The Train to Lo Wu - Jess Row [62]
When I was a child in Wuhan, during the Cultural Revolution, the Red Guards that ruled our city split into factions and fought battles in the streets, with sticks and knives, with machine guns and hand grenades. In those years I learned many extraordinary things; one of them is that a small pistol can only be fired accurately from a few feet away. If I was able to get away from this man, and run, I was sure that he would miss. This is what was in my mind as we left the building and walked along Tenth Avenue, toward Fifty-second; as soon as we turned the corner, I thought, I would sprint away, zigzagging from side to side, to make it harder for him to aim.
Can’t believe it, he said, as we walked. He seemed even smaller than he had inside, hunched over, darting glances up and down the street. His voice was almost tearful. Once I get out, that’s it, he said. Can’t ever come back to the Apple. Ronnie Francis, man, even I showed up after he was dead, his ghost would track me down and get me.
I said nothing. My eyes were locked on the corner, estimating the number of steps it would take, and wondering whether I should simply run, or shove him aside first, to give myself an extra second or two.
My name’s William, he said. My friends call me Willie. What’s your name, man?
Liu, I said. My name is Liu.
What the hell kind of a name is that? Loo? That’s a girl’s name, man. Like Lucinda, or Lulu, or something. No, I got a name for you. You’re from the Lucky Dragon, right? So you’re Mr. Lucky. You’re my luck, man.
OK. Mr. Lucky, I said, barely hearing him.
I got a bad feeling. He took a long, trembling breath, and wrapped his arms around his chest again, although it was a warm, humid night for October. I feel like I’m going to die, man, he said. I’m scared.
You not going to die, I said. Everything fine. Soon the van come.
Tell me a story, he said. Would you do that? Just to get my mind off it.
We were twenty feet from the corner now, six or seven paces, and my body was tingling, sizzling, as if I’d jammed my finger into an electric socket. I was tempted to leap on him and wrestle the gun away, although I knew that that, more than anything, could easily get me killed. I clenched my fists so hard the nails tore my skin. I don’t know any stories, I said. I’m sorry.
Come on! He was breathing so hard I thought he might have a heart attack. Everybody knows a story. Gimme a break, man!
All right. I closed my eyes for a moment, and heard a string of Chinese words, out of nowhere; at first I didn’t recognize them at all. There was a fish, I said. A giant fish in the northern ocean. And it changed to a bird—a bird big as the whole sky. This bird flew to the Heaven Lake.
William nodded vigorously. That’s cool, he said. I like it. The Heaven Lake. So where’s that? Where’s Heaven Lake?
We had almost reached the corner, and the muscles in my legs were tensed to run; I felt as if I were walking on stilts. A taxi rounded the corner and sped up Tenth Avenue, and I turned to make sure it didn’t stop; and that’s when I saw the blue car, coming slowly down the street from the opposite direction. It was a Chevrolet, I think, and one door was painted a different color, as if it had been replaced. It was driving with its lights off. Two men were sitting in the front, and I could see their arms and chests in the glow of the streetlights, their faces hidden in shadow.
Come on, man, William said to me. Heaven Lake! Don’t stop now.
The car sped up and pulled alongside us, the driver’s door opening as it moved.
Hey, Willie. Where you going, Willie?
William stopped, and his mouth sagged open, like a child caught sneaking a piece of candy. He turned around, and I stepped away from him. I wanted to run, but my legs locked at the knees; instead, I folded my arms in front of my chest, as if that would protect me.
Hey, William said, his voice cracking. Curt. It’s OK, man.