Saturday

I was tired because I had to get up at 9:30. I was tired because I never make it to bed before 2:00. I was tired, but I got out of bed and showered and brushed my teeth and drank my tea and got on my landlord’s bike.

It was the first time I have ever noticed the air being fresh. It is usually muggy and hot and very used by the time I get out of my apartment. By the time I turned onto the main road from my little alleyway, the air was muggy and hot and very used. But I enjoyed the morning breeze and the new smells from all of the morning food carts that had not yet traded existences with their lunchtime counterparts. I enjoyed the ride past my normal place of employment, into generally unexplored territory. I enjoyed getting a little bit lost until I only had 10 minutes left.

I needed to be at the bookstore by 10:30 to read oversized children’s books with large pictures in the books and parents and children not in the books. The bookstore was new, or at least newly moved, and had different white people read books every Saturday morning as a kind of promotion. This weekend they were trying me out. I had come to be introduced to Charles, the guy in charge, through Diana.

I stopped riding my landlord's bike, looked around, thought about it, and then rode to the front of the bookstore. I walked in with 5 minutes to spare, but more sweaty than I wanted to be. There were already fifteen or twenty scooters outside. It looked like I had an audience. I walked in, past the gawking children and sat down in the reading room. I made very small talk with the kids, peeked through the books, ensuring I could ask simple questions about the pictures and words, making sure I would not look stupid in five minutes.

Five children’s books later I was more exhausted than I thought I would be, and thankful that if they had me come back it wouldn’t be for at least a few weeks. Charles was not around, but I did want to get paid so I sat down next to the checkout counter. The bookstore was in a new building, in a new part of town with big(er) houses and wide(r) roads. Things were shiny on the inside, too shiny for a bookstore, but all the children rambunctious and energetic for no apparent reason took the edge off. I did not mind sitting for an indefinite amount of time to get paid. I was usually sleeping right then, and didn’t have anywhere in particular I needed to be.

“Okay, just sign anywhere.” The lady behind the desk was now behind me and handed me six hundred and fifty dollars and a piece of paper that looked like she pulled it out of the garbage can. I signed my name on the piece of garbage, gave it back, smiled, and kept the money. “謝謝.”

My attention turned back to the mom and her son in front of me. They had made to leave several times, but had not. I felt like I was included in their group for some reason, like we were one party. Maybe they could not leave yet because I had not said goodbye. They were looking at other books now. “他想看別的書嗎?” I asked. The mom looked up from the books, with a large smile. I do not think she even said anything, but just sat down at my table, sat her child down, and then set the book down. I recognized her now. She had helped me hold one of the oversized oversized books. She had seemed to be able to speak some English, and her son of five years had seemed anxious to turn every page before I was done asking all of my silly questions.

When we finished reading, I said goodbye so they would be able to leave. They walked out the door, but not before bestowing enough drink and snack upon me that it was going to be difficult to ride my landlord’s bike home. I soon followed suit, saying goodbye to the money handling woman behind the counter.

As I was arranging all of my new possessions on my pseudo-rack that sits over my landlord’s back wheel, the mom and her son asked where I lived. “東寧路.” I realized I must have pronounced it horribly because it is one of the largest streets in Tainan and it was only two blocks away and she had no idea what I was talking about. “東寧路,” I tried again. No luck.

We made more small talk for several minutes before she said goodbye. But when she said goodbye she actually said, “Do you want to follow us to our house? It’s very quick.”

“Sure.”

She had a motor and I had legs and pedals. She could not seem to find a comfortable speed for both of us. Rather, the distance between us would grow at a rate of 20-30 kilometers per hour for a matter of seconds, until it started to decrease at about the same rate: just as I had reached maximum pedaling speed, she essentially came to a complete stop. Losing all momentum to come to a stop next to her, or sometimes to avoid hitting her, I would find myself once again trying to catch up just moments later. This continued for the two or three kilometers to her apartment.

