The Thought Cathedral

by Nathan Williams

“No? This surprises me.”

  “Why would that surprise you?”

  “I don’t know. You grew up here in New York City, and you seem so…cultured.”

  “I do appreciate culture,” Lee said. “I love music. I guess I have just never had the time or opportunity.”

  “That’s okay. That’s good. This will be your first time. I hope you enjoy it.”

  “You’ve attended before?” Lee asked.

  “No, never here in New York. I’ve attended a few of the theaters in Shanghai. I’ve loved the Tian Chan Yi-Fu Theater, Lyceum Theater, and Circus City since my childhood.”

  “What sorts of performances did you see there?”

  “Just about everything you can imagine. I enjoyed the acrobatics, dance, theater, and the Peking Opera. My father used to take businessmen to these performances to help grease business deals. Once in a while, he would take me along with him.”

  The lights began to dim, and the show started. The dancers, mostly male, played the role of “newsies,” teenage boys in New York at the turn of the twentieth century who sold newspapers for a living. The newsies crooned as the price of their papers was increased to disastrous effect by the news titans of the day. The words to the songs sung by the dancers told of the union of the newsies across the city in their efforts to organize a strike against the titans. The intensity of the dancing and acrobatics captured the spirited movement of the newsies as they railed against the titans, dressed moppishly in the muted colors of 1899 rags.

  Two and a half hours later the show concluded, and Lee followed Xiang out of the auditorium. Since Shanghai Emporium was only a few blocks from the auditorium, Lee let Xiang lead her through the traffic along the street. A few minutes later, they entered the lobby of the sky-rise where the restaurant was located. They took an elevator up to the forty-sixth floor.

  Lee was thankful for Xiang’s warning on the formality of the restaurant. She’d had time to purchase a conservative black dress the day prior. Xiang, dressed in a black suit, held the door open for her as Lee entered the dimly lit restaurant. Men and women dressed in formal attire were both standing and seated in a small lobby, waiting for their tables to become available. Lee followed Xiang to a host standing next to the entrance into the dining area. Xiang whispered something in Chinese to the host, who was dressed in an extravagant tuxedo with a long tail. The host nodded and immediately waved them into the dining area.

  Lee and Xiang followed the host through clusters of patrons sitting at tables. Each table was lit by a black iron Chinese lantern hanging overhead. Each lantern had a cutout in the design of a mythological Chinese creature: winged horses, guardian lions, chimeric beasts, and fish. The designs glowed orange against the black iron of the lanterns.

  Dominating the entire restaurant was an immaculate giant Chinese dragon, stretching from the front of the dining area all the way to the back. It glowed a multitude of colors though the body, in general, was green and its eyes pale yellow. It spewed from its mouth a ball of orange, red, and yellow flame. As with most Chinese dragons, its body was serpentine—long and thin—with scales in multiple shades of blue and green.

  The host led them along a pathway between patrons sitting at tables parallel with the dragon, stopping at a small table with two chairs next to the dragon’s tail.

  “This dragon is fantastic!” Lee said. She marveled at the detail of the dragon’s design, reaching over and feeling a few of the small, glowing pieces of glass composing one of the dragon’s hind legs.

  “It’s magnificent, isn’t it? It was manufactured in Shanghai in a workshop in the Fengxian Province. I’ve been in the shop myself.”

  “What’s it like in the shop? It must be huge.”

  “It’s amazing, I think,” Xiang said. “They have a massive warehouse where they store their creations. Many of their designs are as big, or bigger, than this dragon.”

  Xiang rattled off something in Chinese, which Lee thought must’ve been the name of the manufacturer.

  Lee smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that.”

  Xiang frowned. “Do you understand any Chinese?”

  “I was raised speaking both English and Mandarin in the Beijing dialect. But I can understand standard Mandarin okay. Enough to get by, I think.”

  Xiang rattled off a sentence in standard Mandarin: “Thank you for coming tonight. Are you having a good time?”

  Lee responded in Mandarin: “Yes, it’s fine. Thanks for inviting me.” In English, Lee said, “Thank goodness for standard Mandarin.”

  Xiang nodded his agreement. “Given how many dialects there are in China, it’s very important to have one that everyone can understand.”

  “I had an uncle who lived with us here in New York for a long time who spoke Cantonese, and he was unintelligible to me,” Lee revealed. “But he’d emigrated from the southern province of Guanxi.”

  The two of them paused briefly as the waitress took their orders.

  “In Shanghai,” Xiang said, “there are multiple dialects used throughout the city. It’s possible that someone in one part of Shanghai, in the Yangpu District for example, may speak one dialect, while another in the Xuhui District may speak a completely different dialect and could be completely unintelligible to the other. In this sense, Shanghai, and really all of China, is much more like Europe than the United States.”

  Lee said, in the equivalent Mandarin, “It’s good to speak Chinese with another person sometimes.”

  Xiang frowned faintly. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” he said, in English.

  “Yes, it’s nice. I really only speak Chinese with my family. It’s kind of…different, I guess, that I can use it with someone outside of my family.”

  “Do you prefer Mandarin?” Xiang asked.

