Money Boy

by Paul Yee

  I think of Han. I enjoyed our time together that first night. I wanted to be cool and confident like him. I needed him to show me how men touched one another. I used him. Well, he used me, too, but he paid for it.

  When I finally doze off, I am chasing the slave convoy across a snowy plain. My horse suddenly bursts through a huge glass window that springs up from nowhere. Both of us are badly cut, but blood sprays out of the horse like water from a fire hydrant. I have to cut the poor beast’s throat by myself. Sobbing and howling, I find my face soaked with sweat and tears and blood. When I run one hand across my cheek, the gory mixture fills my mouth.

  That’s when I wake up, choking and spitting.

  TWELVE

  In the morning, I stay in bed with my head under the pillow and let the roommates leave. They are new faces, big and blond, and loudly speak a foreign language. German, I think, or Dutch or Russian.

  Who cares?

  I drag myself downstairs at the last minute, just before the pancake service ends. I force myself to chew and swallow the puffy dough. The orange juice is made from powder. The jug sat out all morning and is warm now. At the same time, the pot of coffee has gotten cold. I can barely drink it, even after adding six spoons of sugar.

  The downtown streets are quiet and bleak. It’s Sunday. I go to the Internet café to use up my last hour. I’m the only customer there.

  I don’t log onto Rebel State.

  Something has changed. I don’t want to play this game anymore. I surf through new Chinese games, looking for another home. There are previews for Chase Thunder and Mist, Mongol Invasion, Tai-shan: The Sacred Mountain and Yin-Yang Secrets. I want something different, but the graphics and role sketches from one site to another all look and sound the same. More orphans. More warriors sick of bloodshed. More wanderers fighting for their family’s honor.

  Maybe it’s time for me to play English-language games. That would be a real challenge.

  ——

  The video store on Church Street rents portable DVD players and sells popcorn and coffee. You can park yourself on an easy chair and watch your rentals right in the shop. The Foreign Film section carries all the latest gay movies from China but I choose a Hollywood film about a gay man who gets elected to high public office in San Francisco.

  It’s an okay movie. I understood most of it. Without Chinese subtitles, I’ll need to watch it a few more times to get all the dialogue.

  At the main library, I get a half hour of computer time. I log onto Facebook to check up on my old friends.

  To my surprise, they’re all wondering about me. Jian told everyone that I went to visit a sick relative, but nobody believes him because they haven’t heard from me. Mila suspects Niang killed me and buried my body in the backyard. I laugh out loud. Kai thinks Ma has called me home. Wei thinks I’m gambling in Las Vegas. Jenny wonders if someone should report my disappearance to the police.

  Have only seven days passed since I got kicked out? Seven thousand things have happened. I’ll just tell them the good news: I’m out, I’m not a virgin anymore, and I’ve made lots of new friends.

  But, at the keyboard, my fingers freeze. I’m not ready to post yet. Maybe I need to figure out the best words to use. Chinese terms can be tricky. Maybe I’ll write everything down first. This is big news. I want to get it right.

  At the hostel, Han has left a telephone message.

  Urgent, it says. Call me.

  No doubt he has a job for me tonight. My throat tightens. I can taste the sour throw-up. I’d rather go back to school than face another Bruce.

  I push through the crowd of people waiting to check in. Then a voice calls my name from across the lobby.

  It’s Ba.

  I point to the phone and keep on going.

  “I have to talk to someone,” I call over the din of the guests.

  “Get over here!” he barks. “I’m your father!”

  Travelers turn and look curiously at us.

  Chen must have sent him here.

  In the breakfast room, a woman with long red hair is curled up in an easy chair in one corner, reading a book.

  Ba sits at the big table. I walk around it to face him. He pulls out a bag and shoves it over to me. A net-book.

  “I meant to give you one, too,” he says. “You can come home now.”

  I push the net-book back across the table.

  Ba grabs my arm.

  “Come home, I said!” Then he sees the woman in the corner and lowers his voice. “You’ve been away long enough.”

  “Let go.”

  “You are wasting your life out here. What do you want? Tell me!”

  He has never asked me that. My mind goes blank for a second.

  “Don’t order me around,” I say. “Stop telling me who I should be.”

  “Your grandfather is arriving tonight,” he says. “I am going to the airport to get him.”

  I knew it! Ba didn’t come here for me. No, he’s here to make himself look perfect.

  “Come home to welcome him,” Ba says.

  “No.”

  “You and your grandfather were always close. You are the only grandson who carries his name.”

