The Coat

They always remin= ded her of colonial schoolboys, with their short sleeve belted jackets, short= s, stockings up to their knees and stiff shoes. Only one wore his beret, which w= as pulled down near to his eyes. There were eight of them, and before they were even close enough for her to sme= ll she knew there would be liquor on their breath. Their shoulders bumped off each = other as they came through the door, and their deep voices bounced into the cor= ners of the steely bank.

The o= ther squaddies went to the windows with the men tellers. It wasn’t unusual to see w= omen in the little shops along Hong Kong= 217;s streets, counting change with the worn wooden beads of an abacus, or wait= ing tables, or conducting tours. But here in the more official institutions there were usually men in charge of things. Which was why Indie= felt drawn to the quiet woman behind the window and metal bars. He always cashed his checks in t= his bank, and always made sure he let the woman with the soft black hair and tired eyes count out his Hong Kong dol= lars.

Indie had managed to save enough= from his last month’s check to down draughts all afternoon at the Fleet Club, even buy a few rounds. But now with their last pay they had all decided to head over to the Continen= tal one last time, to drink in style as a going away present to themselves. See if they could pack away any memories of fancier, more elegant women.

As the woman tapped a= t the adding machine to her side, Indie rested himself against the marble count= er top. He would be glad to be= home, to see his mother and father, to be done with his military career. He was tired of orders and unifo= rms and still more orders. But = he would miss Hong Kong. Something had seeped into him du= ring the last two years here, despite the dirty streets and toilets that didn’t flush. The str= eets of Hong Kong had taught him to be aliv= e, to take in all their exotic colors and scents and tastes. Life here was impossible to ignore. Indie had come to k= now a new God; spicy and pungent and bold.&nbs= p; Back home God didn’t dare step out of the high stone church,= and was as sensual as a two thousand year old ghost.

Jiang Li looked up to see the ta= llest of the men standing at the door, holding it open so that the golden light from the street shone in a strip off the floor. She counted the dollars from her drawer into a small pile.

“I’ll catch up.” He smiled at her= when he turned around and pushed his beret back further on his head. “Take your time, I’m= in no hurry,” he said to her. Jiang Li recognized his face among the other soldiers. He was at her window at least on= ce a week. He had a strong jaw a= nd bristly cheeks. “I am shipping out Saturday, though. That’s the deadline.”

Jiang Li straightened the small = stack of bills. “Are you be= ing sent to another base?”

There was somet= hing very warm about this woman. The lines around her eyes were soft. “I’ll miss Hong Kong,” he told her.

She counted out the bills for the young man.

He noticed the woman wore no rings. “Jiang Li,R= 21; he read from her nametag. “Jiang Li,” he repeated. A bead of perspiration was settl= ed on the woman’s cheek, near her tiny pearl earring. “What does it mean?”= he asked her. Indie suddenly w= anted to know this more than anything. The girls he had met near the club were always anxious to tell him what their names meant: sweet smelling or gracious or chrysanthemum. The man at the next window coughe= d hard and then cleared his throat into his fist. “Tell me, what does Jiang = Li mean?” Indie insisted.

&nb= sp; The man took out a bag of coins and set them on the counter in fro= nt of Dewei.

= After she said it she swallowed hard.

His hands reached under the litt= le arch of the barred window. “River beautiful. Jiang Li.”

Then she glanced= at the man in the beret and then down at the check in front of her. “Yes, Nigel Davies,”= Jiang Li said. “River beautiful.” Then she touched the young soldier’s hand.

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The young man’s= eyes had changed when her hand touched his; what had she been thinking? But just as quickly she would th= ink: why should I care? Tomorrow= was Jiang Li’s birthday and she would turn sixty years old. She had completed a life cycle a= nd was moving into a new one. This= was the Chinese belief. It was = only when a person turned sixty that birthdays became important. After that there was a celebrati= on every ten years. But instea= d of her children giving her a big party with a great celebration, Jiang Li wo= uld be spending the day working here at the bank and the evening alone in her room. Perhaps she would go = to a good restaurant, but she would go alone.

