Three People

I get off of the 515 and stroll back towards my apartment building, making it clear to onlookers through my confident stride that I am master and commander of their primitive banking system. I'm passing by the cafeteria when I notice something interesting - there are no longer heavy padlocked chains on the doors. Clearly it's time to have a look inside.

When I push my way through the heavy vinyl curtains, I notice that there are not only people inside, but that there is a row of trays laid out on the counter at the far end. I reason - what could they possibly contain other than food? I approach in order to confirm my hypothesis.

My reasoning is proven to be sound. Ten metal trays are spread out before me - each containing its own special variety of Chinese food (although as my buddy Rich observed, in China they just call it "food").

But suddenly - quandary! I really don't know what I'm looking at. Nor do I know how to order, or in what manner to render payment. I look at the young people, most probably students, who are manning the counter. Although they number more than a dozen, they have withdrawn as rapidly as I have approached, probably fearful that in my zeal I would ignore the food and eat them instead. This is a remarkable display of insight on their part.

Then from behind the wary group of countermen a self-assured middle-aged woman emerges, brushing the ebbing students aside and brandishing a metal spoon.

This is how I met Lunch Lady.

Lunch Lady begins speaking straight at me in the Chinese language. Having lived abroad before, I am used to this. I begin speaking straight at her in the English language. To this very day, this is how we relate to each other. Through a system of gestures and hand signals, I secure the purchase of a bowl of rice topped with pork, peppers, bean sprouts, and China sauce for the modest sum of 3 kwai. Folks, that's less than fifty cents. I am in flavor country.

Lunch Lady is apparently the boss of the cafeteria and is also unreasonably splendid. I have since eaten at the cafeteria at least three dozen times, and every time she emerges from the throng of staff to speak the Chinese at me. In addition, she constantly insists on taking my order before anyone else in line, no matter how many people are waiting. Since that's kind of embarrassing, I've tried to put an end to this practice, but she won't have it. To be frank, Lunch Lady loves me. To indulge further in frankness, she's kind of hot for an older woman. However, in essence I think it's more of a mother/son relationship - she just wants to make sure I get a good meal.

Thank you Lunch Lady.

After eating a delicious, hot, forty-cent meal, I feel ready to return home. I'm not sure why I bother returning home, since my five story apartment building seems entirely empty. Well, empty in the residential sense. During the day it is packed with Chinese men and women working on the renovations, but sadly, due to my woeful lack of linguistic skills, they are unable to provide the companionship for which I yearn. Indeed, the loneliness burdens my soul like overripe, rotting pumpkins burden the branches of the majestic pumpkin tree (an arboreal simile for my soul).

As I begin to ascend the staircase towards my fetid fourth-floor apartment, I sense a presence on the landing above me. I look up to find that I have locked gazes with an older gentlemen of apparently european descent. We stare at each other for just one second, and then our expressions simultaneously communicate the relief of long inedible pumpkins now cast aside.

This is how I met Martin.

After perfunctory introductions, Martin is the first to become aware that we're having a conversation while standing on completely different levels of a building. "Well . . . would like like to come in and have some tea?" Martin speaks with the most charming Australian accent imaginable.

Martin is a thoughtful, pensive man. At first, he seems so timid and apprehensive that one can scarcely imagine why he would have come to a country like China. But when you really get to know Martin, you realize that he's not really reticent, he's actually listening to what you're saying and giving it careful consideration. He's not really shy, he's simply content to let others say their piece because he has nothing to prove. He's not really diffident, he's just extremely well-mannered and gentle.

Martin is in his late 50s, and he is an interesting man. He was a marine biologist for over two decades before he simply "gave it up" (his words). He once worked in Africa, where they hoped he would help them develop their fisheries. However, his employers failed to provide him with a laboratory or the means to equip one, so he spent most of his time measuring fish and socializing with the locals, which he figures was the best he could do. Being quite conscientious, he felt bad about being useless and eventually left, but he speaks fondly of his time there. He has never married and has no children. He has practiced yoga assiduously for thirty years.

Martin quickly became my adventuring companion and we've since been all over town together. While I rarely let him get a word in edgewise, he never fails to impress me with his unaffected honesty and compassionate manner.

Thank you Martin.

Martin and I do our best to explore Wuhan by bus, making several discoveries and pitiful errors along the way. Eventually, however, our duo explorations come to an end when a middle-aged woman knocks on my door one day.

"Hello . . ."

"Hi, I'm Debbie. I live down the hall. Do you want to go shopping tomorrow? Because I was thinking about going to Carre Four? They're this French supermarket and well they just have everything. And then maybe later we can go to Metro - they're like Sam's Club but, you know, it's Chinese. Oh - do you not have curtains? Because I have an extra set I can give you if you need it. Anyway, if you want to go shopping we can take a taxi and I'll pay for it, and I can show you how to get around - because this school doesn't show you shit."

" . . . okay."

This is how I met Debbie.

Debbie has lived in most recently in Denver, but before that it was Texas, and I'll always think of her as a Texan (and it will be helpful for you as well to imagine her as a Texan). She used to be a nurse, and now in addition to teaching English she volunteers her skills at two different hospitals in Wuhan. The doctors there are so grateful for her help that they have agreed to treat the patients that Debbie sometimes hauls into the clinic - poor, indigenous people with nowhere else to go. Debbie is an angel.

She has been in China for four years and speaks surprisingly little Chinese, which she confesses she feels bad about. Despite that, she's thriving here. Eventually she wants to return to the States, but China seems to have a hold on her. She claims that it's hard to part with the bootleg DVD stores - her favorite one is located under a trap-door in the floor of a dumpling shop. Lord of the Rings Collector's Edition with extended footage for two dollars. So she claims. Personally, I think it's the charity work that really keeps her here. Once a nurse, always a nurse.

Indeed, Debbie seems to spend to bulk of her days doing things for other people, a habit that many nurses acquire. Otherwise, she's shopping - the second most popular vice among nurses. She spends the next three days taking us to every major store in Wuhan, and pointing out every landmark and location of interest along the way. She rarely lets us pay for the taxi ride ("Oh, well I was goin' there anyway"). She takes us to KFC. Now I have two mothers in China.

Thank you Debbie.

In a few short days, I've already formed the relationships that I know will carry me through the next year, friendships that I may come to cherish for the rest of my life. It's a rare, satisfying feeling - an uncommon peace of mind. Now if I could just get a decent cup of coffee, life would be perfect.