The Gaze of Caprice (The Caprice Trilogy Book 1) (6 page)

The building was five floors of pale pink stretcher bond brick.  The first floor was reserved for retail space.  An elderly couple had opened a washateria on the first floor, five years earlier.  Tenants from the building and surrounding ones kept the machines spinning and the money flowing.  As Xiaofeng’s mother unlocked the solid wooden door, she thought she would have to visit the washateria soon, for her daughter and herself.  Xiaofeng and her mother had to climb one flight of stairs—out of four—to the second floor.  The second floor was the first floor of residential units and the only floor without balconies.  All other floors had steel cage balconies, with green plastic canopies, adding space for potted plants.  The balconies also warehoused external air-conditioning units.  The lack of a balcony meant the second floor didn’t have air-conditioning units.  Mr. Zhou, the building landlord, reasoned that an external air-conditioning unit on the second floor was an invitation to a thief.  He explained once the air-conditioning unit was stolen, he would be forced to buy another one and he didn’t have so much money.  Having no balcony and no air-conditioning unit made Xiaofeng and her mother feel like campers more than tenants.  However, in the sixteen years that Mr. Zhou owned the building, the second floor stayed fully occupied much more often than the other three floors. 

Mr. Zhou was a natural businessman.  Years of owning the building had shown him how much money he could save by not having to upgrade and repair air-conditioning units.  On the second floor, he passed the savings on to his renters.  Renting a second floor apartment was just 275 Taiwan Dollars a month, compared with 550 on the top floor.  Through the years, Mr. Zhou also realized that cheap renters didn’t complain as much as the ones who paid more but demanded more.  Not only did second-floor renters save him money, they saved him headaches so he tried to provide for them as much as he could.  He convinced his friends, Mr. & Mrs. Cui, to open the washateria on the first floor.  The Cuis were in their 70’s but Mr. Zhou pointed out the machines were self-service.  The Cuis would only have to come by when the weekend was over to collect money from the machines, sweep the floor and clean the front window.  They did this for a year and a half, before their daughter and her family took over the cleaning duties for a 30% stake in the weekly cash haul.  The situation worked out well for everyone:  the tenants; the Cuis and Mr. Zhou.  Mr. Zhou was a talent at business.  Unfortunately, Xiaofeng’s mother was not.  The idea of owning something, to have residual income to provide for herself and her daughter, had never occurred to her.  But she could spot a good deal when she saw one.

She realized earning tips in US Dollars, which in 1979 could be exchanged for New Taiwan Dollars at a rate of 1 to 35.90, would be a windfall.  She also saw the advantage of her husband’s departure.  She had never divorced the man nor had he returned asking for a divorce.  He simply left.  Being a public servant, he was easy to find so she kept tabs on him.  Being the wife of a Communist Party Member, but not actually being with him was a double-edged sword and she could skate on both edges.  When Xiaofeng’s mother decided to leave Mainland China for Taiwan, she had to apply for a passport and exit visa to leave the country.  When she listed her husband’s name and rank as a Deputy Regional Economic Minister on her application, her visa and passport were all but guaranteed.  There was another hurdle.  She had to apply for an entry visa to move to Taiwan.  To get an entry visa from the Taiwanese Economic and Cultural Representation Office in Shenyang, she first had to present a Mainland exit visa so the Taiwanese wouldn’t waste the effort on an entry visa.  Exit visa in hand, she was allowed to start the application process for a tourist visa to Taiwan.  Xiaofeng’s mother had always been an appropriate woman; it was out of character for her to lie on an application form.  She wrote down that she was married and that her husband’s occupation was as a member of the Communist Party.  She also made clear that she was only applying for a visa for herself and her daughter.  Because her husband would stay behind, the application had the appearance of someone visiting Taiwan, with intent to return to the Mainland.  The opposite was true. 

