Tags
"Informant", Allen's Orchard, Baby Prison, Geng jia, Gongzhu, Jason, Polonius, Snow, Xian Ren, Yazhou
“What does your little Gongzhu have to say about the Allens?” I demand of my young companion in a hushed but harsh tone.
“Shit, that little Yazhou isn’t my anything! All them yellow fuckers can suck it far as I’m concerned,” comes the short, wiry man’s terse reply. Having completed our shift in the factory we trudge home in the deepening twilight and ever present drizzle. The lack of light increases the danger of walking the streets as conditions have deteriorated significantly over the forty plus years of foreign occupation.
I smile a bit despite the seriousness of my question concerning the Allens. Perhaps the sole benefit of the Geng Jia’s rule is the death of racial prejudice in the United States.
When the USA was restructured to repay her massive debt to the PRC she lost her allure to the hordes of immigrants who had previously entered her illegally in search of a better life. Practically all of Latin America now offered a higher standard of living and far greater civil liberty than the USA did and since the vast majority of American citizens were virtual slaves destined to live out their days under the boot of extreme poverty and with no say in how their lives would be led the barriers between black, white and brown had fallen away.
No Meiguo had any real rights and over the decades of occupation it became obvious that nearly everyone was in the same miserable position. A fraternity based on mutual degradation developed and the citizens of the USA coalesced around a shared hatred for the Asiatic overlords known as Geng Jia.
There was no room for racial hatred among the Meiguo except the xenophobia heaped upon anyone of Asian descent, including the honorable men and women who had made the USA their home prior to PRC occupation. Regardless if they had been here a few short decades or tens of generations Asian Americans looked like the Geng Jia to the rest of the population and were the recipients of the displaced anger and hatred the Meiguo felt for the foreign occupiers.
If the Meiguo hated Asian Americans then the feelings of the Geng Jia for those who had long ago fled Asia in search of a better life was a hundred fold stronger. The ethnic Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Cambodian, Vietnamese, any and all of the peoples from the far east that resided in the USA were pariah the likes of which hadn’t been seen in the States since the days of Reconstruction following the failed war of secession in the mid 1860’s. Asian Americans, Yazhou Meiguo, were anathema to Meiguo and Geng Jia alike. About the only avenue left to a Yazhou Meiguo to earn a living was through prostitution which was the route Gongzhu had chosen.
“Tsk, tsk. Jason, what would your father say? Such language!”
“I don’t know, you could ask him but those gooks are who killed him,” he replied with muted vehemence.
“I know, buddy, I know. Your father was a good man, and so was your grandfather,” I reply with sincere compassion. “But what did you say your brother heard about the Allens?”
“You know that hairless mutha’ fucka’, the one they call Xian Ren? Jacob said he came squirreling round bout a week ago and was ushered right in to see Sheng Zhang. Then he comes back two days ago and next thing you know Geng Jia took that little Allen girl away. That lanky scumbag’s an informer, I’m telling you!”
My fists knot up almost as tightly as my stomach. Xian Ren is the only white man I know, the only Meiguo, who not only kisses Geng Jia ass but licks it too. I knew him when he was just Darrin Snow and he is the worst kind of race traitor. There is always someone willing to trample on the lives of good people so long as in return they are fed and feared and this informant was despicable.
“Yeah, I know who he is, but what did your brother say?”
“Oh, right. Well you know Jacob’s the handyman for Sheng Zhang? Nothing wrong with that, he just working like the rest of us dogs.”
“Yeah, Jason, nothing wrong with that. We all work for Geng Jia; your brother’s cool.”
“Cool. Anyway, midday meal and he’s taking his fifteen, watching the clock so he doesn’t get in trouble for taking too long, when Gongzhu comes round wearing next to nothing. You know he can’t stand that bitch but he’s got to play it cool in Sheng Zhang’s house, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course he does. So what’s this got to do with the Allens?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Gongzhu must be bored because Sheng Zhang’s working and she don’t do no real work but provide tail for his highness and so she’s talking to Jacob.
“Seems Sheng Zhang was doing her in bed when baldy shows up. He stopped what they was doing, threw a robe on and brings Xian Ren into the boudoir. Just left her lying there with no clothes on while he talk.
