by Cole Reid
“Thanks guys,” she said turning away.
“No that was yours, we were gonna pay the bill separately,” said shaved head.
“Don’t worry about it, you guys just save the money for the party later,” said Qiu.
“If you say so,” said shaved head.
Qiu gave a slight smile and headed back toward the kitchen, her arms full of used mugs. She put the receipt on a large spike with the rest of the receipts from customers. She slashed it with a red marker, letting Mr. Nan know the money for the receipt wasn’t in the register. She would go to the bank and exchange the US bills to cover the receipt the next day.
Seeing how many plates and glasses remained to be washed, Qiu joined Chen Weixing by the sink. He Qiang, the cook, had already turned off the stove and made his way outside the kitchen with the broom. He swept behind the bar first, to put any remaining customers on notice that he was heading their way next. The three men at Table 5 were the only customers left. Taking their cue, the three men bottomed-up their glasses and exited in an orderly fashion without any hesitation. The last one out the door was the one with hazel eyes, he turned his head back toward the kitchen door for an immediate glance, before exiting with the other two.
He Qiang proceeded to the front door after them and used the key in his pocket to lock it. He then started at the front of the restaurant, sweeping the floor with broad strokes. He turned chairs upside down on tables to get a better angle to sweep. He made a big pile of dirt, dust and detachments in the center of the floor. He continued to sweep as he noticed Qiu bring a large plastic trash can toward him. Realizing that they must be about done in the kitchen, he proceeded to collect the trash into a dustpan that was left on the floor next to the trash can. He Qiang left the main dining area with a clean swept floor and no chairs touching it. He didn’t do any mopping; mopping was for those opening not closing. The three remaining staffers all met in the kitchen to see what was left to be done. Qiu found herself mopping the kitchen floor, while Chen Weixing stood on the counter top to clean the top of the stove and the exhaust fan. He Qiang cleaned around the stove and arranged the tongs and utensils. At 1:50am, they were all but done with the cleaning duties. They chit-chatted for a bit so they could all clock-out at 2:00am. As the three of them were heading for the rear exit, Qiu realized that out of respect for Mr. Nan, she wanted to leave a note as to why the register was short on cash from one of her tables. She told He Qiang and Chen Weixing they didn’t have to wait for her. She went back into the kitchen and tore off an unused receipt from the booklet. She went over to the spike of receipts, to find the one that she had marked with red. She wrote down the receipt number and an explanation that her payment and tip were in US dollars and she would exchange the money and put the correct amount in the register the next day. She left the note on the counter next to the spike of receipts, where Mr. Nan would see it. She exited the restaurant through the heavy back door and touched the vanilla light switch to break the circuit. The lights went off.
She left the door to close and lock on its own. Leaving the dark kitchen for the half dark back lot of 87, she saw Mr. Nan’s parking space was wide open and the other scooters were missing from the far side of the dumpster. The back lot was lit by the mist of the waterfall from the street lamps on the front side of the building. Qiu looked around and everything stared back at her with a pale amber glow. She squeezed her way into the thin spaces between the dumpster and the wall and put the key in the ignition to turn on the engine and the light. The engine woke up without fuss, as the front light of the Vespa shined brightly against the wall in front of it. The light sketched the silhouette of Qiu and her scooter on the wall. The light against the wall began an unexpected metamorphosis. It went from the silhouette of Qiu and her scooter to that of a blob that developed into the silhouette of a man. The bright light from the Vespa fired against the wall and came back at Qiu then bounced off her body. The rubbery light beamed back to the wall, leaving a silhouette of her body. The other silhouette was another body and it was noticeably larger than hers.
