"Hong Kong late at night," said Wu, "is very lonely."
Well past two in the morning, the promenade was all but deserted. A couple leaned
against the hip-high railings, clothes spotted with sweat, as it was the hottest
day of the year. Across the harbor, Hong Kong Island was an orgy of electricity
that refused to fade. Limbs intertwined, the hair on the back of their heads loosened
by the breeze, the lovers stared in that direction. Wu heard the man murmur: Still
lit even at this hour ...
He looked over at Fei, but was greeted with a woozy cloud of cigarette smoke.
The odor made him hunger for his own, but his empty pack had been crumpled and
discarded. With the strangled tissues and soda cans and newspapers, it was being
nudged by the wind toward land's end. Very slowly, the cancerous pile of trash
was growing.
He didn't like those city lights. They seemed independent of control, of life.
He preferred to watch the waves, the places where the lights dissolved into shivers
and undulations. The movement of the water sounded like the shush just prior to
comforting words.
"Lonely," he said again, experimenting with the weight of the word on
his tongue. No, not right. Quiet was better. Quiet in every positive sense, including
repose, contemplation. Ironic -- he had discovered this late-night charm only
now. Or maybe he had gained awareness because he knew he would soon be alone.
The first time in how long? Five years? It might as well have been ten thousand.
Fei's cigarette clung precariously at the corner of his mouth as he laughed. "Lonely?
Ha. That's right, Yi. Best way to look at it. You're not leaving much behind."
His hands ran over his sky-blue linen suit, smoothing out wrinkles.
"They're late," Wu said.
Fei snorted. His forehead and the tip of his nose were glazed with moisture. "Damn
mainlanders ... never on time."
Somewhere in the harbor, a horn bleated. A pleasure boat, Wu guessed, even as
he observed a long, fuzzy shape slump over the water. The couple pointed toward
it, and Wu overheard a few more words: Loud ... How much would ... ? ... You
want to ...? On the boat, a radio was suddenly turned on high, and the DJ's
voice smothered the couple's conversation. They detached themselves from the railing,
arms still around each other, and strolled on, in dreamy pursuit of the sound,
an almost childlike expectancy to their step.
Fei kicked at a Coke can. After a single bounce off the ground, it soared past
where the lovers had been, over the edge. "One more minute," he said.
"I'm giving them one --"
And then they were no longer alone. Three, maybe four others were upon them, silent
and running low to the ground, the upper halves of their bodies hard like stone.
Hands with knives descended. Wu wheeled back. Odd, the feeling of exposed skin
and night air, like balm -- his shirt had been sliced open. Out of necessity and
instinct he bulled forward, palms open for a mighty shove. He caught the attacker
in the hip, and as the thug tottered to the side he ran, even as Fei's breaths
rattled behind him: Quick, Wu! Four more came, but their hands were empty and
they gesticulated wildly, imploring them closer. His foot caught the crack between
paved stones, down to one knee, he threw his hands before his face, but the newcomers
hurtled past him, toward the first wave of attackers. The clinks of knives against
knives sounded like exquisite wine glasses meeting for a toast.
Fei's voice: "They're with us! Go, go, the car's here!"
The sedan idled on Salisbury Road, across from the Peninsula Hotel. The adrenaline
narrowed his vision as he ran for it. Everything -- car, hotel, road, night --
seemed a universe away from everything else. He crashed onto the empty back seat,
Fei's head was butting his leg. Both in. The tires announced flight with a screech.
"Damn! My fault. Should have known they'd be looking for me. If my guys had
arrived earlier ..." Fei took the driver to task for a few seconds, and Wu
only heard the bullying anger, none of the words. "Sorry to put you through
that," Fei continued. "You okay?"
"Yeah." Wu turned away and probed at the rip in his shirt. The cloth
was moist with something. In the intermittent light of the street lamps, he saw
darkness blotting his stomach. The cut wasn't deep, perhaps only a few centimeters,
but it ached in time with his heartbeat. It was nothing; he had seen worse, felt
much worse. He pressed his handkerchief to the wound, the linen covering it completely.
Fei drew a fresh cigarette from his pack with his teeth. A smattering of cars
floated alongside them, none at a threatening proximity. They all scintillated
with fresh wax jobs, like little toys. Businessmen returning home, Wu guessed,
or on the way to an assignation.
"You sure you're okay, Little Brother?" Fei said. They weren't related
in the slightest but Fei insisted on calling him that.
"Yeah. Forget about it." Wu bunched up his shirt and tucked it in tightly,
the handkerchief stayed in place underneath. The streetlamps continued to soar
overhead, and he stared at his hands -- pale, clawlike, pale, clawlike ...
