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Authors: Wesley Robert Lowe

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BOOK: Ghosts of Chinatown
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Liang glides in and touches his daughter.
 

There is something netherworldy about her; instead of vibrancy, there’s a vacant and heavy expression of her carnaged face—her skin is translucent, paler than pale. “That’s him, Baba.”

“You’re positive?”

“Absolutely.”

Liang is like a controlled volcano, wanting to erupt with a murderous fury, but controlling himself with Zen-like mastery.

“I knew the moment he stepped through the door.”

Jasmine grabs her father’s hand. “Then why are you scaring him away? It’s taken me so long to get him here and we can’t let him leave.”

Liang shakes his head sadly. “There is no worry of him leaving. Jasmine, this is the place he’s been searching for. This is his… final destiny.”
 

Liang strokes a bruise on Jasmine’s face. “And he knows it…” Liang crumbles. No longer the stern Chinaman, he is the father who has lost all that is precious. “Oh, Jasmine... Jasmine... I wish… I wish I could have protected you.”

“It’s hard to hate someone you used to love.”
 

“How you can call your insanity ‘love’?”

Jasmine’s tired and glum eyes water. “I’m not a child.”

“But you are naïve.” Liang touches a tear on Jasmine’s cheek and softly intones, “A little dragon once sat on a girl’s shoulder. The wretched reptile whispered, nibbling on her ear, how much he loved her. She refused to believe that mixed with the sweet words was venomous saliva. It killed her... it killed you. He killed you.”

Jasmine squirms, agitated. “We don’t know for sure that it was Todd, Baba. There is no real proof.”

There is no uncertainty in Liang’s voice. “Look at your face, your body, Jasmine. What further proof do you need?” Liang embraces Jasmine. “My little girl. I know your heart. I have always known your heart. And I will soon provide you with all the proof you need.”

Like a three-year-old, the anguished daughter beats her father with her fists. Over and over and over. Harder and harder and harder. “Please, Baba. Please be sure.”

Liang wills himself to civility.

“Of course. I am a man of honor.” Liang looks stoically at Jasmine’s black-and-white photo. And honorable men avenge their families.

***

Todd casts a nervous eye down the hall.
Great. Liang’s a weirdo and Cam’s a slimeball.
“Kinda empty here.”

“It’s awesome. That’s why I love it. Serenity and solitude for a writer.” Cam pops a cancer stick into his mouth and winks at Todd. “’Course that’s gonna change when you move in. Banging away on the piano.” Cam winks. “And banging away at all kinds of young ladies?”

“Maybe… hopefully.” Todd chuckles. “Probably. But there’s a big ‘if.’”

“If what?”

“If I move in. Liang’s a weird dude. Like why doesn’t he want anyone else here? This place is like magnificent and seems he doesn’t want anybody here to touch anything.”

“You got that right, Piano Man.”

“But what’s the reason?”

“What’s the Chinaman’s motivation? This place is Liang’s baby and he’s totally obsessed. I moved in years ago when he bought this rat’s nest. I’m his only tenant as he’s taking forever to do the reno.”

Todd’s mouth gapes. “No way. He’s doing it himself? The care in the filigree is like a master craftsman.”

“Filigree? Whoa. You trying to impress me with big words?”

Todd shrugs. “I can’t impress anybody with anything. What’s Liang’s game?”

Cam fires up his cigarette and blows a smoke ring. “You notice things. Smart guy.” Cam moves his hands and body in rhythm as he speaks. “Liang is the epitome of what I call ‘complementary opposites.’ Yin and Yang. Punch and Judy. High tech and handmade. ”

A light goes on in Todd. “Fusion of East and West. That’s why his ad said he wanted somebody with Chinese sensibilities.”

“Bingo.” Cam takes a huge drag off his stick. “He’s a damn broken record. ‘Taking the best out of each civilization.’ As if anybody really gives a rat’s ass about multiculturalism crappola.”

“Some of us do.”

“And some of us don’t. As a matter of fact, most of us don’t. You get three squares, you got a roof over your head, and you get laid. Now that’s what life’s all about. Don’t matter if you’re in the Congo with a bongo or in Tibet with a Corvette.”

“Liang talks with a Beijing accent.”

“You can tell?”

“It’s the way he rolls his r’s when he speaks.” Todd shrugs. “But what I want to know is the reason he moved to Vancouver. It’s irrational. He’d never have the career here he did in China.”