Her apartment building reminded me of Korea, probably because, at least from the outside, it resembled the only apartment building I saw in Korea. It was older, and colder than other apartments. It was actually hotter: she did not have air conditioning, but it was more sterile, aside from the dirt. The door was heavier. The halls were darker. I was comparing it to my apartment. It probably should have reminded me of Taiwan, but I had not been in any apartments outside of my own new, clean, bright one.

She did not live in her apartment hallway, though. She and her son lived in their apartment.

She is a small lady, bordering on fragile, except for her strong presence. She is not short, but skinny. She has an angular face, high cheekbones, and kind eyes, if a bit sad. But it would be difficult to describe her without including her son. It was immediately apparent that she lives for her son, in a way I have not encountered before. “This is where he and I live. We live here together.” she said. “Please sit down.” She invited me to eat with them. “I would love to. I am a vegetarian, though.” She is a vegetarian too, and she was thrilled.

She started cooking. She did not once lose track of her son. She continued to engage me in conversation. She told her son to pick up his things and help clear the table. She oversaw the entire operation from her small corner, in the kitchen.

The apartment was warm, but not cozy in the Western sense. It had three rooms, of which I only could see one. The kitchen occupied one corner of the room, a large wooden bench with a heavy lacquer occupied one wall, on one side of a small table, and a large bookshelf and a television occupied the opposite wall. I could see the laundry hanging outside in the sun, through the kitchen window. The fan kept the air from sinking to the ground.

She set food down, dumplings and another dish, impossible to describe. “Please serve yourself,” she said as she served me half of either dish. “Thank you very much,” I replied. I waited for her to sit down, or for her son to sit down. He was now watching a kids' English TV show with Chinese subtitles a couple feet in front of me. We were playing with toy cars on the table until his mom told him to put things away.

She went back and appeared to be cooking more food. He continued watching TV. “Please serve yourself,” she repeated. “Please don’t wait. Please eat.” I obliged. I ate all of what she had served me. It was delicious. Her son came by to have a couple bites before returning to the floor.

“Please serve yourself,” she said again, and served me the rest of the food on the table before refilling both plates.

“Maybe you can live here. There is an empty room next to us. How much do you pay?”

...

I was not sure what to make of this. Taiwanese are all very generous, very friendly, and generally very open. I have often been asked how much I pay for rent. From the reaction I get I have come to understand that I pay a bit above average for the place I describe. “One furnished room in a new building without a kitchen, and internet and TV included.” I am okay with this. I like where I live and do not have any desire to start shopping for a new place yet.

But never has it been suggested that I move in next door to someone.

I avoided addressing the first part of her statement, by answering the second part.

“Oh, that is cheap. We pay $7,500,” she replied. I was surprised at her response. I reiterated that my place was small, and did not have a kitchen, but I did not think she understood.

“Do you like it here? Is the food good?” I told her the food was very good, and I was very comfortable.

A man walked in from the hallway. It was not apparent whether he was expected or not. “This is his father,” she explained. It seemed obvious that they were not together; she called him “his father” and specifically had said “We live here. This is where he and I live.” Still, they were the friendliest separated couple I have seen, and he seemed very comfortable. He sat down across from me, and she served him in the same manner she had me. He and I spoke about politics and economics in very broken Chinese (on my part) and regular translation assistance from her. She refilled the plates again, and I realized it would not stop until I just completely stopped eating, which I did, completely full.

“Maybe you can join our family.” I smiled and said I thought my mom would be sad if I joined her family, and she seemed to sadden slightly at my statement. After a short silence, she asked “Why would your mother be sad?” I explained that my mother would miss me very much if I was not in her family anymore. “Oh, your mother misses you very much?” she brightened. “Yes, I think so,” I replied, relieved I did not have to join her family or make her sad.

