The Gaze of Caprice (The Caprice Trilogy Book 1) (8 page)

“We wanted to bring the party to you,” said the silhouette behind her.  Qiu’s body shivered.  The voice was familiar.  The last time she heard the voice, she felt like the butt of a joke.  Her heart skipped a beat—sounding off a warning.  Her heart began to race, continuing the alarm.  She felt two large hands shoot into her back shifting her body into an obtuse angle making it impossible to stay on her feet.  She fell fast and held her hands out to brace her fall.  The gravel stung multiple points on her palms.  She felt other hands.  She started to twist her body, making figure-eights so the hands couldn’t take hold.  A loud scream echoed in the limited space.  Her mind told her it was someone coming to her aid.  Large hands locked around her ankles like shackles that held her legs stray.  She heard voices over the insect hum of the
Vespa
’s engine.  It was English.  Her mind reverted to a more primal incarnation, incapable of deciphering foreign language.  There were more screams and her body convulsed instinctively.  She heard noises repeating
holdar holdar.
  Hot-tempered handcuffs clamped around her wrist and her convulsions began to wane.  The same impulses were sent to her legs and arms; they just didn’t respond with movement.  They couldn’t.  Something soft but hard forced her left cheek into the gravel floor. Her left eye closed as a reflex.  She felt her jean skirt scrape over the backs of her thighs, leaving her apron in place.  Her skirt scraped down to her ankles.  Her shirt came over her head bathing her world in yellow cotton.  Through the shirt she could see the light of her
Vespa
was still on and that was all she thought about, her guardian ready to speed her away.  She forced her mind not to think of her daughter.  She wouldn’t bring her daughter to this bed gravel, not with her thoughts, not with her mind.  She could smell alcohol through the cotton shirt.  It never crossed her mind that it was alcohol she had served.  Her mind was only on the light of the
Vespa
.

She felt the pressure from her bra strap lose its place and the silk between her legs tear and melt away.  She felt warm skin and hair against the back of her legs and part of the same beast break into her.  Her body tightened trying to isolate the pain being forced on her.  Inside the yellow cotton shirt, her eyes became glossed over and empty.  Her muffled face showed a look of defeat that no one saw.  She felt the shackles on her legs release and different sized shackles clamp down.  The beast on top of her was gone, but her stomach stung with pain as the force of another beast weighed down on her, pushing her deep into the gravel bed.  This beast attacked with more ferocity than the other, as if demonstrating for the others.  She didn’t know how many beasts there were, but they were a pack, taking turns, sharing her.  Her eyes closed.  Her consciousness sunk inward, moving backward in a tunnel, away from the light.  The world wore all black.

Her eyes opened.  Her ears were ringing.  She lay askew on a mattress of cigarette butts and sharp little stones.  She rolled her t-shirt covered face around in the gravel.  She coughed.  She gasped.  She coughed.  She coughed.  She gagged.  Instinct told her she had to remove the shirt covering her face.  Memory told her that her hands were locked in place.  An impulse was sent to her hands and they took the cotton shirt off.  She rolled the shirt down her arms and let it protect her hands as she pushed against the gravel to sit up.  She leaned against the wall staring at her
Vespa
.  The light was still on, so was the engine.  She sat against the wall wondering in what state of life she was in.  Coarse brick of the wall scratched her bare back, but it didn’t bother her.  She sat there naked but for the shoes on her feet; the shirt around her hands; the apron around her waist and jean skirt around her ankles.  The left side of her face had gray dust and scratches from the gravel.  She didn’t look around to see if she was alone.  She knew.  She sat against the wall and took deep breaths.  Her breaths were long ins and long outs.  She had to move.  The
Vespa
also told her she had to move, continuously humming the word,
Go!
  She ducked her head inside the yellow T-shirt around her arms and slid it down her body.  She wiggled her jean skirt up to her waist, under the apron.  She popped the
Vespa
onto the back wheel to maneuver it through the opening between the dumpster and the wall.  She reconsidered.  She put the
Vespa
back down on two wheels and pushed the dumpster sideways yelling in frustration.  The dumpster rolled far enough for Qiu to ride out of the graveled space on her
Vespa
.

