©dross2017
Luc rides through the gates into his apartment complex – parks his with the rest of them. Sees the bike-stand-man on a stool cleaning vegetables. Not four feet away his three year old grandson plays with a rusty hack saw blade. The toddler waves it around – pretends it’s a gun – accidentally scratches his face under his right eye. The toddler’s eyes widen and he squeals with surprise as he sees the blood his wound produces. His grandpa shakes the greens in his hand at him and calls him stupid.
The grandpa/bike-stand-man is from the countryside. He’s mostly bald and has buck teeth and keeps the bike stand very tidy – June’s heard him say he’s happy to have the work. All the neighbors know The Stand Man gets four hundred RMB a month to manage the bike stand and collect fees for re-charging batteries. He gets two small rooms and use of a bathroom which others can use too. He cooks outside at the end of the covered stand with a propane fueled hot plate on a make shift table. He earns extra money by cleaning bikes for a couple RMB a pop and renting out one of his two rooms for mahjong players. To do so he emptied the room of furniture – he piled it at the back of the bike stand and covered it with an old sheet of plastic. For the mahjong service he supplies the room, the table and chairs and a mahjong set. Players bring their own tea – they’re all older people in the compound – low stakes gambling. It’s a popular place – they’ve dubbed the room The Old Folks Club with chalk writing slanting upwards on the door’s faded and peeling red paint.
Luc passes The Stand Man cursing his grandson and walks to his stairwell. He goes up.
June’s still at the computer with a coffee. Luc hears her talking with a friend who works at a big state owned company. She sees Luc and the call ends. Before she asks he says, “She was rejected.”
She looks at him, pauses. “That’s too bad. But that happens sometimes. Will you try to put her through again?”
“Yeah, for sure. Zhang Ke Xi said there was a woman who had a big argument with the visa officer just before her interview. Who knows… Maybe that influenced him.”
“Can you make some more coffee?” June asks with a big smile – she claims she can’t make it like him.
Into the kitchen to fix the stove top coffee maker – Luc’s drained of energy. On mornings with clients going in he’s charged with adrenaline and it’s exhausting to see a failure. He puts the pot on a burner and calls Jason.
“She was rejected.”
“What? Really? Why?”
“There’s no specific reason. The officer gave her a letter which says she doesn’t have enough binding ties to China in order to be issued a visitor’s visa. It’s called 214-b, the excuse they always give applicants they think are runners. By American law they’re required to be prejudiced and assume anybody who wants a visitor’s visa is a potential undeclared immigrant. It’s up to the applicant to prove he or she isn’t.”
“That’s fucked up.”
It goes through Luc’s head that if it wasn’t that way he wouldn’t make the coin he does. “Well that’s the way it is. But I’ll try and put her through again. I’ll make an appointment for her this afternoon and take the first one available.”
“If she was rejected what’s the likelihood she’ll get a visa next time she tries?”
“She still has a chance. Look, I’m really tired. We’ll meet tonight at The Smash and I’ll tell you about it, ok?”
“Ok.”
“When do you get off classes today?”
“My last class finishes at six thirty.”
“So we can meet at The Smash at what… seven thirty or so?”
“Ok.”
The coffee’s done and Luc makes a cup for June – tells her he’s going to lay down for awhile. Tries to sleep but just rolls around for half an hour – thinking. Gets up before noon – goes to pick up their daughter for lunch. He bikes to Liz’s elementary school and waits across the street from the gate. It’s a pleasant street in warmer months – a lane and a half lined with trees, not much traffic.
Music starts blasting out of the school’s P.A. system – it signals lunch time. It’s a Communist Party martial tune called We Are the Heirs of Communism.
We are the heirs of communism
Inheriting glorious traditions of the revolutionary forerunners
Loving the motherland, loving its people
With the crimson red scarves fluttering on our chests
We do not fear difficulties, nor do we fear enemies
Studying hard and struggling with resolve
Courageously advance towards victory
Courageously advance towards victory
Courageously advancing towards victory
We are the heirs of communism
We are the heirs of communism
Following the glorious path of the revolutionary forerunners
Loving the motherland, loving its people
With 'Young Pioneer' being our proud name
Ever be prepared to achieve feats
We are going to annihilate enemies
Courageously advance for our ideals
Courageously advance for our ideals
Courageously advancing for our ideals
We are the heirs of communism
The school’s gate guards rope off the street in front of the entrance and place blue pylons along the ropes. Bikes and pedi-cabs can flip the ropes up and over and pass but cars aren’t supposed to. Parents and other minders form small clusters along the edge of the road and the ropes – folks wait for their precious one.