Jiang Li knew they would serve h= er peaches and a bowl of long-life noodles, as was the tradition. No short noodles, as this would = bring bad luck. Then everyone wou= ld join her in eating and wish good fortune to the long-life star. She would be given four eggs, li= ke her nieces had given Jia three years ago, and perhaps a bit of money wrapped = in red paper. But Jiang LiR= 17;s gifts wouldn’t be in thanksgiving from her children as they were me= ant to be, like they were for Jia. If it wouldn’t hurt her sister’s feelings Jiang Li would just st= ay home.

Jiang Li thought a= bout Kun and his son and two daughters. She imagined the celebration they had given him last March, when he had turned sixty years old. She was happy for her ex-husband, and was glad he had found a new life. Kun had left her many years ago = when the children hadn’t come. It was a matter of honor, and she had understood. He had encouraged her to stay in= the apartment, and with the money he had given her and the job at the bank she had made it through okay. S= he liked working, proud to be side by side with the men.

When she touched his hand it had jumped, just a bit, but then Nigel Davies turned his hand over so that her fingers rested in his palm. “Please, have a safe trip home,” she told him, cupping= her hand a bit before she pulled it away to stamp the front of his check. The young man had said nothing, = and she watched the backs of his schoolboy knees as he walked across the tiles and to the door.

He walked with her to the corner where a group of tables were clustered along the narrow street. The British soldier sat at one of the tables by himself, holding a= mug of beer. His beret was push= ed back away from his eyes. He stared boldly at Jiang Li.

“They are bold and unmannered.”

Dewei was rig= ht; the British were bold. She = often saw the soldiers laughing as they walked beside the old men sitting in the streets, looking for a bit of money.&nbs= p; But as Jiang Li and Dewei walked beside the table with the young soldier she thought she could see something else behind his bold eyes, something she didn’t usually see.&= nbsp; “There are good and bad, just like everyone else,” Jia= ng Li said.

The two of them walked to the co= rner where Dewei turned, like he did every day after work. “Joi gin,” he told J= iang Li. “Goodbye.”<= o:p>

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She was rou= nder than many of the other Chinese women, and she walked slowly, not the brisk steps of the young girls who passed her in the street. Indie was used to drinking most = of the day, but with their orders to go home, he and the other squaddies had overdone it a bit. He didn’t know why he followed the woman. He didn’t know why he didn’t go to the Continental as he had planned. As he sat drinking his mind had = gone through all kinds of thoughts. Had Jane (as he had re-named the woman in his mind, the plain name= of England transformed into this more beautiful, exotic river) deliberately taken his hand, or had she only been turning over dollar bills and brushed him accidentally? He knew he had taken hers. He found himself missing her as he already missed the sultry Hong K= ong that he would soon be leaving.

The sidewalks were covered by barrels filled with rice and ginger root and other vegetables = and meats gathering flies. Make= shift roofs made of cardboard and cloth reached out into the street, and althou= gh the day wasn’t yet over the light became dim. Indie wondered if Jane had come shopping for her evening meal. He speeded up a bit, not wanting to lose her in the crowd. But she kept a steady course, mo= ving among the children running about and the men with their arms across their lovers’ shoulders. In= die thought about the wide streets of Manchester, and the green fields near his home. “Jane,” he called out suddenly. He hadn’t known it was com= ing out, but then he called it again. “Jane!”

She knew he had gotten up from h= is table, but hadn’t turned around since she caught him in the corner = of her eye as she said goodbye to Dewei.&nb= sp; The thought of Dewei’s words made her heart flutter in her throat, “I’m afraid for my daughters.” But Jiang Li clung to the famili= ar landscape of her neighborhood and tried not to worry. She had lived here for more than thirty years, and walked through these streets every night, past the same vendors, smelling the same smells.

Jiang Li stopped and tried to av= oid their scuffle, but the boy with the red shirt gave the smaller boy a shove and he fell into her.

“You…” but the boy hurried to stand up, stepping= on her foot one more time before he chased the other two down the street.

“Jane,” he said, and= Jiang Li tried to understand. He = held her elbow and looked closely into her face. The soldier’s eyes were le= ss bold than before, but just as intense.&n= bsp; “Jane, are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes.R= 21;

“Jane, let me take you for= a drink, or something to eat. Please. Before I lea= ve for home.”

