[Arriving in China, part II.]


My plan worked perfectly with only one minor flaw.

As expected, I came out of the baggage claim area in BeiJing to a
swarm of Chinese waiting for the newly arrived. My luggage proudly
brandished my China Airlines baggage id. Unfortunately, my new
employer, Mr. Ma, didn't care to notice. Worse, he didn't smile. My
first impression of this man was, "I'll bet he was once in the
communist government." He had a look of stern patience with little
patience to spare.

Of course, Echo, the broker, was very excited, hoping, desperately,
that her excitement would be contagious. I appeared to be a healthy
white boy who would earn out her commission and she was eager to blot
out any potential quibbling such as my ethnic heritage. "If they
ask," she whispered to me later, "don't tell them your father is
Arab." She pronounced Arab like ARE-ib. "Tell them," she thought for
a moment, "tell them your parents are European."

We exited the airport and waited for their rented car to arrive. Mr.
Ma kept looking at me, evaluating me, sizing me up. Arthur, which he
pronounced as ARE-zir, a vice-president at the school, and my soon-to-
be classroom assistant, was an excited puppy, taking on the burden to
smooth over any cultural tension between his owner, Mr. Ma, who
doesn't speak English, and this new American curiousity.

For my part, I remained stoic. I wasn't sure what role to play, so I
played the role of a servant. Not a housemaid or cook, but a butler.
I neither apologized for, nor asserted, my presence. I just stared
straight ahead, even when I could see, from the corners of my eyes,
Mr. Ma checking me out. Which he did a LOT.

We got into the car, Echo in the front seat while Arthur, Mr. Ma, and
I sat in the back (I was in the middle). It was just past 6p in
BeiJing and dark, so I couldn't really see the city, but from what I
could tell, BeiJing is very beautiful and very clean. Many of the
streets are lined with trees and I suspect that the world will be
pleasantly surprised when they come to BeiJing in 2008 for the
Olympics.

We drove for awhile with Echo and Mr. Ma speaking in Chinese. Every
now and again, Echo or Arthur would say something in English.

"You have very good pronounciation," Echo said to me at one point.
I've been told this before, but I hadn't uttered more than two or
three sentences since arriving. I pause, trying to remember the word.

"Xiexie," I say, the Chinese word for thank you.

Everyone in the car becomes very, very tense.

"Do you speak Chinese," asks Echo, but I suspect that what she really
wants to ask is, "Have you understood everything we've been saying
about you?"

I pause again, trying to remember the word, but immediately remember
that I haven't yet learned the Chinese words for yes or no.

"No," I say, in English, and the tension in the car drops.

We arrive at the train station where Mr. Ma, Arthur, and I will take
a train to LiaoYang City, about ten hours from BeiJing. Echo lives
here in BeiJing, so we part ways with her. But before doing so, she
and Mr. Ma consummate their "business." Now I REALLY feel like a
servant as Mr. Ma hands Echo a wad of cash. I think I can find more
Americans to come teach in China and so I'm eager to see how much
Echo earns for this transaction, but I feel it's inappropriate for me
to be watching, so I look away.

Mr. Ma, Arthur, and I go to a restaurant to eat and then later, back
to the train station to wait for our train. I've heard people say
that the sheer number of people in China is what surprises them the
most. However, BeiJing doesn't seem to be any more crowded than NY.
What surprises me is the homogeneity. For a city of 12 million
people, it surprises me that everyone is Chinese.

I'm also surprised out how clean the city is. The Chinese tend to
throw their trash on the ground, but rather than try to re-culterize
people, the government has simply employed a portion of their cheap
labor force to keep the city clean. It's clear from they way everyone
ignores these people that janitorial workers are at the bottom of the
social hierarchy, but in a country with rampant poverty, I imagine
that anyone with a job is at the top of the bottom.

The other surprising aspect of China is the lack of the ego. Western
tradition, and especially America, is so firmly founded on the
individual that it's shocking to see a culture built instead on
society. Mao Zedong, the founder of Communist China, once said that
people are like grass. Mow them over and they will be replaced. This
philosophy shocks Western sensibilities, yet I don't find it bad,
just different. Of course, Americans in China are -- by many if not
most -- admired for their individualism, so my attitude might be
different if I found my individuality attacked. But, for now, most
Chinese are dressed in dark, drab colors.

