Sharing what I like to think is one of my better stories. Sometimes I think it's fine as is but other times I wonder if it's a tad boring. Any feedback would be really appreciated - but watch out it's a longish read. Also if you can think of a title for it that would be great. okay love you bye
The winter evenings in Taipei are frequently accompanied by cold rains. One day it darkened and became colder, raindrops started to fall again. And soon, about an inch of water seemed to emerge from the ground in the lanes of Wen-Chou Street. Professor Yu Kung-Shu, wearing wooden sandals, walked to the end of the lane. Raindrops fell through the large hole of his oiled-paper umbrella and made him shudder with cold as he drew his neck further into his shoulders. The thick and heavy old gown with which Kung-Shu covered himself failed to keep the damp from reaching his bones.
The professor, lame and dragging his right side, limped with a slow swing of his body as he returned through the gloom to his house.
It was, like all others in that lane, an old structure left from Japanese occupation. For years it had gone without repair. Kung-Shu struggled over the entry steps into the living room and lowered himself onto one of the broken sofas, breathing noisily. The Japanese tatami mats in the sitting room, with their accumulated dampness over the years, filled the room with the stale odour of decayed straw. Disorderly heaps of books, old hard bound volumes and others about to break loose, littered the desk, the chairs and the mats. Once the professor’s wife aired his books aired his books in the sun and a pile of ancient notes – the professor’s own recorded thoughts were never found again.
Earlier in the afternoon, Yu Kung-Shu’s wife had gone to join a mah-jong game next door. Before she left, she had reminded him, “Don’t forget to put on the Yu Shang Tang plaster, otherwise you won’t be able to walk properly tomorrow.”
“Won’t you come home a little earlier tonight?” He begged his wife. “Chuo-Kuo’s coming. Tonight.”
“So what? Isn’t it enough for him to have you keep him company?” she queried without interest.
As he was speaking, she folded a pile of paper money in her handkerchief and left through the door. Kung-Shu was holding a copy of the Taipei Daily News. He wanted to stop his wife and point out to her Chuo-Kuo’s picture and its caption: ‘Professor Wu Chuo-Kuo, Chinese scholar, renowned in the United States, an international authority on history.’ But his wife had vanished before he could say another word. She never missed the mah-jong games on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Whenever he remonstrated, she would silence him by saying “Don’t bother me you old geezer. I’ll go and win a hundred bucks, buy a chicken and stew it for you.” Old and frail, he was acutely aware that he had lost financial control in his home – his wife always won at mah-jong and kept a private account of her own. As she departed, she vetoed his proposal to ask Wu Chuo-Kuo to stay for dinner.
He watched the big, fat back of his wife recede from view. If only Ya-Hsin was still alive. She would have offered to go into the kitchen herself and cook a table-full of Wu Chuo-Kuo’s favourite dishes to welcome him as a visitor. That time in Peiping, at the farewell dinner, Wu had said, flushed with wine and delight, “Ya-Hsin, I shall come back next year to taste your dishes again.” Who would have known then that Peiping would be lost the following year and that Wu Chuo-Kuo would escape, and remain abroad for as long as twenty years? Many times have Kung-Shu wondered how he was faring. Three weeks ago, amazingly, a letter had arrived addressed to Professor Yu Kung-Shu saying that Wu Chu-Kuo was coming to Taipei. Kung-Shu was unable to imagine how his old friend had discovered this humble address and his whereabouts but that did not matter. Taking some of his small hidden savings, he had paid a taxi driver to take him to the airport and to help him stand among the waiting crowd. At Sung-Shan international airport, Wu was so tightly surrounded by government officials, reporters and bystanders that Yu Kung-Shu was shut out and could not even greet him. It was only when Chuo-Kuo spotted him in the crowd, and pushed his way towards his old friend, did they finally shake each other’s hand.
“You better let me come to see you in a few days.”
Carefully rubbing his painful knee with even more painful fingers, the professor smiled without realising he was doing so. He remembered the warm expression in his friend’s face and the gentle clasp of their hands.
“Kung-Shu...”
Startled at hearing the sound of his name, Kung-Shu struggled to the door and looked out to the dark rainy evening. There stood Wu Chuo-Kuo, framed in the entrance of the small house. The two men faced each other. Both were silent. So many years. So much time between. And then both men began speaking at once. Wu Chuo-Kuo, well preserved, immaculately dressed and still blooming with vitality, stepped quickly forward and caught the frail figure of the professor to him. Struggling to stand erect, the professor said, “Welcome my friend. Please enter my humble house.”