But old women could be fools, too. Her mind began to run through all kinds of things, but then she didn’t let herself think = at all. “Follow me,̶= 1; she said to the soldier, and swept a lock of black hair away from her eyes. <= o:p>

They walked a block side by side before Jane turned into a narrow doorway that led up a steep set of stairs. It was dark and hot= ter than out in the street, hotter than the barracks on a night after drinking all day. But he followed th= e dark figure in front of him up the narrow stairs and into a single room.<= /o:p>

The soldier’s beret was sh= ifted to the side now, and Jiang Li reached her hand up to it and took it off h= is head, uncovering the damp blonde hair.&n= bsp; She carefully hung the hat on the same nail as her jacket. “I only have water,”= Jiang Li said.

A small tea tin with a plant growing in it sat on the ledge of a small, dirt-streaked window. Indie watched as the woman pinched a leaf from the plant and dropp= ed it into the glass. She push= ed it down under the water with the tip of her finger. Then she placed the finger in her mouth. “Mint,” = she said softly. Indie was amaz= ed by her full, round lips.

He took the glass from Jane̵= 7;s hand and sipped the warm, minty water.&n= bsp; “River beautiful,” he managed to say, and he knew he sounded like a silly schoolboy, but he didn’t care. Jane sat him down on the bed and dipped three fingers in the small glass of water. “Tomorrow is my sixtieth birthday, English soldier,” she said as she ran the wet fingers over his rough cheek and across his lips.&nbs= p; Indie reached for her but she backed away. “You must move slowly, lik= e a river, not rushing. There i= s no wisdom in rushing.” J= iang Li did as she told Indie. S= he moved slowly, so much more slowly than the girls at the club. They covered a man like hungry, = biting kittens. With Jiang Li there wasn’t the giggling, not even a smile, just her full, round mouth, which took in his own minty fingers.

Jiang Li’= s hair smelled as if it, too, had been dipped into the fragrant mint water. Her body was softer, thicker tha= n the eager club-girls’ bodies, her movements stronger. And then her eyes filled with wa= ter as she moved with him. “= Jane, does it hurt you?”

“There’s pain, but you do not hurt me.” She closed her eyes and moved ha= rder against him.

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“It’s my last day in Hong Kong<= /st1:place>.”

“Tomor= row is my birthday, and I will be sixty years old. I must meet the new cycle of my = life with my own eyes. I have be= en given no children to bring it to me, so it is for me to seek alone.”= ;

She tidied up the room and then = took his beret off the nail near the door and handed it to him. “You have been a present to me. Good luck, like four pe= rfect eggs. But now you must go.&= #8221;

“You are a beautiful river, Jiang Li. May you be forever young.”

She placed it in the band of his beret. “There is no greatness in youth. Celebra= tion comes after the hardships and sorrow.” She placed her full lips on Indie’s, then stood and waited for him to go.

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She worked qu= ietly for a while in the morning, and then Dewei told her about his granddaught= er Chang Juan who had tripped on a rag near the steps in his apartment and tumbled down six stairs. “She is fine,” Dewei told her, “but nobody slept= .”

But she was intensely aware of the smells in the air and the light coming in through the windows and the sounds escaping from the street. She counted money, filled out pa= pers, stood at her window with her hands folded in front of her and waited for = what was to come. She thought th= at perhaps this was how a person best lived their life. They just lived it.

“Goodbye.”

“Good health to Chang Juan.” She walked slowly among the chil= dren and the dogs and the carts. She walked in the middle of the narrow streets. She pulled out the long key and = opened the door that led to her apartment.

It was Sha= iming, the old woman who sold eggs every day under a canopy beside her door. “The boy left this for you.” Shaiming pulled= a long coat out from beside her wooden stool. “Who is he?”

She held it up in t= he light coming from the dirt-streaked window. The fabric was translucent blue,= the color of a beautiful river. Woven into the fabric was a pale pink design that moved slowly along the should= ers and arms and down across the breast.&nbs= p; Jiang Li took off her black wool jacket and hung it on the nail ne= ar the door. She slid her arm through the coat sleeve; it felt cool and smooth against her bare skin. She slid her other arm into the = coat and hugged it to her. And t= hen in the pocket she found a small note.

"Dear Jane,

May good luck follow you always.<= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Happy Birthday.

With my love, Indie”

She would keep it the= re, always aware of it, until the moisture from her fingertips caused some of= the letters to fade, and the words became difficult to read.