A Long Stay in a Distant Land Read online

  "Why are you up?" Sonny asked.

  "Mr. Lum," Hersey said. It sounded like a question and surprise covered the young man's face. Sonny didn't want him to be surprised. He wanted him to answer questions.

  "Why are you up?" Sonny asked again.

  "I don't know," Hersey said. "Sorry."

  "Don't apologize," Sonny said. Why was he apologizing for being awake? He'd wanted more resistance from Hersey. A small part of him had wanted an excuse to get angry and fight, had hoped Hersey would say, What the hell are you doing here, you bitch-ass punk?

  "I like to water my lemon seeds at night," Hersey said. His eyes were fixed on Sonny and the water hissed a small arc that ended at the front of his feet, where a puddle of water was collecting.

  There were a few derelict weeds. No tree in sight. Just a square lot of dirt. Sonny kicked up a small cloud of it.

  "I planted the seeds a week ago," Hersey said. "I'm hoping to grow my own lemons."

  Sonny didn't know what to say to that.

  "Free lemons," Hersey said. "Good idea, right?" He looked nervous. He dropped the hose and it made a small splash in the water puddle. "If you've come to beat me up, I won't fight back."

  "Why won't you fight back?" Sonny asked.

  "I won't."

  There were bags under Hersey's eyes. He hunched. He would not fight back. It'd be like smashing a flea against a coffee table, Sonny thought. He'd only hurt his hand. "I'm too tired to fight," Sonny said.

  "Sorry," Hersey said.

  "For what?"

  "For making you lose sleep."

  "That's all?"

  "And for everything," Hersey said.

  "When you say you're sorry for everything, what do you mean?" Sonny asked.

  Hersey looked confused.

  "What do you mean?" Sonny asked again.

  "I mean I fucked up and we both can't sleep as a result."

  "You're right you fucked up," Sonny said. "You should have been driving a smaller car. If you'd been driving a compact, she'd be alive. Why were you driving a Land Cruiser? What the fuck did you need such a big car for?" He was breathing heavily, working up a sweat on his forehead, under his arms, and on his back.

  Hersey's arms were glued along his sides and the blue sleeves of his bathrobe hung low, covering his hands.

  He fucked up, Sonny thought. He admitted it. Sonny nodded at the hose, the head of which was now bubbling under the puddle it'd created. "Stop wasting water."

  "Right." Hersey walked to the spigot at the side of the duplex and turned it off.

  "You still at the hospital?" Sonny asked.

  "I'm on leave. The ER rotations can be stressful."

  "What do you do about money?"

  "I work at a clothing store," Hersey said.

  "Retail?"

  "Yeah," Hersey said.

  "You support yourself on that?" Sonny asked.

  "I also temp."

  "Finishing your residency later?"

  "Maybe."

  "So what do you do besides water dirt?" Sonny asked.

  "I'm watering the lemon seeds."

  "Right," Sonny said.

  "I watch TV. Listen to music."

  "What kind of music?" Sonny asked.

  "You want to come in?" Hersey asked. "I can show you."

  "Fine."

  Potted plants filled the living room. There were Mexican heathers dotted with small purple flowers, long loping birds of paradise, and ferns. It looked like he'd robbed the Santa Ana Zoo's cow display of its flora.

  "You want something to drink?" Hersey asked.

  "Gin."

  "I don't have any alcohol," Hersey said.

  "Diet Coke," Sonny said.

  "Diet Fuzz okay?"

  "Diet Fuzz?" Sonny asked.

  "It's orange soda."

  "I don't want anything to drink," Sonny said.

  Hersey went to his bedroom. Sonny inspected a plastic bin next to the TV. Inside were labeled bags that held seeds for basil, garlic, green onions, and red bell peppers.

  "Amit recommended I grow things to relieve stress." Hersey returned with a stack of CDs. "Amit's my psychotherapist. Used to be my college roommate. Do you have plants?"

  "You saying I need therapy?" Sonny asked.

  "That's not what I mean." Hersey handed him the CDs. Liz Phair. Indigo Girls. Aimee Mann. White women with long blond hair.

