Mulberry and Peach (29 page)

‘Why?'

‘People are more dangerous than dogs. If the world only had one-tenth the population it has now, it wouldn't be so chaotic. People create the chaos. Machines create order. It's best to interact with machines.'

The telephone rang. He went over to answer it, he listened a while, then said one sentence: ‘Yao-hua, you must get hold of yourself.' Then he hung up, returned to the table and dusted the cameras with a soft cloth.

A-king ran over and tried to crawl up his legs, pawing at the zipper on his knees.

‘Pete, don't move!'

‘Pete?' I begin to laugh. ‘Tan-hung calls him A-king; you call him Pete! Now which one is his name?'

‘Both of them. Anyone can give him a name. You can call him John, too. This is the good point of keeping a dog: he doesn't protest. Mary calls him A-king. She says that name sounds like Peking, I can't pronounce Chinese names, so I call him Pete.'

The telephone rang again. He walked over to answer it, listened a while then again said only one sentence, ‘Yao-hua, what you need is a good night's sleep.' Then he hung up. A-king leaped up at him. He picked him up, put him in the bedroom, closed the door. A-king scraped at the door.

The telephone rang again. He went over to answer, listened a while: ‘OK, Mary, I'll bring Pete to the phone.' He opened the bedroom door, carried the dog over to the phone. It barked into the phone. He said into the phone receiver: ‘Mary, hurry back. If you don't come back, Pete won't behave.' He hung up.

The telephone immediately rang. He picked up the phone and said: ‘Hello. It's you again. Yao-hua.' He listened a while. ‘You're not going to kill yourself. Get a good night's sleep and you'll be alright.' He hung up, walked back and sat down by the table.

The telephone rang again.

He shook his head and said: ‘I can't stand it. Crazy.'

I laughed. ‘Now you know machines can also be crazy.'

‘I mean that person who's calling. That's Mary's cousin Yao-hua. He came from Taiwan several years ago. Mary doesn't like him. Dirty and muddle-headed. He studied philosophy at the University of Philadelphia. His English isn't any good. He hired someone to write his thesis. When the professor saw it, he asked him if he had hired someone to write it. He said yes. He was expelled. He worked as a waiter in a restaurant for three days then the boss fired him. Now, he calls several times a day, yelling that he's going to kill himself. Every Chinese has something wrong with him.'

The telephone started ringing.

He continued, ‘Now they can use a scientific method to freeze people, you know that? Like freezing beef, freeze them for as long as you want, say a hundred years. For those one hundred years, he'd automatically defrost and he'd start living again from the age he was when he was frozen.'

‘Then the present can be cancelled?'

‘Right, cancelled; just live for the future.'

‘After one hundred years, when you're defrosted, if there weren't
people anymore, only mechanical people on all the planets, who would you make love with?'

Jerry laughed. ‘The mechanical people can take care of that, too.'

The telephone stopped ringing.

I wanted to play a joke on Jerry. I went into the bathroom and filled the tub. I stripped off my clothes. I lay in the bath water. I didn't close the door. I watched my pubic hair reflect off black light in the water.

Mulberry, just at that time you reappeared. You saw his face turn red. You had to take over just at that moment, didn't you? I'll get even with you.

 

Teng and I are in the living room with black walls (Tan-hung's interior decorating is certainly unique!). Jerry went to Wall Street. Tan-hung took A-king to Fifth Avenue.

The telephone rings. Teng answers it. ‘Hello . . . Yao-hua? ... Please speak louder, I can't hear you ... Yao-hua, you mustn't think about killing yourself, you're a man, you can take action, do anything you want as long as it's meaningful to you. The only way out is to die? OK! Then go find a way to do it. Go back to Taiwan! Use your actions to kill yourself; but for heaven's sake don't kill yourself with your own hand ... hello, hello, Yao-hua, say something . . .'

The telephone rings. Teng answers it. ‘Hello . . . Wang? If Yao-hua's locked the door then you must pry it open! He could try to kill himself ... Ah, the police are coming ... Yao-hua is coming up by the stairs! ... What! He ran when he saw the police! ... Do you think he's been smoking dope? ... Please find him by all means. I'll wait for word from you. I can't come. If I were to drive it'd take at least two hours. Please keep me informed about Yao-hua. Thanks.'

The telephone rings. I answer the phone. ‘Hello.'