“She heard the whole conversation and he said he’d been snooping round Allens’ in the night, even got his self bit by their dog, serves him right, and he found a bicycle in the barn.
“A bike! A good one, too. He said it worked and everything. So ol’ Sheng Zhang pats him on the head, tells him to go to the kitchen and eat whatever he likes and after a little oral fluffing by Gongzhu gets back to the business at hand, so to speak.”
“I get the picture, thanks.”
I have known three generations of Gongzhu’s family just as I have Jason’s. Back before the occupation I was friendly with them, though we were never close. They had christened Gongzhu Jennifer but when she turned to whoring she had started using the Mandarin word for princess as a name. I shake my head at the thought of how much hatred we Meiguo heap upon innocent people because of their resemblance to our oppressors. My reaction is a pale shadow of intellectual disdain over this injustice as I too have come to hate the scapegoat Yazhou.
“Seems like the Allens was a little short in their monthly quota for the farm and didn’t have no explanation for why. Something about some eggs, man. Quota wasn’t off quite enough to arrest ’em or shoot ’em or whatever they’d a done but now they got their eyes on ’em. Serious shit, my man.”
“So, if they didn’t arrest them why did they take the granddaughter?” I ask.
My despair is palpable. I am on the verge of vomiting the tiny lunch that I ate five hours ago. The bicycle was mine. I had traded it to feed my family and the eggs had sealed the deal. My wife is wasting away before my eyes and my only goal is to nurse her back to health. I want no harm to befall the Allens. We were careful! Damn the Geng Jia to hell!
“That’s their way, ain’t it? They holding the little girl, put her in a orphanage to get the Allens to kowtow. They said they wasn’t sure the farm was safe for a youngster and they’s just keep her temporary. Temporary? Shit! Orphanage is rough man, it’s like baby prison. They don’t get her out soon they ain’t gonna’ have no little girl to take back.”
We get to our building and walk in. The large, double entry doors had been broken down years before so the lobby was littered with debris both natural and man-made. We slowly climb the first three flights of stairs and stop. I know Jason could have been home ten minutes earlier if he hadn’t walked with me and that he’d held back as I struggled up the stairs but neither of us says anything. I’d been friends with his family for three generations and even though we were different skin colors I knew he thought of me as an uncle. He had proved his friendship time and time again and it was good to have someone close by that I trusted and respected. Having grown up in different times and under very different circumstances our language styles varied dramatically but I had learned two generations earlier that his family was good people.
“Okay, buddy, this is my stop. Thanks for walking an old man home. See you tomorrow at seven?”
“God willing. Have a good night.”
“You too. And don’t worry too much about what’s his name. I might know somebody who can help.”
“Shit, man! I don’t know nothing! See ya.”
I unlock our apartment door, light the candle that sits in its sconce and tiptoe to the bedroom. The room is dark and quiet enough that I can hear my wife’s breathing. Gently I say, “Honey? Honey, I’m home,” as though I were a character from a 1950’s sitcom. Ward Cleaver where are you? She does not respond. I check the 16 ounce tin can ‘water glass’ that sits next to her on the nightstand: Mostly empty; good.
Going to the kitchen I check the open number ten tin can that sits by the sink. It is still chock-full of potable water; not so good. I had trudged to the cleanest water supply before leaving for work this morning and filled them both. The source of the water wasn’t immaculate but at least it was safe and only had a chemical aftertaste rather than the brown gunk that dribbled from our apartment’s pipes. “Still on her first glass of water for the day. Damn.”
The apartment is cold so I light a fire in the tiny wood-stove that is crammed into the fireplace’s hearth. I cook a small meal for two wishing that I had one of the Allen’s eggs left for her. “If wishes were horses we’d all get the hell out of here,” I whisper to myself.
Gathering up two spoons I take the pan and another tin can of water into the bedroom. Grabbing the can off the nightstand I refill it in the kitchen and move it and the candle to our room placing the light safely in a holder. With no fire department worth speaking of a fire could kill hundreds and leave even more homeless.
Moving a small wooden chair to our bedside I gently stroke her face and whisper, “Honey? Sweetie? Dinner time.”