  The wall behind Ba holds a huge map of the world. China’s bulge and Canada’s rectangle are different shades of pink. A wide blue ocean separates and connects them. Beijing is thirteen hours ahead of Toronto. An airplane takes fourteen hours to fly between the two cities.

  “Your grandfather lived a difficult life,” Ba adds. “For many years, the nation starved. His health is not good. Son, this...” His voice falters. “This may be your last chance to see him.”

  So soon? Then, I remember. Grandfather is over seventy years old. He smoked all his life, too.

  “Is he really coming?” I ask.

  Ba nods. “He is on the airplane now. Before he boarded, he phoned to make sure you would be at home.”

  I look at the pink slip with Han’s message on it.

  Urgent, it says.

  Where do I want to be tonight?

  ——

  I open the drawers, one after another, and press my nose into my clothes. Every T-shirt and sweatshirt is present. Everything is freshly laundered. Stepmother must have sent my clothes through the washing machine after they were rescued from outside. I wonder who got that job. Ba? Jian? Or Stepmother herself? Did they have a big fight over it?

  The first thing I do is to catch up with my friends. I log onto the desktop. As it warms up, I think of what to say. I use the dictionary. My friends will be surprised to get an English email from me.

  Today I came home because Grandfather is visiting. My father evicted me last week. He learned I’m gay. I went downtown and saw more of this world. I am glad to tell you this. See you at school tomorrow.

  I hit the Send button before I can change my mind.

  I don’t want to be scared anymore. I don’t want to be afraid of being gay. That would be as cowardly as saying, “I’m not Chinese” just so I could fit into Canada.

  Ba, Stepmother and Jian went to the airport to fetch Grandfather. I’m supposed to clean myself up.

  In the basement, I jack up the music and give my old friend the weight machine a solid kick. I do bench presses for chest and shoulders. I do rowing for the back, extensions and raises for the legs. The pain and tightness feel good. I want to stay fit. Maybe I can do gymnastics again.

  After the hottest shower in many days, I lie down. The bed feels like it is part of my body.

  ————

  The persistent dinging of the doorbell wakes me.

  How long was I napping?

  It’s dark outside. I stumble to the front door.

  It’s Carla. I didn’t send her my email.

  “Jian’s not home,” I tell her.

  “I came to see you.
”

  She walks in but doesn’t take off her jacket. Her arms are wrapped around her. Her face is pinched, as if she’s cold. She keeps looking at the ground.

  “We saw you on Thursday,” she says in her bad Mandarin. “At the shelter. Jian went looking for you but you were gone. This morning, when Jian told me you were gay, I knew that you ran from us because you saw me. That’s not right. That shelter is there because God wants us to help people.”

  “Jian’s a good guy,” I say. “I didn’t want to make trouble between you and him.”

  “I’m glad you’re home,” she says. “Family is important.”

  She hugs me, and I smell the lemon shampoo in her hair again. She turns to leave but there are people at the back door. Ba is shouting at someone to be careful, to walk slowly. Niang is telling Ba not to push.

  Grandfather’s ears still stick out, and his eyeglasses are thicker than ever. His eyes are alert but he has shrunk like a dried apple. The white whiskers on his face are longer. He stabs the floor with a cane as his feet shuffle along. He doesn’t have the strength to lift them anymore. And he wears his Mao jacket and Chinese army cap, as usual, with a thick scarf wrapped around his neck.

  He has lost two of his front teeth. The last time we saw each other, we were about the same height. Now I tower like a giant above him.

  The shock chills me to my bones. Do all old people shrink like this?

  Grandfather calls eagerly to me, but Ba moves him through to the living room to sit down. Grandfather insists that Ba fetch him a sturdy chair, nothing too soft. He reaches out with both hands and seizes my hands. His grip is strong and warm. He smells of Chinese medicinal oil.

  “You have grown,” he says. “You remind me of my father. He was big, taller than me. I was the runt in the family.”

  I kneel and press my face into his arm, letting his sleeve soak up my tears. Inside my chest, I’m clenching a loud sob that I can’t let out in front of everyone.

  I didn’t know that I missed him so much. I never thought about all the time Grandfather put into my life. I’m glad we’ll have time together. I’ll do anything to make him happy.

  When Jian pushes Carla forward, Grandfather looks at me and exclaims, “She is beautiful! Is she your girlfriend?”

  “No, Grandfather,” I reply. “Ba set a rule that Jian and I cannot have girlfriends until we finish college. She is a classmate. She came over to study.”