His father suggested we go pick fruit in the countryside. I was wearing nice English-children’s-books reading clothes, and voiced my concerns, but it was no trouble at all he assured me. I was curious to get outside of the city a bit, so I let him assure me my clothes were no trouble at all, and we all four went down to his car, but not before she gifted/burdened me with another grocery bag full of food.

I ignored what I knew was his father telling his son to get out of the front seat, and sat down in the back next to his mother. The twenty minute drive to the countryside was comfortable and friendly, talking the whole way and introducing each other to our different lives and worlds and words. But at times his father and her son would be distracted with each other, availing the open space between his mother and me to be filled with our own words. She told me about her son, how they lived together, how she studied English at school but had not spoken it for ten years and how she was studying on her own so that she could teach her son. She explained that he was very shy, but curious. She explained that during his first few years of life, she did not take him out enough, so he was very reserved. Because of this he was shy to practice English, he was shy at school. She offered to cook me lunch whenever I had free time, and I could be friends with her son. She could help me with my Chinese. Maybe I could move in next door.

The entire car ride, she was stroking the lose strands of straw coming unraveled from her sunhat in her lap. It was not a calm sort of stroking, but nervous. I did not see anything to be nervous about, and it was not apparent in her face, but only in her hands. Her hands were detached from whatever was dictating directions to her eyes, mouth, nose. They were motivated by something else.

We picked the fruit, and looked around. We went through an old abandoned house where the pigs lived and slept one wall away from the people. We got stung by fire ants, and we got back in the car.

It was a comfortable ride back, but her hands continued stroking.

I tried to understand my place in this scenario. I was pushing my puzzle piece against all the others, seeing what fit. I was trying to understand the dynamic between the four people in the car, and making a conscious effort not to be unnecessarily wary. Her hands betrayed her face and worked with her words to portray an uneasiness. I felt she was asking me if I would like to fill a void somewhere. If I could be her son’s friend, if I liked to be there, if I wanted to come over. And yet, my thoughts were mostly inferences. I was reading between double spaced lines of language barriers and cultural differences. I zoomed out and looked at planet earth from outer space and reveled in the fact that I found myself in this car in this city on this island with these people I had not known existed just hours before.

When we arrived at her apartment building his dad washed the fruit, and his mom handed me another grocery bag, this one full of the fruit. He had to go, so he did. I had to go too. I had plans to go to a Moon Festival ceremony.

She asked if I needed to be led back, if I could find my way. I declined, thinking I would make better time on my own, avoiding the stop and go pace of the journey there. I also was positive I could find my way back and I was ready to be alone for a bit. She said okay, and led me back anyway.

This time we ended up side by side most of the time, her son staring at me from between her legs on the scooter, as children in Taiwan ride. A number of times I thought one of us would be hit, as our combined berth was twice as wide as it should have been. Halfway to the bookstore, or a sixth of the way home, she told me her son wanted to see my place. I laughed and smiled, and the light turned green.

At the next light he looked at me sincerely and said “我想去.” I smiled and said, “You want to go?” and he nodded earnestly and the light turned green. As we rode next to each other, I heard over the scooter engine, “我想去!” We arrived at the bookstore. I had come there by myself that morning, and there could not be any question of whether I needed help going back to my place. But he looked up in earnest. I laughed and smiled, and he persisted and looked.

I decided not to push against the grain any longer, and asked if she had time. “If you do not mind, then I have time,” she said.

I felt half anxious that I was involving myself too deeply in something I did not understand, and half happy to see her son’s beaming face. When they walked in to see my place, the first feeling dissipated as she commented, “Maybe $5,500 is a little bit expensive. This is not very big.”

I racked my brain for something I could give her son to return the generous gesture of burdening me with grocery bags full of food. I remembered I had been given some dried and salted plums, Taiwanese candy. “你喜歡這個嗎?” He nodded, and smiled when I gave them to him.

She dragged her son out, leaving me to shower and get ready. I waved them goodbye and watched them drive away on their scooter.