Half

by Duncan MacLeod

  “You did pretty well.”

  “Well, wait until you see the apartment before you decide anything.”

  Upstairs, the apartment is nice. Her bedroom is in the front. It only has a view of the tennis courts and the spire of a few churches, including Mission Dolores, but it’s a nice place. The landing at the top of the stairs is the living room. It’s a narrow room or a very wide hallway, depending on your perspective. “This is where I meditate.” She has her colorful Tibetan cushions arranged and a little shrine. “I was meditating four to six hours a day in Vermont, so this is a step down.” She’s guilt tripping me, but I refuse to take the bait. She prattles on. “The good news is the Dharmadhatu is over on Sixteenth and Mission, so it’s easy to walk to temple.”

  “You mean by the Bart station"? Sixteenth and Mission is a craphole where the desperate and the lurid meet to transact sales of cocaine, methamphetamine and heroin. Isn’t it a weird place for a Buddhist temple"?

  “Not really. The meditation we do is removing the bad karma in the air there. It’s not quite so simple, but that’s the basic idea.”

  The bathroom has a clawfoot tub and a wrap around shower curtain. “Do you need to use the bathroom"? Mom looks concerned.

  “Nah, my tummy feels better.”

  Mom leads me back to her kitchen. It’s a big kitchen with a gas stove and a seventies avocado colored refrigerator.

  “This is where I cook, obviously.”

  “Duh.” I say it just right. She laughs. There’s the feeling I miss. All the horrible tension and drama is worth waiting for a good laugh with my mom. I can bring out a good side of her if I work at it long enough, and it can make the other shit bearable. If we get enough laughs going, the eggshells disappear and I can walk without fear, so long as I guess what will set her off. If I guess wrong, and tell the wrong joke or bring up a topic which fills her face with venom, then the eggshells crash to the floor all around me. But for the moment, I’m enjoying what I have come to call my mother’s love.

  “Ethan, I almost forgot. I was telling you about the psychic session.”

  I don’t know if I want to hear about it, but I have no choice.

  “She specializes in identifying your power animal. Mine is a dolphin.”

  “Nice. Don’t go near any tuna boats.” More giggles.

  “She told me your power animal is a seal, and you’re trapped under the ice right now.”

  Whether it’s reasonable or not, I feel like she violated my personal space; she went and had some psychic decide my power animal and then put it in a bad situation. I want to say something about it, but instead I say, “Huh.”

  Mom tries to read something into my noncommittal grunt, but fails. “Yeah, so she’s pulling some strings with the angels to get you out of there.”

  “That would be great. It’s cold and hard to breathe down here.” Playing along leads to more smiles and kind behavior, so I keep my secret seething to myself. First of all, my power animal is a Killer Whale and he eats your fucking dolphin…A drowning seal? Shark sausage? Really?

  “Here, I got you this to keep with you at all times.” She hands me a framed postcard of a fat arctic seal lying on its belly, looking at the camera.

  “At all times, mom? Is it okay if I keep it in my room? The frame is kind of big to fit in my pocket.” I’m treading on thin ice now. But she capitulates.

  “You’re right. I mean don’t ever lose it, and keep it near your bed where you sleep.”

  “Sure, mom. No problem.”

  After dinner, looking around the apartment, I notice there’s no couch. There are only the kitchen chairs to sit on.

  “Where will the couch go"? I ask.

  “What couch? The living room is too small for a couch with all my meditation cushions and the shrine.”

  She’s right. I had assumed I could crash with Mom after Conard House, but unless I want to sleep in the kitchen, it doesn’t look likely. I told her I could manage on my own when she went off to Vermont just before my high school graduation, so I can’t complain. I wish she had been there to see me graduate. It would have felt normal.

  “Hey mom, my curfew is at ten, so can we go back to Conard House now"?

  “If you take Linda Street to 18th, make a left, then make a right on Guerrero. At 16th, you can catch the 22 Fillmore.” She’s right, but it’s after dark and the Mission is pretty awful. But I have my crazy card that lets me on the bus for 15 cents. So I can save her time and gas. No sense arguing.

  “Do you have 15 cents for the bus"?