“We wanted to bring the party to you,” said the silhouette behind her. Qiu’s body shivered. The voice was familiar. The last time she heard the voice, she felt like the butt of a joke. Her heart skipped a beat—sounding off a warning. Her heart began to race, continuing the alarm. She felt two large hands shoot into her back shifting her body into an obtuse angle making it impossible to stay on her feet. She fell fast and held her hands out to brace her fall. The gravel stung multiple points on her palms. She felt other hands. She started to twist her body, making figure-eights so the hands couldn’t take hold. A loud scream echoed in the limited space. Her mind told her it was someone coming to her aid. Large hands locked around her ankles like shackles that held her legs stray. She heard voices over the insect hum of the Vespa’s engine. It was English. Her mind reverted to a more primal incarnation, incapable of deciphering foreign language. There were more screams and her body convulsed instinctively. She heard noises repeating holdar holdar. Hot-tempered handcuffs clamped around her wrist and her convulsions began to wane. The same impulses were sent to her legs and arms; they just didn’t respond with movement. They couldn’t. Something soft but hard forced her left cheek into the gravel floor. Her left eye closed as a reflex. She felt her jean skirt scrape over the backs of her thighs, leaving her apron in place. Her skirt scraped down to her ankles. Her shirt came over her head bathing her world in yellow cotton. Through the shirt she could see the light of her Vespa was still on and that was all she thought about, her guardian ready to speed her away. She forced her mind not to think of her daughter. She wouldn’t bring her daughter to this bed gravel, not with her thoughts, not with her mind. She could smell alcohol through the cotton shirt. It never crossed her mind that it was alcohol she had served. Her mind was only on the light of the Vespa.
She felt the pressure from her bra strap lose its place and the silk between her legs tear and melt away. She felt warm skin and hair against the back of her legs and part of the same beast break into her. Her body tightened trying to isolate the pain being forced on her. Inside the yellow cotton shirt, her eyes became glossed over and empty. Her muffled face showed a look of defeat that no one saw. She felt the shackles on her legs release and different sized shackles clamp down. The beast on top of her was gone, but her stomach stung with pain as the force of another beast weighed down on her, pushing her deep into the gravel bed. This beast attacked with more ferocity than the other, as if demonstrating for the others. She didn’t know how many beasts there were, but they were a pack, taking turns, sharing her. Her eyes closed. Her consciousness sunk inward, moving backward in a tunnel, away from the light. The world wore all black.
Her eyes opened. Her ears were ringing. She lay askew on a mattress of cigarette butts and sharp little stones. She rolled her t-shirt covered face around in the gravel. She coughed. She gasped. She coughed. She coughed. She gagged. Instinct told her she had to remove the shirt covering her face. Memory told her that her hands were locked in place. An impulse was sent to her hands and they took the cotton shirt off. She rolled the shirt down her arms and let it protect her hands as she pushed against the gravel to sit up. She leaned against the wall staring at her Vespa. The light was still on, so was the engine. She sat against the wall wondering in what state of life she was in. Coarse brick of the wall scratched her bare back, but it didn’t bother her. She sat there naked but for the shoes on her feet; the shirt around her hands; the apron around her waist and jean skirt around her ankles. The left side of her face had gray dust and scratches from the gravel. She didn’t look around to see if she was alone. She knew. She sat against the wall and took deep breaths. Her breaths were long ins and long outs. She had to move. The Vespa also told her she had to move, continuously humming the word, Go! She ducked her head inside the yellow T-shirt around her arms and slid it down her body. She wiggled her jean skirt up to her waist, under the apron. She popped the Vespa onto the back wheel to mane
uver it through the opening between the dumpster and the wall. She reconsidered. She put the Vespa back down on two wheels and pushed the dumpster sideways yelling in frustration. The dumpster rolled far enough for Qiu to ride out of the graveled space on her Vespa.
The apartment was silent. Qiu entered silently. She hit the light switch in the kitchen long enough to find the lamp in the living room. She exchanged the light in the kitchen for the light of the lamp. She grabbed one of the black steel chairs. She went to the kitchen and grabbed a sponge lingering near the sink. She ran warm water over the sponge and used it to wash her face. She let the water drip slowly until the sink was filled with warm water. She sat in the chair and took off her shirt, shoes and skirt. Her thighs were smeared with dry blood so dark she couldn’t recognize it as her own. She left her apron on. She felt ashamed to take it off. Naked except for her waist apron, she dipped the sponge in the warm water in the sink and washed her entire body. She washed between her legs repeatedly till there was no more blood. No more smell. No more anything. Still seated, she picked her shirt and skirt off the floor and threw them into the trash can under the sink. She sat there. She stared at the closed door leading into the bedroom. She swallowed. Swallowing released tears from her eyes. The more she stared at the bedroom door, the more tears grew hot in her eyes and tumbled down. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want her daughter to wake. She didn’t want her daughter to know. She didn’t know what was appropriate and she had always been an appropriate woman.
