The Drink and Dream Teahouse

by Justin Hill

  ‘Don’t you remember?’

  ‘A bit. But I was only little. It’s not very clear.’

  ‘Wah! It was chaos.’

  ‘That’s when you burnt the genealogy.’

  ‘Is that what your father said?’

  Da Shan nodded, his eyes followed her as she wiped the taps and the rim of the sink, then inside the sink, wringing out the cloth again, and hanging it up once more.

  ‘Isn’t it true? When did he burn them?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Did you ever see them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So he burnt them before he met you?’

  ‘Why so many questions?’

  ‘I just wanted to know our history.’

  ‘Your father knows.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course, he had to learn it all when he was a child.’

  ‘And he still remembers?’

  ‘Did you come all this way to ask me silly questions?’ she said and pushed past him, out into the sitting room. Da Shan followed in her wake and began another question but she scowled as she wiped the table and he stopped. The phone rang and they both made a move for it but his mother got to it first.

  ‘Hello?’ she shouted. ‘Yes. He is‌–‌who is it?’ She listened then held out the receiver to Da Shan and said, ‘It’s for you.’

  He took it from her hand. ‘Hello!’ he said and his mother began to patrol the room, looking for dust. ‘Who is this?’ There was a moment’s silence before Da Shan spoke again. ‘Fat Pan!? I know, it has.’

  As Old Zhu’s wife looked for dust she listened to the half conversation. ‘This afternoon? OK. Sure. At five fifty. Great!’ she heard

  Da Shan say before he put the phone down. ‘That was Fat Pan,’ he told her. ‘I know.’ Under steel-grey eyebrows her eyes stared hard. ‘Oh, he just asked me out for a meal. Just heard I was back.

  Got a banquet organised.’ ‘What’s he doing now?’ ‘He’s still in the army. Runs one of their karaoke bars.’ ‘He was a good friend to you,’ she said like a warning. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘I know.’

  Da Shan decided to get a taxi to the Number One Patriotic Karaoke Night Club. As he walked through the factory gates he thought he heard a man shouting.

  ‘Heh!’ he heard again and half turned to see who it was. ‘Yes!’ the man shouted. ‘You!’

  Da Shan stopped.

  ‘Da Shan?’ the man asked. He had grey bristly hair and his left eye was larger than the right, which drooped. ‘Good to meet you.’ The man smiled. ‘I’m Wang Fang.’

  His smile was too ready, there was something unpleasant about him‌–‌more than his eyes or familiarity or sweaty palms. ‘I don’t think I know you,’ Da Shan said.

  No,’ the man said, ‘but I know you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  Da Shan waited. ‘I am in a hurry.’

  The man smiled. ‘I know all about you.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘No‌–‌I know all about you and,’ the man thought of the right word to use, ‘all the things you’ve done.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘You don’t seem to understand.’

  Da Shan took a step forward. He couldn’t tell if the man was trying to get money or what. ‘Understand what?’

  The man held out his hands. ‘I don’t want any trouble.’

  ‘Then what were you trying to say?’

  ‘I’m not trying to say anything. I’ve said it.’

  ‘Good,’ Da Shan said, ‘then you can go back to wherever you’ve come from.’

  The man adjusted his jacket and ran a hand over his hair. ‘I just wanted to warn you,’ he said. ‘Don’t get involved again. Not if you know what’s good for you.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice.’

  ‘That’s all I wanted to say.’

  ‘Now you’ve said it, you can go.’

  ‘Remember!’ the man said as Da Shan pushed past him; called out again. ‘Remember!’

  It took fifteen minutes by taxi to get to the Number One Patriotic Karaoke Night Club. An awning of fairy lights was strung above the door, a neon sign flashed out the name of the place, and the English word ‘ok‌–‌ok‌–‌ok’ flashed repeatedly in blue, red and green. At the door two statues of smiling girls in traditional robes of embroidered silk imperceptibly nodded their heads as Da Shan walked in. He stood in the lobby and looked around, and was wondering what to do next when a short frail girl appeared from the dark. She had a white powdered face and blood-red lips that parted to reveal a smile of yellow teeth.

  ‘Can I help you sir?’

