As a new resident to the Jing, I soon realized my pad wasn’t going to be that lulling haven of privacy and personal space I had naively imagined – luckily I was eased in gently.
My first landlord, Mr. Li, was a pensioner, and relatively averse to climbing the seventy-odd steps to reach my door. The rare burst of enthusiasm, would of course find him passing through in the wee hours with a team of camera-laden surveyors ready to profile the walls – ‘support evidence’ for damage claims caused by new constructions. In these grandiose intrusions, we would quickly become pajama-clad wall-flowers, and try to avoid the bright flashes. As time passed, I came to consider the occasional loss of space a fair trade for old Mr. Li’s genuine kindness. Lost keys would have him wandering the streets at midnight looking for a locksmith, and my rent-paying occasionally culminated in a drunken ballad.
Mr. Li however, was no training ground for my SanLiTun love-shack collective – ruled over by Li Jie and her troupe of over-sexed cats. It was late one night when I was frying eggs and contemplating reality, that a blinding flash filled the window. A color-wolf! An egg-flipping voyeur! A pervert with a stick-on beard! My claims had my macho-man racing out to accost the offender. Finding Li Jie outside the front-door, he recounted the event. It was then that she unabashedly announced she was just feeling a bit snap-happy; and the Mexican took an extended moment, outside in his slippers, to contemplate a new reality shared with Li Jie.
Another unusual visit soon followed, in which Li Jie attempted to accost some of our household items: old slippers, a rice-steamer, a large kitchen-knife … Spurned on by these visits, the disappearance of a lucky, red paper Fu, and too much Hollywood, a few paranoias began to emerge. A string of 3am phone calls, an hour of banging on our walls, and a blackout, had us huddled, trembling in the dark – waiting for it all to stop. Sweet daylight brought me to the realization that the faulty power-switch was behind our couch; we were to blame for the collective blackout … and maybe Li Jie just wanted her heater to work, not to murder us …
Another series of power-cuts late one afternoon had Li Jie trundling back and forth in front of our apartment. In role as a neighbourhood detective, the Mexican was spying on Li Jie through the door-viewer. He was fortunate enough a witness her ensuing struggle to dislodge our Christmas wreath. Li Jie, caught red-handed, temporarily froze, dropped the wreath, claimed it was for our safety, and scooted out.
Since then, Li Jie has been lying low; and it has become just as likely she will find me peering through her window with binoculars, as I will find her. I remain suspicious that when we’re out of town, she (or at least the cats) loll about in the love-shack, use the rice steamer, and languish in the warmth, but in a strange way, I am becoming ever more comfortable with the idea.
For the massacred version of this article in print: Urbane China, Habitat, February 2008.
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My first landlord, Mr. Li, was a pensioner, and relatively averse to climbing the seventy-odd steps to reach my door. The rare burst of enthusiasm, would of course find him passing through in the wee hours with a team of camera-laden surveyors ready to profile the walls – ‘support evidence’ for damage claims caused by new constructions. In these grandiose intrusions, we would quickly become pajama-clad wall-flowers, and try to avoid the bright flashes. As time passed, I came to consider the occasional loss of space a fair trade for old Mr. Li’s genuine kindness. Lost keys would have him wandering the streets at midnight looking for a locksmith, and my rent-paying occasionally culminated in a drunken ballad.
Mr. Li however, was no training ground for my SanLiTun love-shack collective – ruled over by Li Jie and her troupe of over-sexed cats. It was late one night when I was frying eggs and contemplating reality, that a blinding flash filled the window. A color-wolf! An egg-flipping voyeur! A pervert with a stick-on beard! My claims had my macho-man racing out to accost the offender. Finding Li Jie outside the front-door, he recounted the event. It was then that she unabashedly announced she was just feeling a bit snap-happy; and the Mexican took an extended moment, outside in his slippers, to contemplate a new reality shared with Li Jie.
Another unusual visit soon followed, in which Li Jie attempted to accost some of our household items: old slippers, a rice-steamer, a large kitchen-knife … Spurned on by these visits, the disappearance of a lucky, red paper Fu, and too much Hollywood, a few paranoias began to emerge. A string of 3am phone calls, an hour of banging on our walls, and a blackout, had us huddled, trembling in the dark – waiting for it all to stop. Sweet daylight brought me to the realization that the faulty power-switch was behind our couch; we were to blame for the collective blackout … and maybe Li Jie just wanted her heater to work, not to murder us …
Another series of power-cuts late one afternoon had Li Jie trundling back and forth in front of our apartment. In role as a neighbourhood detective, the Mexican was spying on Li Jie through the door-viewer. He was fortunate enough a witness her ensuing struggle to dislodge our Christmas wreath. Li Jie, caught red-handed, temporarily froze, dropped the wreath, claimed it was for our safety, and scooted out.
Since then, Li Jie has been lying low; and it has become just as likely she will find me peering through her window with binoculars, as I will find her. I remain suspicious that when we’re out of town, she (or at least the cats) loll about in the love-shack, use the rice steamer, and languish in the warmth, but in a strange way, I am becoming ever more comfortable with the idea.
For the massacred version of this article in print: Urbane China, Habitat, February 2008.
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