“As an immortal, though, he's a drunk and a womanizer,” I said.
“Yes, yes, that's right.” He rubbed his knees. “There are legends and stories.”
“Are you seeing someone?” asked Mei-ling.
“Hey, Mei-lingâthat's too personal to ask!” I said.
“It's okay,” said the man. “No, I'm not seeing anyone anymore.” He sighed and looked down without seeing the forest below. Both of our gondola mates were now sad and silent. Of course they were going to a temple.
At the temple stop Mei-ling made to follow them out.
“We have one more stop, Mei-ling,” I said.
She looked confused. “We do?”
“Yeah, one more.”
We waved goodbye to the man. The woman was practically sprinting away.
“I thought the temple was the last stop,” said Mei-ling. “Shouldn't a temple be a the top of the mountain?”
“This is Taipei,” I said. “Nothing is sensibly built.”
We swung out at the last stop on the gondola. The rain had stopped but the ground was wet. We came upon a small day market and a few teahouses. The mountain path looked like the flight of stairs in
The Exorcist
that the priest tumbles down.
“Mei-ling,” I said, “how about we have some drinks and snacks at the café here before we head up to the tea plantations to get something for your dad? I can't let you go back to Taichung empty-handed.”
She looked around, seemingly distressed at what she saw. “So there's no temple at all at this stop?” she asked.
“There might be some small altars around but the only temple is one stop back. I didn't know you were into temples.”
She shrugged. “I'm a spiritual person.”
We walked up the steps to the café's patio, which offered a view of the forest below. To the right the stretch of Taipei's buildings looked like a pie crust on a green plate with Taipei 101 as stubby toothpick.
We shared a plate of waffles topped with whipped cream, chocolate syrup, and sprinkles. I had a cup of hot Guanyin tea, which was named after the Buddhist deity, the goddess of mercy. Mei-ling sucked up a green-tea smoothie that was also topped with whipped cream.
We didn't talk much and spent our time together looking to the horizon, lost in our own thoughts. I wondered what life would have been like if I had finished college at UCLA and was now living in the US. I would probably be married and bored right now. But instead, I'd come back, met Nancy and grew a lot. I wasn't a stubborn, idealistic kid anymore.
I was, however, sitting with a stubborn, idealistic kid. We all have to go through that phase, don't we? We all need goals, no matter how unrealistic they are. Eventually we wise up and become more accepting, both of other people and ourselves.
I looked at Mei-ling as the spotted sunlight slid down her face. What were her limitations? She really could be a pop star. I could see it. On paper she was an at-risk youth with a criminal ex-boyfriend and a father in organized crime. That's the script for a reality show, not a singer. Parts of my life story were lousy, but at least my childhood was fairly decentâdownright sheltered compared with what Mei-ling has been through.
Yet she was a typical teenager, too. She could only enjoy the view for so long before whipping out her phone.
Her behavior shouldn't bother me. When I was her age, I must have looked like a budding terrorist in my long trench coat and glowering face. I really did think I was Ian Curtis, didn't I? Well, the public Ian Curtis, anyway. I read his wife's book about him much later. He wrote the lyrics to some of post-punk's most poignant anti-love songs and yet in private life he was a controlling, misogynist jerk. Throw hypocrisy in there, too. He forbade his wife from wearing makeup, afraid that other men would find her too attractive, but he took up with a mistress.
A stray dog that got by on tourist generosity padded by and gave us a sad glance. He looked pathetic in his wet coat. I shook my head and he seemed to understand. He lay down on his side on a flat stone tile as the sun came out fully from the clouds. He sighed, but I could tell by the underside of his jowls that he was smiling.
“Jing-nan, why did you have to tell that guy you weren't gay?” Mei-ling blurted out.
I shrugged. “Just in case he had ideas about me.”
“Why do straight men think that gays want to fuck them?”
“Calm down, Mei-ling.”
“You're a homophobic jerk, Jing-nan.”
