Shanghai Girl (17 page)

So much for Sha-fei Hong! Come next week, when I get to Tokyo, I’ll head straight to Roppongi to hit some clubs, sing some karaoke in Japanese, and try my luck. As for the acquired taste for things Japanese, I can’t wait to smack my lips at the pungency of the cassia
mochi
sherbet, available only at the basement of this
depato
food court in Nihonbashi. The extraordinary sensation it brings to the palate is a cross between the spiciness of wasabi and the tartness of cinnamon. Off-the-wall as it sounds, this ice cream is truly one of the greatest aphrodisiacs there is.

On top of all that, my arrival in Tokyo should coincide with the annual doll festival
Hina Matsuri
, when young girls come out en masse in their most gorgeous outfits, not the least, kimonos. The kimono, of course, is one other great love of my life.

Oh yes, life is going to be easier in Tokyo than it is here in Shanghai.

Life is a beach and cheeky chubby Chinky chicks are interesting.

Then you die.

But not before you get to know the layered secret of the kimono.

9 Sha-Fei Hong: Sweet and Sour Big Apple

Although nearly half of the crowd waiting at the International Arrivals terminal at John F. Kennedy Airport looks Chinese, I am startled by the diversity of the people before me. There are whites, blacks, Latinos, South Asians, Middle-Easterners, and Africans. There are blondes, brunettes, and red heads. Dark-haired, fair-haired, straight haired, and curly-haired. Men with ponytails and earrings. Women with crew cuts or cowboy boots. There are men kissing women in public, women embracing men in public. Women cuddling women in public, men hugging men in public. It’s a feast to my eyes, a shock to my soul. After two decades of seeing dark-haired, dark-eyed people like me in every direction I looked, I don’t have to pinch myself to believe that I’m really in America!

Searching for Lu Long in the crowd, I hear a familiar voice in Chinese, “Hong Sha-fei! Hong Sha-fei!" I see him now. Lu Long is on tiptoe, wearing a white T-shirt. Elbowing my way, I mouth "
Dui Bu Qi, Dui Bu Qi
. Excuse me," all the way out.

"Hello, Sha-fei!" Lu Long greets me with a hug. I turn instantly red, pushing him away. "Don't be silly. There are so many Chinese here. People will think you're crazy."

"Who cares? This is America!"

"I'm surprised you're Americanized so quickly! You have to give me time to adjust."

"There's no time to adjust in New York. You have to plunge right in."

Plunging right in, I cannot help but notice the design on his T-shirt. A giant cockroach is sandwiched between the words "
New York City
" and "
ACTUAL
SIZE
."

"How distasteful!" I exclaim.

"It's a joke. A take-out buddy in my old restaurant gave it to me. New York is full of roaches, you'll see soon enough. The ones in our apartment fly like bats."

"Really? That's unbelievable. I thought America was very clean."

"Well, parts of New York are dirtier than Shanghai, believe it or not. But don't get too disappointed yet. Wait till I show you the good things. I still can’t believe you’re actually here.” He squeezes my arm quickly and says, “Let’s get on the shuttle bus first. Now you can't get that in Shanghai, can you?"

"Of course we can't."

We pull my luggage to the sidewalk and join the line of people waiting to board an airport shuttle bus running amongst the terminals. I have my first outdoor glimpse of America. Kennedy Airport is gigantic compared to Shanghai's Hong Qiao. The sky appears to be wider here, too, the view unobstructed.

I'm reminded of a popular belief in China: "In America, the sky is the limit of aspiring individuals." How true! This sky of freedom. This land of opportunities. Hello, America! Here comes Sha-fei Hong, ready to survive, aim high, and strive to reach the sky!

As soon as we get on the bus, I fumble for money. "No, no, Sha-fei. It's free," Lu Long tells me in Shanghai dialect.

"Really?" I marvel. "And such good service. Imagine in China? Who's going to send you a bus for free?"

Lu Long displays a smug face as though he runs the JFK Airport himself. "Not everybody knows about this. You have to be on top of things in New York to get ahead, Sha-fei."

Several terminals later, I become anxious. "Where's Manhattan? -- or Brooklyn? That's where we're going, right?"

"Don't worry. You'll see Manhattan soon, maybe tomorrow. Right now we'll go to where the JFK shuttle meets the Brooklyn-bound subway."

"I won’t be able to see Manhattan today?"

"I’m afraid not. The subway will go underground though Queens, then to Brooklyn where I live. Manhattan is out of the way."

"Didn't you find a place for me?"

"Oh, sorry. I didn't have a chance to explain. I couldn't find you another cheap place to stay. So you'll stay with me and my roommate temporarily."

"All in the same room?"

Lu Long blushes, sweat running down his neck. "I wish. But I’m not that Americanized yet. We have a railroad apartment. Long and narrow like a railroad, you know. We each have a section of the apartment, and the last section is the kitchen. I'll move to his section for now and you can have my old space. Don't worry. We're all struggling students from China. Everybody started this way. If you like the place, I'll contact the landlord to squeeze you in for reduced rent. Mr. Chang is from Taiwan. He owns several run-down properties and rents them to poor mainland student like us."

"How much do you pay now?"

"It's $300, which we split, plus half the utilities. If you come in, I think we can get away with $400 total."

Four hundred dollars! That’s ten times the money I have. I look at him and say, "Thank you so much, Lu Long. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble for you. As soon as I find a means to support myself, I'll move out."

"What are you talking about? I'm thrilled that you're finally here. Don't talk about moving out before you even see the place!"

