HEARTSICK [140 a 141]

Pag. 140

HEARTSICK

On the trip to Singapore, I felt lonely for the first time in a long while. Living in the crowded school, I was hardly ever on my own, so going on trips by myself was actually sort of a luxury. Now that I had Oh Chang, and now that we were apart, every moment felt empty. There was always something missing.

And so there I was, far away from my home, counting down the days. The hosts of the exhibition had put me up in a house, a much nicer place than the school, with a real bed and even an indoor bathroom. Other than at meals, they pretty much ignored me, and left me to wander the city on my own. I worked out during the daytime, hoping that good honest sweat would help me forget about Oh Chang, just for a little while; at night I explored the City of Lions.

I thought I could make it through the two weeks away without going crazy, and I almost did. The night right before I left Singapore, I went walking by myself as usual, staring at buildings and people, listening to the shouts of street hawkers selling unusual treats in an unfamiliar tongue. It was my last chance to see the city, and so I walked farther than I’d gone in all the nights before, until I found myself in a deserted street, miles away from my host home. In my eagerness to get away from my own thoughts, I’d forgotten about the time. It would take me hours to get back, and I’d be lucky to make it before dawn.

That’s when the rain began—not a gentle spray, but a sudden, tearing downpour that quickly built into a full-scale monsoon. Sheets of water fell from the sky, and the wind whipped at cloth canopies and brightly painted signs. I ran through the storm, my head down, instantly soaked, knowing that I’d never make it back on foot. Then I saw an old, rusting bicycle, abandoned on a street corner by its owner, and straddled it in the half-shelter of a doorway. The wind would make riding difficult, but I’d get back faster than walking. I pushed it out into the street and began to pump with all my might, headfirst into the gale, standing on the pedals and leaning forward on downhill strokes.

I wanted to be with Oh Chang forever. I’d give away ten years of my life if I could spend what was left with her. I’d give up anything. In my frenzied brain, it seemed to me that somehow, if I rode out this storm, if I

Pag. 141 
made it home in one peace, my wish would come true. I pedaled harder, like I was racing against my own bad luck. And then in the white brightness of a lightning flash, I saw a figure in a balcony above my head, and somehow I knew it was her, that I’d won the race, that she was mine forever. I threw the old bicycle aside, splashed through the dirty water of the street, and leaped up to grab the side of the balcony, clambering up and over despite the slickness of the wet ironwork.

It was a woman’s wet blouse, left twisting and forgotten on a drying pole, that I’d mistaken for her—for my Oh Chang. I laughed to myself;  it was a sign of how stupid I was. How could she be here, in Singapore? Why would she be standing out in the rain? She was hundreds of miles away, being showered with praise and the attention of rich admirers.

Stupid me! She was sweet and beautiful, she lived in a nice house, and she was one of the most famous actresses in the Chieu Chow opera circle. And me, I was a poor dumb stuntman, a big-nosed, ugly kid with no future.

Huddling under the pitiful shelter of the balcony canopy, I put my head down on my knees and dropped off to sleep. The wetness on my cheeks could have rain, or something else.

I apologize: I didn’t intend to go so far off course, but Oh Chang was probably the most wonderful thing to happen to me up to that point, and just thinking about her still makes me a little happy and a little sad. Many years later, Oh Chang retired from singing in the Beijing Opera and opened a small boutique in Hong Kong. Every so often, I would send one of my assistants over to check on the store, to make sure things were going okay, and to buy expensive items of clothing, which we would later donate to charity. I didn’t want her to know that I was keeping an eye on her—she would never have let me support her like that, even as a friend, so everything had to be done in complete secrecy.

Recently, she decided to move from Hong Kong, and announced to her customers that she was closing the store. I gave all of my female staff members money and told them to go over to the boutique, and they ended up buying everything that Oh Chang had! Oh Chang was happy that she had so many loyal customers—and my staff members were happy to get some nice things for free.

You know, she never got married, and didn’t even have a boyfriend.

It makes me wonder sometimes.

But I’ve said it before:  history is history, the past is the past, and that’s where it belongs, in our happy memories. I’m sure she’d agree with me. That’s the kind of person she is.