Ghost Month (6 page)

I remember making my first skewer, setting it on the grill and watching it burst into flames—I didn’t know the skewers had to be soaked in water first. It was good for a laugh for my grandfather and parents, but Frankie came over with tongs, tossed out the burned skewer and showed me how to do one properly. This was before Dwayne came on the scene and years before I’d be working there.

I looked at Frankie’s fast fingers. He had trained to be a soldier as a child, and that rigid discipline was still there.

Down the street, someone had set off fireworks. They were supposed to be banned in the night market. They always bend the rules a little around holidays.

Foot traffic was going to be heavy tonight. Some Taiwanese would be staying in for the night, but an influx of tourists
would more than make up for the loss. There would also be ICLP and MTC students coming off the summer semesters, looking to blow off steam. Kids in the International Chinese Language Program and Missionary Training Center and other classes come from all over the world, and they’re into eating and buying night-market food.

A cloud of smoke and grease anointed my face. My worries and cares were sliding away. Jing-nan was the guy who had just lost his one and only love for good. Johnny was the hawker who always had a good time, was the life of the party and loved to show off his English to the foreigners. Johnny didn’t care about the dead. He lived life to the fullest.

Johnny made the most of the night market even before it was fully dark out.

He noticed a group of young white girls reading the stand’s sign and talking among themselves from a safe range.

“Hey, you,” I yelled out in English to the tallest one. “You’re an American, right?”

“What else could I be?” she said, laughing. She approached, and five of her friends followed in a tight formation. First time in Taiwan. Probably first time in Asia. The girls’ sunburned faces showed that they had already been here for a few days.

“You could be other things,” I said. “People come to Taipei from all over the world. But you and your friends talk like Yanks.”

“We thought the night market would be busier, but there’s, like, hardly anybody here.”

“You guys are early! The sun’s still out, people are just getting up right now!”

The women laughed. They say white people all look the same, but that’s not true at all. Their skin tones were all different, even with the sunburns, and their faces were all distinctive. They don’t all smile like Kate Hudson and Naomi Watts.

“Your English is really good,” the tallest woman said. “I knew there was something special about this stand because it was named Unknown Pleasures.”

“I love Joy Division, and that’s one of my favorite CDs.” I’d changed the English name from Tastes Good to Unknown Pleasures
five years ago, when it was clear that I’d be stuck here for the foreseeable future. I’d meant it mostly as a tribute to Joy Division, but another meaning for me was that the word “unknown” indicated that I wasn’t sure what I was doing, and I certainly didn’t know if it would be “pleasurable.” I also figured a lot of cool people would be into it.

The American said, “I’ve never really listened to Joy Division. But we’re from Pittsburgh and there’s a store with the same name that sells sex toys.”

“The Pittsburgh Pirates!” I said, wielding an imaginary bat and swinging. “Well, we sell food, not toys. But if you want to try some sheep penis, I can help you!”

Her friends squealed in horror and fascination.

The American partially extended her index finger and tentatively pointed to some well-done mini pork and chicken sausages.

“What are those?”

“Sausages. Just pork and chicken. Nothing strange, I promise.”

“Are they good?”

“They’re the best in the whole world!” I plucked them from the grill with my tongs and released them into a crystalline bag. “Use this toothpick,” I told her. “Just eat it out of the bag.”

All the other women wanted the same exact things. I was only able to convince one of them to try a skewer of grilled pig intestines, and I think she planned to pose for pictures with it. I busied myself with bagging up sausages.

I was glad they didn’t want sit-down food. I could tell they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in a while and they would linger for a long time.

“What’s your name?” the tall American asked. Her eyes gleamed with newfound interest, since the language barrier wasn’t an issue.

“Please call me Johnny,” I said, not pausing one second in my bagging motions. “What’s your name?”

I realized I was taking a huge risk by opening this door. Americans love to talk about problems they’re having and issues in their families with people they don’t even know. I was willing to take the extra step to make them feel more comfortable. After all, I had wanted to be an American, and a big part of being American was
that you couldn’t be shy about physical contact with the people you met. Everybody wanted to hug.