  “Isn’t it a dollar"?

  “Not for people in the mental health system. Just 15 cents.” I show her my card, which is a very flattering picture of me.

  “What a great picture. Let me give you some change.” She fishes around in the bowl where she keeps her keys and extracts a dozen pennies, 3 nickels, a dime and a quarter.

  “Thanks mom, I love you.” I mean it, and she knows it.

  “I love you too. Please get better soon so I can go back to my life.”

  “I’m trying.”

  *

  On the bus ride home, I think about my troubles. I still need to plan with Janis so I have 4-5 hours of activity during the day. I could get a job like Chance has. Chance says he works at a motorcycle shop on Van Ness, repairing Italian bikes and scooters. The 22 is supposed to go up the hill past Broadway and then down into the Marina, but the bus driver pulls over at California and tells everyone to step off and wait for the next bus. He pulls the electric cable arms down, locks the bus and walks away. Off to score some drugs. I check all of Fillmore Street; there isn’t a bus in sight. It’s only five blocks to Jackson Street, so I might as well walk.

  Between Sacramento and Clay I see a help wanted sign in the window of a coffee shop called “Sweet Inspirations.” Even though it’s late, they are still open and busy. They sell desserts and espresso drinks. I ask a young guy for an application but he looks at me and says we can skip the application for now; he can interview me first.

  “I’m Damon. And you are…"?

  “Ethan.”

  “Do you live nearby"?

  “Yes, I live in a house on Jackson Street.”

  “Is it walking distance"? He isn’t asking typical job interview questions.

  “It’s just there, yeah.”

  “It’s part time 4 nights a week and I need someone to start tomorrow night. Can you work tomorrow night? I’ll train you.”

  “Sure.” I panic inside because I don’t know if night work will sit well with Janis, but outside, I remain calm and composed. Besides, Vicki works graveyard at the post office.

  Damon hands me a job application. “Okay, then, fill this out and bring it to work with you tomorrow. The shifts are Thursday through Sunday from 7pm to midnight. Any other questions"?

  “How much does it pay"?

  “It’s minimum wage – $3.65 an hour, plus tips. It’s a tip jar and we split it all evenly. So see you tomorrow at 7:00"?

  “Thursday at 7:00.” I leave the place feeling as if a pair of Inuit vegetarians rescued my seal from the ice, and now they plan to make me their beloved family pet.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - MAH JONG

  Janis looks skeptical when I tell her about the job, but she nods. “Ethan, it’s no problem. You can work nights, as long as you cook dinner one night. Will your schedule shift around much"?

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights from 7pm to midnight.”

  “Then great. We found your activity. Are you excited"?

  “Hells yeah. I wanted a job. But will it affect my GA?”

  “We can talk about it in session tomorrow.”

  “Cool."

  As I head towards the stairs, I hear the clattering sound from the common room. Curiosity gets the better of me, so I investigate.

  The corner table is pulled away from the wall. Annie, Bernadette, Mei and Tony Ha are sitting around the table, swirling a bunch of giant dom
inoes in a whirlpool pattern. Tony sees me, and a huge grin spreads over his face.

  “Ethan, you here to join us! Here! Sit! Sit! You have my place.” He stands up, offering me his seat.

  “I should just watch you play first.” Behind me, the dominoes change from a cacophony of swirling to the gentle click, click of tiles being stacked.

  “No, come come come! You sit down.” He strong-arms me into his seat. The dominoes are now arranged in four walls, two dominoes high.

  Tony pats me on the shoulder. “Good, Ethan, you have fun. I watch and help.”

  I doubt I will have fun. Fun has been off the table since the day I landed in jail. I have had a few laughs, but I feel like crap and hate everything about my life.

  Annie, the shyest in the group, reaches out and turns a domino upright. It’s a green Chinese symbol. The ladies at the table draw a gentle breath, look at me, and smile.

  “What, what happened"?

  “We play halfway house rules,” says Tony. “Some people use dice but we draw tile to start. But green dragon isn’t a number, so we have to draw again.”

  “Why did Annie smile at me, though"?