  Sonny looked from the CDs to Hersey and back to the CDs. "Are you really black?"

  "Both my parents are," Hersey said.

  "Because this. What is this? Moody folk music?"

  "I'll play you a song."

  "No," Sonny said. "Wait here." He walked out to his car and returned with his only copy oi Straight Outta Compton. He took a long look at it, at Dre, Cube, and Eazy, at their frowns, at the gun being pointed at the camera. He could use a break from hardcore. Maybe he should switch to more lighthearted fare for his vacation. Biz Markie's I Need a Haircut always put a smile on his face.

  He handed the record to Hersey, who looked at it with fear and hesitation. "This is about your culture," Sonny said. "Your roots."

  Hersey looked unconvinced.

  "The struggle for equality and respect," Sonny said. "You know what I'm saying?"

  "I grew up in Costa Mesa."

  "You'll thank me," Sonny said.

  "Thank you. I appreciate this. I was just wondering how I'd play it."

  "With a record player," Sonny said.

  "I mean I don't have one." He offered it back to Sonny. "If it's something you value, I'd feel bad taking it."

  Sonny pushed it back. "Go to your parents' house and listen to it there."

  "They're more into jazz."

  "Listen to it and I'll forgive you," Sonny said. Look at him, Sonny thought, watering dirt in the night, listening to moody folk songs. He had such a misguided sense of what music should be. He needed recommendations, not a beating.

  "You will?" Hersey asked.

  "Will you listen to it?" Sonny asked.

  "Yes. I promise."

  "From beginning to end," Sonny said. "Don't skip any tracks."

  "I won't," Hersey said. "I'll listen to this at my grandparents' house tomorrow."

  Grandparents? Sonny thought. "Don't your parents have a record player?"

  "They sold theirs," Hersey said.

  "But they had one, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "Are they my age?" Sonny asked.

  "How old are you?"

  "Around fifty."

  "They're about your age," Hersey said.

  "Good." He was old, but he wasn't grandfather material yet. He turned and walked out the door. Hersey followed him to his car.

  "Thank you for the record," Hersey said. "I promise I'll listen to it."

  "You better." Sonny got in and shut the door. As he drove away, he checked the rearview mirror and saw Hersey waving, the sleeve of his bathrobe flapping. Sonny tooted his horn to say good-bye.

  Melvin's Aphorisms

  (1955-1987)

  1) There's a time for eating and a time for crapping. Translation: Your child cannot stay with you forever. He has to grow up and move out.

  2) A car runs badly with a flat tire. Translation: A wife should always agree with her husband in front of the children.

  3) Possums will always hunt chickens. Translation: Germany and Japan should never be allowed to have a military again.

  4) Kick a dying cockroach, and it will remain dying. Translation: Don't be a fascist. Let the boys ride their bikes around the neighborhood.

  5) Cowboys who clean their guns too often will lose gunfights. Translation: Don't masturbate more than twice a day.

  6) The son obeys the father because the father is the father. Translation: If you get your girlfriend pregnant, I will break your neck.

  7) The higher the monkey climbs up the tree, the sweeter the grapes it retrieves. Translation: The harder one works, the sweeter the rewards.

  8) Dry leaves crackle loudest. Trans
lation: Grab Grandpa a beer from the fridge.

  9) It's so hot I can fry noodles on my ass. Translation: It's so hot I can fry noodles on my ass.

  10) In a knife fight, the guy with the machine gun wins. Translation: If a bully threatens you, hit him on the head with your three-ring binder as hard as you can.

  11) Cannibals like their meat rare. Translation: ????

  12) I can burp and fart at the same time. Translation: Leave Grandpa alone and go play in the yard.

  Note: Aphorisms told to Esther (#1-4), Sonny (#5-7), and Louis (#8-12) between the years 1955 and 1987. Translations based on the context of the conversation in which the aphorism was stated, along with Melvin's declared meaning and what the listener believed the aphorism really meant.

