No Mom. No dog. Just the hall light left on.
I look around the kitchen and see a doggie water dish. An empty food bowl drying in the dish rack. There’s a bag of Iams kibble and cans of dog food in the pantry.
So they’re just out someplace, I tell myself. She left the hall light on because she knew she’d be getting back after dark. It’s not even 8:00 P.M. yet.
No need to get all freaked out over nothing.
I TAKE A SHOWER. Change into a fresh T-shirt and pair of jeans. I’m wiped out, and what I really want to do is crash on the couch. Wait for my mom and the dog to come home. Hope that she doesn’t ask me too many questions about where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing, because no way I want to come anywhere close to having that conversation.
Two things stop me from doing this. One of which is that I’m really hungry.
I go to the dumpling place a couple blocks away on Jiu Gulou Dajie. Choose mutton with chives and spinach with eggs and wolf them down doused in vinegar, a little soy, garlic and hot chili. Wash it all down with a Yanjing beer. I’ll take this over Sidney Cao’s gourmet gorge-a-thons anytime.
Well, except for maybe the wine. That shit’s pretty good.
THERE AREN’T THAT MANY hutong neighborhoods left in Beijing, but most of them are still within the Second Ring Road, and there’s a bunch between the Drum and Bell Towers and the Lama Temple. I take the subway to the Lama Temple stop, get off, and head west.
This area’s gotten popular the last couple of years. Not like Nanluoguxiang, all tourist bars and T-shirts and Maomorabilia, not quite yet. There are a number of restaurants and bars, though, some with live music, some with wine, and a couple of weird dives. I’m heading for one of those. It’s on a little alley southwest of the temple, a shoe-box-size place that’s painted matte black, the walls graffiti-scrawled with fluorescent markers. They have strong infused cocktails stored in glass jugs and good imported beer. Also free wireless.
Even with the VPN, I don’t feel comfortable doing what I’m about to do in my own apartment. Not after everything that happened. Not when I have no idea who’s watching me.
I sit in the darkest corner at the rough plank table, boot up my laptop, and log on to the Great Community.
It’s night there, too.
I’m not sure what’s going on as I wander through the square. Floating signs for an art show. A bigger one for a rave. The SexChat Club is lit up, individual bobbing lights representing the number of avatars who’ve signed in.
The corn statue, the one Sea Horse was building… how many weeks ago? It’s still there, but it’s changed. The giant ears of corn have rotted, black gaps among the kernels, some kernels swelled up to the point of bursting, like tumors. There are more dead bees lying belly-up around the corn. A few of them have shriveled, like they’ve been dead for a long time. The only thing that’s the same is the baby. Rosy-cheeked and chubby. Bearing a basket of rotting, poisoned corn.
I head to my house. As always, the three-legged dog runs toward me, barks, and wags its tail. The orange cat sleeping on the stoop wakes up and purrs.
Funny. I have a real dog now. Maybe I should get a cat. Kang Li has a few to spare.
While my avatar sits on the couch and waits, I order another beer.
Finally, when I’m about ready to pack it in and head home, Monastery Pig-Lao Zhang-knocks on my virtual door.
NI HAO, he types. HAO JIU BUJIAN. Long time no see.
SORRY, I type. BUSINESS HAS BEEN A LITTLE COMPLICATED.
Lao Zhang’s avatar sits on the couch next to me.
Where to start?
I MET A BILLIONAIRE WHO WANTS TO BUY SOME OF YOUR WORK, I type, but that’s as far as I get before Lao Zhang drops the bomb.
I’M COMING BACK TO BEIJING, he says.
YOU CAN’T, I tell him. THERE’S NO POINT. THINGS ARE BAD HERE NOW. THE GOVERNMENT’S SCARED. ESPECIALLY WITH THE LEADERSHIP CHANGES COMING UP NEXT YEAR. ANYBODY THAT WORRIES THEM, EVEN A LITTLE, THEY’RE HASSLING. THEY’RE ARRESTING ARTISTS.
I type that bit in caps, hoping he’ll get it.
