Incensed

by Ed Lin

  She reached into her back pocket and produced the exact cord needed. “I carry this with me,” she said.

  “For what?” I said as I unwound the cord.

  “If I happen to go to Ximending, someone might want to jam with me.” Ximending is a neighborhood known for its youth culture. Bands set up on sidewalks with portable amplifiers and play to passersby. It’s known for shopping malls, clubs, cinemas and for love hotels that accommodate local teenage prostitution. It’s always crowded with people looking for a good time.

  “Promise that you’re not going to Ximending, not without me,” I warned her. “Or else you’re not going on tonight.”

  She stomped her foot. “Okay, okay!”

  I looked her over. What could this skinny little girl do on stage? I had to admit, though, she couldn’t do worse than the disgraceful Boar Pour More reunion.

  As the band bowed and mercifully ended their set, Sadao took up the microphone. “Please, let’s have a big round of applause for my favorite band in the whole world, Boar Pour More.”

  The audience applauded at a volume that was marginally more than mere courtesy. “So good, so good,” he added in English, Mandarin, and Japanese. Mei-ling stepped up to the stage and approached Sadao. He cupped his hand over the microphone as she shyly introduced herself to him. They spoke briefly and he began to nod and bow. She bowed back awkwardly.

  I went to the amplifier and set up Mei-ling’s phone.

  She jogged over to me and said, “When I give you the signal, hit the play button, Jing-nan.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  As Boar Pour More packed up and left the stage, Sadao turned to the crowd and clapped his hands. “Now, we have something special from a new artist. She calls herself Orchids! Thank you!” He slid the mic back into the stand and stepped off the side of the stage.

  Orchids? Well, whatever. Mei-ling would be off the stage soon. The audience members already had enough pain in their lives.

  I saw Mei-ling standing near the back of the platform. She turned to me and when I saw her eyes, they seemed to glow a little and I didn’t recognize her. Orchids nodded and I hit the play button.

  I knew the sampled beat right away. It was the same song of hers that I suffered through in the car. It sounded better outdoors.

  Mei-ling put her arms to the sides and slinked to the microphone like an aroused cobra. Where did she learn to do that? I didn’t recognize the creature that my cousin had become. She threw her head back and snapped it forward just in time to sing.

  She wasn’t the greatest singer, but she was better than how Boar Pour More’s Hazel had come across, and that was all that mattered. What Orchids was doing wasn’t so much singing verses, but voicing snippets, including, “Do you love me?” and “Are we in love?” Banal for sure, but when phrased properly, as Mei-ling was doing, the words had more meaning.

  Now I knew what was so wrong with her song demos. They weren’t produced properly. The synthesized treatment of her voice was completely wrong. You did that for performers who couldn’t sing but looked good in videos. It was dawning on me that Mei-ling did indeed have some ability.

  During an instrumental break, she put her forearms together and slowly opened them, revealing her face. The crowd mimicked her movements.

  “Open your mind! Open your mind!” she sang as the song came to a close. I clapped and realized that I should be recording her on video. Her next song started up and I fumbled with my phone to focus on her performance.

  The second song was the same fare, the other bookend, but that was all right, especially for a dance crowd. “Do you love me?” was now “Don’t you miss me?” The chorus sampled the drum fills from Echo & The Bunnymen’s “Monkeys,” unlicensed, I was sure.

  I nodded in time with the music and parted imaginary curtains with my free hand as Mei-ling was doing. “Look at me! Look at me!” she sang as the song closed with the dying echoes of a snare drum.

  The crowd cheered as she said apologetically, “That’s all I have. Please go to Orchidsmusicnow.com and check out the songs. Thank you!” She bowed. I applauded her as a new fan.

  Sadao came back on the mic. “Oh, wow, Orchids. That was something! Excellent! Excellent!” The audience applauded wildly. Chompin’ Charlie jumped on stage and ran to embrace Sadao and kissed him intensely. Sadao looked a little embarrassed as Charlie grabbed the mic and yelled, “Thank you, Taipei! We love you!” They both bowed and then rushed off the stage.