  “But, Rui-yong, your abilities are just average!” Grandfather cries. “By the time you finish college, you will be an old man like me. No girl will want you!”

  Everyone laughs, including me.

  “Sit, Rui-yong, sit. It has taken me so long to make this visit because this old man was afraid to get on an airplane. But I wanted to see you, one last time.”

  “I wanted to see you, too, Grandfather,” I say. “Ba said I could go home during the summer if my marks were high enough. But they never were.”

  “He has to study harder!” Ba calls out.

  “I was never good at school, either,” Grandfather says to me. “Maybe it is too much to hope for, to see you go to college.”

  “I have a part-time job at a Japanese restaurant. Maybe I’ll become a sushi chef,” I say, looking at Ba.

  He doesn’t say anything. Neither does Niang. On our way home, I told Ba that I would go back to school only if I could stop working for Niang and start at Rainbow Sushi instead.

  Ba turns to his father and says, “Tell the boy he still needs to study. Tell him not to let the cooked duck fly away! Tell him — ”

  Niang steps in. “Grandfather, in Canada there are many ways to make a good living. It is not like China.”

  Then the kettle whistle calls her to the kitchen.

  “Working with your hands is respectable, too. Look how we admire artists,” Grandfather says. “Even if he does not go to college, he can give me a great-grandchild with my surname. That is more important than a degree.”

  Niang calls from the kitchen, “Rui-yong, come take the tea out.”

  She’s trying to rescue me but I don’t move.

  “No man in our family ever lived long enough to see the fourth generation,” Grandfather continues. “Now people are living longer.”

  Niang hurries out with a clatter of teapot and cups. Smoothly, she steps in front of me.

  “Try this Dragon Well tea, Grandfather,” she says. “A friend just brought this from China. She says the quality is very high.”

  “Rui-yong, will you let me embrace a great-grandchild one day?” Grandfather leans to one side to peer at me. His lips are quivering.

  I pause.

  “Say yes,” Ba whispers. He is standing right behind me.

  “Grandfather, I can’t,” I blurt. “I’m a homosexual.”

  The room is deathly quiet for a second. Nobody breathes. We all stare at Grandfather. He sits like a statue.

  Ba curses me under his breath and then tells Grandfather, “Do not listen to him. He is talking nonsense.”

  “Hush,” Niang says. “Let the two of them talk. This is none of your business!”

  “In Canada, this is not a problem,” Jian quickly tells Grandfather.

  “Homosexual?” Grandfather speaks the word carefully as if saying it for the first time ever. He looks at me. “Are you sure? Do you know what you are saying?”

  I take a deep breath. “Yes, Grandfather. Absolutely sure.”

  He frowns, and deep furrows cut into his forehead. He opens his mouth, but a coughing fit seizes him. It’s a dry hacking that comes from deep inside him. It goes on and on, scaring me. Niang puts her hand on his shoulder, but he waves her away.

  Finally he recovers.

  “But this is Canada,” he says hoarsely. “Homosexuals are allowed to marry, is that not so? That is the law here, is it not?”

  I swallow hard before I can speak and make things clear.

  “Yes. But I won’t be marrying a woman.”

  “So adopt a child, or make a baby through test tubes!” Grandpa exclaims. “I read about it in the newspapers.”

  I stammer, “I haven’t thought of children.”

  “Ah, you are too young. Your entire life lies ahead of you.” He’s smiling.

  I close my eyes and let his words sink in. My shoulders loosen, and a rush of warmth fills me.

  Then Grandfather looks around. He thumps his cane, and his voice booms out, as strong as it used to be.

  “Where is my tea? Is it still hot?”

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  GROUNDWOOD BOOKS, established in 1978, is dedicated to the production of children’s books for all ages, including fiction, picture books and non-fiction. We publish in Canada, the United States and Latin America. Our books aim to be of the highest possible quality in both language and illustration. Our primary focus has been on works by Canadians, though we sometimes also buy outstanding books from other countries.

  Many of our books tell the stories of people whose voices are not always heard in this age of global publishing by media conglomerates. Books by the First Peoples of this hemisphere have always been a special interest, as have those of others who through circumstance have been marginalized and whose contribution to our society is not always visible. Since 1998 we have been publishing works by people of Latin American origin living in the Americas both in English and in Spanish under our Libros Tigrillo imprint.

  We believe that by reflecting intensely individual experiences, our books are of universal interest. The fact that our authors are published around the world attests to this and to their quality. Even more important, our books are read and loved by children all over the globe.