I UNDERSTAND. BUT I HAVE NOT DONE ANYTHING WRONG.
AND YOU KNOW THAT DOESN’T MATTER!
IT WASN’T RIGHT FOR ME TO PUT YOU IN THE PLACE I DID. WHERE THEY ARE COMING AFTER YOU INSTEAD OF ME. I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D HAVE THESE PROBLEMS. I THINK MAYBE THINGS ARE NOT GREAT, BUT THEY WILL NOT BOTHER FOREIGNERS THIS WAY. I WAS WRONG.
NOT TOTALLY WRONG. THEY AREN’T GOING TO ARREST ME. I-
I stop there. Because what I’m about to type is that I have a friend in the DSD. Creepy John. Who wants to protect me. And there is no way I want to get into that whole situation right now.
ANYWAY, MAYBE WE CAN SETTLE THE PROBLEMS IF I COME BACK.
ARE YOU CRAZY? THEY’RE GOING TO WANT TO KNOW WHERE YOU’VE BEEN. WHAT YOU’VE BEEN DOING. THEY’RE GOING TO SAY YOU LEFT THE COUNTRY ILLEGALLY. THAT YOU’RE WORKING WITH FOREIGNERS. THAT YOU’RE A SPY. I MEAN, WHO KNOWS?
MAYBE I HAVE NOT LEFT CHINA. MAYBE I HAVE AN EXPLANATION. I AM JUST WORKING SOMEPLACE. IN THE COUNTRY. LIKE TAOIST MONK LIVING IN CAVE TO WRITE POEMS. I DON’T KNOW ABOUT PROBLEM. NOW I DO. SO I COME HOME TO FIX.
THEY’LL PUT YOU IN JAIL. IN A BLACK JAIL. OR WORSE. DON’T DO IT.
ALREADY DECIDED. His avatar stands up. SEE YOU SOON.
Fucking great.
I SIT THERE AND have another beer and a shot of one of the infusion things, something involving vodka and ginseng. Thinking about all the times I was missing Lao Zhang and wishing he were here. And now all I can think about is how much I’d rather he stayed away.
Not because of Creepy John, I tell myself. Because it’s not safe.
I DECIDE TO WALK home. Get in some PT. Maybe clear my head a little. Hah, I think. With the shit that’s going on, not much chance of that.
It’s chilly out, but not too bad. I’m okay with my knit hat and my collar turned up, and the cold hitting my face is like a shot of espresso. Not that I really want to sober up. Lao Zhang coming back… I can’t even start to figure out what that’s going to mean. Or how I feel about it. Or what the consequences will be.
It’s 12:30 A.M, the Hour of the Rat in Chinese astrology. Maybe that’s why I like this time of night, me being a Rat and all.
I keep heading west, down the dark alleys just south of the Second Ring Road. It’s quiet here, and I need that right now. When I get to Beiluoguxiang, I’ll go down to Gulou Dong Dajie, the main street that leads back to Old Drum Tower Road. There used to be a hutong route all the way across, but the military complex they put in the center of the quarter ruined that. I wonder if they did it on purpose, putting a butt-ugly reminder of who holds the power in the middle of this little piece of old Beijing, with its hipster bars and rock clubs and funky galleries and boutiques.
I turn onto Beiluoguxiang. You’d think with the way Nanluoguxiang’s gone from cool to trendy to commercial that the northern end of the street would be hipper by now, but it’s not. A lot of the little grey buildings are empty, shuttered. Dark. Like this one. Old flyers for an “Evolution Rave” flaking off the painted-over windows, but there’s no music now. No sign of life.
I hear something-a skittering on the pavement to my left. I look. I swear I see the hindquarters and tail of a rat, disappearing up the alley, into a crack in a grey wall.
Then a heavy step behind me and a man’s chuckle.
“You just make it too easy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
HE’S GOT ONE ARM wrapped around my neck. His other hand grips my wrist, and he twists my arm up against my back so hard that it feels like my shoulder’s going to pop out of its socket.
“You scream, I’ll break it,” he says.