  I turned and saw Nancy standing with their lead guitar player, whose name I can never remember. I made my way over. My girlfriend cradled her tambourine and shook her head.

  “We broke up again,” said Nancy. “Hazel says she’s resuming her solo career.”

  “That’s too bad, but maybe it was for the best,” I said. The guitarist and I briefly nodded to each other.

  “How did we do?” asked Nancy. The ends of her mouth were turned down. “Were we bad?”

  “Bad? Naw, it wasn’t bad,” I said. “The mix was off. If you had had time for a sound check, it would have been great.”

  The guitarist looked me square in the eye. “You’re lying,” she said. “We fucking sucked out loud! Nobody could hear our goddamned instruments over Hazel’s singing!”

  I looked at her and then at Nancy, and ended up dropping my eyes to the ground. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

  The guitarist turned to Nancy. “Don’t marry this one,” she said as she rattled her guitar case for emphasis. “He’s a liar and he can’t even remember your friends’ names.” With that, she turned and stomped off into the night.

  “Hey,” I called after her, “maybe it’s the guitar playing that’s the problem!” She flipped me off the British way, with two fingers, and I gained some respect for her.

  I rubbed Nancy’s shoulders as she observed the groups of people taking pictures with Mei-ling.

  “I’m not asking you to marry me right now or anytime soon,” I said. “But I don’t think you can count on a rock guitarist for matrimonial advice.”

  Nancy shuddered. “You should see some of the people she’s been with.”

  “Still, though, she’s not a bad guitar player. It was just a bad setup for Boar Pour More.”

  Nancy leaned against my hands. “Anyway,” she said, “I don’t think anybody remembers our set now. Your little cousin was great! Why did you say she couldn’t sing?”

  “She’s a lot better on stage. You see, the problem with her song demos is that . . .”

  Mei-ling suddenly appeared between Nancy and me.

  I started my apology with, “Mei-ling, you were really . . .”

  “Quick!” Mei-ling interjected. “Please walk with me, these people won’t leave me alone!” About a dozen giggling kids, mostly girls, followed her. I swept myself in front of the kids, blocking them off while Nancy locked arms with Mei-ling. I’m sure she was telling my cousin all sorts of complimentary things, judging by the pitch of her voice. And Mei-ling deserved to hear them. Her ego must have been starved to hear feedback from someone who had gigged like Nancy.

  When I caught up to them, Mei-ling showed me what Sadao had texted to her: “If you want to play shows in Japan, please let me know. I love your songs. Do you want to go to a club tonight?”

  “Wow,” I said. “Um, are you going to hang out with Sadao?”

  “No, I’d rather be with my cousin and his awesome girlfriend!”

  I’d been too busy to eat and now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I was feeling hungry. “Do you want to try ‘little bun inside big bun’? We’re sort of heading toward them.”

  “I’ve never tried that. Let’s go!”

  I looked back and saw that we weren’t putting much distance between us and the younger kids. “I guess your fans are going to try some, too.”

  We entered the indoor area of the nig
ht market and walked down the perennially broken escalator. The kids followed us, to the delight of the stall owner.

  The kids wouldn’t let us pay for the double buns. They wouldn’t even let us wait for them to be prepared. Two girls asked us what we wanted and then got in line. One of the boys seemed a little older. Grad student, I guessed. His hair was in a perm and resembled a pack of dry ramen out of the wrapper. Probably didn’t get out much. He seemed thrilled just to be hanging out with us.

  The “little bun” is a little fried pastry, filled with something either sweet or savory. When you order, a woman who looks as stern as a temple guardian statue places your little bun on a cutting board and smashes it up with a metal mallet. She then scrapes the pieces onto a soft flour pancake. The pancake is then rolled up, forming the “big bun.” It’s definitely heavy on the carbs, but hey, it’s fun to eat.

