She mixed the ginseng into the tea, took my temperature. “Didn’t realize you had such a weak stomach. I would have picked a more foreigner-friendly menu if I’d known.”
“Let my stomach adjust,” I protested. “Then I’ll eat anything you can.”
“You sure about that?”
“As long as it’s not tiger penis or pigeon brain.”
“But I love those!” she said.
“Uhh, hold on a sec, I need to use the restroom again...”
While retching into the toilet, I thought about the fact that there were no seatbelts in a Beijing taxi. You could either refuse to ride or leap in, hoping that it didn’t crash. If it did, well, you could console yourself with the fact that at least you had a good time.
III. Hahahahahahaha
Our first few days together forced us to create a new language. Even though she spoke perfect English, Mandarin was still her native language. I spoke broken Mandarin that was barely decipherable and always elicited confused are you stupid looks from bus drivers and store clerks. So it wasn’t that unusual for our conversations to break down into a series of sounds, some guttural, others hieroglyphically primordial, especially when we were tired: Ku ku keh keee. Heheheheheheeee. Ummm, oohh, umm, uh huh, uh oh. Ayyyaaaaaiiiiiiiii. Quuu!!!
It was late at night when we were taking a stroll past a subway tunnel. We saw a couple sleeping outdoors in thick pink blankets: the man snoring, the woman clutching her pillow. They looked like they were in their 30s and I wondered when they were exchanging their marriage vows, whether the thought they’d be sleeping outside like this even crossed their minds?
I mentioned this to Faye, and she responded, “At least they still have each other.”
I knew married couples who were super-rich but hated each other.
I held Faye’s hand. “Mmmmm…”
IV. In the Middle of the Night
In the middle of the night, she woke me up. Talked about cell phones and radiation, how much she hated mathematics as a kid, ranted about the conglomeration of Chin Tai Fook and all the stores that charged so much for artificial enhancements of love. Then said she was craving hamburgers at Let’s Burger with their twenty sauces, that she missed her brothers, finally asking if I was close to my family. I told her my parents had passed away and I’d never really had a family. She cradled her arm around me and kissed my cheek, said, “I’ll be your family.” A minute later, I heard soft breathing: she was asleep. I closed my eyes and joined her.
V. Subway During Rush Hour
Every day during rush hour, a mass of people swelled into the subway station. I stood in line, seeing there were way too many waiting to get on board. Within seconds, I was pushed, pulled, then swarmed into the train. I’d thought there was no way I was even going to get on and somehow, I was in the middle of it, frozen with hundreds of others. If ever I had suffered claustrophobia, the Beijing subways forced me to come to terms with the inevitability of spatial impossibilities.
I was meeting Faye for the video game concert I’d wanted to see. The Beijing Symphony was going to perform classic game melodies like Super Mario and Zelda. In front of the concert hall, she ran towards me and hugged me.
“Sometimes, a relationship is like coffee,” she said.
“How?”
“After a long day, you need a jolt to keep you awake.”
I laughed. “I thought of it more as a subway ride.”
“What do you mean?”
I tried to explain my allegory, the way it pushed the boundaries of what you’d normally expect. I noticed something was bothering her.
“You okay?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I saw a car accident today. Two kids on a bike got run over… I could hear them crying in pain, there was blood all over… I never told you about my friend Zhuqing, did I?”
“No.”
“She was my best friend in junior high, but she was killed in a car accident. I still remember she was carrying milk for our class project because she loved giving milk to crows. She thought milk could make them talk.”
“Crows talk?” I asked.
“There’s a legend about two lovers who met in a dream. The man transformed into a crow and fell in love with a female crow who was part of his dream. Eventually, he had to wake up and go back to reality. Since heavenly law forbade a dream from being with someone from the waking world, they were separated.”
“What happened?”
“The crow loved the man so much, she turned into a human by drinking a special milk. But she had to give up her existence as a dream to do it.”
The bell for the concert started to ring.
