One Man’s Bible

You say that memories may give her strength but for you they are the same as nightmares.

“Dreams aren’t real but memories are events that have actually happened and can’t be erased.” This is how she argues.

“Of course, and moreover, they haven’t necessarily gone into the past.” You give a sigh, and go along with her argument.

“They can resurface any time if you don’t guard against them. Fascism is like that. If no one talks about it, doesn’t expose it, doesn’t condemn it, it can come back to life again!” She becomes agitated as she speaks and it is as if the suffering of each and every Jew weighs upon her.

“Then do you need to suffer?” you ask.

“It’s not a question of need. The pain actually exists.”

“So, do you want to take all of humankind’s sufferings upon yourself? Or at least the sufferings of the Jewish race?” you respond.

“No, that race ceased to exist a long time ago, it has scattered all over the world. I am simply a Jew.”

“Isn’t that better? It’s more like a person.”

She needs to affirm her background, and what can you say to that? What you want is precisely to remove the China label from yourself. You don’t play the role of Christ, and don’t take the weight of the cross of the race upon yourself, and you’re lucky enough not to have been crushed to death. She’s too immature to discuss politics and too intelligent to be a woman. Of course, you don’t say the last two things out loud.

A few trendy Hong Kong teenagers arrive. Some of them have their hair tied in ponytails, but they are all men. The tall blond waitress seats them at the table next to yours. One of them says something to the woman, but the music is too loud, and she has to bend down. After listening, she smiles, showing her white teeth that glow in the fluorescent lights, and then moves another small, round table: apparently others are coming. A male couple, gently stroking each other’s hands, is ordering drinks.

“After 1997, will they still let homosexuals meet publicly like this?” she moves close and asks in your ear.

“In China, it’s not just a matter of not being able to meet publicly. If homosexuals are discovered, they are rounded up as vagrants and sent off to labor camps, or even executed.” You had seen some Cultural Revolution cases in internal publications from the Public Security Office.

She moves away and leans back but doesn’t say anything. The music is very loud.

“Shall we go out for a walk in the street?” you suggest.

She pushes away the almost empty glass and stands up. Both of you go out the door. The little street, a blaze of neon lights, is thronging with people. There are bars one after another, as well as some elegant cake shops and small restaurants.

“Will this bar still exist?” She is obviously asking about after 1997.

“Who knows? It’s all business, as long as they can make a profit. The people here are like that, they don’t have the guilt complex of the Germans,” you say.

“Do you think all Germans have a guilt complex? After the Tiananmen events of 1989, the Germans kept doing business with China.”

“Do you mind if we don’t discuss politics?” you ask.

“But you can’t escape politics,” she says.

“Could we escape for a little while?” you ask her very politely and with the hint of a smile.

She looks at you, laughs, and says, “All right, let’s have something to eat. I’m a little hungry.”

“Chinese food or Western food?”

“Chinese food, of course. I like Hong Kong, it’s always so full of life, and the food is good and cheap.”

You take her into a small, brightly lit restaurant, crowded and noisy with customers. She addresses the fat waiter in Chinese, and you order some local dishes and a bottle of Shaoxing rice liquor. The waiter brings a bottle of Huadiao in a pot of hot water, puts down the pot as well as two cups, each containing a pickled plum. He says with a chuckle, “This young woman’s Chinese is really—” He puts a thumb up and says, “Wonderful! Wonderful!”

She’s pleased and says to you, “Germany is too lonely. I like it in China. In Germany, there is so much snow in winter, and, going home, there is hardly anyone on the streets, they’re all shut up in their houses. Of course, the houses are large and not like they are in China, and there aren’t the problems you’ve mentioned. I live on the top floor in Frankfurt, and it’s the whole floor. If you come, you can stay at my place, there’ll be a room for you.”

“Won’t I be in your room?”

“We’re just friends,” she says.

When you come out of the restaurant, there’s a puddle on the road, so you walk to the right and she to the left, and the two of you walk with a distance between you. Your relationships with women have never been smooth, you always hit a snag and are left stranded. Probably nothing can help you. Getting someone into bed is easy, but understanding the person is difficult, and there are only ever chance encounters that provide temporary relief from the loneliness.

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel right away, let’s take a walk,” she says.