“Expensive taste.”
“Is it too garish?”
Ling-Ru shook her head. “Tasteful.”
“Glad to hear that. It’s not something I would ever pick out myself.”
“It’s hard to overdress in Guangzhou, given you’ll be staying at the White Swan and all. You should be fine.” She stared at my chest. “Maybe button a button.” She smiled and lifted her small cup size playfully. “Could be distracting.”
I quickly buttoned the second button on my blouse. “Thanks.”
Ling-Ru knocked back a shot from a vessel that looked like a Japanese sake server. Her cheeks were red. It had been awhile since we drank together, but I hadn’t expected her to have the tolerance that she’d had in college, particularly on a Friday morning.
I picked up the warm container and smelled it, expecting the sharp and sweet scent of sake. I coughed from inhaling too deeply. “What is this stuff?”
She snatched up the second shot glass, poured a serving, and banged it down in front of me. “Baijiun. About time you develop a taste for it.”
I sniffed the pungent, astringent concoction again and took a small sip. “Whoa, that’s pretty potent. What’s it made of?” It tasted like vodka but a lot richer in flavor.
She poured herself another and drank it quickly. “Sorghum.”
There was an edge to Ling-Ru that I couldn’t put a finger on. It seemed to be getting sharper with each shot.
The waiter soon returned with a new kind of fried dumpling, and I replaced the taste of the alcohol with a vinegar-dipped noodle pocket of salty greens peppered with bits of ground pork.
Ling-Ru’s orders arrived, filling the table with all kinds of mysterious objects discreetly wrapped in steamed dough or folded and crimped within a noodle served in steaming bamboo baskets. My train to Guangzhou was scheduled to leave in an hour, but she was insisting that I try all of her favorites.
Ling-Ru surveyed the table and waved the waiter over to make an additional order. I grabbed her hand. “There’s enough food for five people. Please don’t order anything else.”
“I wanted to make sure you tried the red bean dessert.”
“I don’t need any dessert.”
Ling-Ru looked up at me mid-chew and shrugged.
“Something’s bothering you. What’s going on?”
The waiter returned and placed a tea tray in front of me. There were three small yellow earthen teapots accompanied by three very small earthen cups, each between the size of a thimble and a shot glass. He opened the lid of the first teapot and held his other hand toward the pot.
“This is our very finest green tea”—he waved his hand over the pot—“from the high mountains of Yunnan.” He invited me to smell the brew and I sniffed at the steaming concoction of long, narrow gray-green leaves. “Very delicate, with a hint of jasmine.”
“Smells lovely.”
He closed the lid and opened the second teapot. “And this is a very special green tea from Japan. From the Yame region of Fukuoka Prefecture in southern Japan. On Kyushu Island. It comes in a powder. It’s our most popular brand. Some argue it’s the best green tea you can get.”
The frothy neon-green liquid had a more robust aroma than the Yunnan varieties.
The waiter opened the third lid. “And this is our most expensive green tea. From the mountains of Taiwan. Premium quality.”
The light green frothy brew smelled every bit like fresh lawn clippings and was very similar to the Japanese green tea, but more intense. “Very nice.” I nodded politely.
The waiter went back to the first pot and poured some into the first cup and invited me to taste the almost-clear brew. I picked up the cup between my thumb and index finger and took a sip. The flavor was very mild and had a floral undertone. A few moments later, however, my teeth felt like I had rubbed them with a cotton ball.
He poured from the second and third pots and watched as I savored the stronger brews. He smiled. “I see that you like the stronger tastes.”
I nodded and tried to include Ling-Ru in the conversation, but she was miles away. “I tend to like the stronger black teas in the morning. Then oolong in the afternoon and green in the evening. But nothing too earthy. I’m trying to find a lighter oolong.”
“Black tea is made from low-quality leaves that are fully fermented. We used to ship that off to the British.” He laughed. “We kept the best leaves for ourselves.”
“I had never heard that.” I laughed.
The waiter nodded enthusiastically. “You should try a Tie Guan Yin. It is a slightly less fermented oolong called Iron Goddess of Mercy from Fujian Province. It is closer to a green tea. Perhaps it would be more palatable for afternoon than Gun Powder.”
“Gun Powder is much too strong for me.”
“Tourists tell me it tastes like an ashtray.”
“That’s an apt description.”
I watched Ling-Ru as she stuffed her mouth with a pig’s ear, oblivious to my tea tasting. When the waiter stepped away, I took the pig’s ear in two fingers and removed it from her mouth. “Ling-Ru, I know you. Something’s wrong.”
She shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong.”
I took the shot glass away. “And you’re drunk.”
“Drunk!” She reached for my glass and I pushed it away. “You don’t know drunk if you think I’ve had too much.” She gave another shrug. “Anyway, I’ve got the day off. I’ve had a hard week. Give me a break.”
“Why don’t you come with us? No one would know the difference. We can share a room.”
She scoffed. “Yea, at the White Swan.”
“Just come along and hang back when we go to the factory. It would be great to have you there. And you’re the one who recommended Mr. Woo in the first place.”
Ling-Ru shook her head.
“Why not? It will be fun.”
