The Gaze of Caprice (The Caprice Trilogy Book 1)

by Cole Reid

  Qiu walked begrudgingly over to the trash can. She stuck her left hand into the trash can and fiddled with what felt like her jean skirt. Reaching into the pocket she felt the stiffness of the cotton paper bills and pulled them out. She removed the black plastic trash bag from the trash can and tied it with a rubber band from a kitchen drawer. She took the black bag downstairs and outside to a large green dumpster around the block. Walking passed the dumpster, she dropped the black bag in without hesitation. She walked back to her pink-bricked apartment building and hopped on her Vespa parked outside.

  Qiu drove seven blocks to the closest branch bank, Formosa First Republic. She parked her Vespa on the curb in front of the bank and went in, heading straight for a wooden counter on the left wall. On the counter were transaction slips. Qiu used a chained pen attached to the counter to fill in the exchange slip. The bank was not busy. She walked over to the first teller and handed her the exchange slip and the two fifty dollar bills.

  “Do you have an account with us,” asked the teller.

  “Yes,” said Qiu.

  “Would you like to deposit this money into your account?” asked the teller.

  “No.”

  The teller placed the exchange slip into a typewriter and made a few keystrokes before pulling out the slip. She made a few keystrokes on an adding machine and tore off the printed tape. Stamping the slip and the tape she counted cash from her drawer. She handed the tape and the cash to Qiu.

  “Here is your receipt,” said the teller.

  “Thank you,” said Qiu. She left the bank, money in hand. The receipt showed an exchange rate of 35.98 and a fee of sixty Taiwan dollars, leaving Qiu with 3,538 in Taiwanese currency. Qiu drove the Vespa in a long direction around southern Taipei before driving toward 87. She took the Vespa around the back of the building to see if Mr. Nan’s car was there. It was. She drove around the front of the building and parked the Vespa on the side of the pavement near the door. She entered the empty restaurant seeing staff members she rarely saw, most would be gone by the time she clocked in. All employees saw the stately looking woman, whose heeled shoes turned her steps into statements. No one recognized her as an employee, not even Mr. Nan. He had never seen her face made up before; it had been a while since he had seen her in anything other than a lemon-yellow T-shirt.

  “Mr. Nan,” Qiu said to get his attention. Mr. Nan squinted before he hesitated. Her face looked like a caricature of someone he once knew. And it reminded him of only one woman; one who had greatly impressed him.

  “Qiu?” said Mr. Nan, his voice unable to hide his surprise.

  “Did you see my note?” asked Qiu.

  “I got it this morning when I booked the receipts,” said Mr. Nan.

  “I just came from the bank,” said Qiu, handing Mr. Nan the roll of cash.

  Mr. Nan pulled the receipt from his pocked. The total came out to 426 Taiwan dollars. Mr. Nan counted 400 for the receipt and gave the rest back to Qiu.

  “Thank you,” said Qiu.

  “What do you want me to think about this?” said Mr. Nan, looking Qiu up and down.

  “I came to make a request,” said Qiu.

  “It’s a good start,” said Mr. Nan.

  “I need to switch my hours to daytime,” said Qiu.

  “Why would you do that?” asked Mr. Nan, “Your tips won’t even be half what they are now?”

  “I need to be home for my daughter,” said Qiu.

  “But I need my best English-speakers here for the evening crowd,” said Mr. Nan.

  “You already have your best English-speakers in the evening,” said Qiu.

  “Which is why you belong there,” said Mr. Nan.

  “I belong with my daughter in the evening,” said Qiu.

  “When you came here, the one thing you said you wanted was to earn money so you could give opportunities to your daughter,” said Mr. Nan, “I gave you that chance to work with our night guests to earn good tips because you had drive. What happened? Where has that drive gone?”

  Qiu’s lined eyes began to tear. She understood sacrifice as well as anyone and Mr. Nan had sacrificed a lot to get her on staff. She was spitting in his face, but she was capable of much more. And Mr. Nan knew that. A woman who had kept her daughter safe for so many years didn’t do so by accident. Mr. Nan knew better than to force a stalemate, but he thought it appropriate to remind her of her original decision. It was clear from her clothes and choice of topic something had changed.