“We don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” I said.
“No, I want to go in.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
We entered the concert hall. There were people in Mario hats, Halo costumes, Warcraft masks. She grabbed my hand, excited. “Do you know if they’re going to play Tetris? Tetris is my favorite song. I used to play that everyday! Doo doo doooo dooo.”
I laughed. “I’m pretty sure they are.”
“Doooooooooo!” she exclaimed.
VI. The Ruins of Yuanmingyuan
We decided to visit the ruins of Yuanmingyuan the day before my departure. It was a series of palaces that’d been burnt down by European invasion forces over a century ago. Since most of the buildings had been constructed of wood, little remained. But at the Xiyanglou site, the buildings had been European-styled pavilions made of stone materials that’d withstood the fires, preserved to remind the people of their national humiliation. As we walked through the debris, hints of its past immensity echoed. This sepulcher of civilization reminded me of the brittleness of immortality, and I thought of the towns I’d never hear of because there was nothing left. Faye was somber, listening to its history from the guide. Each brick had a story, and she was mesmerized by the tales of Daoist wizards who used magic to walk through walls and call spirits down from the moon.
We finally came across Huanghuazhen, a garden that was modeled after a European maze. In the old days, the walls were very high with shrubbery stacked on top. The king sat in the octagonal pavilion at the center and watched as one hundred maidens were released inside. Holding candles in the dark, they’d navigate their way through the labyrinth, their goal being to uncover the path to the king so they could win a suit of distinction.
All around us, couples of different nationalities were making their way through the maze. Everyone took a separate path and even though the goal seemed obvious, we kept on coming across a dead end.
“This way,” she said. Dead end.
We went left, then right, that way in a circle, ending up right where we’d started.
I was vexed, sighing angrily. “How can we be lost? This should be easy.”
“It’s this way. I’m sure of it.”
I followed. We came across a tree and a wall.
“At least it’s different,” she said.
“This is so stupid!” I exclaimed. “How come we keep on getting lost? Let’s just skip over the walls.”
She looked at me, surprised by my anger. “We’re just having fun,” she said, holding my hand. “We’ll make our way through. Trust me, all right?”
I took a deep breath, surprised too by my outburst. “I just hate that we have to be separated.”
“You could stay.”
“But I’m almost out of money… you could come to America.”
“Visas are almost impossible to get for a single female in China. And besides, what would I do out there?”
I sighed, exasperated that most people took their relationships for granted while I couldn’t be with Faye even if I wanted.
“C’mon, let’s finish the maze,” she said.
“But…”
“C’mon, we can do it.”
We walked methodically, left, right, straight, several more dead ends. She took me this way, pulled me from one direction,
took a few more turns.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
“Why?”
She jumped and spread her arms. “’Cause it’s magic!”
After one last turn, we’d found our way out. I smiled, laughing because she was so joyous.
“Come on, let’s go again!” she shouted.
I obliged willingly.
VII. The Notebook of Love
It was early the next day when we arrived at the airport. I couldn’t believe how quickly the week had passed. I held Faye, didn’t want to let go. I knew it was in my best interest to go back to make a living as a computer technician, slaving away to make millionaires billionaires.
Our last meal together was a disappointing breakfast at the airport Burger King. Whoppers and french fries as our love feast.
“One minute,” she said.
I checked the watch, confused. “I still have thirty minutes.”
“One minute,” she said. “That’s how long it took for me to know I was in love with you.”
I stared at her, stunned. “One second,” I finally mustered.
She burst into laughter. “One second?”
“The moment I saw you,” I said.
She held my hand. “Will you come back?”
“I swear it.”
