>From an English book:

“On Wednesday, I have tennis training with the school team.”

Shouldn’t that be “I have tennis practice.”

Would anyone say “I have tennis training with the school team.”

?

>A sample from an MSN conversation last night. We are sitting beside each other on our laptops.

Travis said (21:45):
hi

says:

:)

Travis says:
I miss you

says:

me too

Travis says:
Aw…sweet

says:
of course

Travis says:

When can I see you again?

says:

any time you want
i’m always beside you

Travis says:

sweet
I feel like you’re beside me right now

says:
[right hug emoticon]

Travis says:
[left hug emoticon]

says:
[heart emoticon]

>Me: Okay. I need you to listen to me very carefully. I don’t have time to repeat myself.

Him: Huh?

>John Ingram had gotten used to the stares, but there was one stare he had never quite gotten the hang of. As he ascended the concrete steps past concrete walls past numbers in red haphazardly painted, their chips marking their birthdays, he knew what waited him on the otherside of this door. It was those twin brown puddles under which pulsed an untainted heart that entwined the two of them together. Life and destiny in its most lasting entirety.

He entered the apartment and removed his shoes and put on the black moccassins that she had crafted for him and wriggled his toes. It had rained today. Heavily, and though in Wuhan it always rained heavily, today’s offering had been especially hard. He pulled off his jacket and bits of rainwater splashed off on to the floor. He folded his umbrella and tossed it near the slipper rack and looked over to her. The jewel herself. Sitting on the bed watching CCTV9’s nightly English contest on their tiny, cheap TV.

No remote. Just a knob that groaned a dull click when you turned it. How much had he given for it? Not a Mao. He had pawned a pair of counterfeit boots for that.

He smiled. No. Correction. She had pawned a pair of counterfeit boots for that. His Chinese was barely good enough to order food, let alone bargain with a shopkeep who slept in a cot lined up against rows of cigarettes, themselves likely contenders for counterfeit status carrying human and rat waste and stray leaves, anything but the quality tobacco you lit up for.

Cigarettes that were dangerous to smoke. Perish the thought.

She waited until commercial to acknowledge him and those eyes, those twin pulsing beauties turned in her head and next came the smile and the words.

Baobei. Hao bu hao?

Bu hao. It’s raining like a bitch out there.

Her smile widened. It’s raining dogs and cats.

It’s raining cats and dogs, he corrected her and it was a pleasant correction. A year ago she had been afraid to say hello. He had cured her of that. He sat beside her and lifted the edge of her nightshirt. Come to think of it, he had cured her of many things.

I was worried about you, she said through full lips that never lost their vitality, not even in the coldest winter.

Worried about me, he said and put his arm around her and she snuggled against him.

I was afraid you drown out there.

His pale cracked fingers rubbed her leg.

Well, I can’t swim.

I know.

He started to stroke her hair.

I guess if I’d been drowning you’d have to throw a life raft to me.

No, she said. I let you go.

You’d let me drown?

Yes. She giggled and covered her mouth as she did so. That was a trait he’d never cured her of. One he never intended to either.

Do you know what I do next?

Get a new handsome laowai.

Handsome laowai? Oh, I don’t think so.

He pinched the side of her stomach. She poked his belly in return.

Big pillow. My big pillow. No, I take you and I breath the life into you.

He turned to her. Those eyes. He was lost in them. A wanderer in that most pearly land of wander.

How will you do that?

Like this.

Their lips embraced and he took her as he had every night for the past six months.

Later as they were lying in bed, she sent forth words like offerings to any who could hear them in that dark hot place. A single fan oscillated, a castoff they’d found in a garabage pile on a backstreet not far from here. He raised his hand and felt its brief, welcome breaths as she spoke.

Did you have fun at the netbar?

I did. There was a pretty girl there.

Oh? Did you speak to her?

No. I looked though. I looked plenty.

You can.

Can I?

You can. You can talk with her, and date with her.

Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind on my next visit.

Yes. You can. I kill the girl and I kill you.

Yes, he said laughing. I’ll keep that in mind too.

She never asked him what America would be like but he sometimes felt compelled to tell her. He figured she must be asking these questions, but as time dragged on, he knew these were simply questions he asked himself to which he provided guesswork posing as substantial answers.

After showering the next morning, she sat beside him on the bed.

My skin is different colors.

Oh?

Here, she tapped her upper thigh, is pale. My arm is dark. Down here, she tapped her calf, is in between.

He looked at her smiling. She returned her own brand. The one he loved.

Nothing on you is dark.

Your arm is dark.

This part, he said tracing a finger from his elbow to his wrist. Up here is all white.

You’re darker than me and whiter than me.

Yes, but that’s because I don’t carry an umbrella around.

She curled up a fist. Da si ni.

>(John goes to Starbucks to tutor “Rachel”, a rather rich Chinese girl, in English)

She lived down near one of the major malls, in a four bedroom apartment which her mother cleaned and her father slept in only when he tired of the karaoke bars. John had pegged them as soon as he’d met them, and though he’d tried not to pass judgment so quick, being in China this long had given him a sixth sense when it came to this stuff.