  A Departure, An Arrival

  (1979-2002)

  The year Louis was born, Bo left home to attend Berkeley. For Esther, every new arrival seemed to coincide with a departure, and her children were always departing.

  A couple of days after Bo left, Melvin caught her crying on the concrete patio. He pulled up a chair next to her. He was chewing on a piece of bread smeared with peanut butter. "What are you doing?" he asked.

  "You have nothing better to do than bother me?"

  "Nope," he said. He sat there for a long time before finally saying, "There's a time for eating and a time for crapping."

  She said nothing.

  "I'm a poor substitute for company," he said.

  She nodded and said, "Yes." Then she laughed. It was a tired laugh. Actually, it was more an exhale of grief rather than a laugh.

  Melvin offered her a piece of his bread, and when she refused, put an arm around her shoulder.

  It wasn't as bad a year as she'd expected. The year of Bo's departure, she and Melvin went to the movies twenty times. They ate out at least three nights a week. After dinner they settled on the couch to read the newspaper and drink tea, their arms and thighs pressing together as they shifted or poured more for themselves.

  They made love fifteen times that year, which was fifteen more times than they had in the previous three and a half years. The first time, in the kitchen, they approached each other nervously like virgins. While she was drying the dishes, he put his hands on her hips and when she didn't resist, moved them away from the sink to the living room floor.

  They started missionary style. He moved in counterclockwise circles above her for three or four minutes, stopping to catch his breath. She reversed their positions. She straddled him and set a slower, more proper rhythm, holding on to the loose skin above his hips for balance. They rocked together for another twenty minutes until he finished with a happy moan.

  Later in bed he asked, "Wasn't that fun?"

  "Better than reading the paper."

  The second time they made love was after dinner at an Indian restaurant. They capped the night off with a bottle of Melvin's hundred-proof rice wine. The scent of tandoori chicken, curry, and alcohol seeped through his skin. He smelled delicious. She bit his neck and then touched the depressions her teeth had left in his flesh. He spanked her and when he saw the surprise on her face, said, "Felt like an interesting thing to do." She licked her lips. They clawed each other until their backs were red-streaked, as if they were punishing themselves for the years not spent making love, and fell asleep on the floor, their elbows and knees carpet-burned, their backs covered by a quilt.

  When Esther woke, she found herself alone on Sonny's sofa. She saw his notes in the kitchen and her first word, uttered with anger, was, "Fuck!"

  She felt like she was just cracking the door open to Sonny's life. She had hoped he would eventually share with her his music, show her the names of artists and songs the way she'd tried to share her music at the Lum family meetings, most of whom had listened to Billie Holiday with bored expressions, tapping the tabletop and yawning.

  Louis had asked her to do one thing, to make sure Sonny didn't go to the home of that boy who'd killed Mirla. Where in his mouth could he have hidden those pills? She should not have let him piss alone. She hoped Louis wouldn't be too angry with her when he found out. He did his job in Hong Kong. He'd found Bo alive and well. She was the one who'd need to come up with an explanation.

  Louis had the photos developed and was relieved to see that Uncle Bo's face was discernible. His uncle's brows were furrowed and his lips were sucked in as if he was in extreme pain, but proof was proof.

  Louis wandered the streets at night. Red and white signs lit the Tsim Sha Tsui District to the brink of day. The air was warm and humid. Wild smells flooded his nostrils. Sewage from the alleyways. Barbecued pork from the all-night diners. Carbon monoxide from the taxis.

  The heat of car exhaust swept his calves, and he was satisfied walking in his shorts and T-shirt. A lone white T-shirt among throngs of teenagers clad in black. The young here dressed like they were mourning, and why should anyone mourn?

  Uncle Bo was alive.

  This discovery energized Louis and propelled him through the city. He could see why his uncle held such fondness for Hong Kong. He liked the idea of ordering rice porridge at two in the morning. He liked the idea of young couples wandering the streets until dawn. He liked the old women hunched in front of their newsstands, shouting at him, "What are you staring at? Buy something or move along!"