“If you want to find a reason to hate me, I can't stop you. Dammit, I thought we were just starting to really get along!”
“You're a lot more like Big Eye than you think.”
“You're even more like him. You're his kid.”
“I'm not like him
at all
. I never will be.”
She was right about me and the German guy. I'd been afraid he might like me. I had to walk this conversation back a few paces. I would stoop to concur.
“Okay,” I said, “you're not like Big Eye and you're not going to be like him. You're right, that was very homophobic of me to act that way to the German guy.”
“You're not like Big Eye because you admit it when you're wrong,” Mei-ling said, softening. “Overall, I'd say you've been really nice to me.”
“You're one of the few family members I have and the Mid-Autumn Festival is coming up. We should always be close.”
Mei-ling stood up. “I have to go to the restroom,” she announced and headed to the café's interior.
I knew that probably meant she had to have a private phone call to bitch about me.
“I'll be here waiting for you,” I called after her. I took a small bite of the waffle. It was awful. They should name themselves Awful Waffle. They tried that oldest trick of food retail by covering up substandard ingredients (the batter in this case) with an overload of condiments (chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and sprinkles). It was cheap and sweet. Hey, maybe that was a better name for the place.
Mei-ling returned, giving me a glance not unlike the dog's.
“The café's bathroom is out of order,” she said, not breaking her stride. “I have to use the one in the station.”
“Good luck,” I said as I took a sip of tea to clean out my mouth. Maybe Guanyin tea was named after the goddess of mercy because it forgave whatever caused the bad taste in one's mouth. Was it made from a high-quality batch? It seemed all right.
I pushed back my chair and stretched my legs. Get ready to do some climbing, I said to them. It's been a while since I've walked up a mountain path.
I watched a plane in the distance drift to the west, its back glistening in the sunlight. It'd also been a while since I was on a plane. Maybe I'd never be on one again.
The thought made me uncomfortable so I picked up my phone. I had an email from Dwayne, writing on behalf of Frankie, who wanted to know if it would be all right if he came to work a little late on a day the week after next. Frankie didn't give a reason but, really, he didn't even need to ask.
“Anything he wants,” I wrote back. The guy's never even taken a day off. He wasn't even asking for one now. If he needed to disappear for a few hours, then good for him.
Speaking of disappearing, Mei-ling sure was taking her sweet time.
I took another bite of the waffle. I was so progressive I was willing to challenge my previously held beliefs, including, “This waffle sucks.” And the next time I met someone who was gay, I wouldn't assume that he was into me.
Ugh. The waffle was still bad. Maybe a little worse.
Another dose of tea refreshed my mouth. I looked at Mei-ling's smoothie. More than half of it was left. I tried some. She had to pay some penalty for taking so long.
The smoothie wasn't bad. That didn't mean it was good, though. You can get away with subpar items that are served cold. Ground ice makes taste buds fold up and the tongue can only taste sweetness correctly. You probably wouldn't recognize lousy ice cream until it begins to melt.
I should have expected mediocrity so close to the gondola station. As I watched more customers shuffle in, I realized that the café didn't need to rely on building a customer base. New people would always show up. This crummy joint was only a place to take a load off before heading higher.
Damn you, Mei-ling, let's go! Wait, maybe I shouldn't be so harsh. Maybe she has diarrhea. Maybe she's getting her period.
I refreshed my email inbox. Spam from a Chinese company that offered price quotes on bulk sales of plastic resins.
I went to Joyous Dividends, a Joy Division fan site and my browser's home page. Even though the band came to an abrupt end in May 1980, not a month went by in which previously unreleased studio outtakes and live bootlegs weren't uncovered and shared. Some are fake, though. One band thought they could publicize themselves by posting one of their tracks as an unreleased pre-synthesizer Joy Division track. I thought it was crap when I heard it and wasn't surprised that the surviving band members had ostensibly kept the track hidden. When it was revealed as a marketing tactic, the fake band received death threats from around the world. Things turned even uglier when the band blamed their manager and posted his home address and cell number.
