WOMEN, AND OTHER MYSTERIOUS THINGS [128 a 134]

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WOMEN, AND OTHER MYSTERIOUS THINGS

Oh Chang had come into my life just as I was thinking of leaving the school. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her, I might have stayed—stayed until it faded completely away, as it did just months after I set out on my own.

She was my fist girlfriend, my first love, and my sweetest memory of those early days on my own.

I mentioned before that it took a while for me to get interested in girls. Well, not just me; all of us boys at the academy were slow to learn that the soft, nice-smelling people known as women were not the same as us—and that that was a good thing.

Of course, our sexual curiosity didn’t have much of an outlet while we were at school; as I said before, our sisters were our sisters, and it just wasn’t possible to think of them as girls, really.

But once we became old enough to start working outside of the academy on a regular basis, everything changed. This was Kownloon, after all, and during our travels to the studios where we did stunt work we’d get an eyeful f a totally different kind of woman. They were sleek and groomed, with long, carefully styled hair. They wore lush outfits of embroidered silk, and they had painted faces—but definitely not of the opera variety.

“Willya look at that!” said Yuen Tai as we strolled down the street one night. Yuen Kwai and I were straggling behind him, tired and frustrated from a long day as extras on a martial arts film. Despite all of our training, our inferior junior-stuntman status meant that we were forced into the very worst jobs on the set. We’d do practice stunts that never made it onto film, fetch and carry for the stunt coordinator, and, most humiliating of all, we’d be called upon to play dead bodies, lying on our bellies for hours at a time. By the time we headed back to school, we’d be covered with dust and sweat.

Yuen Tai had stopped walking and was staring in admiration. She was the tallest woman we’d ever seen, as tall as any foreigner, but with jet-black hair falling in soft waves around her exposed shoulders. Her body—well, the girls we’d spent our lives with had their shapes disguised by loose-fitting practice outfits, so Madame was the only female available for comparison…and there was no comparison.

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As we caught up to Yuen Tai, the woman shifted her weight from one long leg to another, causing her body to strain against her painted-on dress.

“Hey, pretty lady” he drawled, putting on his best attempt at cool. The woman slid her eyes over to us, taking in our ragged, dirty outfits and our still-gawky adolescent bodies. Without a sound, she turned on one heel and swayed into the neon-lit entranceway of a nearby club.

“What?” shouted Yuen Tai plaintively. Yuen Kwai and I held each other upright as we nearly collapsed in laughter.

“Guess you ain’t her type, Big Brother,” I said.

“That kind of girl, she’s anyone’s type”, said Yuen Kwai. “You know, a ‘chicken’.”

“What the hell’s a ‘chicken’?” I said, puzzled.

“A chicken’s a woman who does it for money, little boy,” he snorted.  “Don’t think you can afford that kind of dish.”

Yuen Tai kicked at the curb and then resumed walking, his face sullen.  “Ah, screw you guys,” he said. “All this talk about chicken’s making me hungry. Let’s go home.”

And the whole way back to the school we hooted and made clucking noises in his direction, until he threatened to smack some respect into us if we didn’t shut up.

Well, as badly as it turned out, Yuen Tai’s close encounter with the goddess kept him from sleeping easy that night. Even after he’d called lights out, he kept muttering to himself, nursing his battered ego and cursing the whims of women.

“She was fine, wasn’t she, though?” whispered Yuen Kwai to me. “Man, if we weren’t stuck in this place, we’d meet women like that all the time, wouldn’t we?”

“Yeah, I guess, “I said, pulling my covers over my head.

“I mean, if we had money and nice clothes, we could really be big men,” he said, yanking my blanket down. “We’re almost movie stars, right?”

“I guess it could be fun,” I mumbled. “Kissing and stuff.”

“Kissing?” Yuen Kwai chortled, grabbing at his crotch. “Yeah, she could kiss this right here, brother!”

Yuen Tai broke off his agonizing long enough to deliver a swift kick to Yuen Kwai’s leg. “Why don’t you go to sleep, asshole,” he said. “Closest you’re gonna get to a woman is in your dreams anyway.”

“Look who’s talking, Big Brother,” said Yuen Kwai. “Here, chickie chickie …”

There was a muffled sound of struggling as Biggest Brother threw his blanket over Yuen Kwai’s head and began punching him in the stomach. The rest of us turned onto our sides and slid away from the wrestling pair.

I didn’t want to admit to Yuen Kwai that I had no idea what I’d do with 

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a woman like that even if I did meet one.  Yuen Tai and Yuen Kwai always played at being big men, groaning and making dirty remarks when they saw fast women in hot outfits. But when I closed my eyes, I envisioned girls like my little friend on the Peak, the ambassador’s daughter: sweet, quiet women who liked talking and laughing and listening to my stories. Women who were soft and gentle, like my mother and our big sisters, always caring for me when I got hurt. Women whom I could protect from harm, like the brave swordsmen of my childhood storybooks.