Luc says hello to one of the grandmothers he’s spoken with before. She’s knits while she waits – always knits, doesn’t matter the season. Her needles a blur – she smiles at Luc. “The news says there’s a lot of snow this winter.” She looks at her knitting. “Not much around here.” She horks up an oyster, turns her head and spits – her small gold ear rings dangle. “It’s probably going to be a bad year.” She nods her head – knitting needles clack clack clacking.
The classes start to roll out – each class has a standard marked with grade and class number which the kids march behind – the kids take turns carrying it leading their class. As they approach the gate and are about to be dismissed the leader shouts Goodbye Teachers – the class loudly repeats it. Sometimes Liz complains about this – she’s not a marcher.
Her class comes out. There’re only a dozen kids who exit the gate with Liz – the others stay at school for lunch. Her class has fifty four students and a ranking system – best to worst. Each student knows exactly where he or she rates in comparison with others, in each subject and cumulatively. Every class in the school has this posted on a wall.
“Did you have a good morning Liz?”
“Yes.”
They return home.
“A boy poo-ed his pants during the math test this morning and it stunk up the whole class room.”
“Was it the same boy as last time Liz?”
“No, a different boy this time.”
Lunch finishes and Liz does a little homework before afternoon classes. Then they go – Luc drops her off at school and bikes to an office not far from the U.S. Consulate to make another appointment. On the way he has to stop – a fast moving convoy of security vehicles pass – the People’s Armed Police (PAP). He watches – there’re at least ten white and blue beefed-up vans – some have bubble turrets on top with mounted cameras inside. Luc has seen them before – more common over the past few years. From the lead vehicle’s loud speaker orders are barked at cars on the road to move out of the way. All obey.
Luc arrives in the consulates’ neighborhood. In it there’re small offices which provide services for locals applying for visas to different countries. They help fill out forms, make appointments and take standardized pictures. Luc talks with some of the people he knows who run an office – asks them how things went this morning. ‘So so with some surprise rejections’. He makes another appointment for Zhang Ke Xi – next slot available is just before Spring Festival. Pays and gets an appointment slip. Returns home on his bike.
On the way he sees the remains of a traffic accident. It’s on a busy four lane road at a pedestrian crossing. There’re lights to manage traffic and people, but these are often ignored by locals – from what Luc’s seen, crossing lights serve as general indicators when some times are less risky than others.
Pinned underneath a black four door Buick is a partially mangled scooter. A few meters in front there’s a crumpled body laying on the road with blood coming from the head and limbs askew – must’ve just happened. Luc waits for the light to turn green but already a small crowd has gathered on the road. Nobody’s touching the injured man. Traffic passes by – drivers slow down for a glance.
A traffic cop arrives on his motorcycle. He honks through the crowd and looks at the injured man on the road – eyes do a double take. Parks his motorcycle by the Buick. He gets off and talks on his radio.
Luc crosses – listens to comments as he passes the crowd. “He isn’t dead!” – “Look at the blood coming from his head!” – “This’ll be expensive for the driver.” – “It’s cheaper if they die.” Part of the man’s hand is scraped and skinned – has a glistening red underside – curious, he looks at it. A small child presses close to his mother – looks and then looks away and then looks again. “He’s twitching!” Folks point – strange laughter ripples through the crowd.
Laying on the road the multitude gaze at him. Dazed – the man seems to stare back. Not a soul among his brethren to comfort him. How about you Luc – no, you’ve gone down that road before.
Luc reaches the other side. Pedestrians and cyclists who started with him have stayed at the scene to watch the drama – somebody else’s fate. More than fifty people just stand around gawking and talking. Traffic’s mostly blocked. No sign of an ambulance and the cop’s impossible to see as is the injured man on the road deep within the gathering numbers.
Luc bikes to his gate and passes through – parks in the stand. The little grandson’s now bandaged and playing with some vegetables – the hack saw blade lays discarded on the cement pad. Mahjong tiles clack and talk about bets come out of The Old Folks Club – the afternoon’s gambling underway.
Back upstairs Luc phones Q.Y. and then Zhang Ke Xi – tells them about the next appointment. He arranges to meet Zhang Ke Xi the following week at a tea house they’ve met at before.
