My job was sanitizing war for the public. Did one of the scout ships record a scene that was too bloody? I brought out my digital brushstrokes so that limbs could be replaced real-time, scars mended, and disasters contained. Constant warfare made the fickle weather even moodier, especially with all those atomic bombs going off. Gasoline got replaced by electricity, everyone forgot about the Middle East, and flight technology advanced to the point where flights from Los Angeles to Beijing took two hours minus the three-hour security checks.
After the African Wars ended, many of us wondered what we should do next. I took to making films with a fellow grunt, Larry Chao. He nearly got discharged from the army twenty times because he was always running off “in love” with some new girl he swore was “the One.” He wasn’t especially handsome, but had a jovial grin that made everyone feel welcome in his presence. Between his indefatigable exuberance and his easygoing nature inspired by an early bout of mutated typhoid that nearly killed him, his charm more than made up for his plump nose, small eyes, and fat lips. He had a suite of women who worshipped him. For my part, I never thought our lives would become so intertwined, our names would be synonymous with each other.
As only humans were affected by the malaise (animals still grew fur and hair), wig factories were booming. Larry inherited a wig factory from his father who died of stomach cancer after eating too many Sichuan spices. The factory (or factories, as there were about thirty located throughout China) were raking in the dough. Larry was super rich and after I found out, I asked him why he joined the army when he didn’t need to.
“I got bored and wanted to try something different,” he said, and that was the only explanation he offered.
Instead of reinvesting his fortunes, Larry wasted it making pointless movies throughout China about tragically dumb characters. I, Nicholas Guan, became the cinematographer for many of his films, a bald 36-year-old half-Korean half-Chinese guy born and raised in America whose job was photographing — or beautifying — baldness.
My latest film with Larry was about a crazy filmmaker who wanted to save the rats of his city from extinction. He called it Rodenticide and it was full of pathos and pathetic soliloquies masquerading as drama. There was more than his usual spew of nonsense about age and life which the Beijing actors loved. Larry was 39 and I realized his age was bugging him. Maybe he’d hoped for more success with his films by now. I probably should have paid more attention, but you know how it is with anyone close to you — you never notice until it’s too late.
I passed off his doubts as Larry being his usual idiot self, especially when it came to women. You can’t blame a guy for chasing a girl he loves. Fortunately, the two of us had completely different tastes. He liked tall, lanky women with gazelle legs and I liked chubbier girls with cute faces and puffy cheeks. It was easy for us to become good friends. Or at least wingmen for each other.
When he invited me out for another night on the town at his favorite Korean restaurant in Beijing, I heartily agreed. I felt like a good BBQ, even though I’d been gaining way too much weight of late (I promised myself not to check my weight every morning even though it was the same as the day before).
“Nick!” Larry had yelled into the phone when he called me. “I need you. I’ve been dating this girl for two weeks and she has a co-worker she insists on taking out so I need your help. Oh, and don’t tell anyone this yet, but I think I’m in love. I kid you not, I think she’s the One.”
Of course.
1. From Pyongyang with Love
I.
She was too skinny. Yes, she was tall with lean legs and a pretty face, but her nose had that elongated stoop that made it resemble a horse’s nose at certain angles. Plus, she wore way too much perfume. There was a disdainful look about her, dismissing me with a glance. She was one of our waitresses and her name was Shinjee. She wore a short black wig that she’d tied up in two buns above her head to resemble pictures in Korean history books of what women looked like. I thought it was antiquated and quaint. Larry thought it was “classic.”
He was in a festive mood and ordered all kinds of meat; pork, beef, chicken. He asked if I wanted lamb but I told him my conscience wouldn’t allow it, thinking of a neighbor’s sheep I used to play with when I was a kid. The restaurant was spacious with three floors, bedecked in Korean architecture and cooking grills where we could cook our food. A central courtyard hosted hourly performances on weekend evenings. The place was bustling with activity, the crackle of burning beef and drunk customers making it hard to hear myself. Our black marble table was replete with small banchan, side dishes that were Korean versions of tapas. The meat and garlic mushrooms smelled incredible, steam from both mixing in with the pungent scent of the spicy soups.
Larry had on his nicest fedora. He always wore fedoras. Not the kind from old noir films, but glowing ones that were red, dapper, and scintillating in colors. If those mystery flicks made icons out of trench-coated detectives, Larry represented the iridescent director solving the conundrum of life through bizarre fashion statements.
“Have you heard of live monkeys with their scalps cut off so their brains can be eaten fresh in the Sichuan area?” he asked.
“I think I saw something like that in Faces of Death,” I muttered back.
Larry was right. The waitresses were stunningly beautiful in their traditional Korean costumes and they were friendly too, pouring us drinks and making sure our meat was well-cooked while laughing at our dumb jokes. We downed several beers and Larry whispered to me, “Be careful what you say. These girls are North Korean spies.”
“What?”
He nodded and gave me a knowing nudge. “Everything we talk about could be reported to the North Korean high command.”
“You’re joking right?”
Larry’s face was red from drink and he shook his head. “Haven’t you heard of the Asian beauty trap? Don’t be surprised if our whole conversation is recorded.”
I couldn’t tell if he was serious or pushing my buttons. North Korea had been the most isolated country in the world for over a hundred years and it seemed that would continue another century. There had been rumors of ex-soldiers in China being kidnapped by the North Koreans to be indentured into a life of servitude. The kimchee and the garlic broccoli stuck in my throat. The demure gestures from the waitresses seemed sinister and furtive glances in the direction of their management felt ominous. Larry and I had served in the UN Peacekeeping forces, but that’d been almost a decade ago and we didn’t have any information now. The food didn’t taste quite as good and I checked if the alcohol had been tampered with. One of the waitresses said to me, “You should visit North Korea. It’s very beautiful there.”
When I hesitated with an answer, Larry replied, “We would love to.”
After they stepped away to perform a cultural dance for the patrons, I asked, “Are they really spies?”
Larry chugged down his beer. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I don’t want them to report me.”
He laughed and said, “I forgot to mention that in Sichuan, they’re only interested in the big monkeys.”
“The girl you like—”
“Love,” he corrected me.
“Is she—?”
He nodded. “Our job is to convince her to leave.”
“To leave North Korea?”
“Yeah. We can swing it, can’t we?”
“They’re indoctrinated with super-advanced machinery so that normal persuasion techniques don’t work. More likely, she’ll convince us to join them.”