the chair. I made sure to sound calm. The core of my existence was suddenly gone, but I could be calm. At least I could preserve that much dignity. “Do you think the time has come to harvest the lumber? What should I become? A writing desk, on which you can sign orders for executions?”
Kang kept his eyes on me. They were lazy, his body slack, still the bear watching the rabbit.
“Or no, not a desk. That’s too obvious. I know! Let’s make me into a table on which to spread the victory meal. Oak is fine for that, better than gingko. Did my grandfather tell you I was to be an oak plank?” I laughed, and that was my mistake. The laughter split the calm in two, and out of the breach slipped a murderous anger I thought I had given up a long time ago. My entire existence nothing but the whim of an old man who had lost his son? Raised for what? No better than my brother mindlessly following sacred political texts, worse than him for believing I was different. Trained, shaped, pruned-why? To be an instrument of what hand, to hold what weapon, to slay what hope in the name of what myth? “Elm! That’s it! I should have known. Elm might split if used too soon. It has to be seasoned.” I held up a hand, my right hand, the one I used to sand the wooden cars and boats smooth to the touch. The hand was old, veined, bent; surely it was not mine. “Tell me, was that part of the plan as well, to wait until I was seasoned?” I picked up a knife from the table and sliced my flesh. “A miter cut is what he always suggested. Makes a strong joint, he would say.” The knife was very dull. I sliced my arm again.
“O!” Kang leaped from the chair and grabbed for the knife.
I jerked it away from him. A little blood came down my arm, not much. “Trees are passive. But I am not. Trees are forgiving. But I am not, not anymore. Do you think I don’t realize what this means?” I laughed again. Another mistake. More anger poured through, it widened the breach. “Let me tell you a story.”
“Not right now.” Kang looked at my arm. “We have other things to worry about.”
“Wrong again. Again and again and again.” I began shaking, shouting, bellowing like an ox, blood boiling, heat burning away shields built during nights of terrible fear. “This is a story of betrayal. It is vast, Kang, and so very complicated.” I knew what I had to say. I didn’t know all the words, but I knew where they would lead.
Kang spoke calmly, as if nothing had happened. “Always complicated, these stories. It wouldn’t be betrayal otherwise.”
“You!” I was practically screaming in his face. I couldn’t think of anything else to say to that. “You!” The other customers looked away. The waiter folded and unfolded napkins. The cook came out of the kitchen and stared.
“On second thought, perhaps it would be better if you proceed, Inspector.” Kang sat down, though he stayed poised to jump up again if I reached for the knife. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? A long story is best told…” He paused. “Never mind; however you wish. Tell it however you wish. Sit, don’t sit, trot around the room like a wounded unicorn if it will do any good.”
I began. The other customers put down their silverware to listen. The words flowed out.
“There was once a king who cried when he was happy and who smiled when he was mad. He had his subjects whipped when he was pleased with them. He soothed them and treated them with huge banquets when he was angry. At first, there was confusion in the kingdom. People were not sure of themselves. They stumbled through the months, never clear on how to approach the throne, or whether to approach it at all. At the end of a year, they understood. As more time passed, it became inconvenient to deal one way with the king and another way among themselves. They adapted. Children learned to cry when they were happy, to jump with joy when their parents screamed at them with rage, because rage was approval and all children seek that. When lovers sat cooing at each other in the park, passersby knew they were furious and hurried on. If the king nodded in agreement at your petition, the next day you were led to the execution grounds, where the condemned laughed and their relatives told jokes. The other countries did not know how to deal with such an upside-down place. Wise men were consulted. Diplomats went through special training before being assigned to the court, lest they smile when they should frown and cause a war.
“The king finally died. People stood on the street corners and cheered when his coffin went by, pulled by a long line of white horses decked with ribbons and bright bouquets. The prince did handsprings at the funeral and ordered the royal musicians to play only quick marches for the whole period of mourning, which according to tradition was to last for three years, and thus went on for six.
“Foreigners who observed this did not know what to make of it. You see, they said knowingly to each other, it was inevitable. All the time the people were pretending to be happy when they were actually sad.”
Kang said nothing for a moment. The other diners resumed their meals. The cook returned to the kitchen. “You should write it down,” Kang said finally. All at once, he looked alarmed. “Are you all right?”
4
Kang stood over me, a question mark spinning above his head.
“What the hell?” I said. I was on the floor. From there, I could see the legs on all the tables. Rarely do you see so many table legs from that perspective. They were all imperfect. No wonder the tables wobbled.
“You passed out, Inspector. I don’t think this is good. I think you need to see someone.”
“Help me up.” I was too weak to lift my hand, or maybe it was no longer connected. It was someone else’s hand. Had we been introduced, this old hand and me? “What wills me to come back, do you think?” I said after Kang pulled me to my feet and put me in the chair with the loose armrest. “What is this awful fascination I have with light and air? I could have stayed where I was, but for some reason I’m back. Weeds do that.”
“A curse, I know, Inspector. An affliction.” He was taking my pulse, nodding his head to keep count.
“For a moment, you know, I really wasn’t here. Maybe longer. I could have closed the door behind me. I should have.”
“No, you weren’t gone. You were hovering. That’s what we all do in autumn, isn’t it?” He let my arm drop. “Whatever it was, you’re back among us, and your color is getting better. It couldn’t get any worse than it was. Did you finish the story?”
“What story?”
“It was about betrayal, but rather complex.”
“Ah, betrayal. Oak, perhaps.” My head was still clearing.
“You are the one who knows his way around a forest, Inspector, not me.”
“And you are the one who knows his way around betrayals. Can I have a glass of water? Tell me, these days what makes you think you aren’t in the betrayed column? After what happened in Macau, you could be next.”
He produced a glass half-filled. “Ask me again tomorrow. I woke up this morning; that told me I’d make it through today. If I wake up tomorrow as well, I’ll figure the same. It doesn’t worry me, though, which way it swings. You have your door. I have mine. I always have.”
“This armrest is driving me crazy. These chairs were made in China; I can tell. They think they can run this country? Don’t make me laugh.”
“Relax, Inspector; don’t get excited. You might disappear again otherwise.”
“You disappeared, Kang, and not for a couple of minutes. Why did you come back? Why do you care what goes on here? Don’t tell me you’re suddenly a patriot. You’re not a believer. And you’re not here on your own; that’s what I think. Who is paying you?”
