Chapter 4

My Last Four Days

The Calm Before the Storm

The following day I returned to the bank to see the manager, who of course had not come in--when do they ever come in on Sunday?. Frustrated, but polite, I went over my situation again with the same teller from the day before, who seemed to take pity on me. He looked over at his sole associate, who only made a "What can we do?" face to him, then looked back to her calculating so as not to get too involved. He looked down at his desk as if thinking about something, then reached behind him and pulled out his wallet, removed a 50 RMB note and slid it across to me beneath the safety glass. While he was doing this I noticed the female associate watch from the corner of her eye, her head still bowed while her hand lay still above her calculator. He smiled at me so humbly I thought I would cry; his generosity was beyond that of anything I had ever experienced from and unknown Chinese in the four plus years I had been there. He said with a reassuring look that for sure a manager would be there on Monday, and his fellow associate finally looked up and shook her head rapidly in agreement, the only thing she could add to the entire bittersweet episode.

Feeling bolstered by the young man's extreme generosity, I went for breakfast, compliments of his fifty. I accepted the money from the teller to give him face--to turn such a generous offer down would have perhaps embarrassed him and so accepting gave him a sense of accomplishment. Also, I felt justified in a small way. After all, the man knew I had several thousand RMB in my account, he just couldn't authorize letting me at it himself.

A girl I knew who worked the streets came across me as I was heading to McDonald's, so I invited her along for company. I even smoked her offered cigarette, something I seldom do. Her name was Betty, but I always called her "Kuai Zi" (chopsticks), because she was so thin, her legs reminded me of chopsticks. When I told her my story, she insisted I go to her apartment that night for dinner. I agreed and after eating, we parted company, agreeing to meet at Hill around 6:00 pm. I spent the day browsing at the computer market, then on to a bookstore, where I picked up a forgettable fiction paperback. I ended back at Hill, drinking with the usual riff raff, waiting for Betty.

We dropped by a jie shi, or wet market on the way to her flat. To understand China, every foreigner must visit one of these, but it only takes once. My first memory of one was lots of red, bloody meat hanging everywhere. Not a lot of beef, but plenty of pig carcasses, right next to the lean carcasses of...dogs. Vegetables I didn't recognize brimmed over their tables, and a dry good store sold things in plastic bags that looked like they came out of a 2,000 year old Egyptian tomb--how could they possibly rehydrate that? I wondered. Shallow metal tanks lined the floor just above ankle level, teaming with lively fish that seemed prone to jump out and get under everyone's feet. Dozens of chickens sat in wire gages, nervously watching a woman cut their brethren's throats and get tossed into vats of scalding water to remove the feathers. And everywhere children ran around barefoot in the muck of the overflowing drains, the red tinged water feathering everywhere across stained, greasy concrete floors.

Betty picked out a large fish, dispatched by the fish monger with a knock to its head with the back edge of a huge meat cleaver. A few vegetables and take away steamed rice and she was done; I got the beer. At her flat she changed from her street clothes into pajamas, the typical home attire for most Chinese. She shut herself away in her tiny kitchen, which consisted of a two burner stove, a sink, bits of china and nothing else. I heard the wok sizzling away while I sat in the living room, sipping beer and watching one of the numerous bad Chinese period soap operas. She came out after a few moments bringing me a salad of cucumber, garlic cloves, vinegar, soy and chili sauce, something I requested and loved, then disappeared again into her smokey, squalled kitchen. We ate together, sitting on a cheap wooden couch that she had thankfully padded with cushions. Her phone rang and after the call a knock came to the door. Another girl I knew came in and she soon joined us and we all drank beer, ate fish, rice, vegetables and watched bad TV. After a while Betty dragged me to her bathroom, where she helped me undress and then washed me thoroughly in a very hot shower. Chinese girls love extremely hot baths. Then she led me to her bedroom, her friend still nibbling rice before the TV, and Betty helped take my mind off the previous two days. Sometime in the night she left to do her work and I slept soundly on her large bed.