The rest of the afternoon passes quietly – Luc makes some pasta dough and sauce for dinner – reads – has a snooze. June goes to pick up Liz and returns. Luc rolls out the dough and cuts it – opens a bottle of red.
Over dinner June talks about the state owned company where she works (her work unit) – it’s planned an outing to some winter park. “We’ll get bussed there so nobody will be able to leave when they want to. Then we’ll have to listen to the communist leaders’ speeches before we get lunch. During the afternoon we’ll play cards or mahjong and people playing at any leader’s table will be sure to lose. I’m not interested in losing money to leaders to make them happy. Drink tea and eat pumpkin seeds talking about nothing. Listen to another leader’s speech. Then get bussed back. I don’t want to go. The leaders’ speeches... When they talk it sounds like farting. ”
“We know your leaders want everybody to go but you decide June.” Luc doesn’t know what else to say – June’s never happy talking about her work unit.
She frowns. “Of course the leaders want everyone to go, in fact they expect it. It gives them another opportunity to tell us about the Leadership of the Party and how happy everyone is. They’ll talk about the great theoretical achievements of The Party, building the socialist market economy and how harmonious society is. Predictable rubbish, always spouting nonsense! What does their leadership do any ways, just pass one problem to another like a prickly thistle no one wants to hold. They’ll probably talk about the Olympics too. There’s nothing those Communist Party leaders won’t bullshit about.”
“Well take the MP3 and relax as best you can. Wear a scarf around your neck and put the ear phones in. Watch what the others do and smile and clap when you need to.”
Dinner finishes. Luc corks the red – tells June he’s going out to meet with Jason. Liz gives her dad a hug and goes to do her homework. Luc puts his boots on. As he’s leaving June tells him not to drink too much. He goes down the stairwell, through the gate – turns left. The street’s busy – plenty of traffic and folks out walking. He stops at a famous alcohol and cigarettes store – buys a pack of Red Tower.
The nearest intersection is teeming with people. On the corner folks look down the road for vacant taxis – two groups argue over one – so Luc doesn’t even bother trying to flag a hack. The Smash is in the next district not far away and he hails a pedi-cab. His lucky draw is the same one armed man who’s taken him around before. He works the neighborhood all the time. His half arm’s been cut off just below the elbow – when he’s got a cigarette going his stub keeps the bike handles in the right direction.
Luc offers him a cig, lights it – tells him where he’s going. One Arm has taken him there before and they don’t haggle price. He gets in. One Arm’s pedi-cab has a comfortable seat – thick soft fabric covers it so it’s not so cold when you sit. One Arm starts to roll down the plastic sheeting to shield out the weather. Luc tells him not to bother – he’d rather keep an eye on traffic.
“How’s business?”
“Tonight’s really good. Lots of people outside playing. My wife knows I’ll be out late.”
Luc’s never heard One Arm speak about his wife before. He leans forward in the seat so he’s closer. “How long have you been married for?”
“More than fifteen years now.”
“Have a child?”
“A boy. Fifteen years old. He studies English at school.”
“How’s his English?”
“He works hard at it. My wife and I can’t help him.” He laughs. “We don’t know your talk. He’s listens to English language tapes. He’s better at math.”
“Hey, I’ve always wanted to ask, how did you lose your arm?”
“An accident at work five years ago.”
“Did you get money for it?”
“Haha, the factory I worked at was pressuring me to take a lump sum rather than monthly payments for several years. While we were negotiating they paid for all medical expenses. They were pressuring us every day with phone calls and visits so at last my wife and I decided to take a lump sum because you never know how long monthly payments will last, their promises don’t matter. The company wouldn’t budge from forty thousand RMB. Forty thousand RMB for more than ten years’ work and half a right arm. And then before paying they deducted some of the medical expenses, Japanese bastards!”
“Does the government give you any money?”
“Of course not. It’s not their problem. The government! Ha! The communist party…” One Arm shakes his head. “Mother’s cunt… What’s it ever done for people like me? I lost my right arm at work and that’s nobody else’s business. Anyways, the company belongs to Party people. At last I took what they gave me without any more arguing. I have no relationships. What else can a person like me do? A little man cannot stand against the power of a king. I was a worker who had some bad luck. Since then I ride a pedi-cab.”
“How does that go?”