  Pictures of celebrities adorned the bottom of the sign for the little-bun-inside-big-bun stall. President Ma Ying-jeou himself, rocking a rubbery Devo hairdo, flashed a toothy grimace while shaking hands with the owner, a thin man with dark skin. Judging by how much less hair the owner had now and the confidence in President Ma’s eyes, the picture must have been from Ma’s first campaign, the 2008 election, and not the contentious 2012 drive before his re-election.

  Another picture featured the owner with one arm around the waist of Yao Yao, a young singer known for her baby face and large breasts. Yao Yao brandished a double bun in one hand and gave a peace sign with the other.

  The last picture was with an exhausted-looking Jackie Chan. I’ve never seen him look so old. Jackie wasn’t smiling and he also didn’t seem aware that his picture was being taken or that the owner was trying to hand him a freshly wrapped double bun.

  In every picture Mallet Woman stood in the background, small and forlorn. You hear about images of long-dead classmates that show up in group pictures taken at graduations and reunions. She looked like one of those ghosts.

  Mallet Woman was sullen and silent in real life but she let her tool do the talking. Pow! Pow! Pow! The poor little buns had no chance. You could feel each angry strike through your feet.

  “That woman’s a wrecking ball!” said Nancy.

  “Don’t steal money from her,” said Mei-ling.

  “I wonder if she only uses one lucky mallet,” I said.

  “She’s got more than one,” said Nancy. “She’s got that one with a rounded head and one under the counter with a square head.”

  I watched and felt the mallet crash down. Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! She didn’t really need to make such a racket but it was a great marketing gimmick. How could you not look at what was going on?

  The kids brought over our food. I had gone with the red-bean filling. Mei-ling destroyed her curry pork one and Nancy took measured bites of her taro-root double bun.

  Mei-ling’s new fans were too shy to talk to her. Ramen Head was eating with shaking hands. I asked Mei-ling an interview-style question to help break the ice. “How did you come up with the name ‘Orchids,’ Mei-ling?”

  “I thought of a vagina,” she said. The girls in the group giggled. “It’s like a flower, a receptacle with petals, stamen.”

  “As an artist”—and I almost cringed when I said the word—“why do you have to sexualize your work?”

  Mei-ling tilted her head and stared up at the ceiling. “We are sexual animals. That’s how we reproduce and it’s how we have fun. Hiding it is trying to deny who we are.”

  I noticed a skinny young man wearing a Doraemon T-shirt sidling up to Nancy. “Great show,” he told her. “I’m a big fan of Boar Pour More.”

  “Did you really like it?” asked Nancy as she nervously tightened the outer wrap of her double bun.

  “Of course! I mean, you guys don’t specifically sing about being gay, but your music helped give me the courage to come out of the closet.” He scratched his ear. “I was very inspired to hear that your guitarist was a lesbian. I’m sorry, but I can’t remember her name.”

  “See?” I said to Nancy. “Tell your guitarist I’m not the only one who can’t remember!”

  On our way out of the night market I insisted on seeing Mei-ling back to her apartment. Nancy hopped in a cab to meet like-minded students at a cafe. There was online chatter about breaking off from the main activist group, which had showed its hand at being intrinsically self-promotional, and forming a new coalition to focus on the two main issues: trade pact and marriage equality.

  Mei-ling slumped her shoulders as we entered the MRT. “Really?” she asked. “Every night, you’re going to personally make sure I go home?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You’re my little cousin and while Taipei is a safe city, it’s not completely crime-free.”

  “I can understand if it’s after midnight, but it’s not even ten p.m., Jing-nan,” she said. “If I can handle putting on a show in front of hundreds of people, I think I can get myself home.”

  “I am acting under orders from Big Eye,” I said. “If anything goes wrong, I suffer the consequences.”

  Mei-ling slapped my arm. “How do you know I won’t go out again after you’re gone?” she asked.

  “Somebody from the building would probably follow you,” I said.