“Can’t do it. There was a landslide in Shenzhen, and they are calling for all hands.”
“Why is customs expected to help with a landslide?”
“Emergency. We pick up the slack while the police go out to investigate. It’s a mess. Sixty-nine people dead so far.”
“That’s horrible.”
“They’ll probably arrest a bunch of low-level officials like they always do and move on. The dump site was out of control. They never should have let it get that big. Anyway, customs wouldn’t be happy if someone were to connect me to this investigation.”
“How would they know if you don’t show up at the factory?”
Ling-Ru snatched the pig’s ear back and continued eating. With a mouthful, she replied, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I grabbed a dumpling, and with a full mouth, I said, “Enlighten me.”
Ling-Ru got the hint and put her pig’s ear down.
“I’m sorry.” I wiped my face with my napkin. “That was rude.” I put my napkin back in my lap. “I just don’t understand what’s wrong. Something’s seriously bothering you. Just since yesterday.”
Ling-Ru wiped the grease off her face, as well. “I’m just nervous, okay?”
“Nervous about what?” She had been in complete control and was such a calming influence until now.
Ling-Ru looked around the crowded restaurant. “I don’t understand why there are so many people here. It’s usually only like this on a Sunday when everyone goes out for dim sum.” She pointed to a huge line building out front.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m worried,” she confessed.
I could tell she was holding back tears as she started to pour another drink. I grabbed her hand. “Worried about what?” I grabbed her other hand as it was heading for a steamed dumpling. “Why are you being so mysterious?”
Ling-Ru tensed up for a second and then relaxed and took a deep breath.
I let go of her hands. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay, truth be told, I have a crush on him.” She grabbed a dumpling and inhaled it.
“Who do you think?” With cheeks full of dumpling, she responded, “Sam Woo.”
“Sam Woo?” I hadn’t seen that coming. “You neglected to mention that fact.”
“Yes, I did.”
“But you’re the one that recommended that he join me.” I looked at her, confused. “How do you know him?”
“I don’t.”
“Okay, so how does one develop a crush on someone they don’t even know? And why are you so upset about it?”
“He was my kung fu instructor.”
“Really? When?”
“About three years ago.”
“You have a crush on a guy who was your instructor three years ago?”
She nodded just as we both became aware of a strikingly handsome man standing over our table. He pulled out a chair and I turned to look at him.
“Is this seat taken?” the very appealing and extremely fit half-Chinese, half-Caucasian man asked playfully in a British accent.
I gathered by the expression on Ling-Ru’s face as she inhaled and choked on her dumpling that this was the mysterious Sam Woo. Flustered, I stood up to greet him.
Ling-Ru coughed violently and gasped for breath. I went to help her, but Sam had already dropped his bag and was standing behind Ling-Ru. He placed a hand on her shoulder and struck her firmly between her shoulder blades, successfully dislodging the dumpling. He acted with such ease, like it was second nature for him to save a life.
I rubbed her back. “You okay?”
Ling-Ru nodded and took a gulp of water and within a minute was able to take a breath without coughing. She held her hand out to shake Sam’s and mouthed the words “thank you.”
Sam shook her hand. “My pleasure.”
“You must be Sam Woo,” I said politely as I shook his hand. “I’m Catherine Sohon.”
“Nice to meet you, Catherine.”
I could immediately see why he was so popular with the ladies, as Craig was so eager to note. On top of his amazing appearance, he had an air of humility that was very alluring. And the British accent didn’t hurt. I was keenly aware of Ling-Ru’s glare, so I didn’t let my eyes linger.
Sam sat down and put his overnight bag under the table. “I hadn’t expected that we’d get a bite to eat.” He grabbed a small plate. “Great idea.”
“I’m Ling-Ru.” Ling-Ru was finally able to speak again.
“Pleasure,” he said as he touched the bandage protecting her tiger-inflicted wound. “You going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“What happened?”
“We went to pay an old smuggler a visit and had a run-in with a tiger.”
“A tiger?” He looked at her incredulously. “Here on Lantau?”
“It came in on a smuggler’s boat.”
“Is it still on the loose?”
She shook her head. “It died after a run-in with a grizzly bear. Or so we assume that was the cause of death.”
“Okay, now you are really taking the piss out of me.”
“I wish I was. Anyway, we met a few years back when you taught our customs unit kung fu.”
“Oh really? Which unit?”
“The Shenzhen Border unit.”
“Terrible landslide, I hear.”
“Yes, going to contend with that tomorrow.”
“You won’t be joining us, then?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“Pity.”
Did Ling-Ru mean that she was nervous about me spending time with Sam? I didn’t see what else it could mean, but why would she recommend me spending time with him if she didn’t want me to?
Sam noticed the tension between us. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”
“No.” Ling-Ru held her hand out toward the many selections. “Please help yourself.”
“Impressive. All of my favorites.” Sam loaded up his plate from the assortment of dishes and bamboo baskets.
“What time do you think we should leave?” I asked Ling-Ru.
Ling-Ru stared at Sam as he ate a dumpling. “Fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, Sam, you’ve got fifteen minutes to clear this table.” I smiled. “If Ling-Ru weren’t so full, she’d be serious competition.”
