“You did. For yourself.”
“Great good it did me.”
“That’s the only fight worth fighting,” she said intently.
Right as I was about to reply, I fell asleep.
She woke me a minute later.
“I’m sorry,” I was saying. “I don’t kno—”
“Your friend is here,” she said.
I shook my head. “How long have I been out?”
“Three hours.”
Rebecca was across from me and I almost didn’t recognize her. She was taller than I remembered and from the look in her eyes, I gathered how sorry I must have looked. “We have to get you to a hospital.”
As we left, I turned around and looked at Beauvoir. “I owe you and your brother my life.”
She shook her head. “Neither my brother nor I believe in debts.”
“I do. I’ll pay you back one day.”
She looked like a doll as she regarded me with plaintive eyes. I wondered what I looked like to her.
7. Shanghai Intrigues
I.
Stasis, a freezing feeling, my chest congealed. Thoughts were still active during the dreams of hibernation. I argued with a guy named Cleaver who carried a chainsaw wherever he went; a tsunami of soda threatened to destroy dinner with old colleagues I hadn’t seen in decades; I was back in Hong Kong in my friend’s tiny studio, overwhelmed by monsoon season, wishing there was more space to stretch as moths ate their way through my skin to my liver. Dreams were melting into reality and reality was a forgotten dream that seemed distant and unnervingly vague. Why was it for all the money researchers spent studying DNA and nerves, they still didn’t have any idea what dreams really were? Could they possibly be subconscious replays formed by bored brain neurons playing with memories the way people played with golf balls? My awareness of my split consciousness made me realize I was about to come out of a deep sleep. I’d been put under. How many imagined conversations had I had during that time? How many forgotten epiphanies?
Cryogenic healing was the way of contemporary Asian medicine. Nanobots and regenerative chemicals stimulated the nerves, allowing the body to naturally heal as much as it could. Microbacteria ate my crap and recycled it into nutrients that succored my skin. This wasn’t Los Angeles with their tubes and million-dollar surgeries that made me feel like a machine-grafted chimera perpetually addicted to surgical fixes that never fixed anything and became dropping palliatives to fatten doctor’s wallets. Miniscule organic machines were collaborating with my cells to make me better, communicating in quantum entanglement that stirred cellular rebirth in what others might have mistaken for telepathy. Doctors acted as guides rather than technicians meandering through the clumsy schematic they deemed an operation.
I’d asked them to use the best treatment possible for my teeth. I wouldn’t have them removed no matter how much the dentists insisted. Even if there was only a bit left of my teeth, they’d suffered for me. I wasn’t going to have them pulled and replaced by artificial crowns, damn root canals and teeth pains. I had them all capped and given calcium reinforcements. I promised you tea and wine, and you’ll get it.
Rebecca awaited my awakening. The first question I asked was, “Did they find out who killed Larry yet?”
She ignored my question and informed me, “They want you to stay under for two more days. You have no other family, do you?”
“Why?”
“They needed someone to sign for you, but there wasn’t anyone listed.”
I nodded gratefully. “I don’t know how I can thank you for staying here with me like this.”
“Get better.”
A two-day dream passed in what seemed like minutes. By the time they pulled me out, tested my muscles, and checked my organs ten times, I felt like a new man. Rebecca bought me clothes; a thick yellow coat that thinned with the seasons, jeans, and a striped collar shirt. I looked like a typical Shanghai student.
It was time for the inevitable bill. Even with insurance, my treatment cost a fortune. I didn’t care. I was alive and I was starving. I could have eaten a hundred buffets, though I would have been content with one. Hamburgers, Peking kaoya, Chicago-style deep-crusted pizza, medium-rare prime rib covered with pepper, ahi tuna, green curry, anything but king crab legs and that hot sauce that still reminded me of burning. As Rebecca escorted me out to her car, taller, and I suspect, much stronger than me, I felt her body against mine and I thought of my reaction to Beauvoir. I reminded myself that not only was Beauvoir nowhere near, but I was with Rebecca.
It always rained in Shanghai. Many called her Venice of the East. I’d been to Venice, and it never looked as glamorous and ritzy as Shanghai. I generally based my perception of futuristic cities off of what I’d seen in movies. Shanghai was kind of like them, except with a higher budget and a whole lot more advertisements. New buildings went up every week. Entrepreneurs waged bragging wars to see who could build taller buildings (and no, it wasn’t just a cock fight as women were equally aggressive in their construction races). I always got snobby treatment in Shanghai. I loved the city; it just didn’t love me back. I looked over at Rebecca, the most unlikeliest of saviors. Why had she come to my aid?
“Did they find Larry’s killers yet?” I asked her.
“You asked me that before and I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Larry was murdered before they kidnapped me.”
“Who kidnapped you? And what are you talking about? Mr. Chao is fine.”
“I saw Larry’s body.”