  “Why are both of you men so afraid of what a little girl can do?” she complained to her phone as her thumbs worked the on-screen keyboard. Young people are so rude, talking to one person while texting another. It’s disrespectful to both.

  “I’m afraid of Big Eye, not you. I don’t know what his deal is with you, but honestly I think he wants you to be happy in the long run. Why else would he give a shit about you finishing high school?”

  She shrugged and twisted the ball of her foot into the ground.

  “It might not feel like love but he cares about you.”

  Mei-ling glanced at the lobby attendant. “He doesn’t love anybody,” she said. “Not even himself.”

  I have no problem lying so long as it makes someone feel better. But I couldn’t make stuff up about a man to his own daughter.

  “He’s not as bad as you think he is,” I offered in a tone that I hoped was measurably positive.

  Mei-ling scoffed. “You say that because you’re a boy. He treats you differently than he does me.” Her face was still in her phone.

  “Okay, maybe that’s true, but you don’t have to keep treating me like an enemy. You’re not staying in Taipei that long, so let’s commit to being friendly, and we can start by maybe having you look at me when you talk.”

  She sighed and put her hands and the phone behind her back.

  “Can we ride the Maokong gondola this weekend?” she asked. “I’ve heard it has some amazing views. Big Eye said I should visit some mountains and we both know you always do what my daddy wants you to.”

  I didn’t tell her that it was originally a temple fortune that said she should visit mountains. The gondola wasn’t much more than just a fancy ski lift for tea tourists. “I know Big Eye wants you to see the mountains, but are you sure you want to go? It’s not very hip.” With a conspiratorial tone, I added, “We can just tell him you went.”

  The gondola route zipped up and across mountains on an aerial lift system on the east rim of Taipei. It wasn’t a linear path. After a stop at the Taipei Zoo, the gondola line made a right turn and stopped at a temple before a final stop at several teahouses and farms. It had been a while since I’d been to the top, but I remember that there were stairs to go even higher. Supposedly, the higher you went, the better the quality of the tea.

  “I want to check it out,” said Mei-ling. “We don’t have things like gondolas in the country and I’ve never been on one.”

  “We’ll ride to the top this weekend and have a tea toast to congratulate you on your performance tonight.”

  “If the view really is nice, maybe I’ll be inspired to write a new s
ong.”

  “I think you should title it, ‘My Cousin Is So Great.’”

  “Sounds catchy,” she said, giving the same fake smile American girls give their rivals by the lockers before homeroom in every Hollywood film.

  Chapter Ten

  Late that night, Nancy and I met up at my place and wrestled in bed a while. After, she asked me why I seemed distracted.

  “I’m worried about Mei-ling,” I said. “Not because she wants to sing but because she really is talented.”

  Nancy pulled on her sleep outfit, my old T-shirt of The Cure (a band she liked more than I did), went to the kitchen and brought back two cans of Taiwan Beer (a brand she liked more than I did).

  “She’s good,” Nancy said as she popped open her can. “It was a little depressing watching her sing. It made me feel old!”

  “Music’s for young people,” I said. “Most people our age tune out and listen to the same albums.” I took a swig of Taiwan Beer. “This beer is not so great, you know?”

  “You need to drink it more often. Anyway, you’re right. After college, people have less time for music. Less time for movies, too.”

  “Probably because they have real jobs. Not like us!”

  “You have a real job! You have your own business!”

  “Is it my business? I didn’t start it. I still don’t know what the secret marinade is made of. Dwayne won’t tell me. Also, I have no idea where Frankie gets the meat from or how much he pays.”

  I would be so screwed without those two guys. Dwayne and Frankie are two huge reasons why Unknown Pleasures works so well. In fact, at some point we may have to expand and hire more people. My grandfather had no idea what he was starting when he opened his dinky one-man stall. He and my grandmother had walked north into Taipei on bare feet from the fields of central Taiwan to find their fortune in the big city, as the family story goes.