by John Harris
He looked around and shrugged. ‘Tennish?’ He clapped his hands and seemed to notice Apple for the first time. ‘OK, Apple? You look pretty today.’
‘Thank–’
‘Never mind that crap, Rick,’ I walked briskly over to the telephone, ‘get your gear on. Where’s your shirt and stuff?’
Rick went into the bedroom without replying, and I phoned one of my Chinese building contractors. I didn’t know him very well, but the previous week when I’d told him that a friend of mine was getting married, he put his Rolls Royce and driver at my service with the brassy disregard for cost that characterises Hong Kong’s comparatively well-off. I thought it stupid to refuse. The driver answered the car-phone in Cantonese and Apple gave directions and times.
‘He come ten for’y fi’e,’ she said, putting the receiver down.
We went back into the bedroom to find Rick buttoning up a brand-new white granddad shirt, with the clear plastic strip that’s used to keep it in shape sticking out from the neck. ‘Where did you get that from?’ I asked.
‘Bought it in Central yesterday,’ he said without looking up. ‘Cost me a packet.’
‘Why the fuck did you buy a collar-less shirt? How are you going to wear a tie if the shirt’s got no collar?’
He looked up and then down at his chest.
‘Have you even got a tie?’
‘Oops.’
‘Jacket?’
‘Got trousers... Fook,’ he said, holding the neck of the shirt with both hands, ‘I never thought about needing a collar.’
I went over to the wardrobe and pulled out one of my white shirts for him. It was three sizes too big, and made him look like he was ready for bed, but there was nothing else. I gave him my only black jacket, and he tried it on.
‘What do you think?’ he said, checking the inside pocket for cash.
Apple burst out laughing. ‘Look like Charie Chaprin.’
He rolled up the foot or so of sleeve that hung off the end of his hands and looked in the mirror. ‘Bit on the long side... ’
‘Rick, you can’t wear that, it looks like a trench coat. You’ll have to buy one in town.’ I checked Apple’s watch again. ‘If the driver comes early we should have enough time.’ Apple said that there were numerous boutiques in Central, all within a stone’s throw of the registry office in City Hall, so we shouldn’t have a problem buying a jacket.
We both got dressed, Rick in my shirt and tie, me in my own black jacket, and the three of us descended the narrow staircase down into the street, where the driver was already waiting.
TEN
The metallic-blue convertible Rolls Royce pulled off the elevated roadway and joined the steady stream of traffic that wound its way slowly into Central. The sunlight glinted off a rear windscreen, so I closed one eye and turned towards my beautiful Chinese girlfriend. ‘Ask the driver to drop us outside the shops,’ I said, blinking hard against the dazzling light. ‘You wait in the car with him and we’ll run in and buy a jacket.’
Apple leaned forward and spoke to the driver. He shook his head and then jabbered away for a moment before abruptly turning off the main road. ‘He say cannot stop on main road,’ she said, turning back to me, ‘too many traffic.’
I swore under my breath. ‘What time is it?’ She held up her watch. ‘Ten to eleven, we’ll never make it.’
Rick looked back from the front seat. ‘Don’t worry, City Hall’s just over there. The shops are down there,’ he said, pointing ahead. ‘We can buy the jacket and run back. It’ll be quicker anyway; all the roads around here are one-way and he’d have to drive right around the block again.’
‘We’ll never get there in time, look at the traffic.’ We had come to a standstill behind a bus, and without thinking I slapped the driver on the back, said thanks and jumped from the car without bothering to open the door. Rick and Apple followed behind. ‘The present!’ I shouted to Rick, and he leaned into the car and plucked the little wooden box off the front seat.
We ran across Chater Gardens, into Des Voeux Road where the shops were and literally dived into the first doorway that had men’s clothes displayed in the window.
‘Jackets!’ Rick shouted as we ran into the shop.
‘Excuse me, sir?’
He stared at the shop assistant and held up the lapel of my jacket, repeating the word.
‘And what style would you like to see, sir?’
‘Anything, just hurry up.’
The girl motioned towards a rack-full. ‘Over here we have the latest in–’
‘That’ll do.’ We all brushed past her and started frantically pulling the jackets off their hangers, holding them up to see which one matched Rick’s trousers. ‘This one!’ I shouted, holding out a fairly standard black job.
‘No, no, this better.’ Apple passed one to Rick and he tried it on. ‘OK?’
‘OK?’ he asked me.
‘OK.’ I turned to the shop girl. ‘How much?’ It was extortionate. ‘What time is it, Apple?’
She held up her wrist. ‘I will buy you watch.’
‘Shit. No time to argue. Buy it or we’ll never make it in time. No bag, thanks, he’ll wear it.’
