wrist rattle in agitation as she plays with them. But that's the
funny thing, it got so he had nothing left. You know he used to run
I saw some data~
The elder Mrs. Chen is no longer listening to him. He stands with
her under the canopy of her umbrella, both of them looking down the
hill, their backs to her son's gravestone. Allen told him once that
the Chinese have a very specific notion of relational space; if your
back is turned on something, it might as well not exist. The illusion
of privacy is enforced. Below them families perform their routines
as if stage-managed, deliberate in movements and silences: approach,
bow, reflect, depart.
She continues: A good entertainment magazine. Stories of the stars.
He'd always have a TV guy over at his
place, or a movie star. You know Brigitte Lin? He'd call her little
sister. Shit, how many guys would have loved to call Brigitte Lin
"little sister"? Magazine was shut down by the government, he was
thrown in jail. Supporting the wrong politician, or they made something
up, they did it all the time back then. So he gets out of jail, and
what does he end up doin'? Working a printing press. Hard labor.
She pauses to hack and spit phlegm onto the flagstones at their feet.
So he marries this woman and her daughter, and soon his wife's
spent all his money, gambling at mah jong. So he finally has enough
and leaves. Walks right out while she's playing mah jong, and she
doesn't even care. Goes to America to get a job, but nothing works,
and then America messes him up, he decides that he's not going to
work anymore and he spends three years in a Buddhist monastery. Can
you believe it? He could have gone to one here in Taiwan, but he goes
to one in