  “Well, to be honest, I prefer English most of the time. It’s just easier for me.”

  Xiang’s eyes wrinkled at the edges, and his face drew into another wry smile.

  “I like to use Chinese when I need to express things that are nuanced,” Lee said.

  “I’d agree with that. Chinese is more precise.”

  They ate in silence for a few moments.

  “What did you think of the show?” Xiang said, switching back to English.

  “It was a lot of fun. The performers are fantastic. The dancing was amazing.”

  Xiang, one of a handful of people in the restaurant using chopsticks, gracefully slid a small shrimp into his mouth.

  “How about you?” Lee asked.

  “I admire…how should I say?” Xiang said. He’d raised his head a bit and partially closed his eyelids. It was a habit of Xiang’s, Lee observed, whenever he was engaged in thought. “I admire the liveliness and energy of American performances. What did you think of the storyline?”

  “I enjoyed it. I like period pieces like that. I was rooting for the lead character. In the end he won. When the bosses had to rescind the price increase, the good guy won.”

  For a few brief moments, the lines in the corners of Xiang’s eyes disappeared and his face flattened as his mouth morphed into a frown. The skin on the rest of his faced smoothened and the reflection in his eyes seemed to disappear. The irises turned from reddish amber in color to black, matching the color of his suit. They looked like miniature chunks of coal. In that brief time, Xiang’s demeanor changed entirely from the gentle, spirited man she’d known up to that point to that of someone devoid of emotion. It was as though something in him snapped and a dark emotion that had taken root suddenly swelled out, manifesting itself in his exterior.

  The good guy won.

  Her answer, which couldn’t have been more spontaneous, revealed something in herself. A core believe that…what?

  After another fleeting moment, it came to her. That you should always root for the underdog. Or that, at the least, the underdog is always the preferred winner.

  But as soon as this darkness crossed Xiang’s face, it was gone. The wrinkles returned and a deliberate, sardonic smile cr
ept slowly across his face. “Americans always prefer the underdog, don’t they?”

  “I think so, yes,” Lee said.

  Xiang took another bite of his shrimp pasta. “I enjoyed it as well,” Xiang said. “I enjoyed the complexity of the choices the lead character faced as far as deciding between his career and friendships. But I have to say that I found myself rooting for the businessmen.”

  Lee found that she couldn’t hold back a frown. It was an entirely reflexive reaction. She chased it with a smile, transparently forced.

  “What was it about the businessmen that appealed to you?”

  “I’m not sure,” Xiang admitted. Xiang took another bite of his shrimp and thought for a few moments. “I didn’t like the lead character’s negative emotions toward his employers.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “In China, it’s vital, as with all relationships of authority, to respect your employer. It’s always been that way. It’s been fundamental, I think, since Confucius’s teachings many centuries ago. To not respect your employer, is to promote discord. It leads to a breakdown in harmony.”

  Lee remained silent.

  “You’ve heard of Confucius’s five relationships?”

  “Let me try. It’s been a long time. Subject is obedient to the ruler, wife is obedient to the husband, son is obedient to the father, younger brother is obedient to the older brother, and friend respects friend.”

  “Very good,” Xiang said, a flat smile creeping across his face. “These basic relationships have helped maintain harmony for thousands of years. If it’s not broke… What’s the phrase?”

  “If it’s not broke, don’t fix it?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “Well, I have cousins still in Beijing who are younger, about my age, and I know Confucianism is not something that is present to them anymore. Particularly since Deng Xiaoping opened the country up to capitalist ideas. It seems China is moving past Confucianism.”

  Lee regretted this statement as soon as it came out. She had a few strong opinions about China’s past and, she found, she was finding it difficult holding those opinions in. Her feelings were particularly strong with respect to the husband-wife relationship, which she felt promoted sexism.

  Xiang nodded his ahead, clearly disagreeing with the statement. “Personally, I’m conflicted. I would agree that Confucian teachings are less prominent, however, I believe the fundamentals are still there as they have been for many centuries and will be for a long time to come. I feel this is best for China.”

  Lee smiled and extended her hands across the table toward Xiang.

  “I’m sorry if I’m being too forward. I grew up in the States. I prefer the employer-employee relation the way it is here. It’s maybe more of a partnership, rather than all of the power residing with the employer. But I understand how that could feel more natural to you.”

  “Most certainly,” Xiang said. “I understand your viewpoint. I’ve been working here in the States for many years and I’ve enjoyed my time here.”

  Lee took a deep breath, anxious to move past this topic. “You know, as with China, we have difficulties here in the U.S. with reconciling old beliefs with the new.”

  “Oh? How do you mean?”

  Lee struggled momentarily to think of what to say next. “Well, it’s just that attitudes about some things change over time, from generation to generation.”

  A puzzled expression crossed Xiang’s face. “How do you mean?”

  Struggling to think of something to say, Lee said the first thing that came to her mind. “For example, women in the States are not as compelled to marry or begin a family as soon as they used to.” Lee quietly admonished herself as soon as she’d said it. Marriage wasn’t exactly the topic of conversation she was looking for at this point in the relationship.

  “This has been going on for a long time now in the U.S.,” Xiang said. “In the big cities in China, it’s starting to happen now as well.”