It did matter to the Communist-weary Kuomintang that her husband was a member of the Communist Party of China, but it mattered more that she wasn’t.  Even if she were a Communist supporter, the Taiwanese reasoned that she couldn’t spread Communist seeds in fertile minds across Taiwan because she was a woman.  The Yang-linked culture of Taiwan wouldn’t listen to a woman.  It also made a difference that she had a twelve year old daughter.  The reviewers of her application thought whatever sympathies the child had toward the Mainland, would begin to swim upstream once she saw their cosmopolitan and international capital city.  The application for a tourist visa to Taiwan was approved.  Xiaofeng and her mother arrive cheaply, by ferry, across the Taiwan Strait.

They established themselves as tenants with Mr. Zhou almost immediately.  Mr. Zhou never checked for residence status because the law didn’t require it.  It didn’t matter to Mr. Zhou how the rent was paid or by whom.  It mattered to Mr. Zhou that rent was paid in a timely fashion.  Any other tenant entanglements weren’t his entanglements.   Mr. Zhou knew a single mother supporting an adolescent daughter would make ends meet.  As long as ends meeting didn’t bother other tenants, it didn’t bother Mr. Zhou.  He gave Xiaofeng and her mother a one-year lease in Unit 203.

203 was a one bedroom, the second door on the left after 201.  The floor in the hall was dark green tile with a black and gray swirl pattern.  Two fluorescent lights lit the long hall.  The lights attracted flies as if they smelled.  Xiaofeng dragged her feet across the tile to make slight squeaks.  Despite her seriousness, she was still a child.  Her mother unlocked the simple door while wiping her feet across a simple mat. 

Once inside the apartment, Xiaofeng and her mother ran a quick offensive.  Both knew they were on the clock.  They had a little over two hours before Xiaofeng’s mother had to start work at
87
.  She worked from 6:30pm to 2:00am weekdays.  Xiaofeng went quickly across the faux wood floor of the living room and into the single bedroom.  She had to start her homework immediately because her mother would only be available for the next hour and a half.  Any questions would have to be asked and answered within that time, otherwise Xiaofeng would be on her own.  She always started with her English assignment—the one most fitting her mother’s expertise.  Her mother, meanwhile, went straight to the kitchen and rinsed a steel pot that she had since university.  She filled the pot halfway with water, added salt, and brought the whole thing to a boil.  She added lettuce for flavoring and soybean oil for consistency.  She took instant noodles from the cabinet overhead and broke them up, letting the broken pieces fall into the boiling water.  She took a piece of processed sausage, cut it, and dumped the bits in the water as well.  She added green peas and onions before letting the pot boil on its own.  She stirred the pot for a few minutes before heading to the bedroom to check on Xiaofeng.

“
How is it
?” mother asked daughter.

“
Pretty easy
,” said Xiaofeng.

“
You wanna try talking to me in English
?” asked her mother.

“
Again
?” asked Xiaofeng.

“
So we can both practice
,” answered her mother, “
At work, I have to speak a lot in English.  Some of the customers are Americans. You can help me warm up before I go
.”

“Ok,” said Xiaofeng.

Xiaofeng followed her mother into the kitchen area.  She quietly lamented that she couldn’t make the white kitchen tile squeak like she could the tile in the hall.  Her mother handed her a two brown plastic bowl.

“Serve me as well,” Xiaofeng’s mother said in slightly accented English.  Xiaofeng was left with a ladle and the pot of noodles as her mother unfolded a white plastic table.  Xiaofeng’s mother grabbed two black folded steel chairs leaning against the far wall and stood each chair next to the table.  Their dining room was built in the middle of their living room. Xiaofeng had two full bowls ready, by the time her mother finished unfolding the chairs.  Xiaofeng set the two bowls on the table, one in front of each chair.

“Did you forget chopsticks?” asked her mother. 

“What’s
chopsticks
?” asked Xiaofeng.

“
Kuaizi
,” said her mother.

“No,” said Xiaofeng reaching in her back pocket for two pair of bamboo sticks.

Both senior and junior sat down and began to help themselves to the hot noodles.

“Is your maths test this week or next week?” asked her mother.

“Next week,” said Xiaofeng.

“Are you planning to study this weekend?” asked her mother.

“A little,” said Xiaofeng, “The test is not until Friday, I can make time to study next week.”  Xiaofeng’s accent was thicker than her mother’s.  She practiced less.