“My name is Megan.” She extended a hand. I shook it briefly, pushed a sausage-filled bag into her palm and patted her knuckles lightly with my fingers.

“Please pass this to your friend,” I said.

I had met several women named “Megan” at UCLA. Me-gan. It sounded like “not dry yet” in Mandarin.

“I’m here for the ghost celebrations,” Not Dry Yet said.

I glanced at the other people in her group. They stood nearby, anxious to get their food and pleased they could buy it from someone fluent in English. Otherwise, they wouldn’t trust that the food was safe for eating.

“Be careful!” I warned the woman. “You can’t say the word ‘ghost.’ It’s bad luck. Call them ‘good brothers.’ ”

“Oh, no! I’ve been saying it all day!”

“It’s all right,” I said. She was safe. No gluttonous spirits would try to possess an American body. Too many food allergies. “Also, don’t whistle, Megan. That attracts good brothers.” I handed the remaining bags out to Megan’s friends.

“But what do I do if I see a really cute guy?”

“Then just go up and talk to him,” I said, laughing uncomfortably. “I saw some cute guys go around the corner over there.”

She and her friends had paid and were already nibbling. Sure enough, one woman was posing for pictures with the intestine skewer poised over her extended, studded tongue. I wished they would all just keep walking.

“The whole thing is a Taoist holiday, right?” Megan asked. “Some other people were calling it Buddhist, and I was correcting them.”

“All of you are right. In the seventh lunar month both Buddhists and Taoists celebrate their ancestors, so it’s all mixed. Everybody celebrates—well, not ‘celebrates’—let’s say ‘participates in’ the holidays.”

“Are all Taiwanese people as nice as you?” she asked, playing with her right earring.

I looked directly at Megan. She seemed to be sincere. I think she
liked me, too. I knew she did. But that wasn’t enough of a reason for us to open up and start talking about the island’s problems and what I hated about Taiwan.

After all, I was fully conscious that underneath this persona, I was crying my eyes out over Julia.

I nodded at Megan and gave a big, platonic smile. “Oh, yes,” I said. “Everybody in Taiwan is very nice.”

“I’m going to be here for a few days,” she said. “Maybe you can show me around a little.”

“I think you would find a taxi tour very interesting.”

Dwayne didn’t understand much English, but he read the woman’s big smile and the tilt of her head.

“Tell her you’re married!” he yelled out in Taiwanese. “Say your wife keeps a padlock around your cock and you don’t know where she hides the key!”

Frankie the Cat’s smile curled up tighter at the ends.

Fearfully, I looked at Megan, but she hadn’t understood. Most tourists, if they spoke anything other than English, only knew the official and formal Mandarin dialect.

I looked directly at Megan’s chin and said, “My boss says my wife will be really jealous if she sees us talking.”

“You’re married? I thought you were like twenty!”

“No,” I said, not smiling. “I’m a very old man.” I glanced over at potential customers buzzing near the stall, hoping she would get the hint to leave. Her friends had already moved on to Dancing Jenny’s Belle Amour.

Megan brushed her hair back over her ears and said, “Anyway, happy holiday, Johnny!”

“Thank you, Megan,” I said, sounding as sincere as possible and nodding perfunctorily.

Three Asian men in their thirties stood a few footsteps away. They looked like guys who had stepped out of the office early. I could tell they were on the fence.

In Taiwanese, I said, “Better get your food now and go home early before the brothers come out and get you!”

They chuckled and came over. They ended up getting some appetizers up front and stews inside. People say it takes money to
make money. It also takes customers to make customers. A small line had formed to sit inside, and that generated more interest. I was running out of skewers on the front display grill, so Dwayne transferred over a few tubs of partially cooked skewers.

“Thank you, Megan,” he said in a high-pitched whine. I kicked him lightly with my right heel.

D
URING A SMALL SLOW
period around 11:30
P.M
., Dwayne caught me offguard. I should have been ready. When there are no customers, it’s high school guy-guy time, and my ass was pretty much up for grabs, along with my private parts. In school, when the teacher’s back was turned, you had to practically cover your crotch with one hand. Taiwanese boys punch and kick each other in the balls just for laughs.