“Morning until lunch time is usually good business. I take a break during the afternoons. I go out again just before dinner and stay out as long as I’m making money. It’s safer at nights because the police don’t bother us. But lately we’ve been having problems because the city wants to get rid of us before the Olympics.” One Arm mentions another Civilize the City Campaign – pedi-cabs and unlicensed vendors are being run off the streets.
“Your wife works?”
“Yes, she has a job with a cleaning service. We do ok but lately it seems things are getting more expensive by the week.”
The pedi-cab arrives at The Smash. Luc gives him a ten and tells him not to bother looking for change. He walks through the door to a short backed stool on the corner of the U-shaped bar. The bartender says, “Cold Heineken?” It’s the only English Luc’s ever heard him speak.
“Two bottles thanks.”
Week night – The Smash isn’t busy. Luc’s eyes go over the patrons – a few small groups of young people spending cash on looking good – a pack of older boisterous men, office workers, stand on the other side of the bar. The bartender serves Luc. The soulful Tibetan music contrasts with the small T.V. hanging from the ceiling at the end of the bar. Its volume off, some legal show on – tonight’s case a family squabble. Luc takes turns watching the T.V. and the patrons.
A young buck sits two seats away from Luc. He sips his beer and then warm water from a cup he keeps his hands around – wears a light green embroidered cowboy shirt. His eyes go from Luc, to the bartender, to Luc and then to the T.V. Lights a cig – plays with the lighter – reaches for his cell. Cowboy Shirt makes a call – uses a cool and relaxed tone of voice – reminds the other end on how to get to The Smash – sounds like somebody’s late, making him wait.
The seven o’clock news comes on – a predictable half hour. The first ten minutes Communist Party leaders look productive attending meetings and visiting factories and farms. The next ten minutes show how happy the Chinese people are. The last ten minutes cover how shitty things are in the rest of the world. Luc’s local friends say it’s a type of variety show.
He finishes his cigarette – the bartender offers him one of his – lights it. Remarks he hasn’t seen him for a while. “Been busy. I’m waiting for a friend tonight. You’ve seen him before.” A service person walks in with a tray full of turkey wings and sticks of grilled vegetables – looks at the bartender who points at a table. The Tray passes through. The bartender and Luc talk and watch the Party’s ten plus ten plus ten. On the screen Communist Leader #1 speaks and all around him listen attentively.
A young woman walks up to the bar and asks for dice and a plastic cup to play a drinking game. At her table are three others with a bottle of Jim Beam and a few cokes. The bartender asks if she wants another glass for penalties – she takes it.
The Cowboy Shirt looks at his watch – another large piece of technology. Then the door opens and a chill goes through the place as a woman walks in. Her black leather pants have a sheen where the light catches them. The bartender smiles at her. She takes off her black leather coat and seats herself at the end of the bar. She looks at The Cowboy Shirt and Luc. Nothing is said between her and the bartender but he takes from a cabinet a bottle of Johnny Walker and puts it in front of her with a glass.
Hair feathered like she’s just stepped out of the Eighties – she crosses her legs and a black velvet high heel sticks out. She works her cell with her left as her right pours a straight one and then taps a cigarette out of her pack. She lights it – drags on it – downs half her drink and re-tops it. She smokes and talks coarsely on her cell while looking at the older men across the bar.
Luc starts his second and watches Communist Leader Hu Jin Tao visit Peasant Zhang Ji Chao – they’re making like they’re old friends. The Tibetan music has been dropped for something French.
The men across the U-bar are getting louder. Office ID tags on red ribbons are strung around their necks. Voices compete for supremacy. They’re on a wine and coke mix – likely after a business dinner full of bai jiu. Their mix sits on the bar in a glass pitcher – lemon slices float on top – two bottles of Great Wall Red stand on the bar like trophies. They look out of place here.
Luc watches the T.V. and again feels cold coming from the doorway behind him. The Cowboy Shirt quickly pops open a couple of snaps revealing a thick gold chain slung around his neck – his Appointment has just walked in. Luc doesn’t turn around – he watches The Cowboy Shirt’s eyes follow his Appointment into the bar. Luc’s eyes wander back to the T.V. and the Party’s portrayal of happy Chinese people.
