This Is a Bust (31 page)

“Okay, okay, I'll do that! Don't take it out on me just because
some people want to be nice.”

I pulled my hat over my eyes
when we pulled up to the
communist post office and said,
“Geller, listen, you go in there and get him, and I'll be right
here.”

“You're not coming in with me?”

“Can't handle an old man by yourself?”

“All right, all right. Jeepers creepers, you're lazy.”

Peepshow got out, fixed his belt, and went in.

I put my head in my hands. I wanted to crumple my face up
and throw it away. This man had taken me in and given me a job when I was back from Nam and had nothing going on. I rocked a little bit in my seat.

Peepshow came out of the post office, dragging Moy's dad
by the arm. The old man could yell. It wasn't long before people were gathered there.

“Look what the police are doing to Old Moy!”

“He's hitting Old Moy!”

“Leave Old Moy alone!”

Peepshow wasn't hitting Moy's dad, but the old man was
making a show of flailing his arms and legs. I watched the two of them do an awkward do-si-do on the sidewalk for a little bit. His folding stool fell to the sidewalk.

People from the fruit-stand groceries came running up.
Some of them had baseball bats. When you have a sidewalk business, you've always got some weapons handy. Bats and 2 X 4s. And knives.

Now it was time for me to get out and help.

“Officer Chow!” said Chi, wiping his hands on his dirty
apron. “You have to help Old Moy! He's being attacked by that white motherfucker!”

I stepped through the crowd.

Moy's dad broke Peepshow's grip and stood up.

“Robert!” he said with an air of indignity. “I'm going to sue
the damn police department for harassment if you don't straighten this foreign bastard out.” He brushed off his arms and let out a heavy sigh. “Robert, pick up my stool and come back inside with me. I still have a lot to do.”

“I'm sorry, but you can't do this anymore,” I said to him.

“What's wrong with you, don't you call me ‘Uncle'
anymore?” he asked, with a smile. “I was just kidding about suing the police. Please don't worry about it. Just tell this white boy to leave me alone.”

“You have to leave. You can't transact business here
anymore,” I said.

“Business? This is no business,” said Moy's dad, looking at
me like I was going out of focus. “I'm just helping people with their mail.”

“They pay you for writing the addresses down. You're doing
business on federal property.”

“I've been helping write people's mail since you were
just a kid!”

“I don't personally have a problem with you doing this,
but it's illegal. You shouldn't have been doing this from the beginning.”

“I never wanted to charge money, but everyone gives me a
nickel to show their appreciation. Their respect. Even you have to show me respect.”

“I have respect for the law, and my job is enforcing it. Please,
let's go.”

“Okay, I don't care about the money. I'll just do it for free!
That make you happy?”

“It doesn't matter. You have to leave.”

“You
can't tell me to go if I'm not doing anything!” he yelled,
crossing his arms.

“If
you're not using the postal services, you have to leave the
premises, or I'll arrest you for loitering!” I said. My throat hurt as I went from talking loud to shouting.

“Look at all these people here!” Moy's dad hollered, swinging
one arm in a crazy arc. More people had come and black hair was pressing in on us. Peepshow stayed close to me, invading my space. “If I wasn't here,” Moy's dad continued, “who would help with their mail? How could they write to China?”
“They're in America now, so they have to learn English!” I
said. It was the wrong thing to say.

“Not everybody here grew up with as much money as you,
Officer Chow! Okay? They weren't as fortunate to be born here, go to school, and learn English like you! Okay? They work for a dime an hour, sleep 10 people to an apartment! Okay? They can't be like you and drink themselves drunk every night! Okay?”

He made an indignant face and reached for his stool. I
grabbed it before he could and folded it under my left arm. With my right I grabbed his arm and pulled him along. It was pretty easy handling the old man.

Moy's dad screamed. “You're hurting me! You're hurting
me!”

“I'm not hurting you, and you know it!” I yelled.

“Officer Chow, Officer Chow, what are you doing!” Chi
was shouting to me through the crowd. “That's Old Moy you have there!” I walked on, determined but not rushed. I pushed Moy's dad into the back of the car and slammed the door. I got in the passenger's seat and Peepshow hopped into the driver's seat.

“Let's get out of here! They're going to kill us!” said
Peepshow, panting.

“Nothing's going to happen,” I said. I looked back at the
crowd as we pulled away. Most people were looking more disgusted then mad. Everything they had ever suspected about me was true. Chi was shaking his head at me.

I glanced back at Moy's dad. His eyes were tearing.

“Robert, don't you get it?” he asked in a soft voice. “They
hate us here. We have to help each other. Even the black people have their own politicians. We don't have anybody. We're all so helpless. I can't even go home to be buried in the family graveyard because the U.S. doesn't recognize China. It's my last wish, but the Americans stole my body from me! My own body!”

“If you go back into that post office, and you don't have a
letter to mail or a package to pick up or your own stamp to lick, I'm going to handcuff you,” I said.

I stayed in the car and let Peepshow bring Moy's dad
into the Five. They booked him and fined him $100. I let Peepshow put in his own name for the paperwork and the credit.

