The Gaze of Caprice (The Caprice Trilogy Book 1) Read Free

the accordion gate but for now, no one needed in or out.  It was just him and his paper and the sound of the radio shut out all loneliness.  Along the outside wall of his booth, were the Chinese characters Handan No. 4 High Middle School.   He had manned the gate there for eleven years.  The school was simple enough.  Each classroom was designed to hold fifty students, most averaged around forty-four.  The floors were all finished concrete, no carpet, no tiles, no surfacing.  The walls were painted the same chalky white as the outside, but only one coat of paint was used for inside—not two.  There was a whiteboard at the front of each classroom 4-meters in diameter.  Every whiteboard had railing attached with a world map that slid to any position along the whiteboard.  The People’s Republic of China was centered on the map.  All desks were wooden, including the teacher’s desk.  The rooms had six florescent bulbs each.  There was no lamp at the teacher’s desk.  There were twelve classrooms on each floor and three floors with classrooms.  An outdoor stairwell built of steel and concrete was wide enough for three lanes of human traffic.  The stairwell connected all floors top to bottom. 
    Just off the stairs on the second floor, two classrooms over to the right, was Room 208.  There, Mr. Li taught English literature where most students enjoyed most lessons.  Most female students thought Mr. Li was very handsome, even the male students could see why.  The boys were willing to admit that Mr. Li was worthy of more than a passing glance.  His looks were interesting because they were uncommon.  The overwhelming majority of locals had features explaining Asian ancestry, but Mr. Li was ambiguous.  His hair was as black as any, but it did something different with the light.  Instead of reflecting light cleanly, it choked darkness in some places—guilty-like.  His hair made waves with its increasing length, being delightfully mischievous.  His skin was deep red to brown and his nose was a little long and a little broad.  His eyes were big for a Chinese man but they spoke Chinese fluently, so did Mr. Li.  He spoke through lips that were thickened, not thick, and surrounded by newly shaven facial hairs.  From far away, he would not draw much attention.  From close up, some would call him laowai —foreigner.  Most would stop themselves before calling him a foreigner.  They couldn’t be sure if he was or if he wasn’t, still unsure what he was and what he wasn’t.  His face had many scars but time had negotiated against most of them.  Two didn’t go unnoticed:  the one above his right eyebrow over three centimeters and the one on the right side of his upper lip about a centimeter long.  Like the faded scars on his face, he looked blended.  Some people thought he was foreign, but when he spoke the clue was big enough—he was a half-breed.  In China, it made his authority on English literature that much more convincing.   It wasn’t the Chinese half; it was the other half that carried the authority.  He played the part well.  He seemed extra worldly and well-traveled for someone in his early thirties. His worldliness approached other-worldliness. 
    He had conquered the world and ordered it into his classroom for the benefit of his students.  He was fond of Shakespeare. Macbeth was a staple in his classes.  His interest in theft of power seemed almost personal.  He was teaching his students to recognize that kind of theft, even amongst themselves.
    “What is on his mind?  Why is he convinced of his actions?  What is driving Macbeth?  Think about how you answer,” said Mr. Li.  His room, his rules, students had to answer in English. 
    “Shu Tao,” Mr. Li liked to call on students at random, his life had been random but it gave him an edge.  He never coddled his students, coddling made them complacent.  A girl, shy in demeanor and expression, stood up.
    “Mr. Li,” was all