  Wal-Mart and Target were what he'd loved back home. He'd felt great joy in seeing the red bull's-eye shine in an Orange County night, signpost of a store where he could buy Benadryl, socks, and soda. The silver glitter and sparkle that rows of camera and jewelry shops produced in Hong Kong set off a similar contentment, the comfort of bright lights in the dark.

  Each dusk his stomach knotted in excitement. Days he slept and nights he traveled beyond Kowloon to the New Territories and Hong Kong Island. Louis asked one driver if he had any hobbies and he said, "Horses." Louis asked where the horses were and the driver took him by the giant racetrack at Sha Tin. The driver gave him a tip, and the next day Louis lost about forty U.S. dollars on (not so) Furious Breeze.

  He saw the Jumbo Floating Restaurant light up the waters off Aberdeen Harbour in red and gold. He decided not to take the boat out to the restaurant because the taxi driver had said the sight from afar was better than the seafood inside. "Where should I eat?" Louis asked, and the driver said, "I know a good place. You like Japanese food? It's called Yoshinoya."

  After that, Louis learned not to ask for dining, betting, and any other suggestions from the drivers.

  In the Central District, he saw The Center, one of the tallest skyscrapers in Hong Kong. It had a needle-like structure on top and was worth seeing just so he could tell his family and coworkers, I saw one of the tallest skyscrapers in Hong Kong and it had a needle-like structure on top. One of the benefits of traveling was having anecdotal things to say at parties and barbecues. It was both benefit and pretentiousness, and though he disliked pretense, Louis couldn't help thinking flat to describe an apartment and harbour to describe a harbor. Harbour was not more precise or accurate than harbor. A flat was just an apartment.

  At Aberdeen Harbour he bought Grandma a steel necklace and his father a Hong Kong!! T-shirt. The old man had said he didn't want any souvenirs, but Louis didn't want to come home empty-handed.

  Immediately after discovering Sonny's notes, Esther made a list of reasons for his successful escape attempt, but not one was satisfactory. Not one could she present to Louis and expect him not to be angry. They all boiled down to "Your father's tricky!" and, "I let him piss alone. Sorry." They all boiled down to her failure to watch over her own son.

  The least she could do was make sure Sonny didn't hurt himself or that young man. She called Sonny's cell phone, but he didn't answer. She left a message. "This is your mother, you sneaky bastard. Call me. Don't do anything stupid like hit people. Don't drink. Drive safely."

  Louis had given her Hersey Collins's address and phone number in case Sonny decided to go after him. "You can warn him that Dad's coming," Louis had said.


  She called Hersey Collins. "Are you the man who ran over Mirla Lum?"

  "Who is this?" he asked.

  "Yes or no. I'm Mirla's mother-in-law."

  "Yes. I'm sorry—"

  "Did Sonny Lum visit you?" she asked.

  "Yes, he just gave me—"

  "Did he hit or threaten you?" she asked.

  "No. He—"

  "He left peacefully?"

  "Yes."

  "Was he drunk?"

  "No."

  "Did he tell you where he was going?"

  "No."

  "You're alive and in good health."

  "Are you asking me?"

  "You are, right?"

  "I feel great. Thanks for—"

  "Fine," she said. "Good-bye."

  The night before his departure, Louis called home. Grandma answered the phone.

  "I'll be back tomorrow," Louis said. "You and Dad doing okay?"

  "We're fine."

  "Good. I'll see you soon."

  While waiting for his plane to take off from Chek Lap Kok Airport, Louis swallowed three Benadryl tablets. Two was the recommended adult dosage, but flying made him nervous. He fell asleep and woke to eat, and took three more and fell asleep again, waking to eat and falling asleep again—pattern repeated—until he landed at LAX.

  Grandma met him outside the international terminal. She was alone.

  "Where is he?" Louis asked.

  "If I told you, you might have wanted to come home right away," she said. "I didn't want to ruin your vacation."

  She explained what happened on the drive home. When they pulled up the driveway, she asked Louis if he was feeling fine.

  "I'm tired," he said. The aftereffects from the Benadryl lingered. His mouth was dry and his cheeks felt numb.