—

When the shift was over, I walked in a big spiral through
Chinatown back to my apartment. I felt like a big traitor. I had rounded up another gook for interrogation. Some people I knew came up to me, but I looked away and kept going.

The worst thing was that maybe the Brow was right. If it
were an Irish guy or an Italian in place of Moy's dad, I would have had no problem yanking them out. But if I hadn't been there, Peepshow would probably be in intensive care right now.

Moy's dad had taken a lot of shit from the pro-KMT
community for doing what he did. In the early days, Moy told me, people would leave death threats under the store door, calling him a “communist sympathizer.” But Moy's dad was one of the few people who truly worked for the benefit of all Chinese people. He co-sponsored a float for the KMT Chinese New Year parade and also helped send mail to the People's Republic. He didn't let politics tell him he couldn't help someone. He was a brave man. I was a rat.

I s
lowed my walk down. I looked down a street that the
Continentals used to own. Where were they all now? The world seemed so small back then. Central Park was as distant and vast as Canada in our minds.

I though
t about people like Paul, Lonnie, Dori, and even Barbara who were trying to get by in Chinatown because they couldn't get out for whatever reason. I knew people like my mom who dreamed of owning a place far away from the tenements, and people like my dad who had lost all hope.

I
looked up and saw an old Chinese man squatting outside a
restaurant. He must have been one of the cooks on a break. An empty bowl lay at his feet and he was smoking. His arms were folded over his bent knees as if he'd been told that was all the space he was allowed to take up in America. How many years had he been here in the same shitty job? I tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn't look up.

The next day, I walked the footpost, but avoided the toy store. I was scared I'd run into Moy in the street, but it didn't happen, and I went home as soon as I could.

Between beers, I caught the American evening news and
saw that Kissinger wanted to normalize relations with Hanoi. It was March 26, but it felt like an April Fools joke.

“Why the fuck were we there!” I screamed at the TV because Paul wasn't there to hear me. I suddenly felt a rotten taste in my mouth that I had to get out. I went to the bathroom.

Paul had bought a tube of Chinese herbal toothpaste
because we'd run out of Crest. I squeezed it onto my toothbrush and shoved it into my mouth. It tasted like they'd counted sugar as an herb. I looked at my face in the mirror and pulled one eyebrow up with my free hand.

“Are you a postman, now, Mr. Chow?” I asked out loud,
spraying toothpaste foam around. I tilted my head and spat onto a plastic robot soaking in the sink.

I s
tuck my hand in and pulled it out. It was about a foot high
and metallic gray. One hand was shaped like a hook and the other held a serrated sword. Wasn't Paul too old to play with toys like this?

The
early evening was muggy. After I'd finished brushing,

I
stripped down to my briefs. I went into the living room and turned the TV back to the Chinese channels. The communist channel was following Chinese dignitaries on a tour of Japan. The Japanese already had full relations with China. America couldn't be too far behind, especially if we were already talking to Hanoi. The Taiwan channel featured a show on raising koi, but unfortunately, it was in Mandarin with no subtitled characters. I could pick out “fish” and “water.” I settled for watching the huge fish wriggling through the water and working their mouths open and shut.

I
wondered about how long I could go without having a
drink.

When Paul came in, he was carrying two plastic bags
packed with boxes. When he saw me in my briefs he said, “God.”

“It
was a tough day at the office,” I said. Then I pointed at his
bags. “What did you buy? Cigarettes?”

“No. Old Moy's closing his toy store! Everything's 75% off, so
I got a bunch of robot models. I had to borrow money from my sister to buy more.”

“What's going on?”

“The old man's furious! He was saying he won't stand for
police harassment.”

“Why?”

“Pretend you don't know what happened, Robert.”

I th
ought about Old Moy and Moy and how helpless they
would be outside of Chinatown.

“Paul, you left a robot in the bathroom sink. I thought you
were too old to be playing with toys.”

“These aren't toys. These are limited-edition Japanese
models. These usually go for ten bucks. Sorry about the

sink. You have to soak the plastic to clean it before you can paint them.
”

“When's that toy store gonna close?”

“Soon, I guess. It's a madhouse there. After I got through
with it, all the good stuff was gone.”

“I'm not going to buy stuff. I just want to talk to the guys.”

“You sure you want to go there? A lot of people saw you
beating up the old man. I think it's a really bad idea for you to go,” Paul said.

“It's okay. I'm an old friend.”

—

As I made my way over to the toy store, I thought about all the years I'd gone to Moy's family store to play wind-up toys, long before I ended up working there. Kids from all over the city would come to that one store because it had the best prices.

After hours, Moy's dad would open one of every robot or car
for me and Moy to play with. He'd let us play as long as we wanted. When we were done, he'd bring the games in the back and reseal them in plastic.

Whe
n I turned the corner to the store, I saw the lights

were
turned out. The midget was leaning against a nearby fire hydrant.

“What happened?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “The old man collapsed and an ambulance
took him away.”

“What!”

“I'll assume you've heard what I said but can't process it
yet,” said the midget. “Anyway, I feel bad for Old Moy. Not just because he's gone to the hospital. For a businessman he had no marketing sense. I used to buy board games from him. One time I told him to give me some games free and I'd challenge people to play there in the store, but he said no.”