I was just about to tell them how important their culture was and why some traditions should be kept alive when it started to pour with rain. The kids said goodbye and ran off.
My dreadlocks and my doggy bag of food got soaked with the heavy, polluted rain. There was nowhere to hide and all I could do was to start walking in the direction of my hotel. It was miserable, but help was at hand, and it came in the form of that same taxi driver who had taken me to the restaurant.
‘You want taxi now, sir?’ he shouted.
‘Yes,’ I said, defeated. ‘I want taxi now.’
He drove me back in complete silence but I could tell that he was a happy man, twenty yuan richer than the last time I saw him.
Chapter Fourteen
Showtime
In my hotel room I had just about dried off and changed my clothes when Yanli phoned.
‘I’m downstairs, on the second floor. I’ll wait by the lift,’ she said.
I made my way to the lift and when I got to the second floor the door opened and I was greeted by something quite unexpected. Yanli was waiting for me, and there was a full-scale disco underway. This wasn’t a rave or a club night: this was a good old-fashioned disco, Chinese style.
‘I thought you would like something different,’ said Yanli.
‘This is different all right, but the same as well.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Yanli.
‘It reminds me of the type of disco they used to have in Britain years ago.’
We sat down and began to drink soft drinks to the sounds of Bucks Fizz, Abba, Boney M and the Village People. Graceful young girls and tipsy, middle-aged men filled the dance floor. After a while the music stopped. Yanli quickly sat up straight.
‘This is what I’ve been waiting for,’ she said excitedly.
Everybody was excited. People ran around picking up microphones, a large screen slowly came down from the ceiling, and soon the place was turned into a giant karaoke machine.
I found the whole thing quite interesting in a strange way. That so many people wanted to step forward and sing along to pop songs, alone or in small groups, was impressive. They struggled to sing in English, but they were all enjoying themselves and everyone relished the clapping at the end of each song. The singers were out of tune and they were out of time, but they were happy.
As one of the songs ended, Yanli put her handbag on my lap and said, ‘This is me.’
She stood in the centre of the floor and let the words of that karaoke classic, I Will Survive, ring out. She sang it with feeling, she sang it in time, she sang it in tune, and she sang it with passion. She danced, she did hand movements, she gave it all that she had and I actually wanted more. But when the song was over she returned to our table, took her bag and picked up her drink as if nothing had happened.
‘That was good,’ I said truthfully. ‘Do you sing anything else?’
‘I don’t need to sing anything else,’ she said. ‘That says it all.’
Well, I couldn’t argue with that. It is the most-sung karaoke song of all time, and it did really seem to mean something to her, but she would say nothing more. Like many Chinese, Yanli didn’t give much away. The British have the stiff upper lip. The Chinese have the stiff upper eyebrow.
We were happily watching more karaoke singers when my worst nightmare happened. A group of people were standing around our table. At first I thought they had come to talk about whether my dreadlocks were real or not, but soon, with a little help from Yanli, I realised that it was much worse than that. They wanted me to sing.
One of them could just about speak English.
‘We want you to sing for us. What is your song?’ he said.
‘No, I don’t sing and I don’t have a song. I just like to watch.’
‘No, you must sing,’ the spokesman for the group said. ‘You like Billy Jean, Michael Jackson? Michael Jackson is very good for you.’
‘Michael Jackson is no good for me,’ I replied.
‘You like Lionel Richie?’
‘Never heard of him,’ I lied.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I know. Do You Feel My Love. He got hair like you.’
He meant the song by Eddy Grant, of course. I was having none of it, but it’s hard when you’re surrounded by nice people with stiff upper eyebrows chanting, ‘Sing, sing.’
‘No, no,’ I shouted.
‘Sing, sing,’ they chanted.
‘No, no,’ I shouted as I began to think of an excuse, but then Yanli joined in. On the wrong side.
‘Go on, Benjamin. Sing for them.’
‘Whose side are you on?’ I asked. ‘You should be backing me up. Get me out of here. I’m not gonna make a fool of myself.’
‘So you think I was making a fool of myself?’ she said. ‘Who do you think you are? Do you think you are better than us?’
‘Now, now, Yanli, don’t take it personally. I don’t think you made a fool of yourself. You were really good, and I definitely don’t think I’m better than you. I just don’t do karaoke.’
‘But you are a performer. You are always on stage.’
‘But I do anti-war poems, I do poems about how we must put an end to greed and overthrow tyranny, and form a decent society based on the organic vegan way of life. I don’t do Eddy Grant songs.’
‘Please,’ she begged. ‘It would mean so much to the people here. They don’t ask for much, and you would make them so happy if you agreed to sing.’
It was hard to say no when she put it like that.
‘OK,’ I said, ‘I’ll do it.’
I took the microphone and headed for the centre of the floor. The video began to play and I began to sing.
I felt terrible. I had to force the words of the Eddy Grant song from my mouth, but the crowd loved it. I wouldn’t dance but I nodded my head to help keep time and they thought that was cool. I died on stage that night, but luckily there was no one from the British media to record or report it.