Dwayne snuck up behind me and pinned my arms back. The smell of his sweaty arms and neck, smeared with burned fat and grease and blood and shit from dirty intestines, would have made me gag if I didn’t smell so strongly of all those things myself.

“That’s it, you lousy Han Chinese people,” Dwayne grunted with pleasure. “We’re taking revenge for all the years that you people have mistreated our tribes.”

“We gave you the Great Warmth a few years ago,” I said, referring to the stimulus bill that targeted disadvantaged populations, including those of aboriginal descent. I struggled to find the weak spot in Dwayne’s grip.

“You gave us the Great Warmth of your farts,” spat Dwayne.

Frankie the Cat sat on a plastic stool, put his back against a wall and lit up a cigarette.

“The English, Dutch and Japanese murdered you off, too,” I said dryly.

“We’ll get to them soon enough, you dirty Han! It’s only because your parents were kind to me that I will spare your life and also the life of one potential mate. Now pick one!”

“So we’re going to play this game again, huh?”

“Hey, how about Dancing Jenny? I know you think of her when you beat off!”

“Yeah, but I haven’t since last week.”

“What about her?” Dwayne still had me swaddled in his grip. He turned my entire body and pointed my face at a woman in a low-cut dress sucking on a frozen melon pop.

“She’s not quite my type.”

“Don’t tell me her tits aren’t your type!”

“I look for many things in a woman, not just her body parts.”

“I think you like her,” growled Dwayne. While trying to keep a firm hold of my waist, he worked his hands down my stomach to my crotch. “I’m going to check if your dick’s hard.”

He was trying to do too much at once. This was my chance.

I turned to my side and dug into his chest with my right elbow until he had to let go.

“I’m going to put a skewer in my boxers so the next time you reach in for my cock you’ll shish kabob your fingers!” I told Dwayne.

“Your thing’s so small, it’s already a skewer!” We clasped right hands and Dwayne cradled my head with his left hand. “I’ll make you a warrior yet!” he told me.

Frankie dropped his cigarette and clapped his hands. “C’mon, boys!” he yelled. “Customers!”

C
ROWDS BEGAN TO TAIL
off shortly after one in the morning, and market stalls began to close around one thirty. Sometimes it’s later, sometimes it’s earlier. A few savvy people rushed around to get great last-second deals at stands. To the south, on the other side of the night market, the secondary stalls opened up in the little lanes between Dadong Road and Wenlin Road. This is where the people who work at the Shilin Night Market come to relax after a long night, eat soup noodles and omelets, chew betel nut and play mahjongg. If you are a tourist, do not go to the aftermarket. Non-vendors are not welcome. After all, this is their safe space, where they can stretch and complain about people like you, in addition to life in general. I didn’t go there, either. For one thing, I didn’t want to hang out any longer than I had to at the market.

I was cleaning the counters when Dancing Jenny stopped by. All she had to do to close was roll down her metal gates and padlock
them. She was now wearing a blue linen blouse and matching skirt that went past her knees.

“Jing-nan,” she said, “I’m going to Cixian Temple. Do you want to come?”

The temple was less than two blocks away. Supposedly the night market grew out of stands that sold snacks to worshippers more than a century ago.

“I’m not going, Jenny. You know I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“I don’t really believe, either, but why take a chance?”

“He’s taking a chance going the other way,” said Dwayne. “I’ll see you there, Jenny.”

“Don’t take too long,” she told him before turning back to me. “It will just take a minute, Jing-nan. Just light some incense. That’s all.”

“I’m not going.”

“Even if you don’t believe, your ancestors did, so do it for them.”

“I’m already running this stand for them. Jenny, please. Don’t ask again.”

“Frankie, are you going to talk some sense into him?”

Frankie briefly looked up from scrubbing the grill surfaces and shrugged. “He’s my boss. I can’t tell him what to do.”

Jenny sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jing-nan.”

“I have some leftover skewers, if you’re hungry, Jenny,” I said. “Not for me, I’m vegetarian for the month.”

After she left, Dwayne poured a watered-down detergent on the floor and scrubbed a stiff brush over the tiles. As he worked, a light foam built up on the floor. It looked like a toothpaste commercial with a close-up of the toothbrush cleaning the teeth.