He looked at the empty baskets in front of me. “And you had your share of dumplings, I see.”
I held my stomach. “Which I’m sure I’ll regret.”
Sam selected a second bite-sized delectable in his chopsticks and waved it at us. “I, on the other hand, will not be regretting my brunch with you two lovely ladies, brief as it might be.”
Ling-Ru filled all of our shot glasses with baijiun. “We’ve got a charmer on our hands,” she said.
Sam waved his glass away. “I’m on duty, thanks.”
“Of course.” Ling-Ru nodded and put the glass down.
I couldn’t see any indication of Ling-Ru having a crush on this guy. Or that he had any particular familiarity with her—or any familiarity at all for that matter.
Now I was going to have to suffer this whole trip, wondering what was going on with her. She was clearly deeply disturbed by something. And her reason didn’t seem plausible. Why would she make this up?
The White Swan
After an uneventful ride on a very modern train from Shenzhen to Guangzhou, the capital city of Guangdong Province, Sam and I took a cab to the White Swan hotel. On the ride over, I couldn’t help noticing how many cars there were as compared with the pictures I had seen of the wall-to-wall bicycle traffic jams of a few decades earlier, each bicycle equipped with bamboo racks and woven reed baskets to carry loads.
There were still plenty of bicycles here in the heart of Guangzhou, in a traffic pattern all their own, each overloaded with electronics deliveries of all kinds. I counted twenty Sanyo computer monitors loaded in a pyramid behind one. It weaved precariously around the cars and through chaotic construction zones as if none of it was of any consequence.
Sam caught my eye and we both burst out laughing. “Gotta love the entrepreneurial spirit.”
“It’s true. Check this guy out over here.” Sam pointed to a bicycle that had an extension wheel protruding off the back wheel to accommodate a huge flat-screen television, the far corner of which was mounted to the additional wheel. “Imagine buying the television that you had been saving up for for years, only for it to end up being delivered like that.”
“It’s a different perspective, that’s for sure.”
Although there were many cars in Beijing, I had expected that from the seat of the country’s government. There was also a lot more money in Beijing, such that in order to keep the number of cars down, there was an extremely high tax on cars kept within the city limits. And still there were too many who could afford the tax and didn’t want to have to face public transport—hence the bad traffic jams.
From the bus window, I’d look down on all the Mercedes, BMWs, and other fancy new cars stuck in traffic, while on the streets, construction workers were carefully recycling bricks into wheelbarrows from buildings they had just demolished.
The same thing appeared to be happening here—a juxtaposition of the old and new, the new being a cancerous growth choking out the old. And development was happening so fast that the quality of construction was very poor. We passed a line of people outside a new apartment building holding buckets.
“What do you think that’s about?” I nodded toward the line of people carrying buckets.
“The apartment buildings are going up so quickly that they often have plumbing problems.”
I looked at the “Lucky Mao” pendant dangling from the rearview mirror of our taxi and remembered all the street vendors in Beijing selling “Lucky Mao” cigarette lighters. Even more strange was the line of Chinese nationals who had come to visit Mao’s mausoleum that filled in Tiananmen Square—as if proximity to this powerful leader would somehow imbue magical power. From a Western perspective, there was nothing lucky about living through M
ao’s regime. I had thought that was a universal sentiment, so it was confusing to see his face replicated as a charm.
As we drove through the city center, we passed many areas under construction, which made for a hectic tour with much stopping and starting through the jams of cars. And the poor air quality was getting harder and harder to tolerate. Since most of the cyclists were wearing masks, I decided to follow their lead and rolled up my window.
We arrived in front of the lavish five-star White Swan hotel, located in central Guangzhou, and Sam paid the taxi driver. We walked into the lobby, which immediately swept us away from the developing, dusty city and into a world where we could hear the sumptuous trickle of fountains and tinkling piano keys of a temporary Shangri-la, decked out with red carpets and intricately carved rosewood walls.
As Sam spoke to the person at the reservation desk, I couldn’t help but notice that most of the clientele were middle-aged Caucasian couples, dressed down in sneakers and jeans. And as each couple passed, wheeling a baby carriage, I could hear that every one of them sounded American.
We got into the elevator and Sam pressed the button for the fourth floor. I tried not to stare at three white women holding carriages and they tried not to stare at me. Finally, one of the women elbowed another and whispered. The other woman laughed and turned to me. “Where’s yours?”
“My what?” I was totally confused.
“Your baby, of course,” the first woman replied. The three women looked us both up and down suspiciously. I could see that all three babies in the carriages were Chinese.
“My baby?” I whispered to myself. Just hearing those words caught me off guard. Tears welled up in my eyes as the still raw emotion of losing my baby lodged in my throat.
Sam interceded on my behalf. “We’re not here for the adoption program.”
The three women looked at me strangely. I could tell they were wondering what other reason an American woman could possibly have to be in Guangzhou, and here at the White Swan.
Fortunately, the awkward moment ended as the elevator arrived at our floor. I nodded at the quizzical women as the door shut and quickly wiped away the tear that had formed.
Sam looked at me gently. “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “What was that all about?”
White Gold Page 16