  ‘I’m Da Shan. I’m meeting Commander Pan.’

  ‘This way,’ she nodded, and showed him up the carpeted stairs to a private banqueting room at the end of a long corridor. She stopped by the door, gave him one quick look with half-moon eyes, and said ‘Please sir,’ and opened the door.

  The room was small, wallpapered in red and gold; lined with blue sofas and a widescreen TV. In the centre of the room was a round table with a revolving centre. There were six army officers reclining on the sofas. One of them was singing karaoke into a microphone. All stood up and came forward as Da Shan stepped inside. At the front was the smiling face of Fat Pan.

  ‘Da Shan!’ Fat Pan said, holding out a podgy-fingered hand to shake. ‘Da Shan my old friend, you look well.’

  ‘And you,’ Da Shan said. ‘How long has it been?’

  ‘Too long, too long,’ Fat Pan said, still shaking Da Shan’s hand. ‘Meet my friends: this is Driver Zhang, Officers Song, Wan, Deputy Guo and Vice-Commander Jiao.’

  Da Shan introduced himself, shaking each hand in turn.

  ‘How do you know Commander Pan?’ Vice-Commander Jiao asked, while Driver Zhang offered Da Shan a Marlboro cigarette.

  ‘We were at university together, then I became a teacher and Fat Pan joined the army.’

  Fat Pan lit his cigarette then announced, ‘Teaching is the most honoured profession under the sun.’

  ‘If only,’ Da Shan said. ‘I was more like a candle‌–‌illuminating others, but burning myself out.’

  They all laughed, ha-ha-ha!

  ‘You were always the joker,’ Fat Pan said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Look my friends,’ Fat Pan said, ‘so modest.’

  ‘Too much modesty is the same as pride.’

  Ha-ha-ha! They brayed. Ha-ha-ha!

  Fat Pan coughed. ‘You see,’ he said. ‘What did I tell you?’

  ‘Come, let’s sit down,’ Fat Pan said, and gestured Da Shan to the seat opposite the door. ‘Please.’

  Da Shan took the chair offered, and the other men sat round the table according to rank. Fat Pan sat next to him and Vice-Commander Jiao sat directly across the table. Three girls came in with starters. They were dressed in matching red cheongsams, high heels, and high ornate hairdos that threatened to topple every time they bent forward. Da Shan watched them balance their coiffures on their heads as they slid dishes of cold roast meat, pickled dofu skin, crispy vegetables and boiled peanuts onto the table. When they’d finished they slowly left the room, walking backwards, and re-entered moments later with more food. When the table was buried under expensive dishes the waitresses took up their places against the wall, and waited.

  ‘Where’s the wine!’ Fat Pan shouted across the table. ‘Wine!’

  The three girls blushed and the shortest giggled, a glimpse of crooked white teeth as she quickly shuffled out backwards, covering her mouth with her hand. Fat Pan shifted uneasily, and then laughed, ha-ha-ha!

  They all laughed with him. Ha-ha-ha!

  Da Shan joined in, Ha‌–‌Ha‌–‌Ha, then stopped, while the others continued. They were all still laughing when the girl came back with a bottle of Plum Wine; kept up a tired chuckle as she struggled with the screw top, finally got it open and then poured the wine into a green patterned porcelain teapot. At last the girl handed it to Pan, who smiled at hi
s guests. The chucking stopped and the waitress shuffled backwards to the wall.

  ‘Good!’ Fat Pan announced, ‘now let’s begin!’

  When all the cups were full Pan announced the first toast. ‘To the return of a long-lost friend!’ he declared, and they downed their wine.

  Vice-Commander Jiao came in with the second: ‘To wealth and prosperity!’

  Fat Pan came in again: ‘To the success of our joint venture!’

  ‘Cheers!’ the army officers shouted, and drained their cups. No sooner had they begun the cold dishes than they were whisked away and replaced with hot and aromatic meats and fried vegetables.

  ‘Sweet and Sour Lotus Root,’ Fat Pan declared. They all tasted it and ummed in appreciation; then it was snatched away and another dish set down. ‘Red Cooked Pork!’ Pan announced.

  ‘Steamed Egg.’

  ‘Phoenix Wings.’