Chapter Fifteen
Temple Time
The next few days were pretty cool. I just did as I was told. I woke up late every morning, I ate a banana, I did my training with Iron Breath, I had some muesli, I fell asleep. I woke up, I went to the Yong Tai Temple to eat and then I went home, sometimes stopping off to watch the kung fu kids training. I steered clear of the karaoke hall, although I had been invited back by people who had seen me sing.
On my last training day I woke up nice and early, happy that at last I was on Chinese time. I had learnt a lot and this was the day I wanted to show Iron Breath how good I was. I did some stretches and had a large bowl of muesli and a banana, before sitting down to check my emails.
The first email I opened brought me bad news. A friend of mine called Malik had been arrested. According to the police he was going to blow the whole country up, and with the help of his dentist and a man who once sold him a book he was going to set up a Muslim state in Britain with its capital in Aston, Birmingham.
I opened another email and it was from Malik’s wife, begging me for help. She wanted me to use my contacts to get him freed. She didn’t realise that I was in China, and anyway, like many others she thought I had more influence than I did.
There was nothing I could do. Not only was I 18,000 kilometres away, it was also 9 a.m. Chinese time and 2 a.m. in Birmingham. I had to put the problem in a corner of my mind and get on with the rest of the day.
I did some more stretching, some light kung fu practice and some quiet meditation, and then I waited for Iron Breath to arrive. He was right on time, but Yanli was with him. My heart sank as this could only mean another problem.
‘Good morning, and what’s wrong?’ I asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Yanli.
‘So why are you here?’
‘Because Iron Breath wants me to explain something to you,’ she replied.
‘OK. What is it and how much will it cost?’
‘It will cost you nothing. It’s just a change of plan for today. As it
is your last day, Iron Breath wants to take you to practise with the Chinese students in the Shaolin Temple.’
I was so excited I hugged Yanli. She blushed but didn’t stop me. I went to hug Iron Breath but he just seemed to hold me off with his energy.
‘OK. Thank him for me, Yanli,’ I said, ‘and tell him I think he’s cool.’
Yanli handed me a package she was holding.
‘What’s this?’ I asked.
‘It’s a kung fu suit. You must wear it.’
‘I’ll wear it,’ I said. ‘I’ll wear anything. I’ll train naked. I just want to train in the Shaolin Temple, on the very spot where some of the greatest fighting monks in all history have trained. The place where Bodhidharma the Zen original breathed the mystic chi, the place where kung fu was born, that’s where I want to be.’
‘Put the suit on,’ she said.
I did and soon we were on our way in a taxi. When we arrived at the temple, I was taken to a large courtyard where nothing was happening. We just stood there looking at an empty space, then suddenly about a hundred students marched in, dressed in bright orange kung fu suits just like mine.
They took up their positions, like soldiers on parade, leaving space in the middle for one. Iron Breath pointed to the space. It was for me. I nervously went and took up my position. The other students did not look at me. They were all concentrating and looking straight ahead. Then it struck me. This was no game; these students were serious and they were probably all very good at what they did, so I mustn’t let them down.
As we started to do stretches and warm-up exercises, I realised that nobody was going to make it easy for me because I couldn’t speak Chinese, but I was warmed up already, and I was a good follower. Once the warm-up exercises were done everyone stood to attention as the Shifu performed the form for us. When the kung fu teacher had finished, he stood to attention and shouted the command for us to start.
Quickly I found a weakness in my moves. I was so used to performing at my own speed that I found it difficult to keep up with the speed of one hundred other students. The other thing was that the arrest of my Muslim friend Malik was on my mind and I felt guilty. Here I was worrying about getting a few kung fu moves right, and he was in some unknown place being questioned under the so-called Prevention of Terrorism Act. But what could I do? I kept asking myself. I had to concentrate and get through this.
I managed the form but I knew I hadn’t done as well as I could do. I looked towards Iron Breath. His stiff upper eyebrow wasn’t giving anything away, but I knew that my kicks were lazy and my stances were too high.
The Shifu gave a bit of a lecture that I didn’t understand and we went through it all again. This time he walked among us. As he walked, he would correct the students’ postures by twisting their limbs or kicking them into place. It looked painful. When he came to me, he watched me for a while but did nothing, which I thought was a good sign, but as he walked away he gently pushed me from behind to show me that my stance was incorrect. I stumbled a little but soon steadied myself and continued.
It was like training in heaven, but I had to stay focused. I would catch glimpses of Yanli and Iron Breath but I ignored them. Thoughts of Malik in custody drifted into my mind but I ignored them. Then, for some strange reason, I began to wonder who was in the Big Brother house. I had to put aside this evil thought and tell myself I was training on sacred ground. Everything had to be pushed aside to focus on the kung fu, but this is all part of it. You have to block out all other thoughts and get mind, body and breath working together. I think I just about did it.
The Shifu gave another short speech and then we got ready to do the form again. I glanced at Yanli and she raised a finger, and so I guessed this was the last time. As we began, the teacher walked towards me and Iron Breath joined him. They both watched me intently as I went through the form, ignoring the others. This made me worry more, but I knew the key was to keep relaxed, stay focused and feel every move that I made. And I did. It all seemed to come together quite well, and when I had finished Iron Breath and the Shifu bowed to each other, and Iron Breath gave what I thought was the beginnings of a smile, just enough to let me know that he wasn’t unhappy.