"Are we on time?" he asked.
"Don't get nervous, Yi. We'll make it."
Fei was also the only one who called him Yi. Years before, shortly after arriving
in Hong Kong, he had been told that roughly translated to English, "Yi"
was the word for birds' wings. He immediately associated it with the pigeons in
Victoria Park -- fat and pathetic, unable to flutter airborne for more than a
few moments when passersby impinged. After a viewing of Errol Flynn's Robin Hood,
he had changed his first name to Richard. It sounded a bit like "richer,"
and he appreciated the double meaning.
He stroked the three-day bristle on his face. The stubble under his jowls and
nose pricked him, his cheeks and the sides of his mouth silky. "Should have
shaved for Ah-Pei," he thought aloud. Ah-Pei was Sally's real name, rarely
used. Saying it now was his way of pretending she was someone else, someone who
wouldn't be missed quite so much.
Fei laughed. "You think she'll even show?"
Wu didn't answer as they plunged into the Cross-Harbor Tunnel. The motor's enhanced
roar overwhelmed all other sensations out save the pinpoint light of Fei's cigarette
tip. It reminded Wu of Sally the day before, her own cigarette burning white as
she sucked in her breath. She was still foggy from lack of sleep and her T-shirt
spilled halfway down her legs, but she listened to every word he said as he stood
above her and she sat at a kitchen table with splinters for edges.
"America?" she said.
Wu dismissed their apartment with a sweeping hand: a mine field of rumpled cardboard
boxes, rags left in odd corners, stainless steel cooking utensils now lined neatly
on the table.
"What do we have here?" he said. "Just a little money, this damn
apartment -- not even big enough for a dog -- bad faucets, rats, nosy neighbors.
That's it. Unless we try somewhere new."
"You mean you." With a nervous motion she stabbed her cigarette into
an ashtray. "Fei suggested this, didn't he?"
He wrapped his hands about her thin fingers -- they were dry and cold. "Hong
Kong is dead for me. Without my own restaurant, there's nothing."
"There are other things. But you don't even try."
"I want to take you, but the money's not enough for both of us. You understand?
Fei will help you after I leave. It's temporary, only temporary. I promise I'll
bring you over when I can."
Her shoulders sank. "Richard," she murmured. "Chivalrous swordsman.
Find a helpless princess, do your best ... then set off for new territory."
"You're not a princess. You're my wife."
She brought her forearm up to her face. When she removed it her eyes were clear
but her cheeks had puffed up. "This is ridiculous. What's better about there
compared to here?"
He stared at her for agonized moments. That face of hers always hurt him; she
always seemed younger when she was upset.
"It's different," he said finally. "Maybe it's better. That's good
enough."
"Every time we move we lose something. We've moved three times in this city
and we've lost something each time." Her thumb and index finger teased out
gray strands from her hair. "See this? That's what I mean."
"Fei says the ship leaves tomorrow, three in the morning." He paused.
"This isn't just for me. If it works, we'll both --"
"You still feel responsible. Even a year later. That's why you're packing."
"I am responsible. I should have been with you."
"It wouldn't have mattered. Just fate."
"No."
"Fine. Call it what you want. Bad fengshui, bad luck. Go to America. I'll
wait for you, maybe do nothing for twenty years. You've already planned it out.
Go and don't talk to me again." She paused only to pull on a pair of his
pants, sweep up the pile of framed photographs on the shelf, her embroidered box
of jewelry and other valuables. Then the door banged shut, the bottom vibrating
with the aftershock.
---
The car hit a pothole and Fei's cigarette dove to the floor, right onto Wu's sandals.
"Eh," Fei muttered. He fumbled for the rolling, sparking stub, recovered
it, and stuffed it back in his mouth.
They had forsaken paved road, the skyscrapers now tattered warehouses, great spirals
of dust mystic about their windows, discarded pipes from construction work occasionally
weaving in and out of the headlights. Wu could smell the sea, but he still couldn't
see it. Maybe there isn't a sea, he thought. It's all my imagination, torn-up
bits of a city in progress. This is the point where I wake up.
Unexpectedly, the car jolted to a stop. Wu could see the dock just ahead, running
even with the shoreline, and then the headlights died. A solitary flashlight beam
pierced the windshield, blinked off and on three times, and retreated back over
gravel and warped wooden boards, showing the way.
"My friend. Snake," Fei said. "He owes me a few favors."