  He looked up at the waitress ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Ants Climb the Bamboo,’ the waitress said softly.

  ‘A-ha!’ Pan declared, and put a spoonful in Da Shan’s dish.

  ‘Ants Climb the Bamboo!’

  ‘Umm,’ said Da Shan, ‘delicious!’ and reached to try another dish only to find it had been replaced already.

  ‘West Lake Fish,’ to the left.

  ‘Beef in Syrup,’ on the right.

  ‘Three-Coloured Tripe,’ right in front of him.

  ‘Coral Red Cabbage,’ to replace the West Lake Fish.

  When everyone was utterly confused what dish was what the three waitresses descended in a swirl of arms and smiles and cleared them all away. They came back carrying in a large copper hot pot between them which they set down on the table.

  ‘The house speciality,’ Fat Pan declared, gesturing with his chopsticks, ‘Three Dog Hot Pot!’

  ‘Very good for the blood!’ Vice-Commander Jiao said.

  ‘It’ll keep you warm in the winter!’ Driver Zhang agreed.

  ‘Just like a wife!’ Da Shan said.

  Ha-ha-ha! they chorused. Ha-ha-ha!

  ‘So how’s business going?’ Da Shan asked.

  ‘Good, very good,’ Fat Pan said.

  ‘In Shaoyang the People’s Liberation Army owns both night clubs, the top restaurant and most of the karaoke bars.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘And we thought we’d move into real estate. Which is where you come in,’ Fat Pan said, resting a hand on Da Shan’s knee. ‘I heard you’ve done very well down in Shenzhen. We need some capital, and I thought you might be able to help introduce us to some people you know.’

  ‘I hope I can help you.’

  ‘I’m sure you can,’ Fat Pan said, and helped himself to more of the hot pot, ‘because we’re such good friends.’

  ‘We are,’ Da Shan said and felt everyone scrutinising him, except Fat Pan who continued talking expansively.

  ‘You know,’ Fat Pan announced, ‘who’d have thought it that my friend here was in prison less than ten years ago? Look at him now‌–‌so successful!’

  All the eyes turned to him.

  Da Shan smiled. ‘I was young and foolish,’ he said, and the officers all smiled with him.

  ‘It’s all over now. All over,’ Fat Pan assured. ‘No one cares about that now.’

  No, no one does, Da Shan thought, but everyone cared about it then. And he smiled back at them all and gave a little humourless laugh, Ha.

  The rest of the meal slowed down as people dropped out and stopped eating. When everyone had finished they stood up.

  ‘It’s been good to see you again, Da Shan,’ Fat Pan said, showing him down the stairs.

  ‘I’ve enjoyed every minute,’ Da Shan said.

  ‘A successful evening,’ Vice-Commander Jiao said.

  ‘Very,’ said Da Shan.

  The posse of green-uniformed officers herded Da Shan towards the car as Fat Pan stuffed a packet of cigarettes into Da Shan’s pocket.

  ‘Oh, Pan,’ Da Shan said at the door. He put his arm on Fat Pan’s shoulder and drew him close. ‘I just want you to know,’ he said earnestly, ‘I’m not here to get involved in anything. Really. That’s all behind me.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Fat Pan nodded. ‘Don’t worry about that now!’

  ‘Good,’ Da Shan said. ‘I don’t want any misunderstanding.’ He gave Pan a look. ‘You know, I had a strange conversation on the way here,’ he said and stopped, let the silence speak for him. ‘I don’t know if you have any friends in the police.’

  ‘I see.’ Fat Pan pursed his lips and nodded slowly. ‘There’s a man I know. He’s a good friend. I’ll talk to him.’

  Da Shan shook Fat Pan’s hand, kept shaking it for a long time as everyone beamed at each other. ‘To our future venture!’ he called out and climbed into the car.

  The officers all lined up under the fairy lights and stood back to wave him off. ‘Go safely!’ they called out as the taxi pulled away, ‘go safely!’

  The driver hawked and spat out of his open window, as Da Shan closed his eyes and groaned.

  ‘Been for a massage?’ the driver asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  The driver turned on the radio; a phone-in about the crime rate.

