The Emperor of Shoes by Spencer Wise

Author:Spencer Wise
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hanover Square Press
Published: 2018-04-03T14:37:08+00:00

9

THE NEXT DAY we were walking up ten flights of stairs at an apartment complex outside the south gate of Tsinghua University in Wudaokou.

The face that answered the door was hard and flat, and I knew right away it was Zhang, the leader of the Democratic Revolutionary Party, and it took only a split second for him to recognize me too. His face softened and he bowed slightly, smiling, and said, “Come in please,” in English. Behind my shoulder, Ivy greeted him in Chinese. I stepped into his flat and it was too quiet. There was no one else in the apartment.

“To the left,” Zhang called out, and I moved through an open door into a small living room with a writing desk and bookcase on the left wall and a two-seat red chenille couch on the right, where we sat down. Zhang took the matching love seat beside it. We were facing a little tea table with a bowl of apples. In front of me was a pass-through window into the kitchen.

Most of the stuff in the flat looked like standard IKEA crap, except a small, tapered shrine table flanked by round-back chairs with characters carved on the splats. Probably belonged to his parents. On top of the table was a frosted glass figurine of Guanyin, an enameled offering plate in front of her with some coins, orphaned keys, a bike tire air cap.

“I never introduced myself,” Zhang said all of a sudden, slapping his knees and standing.

Shaking hands, we exchanged our full names. Bowed at the shoulders. He was scrawny. Thin wrists. When he lifted his head I noticed a touch of gray in his hair. He was older than Ivy by a few years. Or it was his eyes. Dark and sad. Heavy lids. A stitch of wrinkles at the corners. Acne scars on his face. He must have had pretty shitty skin as a kid, and that couldn’t have been an easy way to go through life.

“You speak perfect English,” I told him. “I didn’t expect that.”

“My father. A professor, before he was blacklisted. I also studied at university for many years with the others.”

“Where are the others?” I asked. There were other things I wanted to ask but couldn’t. It was a delicate balance. You couldn’t just come right out and say, Okay dude, what kind of revolution are you running from this sleepy flat? Does one of these walls open up? Secret door? Where are the guns? The arsenal?

“The others are coming,” he said, but his eyes skittered just enough to give him away. My hunch was he wanted to test me out first on his own. See if he trusted me. He struck me as a good leader. Maybe it was his eyes. The strong jaw.

He saw me taking in his outfit: a pointed waiter’s vest and black trousers.

“Work later,” he said. “Beijing Hotel. I work as a waiter.”

“I see.”

“The son pays for the father. They are one. His crimes are mine.”

I nodded my head.

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