She turned on the television in the car. “Larry Chao,” she said. It brought up a hundred feeds of Larry escorted by various models. “That’s from a party two days ago.”
“That’s impossible. W-what about the factory explosions?” I asked.
“Generator malfunctions. Several managers were arraigned on incompetence charges and imprisoned.”
“Those were terrorist attacks,” I said.
She looked worried. “The doctors told me you took a lot of physical trauma. They said your memory might be affected.”
“If Larry were alive, he’d be looking for me.”
“How could anyone guess you’d been kidnapped?”
I still couldn’t believe he was alive. “Can I use your phone?”
She handed it to me but I realized I didn’t know Larry’s number.
“Do you have his number?”
“Not on me. Just at the office,” she said.
I’d have to get home and log into my network.
“You can log in at my apartment. You also need some food. I’ll order ahead. Anything specific you feel like?”
“Everything,” I replied.
II.
I attacked my food, became a garbage disposal of everything coming my way. I chewed softly, letting my teeth and gums savor every bite, the juices dripping on my tongue. My body had endured oblivion. I didn’t know how long my resurrection would last, but I would appreciate it while it did. I was thrilled by the taste of garlic bok choy, braised pork, and steamed fish. I went over and held Rebecca’s hand and jumped with joy and drank down two glasses of wine like they were water. My stomach had shrunk and I got full quickly but I kept on stuffing it, unable to countenance limitation. Eat stomach. Eat like it’s the last meal of your life!
Rebecca was amused by my boyish giddiness and said, “You eat like you haven’t eaten in years.”
She’d taken off her white coat and wore a white dress that emphasized the contours of her body. I was surprised to see the jade fox necklace that I’d gotten her around her neck. Small gold chains held them in place and my mind had a sudden flash to the torture room where I’d been chained up. I would have groveled for a taste of anything then. I forced back the memories, took generous portions of the onion-grilled kale and sweet shrimp. My eyes went back to the necklace and the way it lay on top of her skin. I was drunk, my knees wobbly. I could feel the hair along the back of my neck bristling and turned away from her. She asked, “
You full?”
“I was full twenty minutes ago.”
“Is it time for dessert then?”
Salt-caramel ice cream and chocolate-mocha cupcakes. “How’d you know these were my favorite?”
“I looked up your profile the first time we met.”
Food coma sort of described my feeling, though as I’d just come out of a semi-coma, I was acutely aware of the differences.
Larry, are you really still alive? If so, does this mean everything can go back to normal?
I would have to deal with those questions later after I let my stomach digest the food.
“What else was in my profile?” I asked.
“That you’re naturally a follower.”
“Anything wrong with following?”
“Depends on who’s leading.”
I nodded and asked, “Were your mom’s salons in Shanghai?”
“You remembered,” she said, seeming genuinely impressed. “Shanghai and Hangzhou. But after the Baldification, we were lucky just to have a home. Is Beijing home for you?”
“I don’t know if I have a home anymore after everything that’s happened.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I tried to explain in brief, but as I remembered the forced cricket interlinks and my teeth fighting against the stone in my mouth, my heart started racing.
“We can talk about something else,” she offered.
“Sorry. It’s a long story.”
“When you were under, the hospital told me you used to have a different name.”
“I used to be Gene Liang until I joined the army.”
“Why the name change?”
“Another long story.”
“You have a lot of those.”
“Don’t you have your share?”
There was an air of melancholy about her as she nodded.
“Do you ever miss your hair?” I asked.
“I like the freedom of wigs. You?”
“No. But I guess we’d all look different.”
“You look like a different man since the last time I saw you.”
“I feel like a different man,” I answered.
“I like it. You look more handsome skinny.”
“T-thank you. And you. You look lovely.”
She simpered.
I looked around her apartment. She had a thing for white; white sofas, white shelves, and white marble floors. Even her rugs were ermine. She lived above a prison, making her studio one of the safest places in the world. Residential properties above jails were the most sought-after places in the world for multiple reasons, the principal being security. Even if a riot broke out, prisons were safe, stacked with the meanest police guards in the world as well as the security drones that never faltered.
Cameras were inside most residences and it had all begun with nanny cams placed by caring parents to make sure nothing was going awry in their absence. After a few break-ins went bad but were recorded by these secret cameras, people started requesting internal cameras as part of the property. At first, private companies were in charge of installations, and then it expanded to a government service. Within a decade, everyone in the world wanted a camera in their home, so much so that it became a crucial part of the realtor’s negotiations. A United Nations agency was set up to regulate domestic security and while some jokingly referred to them as Big Brother (an arcane reference to an ancient writer who couldn’t understand how crucial surveillance was to the survival of the individual), most just knew them as the Vid Coppers.
Vid Coppers were watching our meal, making sure my drunken state wouldn’t turn into something that might go against the request of my hostess. Mostly, it was an AI machine that measured hormonal levels and motion activity to interpret possible criminal behavior. I guess my hormonal levels were suspect as Rebecca got a phone call. She picked up, uh huh’d a few times, then hung up.