  ‘This is crap,’ Da Shan said, and the driver turned it off, then looked over to Da Shan and grinned. ‘I heard they’ve got some lovely Miao girls in there!’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Too expensive for the likes of me.’

  ‘Listen,’ Da Shan said, ‘I just went for a meal.’

  ‘Oh,’ the driver said and braked sharply as the lights turned red. ‘Friends with that lot, are you?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Da Shan said, ‘I owed one of them a favour.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The driver pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the dashboard and gave the pack to Da Shan, who took two, lit them both and gave one back to him.

  ‘Yeah,’ Da Shan said again.

  The driver inhaled and rolled up his window half way as he drove slowly through the empty streets. Da Shan stubbed his fag out, rested his head against the window, the cool of the glass sobering him up. The air was too hot, the city dark, except for blurred neon streaks in the corner of his eyes.

  ‘Are you all right?’ the driver asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You gonna be sick?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The driver pulled over, and Da Shan opened the door half way, vomited into the road; retched and then vomited again. The driver rested his elbow on his open window, smoked and watched people across the street stumbling home on the broken pavements. The night air was neither cold nor warm. The driver blew his smoke up into the air towards the clouds, and Da Shan groaned.

  ‘Feeling better?’

  ‘Much,’ Da Shan lied as he closed the door.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The driver tossed his fag out into the night, and pulled off down the road. ‘Where did you say again?’

  ‘Along the river,’ Da Shan said. ‘The Space Rocket Factory.’

  When he was dropped off at the gate Da Shan ignored the steps that led up to his parents’ home and walked round and round the factory till the world steadied under his feet. Long after midnight he stumbled home, opening the door quietly in case his mother was sitting waiting, but she’d given up long ago and gone to bed.

  Da Shan slumped down on the sofa, and rubbed his scalp. He smoked a cigarette and massaged his temples. After a cup of tepid tea he got up and opened the door to his father’s study, and walked across to the desk. He hesitated for a moment, then pulled out the chair and sat down. He pulled a piece of paper out of the top left-hand drawer, which jammed as he pushed it close, pulled it out again, and it slid in smoothly this time. Da Shan let out a long sigh, massaged his temples with his fingertips. Above the desk two scrolls of calligraphy hung down.

  If you would know the tr
ue character of the pine, they said

  You must wait until the snow melts.

  Wild geese flew low over town, heading west. Da Shan heard them calling to each other as he took a brush from the stand and held his book open on the desk. There was a squeezy ink bottle and an ink stone. He steadied himself against the table as he squirted out a pool of ink and dipped the point of the brush in it. A cold flat, a sheet of white paper and the black tip of the brush. The beginning of spring.

  He lowered the brush tip to the paper, and began:

  ‘My name is Da Shan. I was born in 1960, in the Year of the Rat. I am writing in the 48th Year of the Communist Dynasty.’

  He checked the amount of ink on his brush. Dipped it in a little bit more. The geese flew away from the neon lights and busy streets, over the empty hills and the Temple of Harmonious Virtue.

  Da Shan carried on writing:

  ‘For each man that Heaven produces, earth provides a grave. My ancestors reach back throughout eternity. I am of them and will follow where they have gone. The only one I know is my father. He was an official in the Communist Party. My mother was also an official. The line stops with me. I have one child, a daughter called Little Flower. Her mother and I are divorced. There will be no more sons to continue our line.’

  Da Shan wrote out the details his mother had told him about her family: checking the ink on his brush, writing the characters on the page with clean brush strokes.

  ‘Stories are just like families,’ he wrote on another sheet. ‘They only have beginnings in books. Tracing your ancestors is like trying to count the stars, this is just a beginning.’

  Da Shan heard the geese honking as they flew across town. He stood close to the window and spotted them flapping away westwards, calling out to the pale stars.

  In the old town a mother and son watched the wild geese fly by, low over the rail tracks where the grass was tall and dry. Little Dragon shivered and Liu Bei looked up into the night sky, pointed to where the black clouds were racing to hide the moon.

  ‘Look!’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  Liu Bei’s outstretched arm and finger led to where the evening star was twinkling above the mountain ridge. ‘Can you see that star?’

  ‘Yes!’ clapped Little Dragon.

  ‘It’s a planet.’