Other Me has another mouthful of food, wipes his mouth with a napkin. In a nutshell?
In a nutshell.
Thirty-eight years of martial law, which people here refer to as the White Terror. In the beginning, you’ve got troops killing and looting and raping. Bodies all over the streets. And then as the years go on, you speak out against the government, you go to prison. Sometimes you get executed. It’s 1987 before Taiwan starts making moves towards democracy and a pro-independence movement.
I sit there for a minute, digest the information as I digest the burnt ends.
Other Me, he goes back to eating.
He says, I can’t believe you don’t know any of this. It was worse than Tiananmen Square.
I think about my parents – too busy and too distant to talk to me about these things.
I think about the white town I grew up in, my white friends, the singular British bubble I have existed in.
And then I wipe it all from my mind and I say, Ah well. Want another beer?
F
ORTY
-S
IX
Ni shi na guo ren? says the robot woman in my ears.
Wo shi Taiwan ren, I say back to her.
Ni shi na guo ren? repeats the robot woman in my ears.
Wo shi Yingguo ren, I say back to her.
Charles appears on the roof terrace and sits down next to me.
His mouth moves but I don’t hear anything. I take out my earbuds and I say, Excuse me?
He says, Learning Mandarin?
I pause my audio teacher and put my phone down. I guess I thought I should, I say. I’ve been here long enough.
He looks at me, an approving look, and it makes me feel like I’m doing something worthwhile.
He stands up again, puts his hand on my shoulder, and he says, I’m impressed.
He says, I would think the first phrase you said was the correct one, though.
He pauses for a bit, and then goes back inside.
I turn around, watch him until he disappears from view.
I put my earbuds back in, un-pause my audio robot teacher.
Ni shi na guo ren? she asks.
Wo shi Taiwan ren, I say back to her.
I am parched, because that’s what two hours of speaking rudimentary Mandarin phrases will do to you.
When I go inside to get some water, Charles is sat at the breakfast bar, reading a magazine with a cup of tea. The look on his face – tickled.
I grab some water from the fridge full of precision-stacked bottles and sit down opposite him.
I say, What’s funny?
He spins the magazine round so I can see. It’s a celeb rag, like the one the auntie in the laundrette was reading.
I lean in, and I recognize the picture of the people on the page, on account of it being the movie star and his wife. The text is all in Chinese though, so I ask Charles what the article says.
He says, Remember in the car when you said you thought our little prank would have had more of an impact?
I feel the icy water trickle down my throat and into my belly, blooming.
Well, he says, tapping the magazine, this says that they’re breaking up. Due to the wife’s cheating ways, of course.
And the kid? I say.
The son goes with the mother, says Charles, shaking his head, a man whose fortune is getting better and better by the minute. He’s got a far-off look in his eyes, satisfaction curling his mouth upwards.