The apartment was silent. Qiu entered silently.  She hit the light switch in the kitchen long enough to find the lamp in the living room.  She exchanged the light in the kitchen for the light of the lamp.  She grabbed one of the black steel chairs.  She went to the kitchen and grabbed a sponge lingering near the sink.  She ran warm water over the sponge and used it to wash her face.  She let the water drip slowly until the sink was filled with warm water.  She sat in the chair and took off her shirt, shoes and skirt.  Her thighs were smeared with dry blood so dark she couldn’t recognize it as her own.  She left her apron on.  She felt ashamed to take it off.  Naked except for her waist apron, she dipped the sponge in the warm water in the sink and washed her entire body.  She washed between her legs repeatedly till there was no more blood.  No more smell.  No more anything.  Still seated, she picked her shirt and skirt off the floor and threw them into the trash can under the sink.  She sat there.  She stared at the closed door leading into the bedroom.  She swallowed.  Swallowing released tears from her eyes.  The more she stared at the bedroom door, the more tears grew hot in her eyes and tumbled down.  She didn’t know what to do.  She didn’t want her daughter to wake.  She didn’t want her daughter to know.  She didn’t know what was appropriate and she had always been an appropriate woman.

American Bison weren’t native to the soils of Taiwan, but they roamed the sky—large, billowing and white.  Strong winds off the Taiwan Strait sent a stampede of bovine clouds across the blue plains over Taipei.  Wet red light soaked through white blinds in the living room.  The light hit Qiu’s face, turning her fair skin bright pink and the bruises and scratches faded to the naked eye.  Qiu’s eyes opened from tear-drugged sleep.  Her breasts hurt from being forced flat.  She had cried herself to sleep on the living room floor, too ashamed to enter the bedroom and face her daughter, asleep or awake.  Her daughter would be out of bed soon, although she didn’t know the time, she could guess by the light.  Qiu and Xiaofeng were the perfect pair, one dutiful and the other appropriate.   Their morning routine was designed to balance the efficiencies in both.  Qiu would cook breakfast while her daughter showered and got dressed.  Qiu worked nights, so she didn’t have to be ready in the morning.  She would usually make breakfast in whatever she slept in and she had slept in nothing.  Xiaofeng always got up a half hour early to let her mother drop her at school and return home to sleep.  Xiaofeng knew it was better for her to wait on her mother than for her mother to wait on her.

Xiaofeng’s eyes opened at the same time her mother cracked two eye-like eggs into a skillet.  The bedroom was different and the difference seemed automatic.  Something in the bedroom was missing—the smell.  It smelled less busy and more alone. Xiaofeng noticed immediately.  She was facing the bedroom window while listening to frying eggs.  Her mother was there, she was sure, because it was the same routine.  Xiaofeng woke up when breakfast started.  Her internal clock was set by the frying pan.  Xiaofeng rolled over to see that her mother’s side of the bed was mint.  The sheets were undisturbed and welcoming.  Her mother always made her side of the bed when she got up, even if she was likely to return soon.  But then there was the smell.  The smell was empty but it shouldn’t have been.  The smell should have been the waxy sweet of shampoo and soap, because her mother always showered before joining her in bed.  She even heard the water from the shower most nights.  Now, she wasn’t sure if she heard her mother shower during the night.  Xiaofeng rolled herself out of bed and smelled the hint of sulfur coming from the kitchen.  She opened the door and saw her mother cooking in the kitchen, wearing a large dark green bath towel.

“
Good morning, how did you sleep
?” asked her mother.

“
OK
,” said Xiaofeng.

“
Take a shower, then come eat so I can take you to school
,” said her mother.

It was out of routine for her mother to tell Xiaofeng what she already knew, what she did every weekday.  Xiaofeng continued toward the bathroom when something her eyes caught finally hit her consciousness.  She turned her body to have one more look in the kitchen.  Something else was not routine.  Her mother’s face was different.  It was covered with makeup.  Her mother seemed to have a talent for something she never did, putting on makeup:  skin foundation; blush; eyeliner and a rustic red lipstick that made her lips look oxidized. Xiaofeng did not comment on her mother’s inconsistency.  It wasn’t her duty to comment.  It was for her to shower, eat and be ready to leave.