Chapter Five An Appropriate Woman
American Bison weren’t native to the soils of Taiwan, but they roamed the sky—large, billowing and white. Strong winds off the Taiwan Strait sent a stampede of bovine clouds across the blue plains over Taipei. Wet red light soaked through white blinds in the living room. The light hit Qiu’s face, turning her fair skin bright pink and the bruises and scratches faded to the naked eye. Qiu’s eyes opened from tear-drugged sleep. Her breasts hurt from being forced flat. She had cried herself to sleep on the living room floor, too ashamed to enter the bedroom and face her daughter, asleep or awake. Her daughter would be out of bed soon, although she didn’t know the time, she could guess by the light. Qiu and Xiaofeng were the perfect pair, one dutiful and the other appropriate. Their morning routine was designed to balance the efficiencies in both. Qiu would cook breakfast while her daughter showered and got dressed. Qiu worked nights, so she didn’t have to be ready in the morning. She would usually make breakfast in whatever she slept in and she had slept in nothing. Xiaofeng always got up a half hour early to let her mother drop her at school and return home to sleep. Xiaofeng knew it was better for her to wait on her mother than for her mother to wait on her.
Xiaofeng’s eyes opened at the same time her mother cracked two eye-like eggs into a skillet. The bedroom was different and the difference seemed automatic. Something in the bedroom was missing—the smell. It smelled less busy and more alone. Xiaofeng noticed immediately. She was facing the bedroom window while listening to frying eggs. Her mother was there, she was sure, because it was the same routine. Xiaofeng woke up when breakfast started. Her internal clock was set by the frying pan. Xiaofeng rolled over to see that her mother’s side of the bed was mint. The sheets were undisturbed and welcoming. Her mother always made her side of the bed when she got up, even if she was likely to return soon. But then there was the smell. The smell was empty but it shouldn’t have been. The smell should have been the waxy sweet of shampoo and soap, because her mother always showered before joining her in bed. She even heard the water from the shower most nights. Now, she wasn’t sure if she heard her mother shower during the night. Xiaofeng rolled herself out of bed and smelled the hint of sulfur coming from the kitchen. She opened the door and saw her mother cooking in the kitchen, wearing a large dark green bath towel.
“Good morning, how did you sleep?” asked her mother.
“OK,” said Xiaofeng.
“Take a shower, then come eat so I can take you to school,” said her mother.
It was out of routine for her mother to tell Xiaofeng what she already knew, what she did every weekday. Xiaofeng continued toward the bathroom when something her eyes caught finally hit her consciousness. She turned her body to have one more look in the kitchen. Something else was not routine. Her mother’s face was different. It was covered with makeup. Her mother seemed to have a talent for something she never did, putting on makeup: skin foundation; blush; eyeliner and a rustic red lipstick that made her lips look oxidized. Xiaofeng did not comment on her mother’s inconsistency. It wasn’t her duty to comment. It was for her to shower, eat and be ready to leave.
Qiu folded the white plastic table and the black steel chair after her daughter finished eating. Her daughter’s satchel was still on the dresser in the bedroom. Xiaofeng went back to the bedroom to retrieve the satchel, while her mother looked over her choice of black pants, black heels and a blue flower print blouse. She felt a sense of empowerment, a ‘real woman’. Her clothes were liberating. She wasn’t defined by her work clothes, the yellow shirt and jean skirt that meant she was here to serve. Xiaofeng came out of the bedroom with her satchel thrown over her shoulder and both women exited the apartment. They descended the steps to the first floor in silence. Qiu wrapped her fingers tightly around the brass colored door handle and twisted down. The wood door opened to a cacophony of hot white light and damp air. The clouds overhead grazed peacefully in the newborn sky. Cars were excited as they rolled over the street in front of the building. The day was gorgeous. The row of scooters stood like sentinels on the cement. Qiu had left her Vespa on the very end of the row, not wanting to deal with the hassle of parking between two other scooters. Qiu went to her scooter and fired up the engine. The scooter treated her like a stranger. The engine took two cranks to start and turned on sounding frustrated. Xiaofeng was a dutiful young woman, but she was still young. She couldn’t help herself always, but she did think about what she said before she said it.