Daddy was a drunk and a womanizer. Mommy was a drunk as well. And the girl…

Well she was a racist. Just to add a little variety.

The first time he met she’d stared at him as if he’s arisen fully formed from an unflushed toilet. Then she had poked him in the stomach and asked, Are you pregnant?

He hadn’t known how to react and still didn’t. The bitch had done so without a smile or even the slightest trace of humor and had stood there waiting. As if expecting an actual answer. He had directed them to a table and they’d begun their lesson.

350 RMB an hour. That was the rate he’d quoted and the rate he’d gotten. He had given this rate to deter them. Who in the hell would pay such an outrageous price? Then again, they regularly paid their foreign teachers two or three times what the Chinese teachers made, Chinese teachers who could actually communicate with the students and who did twice the work, so he supposed that it shouldn’t have surprised him when the woman had agreed and asked for his number. Desperate people with money to waste. The entire China EFL industry in one sentence.

After poking him in the stomach, he’d started by asking her about her day and she’d started by asking him why he came to China.

Well, he said, preparing his answer. I like to travel, and I just thought it would be very interesting to live in China for a year.

She grunted.

But it’s a developing country. USA is developed. I don’t understand why you come here.

I told you that I like to travel, he said, 350 RMB becoming more expendable by the second. I like China, and I like being here.

She made to speak, but he added, I like teaching. I am a teacher.

But! she yelped. I don’t understand. Why do you come here?

A group of older women were practicing tai chi in the square, turning their limbs and waving silk scarves while a security guard stood watching them. John smiled at the guard and went inside and sat down. He glanced at his watch. Almost eight.

At eight fifteen she arrived. She came wearing dark blue jeans and a white shirt with a flower stitched in the center. Under the brim of her Adidas hat, her eyes narrowed at him and she stood beside the chair but did not sit down. Not yet. She had other business to attend to first.

Um, so are we ordering?

I could use a coffee.

She pointed at the counter. Right there.

Yes, he said. Slowly. Carefully. Then he forced a smile and went up to the counter while she sat down and began text messaging. By the time he got back, she’d moved on from texting to studying her nails.

Here you are. He set the coffee down.

Is this coffee? she asked jabbing a finger at it.

Yes.

She groaned. I hate coffee.

Oh? Why’s that?

Why’s what? I hate coffee. No why.

John crossed his legs and set his watch down. Let’s get started, huh?

Huh. She returned to her nails.

So…he muttered. How was your day?

Today? She waved her hands around. Today’s starting. It starts now.

I meant yesterday.

Okay. Just so-so I think.

I see. He sipped.

You see what?

No, I see. I understand what you’re saying.

Oh.

A sigh came bounding towards his lips. He blocked its path with the coffee cup and when he set it down she was smiling.

What’s up?

I have an English name.

Oh, good.

She said nothing. He motioned for her to continue.

What is it?

Horny.

What?

Horny.

You—do you—why did you choose that name?

I like the sound of it. It has a good meaning. Does it?

Yeah, I guess, but it really isn’t a normal name.

It doesn’t matter. I like the sound of it. It has a good meaning.

Yes, the meaning isn’t bad, I suppose, but the word ‘horny’, do you know what it means in English?

She neither moved nor spoke. She returned to her nails.

Do you know its meaning in English?

No, she said staring at her nails.

It means that someone wants to have sex.

She looked up.

If someone really wants to have sex, then we say they are horny.

A lot of sex?

Yes.

Oh. I don’t want that.

Okay. I think I can—

Foreigners have lots of sex.

He looked at her.

What? Foreigners always come here and have sex with Chinese girls and ruin them for marriage.

He stroked the edge of his coffee cup and glanced at his watch. 8:28.

Do you care if I give you an English name?

What?

Do you care if I give you an English name? English name. I give to you.

She shrugged.

How does Rachel sound?

What does it mean?

I—I don’t know. I don’t think it means anything.

Then why are you giving me this name?

What it means is not the point. In English, we don’t think of our names as having meanings like you all do.

Chinese names are special, she said. All your foreign names are so weird.

He held the cup to his mouth. Fuck, he said and the word fell into and dissipated inside the hot foul tasting liquid. He set it back down.

I will call you Rachel from now on. Okay?

She shrugged again.

Okay. Let’s talk about college life. Where do you go to school?

Wuhan technical college.

What is your major?

What?

Your major. What do you study?

Telecommunications.

I see. She glanced up at him. Why did you choose this major?

My father tells me this major is good. I don’t want to study in it but he told me it’s a good major to study.

And would you rather be studying something else?

Yes.

What is that?

I don’t know, she said, picking at her nail.

There came a silence between them in which John sipped his coffee and thought of the next topic. He had wanted to get at least three hours in with her. That much money would help fund his new laptop and pay for another couple weeks in their apartment. He lifted his watch, dreading the sight.

And what a dreadful sight it was. 8:33. He searched for topics, and at last, he came upon one.

Tell me, he said. What do you think of foreigners?