“They’re telling me you’re horny and I should be careful,” she said and laughed heartily.
“What?” I asked.
“Your face is red.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, completely embarrassed.
“The doctor warned me you’d be like this,” she replied. “It’s the increased hormonal activity from your therapy. Don’t worry. I won’t hold it against you.”
I knew if Larry were here, he would have said some suave line, turned things in his favor, then swooped her off her feet. I couldn’t get over my initial shame at being found out and asked her if she minded me using her computer to log into my network. “Sure, go ahead,” she told me. She put her palm against the wall which turned into a 3D display.
I sat down, logged on, and tried to determine if anyone had stolen my identity.
We all had one global identity number, confirmed by a passcode, voice-identity test, and several random algorithms hooked into the credit agencies. While I’d forgotten my password, a scan of my eye, fingerprints, and voice unlocked my account. I reset the basic codes and went through a list of all my financial accounts as well as my personal communication number. Everything was intact. No unusual activity, not even the leech-ware that sucked one to two cents every month and wasn’t worth reporting as that invited reprisal from hackers who’d get upset that their tiny tribute exacted from millions could encounter resistance (our modern-day protection racket). I had to delete spam and block out news updates about the garbage epidemic and the property selling in Antarctica.
“Everything okay?” she asked, sidling up next to me. Her hip brushed against my arm. She smelled like apricots.
“Yeah, perfect,” I answered. “I was expecting worse.”
I tried calling Larry but his communicator was off.
“Mr. Chao will be in Shanghai tomorrow,” Rebecca said.
“For what?” I asked, still unable to get my head around the idea that he was alive.
“Attending a convention to show his latest movie.”
“Rodenticide?”
“It’s been huge a hit since the explosions. Everyone’s been raving about it. Number-one hit all over the world.”
I thought about how depressed he’d been over the lack of attention the film had initially received. Then reminded myself that I’d seen his corpse. I checked all the different links and pages. Reports, video, and photographs of Larry were everywhere. I was perplexed. Had I hallucinated his death?
“Dr. Asahi told me about the convention a week ago and said I should check it out as long as I was in Shanghai,” Rebecca interjected. “A real-life big explosion is all he needed for fame.”
I brooded on it, confused.
“How do you rank Rodenticide?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean among the movies you worked on.”
It took me a second to register what she was asking. “I’m not sure.”
“What was your favorite movie to work on?” she asked, and I realized she was trying to get my mind off the situation.
“58 Random Deaths and Unrequited Love.”
“Why?”
“W-we wanted to make a movie showing how pointless everything was,” I answered.
“You think everything is pointless?”
“I could have died out there and no one would have known. The overwhelming motivation for me to come back was to avenge Larry. If I’d known he were still alive, I probably would have just waited for him to come to the rescue.”
Rebecca filled my cup with wine and took a long draught herself.
“Would you still make the same movie if you went back in time?”
“No one would ever make the same movie they did when they were younger,” I replied and finished my cup. “What kind of movie would you make if you could make one?”
“I don’t know if I’d ever want to make a movie.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to spend a year of my life suffering just so I can make other people happy, then wait to hear what critics say, hoping they’ll like it enough so
people can watch it. Why don’t you make your own movies?”
“You already know the answer to that. I’m a ‘follower’.”
Rebecca chuckled. “My ex was a follower who wanted to be a leader. He never could accept that he didn’t have what it took to be a leader. He eventually divorced me so he could meet other women.”
“He cheated on you?” I wondered, surprised.
“He was honest enough to separate with me before sleeping with any other women. I respect him for that. Do men always want more?”
“I don’t know very many that want less.”
“What about content with what they have?”
“That takes a humility and a level of awareness that isn’t much valued in our world,” I said, knowing how hollow it sounded.
“Do you have that level of awareness?”
“I used to until I got married.”
“She pushed you?”
I shook my head. “I wanted to give her the world for all she’d done for me.”
“Why?”
“She gave me something no one else ever had.”
“What?”
“Family. Even now, I’d give up the world for her.”
Rebecca laughed. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”
“I like to pay my debts.”
“So she’s a debt to you?”
“At our wedding ceremony, her family had hundreds of people. You know how many my side had?”
She shook her head.
I made a big zero with my thumb and index fingers.
“It was humiliating,” I admitted, thinking back to the day. “But she didn’t care. Her family treated me like their own even though I had nobody. I’ll never forget that.”
“Why did you guys separate?”
“I was an insecure asshole who pushed her away,” I answered, the drink making me more honest than I should have been. “I was pretty terrible to her near the end.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Unrequited love is my theme song.”
“Doesn’t have to be,” she said. “Maybe you just like it that way.”
“Everyone likes to make up movie versions of themselves in their mind.”
“You have no other family?”
Bald New World Page 14