“The place” is on Eighth Avenue in Brooklyn, the Chinatown of Brooklyn. It's only a block away from the subway station. "Prime location," he tells me proudly. “Extremely convenient to public transportation.”

Chinese-owned stores line the block between the subway station and the apartment Lu Long rents. “Mom and Pop shops,” says Lu Long. Dilapidated bilingual signs show their English names -- “Wok by Kwok,” “Uncle Lin of Brooklyn,” “Wah Fat Mart,” and “China Ear and Heart.” The last one is not a surgeon’s office, Lu Long explains, but a Chinese-language video rental store.

I would never have imagined a place like this in the U.S.. Brooklyn’s Chinatown in no way resembles the real, contemporary China. Instead, its atmosphere reminds me of old drawings of China before the 1920’s. I suddenly realize that most Westerners form their impressions of China from this kind of a place – filthy, crammed, backward, and reminiscent of the past century. How pathetic!

Not having the heart to dampen Lu Long’s enthusiasm as he proclaims, “Here we are!” I follow him into his railroad apartment. I am immediately greeted by the odor of mildew and fried food. "This is your space," says Lu Long as he leads me through the kitchen into a room where a small fan stands on the floor. My space is next to the common toilet and shower stall. A soiled sheet with a Superman design hangs over a corner of the room. The toilet occupies the other side, obviously added long after the building was built.

"Excuse me for a minute," I say to Lu Long, heading directly into the windowless toilet. The seat is up and the toilet not flushed. Boys' dorms, I sigh. Even in America they’re still like this. I shake my head. Seeing no sink, I rinse my hands in the shower stall, nearly slipping on the layer of rat-colored sewage buildup coating its bottom. I had expected a bathroom in America to be like the one in Gordon's hotel room at the Shanghai Plaza, or at least like the one in our house in Shanghai when I was little. I'm disappointed and shocked to find living quarters like this.

I exit quickly to my quarters and find that Lu Long has already turned on the fan. There is a glass of cold Coca-Cola for me, too. I drink it in one gulp and exclaim, "What a thirst quencher! Thank you so much. And thanks again for giving up your space for me."

"Don't mention it, Sha-fei. You know the saying 'One relies on his parents when at home, and friends when away from home.' I'm lucky to have a friend like you to help, and so lucky we’re finally together without anybody else watching us. Here's twenty dollars for you. That’s all I can spare right now."

"No, no, please. How can I take your money, Lu Long? You're not much better off than I am.”

"Take it, I insist. I've got a couple hundred dollars savings from my take-out food job. I know you now only have $40, just like when I first came. Besides, you'll need to go to Manhattan tomorrow and report to Gotham University. I have to work and can’t take you there. The money is for you to buy subway tokens. They're a dollar each. And here is a subway map for you. Don't argue with me anymore. Get some rest. This is only the beginning. The future is long and hard.”

“Thank you so much, then.”

Lu Long peers at me without a word. All of a sudden, he grabs me and thrusts his tongue into my mouth, then letting go of me just as quickly. Face reddened and sweaty, he says, “I'll see you tomorrow. By the way, don't close the door. We need the draft to keep the whole place a little cooler. Don’t worry. Nothing bad will happen. We’re all good boys here. You know me." He blushes again and steps out.

I’m still stunned. It seems so much has happened in a mere few hours since I arrived in New York. I’ve already been kissed on the mouth by Lu Long. This is only the second time I’ve been French-kissed. The first time I was kissed this way was a couple of years ago, in a dim corner of the school library, by that charming upperclassman who has since disappeared from my life. In America, it’s so easy to be kissed by a man and no authority figure will reprimand or punish the kisser or the kissed. The realization makes me excited, but also a little scared.

I look at the $20 bill and recognize President Andrew Jackson from my American history textbook. On the other side, the bill features the White House. There’s no portrait of Chairman Mao on the one side and Tian An Men Square on the other, as I’m so used to seeing on the Chinese People’s Money RMB bills. Even the money is greener on this side of the Pacific --I’m sure Aunt Cheng would think so if she saw this $20 bill.

After being airborne for a whole day, the fatigue is finally hitting me. The fan's on, the door open. I don't worry about the boys next door. Lu Long is right. Unlike Stepfather, Chinese college students don't just attack the girl they're interested in. Courtship between a Chinese couple is a long, drawn out process. The more a man is interested in the woman, the more prudent he acts. Chinese men are very shy compared to their American counterparts, I’m sure.

American counterpart. I think of Ed. Tomorrow, I’ll call information for the listing of Edward Jonathan Cook, III. He told me he’d be listed in the Manhattan telephone directory.

I roll my jacket into a makeshift pillow, spread out the straw mat on the floor, and collapse into a deep slumber.

All is quiet in the apartment when I wake up. Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand, I notice the time on a battery-operated small clock that Lu Long must have left on the chair for me: 9:30. This is the following morning, U.S.A. time. I adjust my watch to the new time, feeling like I have slept through a whole dynasty. A bowl of rice congee with pickles and a boiled egg sits on top of a note in Chinese on the kitchen counter:

"Dear Sha-fei,

The congee's for you. Be careful when you

go into town. Remember: New York is more

dangerous than Shanghai. Good luck with school.

You should get off at West 4
^th
Street on the

subway to get there. Please feel free to use

the phone to call first. Calls to Manhattan are

local and inexpensive.

Once again, welcome to New York, the Big

Apple! See you this evening.

Yours,