“Are you getting a new job, Mama?” asked Xiaofeng.
Her mother looked back at her with a look that she would never see again. It was a look of extreme reserve that would not dignify Xiaofeng’s question with an answer.
“Let’s go Li Xiaofeng,” said her mother.
Nothing else needed to be said. Xiaofeng hopped on the Vespa after her mother and they skidded off in a familiar direction. It wasn’t until they were over halfway to the school that Qiu realized she had done something for the first time. It made her sick to her stomach. She had forgotten to take the helmet for her daughter. The Vespa slowed down noticeably, as if Qiu was reconsidering taking her daughter to school. Qiu’s breathing became a controlled rhythm while her mind actively tried to increase its awareness. She justified her mistake by exchanging being shielded against injury to avoiding it absolutely. Xiaofeng, feeling the slower pace of the Vespa, stayed silent. She was noticing her mother’s inconsistencies, not just in the morning. Time was giving Xiaofeng more moments to reflect on and perception to rely on. She knew her mother was not perfect. Her mother was a woman who struggled to handle everything well, but Xiaofeng had decided two years before that her mother was doing fine. At not quite thirteen years old, she had already decided that in her life, her mother was beyond criticism. And she was above criticizing. Even when the sweat of frustration beat out of her mother, Xiaofeng considered it her duty to rise above. Her father had left and her mother stood in the gap—and did it well. The lack of a helmet gave Xiaofeng’s mind room to expand and she realized holding on to the back of the Vespa, with her mother leading the way, was the best of all real worlds.
They pulled on to the street where Xiaofeng prepared to get off. Xiaofeng cradled her shoulder bag and hopped off the Vespa after it stopped. Still feeling words unnecessary, Xiaofeng walked patiently toward the redbrick building where she would spend much of the day. When she felt her mother’s voice
“Li Xiaofeng,” said her mother.
Xiaofeng turned towar
d her mother seated on the Vespa. Her mother swallowed and squinted as if the light were in her eyes, it wasn’t. Her eyes veered downward as she spoke.
“Being your mother is the one great joy in my life,” said her mother.
Xiaofeng smiled at her mother long and loud. Her mother smiled back; both had understood the other. Xiaofeng turned around and headed toward the school yard. Qiu sat on the Vespa and watched her daughter walk away.
Qiu looked down the street for a few seconds with time on her mind. She was no longer sure if bringing her daughter across the Taiwan Strait was what she wanted. She told herself she would give herself time to think about it. She gave the Vespa enough gas to roll slowly forward and put her feet on the floor of the Vespa as it gained enough speed to stay on two wheels.
She was tired—exhausted. Her thoughts were free to settle on herself now that her duty to her daughter had been fulfilled for the time being. She needed to go home because it felt like the only safe place. And she needed rest. The makeup hid the signs of a bad night’s sleep but not the effects. Her body was beginning to give. Her body swayed with the motion of the Vespa and her muscles felt unresponsive. She rounded the corner and drove passed the 7-Eleven as her eyes squinted against the increasing daylight. The Vespa kept an upbeat pace, until she was a block away from the front of the pink brick building with the washateria. As Qiu pulled up to the row of scooters, she stared into the window of the washateria, paddling her scooter into a wide open spot.
Looking at the laundry machines through the window, Qiu thought about how it was time to do laundry. As she thought about what she needed to wash, she remembered her 87 shirt and jean skirt were still in the trash can in the kitchen. There were still two US fifty dollar bills in her skirt that she had to exchange. Qiu went through the heavy wood door and up the stairs to unit number 203. She hesitated before entering, realizing the atmosphere in the apartment would be different by herself. She turned her key and pushed the door once, letting the force do the rest. She stepped through the door suspiciously and stood in the apartment without letting her guard down; the apartment door stayed open. For some unknown reason, her mind went in to fight-or-flight mode. She felt the threatening presence of someone else in the room. Her eyes carefully scanned the room for signs of an intruder. The sulfur smell from the eggs still hung in the air, as if nothing had disturbed it since she left. The apartment itself seemed to hold its hands up and say I’m clean, but Qiu still felt another presence.