  Having forced the topic, she had to go along with it. “In China though and, maybe I’m wrong, but isn’t it still expected for a woman to settle down by the time she’s in her late twenties?” Lee asked.

  “Yes, that’s true in the big cities. But China is a complicated country. In the rural parts of the country, people are very poor. Marriage partners are often still chosen by their parents. Maybe it’s smart not to wait too late, though.”

  Lee felt a slight burn in her complexion as she blushed, imagining her face reflecting the red of the flame in the lantern on the small table. She was not blushing out of shame, however, but out of anger. She was not ashamed at the possibility that her very real struggle with marriage was transparent to Xiang. She was angry at the thought of Xiang believing that he actually knew her well enough to make such an assumption. Since she had no way of knowing for sure exactly what Xiang’s motivation was for the comment, she pushed her anger out of the way and it quickly subsided.

  “Yes, well, things tend to change for the better I think,” Lee said, trying to be both diplomatic and optimistic.

  “You may be right,” Xiang said with a light tone in his voice. “Economically things are much better now for China.”

  Lee appreciated this comment. At least Xiang was trying to make an effort to steer toward lighter topics of conversation.

  “When I was a child and even before I was born, my parents had just opened up their bakery,” Lee said. “This was in the 1980s. Things were very difficult then. All kinds of competing forces economically in Manhattan. There were more people emigrating here from China at that time. Gangs were a big problem. My father used to have to negotiate with the gangs to pay a premium in order to operate the business without violence. He was having to pay for protection from the gangs because the police were often nowhere to be found. These days, the police have cracked down on the gangs and he doesn’t have to pay this premium anymore. They’ve been able to develop connections and grow the business. Things are much better.”

  “That’s very good. I’m happy for your family.”

  They ate again in silence for a few moments before Xiang spoke. “You said you have very good relations with your father? He took you sailing?”

  “Absolutely. We owned a little fishing boat for many years that we used to sail up the Hudson and on some of the lakes on Long Island and upstate New York. The past few years, my father has co-owned a larger vessel with some other businessmen in New York that they take out into the harbor.”

  “My father owns a mid-sized junk that we take out off the coast of the East China Sea,” Xiang said, after swallowing another bite of his food. Lee found herself marveling at his dexterity with the chopsticks. “I also have a friend from childhood who owns a little dinghy and we used to take it out on Dianshan Lake, a few kilometers south of Shanghai. My friend built a little cloth sunshade as a makeshift awning overhead to protect from the sun. We used to go out early in the morning and stay to watch the sunset. When the sun went down, we’d take down the sheet and stargaze.”

  “What’s it like at Dianshan Lake?” Lee asked, mindful to ask open-ended questions.

  “Very nice,” Xiang said. “It’s the largest freshwater lake in China. It’s about sixty square kilometers or so. Lots of little sampans always sailing out there. What is it about sailing that you like so much?”

  “I don’t know,” Lee said. “I guess I liked just being outdoors and it was a nice way to spend time with my father and brother. What about you? Are you close with your father?”

  “My father was very demanding. Always demanding perfection. He worked a lot. But I got along well enough, I guess.”

  Lee, cautious in inquiring about Xiang’s family, sensed another opportunity. “You said he’s a party head of some kind?”

  “Yeah, he’s the party head of the Shanghai municipality.”

  “That’s impressive,” Lee said. “He must’ve worked very hard to get to that position.

  “Yes, very hard,” Xiang said. “He
initially worked in our family-owned business for a few years. He worked very hard and, with a lot of the guanxi built up by my family’s elders, he won a party spot at the township level. He then moved up from there within the party system.”

  “What do you mean by ‘guanxi’?”

  Xiang smirked and paused briefly, seemingly to collect his thoughts. “Guanxi is like having relationships, or ‘connections,’ as Americans say. Except, guanxi is both a more complicated concept than is the idea of having connections and is more important for finding success in China than is the idea of developing connections in America.”

  “By ‘success,’ you mean economic or financial success?” Lee asked.

  “In modern China, there isn’t any other kind of success. It’s all about financial success. At least it is in the modern coastal cities like Beijing and Shanghai. Being wealthy is very much considered honorable.”

  “How is the concept of guanxi complicated?” Lee asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “Guanxi implies more than just business connection,” Xiang said. “It is a life relationship predicated on the idea of debts and favors. Guanxi must be built up very carefully over a long period of time, often following one generation of family to the next.”

  “Why do you say it’s more important than having connections in America?”

  “I say this because, in China, it is often the sole determining factor for who is hired for a job. Many times, one person may be hired over another despite having no qualifications simply because that person has good guanxi. This happens in the States too, of course, but it happens much more often in China.”

  “It sounds really unfair.”

  Xiang shrugged. “It’s just how it is. Those who play the game well will succeed; those who don’t will not.”

  “What’s it like in downtown Shanghai?”

  “Well, Shanghai is a huge city. It has a population of around twenty-three million people, twice the size of New York. Jing’an is at the center of the city. Lots of high-rises. High population density. It fits over three hundred thousand people in an area only about eight square kilometers in size.”