The Appointment says loudly, “I didn’t know foreigners would be at this bar.” By the way she speaks she doesn’t sound like a local. The Cowboy Shirt’s face drops for just a second – he glances at Luc. The bartender looks at The Appointment. She passes Luc and takes off her fake Narth Face jacket to reveal a yellow blouse. She wears tight faded jeans – embroidered in multi-colored plastic studs in a curve over her backend is Juicy. She sits Juicy on a bar stool.
The bartender and Luc talk some more.
Now the drunk office workers have noticed the foreigner and are trying to get his attention – their very Chinese sounding hellos are more than politely ignorable.
“Come and drink with us!” One says across the bar.
Luc looks at the bartender for help – he tells the group the foreigner is waiting for a friend.
The local men talk about Luc as if they’re scientists and he a lab specimen. “He looks American.” – “Probably about forty but he looks healthy.” They laugh. “He must be American.” They ask the bartender if the foreigner can speak Chinese.
Luc tells them his friend will arrive soon and doesn’t speak Chinese.
“You’re Chinese is so good! Come and drink with us!” They laugh and then mumble among themselves. One tells the bartender to get the foreigner to drink with them – it’s an issue now. Somebody in the group is ordered to go fetch the foreigner.
Resigned to his fate – the chosen one puts his drink down and walks past his co-workers and around the bar. He delivers himself in front of Luc. His body isn’t straight. A couple pens are clipped into his shirt pocket. He holds out his hand for Luc to shake – it’s soft. “Heloo. My nam is Mitir. Zeng.” Soft spoken too. The others snigger over Mr. Zeng’s English. He looks at the bartender and asks if the foreigner really can speak Chinese. “Me and my comrades invite you to drink.” His belly stresses his shirt’s buttons – he leans heavily on the bar – it looks like he’s on his last legs.
The Appointment shifts her barstool away from Luc and Mr. Zeng and closer to The Cowboy Shirt. Voyeurs – they take sidelong glances as the scene unfolds. Black Velvet drinks, smokes and watches too.
“Hello Mr. Zeng, my name is Lu Ke.” Luc smiles and offers Mr. Zeng a cigarette.
“You smoke Red Tower. Why don’t you try one of mine?” He smiles and fumbles for his cigs. Luc takes one from the slowly meandering pack of expensive Zhong Hua. Mr. Zeng offers the bartender one too. He tries to light Luc’s but his lighter doesn’t work – his co-workers laugh some more. The bartender comes to the rescue and sparks them.
“Why don’t you drink with us for a while. We have a foreigner in our office but he can’t speak Chinese. He’s old. He’s German. He’s our general manager and we can’t even talk with him. He doesn’t know us even though we’ve worked together for more than five years.”
Mr. Zeng’s pitch bends Luc. They wander over to the group – successful, one pats Zeng’s back.
“You guys were drinking baijiu before you came here.”
They all laugh and say yes.
“Why don’t you try our drink?” Offers one of them with a pock marked face – his fat hand points at the Great Wall Red and Coke mix – his other fat hand clutches his glass like a squirming victim.
“That’s a Li Peng cocktail?”
“Ha ha ha ha, you’re very funny.”
“I’ll just stick to beer.”
“Bartender! More beer for our foreign friend! Four bottles!”
“Four seasons each bountiful!” Luc quotes a Chinese saying.
“Ha ha ha. You even know that. This foreigner is great! Drink alcohol! Drain the glasses!” Sounds like a command – Luc takes Fat Hands as the group’s alpha male. Glasses are raised. Luc pours beer down his throat. The boys down their Li Peng cocktail. Mr. Zeng looks uncomfortable – like he’s being forced to drink oil. Fat Hands tells him to finish his glass – low man on the totem pole – Luc feels sorry for him.
Fat Hands announces, “You should come and work at our office, replace our German manager. He doesn’t really manage things. He’s just interface with the head office.”
Luc looks at Fat Hands – wonders what he’s like when Boss Wolfgang is beside him. “So you’re celebrating a contract tonight?”
“Yes!” Fat Hands and his boys all chortle and exchange knowing looks. “Let’s down another glass! Drink alcohol, drink alcohol!” Fat Hands commands – all obey.
The bar door opens again, a chill goes through, another comes in. Luc turns around and sees Jason taking the barstool he just had. A couple of the boys talk about the new foreigner – they say he has a long face. Jason looks at Luc and the group – he stays put.
“That’s my friend who’s just come in.”
“Your friend must come and drink with us.”
Ignore his demanding tone Luc – be polite. “It’s not convenient, another time, we both come here often.”