“That I can answer.” Cam twirls his index finger around his temple, indicating the “cuckoo” sign. “Why, why, why? He lost his mind and”—Cam wiggles his index fingers indicating quotation marks—“followed his heart. Or, in the words of that illustrious author Cameron Gibson, ‘getting laid is better than getting paid’ unless you’re getting paid to get laid.”

“Did you get close to him?” Todd asks rhetorically. “I mean who the hell wants Mr. Maggot Breath?”

“Maybe somebody who wants to rent a suite from me?”

Todd, freaked out, whips around to see an unsmiling Liang behind him. “I... I meant…”

Cam interrupts. “Piano Man, your foot is already stuck halfway up your ass. Don’t push it all the way.” Cam bursts out laughing. “Let’s check out the room.”

“Right.” Liang, using every atom of self-control in his body to repress his fury, leads the way in.

Chapter 5
 

The three step into another impressive room with an East/West theme. Mounted on five-foot Greek columns, short ceramic statuettes of ancient Chinese mandarins and warriors greet Liang, Cam and Todd as they cross the threshold an extraordinary room with wood paneling, antique coffee table, furniture and a writing desk with a leather Bible.
 

However, this is not what draws Todd’s attention. It is the grand piano by the subdued earth tone–colored wall. It’s the reason he answered Liang’s ad, it’s the reason he so much wanted to rent the suite and now that he sees it, fascination and trepidation engulf his body.

Todd’s pulse accelerates—it looks exactly like the rosewood-colored Cuban mahogany piano that he battered Jasmine on.
 

He forces a hoarse whisper. “Where did you get this? I knew a piano like this.”

Ignoring Todd’s alarm, Liang beams with pride. “I doubt it. I rescued it from an abusive theater. When I acquired it, it had coffee stains, butt stains and stains from the actresses playing with the actors.”

The hairs on Todd’s neck rise. “What theater?” Where?”
 

“I am the one asking the questions, not you. Understand?”

“Yes, Liang. It’s just… it’s just…”

Liang interrupts. “Are you going to continue wasting my time? If so, we can stop. You can go somewhere else.”

“No, no, no. I’m good. Really.” Todd sits down at the piano and peers inside. There is nothing to indicate where the piano has come from—no trademark insignia, no logos, no identifying characters of any kind. He gently runs his hands over the keyboard and intones softly. “Real ivory.” He scrunches his face questioningly. “But it does feel just a little bit different.”
 

“Of course it does. We are not talking about a mass-produced factory model here. A unique animal gave his life to create this object. Its spirit was special and is part of this instrument’s fabric.”

Whatever you say. Todd leans into the keyboard and presses one key down to check the piano’s action. “Perfect.” He presses down on the sustain pedal and hits a chord. The sound not only sustains beautifully but also resonates with subdued shades of brilliance throughout the room.

“This room is perfectly acoustically designed.”

“I can tell.” Todd sets himself and then begins to play a variation of the Chinese music that Liang played on the erhu. Jazz influenced, the sound is a New Age tour de force. His deft fingers glide the keyboard with the surety of someone who has spent many hours practicing. His face shows that he internalized the music, capturing its essence. Deep. Moving. Reflective.
 

Liang’s face transforms. The harsh sternness disappears and he lights with joy to see his handiwork in the hands of a genuine artist. He looks at Cam and then at Todd with more than simply approval…
 

Todd begins a rubato, incorporating all the notes of Liang’s melody, yet with the different chords, harmonies and nuances, the music slowly finishes, capturing the mood masterfully with his own unique interpretation.
 

Todd lifts his face, questioning Liang’s as he finishes. He thinks he spots a tear. “East and West. Yin and Yang.”
 

Liang, emotions churning, keeps still for agonizing seconds, deep in contemplation. Then the landlord intones softly… and surprisingly, “Why do you want to live here? Almost two hundred years of sorrow inhabit these walls. Poor village boy from China hopes to find prosperity, to discover a gold mountain in America, only to discover futility. No English. No gold. No family, no heritage. Opium is his only escape and he gambles his miserable few cents away. Caught between worlds with no way out.”

Liang motions his arms around, demonstrating the room. “This is where you have come. To no man’s land.”

Todd shoots a glance directly at Liang. “That’s why this place connects. I’m another ‘no man’ in no man’s land.”

Cam interjects. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, you two. Cut the Kumbaya. Are we gonna hold hands and sing around a campfire next? You guys are killing me.”