  “Green dragon good luck,” reasons Tony, “and Annie smile because you bring good luck, even though she lose her turn.”

  Mei reaches out and turns over a tile. This one has 3 small circles. Mei counts in a counterclockwise motion and reaches the third wall of tiles, in front of Bernadette. She counts three tiles in, and draws four tiles at once, turning them upright in front of her. Bernadette grabs the next four tiles, and now all eyes are on me. I collect four tiles. Annie and Mei nod. Bernadette compliments me, “Four at a time, you’re a fast learner.”

  The circle continues four tiles at a time, and I stand my tiles in front of me. After everyone has grabbed three groups of four tiles each, Mei does something odd. She takes two tiles, the first top tile and the third top tile. Then Bernadette takes the 1st bottom tile. Tony nudges me, “You take top tile.” I take the second top tile which is now the first top tile. Then Annie takes the tile underneath. These tiles are beautiful. They are much thicker than a domino, so they stand tall on their own. The backs are made of a rich brown bamboo. While I admired the tiles, the ladies have stood all of theirs upright. They arrange their tiles, moving them from place to place like I might do with letters in a Scrabble game.

  Mei calls out “Fa” and turns up a tile, placing it face up in front of her, then draws another tile, adding it to her hand.

  Bernadette says, “Mo fa.” They wait for me with patient smiles. I turn to Tony for an explanation.

  Tony says, “Fa mean flower. If you have flower, you may draw again.”

  I point to one of my tiles, a bird perched on a bamboo branch. “Is this one Fa"?

  Tony giggles. “No, not Fa. One bamboo.”

  Bernadette clicks her tongue, “Tony, not fair. I speak English.”

  “Mo fa.” I say. This surprises everyone.

  “You pronounce good. Where you learn Chinese"?

  I shrug. “Fa and Mo Fa are the only two words I know, so far.” This makes Tony and Bernadette laugh. Annie asks a question in Chinese, and Bernadette answers her back. Annie and Mei both laugh, too.

  “You funny, Ethan,” Tony tells me.

  I wasn’t trying to be funny, but okay. I’m glad they think I’m funny. It feels good to laugh. Annie says “Leng Fa” and turns up two flowers, drawing two new tiles from the wall.

  Next, Mei tosses out a tile face up. Bernadette frowns, looks at her tiles, then reaches for a new tile from the wall. She adds it to her hand and discards a tile face up.

  “Deng ha,” Tony says, raising a finger. “Ethan, your tile not in order. Here.” He reaches around me and moves my tiles into a new configuration. You sort into paai…uh, Bernadette? How you say paai"?

  “Suits, like a suit of cards.”

  “Yes. Suit. This suit bamboo and this suit circles. This suit called winds. There numbers suit, too, but you don’t have any.”

  “What’s this"? I ask, pointing at at tile with the symbol for China in red. “China"?

  “How you know China"? Tony is flabbergasted.

  “I failed a Japanese class at Columbia University.” He laughs and rattles off what I said to Annie and Mei. They quiver with stifled laughter. It’s not directed at me, I can tell. They think my answer is funny.

  Tony explains, “It funny you learn symbol for China from Japanese. We don’t get along. And even more funny because you fail.” Then he continues teaching me. “It not just mean China, it also arrow for shooting. We call arrow Red Dragon. Green Dragon and Red Dragon you see both now.”

  “The first tile Annie drew was Green Dragon, right"?

  “Oh. You good. Okay, you need her tile come from Bernadette in discard pile. Take tile, and say “Soeng.”

  I grab the tile Bernadette threw out. It depicts two stacked bamboo rods, “Soeng. Is this two bamboo"?

  Tony nods and points to where it goes, between the bird perched on the bamboo and a tile with three staggered bamboo rods in parallel. “Some rules we have to show why we take tile from middle, but halfway house rules you don’t show.”

  I get it. This is three in a row. 1, 2, 3. I review my hand, the way Tony has arranged it, and I see I should discard the ones on the right. I point to a wind tile with the letter E, and Tony nods. I discard it face down. Tony clucks and turns it right side up, saying “East Wind, Dung Paai.” Annie says, “Kong.” She draws the East wind and places it face up in front of her hand, and tips forward three more tiles for East Wind. She then draws a tile from the wall, discarding from her hand a tile with both the Arabic numeral and the Chinese symbol for three.