  “You can come from six to two in the afternoon; we have a bit of a breakfast group most mornings,” said Mr. Nan.

  “Seven not six,” said Qiu, “I have to get her to school in the morning.”

  “Ok,” said a reluctant sounding Mr. Nan, “You might be able to scratch something from the lunchtime crowd and avoid feeding your daughter with instant noodles every night.”

  The irony of the statement wasn’t lost on Qiu. She fed her daughter instant noodles many nights, but she put more nutritious things with it. Qiu wrapped her arms around the thin-framed man in his fifties. With heels on, they were almost the same height.

  “You don’t know the good you’re doing,” said Qiu.

  “I don’t have to know what I’m doing to do good,” said Mr. Nan, “That’s how good I am.” Qiu couldn’t help herself. She smiled. Something few people ever saw.

  “It’s too late for you to start your shift today, I’ll see you in the morning,” said Mr. Nan, “And don’t spend all of that in one day.” He pointed to the roll of bills that was folded in her palm.

  “Not my habit,” said Qiu as she turned away and let the 87 staff get back to work. Qiu passed a waitress on her way out the door and was reminded of one thing—she no longer had a work uniform. As she started the engine of the Vespa, she searched the address book in her mind for a fabric store. She found one on her way home, two blocks from the bank where she exchanged the money. The store wasn’t busy so she was in and out quickly. Her one trouble was not being able to find a plain shirt the same color as the one worn by the staff at 87. 87 shirts were lemon-yellow. The closest match was a neon-yellow, which she took along with a set of stencils and purple fabric dye. Heading home, she realized how tired she really was. She had been running on sentiment and concern all morning; now she had time to herself. Her green Vespa ran alongside the row of scooters parked in front of the pink brick building. There weren’t many open spaces. It was 11:45am and many of the building’s tenants found their way home for lunch. Qiu was no exception, more than enough hours had passed since she had eaten. She made her way up to her apartment with the increased hunger and lack of sleep tugging at her.

  She wasn’t concerned with eating. Eating wasn’t appropriate until her task was done. She removed the neon-yellow shirt from its plastic bag. She rearranged the stencils to find the numbers; she only cared about two, 8 and 7. She placed a magazine between the front and back of the shirt and laid the stencils on top of the front. She used her finger to dab the dye over the stenciled area of the shirt. Her finger could only hold so much dye and it was important for the dye not to bleed. She worked slowly. The stenciled numbers came out better than expected when she removed the stencil card from the shirt. Qiu walked to the living room and grabbed one of the black steel chairs. Unfolding the chair, a rushed and nauseated feeling came over her. She threw the self-made shirt over the back of the steel chair. The nauseated feeling began to isolate itself to her stomach. She felt a throbbing pain just above her navel. She wrapped her right arm around her stomach and made her way to the bedroom with a slight grimace on her face. She unfolded the sheet cover and slid her body between the sheets. She stared at the ceiling until her eyes dried and were forced to close; her body got heavy.

  The ticks of her wristwatch seemed to repeat her name over and over. Qiu opened her eyes to see. She was lying in her bed halfway tucked in fetal position. The smell of her daughter resonated threw her nostrils. She realized she was lying in the same place her daughter slept. She felt mo
re rested but not less nauseated. She thought the evening through and thought a good night’s sleep would put her world back in order.

  It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon and Xiaofeng’s school let out at 3:45pm. Qiu went to the bathroom and brushed her teeth for the first time in a day. She left the water running and grabbed a towel from under the sink. Wetting the towel, she brought it to her face and removed the makeup on the left side of her face. With gentle strokes the makeup stopped service and revealed tiny scratches and big bruises on the left side of Qiu’s face. She stared at herself in the mirror and wondered what she was looking at. It was a woman, but she wasn’t sure what kind. Her face made her look weak, scratched and changed. It was the first time that she was willing to admit she felt things changing, different from before. She had always relied on her self-perceived strength, but her face changed her perception of her strength. She could look at herself in the mirror but did not see strength. Worse was she didn’t know where to look for it. She didn’t know what she had to look at, so she went with routine. She reached the redbrick school at 3:39pm. It was later than her usual arrival, but still within routine. Her daughter came out of the building at 3:54pm and hopped on the back of the Vespa as always. This time there was a red helmet offering her protection.