She stirs and moans. My heart breaks but I smile. I’ve always been a good liar. “Hey, good looking! How you doing tonight? Ready to go out dancing?”
Her eyes flutter and she laboriously gathers in a breath. “Not tonight, maybe tomorrow. How was your day?”
“Great, great! I talked with Jason from the fifth floor? He’s doing real well. Here, drink some water please.” I put another pillow behind her head and help her sit up before holding the can to her lips. “Watch the edge,” I whisper. “Don’t cut your lips.”
“Or no kisses for you tonight? I know how your dirty old man mind works,” she jokes.
“Yes, you always did, sweetie. Candlelight dinner for two, too! I might get lucky tonight yet, huh?”
“We’ll see, sailor boy, we’ll see.”
I spoon up a small mouthful of thin stew and blow on it before feeding her. Even though we eat out of the pan I am careful to alternate spoons, feeding her with one and me with the other. Pre Geng Jia she would always get mad when I shared her toothbrush, glass or flatware so I am careful to keep them segregated even though nothing is really clean anymore.
“You didn’t drink very much today, are you feeling okay?”
“Just tired. Tired and weak. And old.”
“Did you uhmm, did you make it to the-”
“Bathroom? Yes, you’re safe today. Thanks for asking.”
“You know I don’t mind,” I lied. I did mind. I didn’t mind the dirty job of cleaning her if she soiled herself I hated that she was no longer strong and that she would leave me soon. I minded what they had done to her and how I was powerless to help.
“I know you don’t. You always had poop and vomit cleanup when our boys were little didn’t you? How is Katie? Is the baby doing okay?”
“Still kicking up a storm. You can see his feet kicking right through her skin! I remember when you’d put my hand on your belly when our boys kicked hard. It never gets old, does it?”
“No. No, it doesn’t, but we do. Give them my love, will you?”
“Of course, but they’re coming to visit in 12 days. You’ll see her then.”
“Maybe, maybe.”
Slowly, methodically I manage to get half of dinner into her and make sure she drinks the whole 16 ounces of water. I pour a few ounces of water into the pan and scrape all the food off, creating the thinnest of soups and then drink the leavings. “Waste not, want not,” I smirk.
Her eyes are fluttering with fatigue by the time dinner is over and I know she wants me to let her be. “No falling asleep! We’re going to walk you to the bathroom, wash your face and brush your teeth and hair before you go to sleep tonight, young lady! If you won’t go dancing with me then you at least need to let me see you naked.”
“Ha! Don’t count on it, big boy. That wasn’t much of a dinner. And be sure to use the right brush this time! That hairbrush doesn’t really fit in my mouth so well, you know?”
“I know, I know. I’ll be careful this time,” I answer her smile with my own and help her with her evening ablutions.
Settling her into bed I claim the promised kiss and then gently hold her hand until I am sure she is asleep. I start to go when she whispers, “Read to me?”
“Of course,” I say and pick up my ancient copy of Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird and start where we had left off, with Mayella on the stand shouting out her testimony, “I got somethin’ to say an’ then I ain’t gonna’ say no more. That nigger yonder took advantage of me an’ if you fine fancy gentlemen don’t wanna’ do nothing about it then then you’re all stinkin’ cowards, stinkin’ cowards the lot of you.” I read the next two pages to the end of the chapter and her snoring confirms she is indeed fast asleep.
“Stinking cowards?” I said to myself. “Yeah, that about nails it. Sorry, Atticus but there is no law anymore and we’ve got a monster that makes Robert E. Lee Ewell look like a saint. I guess it’s time to take a lesson from poor Mayella and her dirty lying ways. Looks like we have another Polonius here: Liars goading us to virtue. Goodnight my goddess, I hope to be here when you wake up in the morning.
With the Allens under suspicion it was surely just a matter of time before I would be arrested and both me and my family made examples of. Before that happened I was going to find Darrin Snow AKA Xian Ren. I might not be able to help the Allens but I could make sure that the traitorous informant never squealed on any Meiguo ever again.
“Sleep tight, sweetie. Wish me luck.” I blow out the candle, lock the door behind me and enter the darkness.