One
At the moment the only thought going through John’s head was, “How on earth does a place that gets as hot as this one does in the summer ever get this stinking cold?” Everywhere he looked everything was frozen solid and had been for more than a month yet there was no snow whatsoever. It was so cold even the dry air itself seemed to have taken on a bluish tint which seemed to blanch the color out of everything. The thought that would have next jumped unbidden to John’s mind would have been “What on earth am I doing here?” but it died a premature death as a strong gust of the ever-present wind pushed its way through his parka making him snug up his scarf and push on against the gale.
John stepped off the curb and nearly fell when he slipped on, well he wasn’t sure what he slipped on. He really didn’t want to think about it in this land where one had to be so careful of what one steps on. For that matter, right now, thinking was something he really wanted to avoid, there had been too much of it already. Thought. Pointless. The cold was a blessing forcing his mind further inward, beyond thought to the place most focused with survival, a surprisingly peaceful place.
He gingerly, with a touch more survival focus, made his way across the street and turned left into a previously unexplored part of this sprawling village of twelve million. For what many would call a third world nation this one surely had prospered since the first time he had visited just more than ten years prior. He consciously decided not to think about the twists and turns his life had taken since that first visit, ultimately leading him and his family to live in this weather forsaken place. The whole point of being out braving the twenty-degrees-below-freezing temperature and the ridiculous wind was to clear his head, to not think. Don’t think. Impossible. “At least think about something different,” he told himself.
Continuing up the street he forced his eyes up from the bucked and broken pavers of the sidewalk with its deadly patches of frozen filth and began to really focus on his surroundings. He was on one of the smaller old streets that in the summer would be quite charming with its old brick buildings and the solid canopy of trees shading everything. Children would be playing. Old men would be squatting around low tables on even lower stools playing mahjong and laughing over their tea. Cicadas would be buzzing in the trees, a warm cacophony of noise and life. Now, the trees were bare. Everything was frozen and blue tinged and dirty. Sounds were sharp and brittle.
There was hardly a person in sight as on a day like this. The only people who would be outside were those who had to be. This suited John just fine. Today he didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to struggle through the answers to all the standard questions. “Where are you from? How long have you been here? What do you do?” He just wanted to walk. To walk in the cold and not think. Don’t think. He focused on the numerous small shops fronting the buildings and tried in vain to make some sense of the innumerable signs but there was no use. He was certain one day he would be able to master the multiple tones of the local language but he had no such hope of ever being able to read. He was fairly certain that the written language was based on the tracks of a one-legged chicken scratching for its next meal. Incomprehensible. “What kind of mind thought that one up?” he wondered. “And I thought I had problems,” he laughed darkly.
John continued on, braced against the cold and, for the most part succeeded in not thinking. So lost was he in his own non-thoughts that he was taken aback for a moment when he finally realized that he had stopped walking and was instead staring at a sign above a dingy open doorway that lead to a flight of bare cement stairs that went up into darkness. It took him a moment to realize that he could actually read the sign. That was rare indeed. As he tried to decipher just what a “LiuPing Cafe” was, he came to another startling revelation. Someone was talking to him.
John squinted to make out the source of the nasal, high pitched, rapid fire voice coming at him from the shadow of the doorway but it was no use. The contrast of the darkness of the stairwell and the blinding blue light outside was to great for his eyes to adjust to. As the voice continued on John shook his head and mumbled, “ting bu dong.” I hear you but I don’t understand, a fairly standard conversation ender for him. As he turned to move on laughter erupted from the shadows and a figure stepped out into the light.
“You crazy American. I’m speaking English. Don’t you understand your own language? You’ve been in cold too long,” the figure laughed.
John just stood there staring while he inwardly laughed because this guy sounded just like the duck that sold noodles in the panda movie his kids loved to watch.
“What’s the matter American, your tongue as frozen as your ears?”
“How do you know I’m American?” John asked dumbly.
More laughter. “How do you know a fish is a fish? Of course you are American.” The figure smiled. “I live in America thirty years, California. Own two restaurant there. Very successful! I move back here, share what I learn there! I know American when I see one.”
John looked at this stranger a little closer. He was about John’s height and thin. He looked to be about fifty but John was terrible about guessing ages. The man’s thin jet black hair was combed into an elaborate wave in a failed attempt to cover his bald spot. He seemed friendly enough but, two successful restaurants in California? If that were true what’s he doing in this dump?
“I’m from California.” John stammered a little off balanced from the whole thing, or, maybe it was just the cold getting to him.
“Yes, I figured,” the man said, “only someone from warm place like California dumb enough to be out walking in this weather. You catch cold!”
More laughter. John decided that as friendly as this guy was he was getting tired of being laughed at. His mind was starting to turn back from the solitude of survival mode to the realm of thought and that just wouldn’t do. He turned to go.
“Hey Californian, where you going? You need to take rest. Warm up. Drink something hot.” A big smile. “You come to my cafe, I fix you right up!”
“Your cafe?”
“Yes, my cafe of course! My name LiuPing. My cafe just up these stairs. You come. I fix you right up!”
“So that explains it,” thought John. “This guy’s not so friendly he’s just looking for business. Two restaurants in California, right…”
“Not today, I don’t have any money with me,” John lied and turned to go.
“No you come now!” LiuPing argued. “This is not business deal, cafe closed today. This is act of mercy. You freezing… can’t even think straight.”
“That’s kind of the point,” John thought.
“You don’t even recognize English.”
“He has a point.” John considered. He really didn’t want to see what kind of dump was at the top of those stairs though.
“I make special drink for you. Warm your body. Clear your mind! Very healthy!”
John relented, clearing his mind sounded perfect. “Ok, let’s get out of the cold.” As John stepped through the doorway and started to follow LiuPing up the dilapidated stairs he had the fleeting realization that whatever was at the top might not be any warmer that it was outside.