We puffed and panted our way back out and down the street towards City Hall. On the way, while still jogging, I pulled off the price tag and manufacturers labels from Rick’s back, and as we ascended the stairs into the main hall of the building Apple straightened his tie.
‘How do I look?’ Rick said, dabbing his forehead with a tissue.
‘Fine,’ she replied.
‘Sweating like a pig,’ I added, ‘but fine.’ I pulled the shirt from my skin to allow the sweat to dry and scanned the hall for a sign of Laura.
Someone called out Rick’s name from a reception counter and we went over. Laura had already signed in, and I could see her and her friends waiting in a sort of ante-chamber next to the registry office.
‘You’re a little late, Mr Jenner,’ the woman behind the counter said in a hushed but firm voice, ‘but we can hardly start without you.’ She handed him the pen to sign in and, as he bent forward, looked him over inquisitively. ‘Is it raining outside?’
Two minutes later, a dozen or so people came out of a room and we were asked to go in. A sign above the door read, Please Do Not Throw Confetti Inside The Building – Max Fine $1,000. I nudged Rick and pointed. ‘Romantic, huh?’
‘Very,’ he said, not really listening, and walked in behind Laura, nervously turning my gift over in the palm of his hand.
Velvet walls; that’s what I remember about the marriage hall. Green velvet walls like an upper-class padded cell. Four rows of seats for the guests, while at the front of the room the Chinese registrar and his assistant sat stony-faced behind a large desk, numbed into madness no doubt by the piped wedding march that played non-stop.
We all sat down and the registrar’s assistant handed a printed plastic card to Rick. He read the single line sentence, handed the card to Laura, who did the same, and the registrar pronounced them man and wife. They exchanged rings and we all cheered. That’s it. The whole thing took less than five minutes. There was a minor hiccup when Laura couldn’t say Rick’s full name but otherwise she read the sentence like a pro.
Standing side by side at the top of the stone steps that led down into the little garden of City Hall, Rick and I squinted out into the bright sunshine of the harbour. We stood like that for a while, looking blankly into space and cogitating, before I elbowed him gently in the ribs. ‘You can open it now if you want.’
He looked down as if suddenly realising where he was. ‘What? Oh, yeah... ’
Apple shouted up from the bottom of the steps that she wanted to get some film of Rick and Laura together, and that I should get out of the frame.
‘Just take one of me and John first,’ Rick said, untying the ribbon from the gift. Laura moved to one side, while the other guests walked down to the bottom of the steps. He put the ribbon into his pocket, opened the lid of the box and sta
rted laughing.
‘Thought you wouldn’t be able to use yours any more... ’ I said, and patted his back.
He held the little antique compass at arm’s length and we both peered at the delicate needle as it spun around, seemingly out of control.
I looked at him. ‘D’you think it’s broken?’
He brought it up to his face. ‘No, just confused.’
‘Confused?’
‘Yeah. You know when you bring two poles together they repel, well it’s the same with compasses.’ He sighed that recently-married-man sigh (the one that comes from deep inside and tells of lost freedom), and looked sideways at me. ‘Let’s jump.’
‘What?’
‘Jump. Down the steps. Come on!’ He held my arm and we both took two steps back before running forward and leaping into the air, clearing the four steps into the garden.
As we went, both of us held up our fists, legs spread wide, while Apple aimed the video camera and pressed RECORD.
Author’s Note
I grew up on a council estate in Woolwich, south east London, where I spent the first 18 years of my life asleep. Fortunately my first girlfriend ran off (bless her) and I realised there might be more out there than two weeks’ holiday at Club 18–30.
I think fear keeps people in mundane lives. Fear of freedom, fear of loneliness. It’s a powerful opium.
Once I walked through that door I couldn’t stop walking, and I’ve been on the road, wandering about the world ever since – around fifteen years, often lonely, sometimes afraid, always free.
When I get bored with a country I move on and start again somewhere new, usually roaming until I fall in love with another woman and ‘settle down’ again. I believe it’s a natural way of living for a man. And it’s always possible to earn a living; scuba diver in Thailand, fruit picker in Oz, project manager in Hong Kong, private detective in China, site manager in Dubai. I like being a foreigner; it feels good.
There’s no going back for people like me – to a previous country or place of birth. I tried it once and it felt like reading a book for the second time.
I still haven’t decided if it’s me who’s mad for living the way I do, or the rest of the world for living the way they do.
Five things everyone should do before they die:
Make love on a deserted tropical island beach
Jump out of a plane and free fall
Scuba dive on a wreck at night in a lightning storm
Drive through a city at night in a ragtop
Surf an unbroken wave on an offshore tropical reef
John
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