 Call me old-fashioned, or a closet romantic, or socially backward, but kids these days, all they think about is sex. I didn’t think about that at all.

Well, not often. But what I mostly dreamed about was finding someone who would understand me and care about me and stay with me, the way no one else in my life ever had. 

It really didn’t seem like that much to ask.

The next day, I was chosen by Master to represent the academy at a special exhibition, in which I would demonstrate our school’s skills to visiting foreigners. Although all of Chinese opera has the same roots, the country is so big and is made up of so many different kinds of people that it has evolved into different forms—Beijing opera, which is the most traditional form, and which our Master taught; Cantonese opera, which is the form practiced in much of the South; and so on.

Even though it was a big responsibility, I didn’t take it too seriously; after all, the foreigners were probably too stupid to know the difference between good and bad opera anyway. So the trip was like a little vacation for me—a chance to slack off, avoid practice, and maybe even spend some of my precious pocket money, if I saw something that looked appetizing.

The bus trip to the hall where the exhibition was being held was long and boring, and I spent the time dozing, and thinking—just a little bit—about girls. I’d just about decided that they weren’t worth the trouble when the bus arrived at my destination, and I was forced to scramble to make it out the door before the driver pulled away from the curb.

“Stay awake on the bus, ya stupid kid,” the driver shouted as I stumbled onto the pavement. Turning my head to retort, I felt my body thump into something solid and soft, something that let out a gentle squeal as it toppled over. Babbling apologies, I attempted to untangle myself from my unintended victim, and realized that she was a girl, and about my age, and very beautiful.

Not beautiful like the chicken woman.  She had soft black hair, pulled back against her head in a simple ponytail; she was wearing a clean but plain cotton outfit, and her body—what I could feel of it, accidentally—was slender and petite. Her eyes were huge and as clear as mirrors, and the expression I saw within them was not frightened, but shyly amused.

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  “I’m sorry!”  I shouted too loudly, as I rolled instantly away. She pushed herself up on her arms and brushed at her clothes.   

“That’s all right, I’m fine,” she said, smiling. “You must be in a hurry…”

I helped her to her feet, my face blushing red. “No, no hurry,” I mumbled. “I mean, I’m not going anywhere special.”

It was odd. I usually didn’t have any trouble talking to anyone, but in front of this strange, wonderful girl, my tongue felt thick, like a lead weight in my mouth. “I’m sorry.”      

“You said that already,” she said, looking at the ground. There were two spots of red on her pale cheeks. “I have to go now. You should walk more carefully, or you could hurt yourself. Or somebody else!”

And she waved, and walked quickly away.

I could only stand there with my mouth open, feeling like I’d never felt before. Like I’d swallowed a gallon of warm, syrupy stuff, as sweet as milk—a kind of pleasant pain that came up from my belly and into my throat. And I was frozen, even though I knew that she was walking away, and if I didn’t see her again, I would die.

Somehow I got my muscles going again and threw all other thoughts out of my head—the foreigners and their ignorant curiosity about Chinese opera could go hang, if it meant that I’d be able to catch up with that girl. It would be worth any number of beatings by Master. Even a day without food.  A week.  A  year!

So I chased her, running around the corner, and saw her meeting up with a small group of other girls dressed like her, entering—

Entering the very hall I was due to appear at myself.

I looked down at my wrinkled, dusty clothes, once clean and neatly pressed. If she was going to be in the audience, I would put on the performance of a lifetime, of all my lifetimes. My heart beat strongly in my chest. I walked proudly into the performance hall.

The man in charge of the exhibition was standing at the doorway, dressed in a traditional outfit, and looking anxious. Spotting me, a slightly dirty-looking young boy, he made a move to shoo me away, but I quickly raised my hand.

“I’m here from Master Yu Jim-yuen’s China Drama Academy. My name’s Yuen Lo—I’m performing today.”

He starred at me up and down. “What happened to you?”

I shrugged. “I had an accident.”

He grabbed me by the shoulders and hustled me down a side corridor. The foreigners, he told me in a harsh whisper, were already seated and waiting. I was to go on second, and the entire show had been waiting on me to begin. How could I make Master Yu lose face this way, arriving late and in a mess?

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I didn’t care; my thoughts were focused on that girl, and meeting her again.

Backstage, I saw a number of small groups of young people, stretching out, talking quietly, or arranging their costumes. My own exhibition was going to be mostly acrobatics and forms, so I had no makeup or special outfit to prepare; some of the other groups were going to perform short scenes in full dress, and they stood out in their finery. I stared intently at the other boys and girls, searching to see if the girl was among them. Boys who noticed me staring looked back in challenge; girls looked away shyly, or blushed prettily, but not so prettily as the girl I’d run into outside. She wasn’t there. Could I have made a mistake?

And then I heard applause coming from the stage area, and realized that the show had begun. Stepping softly to the edge of the heavy cloth backdrop, I pulled a fold of it aside and peered out at the stage and audience. A group of girls were posed, frozen in a silent pattern, as the orchestra offstage began to play. They turned in time with the music, and began their scene, And from the side, I caught a flash of the lead performer’s face.