The Joyous Dividends administrator, who usually stayed out of the proceedings, wisely deleted the post but not before it was seen by thousands of people. The administrator also posted a note that Joy Division fans should see the stunt for what it was and laugh it off. After all, Joy Division, while active, wasn't the humorless and somber experience that the music's legacy has become. The band in its heyday was notorious for the pranks the members pulled on each other and on unfortunate members of bands touring with them. Urine-in-the-ashtrays and maggots-on-the-bus-seats sort of stuff.
There was a rumor, never denied, that the administrator of Joyous Dividends was Joy Division/New Order bassist Peter Hook and that the site was his way to sneak his personal recordings out to the fans.
A new recording this week was a digitally remastered version of a live recording of “24 Hours” that was previously only released on the vinyl and cassette editions of the compilation album
Still
. Supposedly it was left off the CD release because of time constraints. But why was the track included on the vinyl and cassette versions even though it wasn't listed on the sleeve? The mysteries never ended.
I took in the view of Taipei as I listened to the latest find. The studio version of “24 Hours” is Joy Division at their most turbulent musically, with charging drums, thunderous bass and dark power chords. Ian's ominous voice floats wraithlike above it all. The song is so fast and energetic that heavy-metal bands cover it. This live version also had the nervous energy that comes from working off a crowd.
It sounded great but I couldn't tell how much better the remaster was over the vinyl through my crummy headphones. Maybe it would sound even better through my PC headphones at home. If I ever got home.
Damn you, Mei-ling.
I stood up and stretched. I had to go to the bathroom myself now.
I went first to
Maokong Station's men's room. It was spotless. This wasn't always the case.
The Daily Pineapple
did an exposé on the awful condition of public restrooms in general, calling them a “national disgrace” that tourists from all over the world would see.
I washed up and walked over to the women's room.
A paper “Out of Order” sign was taped to the door. Judging by the discoloration of the cellophane tape, the sign had been up for at least a week.
I walked through the station in disbelief, hoping to find Mei-ling, somehow knowing that I wouldn't.
I looked over the two different roads that led down the mountain. If she had gone down either one I would have seen her from my table on the patio.
I walked over to the two women assisting passengers disembarking from the gondolas and waited until they were free. Like the two men who helped us at the bottom of the Maokong line, these women were both tall, lanky, and young. One wore a black bob. The other had pink hair pinned into a bun.
“If you want a ride down,” said Pink Bun, “you have to stand in line there.” She gestured to the roped-off area to her left where nobody was waiting. It was too early for people to head back down.
“I want to know if you remember a young girl, about sixteen years old, going down by herself,” I said. “Maybe about half an hour ago.”
“I remember her,” said the woman with black hair. “She was in a hurry.”
“Gan,”
I muttered as I obediently walked to the boarding area. Noting my compliance, Pink Bun held a car steady for me. After I was aboard she slammed the door shut and locked it. I swung out above the now-serene and fully lit forest. The sun looked like a spat-out piece of lemon candy stuck to the hazy sky. I was mildly aware of the beautiful scenery. My distress blocked me from fully registering it.
Mei-ling had ditched me at the top of the fucking mountain. Was this her idea of a joke? When I found her smiling at the bottom, I might have to go a little Big Eye on her.
“Fuck!” I said again, yelling it in English this time. Of course she wasn't answering her phone. She was probably looking at this display and laughing. I left her a few hang-up messages.
As my ride approached the last station, I saw that the two young men were busier than before but handling the job with aplomb. A line of people waiting to board now wound all the way back to the escalators.
I couldn't see Mei-ling, though. Should I make a complete fool of myself by riding down the escalators to the ground level? Would I definitely find her there or was she hiding somewhere at this station, watching me and laughing her ass off?
The guy who had the crush on Mei-ling unlocked and opened my door. “You came down yourself?” he asked, sounding disappointed and confused.