Qiu folded the white plastic table and the black steel chair after her daughter finished eating.  Her daughter’s satchel was still on the dresser in the bedroom.  Xiaofeng went back to the bedroom to retrieve the satchel, while her mother looked over her choice of black pants, black heels and a blue flower print blouse.  She felt a sense of empowerment, a ‘real woman’.  Her clothes were liberating.  She wasn’t defined by her work clothes, the yellow shirt and jean skirt that meant she was here to serve.  Xiaofeng came out of the bedroom with her satchel thrown over her shoulder and both women exited the apartment.  They descended the steps to the first floor in silence.  Qiu wrapped her fingers tightly around the brass colored door handle and twisted down.  The wood door opened to a cacophony of hot white light and damp air.  The clouds overhead grazed peacefully in the newborn sky.  Cars were excited as they rolled over the street in front of the building.  The day was gorgeous.  The row of scooters stood like sentinels on the cement.  Qiu had left her
Vespa
on the very end of the row, not wanting to deal with the hassle of parking between two other scooters.  Qiu went to her scooter and fired up the engine.  The scooter treated her like a stranger.  The engine took two cranks to start and turned on sounding frustrated.  Xiaofeng was a dutiful young woman, but she was still young.  She couldn’t help herself always, but she did think about what she said before she said it.

“
Are you getting a new job, Mama
?” asked Xiaofeng.

Her mother looked back at her with a look that she would never see again.  It was a look of extreme reserve that would not dignify Xiaofeng’s question with an answer.

“
Let’s go Li Xiaofeng
,” said her mother.

Nothing else needed to be said.  Xiaofeng hopped on the
Vespa
after her mother and they skidded off in a familiar direction.  It wasn’t until they were over halfway to the school that Qiu realized she had done something for the first time.  It made her sick to her stomach.  She had forgotten to take the helmet for her daughter.  The
Vespa
slowed down noticeably, as if Qiu was reconsidering taking her daughter to school.  Qiu’s breathing became a controlled rhythm while her mind actively tried to increase its awareness.  She justified her mistake by exchanging being shielded against injury to avoiding it absolutely.  Xiaofeng, feeling the slower pace of the
Vespa
, stayed silent.  She was noticing her mother’s inconsistencies, not just in the morning.  Time was giving Xiaofeng more moments to reflect on and perception to rely on.  She knew her mother was not perfect.  Her mother was a woman who struggled to handle everything well, but Xiaofeng had decided two years before that her mother was doing fine.  At not quite thirteen years old, she had already decided that in her life, her mother was beyond criticism.  And she was above criticizing.  Even when the sweat of frustration beat out of her mother, Xiaofeng considered it her duty to rise above.  Her father had left and her mother stood in the gap—and did it well.  The lack of a helmet gave Xiaofeng’s mind room to expand and she realized holding on to the back of the
Vespa
, with her mother leading the way, was the best of all real worlds.

They pulled on to the street where Xiaofeng prepared to get off.  Xiaofeng cradled her shoulder bag and hopped off the
Vespa
after it stopped.  Still feeling words unnecessary, Xiaofeng walked patiently toward the redbrick building where she would spend much of the day.  When she felt her mother’s voice

“
Li Xiaofeng
,” said her mother.

Xiaofeng turned toward her mother seated on the
Vespa
.  Her mother swallowed and squinted as if the light were in her eyes, it wasn’t.  Her eyes veered downward as she spoke.

“
Being your mother is the one great joy in my life
,” said her mother.

Xiaofeng smiled at her mother long and loud.  Her mother smiled back; both had understood the other.  Xiaofeng turned around and headed toward the school yard.  Qiu sat on the
Vespa
and watched her daughter walk away.

Qiu looked down the street for a few seconds with time on her mind.  She was no longer sure if bringing her daughter across the Taiwan Strait was what she wanted.  She told herself she would give herself time to think about it.  She gave the
Vespa
enough gas to roll slowly forward and put her feet on the floor of the
Vespa
as it gained enough speed to stay on two wheels.