“Study on the weekend Li Xiaofeng, you don’t know what can happen next week,” said her mother.

Xiaofeng knew her mother was serious, using her full name.  After that, she didn’t feel like talking anymore, especially in English.  Mother and daughter ate without speaking.  Xiaofeng’s mother stood up quickly and leaned over to kiss her daughter on the forehead.

“There’s more if you want; I have to get ready,” said her mother leaving Xiaofeng at the table.  Xiaofeng sat by herself, feelings still hurting. Her mother vanished into the bedroom.  Her mother reappeared seven minutes later wearing a faded blue jean skirt, covered with a black waist apron.  She wore a bright lemon-colored T-shirt with ‘87’ written in three-inch purple lettering.  87 was on the right side of her shirt. On the left was a white-on-black nametag with the name, Autumn Lee.  She had been given the option of using her Chinese name, Li Qiu, but her name translated well.  She thought using an English name would make her popular with western customers and earn her more tips.  It did.  Qiu quickly rinsed her bowl and her daughter’s.

“There’s more here if you get hungry,” said Qiu, still speaking in English.

“Ok,” said Xiaofeng, leaving her mother to guess whether she was speaking English or not.

“Finish your homework,” said Qiu.

“
I will
,” said Xiaofeng in Mandarin.

“I’ll be back around 2:30,” said Qiu, still in English.

“
Bye, mama
,” said Xiaofeng.

Qiu grabbed her keys and headed out the door.  Her green
Vespa
pulled into the back of
87
, where there was only room for one car, Mr. Nan’s.  Facing his car, was a large green dumpster.  Employees usually arrived by scooter and parked on the side of the dumpster on the asphalt.  There were already three scooters parked on the asphalt leaving no space for Qiu’s
Vespa
.  On the other side of the dumpster, was an opening of about one meter, between the dumpster and the wall.  Through the opening, was an empty space—2.5 meters by 1.5 meters of gravel, grass and cigarette butts.  Qui hoisted her
Vespa
onto the back wheel and rolled it through the narrow gap between the dumpster and the wall.  She parked her
Vespa
to one side so she would have room to move in and out of the space.  Qiu moved quickly always wanting to clock-in early.  She moved through the back door of
87
pass the restrooms and a large
Pacman
videogame machine.  She ducked to the right before reaching the
Pacman
machine and into the kitchen.  On the wall behind the door, was a vertical cardholder partnered with an automatic time stamp.  Qiu found her manila time card and fed it to the time stamp—6:23pm.  She was early as always.  Qiu grabbed a pen and notepad, looking to the back of the kitchen for Mr. Nan.  He was busy and didn’t seem to notice her.

Qiu kept a constant pace between clock-in and clock-out.  Much was given to her and much was expected.  She was the only employee in Mr. Nan’s collection who had been sponsored.  She was young but mature, pretty but poised and her English was better than anyone else on staff.  Mr. Nan appreciated her style and honesty.  When she came to the restaurant a half year before, she said she was comfortable doing an interview in English, which surprised Mr. Nan.  All other employees had chosen to speak Mandarin.  Mr. Nan had to have an English-speaking staffer ask the English questions as he was not confident in his own abilities.  Qiu’s ability to switch easily between English and Mandarin during the interview impressed Mr. Nan, as did her honesty.  She admitted she was in country on a tourist visa and would need Mr. Nan to sponsor her in order to get a work permit.  She also brought a copy of her lease contract, to show Mr. Nan she was serious about staying in Taiwan.  He hired her on the spot and immediately began making phone calls about how to get the visa application done.

Mr. Nan was smart.  He kept her salary and her tips in a non-interest bearing account.  When she needed money, he would give her a ‘loan’ from the account which he controlled.  She couldn’t retain her wages from working until her work permit came through, but there was no law against loaning money to someone in Taiwan on a tourist visa.  When her permit did come through, he gave her the money accumulated in the account and a written letter discharging her ‘loans’ based on necessity.  Qiu’s appreciation of Mr. Nan showed in her work ethic.