Chapter 1 (1/2)

The shop opened late even during the Lunar New Year’s season when everyone else was off on holiday. It was the third day of the first lunar month and a cold, snowy day. I didn’t want to go out after closing the shop at ten o’clock so I decided to sleep there.

I was watching Legend of the Fall and mumbling about Brad’s six-pack when I dozed off. Someone started knocking in the middle of the night and woke me from my light sleep.

It was unusual so I asked, “Who is it?”

The knocking continued but no one answered. My stomach did a little uneasy flip. I got dressed and went to the door, opening the door a tiny crack.

The moment I opened it, a person barged in.

A tall guy wearing a sterile mask and wrapped in a scarf and down jacket stood in my shop, scolding me with a glaring look in his eyes. “Aren’t we the daredevil, opening doors in the middle of the night? You ain’t got nine lives!”

Seeing him fling his clothes away, the retort I was about to make got stuffed back down my throat. All I could see underneath the jacket were b.l.o.o.d.y bandages.

Nonchalantly, he lied down on my clean metal cot, muttering. “I have a fever.” By the time I comprehended it, he was already unconscious.

I was at a complete loss.

×××

I told you that I had led a simple life; I did not want women or men. He, well, he was younger than me and was still a little thug out and about on the streets just three years ago. He kept coming to my shop to borrow videos. He had bad taste and also never paid. But he was a leader of the local scene nonetheless, and I wasn’t one to bother with kids anyways.

Winter of 1997, he came running into my shop, asking me, “Yo, you got any movies with Leslie Cheung in it?”

I looked up from the screen playing Lethal Weapons of Love and Pa.s.sion. One glance at him almost made me cough out last night’s dinner—oily, wax-yellow hair with a tuft in the front dyed green and purple, a fake gold earring on the left ear, a pair of coffee brown sungla.s.ses, a fake black leather jacket, a metal-studded belt and an unbelievably fat pair of red pants.

Disgusted, I asked, “Which do you want?”

“That f.a.g one, of course!”

I was very repulsed. I knew he was talking about Happy Together, which was the best gay film I had ever seen. Although I didn’t count as a legitimate queer, I did feel disgusted when people called gay people f.a.gs. But what could I say to garbage like him?

Still disgusted, I spat, “I don’t have any! Take this. s.e.x and Zen. It’s got Shu Qi, Chingmy Yau, see–”

“You f.u.c.kin’ deaf? You got what I want or not?”

Your mother f.u.c.king has it, I swore in my head.

“Yes.”

“Hehe, knew you got all the goodies. Bet you’ve seen it already too.” He stuck his disgusting yellow and purple coloured, sticky-looking hair in my face. It smelled like cheap hair gel.

I crinkled my nose, “Nothing special,” and said no more.

Sullenly, he left with the disk. As expected, that copy of Happy Together did not return.

Some days later, he showed up again. “Yo, you got anymore? The ones with h.o.m.o Cheung if you can.”

I clenched my teeth before flas.h.i.+ng a smile. “I wonder why you always watch them.” I took a full look at him. His face was nicely proportioned but he was just another bony teenager going through p.u.b.erty.

“Hehe…” I snickered meaningfully.

“Whatchu laughin’ at?” He shot up and glared at me with a pair of disgruntled eyes like a vulture. It made my hairs stand up.

What was with that reaction?!

But there was one thing I could stand about that piece of garbage—his eyes. Aside from the disgruntled look that he had acquired, they were a pair of pitch black and bottomless eyes.

I wiped my smile off and stopped fooling around. “This one, right? Just take it.” I tossed the American gay film towards him since I didn’t expect it back anyways.

What really infuriated me was when he nicked my entire private collection one day. The rascal rummaged through my cash drawer while I went to take a p.i.s.s. Farewell My Concubine: this was thin on the ground back in ’98 and was brought by someone all the way from Guangzhou; The Wedding Banquet starring Winston Chao; Cheap Killers (not Hold You Tight) starring Alex Fong;Total Eclipse, the best DiCaprio film; and the three j.a.panese dramas I had spent a fortune on,Dousoukai, Ningen s.h.i.+kkaku: If I Were to Die and Kira Kira Hikaru; and…

He took them all.

Now that I think about it, QAF was everywhere. There was nothing special about my stuff.

He slapped my back before he left and made faces at me. I did my best to keep it together, telling myself: amiability brings riches, amiability brings riches, amiability brings riches…that motherf.u.c.ker. He just had to take my gay films. As if they were easy to get my hands on!

After a while, the d.a.m.n jerk strode into my shop again after the Lunar New Year’s holidays.

I was stupid and quickly hugged my drawer close.

“What’re ya doin’? I look like a thief to ya?” The hoodlum rolled his eyes at me with a cigarette between his teeth.

“Your stash was pretty sweet!” He flashed a flattering smile right after the eye-rolling. “You got anymore? Hmm?”

Ew. Disgusting. What the h.e.l.l was he smoking?

More smoke ended up coming out of his stinking mouth.

“Hey–!” Then I broke out coughing.

“Mwahahaha!” He began laughing at me exaggeratedly.

Everyone has their limits.

And I always saw these crooks as eyesores.

So I pointed my nose up in the air. “You’re not welcome here. Please leave right now.”

Ahem. I admit I was pretty harsh. He still makes fun of me about it until this day.

The hoodlum shot me a glance before plopping onto the table without a care in the world and even started flipping through my rental records and reading out loud.

“Zhang Hua rented Ghost…”

He misread several characters and even licked his fingers to flip the pages.

I froze in place as flames of fury sparked within and rose above my head. I understood then what it meant to be driven mad.

I carefully set the drawer down and shoved the useless piece of s.h.i.+t off the table.

“Get the f.u.c.k out!” I roared.

He didn’t pay any heed and kept teetering.

I was a man. Although I wasn’t as hot-blooded as Mister Lu Xun hoped our countrymen to be, I was still a man.

Thus, without much consideration, I punched him.

Actually, as a cultured person, I usually never lost my temper. I could count all the fights I had in twenty four years with one hand. He had not done anything evil or unforgivable and there were not any hate based on our social cla.s.ses, but I was just so angry.

Sometimes, one punch leads to a life of complications for two.

He was 180 centimetres tall, about half a head taller than me. Though he looked malnourished, he was apparently very experienced. My fury went into hiding once more after dealing two punches and taking four of his. I had knocked one of his teeth out since my first punch landed on his mouth—which I wasn’t told until much later—and that truly angered him. We fought like there was no tomorrow. Disks were cracked and shelves were tipped over. The thunderous racket brought over a crowd of curious people.