北京麻雀 (Sparrows of Beijing)
东 London, 2001 - 03
3
London Proper
2001
From the plane to the concourse, from the concourse to the tram, from the tram to the Metro. From Metro to a little street where he had arranged a room that was large enough for both of them. From the door to the bed, which in those days meant that they were going to sleep together. It was the way of what young people did, making no excuse for it, merely to report that they were going to do so.
Other times, they would have other practices, and each one of them thought is practice was normal. At the beginning of the 21st century, two young people were expected to take off their clothes and have on with things. And then not tell the other one if it was bad.
Other times would have other rules, some would never even think of it, and some would have a long conversation before doing it, each to his own way. How is America's Bright Depression treating you?
Steinbeck would write like a hobo, because in his day that was how uneducated people spoke, and then just as quickly it started being impolite to speak in that way. Even though people were no more educated than in Steinbeck's time, they had to put on airs for each other. The age was of gentility, for a moment. It was not as if they were more genteel, mind you, they just had a little bit of politeness. That, and in Steinbeck's age they wanted to prove that God and Jesus Christ did not have any hold over them, so they used one or the other in every phrase. Whereas in the time period of my recounting, this did not occur to them, and it was only the dumb ones who swore, others would not have bothered.
Being young, they were quite active and then went to a short nap. They were not quite low enough to order pizza, because that marked them as someone to be taxed. Neither one of them was in their own time zone, though both were on opposite sides: he was from the West and her from the East. And they were not going to commune with each other on this short trip. Because each one of them was to head back. Each one of them knew that there were many questions unanswered, so a list of the questions which could be supplied had meticulously been entertained. Each one of them wanted to find out certain questions and leave the rest to chance. First, in her mind, she liked men whose taste ran to “Rubenesque.”
His question was vague and not formed so well, it had to do with the other business. The secret business that he, and only he, entertained. He had to know if she would give him latitude to pursue without interference from her. At once it was specific, but not in words, and that's because he did not know her reaction.
Somehow, they woke up at around the same time. It was about 3:30 in the morning. They might have gone back to the erotic business, but both of them had to know the hidden question on their minds. Thus, both of them needed to speak. She began:
Walking her fingers off his chin and performing a delicate dance. “Do you like the name I chose for you? You called me sparrow, and I liked that.” Turning her fingers around on his nose, she began walking them down along the many trod ways the Laurel Adduced Hell. Lah, Lah, lalalah.
He replied: “I was surprised when you had made up the name so quickly and logged back on again with it. It was almost as if you were looking for something, and when I spoke the name sparrow you attached yourself.” That among all things was the thing that attracted him the most, even though it was not anything that he would have thought. It was Goodnight, Saigon moved north, while his minders wanted it moved to Bagdad.
“I had many boyfriends before you, and all of them had used me and then said goodbye. You were the first one who truly looked at me and saw something unique about me. I was worried about so many different things.” She meant weight, and he knew that.
“I know you were worried about how I would think of you – in terms of weight I mean. Which has you can see his not one of my real concerns. It is what is behind your eyes that matters most. Most girls are blank to what matters to me.” This was actually true, what he cared about could not be put into words, but it was a blind spot, which if she had it, everything else would fall into place.
Looked at him, and she did not want to believe him – yet. “It's so odd to be actually with another person.”
There was something deeper into the way they thought, even though they were a world apart. Red was over the sky, red congealed into the morning, all shocking red in synesthesian glide.1 It needed rain to cool things down. To shock the senses from the torpor slumber and release the adagio of the frame. Slowly gently seductively into focus. Perhaps they then could sigh what shouted in the mind but passed unwhispered passed their lips and leaving each in turn to gawk and flail for some half-remember signal to murmur. Then perhaps the wedding could be in reach with the peeling of the bells foretold, ringing on the airwaves trying to make ends meet.