Liang evaluates Todd, ignoring Cam. “The ghosts of those who never made it back to China still live here.”
 

Cam is totally exasperated. “The dead are dead. It’s the living you gotta worry about.”

Todd’s eyes widen—Cam’s words are the same as those that he said to the panhandler outside the Liang Building. “Where did you hear that from?”
 

Cam smiles enigmatically. “I get around.”

Liang sadly looks around the room. “Perhaps it’s time.”

“Not perhaps. It is time, Liang.” Cam slaps the Chinese man on the back, almost pushing him down.”
 

Liang straightens and nods at Todd. “Yes, you may rent the place. Five hundred dollars a month, paid in advance and in cash.”

Todd’s in emotional turmoil. It’s exactly what he wants yet he can’t shake off the cold breath of fear.

Cam howls in delight. “Praise the Lord and pass the offering basket. Yes. Piano Man, this calls for a celebration. You and I are gonna check out the hood.”

Chapter 6

The crazies are out tonight. Cam and Todd stroll past a babbling bag lady arguing with a lamppost, Chinese hoodlums who’ve been in a bloody brawl, and a strung-out anorexic hooker. In addition to the living, mysterious, faint, indistinct images of old Chinese coolies fade in and out. Todd can’t figure out if it’s his imagination or if they are Liang’s ghosts from a bygone Chinatown.

Todd shivers. “Damn weird out here.”

“As in weird, ‘ha ha,’ or weird, ‘boy this sucks’?”

“Neither. Weird as in like, ‘I’m itchy but there are no mosquitoes around.’”

“Duh, where do you think you are? This ain’t some middle-class WASP neighborhood.” Cam pulls out a smoke. “After Liang’s rant, you are either one brave or one stupid son of a bitch to stay here in Chinaville.”

“I’ve lived in Beijing. I know about Chinese and there’s not a feeling like this.”

“That’s because of China’s drive to modernity. This is North America. This is Vancouver. Here they worship some China that disappeared decades ago.”

“I don’t want a sociology lesson.”

“Hey, just trying to help. You got questions, I got answers. Demons, real and imaginary, feed off fear. No fear, no energy, no spirits.”

“You want to help, tell me something about Liang’s piano.” Todd plays an imaginary keyboard.

Cam lights up. “A piano’s a piano. Ain’t no hidden agenda with that. Copper-wound coils on the inside with sound created by felt-covered hammers hitting the coils. On the keyboard are eighty-eight keys. Thirty-six black keys, fifty-two white.”

“Not this one. It’s got a touch, a feel, a personality. Liang’s right. Hand-crafted and restored makes it special.” Todd stops. “Something of Liang’s soul is imbedded in it and I want to be close to it.”

Cam takes a huge drag and blows the smoke into Todd’s face. “Well, kiss my ass. Now you’re talkin’ just like the crazy old Chinaman.” Cam takes a final drag on his smoke and gives the butt to a grateful street person, who grabs the lit stick and eats it. “Am I the only one who’s not crazy around here?”

Todd gulps as the street person opens his mouth and spits out a whole new unbroken lit cancer stick. Todd turns to Cam. “There’s a tie between Liang and me but damn, I don’t know what it is. But I knew as soon as I met him that he would rent the place to me.”
 

Unseen by Todd, the street person spins and pushes the cigarette at Todd’s neck but it passes right through him.
 

“This ain’t metaphysics. Don’t flatter yourself. Yeah, you’re good but I seen Liang run through the same routine half a dozen times with different people. Always the same story. Studied piano in Beijing. Left for some reason or another. Traveled the world and eventually wound up here. But I must admit. You were different.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You are one totally wicked piano player and as an artist, I can relate.” Cam smiles. “You and I are going to get along just fine, Piano Man. Hell, maybe you’re not crazy either.”

Todd rubs his neck curiously where the cigarette was, then wheels around, puzzled—the street person is gone. “Where’d he go?”

“Where’d who go?”

“The guy. The guy was right here. He ate your butt and spit and out a brand new fag.”

“Right.” Cam claps Todd on the back. “I take it back. I’m still the only non-crazy here.” Cam points to a rundown dive of a restaurant with a flickering neon sign reading “Ho Inn.”
 

“What’s that?”

“That, my friend, is my favorite place in Chinatown and that is where we are going to party down.”

Chapter 7

BOOK: Ghosts of Chinatown
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