Wu exited slowly, his stomach throbbing again. Winds attacked him from unexpected
angles, and his skin tingled in response. No familiar landmarks to provide equilibrium,
only slits of brilliance where the light squeezed through the planks. The dark
was alive with creaks and rustles. Further out the clouds waited, suffused violet-pink
and too thick to rise from the sea.
Fei was already ahead of him and waving. Two figures, one holding the flashlight,
awaited them on the dock. Underneath the water gushed, sounding distant, as if
they were poised over a chasm. Snake was nodding to Fei as he caught up to them.
He was a gaunt man, almost nothing more than a clump of white hair, a face stitched
with deep cracks. "Hey," he said hoarsely to Wu. Sally was the other
person. The hood of her dark windbreaker had been drawn forward over her eyes.
"Sally! So you came after all." Fei thrust out a hand. Sally walked
past him to Wu. Fei pulled Snake to the side, and the flashlight snapped off,
allowing them their moment of privacy.
They talked in darkness, Wu's eyes slowly adjusting: first her eyes, watery yet
steady, then her cold, pale face. Worried that she would notice, he pressed his
hand over his stomach.
"You're still going," she said.
"Yes."
"You're going to freeze in those clothes." She said it in her brittle,
playfully scolding tone.
"You joking? It's the hottest day of the year."
"You have a blanket for the boat?"
"My things are already on board. You --" But her fingers were plucking
at his collar, massaging the wrinkles, brushing off imaginary lint.
"You better make sure you keep yourself neat when you're over there. Without
me, it's only you and a mirror."
"Okay."
Her hands tightened around the small of his back and she pressed against him,
the hood of her cold jacket tickling his neck, her cheek to his. His vision clouded
with physical pain and something else.
"I don't know why I came here," she growled. "But next time you
go somewhere, take me too."
"Of course," he murmured. He pulled her hood back and kissed her forehead.
The skin was wrinkled with tension. "Hey, hey," he laughed softly. "We
should be more worried about you." He felt as if he might vomit at any moment.
"Be quiet," she whispered. Their lips touched for a moment and then
she released him. "Call when you get there."
A few feet away, Fei struck a match, and there was no mistaking the impatience
in the sound. Sally's eyes went blank as he spoke: "Okay, Little Brother.
I've arranged the transfer in Panama. Whatever you want on board, ask Captain
Fong." He gestured towards Snake. "He'll take you out in the motorboat.
Good luck."
Wu nodded and turned back to Sally, but she was looking down and away from him.
Yes, he thought. We already said goodbye.
He and Fei exchanged a quick embrace. "See you over there," Fei said.
"Quick, get going."
"Thank you again for this," Wu said.
"No, don't even say it. I'll never be able to --" He waved dismissively.
"Safe journey."
Wu followed Snake down a rusted stepladder which flaked at his touch. At the bottom,
a thin channel of water sloshed between the dock and the boat's prow. "Watch
yourself," Snake said tonelessly, then jumped. Wu's cautious leap placed
him square on the boat. It was a small launch, dented but functional. They rose
and fell with the tide and Wu fought to adjust to the motion. A puddle in the
center of the deck rocked and expanded its boundaries with every roll of the waves.
He looked up one last time. Fei gave him a thumbs-up. Sally was gone, or perhaps
hidden behind him.
The motor sputtered to life; the boat's lights scored the mini-crests of the green
waves in front of them. Slowly they moved away. The need to pretend gone, Wu groaned
in pain, spray burdening his face, and stretched out flat, the back of his head
rubbing against the side of the boat. The handkerchief was damp with sweat and
blood. I'll get medical attention on the freighter, he thought. After we're gone,
after we're on our way.
"First time to America?" Snake asked. His voice was scratchy and strained
above the motor's roar. If he had noticed Wu's injury, he wasn't letting it on.
This is probably typical for him, Wu thought.
"Yes."
"Relax. I've brought a lot of people over."
"You mean -- smuggling --?"
He nodded gravely. "My job. You're lucky. This freighter is first class.
A smooth trip over. The trip is the hardest part." He smiled, exposing crooked
teeth. "Once you're there, you're okay."
Cruise ships and trawlers were anchored for the night, unmoved by the tides, and
their steadiness reduced the waves to barely imagined shadows as the motorboat
changed course for the open sea. Wu turned to look back once again, but the dock
was gone, hidden behind the withered frame of a sampan whose sails were down.
Soon even that soon faded into shadow as the motor of the launch spewed smoke
and water behind them. Seasickness overtook him and he leaned over the side to
throw up. Mouth clenched open, insides churning, he saw the gathered skyscrapers
of Hong Kong Island, their lights only slightly stronger than stars.