We board the train at 9p and depart for LiaoYang City. Like the
airport, the roads, and the train station, the train itself is brand
new. We reach our seats and Mr. Ma seems to be softening his attitude
towards me. At dinner, he said -- through Arthur -- that I was
handsome. Arthur's English is difficult to understand, and he was
mumbling when he said this, but he seemd to suggest that Mr. Ma
thought I was considered handsome in America. Or, in other words,
that I appeared confident and poised.

Stoicism apparently goes a long way.

Now, on the train, packed into seats like sardines, Mr. Ma was
obtaining sleeping beds for us. I don't know how much more they cost,
but I figure I must be making a good impression for Mr. Ma to pay the
extra expense.

The next day, we arrived in LiaoYang City at 7am. We dropped my bags
off at the school and went to a small restaurant (6 tables) to have
breakfast. I'd heard that food in China was good and I wasn't
disappointed. I can't say what it was that I ate (not that I'd be
killed, but I just don't know), but I can say that it was very, very
good.

After breakfast, we went to what seemed like a hotel. Well, not a
hotel, but we were in a large lobby and there were rates posted. Mr.
Ma bought something and was given three towels each wrapped up and
placed in a small plastic cup. I followed Mr. Ma into another room,
Arthur in tow, where we removed our shoes. From there, we went into a
locker room and began to disrobe.

At this point, I'm still not clear where the heck we are or what
we're doing, but when in China, do as the Chinese do. But how far to
disrobe? There's nobody else in the locker room, so I follow Mr. Ma's
and Arthur's lead. I remove my jacket and shirt. Then socks. As I
unbuckle my pants, I look over at Arthur and then Mr. Ma. Both are a
bit behind me since they have long underwear on. I remove my pants,
cautiously wondering if my boxers are on the horizon, waiting to be
taken off my person.

I turn to look at Mr. Ma and he's butt naked. Oh. my. God. I have to
get naked. In front of my boss. I'm in a bath house. I'm in a fucking
bath house. Well, God forbid it's a fucking bath house and hopefully
it's just a bath house. But here I am, in China for just over 12
hours and I'm already getting naked with my boss and colleague. If
Mr. Ma has any doubts or concerns about my American authenticity,
they're about to be dispelled because while my face looks mostly
American, it has a quality of ambiguity that makes my ethnicity
difficult to place. The rest of my body, however, offers no such
confusion. I am fish belly white with freckles all over and, compared
to my Chinese compatriots, very, very hairy. (Though, in my defense,
I'm probably less hairy than most Americans.)

Arthur and I follow Mr. Ma into another room lined with shower heads.
In the middle, there are three green pools of water. Mr. Ma enters
the pool on the right and I follow him. It's nice and hot, which
feels good after travelling for over 24 hours. But what am I supposed
to do here? Just sit back and relax or do -- something? Mr. Ma begins
to clean himself and so I follow lead. Washing my body with my hands.
Then Mr. Ma washes his private parts. You know. His penis. So, well,
what else could I do? I cleaned my private parts, too.

I'm supposed to be relaxing and enjoying the water, but I'm tense,
not because I'm naked in front of a dozen or so Chinese men, but
because I simply don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. Mr. Ma
keeps washing his body and so I keep following suit, continually
washing my body, over and over. Then Arthur whispers in my ear asking
if I need something. I can't understand what he's asking. Do I need a
washcloth? An instruction manual? A clue?

I shake my head. "No, no. I'm fine." Arthur is quiet for a moment,
but apparently I'm doing something wrong. He asks me again. We go
back and forth and finally his hand jerks towards his private parts.
Apparently he's trying to tell me to wash my penis.

"But I already washed my dick," I want to say. I probably could've
said it, too, since Arthur was, I suspect, the only person who
understood English in that room. But I'm sure my tone of voice
would've turned heads so I dutifully wash my private parts. Again.

A few minutes later, Arthur gets out and goes to a shower head. I'm
still wondering if I'm going to be dipping into the other two green
pools when Mr. Ma points to Arthur. I get out -- naked -- and start
to shower. Now, I've showered many, many, many times in my life, but
I still feel out of my league. Is there a Chinese way to shower? I
mimic Arthur, cleaning myself exactly as he does, fearful that he'll
tell me to wash my private parts again. We wash our bodies over and
over and over. Every time I think I'm done, Arthur keeps cleaning
himself and, eager to avoid any constructive criticism, I kept
scrubbing anew.

Finally, we finish and return to the locker room. We get dressed and
go back to the school. If this was a test, I appear to have passed.

And, to boot, I'm cleaner than I've ever been in my entire life.
Especially my private parts.