  Qiu and her daughter reached the wood door of their pink brick building at 4:26pm. As Qiu pushed the wood door open, she let her daughter go before her and smiled at the light she saw. They ascended the stairs in a different kind of silence. The silence was perpetual but it palpitated with beats of togetherness. Qiu felt she and her daughter were two parts of a whole. And as her daughter hurried off to the bedroom to do her homework, Qiu began the process of searching for the utensils and ingredients that would combine to make evening supper. Qiu reached in the freezer to pull out a bag of frozen noodles. She unsealed the noodles and let the entire frozen block sink into a pot of boiling water. She added a spoonful of salt and found a clove of garlic in a basket hanging next to the refrigerator. She unpeeled the garlic and chopped. Qiu began to feel nauseated, as she had hours before and her stomach churned. The pain in her stomach became sharper but subsided. She finished chopping the garlic and added it and bits of simmered pork to the noodles when they were done.

  Qiu and her daughter ate supper in the warm light of the lamp in the dining room. Qiu eyed her daughter as if she were a newborn; Xiaofeng pretended not to notice.

  “Guess what?” said Qiu.

  “I don’t know,” said Xiaofeng.

  “I’m switching my work schedule,” said Qiu.

  “Why?” asked Xiaofeng.

  “To spend more time with you,” said Qiu.

  “Ok. But don’t you work late because you make more money?” asked Xiaofeng.

  “Yes,” said Qiu.

  “Then why switch?” asked Xiaofeng.

  “Because many things in life are more important than money,” said Qiu, “Like family, like you.”

  Xiaofeng briefly looked up from her bowl of noodles at her mother. Her mother decided to change the topic.

  “What homework do you have?” asked Qiu.

  “Algebra,” said Xiaofeng.

  “And English?” asked Qiu.

  “Still the same composition due Monday,” said Xiaofeng.

  “How far are you?” asked Qiu.

  “Like halfway,” said Xiaofeng.

  “If you need help, I’ll be around now,” said Qiu.

  “I know,” said Xiaofeng.

  “We could even do it tonight and be done,” said Qiu, “It won’t take us long working together.”

  “OK,” said Xiaofeng, understanding her mother’s sincerity.

  Mother and daughter finished eating together and folded their chairs and table. Xiaofeng took the plates to the kitchen while her mother carried the table and chairs to their resting place against the far wall.

  “I’m going to shower then I’ll meet you in the bedroom,” said Qiu.

  “Ok,” said Xiaofeng.

  Qiu went to the bathroom while her daughter occupied the bedroom. Twenty-five minutes later, Qiu joined her daughter in the bedroom using the familiar green towel to dry her hair and hide the left side of her face. Qiu put on a T-shirt and drawstring flannel pants while padding her hair down the left side of her face. She joined her daughter in the bedroom and sat down on the bed interesting herself in her daughter’s activity—algebra. Qiu looked over her daughter’s left shoulder to see how she was progressing, she was doing fine. Once algebra was done they started to work on Xiaofeng’s English composition. The topic was Your Most Meaningful Vacation. Xiaofeng was required to write three pages. They had only ever been on vacation once, giving it a lot of meaning. Writing about it was more interesting and appropriate done together.

  Qiu woke up the next morning earlier than usual, much earlier than her daughter. She showered and laid foundation on her face, blushed her cheeks, lined her eyes and rusted her lips coffee-red. As she puckered her lips together, she could hear her daughter stirring in bed. Xiaofeng was beginning to wake up. Qiu put on her version of an 87 T-shirt and blue jean shorts. She went into the kitchen and began making breakfast for her daughter, as was routine. Xiaofeng came to the preset table right on time and the two women ate together. Both of them were off to an early start. Xiaofeng grabbed the red helmet at her mother’s instruction and the two women were out the door.