‘This is Yao-hua. I didn't die. I just came from the apartment of a Puerto Rican girl. I was having a little fun there. You could say she's an old “flame”. I saw her once before. The first time I met her in a bar on 86th Street. We went to her apartment. I said I was hungry. She said all she had were some eggs. I said let's eat fried eggs then! After we ate the fried eggs we went to bed, slept a while, were hungry again, ate some more fried eggs, went to bed again, slept a while, were hungry again! Ate some more fried eggs. By that time it was already getting light outside. We had just finished eating a dozen eggs. Today I ran into her on 42nd Street. I didn't even have any money to buy peanuts. I said her fried eggs were really good. She said then eat some more. I just ate two fried eggs; when I left she said she liked me. Tan-hung, don't you think
that's wonderful? Tan-hung ... can you lend me a little more money ... I know, I've borrowed too much already, and haven't paid back a cent. But I'll pay you back someday. If I don't pay you back I would never forgive myself. Tan-hung, why don't you say anything? Are you Tan-hung? You won't lend me money, right? The hell with you! I'll show you! Goodbye!'

I hang up. The telephone rings again. Teng answers. ‘Hello . . . Wang! Yao-hua just called. Wants to borrow some money, probably trying to get a fix, doesn't seem like he's going to kill himself ... Luckily he still has friends like you; everyone's busy, no one has time to look after anyone else—OK, goodbye.'

Two hours later, the phone rings. I answer it. ‘Hello!'

‘A Chinese jumped to his death from the 35th floor of Rockefeller Center. We've found out the dead person's name is Jim Chang. We don't know if it's Chang Yao-hua or not.'

‘I don't know either,' I say.

 

 

 

When Tan-hung goes out, Teng and I put the dog in a picnic basket and take him away. Teng says Tan-hung doesn't know what to do with her life, if she doesn't have the dog then she will want to raise a child, so we'll simply get rid of the dog. But I don't want her to raise my child, I only think killing the dog is something new to do.

We go by subway to the hospital, and we're going to give the dog to the hospital for their experimental research.

I like to travel back and forth in the subway network. I've never taken the wrong train. I know which train goes where. Some people jump into a car and ask in a foreign accent: ‘Is this train going uptown or downtown?' I reply, ‘This is the shuttle, it runs from Grand Central Station to Times Square and connects with the eastbound and westbound trains.' In New York, giving such definite answers to passengers is one of the happiest things in the world.

The subway is very colourful: skin colour, clothes, the advertisements. Miss Subway shows her white teeth as she smiles down from the blown-up photograph, her name, address and resume are printed under her picture. ‘College graduate, stenographer, likes to eat steak and pickles, hopes to find an ideal man and have five children. Sports: swimming, dancing. Her older brother died in Vietnam. Her younger brother is there now.'

That's what the colours are like.

On the subway Teng tells me how to kill a dog: first anaesthetise it and put it to sleep, give it an electrical shock in the cerebral cortex to keep it alive for a few days, then anaesthetise it again, slit open the chest, stain the cerebral cortex with a special dye and slice it into pieces. Then you can observe changes in the brain cells. When he finishes explaining the process, he changes his mind: we'll go throw the dog off the Washington Bridge into the Hudson River. Of course I agree.

We squeeze our way out of the subway, buy some strong rope, put a few rocks in the basket and seal the lid with some sticks. The dog desperately paws inside the basket, just like he pawed at Tan-hung's bedroom door.

We ride a bus past Central Park, riding along the river, we can see from the distance the high arch of lights on Washington Bridge. The dog thrusts himself against the basket. The basket is propped up against my legs. I can feel the dog's strength and warmth on my legs. The little body in my womb begins moving. Only three months now.

Teng and I are standing on Washington Bridge. The dark waters of the Hudson flow on below. I pick up the basket and weigh it in my hand; it's very heavy. ‘Good-bye, little Peking,' I say. We let the rope out a little at a time and lower the basket to the water. The rope jerks in my hand, as it reaches the water it jerks more violently, then slowly grows lax and then is quiet.

 

Tan-hung has discovered that the dog is missing. She sits silently on the
sofa. Occasional noises outside make her sit up and she calls, ‘A-king? You've come back. A-king, A-king.'

Her husband says he'll buy her another dog. She says, ‘Don't bother.'

 

 

 

I tore up the note, Mulberry. You mind your own business. I killed the dog. Tan-hung is not going to raise your child, so don't think about it.

 

I am safe in the toilet I don't want to leave. The policeman knocks on the door saying I've been in here an hour and now I must come out I don't answer. Then there's a click and the door opens the policeman is standing there in the doorway of the toilet. I thought you went bankrupt playing the market and killed yourself he says
.

 

I was the one who went to Wall Street, but you were the one who returned.