  Mei says ‘soeng’ at the exact moment Bernadette says ‘pong.’ Mei frowns and Bernadette takes the tile, flipping forward two more number 3 tiles from her hand. It’s my turn again.

  I wonder why Bernadette won? Tony is a good teacher.

  “Bernadette say pong, and pong beats soeng. But you have to say fast. If Bernadette say pong but Annie first say soeng and take tile, it too late.”

  “So kong is four of a kind, and pong is three of a kind"?

  “You scary smart Ethan.”

  I’m getting the hang of mah jong. The game is a mixture of go fish, bingo and gin rummy. You can have three of a kind, four of a kind, or three in a row. And if you see a tile you need, you shout it out. I’m unclear how the dragons work, or why they are different, but it has to do with how everything is scored. This is fun. I know what to do now. Except I have 13 tiles, and if I get four of a kind I have to say something and draw an extra tile, so I will never have gin rummy. I ask Tony about this conundrum.

  “Ethan, how you learn mah jong so fast? It take me ten years to learn. You have three, three, three, three, two with your last tile. We call the pair ‘naang zing’ - ‘pair of eyes’.”

  We continue playing, but as more pongs and gongs happen, I realize my strategy won’t work. I was going for all straights, with a pair of red dragons for the eyes. But Annie ponged the Red Dragon and I have to discard it and try for another.

  Annie draws a tile, smiles, and says “sik wu.” She turns up all her tiles, and she has won.

  Fast as lightning, there are six hands in the middle turning over all of the unused discarded tiles. The remaining walls are broken down and within 30 seconds, the whole set of tiles is face down. I try to give my seat to Tony, but he shakes his head and urges me to continue.

  The room fills with loud clattering as we swirl the tiles in a giant whirlpool. Every once in awhile, a tile overturns. Instantly, a hand reaches out, plucks it from the shuffle, then drops it back into the swirling mass face down.

  There comes one of those Ouija board moments, silently but mutually agreed upon by all four players, when the swirling stops, and the walls are built. I watch in amazement as Annie, Mei and Bernadette all form a row of 18 tiles in seconds, then a second row with equal speed. My mouth drops when they magically lift all 18
tiles at once and drop one row on top of the other. Then, with more magic, they push the entire wall forward to form one side of the crooked square. I went about things a different way, so I’m straggling. I have been stacking one tile on another, and I have five stacks of two tiles. The whole affair is pretty crooked, and I still have thirteen to go. Annie makes the universal gesture for “May I"? She finishes my wall and straightens it, then pushes it forward to form the last side.

  On the second shuffle, I try to stack eighteen tiles at once, pushing them together with intense force. They lift into the air. I am amazed. But I hesitate to marvel at my magic, and the whole row flies apart in an explosion of tiles, which is followed by an explosion of laughter all around the table. Annie remakes my top row of eighteen, taking face down tiles from another wall, while Bernadette and Mei remove the upturned tiles and shuffle them into other parts of the wall.

  On the third shuffle, I use both pinkies to apply pressure evenly along the edges of the tile. I stack in one movement, then push forward in another. And I am hooked now.

  On the fourth game, my strategy pays off. I declare “sik wu” and turn up all my tiles. We play long into the night, until the counselor on duty tells us to stop because the shuffling will wake the other clients.

  Tony tells me how in his home growing up, they used to play mah jong in the basement on a thick blanket. They used the blanket to muffle the sound of the illegal game. “Illegal? How can playing a game be illegal"?

  “In Hong Kong, we play for money. Big money. People lose everything. My father lose everything. So we go to America to San Francisco. New life, new world.”

  “How do you win or lose money in mah jong"?

  “I teach you another time. This game fun only.”

  “Is your father safe now"?

  Tony closes his eyes and shakes his head. “They find him many years ago. When I little boy.”

  We wait for the memory to pass. I would apologize, but it won’t help in this situation. He takes three deep breaths and smiles at me.