Nano Bytes

A Chinese servant standing beside the check–in desk offered to take his packsack, but he declined the offer and simply asked where the lift was located. «Up these steps and at the end of the hall,” the receptionist replied. He thanked the receptionist, walked up the steps, and approached the liftman that was already opening the lift cage for him. «Fifth floor,” he requested as he stepped into the lift.

And as the lift ascended he reviewed the newspaper article on the third page; the article detailed what two sources believed would be the new, foreign policy doctrine of the McKinley administration in regards to its increasingly aggressive approach to China. The article went on to discuss U. S. Secretary of State, John Hay, as the mastermind behind the policy and that perhaps by the end of the year the policy would be officially communicated to European nations. The lift stopped, the liftman opened the lift cage, and he walked out into a long, dark corridor. «To the end of the hall, sir,” the liftman said before he closed the cage. He walked to the end of the corridor, turned to his left, and saw the door to his room. Room 502.

He entered and found the room very much to his liking: high ceiling, large windows allowing the grey light of the dreary day to illuminate the bedroom and bathroom, wood flooring, a master bed, and an oak desk against the wall facing a large hanging mirror.

He approached the central window of the bedroom and looked out at a view of the Huangpu River that was filled with the traffic of both wind and steam powered cargo ships, the Waibaidu Bridge, and the Bund, which was lined with strolling, well–dressed Europeans, various types of horse drawn vehicles, and surprisingly one Benz Patent‑Motorwagen that was catching the attention of nearly everyone it passed. He then turned away from the window, dropped his packsack and newspaper on the bed, wound his watch, and decided to take a shower.

After shaving and getting dressed in fresh but wrinkled clothes he decided to take a walk. He took the stairs down to the lobby, exited the hotel, crossed the Waibaidu Bridge, and walked south along the Bund. At Nanking Road he turned right. Now walking west he thought, west is home. Where I belong; it had been eight years since he had been to the land of his birth.

«Excuse me, sir,” a young woman began with a sweet, Cantonese accent. «But, we have a gallery on the 8th floor. Would you like to come and see it?»

She was his first tout in Shanghai. He had traveled throughout southeast Asia and had grown bitterly numb to the elaborate stories and lies he had heard day after day from touts in Yangon, Bangkok, Phnom Penh, Saigon, Hue, Ha Noi and countless other citiesand towns. But she was a woman: young, not forceful, and unaware of her seductive powers. So much does she have to learn, he thought remembering his long–ago military training days.

«It’s just this way,” she said pointing to the revolving entrance door of an old, colonial styled building. «Where are you from?»

Where are you from? How many times had he heard that question in the past seven months? «I’m originally from Chicago.»

The girl gave a quizzical look.

«In the United States.»

She nodded her head with a smile. «Where in the United States is it?»

«Well–”

«Is it near New York?» she interrupted.

«No. God, no. What an awful place. No, Chicago is on the west coast of a large lake called Michigan.»

The girl smiled. It was then that he noticed her pearl earrings. He immediately thought of the women he had known in the seaport city of Valparaiso, Chile. Shaking his head slightly to rid his mind of those memories he looked into her eyes and could see that she still had very little idea of where Chicago was located.

«What kind of gallery?» he asked, changing the subject.

«We have Chinese calligraphy–do you know calligraphy?»

He nodded.

«And we have traditional Chinese paintings–and modern too.»

He loved art. When he was in boarding school he had two very good friends who were artists. He did his best to encourage them. But that was now years ago. It actually feels like decades.

«Please, please come,” she asked.

Deciding that it was best to take a break from the stench of horse manure, urine, and rotting waste that littered the street he nodded and said, «Yes, let’s go.»

She gave another smile and escorted him into the old building. Inside a small and dark entrance hall, and to their left, she pointed to an open lift expecting him to enter, but he waited for her to enter first. Pleased with his small act of kindness she walked into lift. He then followed.