As I took off in the airplane, I realized we’d be separated by the biggest ocean in the world. Before I left, we’d agreed to start a notebook. Faye and I would jot down our feelings, any expressions of love we had, then share them upon our reunion. I started on the plane, writing down my random musings on the chimera of love. Over the years, all my conceptions had been undergoing a drastic mutation, one abortive idea melting into another. What I’d started as a series of juvenile declarations became a book of questions, an inquiry into love’s very anatomy. But I felt so ill-prepared, like all I had was a dulled scalpel and an unfocused magnifying glass. I carried the book everywhere. Over a month, jam stains, drips of syrup, and ketchup marks bore the ubiquity of my musings. I pasted in business cards of favorite restaurants, interesting news clippings, the uncanny happenings of the world. I could feel myself becoming invisible, the depths of my loneliness, unfathomable, except through the inscrutable sextant for the soul. As it turned into three months of separation, I felt like a stump of a person, cauterized, then stitched together, a mannequin held by flimsy band-aids.
One especially cold night, I wandered through the streets of LA. Saw several homeless sprawled on bus benches. I suddenly thought of the homeless couple sleeping in their pink blanket.
The next day, I went into my supervisor’s office.
“I quit,” I said.
“You can’t leave. You just signed a contract for three years.”
“I understand, but this is something I have to do.”
“If you breach contract, you’ll never work in this industry again.”
I stared at my manager. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I put all my stuff into storage, applied for a student visa. I ignored all the emails threatening me with legal action if I didn’t fulfill the terms of my employment. Returned to Beijing eagerly. The flight seemed an eternity and when I arrived, I ran out of the terminal. I was surprised to find a huge crowd waiting, cheering when the doors opened. Had they all read my notebook? No, they were waiting for some famous Chinese actor. Nevertheless, I waved at the throngs. I was so happy, celebrating this moment of triumph. Rushing through the swarm of teenage girls, I finally found Faye. The first thing I did was hand her the notebook.
She gave me a quizzical look before reading through the first few pages, took out a pen and started writing.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I-N-G,” she said.
“What’s that mean?”
“Con-tin-u-ing,” she replied, “we’re continuing.” Then handed me back the notebook and kissed me.
Rodenticide
I.
“I’m going to lose the election,” said Mayor Douglas Kwan, “unless I come up with something brand-new. Every piece of legislation I introduce gets a beat-down.”
Lying in a motel that charged forty-two bucks a night, he hated the buzz of halogens and their sterile gleam. But it was cheap and the most convenient place to meet the naked red-head lying next to him. Lanky and tall, with ribs like a baseball mitt, she was listening but not very amused. She did little to hide the boredom in her dull gray eyes.
“Your time’s almost up,” she replied.
“You don’t mind fucking, but you hate conversation?”
She shook her head. “I just hate politics, especially the small-town kind.”
“I have bigger things in mind, Kathy. I’ve been talking to the state chair, and there’s a seat opening for the district congress. Old Craven is retiring with a weak heart.”
Kathy yawned indifferently. Noticed a pair of rats running along the wall.
“Ain’t ever made a difference who’s in charge,” she said. “I’d be happy if someone could just get rid of all the rats in Antarsia.”
He left a couple of hundred-dollar bills by the bed stand before exiting the motel room to the parking lot and strutting to his BMW.
II.
Antarsia, named by its founder who read H.P. Lovecraft and concocted a tale about his ‘visit’ to the Antarctic, had a population of 4,298. Tim Sunders lied his way into millions, raving about lost cities buried under a Triassic layer of flora and lava. He promised troves of treasure if only he could get the funding to go back—and he got it. The only thing that kept him from fleeing with his fortunes was his getting shot stealing twenty penguins from a traveling zoo.
His son, Mark, inherited the money, which had been secretly funneled to him. Mark founded Antarsia as a tribute to his father, who had dreamt of an organic metropolis. Every building was a fractal enslaved, molded into a cacophony of mortar and bricks. Mark Sunders invited all his father’s compatriots to town, half of whom were Asian, a haven for those escaping racial prejudice in the early half of the 20th century. Antarsia became known for its surreal architecture and too many rats. The rat part came about because of a famous entrepreneur, Wang Toufa, who tried to find the cures for baldness and erectile dysfunction, convinced the two were connected. Thousands of rats were shipped in for experimentation. When the scientists failed and the lab was forced to shut down, Toufa freed all the rats. The thousands multiplied into millions and the town became a playground for rodents. Other than curious tourists or travelers who got lost, no one new ever came to town. Except for the new town hooker, Kathy Chao, and a failed film director, Larry Chao.