She was tired—exhausted.  Her thoughts were free to settle on herself now that her duty to her daughter had been fulfilled for the time being.  She needed to go home because it felt like the only safe place.  And she needed rest.  The makeup hid the signs of a bad night’s sleep but not the effects.  Her body was beginning to give.  Her body swayed with the motion of the
Vespa
and her muscles felt unresponsive.  She rounded the corner and drove passed the
7-Eleven
as her eyes squinted against the increasing daylight.  The
Vespa
kept an upbeat pace, until she was a block away from the front of the pink brick building with the washateria.  As Qiu pulled up to the row of scooters, she stared into the window of the washateria, paddling her scooter into a wide open spot.

Looking at the laundry machines through the window, Qiu thought about how it was time to do laundry.  As she thought about what she needed to wash, she remembered her
87
shirt and jean skirt were still in the trash can in the kitchen.  There were still two US fifty dollar bills in her skirt that she had to exchange.  Qiu went through the heavy wood door and up the stairs to unit number 203.  She hesitated before entering, realizing the atmosphere in the apartment would be different by herself.  She turned her key and pushed the door once, letting the force do the rest.  She stepped through the door suspiciously and stood in the apartment without letting her guard down; the apartment door stayed open.  For some unknown reason, her mind went in to fight-or-flight mode.  She felt the threatening presence of someone else in the room.  Her eyes carefully scanned the room for signs of an intruder. The sulfur smell from the eggs still hung in the air, as if nothing had disturbed it since she left.  The apartment itself seemed to hold its hands up and say
I’m clean
, but Qiu still felt another presence. 

Qiu walked begrudgingly over to the trash can.  She stuck her left hand into the trash can and fiddled with what felt like her jean skirt.  Reaching into the pocket she felt the stiffness of the cotton paper bills and pulled them out.  She removed the black plastic trash bag from the trash can and tied it with a rubber band from a kitchen drawer.  She took the black bag downstairs and outside to a large green dumpster around the block.  Walking passed the dumpster, she dropped the black bag in without hesitation.  She walked back to her pink-bricked apartment building and hopped on her
Vespa
parked outside.

Qiu drove seven blocks to the closest branch bank,
Formosa First Republic
.  She parked her
Vespa
on the curb in front of the bank and went in, heading straight for a wooden counter on the left wall.  On the counter were transaction slips.  Qiu used a chained pen attached to the counter to fill in the exchange slip.  The bank was not busy.  She walked over to the first teller and handed her the exchange slip and the two fifty dollar bills.

“
Do you have an account with us
,” asked the teller.

“
Yes
,” said Qiu.

“
Would you like to deposit this money into your account
?” asked the teller.

“
No
.”

The teller placed the exchange slip into a typewriter and made a few keystrokes before pulling out the slip.  She made a few keystrokes on an adding machine and tore off the printed tape.  Stamping the slip and the tape she counted cash from her drawer.  She handed the tape and the cash to Qiu.

“
Here is your receipt
,” said the teller.

“
Thank you
,” said Qiu.  She left the bank, money in hand.  The receipt showed an exchange rate of 35.98 and a fee of sixty Taiwan dollars, leaving Qiu with 3,538 in Taiwanese currency.  Qiu drove the
Vespa
in a long direction around southern Taipei before driving toward
87
.  She took the
Vespa
around the back of the building to see if Mr. Nan’s car was there.  It was.  She drove around the front of the building and parked the
Vespa
on the side of the pavement near the door.  She entered the empty restaurant seeing staff members she rarely saw, most would be gone by the time she clocked in.  All employees saw the stately looking woman, whose heeled shoes turned her steps into statements.  No one recognized her as an employee, not even Mr. Nan.  He had never seen her face made up before; it had been a while since he had seen her in anything other than a lemon-yellow T-shirt.

“
Mr. Nan
,” Qiu said to get his attention.  Mr. Nan squinted before he hesitated.  Her face looked like a caricature of someone he once knew.  And it reminded him of only one woman; one who had greatly impressed him.

“
Qiu
?” said Mr. Nan, his voice unable to hide his surprise.

“
Did you see my note
?” asked Qiu.

“
I got it this morning when I booked the receipts
,” said Mr. Nan.

“
I just came from the bank
,” said Qiu, handing Mr. Nan the roll of cash.

Mr. Nan pulled the receipt from his pocked.  The total came out to 426 Taiwan dollars.  Mr. Nan counted 400 for the receipt and gave the rest back to Qiu.