Ghosts of Chinatown Read Free

“Double Stars Theater.”
    In front of a Chinese ink painting of horses by famed twentieth-century Chinese painter Xu Beihong is a large hand-crafted mahogany desk, where fifty-year-old Liang sits. Looking every bit like a perfect gentleman, the slightly greying Liang appears as fit and lean as an athlete half his age. Wearing a traditional silk Chinese jacket with the high collar and cloth buttons, he looks formidable, stern and appears the quintessential embodiment of the “inscrutable Chinese.”
    Todd, standing at the door and awed by Liang, meekly offers, “Mr. Liang?”
    “You’re asking me or you’re telling me?” There’s a quiet confidence and edge in Liang’s voice that provokes fear. “I think I know who I am.”
    Todd is now quaking inside. “I… I’m Todd Mathers. I’ve come to ask about the suite, the one with the piano.”  
    With a flick of his wrist, Liang motions for Todd to enter.  
    Todd marvels at the amazing artifacts and fixtures as he makes his way to the desk. “You’d never know what’s inside when you look at the front of the building.”
    “I know what resides within. That’s all that’s important.” Liang scrutinizes the withering Todd and smiles an infinitesimal smile. “Camouflage. If you hadn’t noticed, this is a high crime neighborhood so I don’t want to draw any attention to myself or anything about me.”
    Liang hands Todd a rental application form.  
    “You’re a smart man, Mr. Liang.”  
    “Stating the obvious does not impress me.”
    “Right.” Todd, on edge, takes off his backpack and begins filling out the form. He shifts his attention to see Liang motioning to the erhu and its bow. On its own, the Chinese violin lifts itself and nestles between Liang’s legs. The bow settles itself in proper position in Liang’s hand and Liang begins to play. Totally Zen.
    It is the same melancholy tune as the erhu played in the opening. Todd analyzes Liang with apprehension but continues writing. Liang’s music fills the room as Todd scribbles harder and harder, finally finishing. “Done.”
    Todd puts the pen down and Liang stops playing. “Mr. Liang, you’ve got soul. Wish I could play like that.”
    “No you don’t.”
    “No way, man. I’d love to play like that.”
    Liang’s eyes bored into Todd. “No way, man? Yes, way. Because the only way you can play like this is if you know indescribable anguish, of pain that is always present without any hope of relief.”  
    Todd fumbles for words but can’t really respond intelligently. “Yeah, you’re right.”
    The inane comment steels Liang’s eyes as he first glares at Todd then looks down to scrutinize the document.  
    Anxious moments for Todd pass before Liang intones quietly but resolutely. “No references. Rent every first of the month requires regular income and that means steady employment. No can do.”
    “I’ve taught music all over the world. Paris. London. New York. Singapore.”  
    “There are cheap flights everywhere.” Liang finally looks at Todd. “And travelling so much means you are unstable.”
    Todd starts reaching. “Somebody always wants piano lessons. Every Chinese parent makes their kid take them. It’s a rite of passage.”
    “Piano lessons are for those middle- and upper-class families who want to show off how talented their kids are or how bourgeois they are. Those people do not live in Chinatown.”
    “I was a scholarship student in China. I’m the only white guy they ever did that for.”
    “Obviously a failed experiment.” Liang stands up—this meeting is over. “You were a dropout in China.” He hands the application back to Todd but Todd lets Liang’s hand hang in the air.
    “There were... circumstances.” Yeah, I had to blitz right away or I’d still be stuck in a Chinese jail. No one would ever find me, no one would ever care, no one would ever believe me.
    “There are always circumstances.”
    Todd pushes the application back to Liang. He