III.
There was no relation between the two. But Larry Chao owned a house with a back unit, and he had sublet it to Kathy Chao for the past year. Larry was in his late 30s, slightly balding, plain Chinese face, with a potbelly. He watched horror films obsessively, always without sound. “The difference between horror and comedy lies solely in the sound,” he liked to say.
Kathy’s head was shaved bald and she had over thirty wigs. She was discreet, kept fit through continual workouts on her Wii fit board, and had memorized the entire Kama Sutra. When she moved in, Larry asked what she did for a living.
“I’m a professional escort. Things have been tough in Vegas, lots of girls turning tricks since the economy took a nosedive. I figured I won’t get much competition here.”
“I don’t want clients back at your place.”
“Neither do I. They fork up for the motel room. Are you religious?”
“No, why?”
“Just don’t want you to try to convert me. Can’t tell you how many times people have tried.”
“I won’t try to change you.”
“I hope you mean that. I’ve been through two divorces and a hundred failed relationships because people didn’t mean it.”
Larry Chao liked to take walks after dinner. This time when he got back, he saw a flier on his doorknob that read, Mayor Doug Kwan has officially signed the rat termina
tion decree into law. Get involved by, and there was a website, an email address, a Twitter link, and a phone number. He read over the bullet points outlining the costs to tourism, the risk of disease, historical trivia related to plagues they’d caused.
Kathy was sunbathing in her bikini.
“What is this?” Larry asked.
“Doug’s trying to get re-elected,” she replied.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a ‘kill all the rats’ law. You missed the hoopla at the signing. I’ve never seen so many people so excited about a new law.”
Larry stared at the flier, went back inside. A couple of rats scurried along the walls as he popped in a DVD of The Exorcist.
The rats were monstrosities, leery, suspicious, clever with oblong bodies. They’d started out as lab brown rats, mixed with the wildlife and subjected to chemical induction, mutating into mini-beasts. They had red, black, brown, and yellow eyes. Some were bushy, others bald. Their bodies elongated as they scurried along the walls, aggregating in herds, their nimble pink toes clawing wool carpets.
Larry always knew leftovers would be gone the next day if he didn’t lock them up in his fridge. One morning, he found three rats had infiltrated his fridge. It took a whole day to find the opening and close it up. “I hate these fucking rats!” he exclaimed.
It was a shared opinion. No one had been impervious to their raids, food pantries being emptied of their contents overnight. One popular rumor was that the severe flu of last year (claiming four lives) had been spread by the rats. The Office of Antarsia Welfare sent out eighty-two volunteers to drop off rat poison and paraphernalia regarding ‘humane ways to end the suffering of rodentia.’ Tammy Kim, a retiree in her 70s, was struggling with dwindling Medicare and throbbing joint pain when she went to see Larry.
Larry thanked her for the cereal pellets and liquid poison.
“Will you be attending the conference tonight?” she asked.
“I’m filming it for the city,” Larry replied.
From the lens, Larry could see a mountain of dead rats and a blazing fire. Crowds were swarming the totem pole of corpses and there was a frenetic quality about their chanting. Their fists waved fanatically; they marched in synchronicity. Ernest Lai, who hadn’t been able to find work in two years, soundly denounced the hordes of rats. Yoona Chen, who’d failed miserably in her attempt to become a famous singer, mutilated rats and chopped wood tirelessly for the fire. Tim Yan, whose dream of starting a business died the day he found out his girlfriend was pregnant, demanded a new life for future generations.
Watering Heaven Page 4