Anxious to perform traditional hospitality, Kung-Shu slowly bent and groped inside a low cupboard, bringing out tsuo-hsieh (straw slippers) for the feet of Wu Chu-Kuo. Wu Chu-Kuo smiled and, placing his feet in the slippers, thanked Kung-Shu and began, “These lanes of Taipei are really like a labyrinth. More confusing than those in Peiping.” His hair was wet and his spectacles blurred with drops of water. Wu Chuo-Kuo took off his overcoat and shook it twice before handing it to Professor Kung-Shu. Inside he was wearing a mien-au, the wadding of the silk jacket protecting him against the cold. Taking out a handkerchief, Wu Chuo-Kuo wiped his head and face so that his elegant silver hair became quite dishevelled. Kung-Shu carefully poured the Dragon Well tea from the thermos flask he had taken from the low table for he remembered that Wu never took black tea.
Wu Chuo-Kuo looked at his old friend and smiled gently, “I came as soon as I could. You know how we Chinese still love to entertain. I was invited to feast after feast. Everyday. And always more than ten dishes...”
It was Kung-Shu’s turn to smile, “And if you should stay longer, I’m afraid your poor old sick stomach would be upset.”
Wu Chuo-Kuo lifted the Dragon Well tea, blew away the tea-leaves on the surface and sipped. The hot vapour blurred his spectacles. He took them off, wiped them, lifted his eyes as if thinking of something and then sighed.
“I find that most of our friends are no longer with us...”
“I-Ching died last month, and I think I heard that Chi-Tsung also died on the mainland.”
Kung-Shu and Chuo-Kuo, sitting facing each other, fell silent. Wu Chuo-Kuo thrust his hands into his sleeves. Kung-Shu delicately smoothed his stiff painful right leg. Many others had disappeared.
“I’ll get you a cup of hot tea.” Kung-Shu shambled to the table in a corner of the living room, poured the cold tea and leaves into a strainer, prepared another cup of Dragon Well tea and, holding the thermos flask, laboriously limped back to his seat. Whenever he sat for a long time, his right leg becomes more stiff. Worse. Now waves of pain numbed his joints.
“Your leg seems to have been hurt rather badly,” Wu Chuo-Kuo said with concern as he accepted the hot tea.
“It was just one of those things I picked up while fleeing from the soldiers.” Kung-Shuo endeavoured to make light of the problem.
“Did you have it thoroughly treated?” queried Wu Chuo-Kuo.
“It’s a long story. I stayed in hospital for five months. They operated and gave me treatments, but it got worse and paralysis set in. So my wife got an acupuncturist from somewhere. You know what? It helped me to get down from bed and move about. I think we suffer from very peculiar illnesses; Western treatments may not necessarily work. Some native plaster or better still, a secret formula, or even a few random stabs by acupuncture might actually hit the right spot...” As Kung-Shu spoke, Wu Chuo-Kuo shook his head and couldn’t stop smiling. His old friend had not changed. Wu put his hand forward to gently touch Kung-Shu’s stiff and painful right leg.
“I’ve always felt a sense of shame whenever I thought about you. It’s been so comfortable for me. I do not know how we got separated that day. One minute you were there. Then you were gone. And somehow I felt responsible. And I knew you weren’t in America because I made exhaustive inquiries. It has taken me years to find you here. And now I have found you. And the Dragon Well tea.” Wu Chuo-Kuo hesitated and his voice trembled as he spoke softly, “and now that I’m here...”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Wu Chuo-Kuo stared at the floor, and then nodded his proud head. Then there was much chattering between the old men, which lasted late into the night – only ceasing when Kung-Shu’s wife finally returned. Chuo-Kuo supposed that it was time for him to leave. Kung-Shu staggered him to the door.
“You know what, I’ll walk with you.”
Leaning against each other and stepping into pools of water and bumping against each other, the two progressed slowly and awkwardly, but with an air of happiness. As they approached the end of the lane, Wu Chuo-Kuo asked thoughtfully, “Kung-Shu, could I return before long?”
“You plan to return?” asked Kung-Shu, still embarrassed.
“In a year I’m due to retire,” explained Wu Chuo-Kuo, “I’m now alone over there. My wife Ying-Fen is gone. It’s difficult getting the right kind of things to eat. My stomach easily gets upset. Besides, I don’t have any children.”
“Oh...” quavered Kung-Shu.
Raindrops fell through the hole of the umbrella and struck the faces of Yu Kung-Shu and Wu Chuo-Kuo, making them shudder slightly with cold. A taxi drove past, splashing the two thoughtlessly. Kung-Shu extended his hand towards his friend. His frozen fingers were clasped in the warm grasp of Wu Chuo-Kuo. Beneath the umbrella, both old men exchanged glances. Each one understood the other but the polite game of keeping a certain amount of face would continue. After all, both were Professors of Classical studies. There would be much to discuss over endless cups of Dragon Well tea.
Kung-Shu limped back and returned to find he had forgotten to close the front door. The mats were disturbed and pages from books were fluttering in the wind. A window had crashed open and he limped across the room to secure the house from the elements. Professor Yu Kung-Shu sat down on the sofa with a book but his eyes closed after reading only two pages under the dim light. His head fell to his chest. Taipei’s winter nights were getting darker and darker, and the rain outside the window fell incessantly.
Edit: some cheeky mistakes had to be ironed out