It was her!

She was one of us—an opera actor—and from the way the Chinese in the audience responded to her, she was a star. Her every move was graceful as she gestured and swept across the stage, beginning a lilting song of love and challenge. I recognized her opera style as coming from the Chieu Chow province—but she could have been singing a pop song and made it sound elegant.

When her song ended and the troupe stood still and quiet on the stage again, I realized that I was barely breathing. I had seen my sisters perform before, but they had always seemed like little girls wearing the clothes and makeup of adults. This girl, who’d looked to be about my age when I’d knocked her down outside, seemed every inch a woman—a princess—even with nothing on her face but some powder and her perfect smile.

“Ayah!” someone whispered in my ear. “What are you looking at? It’s your turn!”

I jumped back. I’d nearly forgotten! I wasn’t here to enjoy, but to perform—and I hoped, I somehow knew, that the girl would be watching me as I’d watched her.

The organizer of the exhibition was finishing his introduction of my school, my master, and the style of opera that I was going to represent. As the audience began its polite applause, I felt a strange sense of power welling up inside me. I was invincible, untouchable. I was the prince of my school, the king of the stage. I would show all of them, especially that girl, what a student of Master Yu Jim-yuen could do.

And to the rolling sound of the drum, I somersaulted onto the stage, 

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 flipping up into a perfect handstand, before dropping in mock clumsiness into a drunkard’s pose.  As an old man, an imaginary wine jug under one arm, I fought invisible enemies, then transformed with a back flip and a shift of my features into Sun Wu Kong, the Monkey King, my body as agile and wild as any ape. I was a general, a scholar, a warrior mad for vengeance.  Without a word, without costume or weapon, I became every character I’d ever portrayed on that tiny stage at the Lai Yuen Amusement Park, all in perfect time with the music, with form so ideal that even Master might have nodded and smiled. The music hit is climax, the orchestra began to play its final bar, and with a last swagger of defiance against the world, I performed three quick somersaults in succession and disappeared into the wings.

The hall roared with applause. I pitied the performers who would have to follow me; it was their bad luck that I’d been put so early in the program. No one would remember anything but me that day, especially the foreigners, who had dared to look bored throughout  my girl’s wonderful singing.

I was already thinking of her as my girl! Even though I didn’t even know her name.  I caught my breath and walked around the corner and into the backstage area. A girl with a ponytail was standing at the edge of the backdrop, peeking through it at the stage.

“Hi,” I said softly, tapping her on the shoulder. It was the girl—my girl—and she turned pink when she saw it was me. “Did you see me?”

She nodded. “You were very good,” she said, smiling again and giving a little shake of her hair.

“Not as good as you,” I said, and meant it.

The organizer, who was helping the next group adjust their costumes, threw a nasty glare in our direction. There was a performance going on out there; making noise backstage was rude and, worse, bad luck.

Holding one finger to my lips, I took the girl’s wrist and pulled her after me toward the corridor that led to the front of the hall. Once we got there, I let her go, hoping she wouldn’t run. She simply looked at me, with that half-amused, half-shy expression that had charmed me when we’d first met.

“I’m sorry I ran you over before, “ I said, losing my tongue again.

“I’m sorry I was in your way,” she said, smiling. We were silent again, looking at each other.

“Where are you from?” I asked her, hoping for an address, or at least a general area where I could look for her again. She told me that her school was in Kowloon, not far from ours, but that she lived with her parents; her training hadn’t been as harsh and isolated as ours. I told her that our academy was in Kowloon too, and was about to ask if I might possibly be able to see her again, when the door to the corridor swung open 

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And a group of laughing young women ran out. It was the girl’s company, and they stared and whispered at us they emerged into the hallway.

“Come on, Madame told us to go back to the school right after the performance!” said one of the older girls in the group, tugging at my new friend’s sleeve. “Don’t waste your time talking to that boy. We have to catch the bus!”

“He isn’t much to look at anyway,” whispered another, and I felt my face flushing red. The group, pulling my girl along, gossiped their way down the corridor.

And suddenly, I realized that I didn’t know her name!

“Hey!” I said, running after the group, down the hall and out the door. The girls were at the bus stop, and a double-decker was just opening its folding doors to let them in and take them away. “Wait! My name is Yuen Lo! What’s yours?”

The other girls pushed my girl into the bus, making faces at me. I was crushed. I was losing her. Maybe Forever.

Then I heard her clear voice over the sound of the bus motor. “My name is Oh Chang!” she said, poking her head out of an open window.

“Can I see you again?” I shouted.

She smiled and nodded, and was pulled back inside by her friends.

Oh Chang! Her name was as lovely as she was. I said it to myself again and again as the bus rolled off into the distance.

Then I slapped my forehead in disgust. That was my bus, too! And who knew when the next one would come along?

I cursed my own stupidity and set off on the long walk back to the academy, frustrated and alone.