Hold on their psykes would not linger and would not let them rest. Scratching of the mind, a twist on the brain, a passion that had no other name. Each one wished to know what it was, and each one directed their thoughts inward, not outward to discover the meaning. As if questioning themselves would do the trick. From the outside, they looked into each other's eyes, but that was at least half an illusion. But then they reached into each other's eyes, and in that instance: stared. Because they were discovering that there was another person and that other person wanted to contact reassurance. He with her and she with him. And in that instant, they knew that they had to talk to each other, and not just ramble alone talking past each other. That is the difference between sarcasm and wit: sarcasm talks past you; wit talks with you. We don’t talk about the three stooges.
The words bit her lips. “What do you mean? I thought everyone was with other people all the time. At least in the sense there with other people groping for attention.” Black earth-circle in the rear window.2
“Think about how little we speak to one another, or we speak past each other. We may be speaking at each other literally, but in fact, we organize - our thoughts and speak to ourselves. The other person is just a witness to the conversation that we have. White of white, in the Contemporaneous Age - which would soon be past. In his anger, the Great One has banished me.3” All that was once Modern is now the past, a new epoch name is needed, which will, in turn, become reaching slender falling out of reach. The weather and the climate most particularly. Try that in Bopomofo.4
“It is colored green, each of us passes the time talking to ourselves and only have to listen to the other person speak. If you believe in a good relationship, then you must always be willing to criticize The Relationship.”
Underneath he stretched his feet, rather gratuitously, just to get the kinks out. It was not particularly a habit, and normally he would keep the feet straight. If only it were war, and he would wish her good-bye, before running to join the legions, glittering in the sun, on an awful day in memory. In his mind's eye a day in 1863.
“But that is wrong because every second we are heading towards death, and then we will not hear anything. Not a sound from another living voice. Should not then talk to each other, because once we are dead there is no turning back.” An echo rose along with her voice.
Thinking about this for a while and raised his mind to a deep and dark tomb, which he imagined he would be spending the rest of his life. Then he shook away the feeling and looked out through the window. Of course, it was still dark, and this being England, there were patches of light rain. She wondered aloud: “I wonder what time it will be before there is light.”
“Actually, today is the last day of Standard Time. Tomorrow, in this part of the world, it will be Daylight Savings Time. I do not know if this will help you at all, because both of us will be mixed up. Only in different directions.” He thought whether this was the correct direction for each of them, but he was too tired. Then he supposed he did not matter. But of course, it did, and he would think on the direction several times. Like a clock that moved to the beat of an unseen drummer. Or land that was at war first.
“I could wake up and do things.”
“I could go back to sleep.”
“It is odd how for a day or so we can function, but night will catch up with us.”
“So, let us make the most of the few days, where we can ignore the time difference. We only have three days, and then I have to go back to China. And you will go back to the East Coast, will it be standard or daylight savings time when you get back?”
“I do not want to think about it, it will not be pleasant either way, so I will just have to grin and bear it.”
Nodded with trepidation, and then slipped on a sheet and did those necessary things that women did. He knew because he could feel blood on the sheets. Both of them had been with other people, and both of them knew that each of them worked the setting of their internal time by the moon. The sexes were different, and both of them were discrete in allowing the other person to do what was necessary.
He was early, she was late. And eventually, that would catch up to them, but they hoped not yet. They had only a few hours to see one another and answer the questions that they had. Questions that were not important, but watching the other's face, smile, and eyes would be important.
Later on, he would look into the stock market pages and see if something was happening. Because no one thought that the crash of last year was truly the end of things. Only the little people would care, the big people knew that the government was there to spare their bank accounts, and little else. Whereas some people ignored all of this and went back to reading Faulkner, at the point of 1 o'clock in the afternoon, when the charge had not yet happened.5
1 Red is the color for weddings.
2 Ginsberg, “Wichita Vortex Sutra” 108
3 Holst, The Cloud Messenger
4 Mandarin phonetic system.
5 Intruder in the Dust