. Never.”

  “I think you have agreed, sir,” he grinned smugly and swiftly glided his pale finger along the monitor to drag away the picture of me, so that I could see an electronic version of the document I signed on it. “You agreed when you signed.”

  “But –” I interrupted myself by uttering a reflective sigh of remorse, knowing my reckless rashness was starting to take its toll on me, and acquiesced with a dazed look. “Yes, I agreed. Yes, of course I have.”

  “So, here is the key card for you.” He gave me a key card, his indifferent smile never faded throughout the whole procedure. “The elevator to the third floor is just right behind you.”

  With no delay, I took the key card in a haste, turned around, strode toward the elevators that were splendidly embellished with some glimmering decorative tapes and waited as a deep sense of insecurity was rising within me. Who knew what the other terms stated on the document were? It could be something far worse than I could possibly imagine, and I blamed myself for being so impetuous by rubbing my face with both hands until I dispelled that dark perturbation when the arrival of the elevator startled me.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  * * *

  Room 301 was located on the left wing of the third floor, at the end of a wide, well-lit corridor adorned with brilliant canvases, depicting young people accompanied by indomitable tanks and neatly uniformed infantry gathering at the Door of Heavenly Peace waiting to ascend to the heaven, hanging on the walls, and there was another chandelier that was less attractive than the one in the foyer but was emanating a unique sense of elegance that worked as an aura-changer, though the existence of a yellow tiny trash bin under the hanging light was, in my opinion, too discordant with the surrounding classic ambiance.

  Then I gained access into the room by tapping the key card onto a dot-like scanner installed on the golden door knob and twisted it. And when I shoved open the door, a delightful trace of some kind of a soothing perfume eagerly wafted out from the opening of the wooden door and filled my nostrils. I felt indulged and was only able to resume walking
after a greedy inhaling that gratified me. The room was not as aesthetical as it was in the corridor, but it had everything I wanted, a mini-fridge, a clean and private toilet, a white coverlet made of some sort of fur on top of the bed, and most importantly, a box-like radio on a coffee table beside the bed.

  Nonchalantly put aside my suitcase, I rushed to the round coffee table, held the radio flat in my palms for examinations and switched it on.

  “現在是晚上六時 – ” (It's now six o'clock at night.)

  I bet that, of all the frequency bands, there must be an English channel, so I quickly tuned to another channel by rotating a protruding circular object atop of it, heard a language I didn't know, then switched it again, heard the same language I didn't know, then switched again for about ten more times before giving up on it, yet I left it on despite the fact that I couldn't understand a word so there was noise in the room.

  Then I took a nap for a blissful hour. And after I woke up, I wore myself out unpacking my suitcase until a gnawing emptiness in my stomach crept up to my mind, encouraging me to fill my hungry stomach with some food, so I then picked up the key card and my wallet on the table, airily slipped them into my trousers pocket, loosened my limbs and left the room with a vacillating gait, without even figuring out where to go. Then as I was strolling down the corridor, the blood-curdling glares of the people on the street suddenly careered through my mind as though they were prompting me to devise a feasible plan to avoid being recognized before setting out. And the plan I came up with in the next minute was simple. I would simply go to the counter and ask for a surgical mask, which could veil my face and block out the sticky air particles, killing two birds with one stone.

  So, after traveling down to the foyer in the elevator, I approached a tall and slim staff greeting me right next to the elevator door and asked, “Hi, I'm wondering if you know where I can get a surgical mask?”