All righty, then.
Inside, it’s light and airy and smells like sawdust. The walls and floors are mostly blond wood, with one end framed in painted white wallboard. An exhibition space, I figure. On the other end, one of the Chinese guys is working on a wooden staircase to the second floor. And back in the corner, there’s a slight white guy crouched by a workbench, bolting some piece of electronic equipment onto a shelf built into the wall. He straightens up, retrieves an electric drill from the workbench.
Interesting thing about Russell. He’s limping. As I hobble closer, I see that he has a bandage wrapped around his right hand.
“Hey, Russell,” I say. “Can I talk to you a sec?”
He looks up. He’s got sandy brown hair, already receding, a bony face, a prominent Adam’s apple. Which bobbles up and down as he gets a look at me.
He doesn’t say a word. He drops the drill and bolts, pushes past me and heads for the exit.
I don’t say anything either. I take off after him.
Okay, I’m pretty stupid. Here’s a guy I’m reasonably sure attacked me, I don’t have any weapons, and it’s not like I’m some kind of action hero.
On the other hand, he’s freaked out enough by me to run, which feels oddly cool.
I get to the double doors, see him fleeing back the way I came. “Hey!” I call out. “Hey, I just want-”
He keeps running.
I head for my bike, passing the European woman, who hasn’t moved and doesn’t bother to. Just sits there, smoking her cigarette.
“Nice meeting you, too,” I mutter. I haul my sore ass up onto the bike seat and start pedaling.
Russell has a pretty good head start on me, and I’m not that fast on a bike. But he has bruised balls and a bad foot, and maybe he’s one of those Westerners who come to China and think it’s so cool that you can smoke anywhere you feel like it, because he’s in crappy shape and it doesn’t take long for him to tire. We’re on the path going through the pass that leads back to the Ancient Village, and if he had any sense, he’d run off the road, because even with a mountain bike I’m not going to be able to follow him if he hoofs it up the hill. But he’s not thinking clearly, I guess, because he just runs on the path like it’s a train track and he can’t get off it.
When I’m almost on top of him, we pull a hard left out of the pass and into the next patch of rice paddies and farms, and all of a sudden there’s this peasant girl wearing a T-shirt that says TOO SEXY! outlined in rhinestones, driving two of those cow/water-buffalo things, a gigantic one and a half-grown version. And the baby one sees the two of us hauling ass in its direction and just loses its shit and charges at us.
“Fuck!” I yell, swerving around it, barely keeping my balance.
Russell isn’t so lucky. I think my front wheel clips his heel, but even if it doesn’t, he’s already windmilling his arms, stumbling forward as though he’s going to take off into the air like some awkward fledgling bird.
Instead he does a header off the path, crying out in a shriek of pain as he lands hard in the ditch.
I hop off my bike, letting it fall on the side of the road.
“Oh, sorry!” the girl says, her hand to her mouth. “So sorry!”
“Not your fault,” I say in Chinese.
Russell rolls over onto his back, pulls one leg to his chest, moaning.
“Can I help?” the girl asks, whipping out what I’m pretty sure is a shanzhai iPhone, a counterfeit.
“Mei wenti,” I assure her. “Your xiaoniu is running away.”
“Aiya!” And she hustles down the path, trying to catch up to her calf.
Meanwhile the big cow stands in the middle of the road staring at me with its placid brown eyes.
“Hey,” I say to Russell, who still lies flat on his back, pressing his thigh into his chest. “You okay?”
“What the fuck do you care?” he says between clenched teeth.
“Hello? You’re the one who attacked me. What the fuck’s your problem anyway?”
I scoot down into the ditch next to him. He backs up to get away from me, his shoulders pushing into the dirt and gravel. But aside from whatever’s going on with his leg, he’s holding his left arm against his chest, like he’s splinting it, and as I get closer, I see that his wrist has already started to swell.
“Get the fuck away from me!”
“Fine.” I shrug. “You wanna lie in the ditch with the cow, go for it. Seriously, does your paranoia go to eleven? If this is because I was asking questions about… about David-”
“He said they’d send people,” he spits.
“Who’s ‘they’?”
His face twists. “You think I’m stupid?”
Well, yeah, but I’m not going to say that.
“Look, the only ‘they’ who sent me is David’s family. They’re worried about him.”
That’s when he reaches behind his hip with his good hand. I back away. Especially when I see that he’s reached for a knife. It may be a cheap Chinese knockoff of a Ka-Bar that he fumbles out of its sheath, but it looks sharp enough to do some damage.
I lift my hands. “Okay. Whatever.” I scramble up to the road. “Because, unlike you, I’m not a crazy psycho, I’ll let someone know you’re here.”
I pedal back to the Ancient Village Artist Retreat.
When I get there, I turn in the bike to the same Chinese guy who kitted it out for me. “Hao wan?” he asks with a grin. Good time?
“Hen hao wanr.” Yeah, dude, it was really fun. If you have a weird definition of fun.
I limp into the reception area. I seriously need a beer.
Sitting at the desk is a Chinese woman who looks even younger than Heather. Slight and short, with big eyes and straight hair that cups her chin. She looks like a freakin’ elf. Or an anime character. She puts an English textbook facedown on the counter as I approach.
“Ni hao. Are you Alice?” I ask.
She nods. “Yes, Alice.”
“So I was visiting the art space, and this guy, I think his name is Russell? Do you know him?”
“Yes, Russell.” The way she says his name, I can’t tell what she thinks about him.
“Well, he had an accident on the road back there.”
“Accident?”
“Yeah. He… ran into a cow. I mean, he’s not hurt badly or anything, he just can’t walk very well. So I told him I’d let someone know.”
“Okay. Okay, thank you. Thank you very much.” She manages a polite smile before she picks up a cell phone.
“When you’re done, can I talk to you?” I point toward one of the wooden tables they have set up for indoor dining. “I’ll just be over there having a beer.”
By the time she comes over, I’ve drunk half my Liquan and am already thinking about the next one. It goes down like water. Delicious, beer-flavored water.
There’s a couple of guests sitting at the tables, checking email on their laptops, drinking coffee. I’ve found a seat in the corner, away from the others, so it’s relatively private. No sign of my mom or Andy. I figure they must be done with tai chi by now. Maybe they’ve moved on to brush painting.
“Hello,” Alice says, standing with her hands clasped next to the empty chair. “Thank you for telling me about Russell. I call the art space. They send someone to go and help him.”
“Great.” I indicate the chair. “Do you have a few minutes?”
She hesitates. Glances back at the reception desk. No one is waiting there. The few guests in the dining area have their drinks and dumplings and pizzas.
Finally she sits.
“So Russell…” I say. “Is he, uh… I don’t know, a little nervous, maybe?”
“Nervous?”
“Well, he acted like he thought I was trying to hurt him or something.”
“Oh.” Her eyes get anime big. “He is maybe, how do you say… just a little strange.”