This wasn't the first time Betty and I had been together. I had befriended her a few years before, one winter night while walking home in a cold drizzle after a night on the town. She was standing alone on a pedestrian bridge, a silhouette in a dark coat, framed beneath a dripping umbrella. I had seen her many times before. I thought she must really need the money if she was out in such bad weather. When I walked by and smiled at her reflexively, she offered me a cigarette. I asked her in Chinese, "Ni che fan la ma?" (Have you eaten?). She shook her head "no". She took my arm as we walked together, umbrellas bouncing against each other, flirtatiously. We spent two hours together, eating and drinking, learning about each other's life and watching the cold rain outside. She was glad to have the company and all thoughts of returning to the street that night disappeared, she asked me if I wanted to go home with her, then she smiled and laughed coyly, "It's on the house!" We both laughed and from that night on we remained friends, sometimes lovers, both connected by our humanity.

Although many expat men I knew slept with the local hookers, I wasn't sure if any of them had developed a real friendship with one. She always offered me food and cigarettes and very rarely asked me for money--never more than 20 or 50 RMB, which I gladly gave to her. I took her out as my date occasionally, when between girlfriends. On several occasions I realized she was lonely and tired of her illicit life. "You understand me." she said to me one time. "You and I are alike" on another. Once, on a terribly drunken night I picked up a young hooker and she robbed me of my phone while I snored the night away, oblivious. When Betty found out a few days later while having a drink together at Hill, she slipped away and an hour later returned with my missing phone. "She is young and stupid; I told her you were good and she shouldn't mess it up for the rest of us. Then I threatened to throw her off the bridge!" I wasn't sure if she would have done it, but I was glad to have my phone back. I never felt I could be serious with her, and that may have been unfair to her; she treated me as good as any of my long term girlfriends. I hope she has found a better life.

Monday I arrived at the bank about ten and insisted on speaking to the manager at once. I explained that they had multiple copies of my passport in their files because I had received Western Union transfers from their branch. Some time passed as she conferred with two others and came back, saying there was little she could do. I then told her I wouldn't leave the bank until they either had me arrested or I got my money. The manager disappeared and after fifteen minutes reappeared with several papers and motioned me back to the window. She asked me to sign a paper and to also give her my account PIN. Within ten minutes she had opened a new account for me, transferred my money to it and gave me a new card. I reimbursed the young teller his 50 RMB and thanked them all profusely and left, greatly relieved.

In China, it is very common to have to either threaten someone or make a big show to get anything done. The complacency is evident everywhere. The mindset in middle management on down to the lowly sales clerk believe in doing as little as possible when something goes wrong. In some ways I understand it, only because I have a modest understanding of "face"--a major stumbling block for all of China when dealing with foreigners.

Although I had lost a small fortune in the robbery, I still had 12,000 RMB in my account. I went immediately to my hotel and paid for another week. I showered and took a very long nap, overcome by the entire process of returning my life to some sense of normality. Later I went to a KFC and gorged on very greasy, artery clogging American fried chicken, American mashed potatoes and American cold slaw and a large American Pepsi--I needed an American transfusion! Feeling grounded once again, I walked down to the street to Friends Daily, a unique coffee shop/wine bar/deli owned by another Chinese designer. There I could relax in a high back Queen Anne chair, sip a decent latte and read a paper, as well as contemplating my next move.

Now that I felt more stable with a new bank card in my pocket, I should have felt more at ease, but I felt wobbly and uncertain. Secure money wise, but still without I.D., I had no way to travel to Hong Kong to renew my visa, so I weighed my options. I would have to place a call to my sister and explain, and I didn't look forward to it because she would berate me for carrying all that cash on me in the first place. My parents had recently died and the estate was being divided up and funds were doled out every so often, my older sister being in charge of it all. I postponed contacting her and began to flounder, realizing the stolen passport was going to cause me even more of a headache than the bank card.

For the next few days I slept late into the afternoon, drank all evening and slept around with bad girls. I just couldn't pull myself out of my funk. I had put so much hope into my planned trip to Hong Kong that the aftermath of the robbery left me feeling adrift in mainland China. I was now technically an illegal alien and I didn't seem to care. By Wednesday morning I realized I had to do something. I planned to go to the Consulate that day and apply for my emergency passport, and hopefully then, I could get right with myself and the world. Wishful thinking.