When it was over, the students marched out as quickly as they had marched in. I went over to see Yanli. She was alone.
‘Where’s Iron Breath?’ I asked.
‘He just said he had to go,’ she replied.
‘Is he angry with me?’
‘No,’ she said hastily. ‘Didn’t you see? He almost smiled.’
‘Yeah. You saw that too?’
‘Yes, I saw it. I think he just had to go away. He wants me to thank you for your hard work and he wishes you the best for the rest of your life.’
‘That’s nice,’ I said. ‘I’m pleased that he cares about the rest of my life but it would have been nice to say goodbye to him in person.’
‘I know,’ said Yanli, ‘but you have to understand, he is not very sentimental. He’s done what you wanted him to do, you’ve done what he wanted you to do, so now it’s over. You take your different roads in life.’
As we walked out of the temple, I heard someone calling me.
‘Benjamin! Mr Benjamin!’
I looked around and saw Fat Thumb walking up behind me. Yanli walked on and I waited for Fat Thumb to catch up with me.
‘So what do you know?’ he asked.
‘I know some things and I don’t know other things,’ I replied. ‘What do you know?’
‘You are dressed for kung fu. Are you ready to study with me?’
‘My studying here is finished for now. I leave tomorrow,’ I said.
‘So now you think you are a kung fu expert?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I didn’t say that, but I’m leaving with more knowledge, wisdom and understanding than I had when I came here.’
‘You have knowledge, but do you have the High Rise Mind, and do you know the difference between the Big Rum and the Big Rum?
‘What are you on about, man? Do I have a High Rise Mind? What’s the High Rise Mind? And, if you’re so full of wisdom, you tell me what the difference is between the Big Rum and the Big Rum.’
‘Now we’re getting deep. This is true wisdom. The answer is . . .’ He stared into the distance.
‘Come on, then,’ I said. ‘You don’t know, do you?’
‘I have all the answers,’ he said. ‘The difference is one Big Rum is first and the other Big Rum is not.’
I had had enough.
‘I gotta go,’ I said, stretching out my right hand for a shake. He just looked down at my hand, so I said, ‘Goodbye. And I hope you can get it together, man. Whatever it is.’
I went over to Yanli and we began to walk away from the temple.
‘Do you know that guy?’ I asked.
‘No one really knows him but I know some things about him. It’s really sad. His parents come from Hong Kong but live in England. I think they come from Birmingham, where you come from.’
‘I knew it,’ I said. ‘I knew he had a Brummie accent.’
‘He comes from a very rich family,’ Yanli continued. ‘He went to an expensive school, and to one of the best universities in England, but when he left university something happened. We don’t really know what, but it had something to do with him being told by other Chinese people that he wasn’t Chinese enough. He couldn’t speak Chinese. He didn’t mix with Chinese people.
‘Then he started reading anything he could about Chinese beliefs and religions. China became a special place for him, so he got a one-way ticket here. He believed he was a dead kung fu monk reborn. Fat Thumb can’t fight. If you ask him to show you his kung fu, he just stands there and says that you’re not wise enough to see it. Basically he’s mad. He just lost it somewhere, and I think he may have lost it here.’
‘That’s a big shame,’ I said, ‘but I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen lots of black British people go to Africa because they see it as the great motherland, but wh
en they get there they just can’t cope with it. And I have to say, the Shaolin Temple that I’ve seen here is very different from the Shaolin Temple in the books and in the films. I had a different place in mind, but I can deal with this.’
‘The true Shaolin Temple has gone,’ said Yanli. ‘This is a tourist attraction. Yes, there are some good kung fu teachers around, and there is some history here, but it’s no longer a spiritual place, a place to think and be still. He won’t be around for very long,’ Yanli continued, as she pointed to Fat Thumb. ‘He will wake up, break up, or simply move on, and then someone else will take his place. They come and go, just like the tourists really. People like him just stay for a little bit longer than the average tourist.’
It was all very sad really. I stopped and looked back and my last view of the great Shaolin Temple was one with Fat Thumb standing in front of the entrance picking his nose.
Yanli dropped me off at the hotel in a taxi. In saying goodbye she was a bit more emotional than Iron Breath but not much.
‘Goodbye, and I hope you enjoyed your stay here and that you will come again.’
‘Yeah. Goodbye,’ I said. ‘And if you’re ever in England, give me a call. You have my number.’
She shook my hand and we parted. I wasn’t expecting a leaving party but it was all a bit formal. I went to my hotel room, had a shower and sat at the telephone with my address book in hand.
I rang Malik’s wife, Fatima, who told me how in the early hours of the morning the front door of their house was battered down by the police and her father-in-law was pushed down the stairs. Her mother-in-law was taken from the room she was praying in, and Malik was dragged out of bed and arrested. Fatima had not been told where he was being held.
Kung Fu Trip Page 6