  Qiu arrived at 87 at 6:56 am. It was Friday. She felt different about the room than in the evening. When she arrived evenings, the place was already busy; the noise was encouraging. But here was not busy. Here was desolate and the early morning sun was still somewhat silent. She was experiencing a beginning. Beginnings made her uneasy because of the uncertainty. Her marriage had a happy beginning, at least she was happy. But the happiness had turned on her. Most days she forgot she was still legally married, except one application. It had come in handy then. But that was an exception and not the rule. She was raising a man’s child without the man, which she had never wanted to do. But it didn’t start out that way; it just ended up that way. It had started with her feeling quite happy. Those feelings of happiness were deceptive and deep down she had always known she was being deceived, with no choice but to be happy while it was still beginning. This feeling had permeated the last thirteen years of her life. Beginnings made her nauseated because it was never an indication of how things would end up. And that’s how she started her day—nauseated.

  Mr. Nan had been right about the flow of customers during the day at 87; the place got steadily busy around lunchtime. He had also been right about the flow of cash; there were few big tippers at this time. Lunchtime at 87 operated as if invitation-only. And those invitations were sent to local Taiwanese businessmen, factory managers and bank personnel. They all took advantage of the American-inspired atmosphere at 87, to escape the island for an hour or so during midday. But unlike the food, the American tradition of tipping was somewhat slow to catch on. Qiu collected just under 100 Taiwan dollars for the entire lunch hour. She hoped things would pick up before she clocked out—they did a little. But the collection of tips didn’t predominate Qiu’s thoughts, increasing nausea did. No one mentioned her slightly off-hued shirt during the day, which helped because she didn’t have an explanation ready. As the day passed, Qiu grew unsteady on her feet. It wasn’t like feeling pain; it was like feeling her stomach itself. Everything her stomach did seemed to count toward more sensation. She could feel acid and mucus and blood, and then it was pins and needles. She looked up at the clock above the front door, most people never noticed it was there, but it kept good time. John Wayne stood behind the plastic cover with his hands on his hips and his face turned to a profile. The hands of the clock obscured his visage only slightly. The two hands of the clock decided the time was 1:38pm. Qiu focused on staying whole and looking busy for the next 22 minutes. After she clocked out, how she felt was her business.

  Qiu left 87 at 2:02pm, headed west on her Vespa. She had parked in the
front of the building—a new habit. She always thought that parking her Vespa in the front increased the likelihood of theft. The front of 87 faced the street and she couldn’t watch her Vespa while she worked. The back entrance had always seemed a more secure place for it. This had changed. Her speed stayed steady as she headed toward home. She began to feel bloated, like her stomach was expanding. Suddenly it felt as if her stomach imploded. She was riding on the side of the right lane making it easy to pull over quickly. She tapped the brake gently and the Vespa made a slight skid as it came to a stop. She didn’t turn the engine off. She didn’t have time. She dismounted the Vespa in one motion putting her right foot down on the pavement. Her left knee came over the seat and she balanced on one leg before collapsing on her hands and hip. Bracing herself with her hands, she bent forward and vomited on the sidewalk. She started dry heaves. She vomited a second time but thinner. She closed her eyes and thought of her hometown: the old store with pouches of tea; green hills and the trees of Qingshan Valley. When she opened her eyes, she felt the eyes on her. She had attracted a few bystanders.

  “Are you alright?” asked a man in his early forties reaching with one hand.

  Qiu looked straight up at him. She looked bewildered as she stretched her arm toward his hand. Grabbing Qiu’s hand the man repeated his question.

  “Yes, thank you,” was all Qiu could manage. She turned away from him as she settled on her feet and the man looked at her suspiciously. Qiu throttled the Vespa with its engine still running and was sent off in the direction of the pink brick building. She arrived in front of her building with a dazed expression on her face and feeling about herself. She parked the Vespa in a diagonal direction, preventing other scooters from lining up in a straight row. Usually she would have cared, this time she didn’t. She struggled to find the key to the big wooden door and became increasingly frustrated. She finally found it in deep in the left pocket of her blue jean shorts and opened the door. She tumbled her way through the dimly lit foyer and braced herself against the wall as she ascended the stairs to the first floor. She made sure she had her key ready when she arrived at the door to Unit 203. The door opened without any delay and she slammed the door behind her, as she darted to the bathroom. She began to run water from the faucet and splash it in her face. Her throat was burning so she swallowed some water as well.